The Gods of War

by Graham Brown

  The howl of the street-sweepers and the roar of gunfire reverberated in the tunnel as the hover jets made a pass, laying waste to all those who’d run for cover too late.

  The sound of people running echoed down the tunnel. Footsteps disappearing into distant darkness.

  James turned the other way and began to climb up the rickety ladder. Halfway up he stopped. The jets were coming back around again. Slower this time.

  The sound of rockets screaming came next. A series of heavy concussions followed. One of them must have hit near the tunnel’s entrance because James was thrown back again. Dirt and dust swept over him, and when James looked up, the source of light was gone. The entrance to the tunnel had been caved in.

  CHAPTER 9

  Gault stared from the gunner’s position on the side of the hover jet as the last of the explosions faded.

  “Plaza looks clear,” the pilot called out. “No movement whatsoever.”

  Gault was pleased. He had no desire to get swamped by a group of shadow dwellers. “Falcon Two, you ride cover,” he ordered.

  “Roger that.”

  “Set us down in an open spot,” he said to the pilot.

  The pilot slowed the jet further and landed in an open spot a hundred yards from the wrecked car, which lay wedged under an overhang from one of the buildings.

  Gault unlatched his safety cable and hopped out. As he set foot on the ground, one of the injured shadow dwellers grabbed at his leg. Gault shook him off and fired a shot into the man’s skull, putting him down without a second thought.

  Getting a better look at the position of the mangled car caused Gault to pause. It was a long way back into the darkened section. Even with Falcon Two covering them, it was not a place to be on foot for long.

  He reached back into the hover jet and pulled a rocket launcher from the weapons rack. The T-7 could take out a small tank. It would make quick work of the mangled car.

  Stepping away from the hover jet, Gault raised the launcher up onto his shoulder, and zeroed in on the car. Through the infrared scope, he could see a human shape moving around in the vehicle. Switching to standard visual sighting, he caught sight of Collins’s military shoulder patch.

  “Time to die, Collins.”

  Gault pulled the trigger, and the missile lit forth from the launcher like a screaming banshee. It hit the mangled sports car and obliterated it, blasting what was left of the vehicle apart at the seams. Bricks and mortar and other debris from the overhanging building flew in all directions, and chunks of flaming metal rained down all around them.

  It was a little bit of overkill, Gault thought. But it got the job done.

  Without much delay, he stepped back onto the hover jet’s skid, placed the empty launch tube back into the rack and shouted to the pilot, “We’re done here. Let’s go!”

  The idling jet spooled up and lifted off quickly, rising straight up almost a hundred feet before it began to move forward.

  As the jet began to accelerate, Gault looked into the distance. Military jets were now streaking across the sky toward the Fortress. A dozen or so were already buzzing around it like angry bees defending the hive.

  If all had gone according to plan, they were too late. The president and most of his staff were dead. Not to mention all the other advisors and power brokers who lived in the upper third of the huge building. The military-industrial machine had been grievously wounded, but it would strike back without delay. If Gault was right, the response was likely to be massive, and with no clear enemy to hit at, it would lash out blindly at anyone and anything that seemed even slightly suspicious. They needed to get on the ground safely before that act went into full swing.

  “Radio base,” Gault shouted above the noise. “Tell Lucien we have his precious confirmation. And let’s hope he knows what the hell he’s doing.”

  Far behind them, James Collins remained crouched in the darkened tunnel, trying not to choke on the dust. He listened as the latest explosion died away and the muted whistle of the hover jets faded.

  In their wake, the tunnel went silent. James crawled forward and began to dig at the rubble that had poured in after the rocket impact. He was able to move some loose debris and gravel, but he soon came up against heavier obstructions. Huge sections of blacktop and concrete blocked him. He strained and pulled until his fingers bled but couldn’t even budge them.

  He was cut off from the surface, trapped in the only place worse than the burned out neighborhoods up above. This was an entrance to the sub levels, the vast warren of tunnels underpinning the grand old city. Old subway lines and sewer tunnels for the most part, though stories of the underground dwellers and their endless burrowing suggested the tunnels had been added to over the years.

  Rumor had it a million people lived down here. A city below the city. A lawless place rife with gangs and cannibalism and who knew what else.

  James had no idea if the rumors were true, nor did he care to find out. He checked his pistol, raised and clicked on the pin-point light that was attached beneath the barrel, and stared into the depths. The stark white beam pierced the darkness, illuminating curtains of dust.

  The tunnel was roughhewn, carved out of the earth. It ran straight for a hundred feet before some kind of turn or drop. It also angled down.

  “Great,” James muttered.

  He had no real choice; he had to head in deeper in hopes of finding an exit. With little hesitation, he began walking.

  CHAPTER 10

  Lucien Rex was well versed in moving against those who stood in his way. Thirty years before, he had been one of the Cartel’s junior members, but through manipulation and treachery he’d slowly risen to dominate it. The most important thing he’d learned along the way was to make sure it looked as if someone else had committed the deed. There was an art to it. It was not something to be done quickly.

