On the bank, he discovered Major Thomas, his lover, friend, and deputy commander of the 1st Legion’s 2nd Cohort, waiting for him. Her suit was a splattered mess.
Relief flooded his soul at seeing her.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, jabbing a finger in his chest.
Her hot attitude confused him. “Excuse me? Whatever happened to something like ‘Thank God you’re safe?’”
“Stow it. Your CAL tells me you’re wounded and refuse to see a medic.”
“Oh that,” he said, trying to dismiss her concern with a flip of his wrist. “It’s nothing, just a...”
“Don’t give me that. You’re seeing a medic now. That’s an order!”
“Ummm...we’re the same rank.”
Her eyes narrowed as she snatched his arm. “You know what I mean. Now march, trooper.”
“Okay, okay. You win.”
“Damn right. And don’t you forget it.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
First to Fall
UES Internal Security followed their attack on the CIA Richmond facility by waging a relentless war against the nearly-forgotten agency. Frost managed, just barely, to stay half a step ahead of the IS assault teams. He kept to the shadows, moving from safe house to safe house.
The ferocity and breadth of the strikes troubled him almost as much as knowing that countless friends and colleagues no longer lived. They’d sacrificed all one could in a secret war for a cause few knew mattered. The CIA, an organization he’d devoted his life to, was dying and he was helpless to do anything to stop it.
Whoever was behind the IS’s secret agenda wielded a great deal of power, beyond anything he’d previously thought. The conspiracy had to go to the top of the UES. Even those he believed loyal to the original UES charter were suspect. The charter sought to avoid a descent into anarchy brought upon by any one entity seeking to dominate humanity, by guaranteeing self-rule within national and colonial borders. A noble ideal.
The cold, dark truth of defeat stared him in the face every second as he struggled to find a safe place to examine the data Com had given him.
If he couldn’t help those falling before the IS onslaught, he was sure as hell going to ensure that their twisted vision for one supreme ruler of humanity wouldn’t come true.
The key to it all lay hidden in the mountain of raw data he carried with him. All he needed was the right equipment and time to look at it. The latter seemed to be in the shortest supply at the moment.
Desperation dictated his movements as much as stealth and strategy, which was why he now found himself standing in front of the last place in the universe he wanted to be.
He knocked on the door and waited for it to open. He stared at the name carved into the suburban door, Ericksen. It opened to reveal an old man. “Hi, dad,” Frost said.
“Well,” the gray-haired man said, “things must be really bad if you came here.” He took a step out to glance down the street. “Get inside before someone sees you.”
Frost entered the home of his childhood, which, by his recollection, was not a happy one. His father, Wilson Ericksen, had been an absentee parent most of the time. That had left him in the care of his alcoholic mother, whom he looked after more than the other way around.
When his father had been around, he had managed to find fault in everything Frost did. His grades were never good enough, his quarterbacking for the high school football team was never flawless.
It was fertile ground for resentment.
During college, two things had happened. His mother, without any supervision, finally drank herself to death. He also learned why his father had abandoned him and his mother. Frost learned the great family Ericksen secret when the CIA recruiter approached him. His pedigree made him a natural fit.
He didn’t join the agency to gain his father’s elusive approval; he’d long since stopped caring about that. He joined to understand his father. A part of him desperately wanted to know what was so important that his father had needed to cast him and his mother aside.
“How bad is it?” Ericksen asked. While retired, he maintained casual contacts within the agency and knew that something terrible was happening.
“Bad.” He collapsed into a recliner. “Best I can tell, it’s a total loss. IS hit us hard and they’ve hit us everywhere. I barely escaped with my own life a dozen times, running from place to place. Richmond was the first to fall. I know for a fact that they hit Philly, New York, Ottawa, Omaha, Dallas – all gone. I’ve heard about more, but things are such a mess I can’t be for sure.”
Ericksen turned pale. “My God. Why? Why now?” He lowered himself onto the couch. “Why risk such a bold move?”
Frost ignored the question. He knew his father would blame him for destroying his life’s work. Maybe I deserve it. He walked to the kitchen. “You still keep the bourbon above the stove?”
“Yes,” his father answered, chasing after him. He took another seat at the kitchen table.
Frost grabbed the bottle of Maker’s Mark by its signature red wax-dipped neck and two glasses. He sat across from his father and poured them both a drink. Reaching into a pocket, he held up a data-chip. “This is why.” He knocked back half of the drink.
“What’s on it?”
“That is a good question.” He poured another. “But it’s damn clear that IS doesn’t want us to know.”
“You mean you don’t know!” Ericksen slammed his hands onto the table. “The organization I dedicated my life to is gone and you don’t know what for?”
Frost gulped the remainder of his drink. “Fuck you, dad.” He poured another. “The CIA’s mission has been to maintain the status quo, and frankly, you didn’t have to do shit to achieve that during your tenure. We hurt – I hurt – the IS bad. Whatever’s on this data-chip will sink their plans and probably the entire organization. That means we can still win. If the CIA dies fulfilling its mission, then it wasn’t for nothing. It will have succeeded.”
