An explosion just outside the entrance sent a rush of air and noise through the chamber. Jeni heard Shin yell — it sounded more out of anger than pain.
Lebedev called back to her. "Jeni! One of the Fists is still out there and there are no more autocannon shells. He will try again soon, I think. Also, Shin is hurt badly."
"I scan, Lebedev. Don't worry, we're almost done here." After allowing the communications tech time to authenticate twice more, Jeni blasted the machine. The commanders who were going to buy the deception would be convinced by now; those intent upon fighting to the bitter end would not care a fig about authentication codes anyway.
She and the two Headhunters shot holes in the commo equipment. "Okay, people, time to evac the area. Don't bunch up crossing the courtyard." She felt silly giving them tactical advice. Of the team, she was the only one with no real combat experience.
"Um, Jeni, Plan A is a no-go." That was Pieter. He sounded scared. From the stairs she saw why. He and Lebedev were firing blind, the volume of incoming rounds too thick for them to reveal themselves long enough to take aim. The only things saving them were the thick walls of the tower and Abkhenazi reluctance to destroy their communications center by firing rocket grenades.
Plan A was to sneak in, sneak out, and use the wetsuits and EGAs to swim downstream to safety.
There wasn't really a Plan B.
"Now what?"
"How should I know? You're in charge!" Pieter fired another burst to keep the Abbies at bay. "Wait! Run back to the room beyond the swinging doors. It's a kitchen area. See if there's still a dumbwaiter in there."
Jeni did what she was told. The kitchen was all prep tables, trays and the like. At the back, set into the wall, was a lift no more than a meter in height. The controls were set into the wall nearby.
"Yes!" Jeni called to Pieter over the headset. "And it looks in working order. Where's it go?"
"To the wine cellar. I've got Shin - we're pulling back to you."
Seconds later the doors swung open, Pieter lugging a bleeding Shin inside. The others followed, firing on the move. Jeni could hear the screams of the techs caught in crossfire.
Standing by the controls, Jeni motioned a Headhunter to the lift. "Get in, no arguments." She engaged the dumbwaiter once he was inside, sending him down.
"You're next, Sergei."
"I'll have to abandon my suit," Lebedev said unhappily. Then, a moment later, "Autodestruct is set. We will not want to be in here in about, oh... three minutes and twenty-five seconds." His helmet flipped back, the breastplate opening. The little man climbed out. Jeni always thought the process looked like an alien form of reproduction — like mitosis only weirder.
Shin lay by the doors, bleeding from multiple shrapnel wounds but still on the job. "They're charging! Get everyone down quickly!"
She pressed the button, lowering Lebedev. As the lift returned to the top, Jeni heard the pounding of booted feet. The fools were rushing them, vibro-bayonets fixed. A clot of men was trying to squeeze through the door, dying in droves in the narrow space. Three made it into the kitchen. Jeni fired on them, feeling strange as she did. It was one of the first times since Basic Indoc that she had fired a weapon.
Two of her assailants fell. The last thrust his bayonet at her, the weapon level with her stomach. She froze, entranced by the humming blade about to impale her.
Then the man was falling, the tip of his bayonet striking tile, the rifle flipping from his hands and clattering away. He fell at her feet, unmoving. Shin stood over him, breathing shallowly and flashing a bloody smile.
If her SMG was not fastened to a sling she would have dropped it. "Oh God, oh God... I'll go to church more. I'll even give up swearing. Whatever You want. Honest." In that moment she actually meant it.
With the bayonet charge repulsed, the Abkhenazi took time to rethink things. She imagined the Fist would lead next time. That would roast the team's chestnuts for sure.
"Pieter, into the dumbwaiter, go!" Pieter was many things, but recklessly brave was not among them. He was crammed into the dumbwaiter quicker than she would have imagined possible. She sent him down.
The other Headhunter grunted as a ricochet caught him. Shin checked on the downed man and shook his head. "Just you and me now, Cho," he told her in Korean.
