The Gods of War

by Graham Brown

  Lucien smiled wickedly at the thought, but Inyo did not join him.

  “You misunderstand me,” Inyo said. “The units are already there. They landed this morning.”

  “That can’t be.” Lucien said. “I only argued with him a few days ago.”

  Inyo didn’t flinch. “I warned you not to underestimate him, Lucien. He didn’t get where he is by chance. He must have discovered what was going on and kept it quiet. Getting these two divisions in place before he decided to confront you.”

  Lucien buried the anger down deep inside. Anger with himself. Once again Collins had blocked him. Lucien had been putting mercenary forces on Mars for months, slowly, methodically. Half the machines he was supposed to deliver for the Terra-forming had been replaced with modified versions of the military MRVs. They were hidden in warehouses and other temporary structures on the outskirts of the habitable zones waiting for his orders. Had he moved a month ago, his forces would have made quick work of the militias and official security teams on Mars, but this was more than they could handle.

  “Damn it!” Lucien said finally. “We’ll have to act here, first.”

  “To what end?”

  “A coup,” Lucien said. “Our only hope is to take control of the military. Those units will follow orders. Your orders.”

  Inyo looked shocked and ill at the same time. “My orders? Are you insane?”

  Lucien shook his head. “We’ve already been prepping for this, Inyo. We’re set to move against Collins and certain high-ranking officials who are extremely loyal to him. It will look like the work of the Black Death. In the aftermath, you’ll assume the president’s role as provided for in the new constitution. You’ll vow to stamp out the terrorists once and for all, and send the military on the rampage. It’ll be search and destroy.”

  Inyo hesitated. “You’re asking for chaos.”

  “The more the merrier,” Lucien said. “It will give us cover to depart under. No one will be watching the skies when enemies are lurking around every corner. You don’t know this, but we’ve provided weapons and intel to the terrorists through back channels. They will prove to be more difficult to eradicate than anyone expects. With the military engaged and bogged down, we’ll finish the Mars operation and begin to transfer those of our choosing. As we leave, a false flag government will preside over the fall of man, and this world will collapse and consume itself while we rebuild on the red planet.”

  Inyo looked pale. A man too small for the moment, Lucien judged. “It’ll never work,” he whispered to himself.

  “What was that?” Lucien asked.

  “It’ll never work,” Inyo repeated more firmly.

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve never served,” Inyo said, “never held a rank. Neither have you. The military will never trust either one of us. For the last fifty years only those who’ve lived and breathed the service have been allowed to give orders. Even before Collins united the civilian leadership and the military command under one banner, civilian orders were basically treated as requests. If the military thought them unworthy or counter-productive they were simply rejected or ignored. You or I trying to change that won’t do anything but get us both killed.”

  “But the constitution-”

  “It’s just a piece of paper,” Inyo said, not even letting Lucien finish. “It’s only four years old and no one gives a damn about it except Collins. The man you’re about to kill.”

  “We have to act,” Lucien said. “We can’t pull back now.”

  “Then you’ll have to find someone on the inside,” Inyo said. “Someone they trust.”

  Lucien shook his head. “All those in positions of power are loyal to Collins. He’s seen to that.”

  “Not all of them,” Inyo said coldly.

  Lucien studied the little man. He knew Inyo was far more shrewd than he ever appeared to be. A quality the president had failed to discover. “You have someone in mind?”

  “James,” Inyo said. “James Collins. He would be the perfect choice.”

  Lucien’s eyebrows went up. “The president’s son?”

  “He’s highly respected in the military,” Inyo said. “He’s got the name they all trust. And he’s been in combat since he was seventeen. No pretender to the throne there.”

  “He’s only a major, if I recall correctly.”

  Inyo nodded. “By his choice. He’s turned down every promotion that would take him away from the field. Nothing carries more weight with the rank and file than that. Nothing. They know he’s not a bureaucrat, they know he doesn’t want power, and for those reasons they would follow him, just like they’ve followed his father.”

  Lucien considered what Inyo was saying. It fit almost perfectly, except… “Why would he help us?”

  Inyo smiled. “Because he’s been at war with his father even longer than he’s been fighting on the battlefield. There is nothing but distance and anger between them.”

  Lucien hadn’t heard this, but Inyo was closer to the Collins clan than anyone. He was like family. And family knew the secrets. “Do you think you can turn him?”

  Inyo nodded confidently. “It will require some finesse,” he said. “Despite their animosity James would never betray his father to us. But if it seemed more like he was saving the president from his own mistakes…well that has all kinds of appeal to an angry young man.”

  Lucien smiled. “He would get to rescue his father and prove himself wiser and better all at the same time.”

  Inyo nodded. “Exactly.”

  Lucien had to consider the possibility of Inyo failing, no matter how finely he crafted his plea. There would be contingencies, but he would put them in place on his own.

  “Track James down,” he said. “But understand this. If he won’t come on board, he dies like his father, you take over and do the best you can.”

  Inyo didn’t seem to like that idea, but Lucien didn’t care. There was no more time for discussion.

