by Lee Stephen
“We’re protecting a planet, people,” Pauling said. “We can’t settle for anything less than perfection. It’s a miracle we’ve arrived this far, and we’re barely holding on as it is.”
A distinct pause fell over the room as Pauling stood before them, severe and overbearing. His features were different—hardened and aged. He allowed his gaze to slide down to the table, where it lingered. Almost twenty full seconds passed before he lifted it again to regard Judge Rath. “As much as I hate to bring it up again, the mourning period is over. Have you been able to locate any of Kentwood’s Intelligence
documents?”
Rath frowned and lowered his eyes. “No sir. I even spoke with Kang. He too, was unaware of any documents. We can only hope that whatever concerns Darryl found, we can find, also.”
“And the investigation?”
“There was no foul play,” Rath answered. “It was as natural a heart attack as one can have. It just came at a bad time.”
“I have yet to hear of one that comes at a good time,” Pauling said.
Rath nodded.
“I’ve spoken with Archer,” said Pauling, “your suggestion as a replacement. You were right. He’s an intelligent candidate. He’s young, but he may have promise.”
“Thank you, sir,” Rath said. “I’m glad he was a worthy recommendation.”
Pauling sank into his chair and stared at the opaque table. His older reflection stared back at him. After several moments he waved his hand in dismissal. “That’s all this morning.”
Nods of acknowledgment were offered to him, as the judges rose from their chairs and filtered out the room. Their exodus was quicker than usual, and the typical cloud of post-meeting chatter was absent. It was only a matter of seconds until Pauling was alone.
“Judge Archer,” he said to himself as he pondered the empty seat where Darryl Kentwood used to sit. His eyes remained there for a moment, before he pivoted in his chair and turned his back to the conference room, losing his gaze on the EDEN logo in front of the room. “Welcome to the High Command.”
* * *
Novosibirsk, Russia
It was dawn, 0446 hours Russian time, when the sun broke over Novosibirsk‘s horizon. The temperature was bitter cold, and a subtle breeze drifted over the freshly fallen snow. Despite the sparse cloud patches, it was a beautiful morning—at least from nature’s point of view.
The scope of the damage could be seen for the first time as the overcast sky was illuminated just enough to dissipate the darkness of the night. The fires that raged only a few hours earlier were now extinguished, though the destruction was irreversible.
Novosibirsk‘s gargantuan hangar had been destroyed. Holes camouflaged its concrete walls, and one whole corner of the building was caved in beyond recognition. Rubble was piled around the hangar; cleanup crews hustled to make the way clear for repair vehicles. While several aircraft inside the hangar were salvageable, a majority were battered beyond repair.
The airstrip was in poor condition, more from clutter than physical damage. Of the Noboats that remained, few were in proper condition to be dissected and evaluated. The combination of heavy gunfire from the Novosibirsk defenders and attack strafes by Leningrad‘s air force mangled all but a handful of the alien craft. The only other salvaged ships were the four Carriers, which were taken into custody along with the captured Bakma.
The infirmary, though defended, was in no condition to remain. An on-the-spot evaluation revealed massive structural damage that rendered the building more of a hazard to the wounded than a shelter. It would have to be torn down and rebuilt, a process that EDEN claimed would be more inconvenient than costly. All the recoverable medical supplies were transported to the gymnasium, which became Novosibirsk‘s temporary hospital. As the medical staff settled in, the full scope of the wounded came into view. Undermanned medically, crews of surgeons and nurses from Leningrad and London were called in to assist the staff on hand.
Many of the damaged buildings, throughout the base, were also beyond repair. There were very few buildings that had survived the fight unscathed. Nonetheless, the battle was dubbed a victory. Novosibirsk—The Machine—would live on.
The human body count reached over three thousand, eighty of which were Nightmen. Some units were leaderless, while others were decimated from one end to the other. It had been the most deadly assault against an EDEN facility in the organization’s history.
The Fourteenth shared in the casualties. Ivan Baranov, Kevin Carpenter, and Konstantin Makarovich were dead. An equal amount were wounded.
Fox’s career with EDEN was finished. Though the doctors were confident in his ability to return to a normal life, they were certain it would not be one with the Earth Defense Network. He was due to be shipped to a United States hospital as soon as the next series of transports arrived. The rest was up to him.
Max’s mishandling of his previous injuries prolonged his expected date of release. Several doctors paused by his cot to reprimand him for his foolhardy actions, as they ordered him to remain bedridden until given precise permission to leave. He made no promises nor offered apologies.
Galina was stabilized soon after the battle was finished, and she was given a special location in the new hospital, set aside specifically for the injured among the medical crew. Once was she calmed and aware, she was told of Ivan’s sacrifice. She met the news, expectedly, with tears.
Then it was morning. Late Sunday morning on May the 8th, in the eleventh year of the New Era. It was not even the morning after the battle. It was the morning of the battle.