  For the last six months, he’d been setting up a rumor of the Black Death going after the House of Collins. The activity in Kansas was part of this, but there had been other attempts and even the capture of a Black Death member who held an encrypted drive, listing the Collins family as first and foremost on an assassination hit list.

  This and other false information fed to military intelligence sources would confirm the Black Death’s hand in the events of the evening. It would redirect any suspicion that might have come Lucien’s way. To make sure of it, he’d had his own compound attacked simultaneously with the Fortress, obliterating his home and pristine grounds with a similar device, even taking with it a few relatives whom he’d never really liked.

  Fortunately, he’d been elsewhere at the time.

  He was now meeting with the ranking members of the military and some of the surviving government officials. They were in shock, and Lucien played to their fears.

  “Martial law,” he demanded. “Nothing short of that will stabilize things now.”

  “Who will run the government?” one general asked.

  “You will,” Lucien insisted. “All major decisions will be made by this council until we can safely gather the surviving senators and the international parliament.”

  Those around the table nodded. Their biggest fear wasn’t war; it was chaos, the total loss of control. Riots, civil war, other sections of the world breaking away. Undoing the work of the past twenty years.

  “I suggest we tell the world that Collins survived,” Lucien added. “That will stabilize things even more and give us breathing room. All orders and directives should seem as if they’re coming from him, until we’re ready to announce a change.”

  “What about economic pull back?” another asked.

  “I’ll see to it that the Cartel pumps cash into the system. We’ll find a way to increase food distribution now, even if it causes more pain later on. We’ll order our companies to go on a hiring spree. People getting new jobs has a way of calming things.”

  The military men nodded. The surviving parliamentarians, most of who were Lucien’s friends spoke up to reinf
orce these ideas.

  “That’s good for the long term,” a ranking senator noted, “but we have more immediate problems. We’re already hearing of riots here in the city. There have been explosions on the east side, and other issues in mid-town. It almost seems as if the Black Death are concentrating their efforts here, to destabilize the seat of power.”

  This was enough to get one of the generals riled up. “We’ll deal with that after we’ve hunted down the insurgents,” a military aide suggested.

  “This island has been rocked to the core,” the senator replied. “This is not a time to show weakness.”

  “I have security forces at my disposal,” Lucien told them. “I can put them into action.”

  “Mercenaries,” one of the generals noted.

  “Para-military units,” Lucien replied. “Not as efficient or powerful as your forces, but they can do the dirty work of securing the city while your men take out the known and suspected terrorist strongholds.”

  “He has a point,” another of the generals said. “If our men get bogged down in civil unrest performing crowd control, it’ll keep us from hitting back as quickly as we like.”

  “Okay,” the first general agreed. “Draw up your plans, Lucien. But keep your people out of our way so they don’t get hurt. We’ll be taking action immediately.”

  Lucien nodded. At this point, he’d heard all he needed to hear.

  CHAPTER 11

  Olympia Settlement, Mars

  Hannah Ankaris was in the council room in the city of Olympia when the news hit. She watched a video feed along with the rest of the council, the elected group chosen to manage local affairs among the settlers and Terra-formers of Mars. As the report detailed violence spiraling out of control on Earth, the chamber fell into a stunned silence.

  “I would never have believed the terrorists to have such reach,” one of the councilwomen said.

  Hannah could only agree. As she stared with her mouth agape, video of the Fortress in flames played and a huge section of the burning structure detached from the frame of the building. It slid off and tumbled to the ground, damaging the lower half of the sloped building on the way down.

  Moments later, an aide walked in and handed a print out to the head of the council, an older man with tanned skin and white hair whose name was Aaron.

  Aaron read the paper and his hands began to tremble.

  “What is it?” Hannah asked.

  “It’s from the military high command,” he said. “New intelligence, gleaned from captured terrorists confirms they have sleeper cells in place, here on Mars,” he said. “An attack is believed to be imminent.”

  Gasps came from the council.

  “That can’t be,” Hannah said, finding it hard to believe what she was hearing, and fearing what it might mean if the intel was right.

  “What if it’s true? What if there are members of the Black Death here?” someone else asked. “We’ve had so many equipment failures. Some of the workers have become convinced that it’s sabotage.”

  “The mechanical failures have been explained. It’s not sabotage. It’s the dust and the harsh environment.”

  “If the main shielding array was destroyed,” another person pointed out, “everything we’ve done would come to a halt. The crops would burn up and die under the ultraviolet radiation. The soil would be sterilized once again, like it was when we first arrived. All our work would be for nothing.”

  “That’s right,” a few of the members agreed.

  “Not to mention the Core Unit,” another said. “At its heart, it’s a fusion reactor. If they overloaded the system, it would go off like a bomb. Olympia would be vaporized. And without us, the Earth would starve. That’s what they want right?”

  “Hold on a second,” Hannah shouted. “You’re getting yourselves worked into a panic. This is fear. This is paranoia. We’ve vetted every single person brought here.”