  CHAPTER 6

  James Collins drove along one of the elevated roads that crisscrossed Manhattan, keeping the wealthy above the fray of the surface streets while they traveled between the various mega-buildings and government stations.

  From up on the highway, things didn’t look too bad. But to reach any other location in the city that was not served by the highways, one had to brave the old surface roads down below. They weren’t always dangerous, millions upon millions used them daily—mostly on foot or using small carts, bicycles or mopeds—but they were filthy, in utter disrepair, and teeming with beggars or worse. Most who didn’t need to see that part of the world avoided it. James didn’t really blame them.

  He continued south along the west side transect. From here he could see the Hudson River and the huge sea wall that ringed the island. It stood eighty feet high and sixty feet thick. Overly large because the storms that came each winter had fifty-foot surges and seventy-foot waves.

  Along the wall, battlements and guard posts marked every hundred yards or so. Though it was designed to hold back the rising seas, the wall gave Manhattan the look of a citadel island, a castle in the middle of the sea. Because no similar wall had been built on the Jersey or Brooklyn sides, those shorelines were now several miles away.

  James turned his attention back to the road, veered around a pair of heavy trucks and guided the car toward the exit. It took him down toward the southern tip of Manhattan and into the huge military base that occupied the entire bottom end of the island. Officially it was the Battery Park Military Staging Complex, but everyone called it The Arsenal.

  Now on a military only road, James slowed for the curves. He pulled up to the gate. Steel barriers the size of small trucks blocked any further progress. Eyes watched from the control center behind them, while armed guards waited in a small shack out front.

  James stopped beside the shack, lowering his window as one of the guards stepped from the shack.

  “ID,” the guard said.

  James handed over his credent
ials “Major James Collins,” he said. “41st Armored Division. Serial number Alpha, 420-7797.”

  The guard took his ID and scanned it while a red electron beam scanned the car from nose to tail. A green light flashed on the scanning device.

  The guard spoke into a radio. “ID confirmed. No contraband detected.”

  “Roger that,” a voice replied from somewhere up in the control building. “Proceed.”

  The guard handed James his ID back and then saluted. “You’re cleared sir.”

  Accompanied by the sound of whining machinery, the huge metal gate began to rise. James took his ID and drove through. A few minutes later he’d parked and made his way to the secondary officers’ club on the seventh floor of the main building.

  He stepped inside. Music played loudly in one section accompanied by flashing laser lights. A packed floor had men and women dancing, looking for a hook up that might make the night pass easier. Others sat at spacious booths and drank. Laughing loudly or even arguing. James passed them by and headed for the bar.

  He took a seat. The bartender paused. “What can I get you, Major?”

  “What do you have?”

  The bartender looked glum. “Only the synthetic crap.”

  No surprise, James thought. “Then it doesn’t really matter does it? Just make it a double.”

  “Whiskey?”

  James nodded and the bartender grabbed a glass and poured it over some ice. James picked it up and took a sip. It tasted like jet fuel.

  He put the glass down and contemplated the future. Mars or a military prison somewhere. There was no middle ground. Jackson Collins didn’t get to be where he was by bending. Once he’d made the threat, he’d follow through.

  “Hell of a choice,” he muttered to himself.

  James raised the glass to his lips. The synthetic whiskey was strong, strong enough that he could knock down a few more tumblers, get blind drunk and start a fight without really remembering it. If he was going to be thrown into the stockade…

  “Care for some company, Major?” a voice said from behind him.

  James turned his head. Prime Minister Inyo stood behind him with a smile on his face. James began to stand but Inyo waved him back into his seat. “We’re not in chambers here.”

  James smiled. He’d always liked Inyo. Sometimes when James and his father were at their worst, Arthur Inyo had been the only link between the two of them who’d seemed willing to listen without taking a side.

  “I guess my father sent you,” James said.

  “Not exactly,” Inyo replied. “But in a strange way I’m here on his behalf.”

  That sounded odd. “Can I get you a drink?” James asked, holding up his glass. “The worst stuff money can buy.”

  “No,” Inyo replied. “But finish yours. Then we need to talk.”

  There was a dark tone in Inyo’s voice. James didn’t like it. He took a look at the tumbler, then put it down and stood. “Let’s talk.”

  To escape all the noise and commotion, the two men went outside and up a flight of stairs onto a section of the roof that doubled as a balcony. James stepped toward the low wall. From here, he could see the whole military yard: weapons and munitions stacked in holding grids several stories high, armored vehicles and machines everywhere. A maintenance yard to the left was lit up with acetylene torches where a dozen MRVs were being repaired or rebuilt. Across the way, a lighted landing pad on the far side was busy launching a squadron of hover jets for a night patrol.

  All things considered, it wasn’t a bad night. No rain for once and the ever-present clouds painted a dull orange color by the city lights.

  Inyo looked out over the complex before speaking. “We have two or three bases like this in every major city in the world,” he said. “And still the insurgency goes on.”

  James turned. “We could have ten bases in every city, Arthur. It wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference.”

  Inyo cocked his head. “Why do you say that?”