Frost took a sip. “Are you going to help me find out what’s on this chip or not? I know you have a basement full of toys, and I’m fresh out of options. Are you going to man up and get some revenge? Or are you going to continue whining like a little bitch? What’s it gonna be?”
He’d never spoken to his father that way before, nor had he ever seen that look. It was a cross between Mona Lisa’s smile and shock. It was creepy.
What Frost didn’t know was that the look in his father’s eyes was pride, pure and simple.
***
Trent moved the pieces on the grand chessboard that was the valley, to secure the first city.
The target was the most isolated of the three, with the river separating it from the other two. Elements from all five units in the valley arranged themselves to strike from the north and west. In all, a force of ten thousand fresh troops would make the initial assault.
He reviewed the disposition of his forces as highlighted on the tac-map. All the pieces were set, ready to strike.
Thought-clicking the tac-map closed, he stared off at the city across the river from the relative safety of his hilltop command post. In a few moments, the quiet and clean community would never be the same again.
He loved battle. That was a brutal fact he could admit to himself. At the same time, he honestly hated this part of war. The idea of destroying something that had taken generations to construct left a bitter taste in his mouth. It seemed wasteful and offended his appreciation of history. He preferred battles on open ground, away from things of value. A place where soldiers could practice their craft in its purest form.
How many great cities and wonders have been lost on Earth forever because of war?
He remembered how a riot in Alexandria, Egypt during the time of Caesar’s occupation resulted in the Great Library’s demise. It was said that the loss of the knowledge stored in its walls set humanity’s technological development back five hundred years.
Where might man be today if that figh
t had taken place on the banks of the Nile instead? What masterpieces of history are about to be consumed here by the flames of war?
He shook his head to rid himself of guilt. He didn’t want to be here after all. It was they who brought the coming destruction upon themselves.
Razing a collection of buildings wasn’t the only reason he delayed.
Hido came alongside, his eyes squarely trained on the target. “What are you thinking, my friend?”
“That I wish there were another way.” He lowered his chin. “I have no love for the Kitright, but the loss of so many civilians gives me pause.”
Hido placed a hand on the general’s heavy shoulder. “I understand. Remember it is they who started this war through their own dishonorable acts.”
Popping his head up, he locked eyes with the Bearcat. “Who is ‘they,’ Hido? I doubt that the families my orders are about to doom had much say in the plot against our peoples.”
“You are wise, and the fact that your soul carries this burden speaks well of you. Nonetheless, we have our duty and it must be fulfilled.”
The street fighting would also cost him troops. He valued the lives of every soldier under his command, human or Bearcat, more than the entire population of the city he was ready to level. If given the opportunity, he would gladly kill every living thing in it with the snap of his fingers to save those under his command from loss.
His willingness to accept such a perverse calculation scared him.
Does that make me a monster? Am I evil deep down? If born into different circumstances, how easily could I have found myself in the service of a Hitler or Stalin?
Refusing to allow his internal conflicts to delay the attack any longer, he sighed. “Indeed. General Maxwell to Storm Cloud. Operation Hailstorm is a go.”
***
Sergeant Stan Gabriel, and Bravo squad under his command, were from the 1st Century of the 1st Legion’s 3rd Cohort. They stood impatiently, waiting for the order to advance. A small rise in the terrain concealed their position.
The collection of enlisted soldiers, a mixture of hardened vets and green kids sporting nervous jitters, mindlessly chatted to pass the time. Once the shooting started, all of them froze in place.
On General Maxwell’s order, every Slayer-equipped light infantryman and Super Heavy in the valley unleashed their double Ks on the target city. They directed their fire on the northern and western sections. Solid bolts of depleted uranium streaked across the open field. Their wakes reverberated through the air before slamming into the foundations of hundreds of buildings.
The Bearcat’s main battle hover-tanks added their firepower to the bombardment. The one-man machine of war encased its driver in a thick shell of tough metal alloy. On top of the slope-sided main compartment sat the turret which allowed a complete field of fire. It hurled a large, smart explosive shell that could be programed to detonate at desired points. These deadly instruments opened huge holes in the sides of buildings.
“Hold!” Gabriel reminded his men as they almost surged forward. “Not yet. The General has a little more planned for them.”
A sinister grin formed.
***
“All right, gang,” Susan called out to the Avengers under her direction. “It’s time to start our attack run.”
Speeding toward the mountain range in perfectly stacked V formations, every human fighter in the system jerked into a steady climb. Almost in a vertical ascent, they zoomed above the snow caps. She winced from the G forces. Climbing higher and faster, the nose of her Avenger kissed the clouds before abruptly dipping into a hard dive, bringing her KKCs to bear.
On Valkyrie’s cue, she unleashed hell. Two thousand rounds lunged at the city. Her ammo exhausted, she whipped herself back into a steep climb, clearing the way for the next wave.
***
“Charge!” Gabriel shouted just as Susan tipped her nose toward the city.