Scott remembered every hour that passed on the clock that night, if it could be called a night at all. 0400, then 0500, all the way to 0900. He knew that he slept, but it was anything but restful. It was more like periodic glimpses of the unconscious world. When true morning arrived, he found himself as exhaustingly awake as he had been in the aftermath of the attack. He was not alone. No operative in the Fourteenth remained still beneath the woolen covers of their bunks.
There was a quiet stagnation to Room 14. Amid the creaking of bedsprings and hourly face washes in the lounge sink, it was the empty bunks that mourned the loudest. By the time late morning came, the silence was unbearable. Scott rose from bed, donned his uniform, and ventured into the hallway. David offered him company, and Scott accepted gratefully. Together, they abandoned the emotional atmosphere of the barracks and ventured back into the outside world.
For the first time in daylight, they saw the aftermath of the assault. They saw the battle-scorched airstrip and the demolished hangar. They saw the unsalvageable Vindicators and the overturned Grizzlies. They saw it all without the need to explore. The damage was in every direction.
Nothing came full circle. Though Scott and David talked little, Scott knew that David’s questions must have been as deep and uncertain as his own. What happened now? How would they rebuild Novosibirsk? How would they rebuild the Fourteenth? Yet above those hung the darkest question of all. Why was Earth still alive?
Baranov had said it before he died. The advantage clearly weighed in favor of the attackers. This latest attack furthered that. The Bakma could assault Novosibirsk without a single human aware of it. The base was defended…but for how long? When would the invaders decide that enough was enough? When would they send their full force?
Why hadn’t they already?
Scott was in the midst of those thoughts when he noticed Clarke. The captain stood alongside the covered sidewalk between the barracks and the cafeteria, walking cane in his grasp as he stared at the remnants of the assault. He looked tired. His shoulders sagged like Scott hadn’t seen before, and even from a distance, his anguished expression was unable to hide itself. Scott knew why. The Fourteenth was a decimated unit, and Clarke was the one it fell on. It took only a slight shift for Scott to alter his path to meet the captain, and he did for no particular reason other than the feeling that it needed to be done. David followed in silence.
As Clarke took notice of the two,
he hobbled his body in their direction and waited. A metal brace was attached to his hip, which was stamped with healing cloth. The smile they were met with was a false one, but the attempt was there.
“How goes it, gentlemen?”
“Sir,” Scott and David answered.
In the seconds that followed, no words were spoken. The three men exchanged glances until their gazes abandoned one another to observe the devastation around them. When Clarke spoke again, it seemed as though it was for the first time.
“I just got back from the gymnasium. Everyone is in stable condition. For now.”
A gentle breeze brushed past them then disappeared. Scott shifted his gaze to the unblemished snowfields.
“That’s good to hear, sir,” David answered.
“Yes. Yes, it is.” Clarke massaged the back of his neck as he continued. “None of this should have happened. We’re too careful to allow this to happen.” Scott canted his head down as he listened. “Changes need to be made.”
Changes. That was all Scott knew. When he had joined EDEN, it was a change. When he fought in Chicago, it was a change. When he was brought to Novosibirsk…that part was still changing. The thought of change didn’t scare him anymore. Change was home. “What are we going to do, sir?”
Clarke’s answer was automatic. “We rebuild.” He returned his gaze to them. “We count our losses and we evaluate where we stand. Then we rebuild.” Spoken like a captain. All compasses read forward. “Yuri shall assume the role of commander, and when Max recovers he’ll be good to resume his duties.” Clarke looked between them before his eyes settled on Scott. “Which leaves us short one lieutenant.”
Scott knew it was him without Clarke saying a word. God had put him in the place he needed to be, and he knew there was a reason. It was destiny.
All compasses read forward.
Clarke cleared his throat and returned his gaze to Novosibirsk. “Remember everything you’ve learned, Remington. Remember the things I’ve warned you about.”
Scott nodded. “Yes sir.”
“There are things none of us yet understand. Look around here…and we’re seeing that now. Your beginning is over. What you give now is what is to be expected.”
“Yes sir.”
Clarke stared into the distance as Scott stood deep in thought. Everything had led to where he was now. Everything pointed to that moment. In the midst of the losses, Scott’s heart mourned. But in anticipation of the future…it was ready.
“Gentlemen,” Clarke said, “more is going to be asked of you than I expected by this point. But I know you both will serve us well.” He straightened out his uniform, and when he saluted, Scott and David were crisp in response. “If either of you need me, I shall be in my quarters. Prepare yourselves, and prepare the rest of the unit, for new focus.”
“Yes sir,” they answered in unison.
Clarke lowered his salute. “Cheerio, gentlemen,” he said before turning and hobbling away.
Neither Scott nor David spoke as they watched the captain leave. Their gazes lingered on him for a moment, then shifted to the pristine snowfields. They were beautiful. They were pure enough to be God’s own artwork. Scott took several steps off of the sidewalk, where his feet crunched in the hardened snow.