  James wondered where this was headed. “We’re too passive. Everything is based on defending. We’re prisoners in these cities. Just like the kings of old trapped behind their castle walls.”

  “So we should go out and attack,” Inyo said. “Take the battle to the enemy? Is that what you would do?”

  James narrowed his gaze. “What’s this all about, Arthur? Why are you asking me these questions?”

  The prime minister paused and then exhaled deeply. “People are losing faith in your father,” he said.

  “You mean the Cartel is losing faith in him.”

  “Of course,” Inyo said. “They feel he’s lost his way. No longer willing to do the things that are necessary. No longer willing to act as decisively as he did during the war.”

  James almost laughed. “Jackson Collins has gone soft? Is that what they think?”

  Inyo didn’t respond immediately and James got the feeling he was being measured, felt out.

  “They have a point,” Inyo finally added. “Your father refuses to see the truth. He refuses to understand that there is an us and a them. And if he won’t see that, then he risks dividing the coalition.”

  James felt his thoughts flashing back to the conversation with his father at the cemetery. He felt a rage of defensive anger growing inside him. “I don’t know what you’re after, Arthur, but you’re barking up the wrong tree. You of all people know my father won’t take advice from me, so if that’s what you want you’re wasting your time. And if those sons of bitches in the Cartel think my father has gone soft…tell ‘em to take a swing at him and find out for themselves. I promise you there’s more fight in that old man than any ten of them, or us for that matter. Now if you don’t mind, I have a drink to finish.”

  James went to push past Inyo, but the prime minister grabbed his arm. James shook loose and in the process shoved Inyo backward. The prime minister tripped over his feet and landed on his backside. In response, Inyo’s security team came rushing out of the woodwork. Three men, holding compact weapons.

  James stepped back.

  “It’s alright,” Inyo said to them, holding up a hand. “I tripped. I’m clumsy.”

  They held back, but the weapons stayed in plain sight.

  “I came here as a friend,” Inyo said as he got to his feet. “Things are in motion. Things I have no control over, nor any power to hold back.”

  James was up against the ledge, only the seven-story drop behind him. Inyo was in front of him, the security team twenty paces beyond. James focused on the prime minister. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “A move is going to be made against your father tonight. The Cartel is no longer willing to support him.”

  James stepped toward Inyo. “You traitorous son of a bitch!”

  “He can still be saved,” Inyo insisted. “I’ve made a deal on his behalf. A bargain to avoid another civil war.”

  “What kind of bargain?”

  Inyo spoke quickly—as if time were of the essence. “Your father will be removed and exiled. House arrest, somewhere far from here, somewhere he can actually enjoy the rest of his life. And you, James, you will be put in his place.”

  “Me?” James could not measure how stunned he was to hear this. “Have you lost your mind? You honestly think I would--”

  “You’ll have to do as we direct you to,” Inyo said, butting in. “You’ll be a figure head. I’m not going to lie. But if I know you, your views on this disgusting planet are similar to ours. You’ve buried enough friends in the last few years to know we’ll never win the battle against these insects if we don’t eradicate the nests. The new orders will be to hunt the Black Death, to attack and hound them to ends of the Earth. If their leaders hide in a town or village, we’ll obliterate those settlements. If a province tries to support them, that entire section of the map will be laid waste too. Collateral damage will not be considered in the equation and any uprisings will be crushed with unmitigated force. And then finally, at long last we will hav
e peace. Real peace.”

  James glanced past Inyo to the security men, eyeing them up. “And if I don’t agree?”

  The prime minister opened his jacket. James noticed a pistol in his shoulder holster, but Inyo reached for a hand held transmitter instead.

  “One call is going to be made from this phone,” the prime minister said. “If I make it, your father and his supporters will die and the Earth will most likely descend into a new bloodbath.”

  He paused and took a deep breath.

  “But, if you make it, James. If you make the call, your father lives and the reins of power pass calmly to you. And millions if not billions of lives will be spared.”

  James listened intently, but his mind was on the night before and the argument he’d had with his father at the cemetery.

  Inyo held the phone in one hand and offered the other for James to shake and seal the deal.

  James hesitated.

  “You know what you have to do,” Inyo urged.

  Still James held back.

  “Fine,” Inyo said, moving the phone toward his mouth.

  “Wait.”

  Inyo paused and slowly, reluctantly, James nodded.

  The prime minister offered his hand and James clasped it, holding it firmly, looking Inyo in the eye. And then he began crushing it with an ever-tightening grip, pulling the prime minster closer.

  “My father was right. Our enemies are all around us.”

  With a snap of the wrist, James twisted Inyo’s arm and reached in and snatched the pistol from Inyo’s shoulder holster.

  “James. No!”

  Still holding the prime minister, James began firing, shooting through the back of Inyo’s long coat.

  His first two shots dropped two of the guards. But the third began to return fire. James pulled the prime minster in front of the blast, using him as a shield. Inyo’s body shook as the first of several shells hit him. His legs buckled. But James held him up and kept firing until he’d blasted the third member of the security team to the ground.