He crested the rise, darting between two Super Heavies laying down merciless fire. Ahead, he witnessed the fighter’s first cascading volley of modern hail strike home.
It didn’t appear as if tens of thousands of rounds individually hit the perimeter, to chip away at the structures. Instead, it looked as if the mighty fist of God himself swung down to collapse entire buildings.
A thunderous roar rose from the felled structures. Plumes of dust drifted into the air and were caught by a stiff breeze.
Gabriel reached a full sprint, desperate to cover the kilometer to the city’s edge. Another volley hammered the city. He covered ground without facing enemy fire.
Another wave hit and he found himself halfway to the sweet protection of the new rubble now bordering the city.
Two hundred meters out, the final volley struck virgin buildings. They survived the attack, but couldn’t do anything to stop the thousands of light and heavy infantry troops from both races swarming over the debris.
A beachhead had been secured with almost no loss.
***
Entrenched in the field of destruction, Bravo squad slowed their rapid advance to approach the standing buildings with extreme caution. While damaged, the structures could still hold enemy units and provide them with a superior firing position.
Gabriel scanned the ruins and took some solace that he didn’t see the crushed remains of civilians oozing out of the wreckage.
Hopefully they were smart enough to hunker down and ride out the battle somewhere safe. I’d rather not have to slaughter a herd of misguided civilians.
Shaking his head, he wrenched his thoughts back into the fight.
The final barrage of dense metal had ripped great chunks off the buildings. It looked as if the Kitright also used carbon fiber regularly in their construction.
Doubting that much organized resistance remained in the pitted towers, Gabriel hurriedly led Bravo forward. “Double time,” he ordered, wanting to take the position before a counterattack could reach them.
Slamming into a pitted wall, he aimed his weapon into the city and waited for the rest of the first assault wave to catch up. A set of orders popped into his head.
“Okay, squad, listen up,” he said on a squad-wide channel. “We’re going to secure this building along with a couple other squads. We will run to the eighth floor and start our search. Once we’re on eight, I’ll take Fire Team One and set up firing positions facing the inner city while Two clears the floor. We need to dig in and hold this beachhead while the rest of the assault forces make their way here.”
“Can we take the elevator, Sarge?” a cocky private asked, likely masking his nerves with a joke.
“Cut the smart-ass shit, Private,” he spat. “Or I’ll shoot you myself. Move, dammit!”
They didn’t bother to find the door, but simply used a few gaping holes to gain entrance. Legionnaires crisscrossed each other’s paths as they looked for a staircase. Finally someone located it and highlighted the point on the tac-map. Seconds later, Bravo joined a stampede upwards. The vibration, the drumbeat of their pounding boots almost felt as if they might bring the wounded building down.
On the eighth floor, Bravo peeled off from the horde and kicked in the door.
The corporal who kicked in the door surged to rush in. His eager step met air as he discovered there wasn’t a floor to greet it. With nano-enhanced reflexes, Gabriel snapped a hand out and grabbed the falling soldier.
“Watch your Goddamn step, people!” he yelled in frustration. “This whole floor will be covered with holes, and if you get yourself killed because you didn’t watch where you’re going, I’ll personally bring you back to life and beat you to death!”
He hated playing the hard-ass sergeant role; it really didn’t fit his personality. Growing up in rural West Virginia, he was everyone’s friend. If you needed help or advice, you went to him and he rarely asked for anything in return. After joining the U.S. Army to escape a part of the world that never recovered from the end of the fossil fuel era, he quickly made friends wherever he went.
/>
Fortunately, he hadn’t found the hard-ass act necessary on Big Red or Black Marble. Back then, the small Legion was composed of seasoned veterans and then the top recruits. With this new crop of legionnaires, who were born in a far different world than his economically depressed former coal community, he found it useful.
Running down a hall behind Fire Team Two, he encountered no opposition. He dispersed men along the wall, stationing them at various exit holes, created by the KKC bombardment, which afforded a good view of the area below. Satisfied with the squad’s deployment, he took up a position near the center of the floor.
Below, he saw Bravo squad’s new enemy for the first time. Both classes of golden oval soldiers marched toward the defenders. The menacing horde filled the wide avenues so completely the street below them couldn’t be seen. It looked like a river of molten gold.
The tiny tapping sound of the small enemy unit’s wiry legs hitting the road’s hard surface in such numbers filled the air with a terrifying, continuous crackle. The sight paralyzed many of the raw invaders.
Gabriel didn’t hesitate. He opened a unit-wide channel. “Fire!”
The simple order unleashed a flood of death that washed over the enemy’s counterattack.
Legion MRGs and Bearcat rifles rained down steel, both cold and hot. Grenades of all kinds blew apart scores of the tightly-packed enemy troops. There were so many that it was impossible to miss.
The Kitright defenders were fighting uphill, but no less lethal for that. Streaks of invincible energy and odd grenades were hurled back. Their true aim claimed many lives. Still, the intensity of allied fire and the advantages of their position were too much to overcome. After suffering heavy losses, the Kitright retreated.
The Last Revenge (The Last Hero Trilogy Book 2) Page 22