“You know he meant you, right?” David asked.
Scott heard the question. He knew. In a decimated unit, people were destined to rise up. And destiny had taken him there. “Yeah,” he answered as he looked into the horizon. “I know.” The air was fresh as winter. It frosted as it escaped from his mouth and nostrils. He feigned a smile and turned around. “He meant you, too.”
David watched Scott for a moment, before a smile crept from his lips. “Whatever you say, sir.” Scott chuckled, and David stepped off the sidewalk to his side. “It’s beautiful when you take the time to look at it, isn’t it?” David asked.
“Yeah, it is.”
It was beautiful. The longer he stayed in Novosibirsk, the more he noticed it. He was determined to notice it more than ever.
David smiled and stepped back. “Now if you’ll excuse me…there’s a woman a few thousand miles away who just heard about an attack on Novosibirsk. I think she’s gonna want to know if her man is okay. And I don’t think she’s the only one.”
“Go make your call,” Scott grinned back. “I’ll be right behind you.”
David turned and walked toward the barracks. Scott continued to smile to himself. There was a woman a few thousand miles away who needed to hear her man. And there was a man in the middle of Russia who needed her just as much.
Scott’s gaze returned to the snowfields. They were indeed so beautiful. As if they were God’s own artwork.
He stepped back and returned to the sidewalk that led to the barracks. There was a very important phone call that he needed to make, and he could not wait any longer.
Inside, he had never felt so warm.
E P I C * B O O K 2
OUTLAW TRIGGER
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Acknowledgments
To Mom and Dad: Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your love and support has been steadfast from the moment I came into this world. I am who I am because you were there to guide me, and for that I will always be grateful.
To my family: You have always stood behind me and believed in me. Thank you so much for being there, as you’ve been since day one.
To Lindsey: Words can’t express how much you’ve been a blessing to me. Thank you for believing in me through the ups and downs of this project. I love you.
To Barbara Colley: Only God could have put you in my path like He did. You are an amazing author and friend. Thank for you showing me how to endeavor to persevere.
To my editor, Arlene Prunkl: You brought my book to life. Thank you for sharing your world of words with me, and for letting me borrow a few.
To my book designer, Fiona Raven: You took the most stressful part of the book publication process, and made it feel effortless. Thank you for not once giving me a reason to doubt that you were the right one for the job.
To my cover artist, Francois Cannels: Your talent is truly sensational. Thank you for giving this project a face that stands out in the crowd.
To my web designer, Justin Durban: Thank you for giving this series a home to rival the best. Your work is almost beyond belief.
To my photographer, Tammy Mars: It’s always a joy working with you, and this time was no exception. Thanks for waiting those few extra minutes for the rain to slack off!
To Marina Bovtenko: Thank you for teaching me so much about Russian life. You are an amazing person and friend, and I truly hope to meet you someday.
To Mike Eckert and Jon Kahl: Your meteorological data was invaluable. Between the two of you, I was able to bring the world to life the way it should be. Thank you both for being incredible helping hands. Thank you Mike, for being a friend.
To Gerry Coughlan: If not for you, Becan McCrae would not be the character he is. Thank you for giving me an Irish voice.
To James Hartley: You took time out of your busy schedule to answer my questions. Thank you for your willingness to help out a novice.
To Earl Matherne: Seeing your excitement gave me the confidence to keep this engine running. You helped me believe in this book so much, and I can’t thank you enough for that.
To Denise Matherne: I still have no idea how you do it. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Thank you for finding things that no normal human being should have found!
To everyone at the bcc: What a terrific church family! I didn’t know what Christian fellowship was until I
found you. Thank you for being a light unto the world.
To Luke: You have no idea how much I appreciate you, man. Thanks for always being willing to help. We all owe you one.
To Stevie: Dude, you know how awesome you’ve been. Thanks for being an incredible friend for all these years. Thanks for almost letting me beat you in Halo, that one time.
To James, JP, and Bob: thanks for being such a special part of this story. It wouldn’t be what it is without you three.
To all the Snow Pirates: Mediocrity at its best doesn’t even begin to cover it! Thanks to each and every one of you, for your inspiration, your openness, and your friendship.
To d-200: Thanks for putting that recliner in my parking space, jerks…and for being the best roommates / brothers / friends that an r.a. could ask for. I miss you guys the most. Y’all too, J&J.
To everyone at SR (especially Andrus): You encouraged me to flex my creative muscles, and you always made me feel like it was worth it. Never stop bleeding black and gold. Geaux Saints!
To everyone at the TBBBB: Thanks for keeping the fish biting, and for laughing in the process. You’re my home away from home.
To my friends from irc: You guys have been such an amazing influence. You gave me the confidence to create, and I thank each and every one of you for that. And to my compadres from xcs/xsd/ols/tdf…you will always be truly special to me. God blessed me when he put you all into my life.
To the guys at fye: I told you I’d do it. Only took me six years!