  “I’m sure those with access to the Fortress were vetted too,” someone pointed out. “But the president’s building was obliterated all the same.”

  “We have to do something.”

  A sigh and a shake of the head came from Aaron. “I’m afraid there’s nothing left for us to do,” he said continuing to read from the order. “All facilities are being ordered into an immediate lock down. Martial law is being declared, and operations of the council are suspended until further notice. Military units will be directed to guard all vital facilities. Internal matters will be handled by the additional security forces.”

  Hannah felt her world spinning. “What additional security forces?”

  Even as she spoke the words, the door swung open behind her and a group of armed men came in. They spread quickly around the room. Hannah recognized them as contractors. They worked for one of the Cartel’s construction firms.

  One of them spoke. “We are the additional security forces.”

  “And who the hell are you?” another councilman asked.

  “My name is Cassini,” the man replied, handing over another official looking piece of paper. “As per the emergency order of President Jackson Collins, I’ll be acting as executive governor of this colony, beginning immediately.”

  “What?” one of the councilmen shouted.

  “Governor?”

  “This is outrageous,” another councilman said. He stood as if to emphasize the point, but was grabbed and slammed face first onto the table in front of him and held there with his arm twisted up behind his back.

  “You would think so, Councilman Sullivan,” Cassini said. “After all, your name is on the list.”

  “What list?” Sullivan grunted

  For reasons unknown, Cassini handed a flat sheet of clear glass to Hannah. Maybe he chose her because she wasn’t an official member of the council, or maybe just because she was the closest to him at the time.

  The thin sheet of glass was actually a hand held display linked to the city’s mainframe. Hannah looked it over. A list of names was written on it, cross-referenced with ID numbers and work locations. They came under several headings beginning with the term Suspected Dissidents.

  She scrolled down. The list had hundreds of names on it.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “There are subversive elements among us,” Cassini replied. “Councilman Sullivan and Quorum Leader Aaron are both considered to be suspects. They are to be detained for questioning.”

  Gasps came from around the room. Two of the armed thugs headed for Aaron.

  “This is insanity,” Aaron shouted, backing up and trying to fend them off. “I’ve been a loyal member of the government for fifty years.”

  “Apparently, the president and the intelligence services think otherwise.”

  With that Aaron was cuffed and dragged out. Sullivan was removed shortly after. Two others were taken from their chambers.

  Hannah watched in horror. Her mind was racing. How could these orders come from Jackson Collins? Could the events on Earth have really scared him that badly?

  “You will help us find the rest of the people on this list,” Cassini told her.

  “Why me?”

  A grin of such malevolent evil crossed Cassini’s face that Hannah felt a chill run down her spine. “Because, I chose you to do the job,” he replied. “And because as chief medical officer, you have familiarity with most of those on the list.”

  She hesitated, staring back at him. Cassini released the catch on his holster and put a hand on his side arm. “Maybe you don’t agree with the new protocol?”

  Something very wrong was going on, she knew that for certain, but there was nothing she could do about it if she was dead or imprisoned.

  “No,” she said. “I’m just…in shock.” She took a deep breath and recovered her wits. “You’re right, of course. We can’t be too careful. I’ll help you find them. But you must promise me they’ll be treated well.”

  Cassini nodded, and pointed toward the door. “You have my word,” he said. “Now lead o
n.”

  Ten miles out from the city of Olympia, two squadrons of MRVs were guarding the northern power array. Each of the twenty-four vehicles carried the makings of the 41st Armored Division.

  A three-man crew in the lead MRV was augmented by the presence of Lieutenant Jeremy Dyson. He stood behind the systems officer and the MRV’s pilot, who were seated at the control console. All three of them were studying the image displayed on the MRV’s long-range camera. It revealed a large group of armored machines spreading out across the streets of Olympia. Some of the machines took high ground positions from which they could cover the rest; others stomped around into the city squares, setting up shop in front of various structures.

  “What the hell are they doing?” the pilot mumbled. “We get any deployment orders you forgot to tell us about, Lieutenant?”

  “Nope,” Dyson said. “Zoom in.”

  The systems officer tapped a key and the long-range lens focused on one of the machines.

  Dyson studied the big rig. It was a different type of MRV. It carried no markings. It looked vaguely like some of the MRVs they’d once purchased out of a South American unit.

  “What do you make of it, sir?”

  “Not ours. That’s for sure.”

  As the strange looking MRV disappeared behind a building, another one came into view.

  “That’s one of the rigs from the 26th,” the pilot said. “They’re supposed to be on the south range guarding the atmosphere generators.”

  “So what the hell are they doing in the middle of the city?” Dyson muttered.

  “Maybe we should call them and ask?” the pilot suggested.

  “No,” Dyson said. “Let’s hang tight. This is too strange. Pass the word silently. Everyone on alert, but let’s not make it look like we’re on alert.”

  The pilot nodded.

  “Message coming in, Lieutenant,” the systems officer said. “Damn…”

  “What is it?”