Jeni swallowed. Someone had to stay behind to operate the controls. Someone had to die so the other could live.
Shin hawked, spitting blood. "Get in the lift." He shuffled over to the controls. His shirt clung to his bantam frame, shiny wet with blood. The mad smile he gave her was garish, all sharp teeth and bloody gums.
For a moment she hesitated. She should say no, should offer to stay instead - the team was her command. But she didn't. "Thank you, Shin."
A torrent of thoughts and emotions flew through her mind during the descent. Was she wrong to go? She felt shame for leaving him to die alone.
Perhaps it was for the best. She imagined him after the war — no family, his mind bent toward death and killing. What sort of life would he have? He would be like a primitive plucked from the wilds and forced to wear pants. Whatever Shin was before the war, he was a killer now. There was no reason to feel guilty.
She smiled the sardonic smile she used on the rest of the world. Only this time it was for herself. Who was she trying to fool?
She would have felt better if she knew her life was worth saving. Right then she wasn't so sure.
***
The black armor seemed to suck all available light into itself, its mammoth bulk making the contents of the room seem sized for children. Even as Randal triggered his autocannon, he remembered it was tapped out.
Tsepashin killed with clinical efficiency, a single rocket flaring from the shoulder rack toward the mayor while a precise three-round burst from his chain gun eliminated Lee. The mayor's first-generation armor never stood a chance, the blast knocking him back several meters. He did not get back up.
Randal was scouting for cover when the wall next to him imploded. The world went dark as he sprawled out beneath a fall of shattered brick and mortar. Stunned, he had enough presence of mind to scrabble for the kitchen, croaking out, "Run! It's Tsepashin. . ." Through the newly-formed hole in the wall he saw a hovertank and a squad of Theocratic Guards heading for the breach.
Somehow still standing, the last Headhunter lobbed a smoke grenade at Tsepashin, shouting something in Korean. The Abkhenazi contemptuously kicked the grenade aside, gunning down the Headhunter almost as an afterthought.
Randal silently thanked the Headhunter, using the distraction to break for the door. Ariane stood stock-still, seemingly frozen in place. "Move!" he said, taking hold of her arm in passing and dragging her toward safety.
Smoke from a cooking fire hung heavily in the kitchen as they entered. The floor tile ran with water from an overflowing sink, the mess crew long since fled. Ariane ran blindly through the room, knocking aside a work island, upsetting a rack of drying pots. He could tell she was terrified. She had never told him what happened the night of the ambush, only that Tsepashin had found her.
Now he was back, and after her once more.
They ran out of the kitchen and into the garden. Rocket and mortar strikes from the Irregulars had set the foliage alight. The ground was sodden, one of the reflecting pools breached and spilling water everywhere. Dirt and rock erupted ahead of them as another mortar shell struck home.
In the orange glow of the flames he could see the silhouettes of staff cars up ahead — mid-sized, sleek looking skimmers.
Ariane pulled up short. "Which way?"
Momentarily unsure, Randal debated internally. Could they reach a skimmer before Tsepashin caught them? Was it better to evade on foot and try to reach the friendlies on the ridgeline?
A clanging from the kitchen decided for him. "This way," he said, giving her a nudge toward the maze. The two sprinted for the hedge wall, the rear of the chateau looming over them.
Ahead lay a pair of broken Abkh
enazi corpses, the snow around them stained crimson. From their postures he could see they had been blasted from the wall. Randal feared Ariane was hit as she dropped behind. Half-turning, he saw her bend down, scooping up a collapsible rocket launcher from one of the corpses. "I'm coming!"
"Hurry!" Behind her Tsepashin emerged from the kitchen, death's head swiveling, claws flexing and eager to rend.
Randal set his targeting reticule on the thing. Achieving a firm lock, he let loose with his LMG. "Jump, Ariane! Into the maze!"
The slugs rebounded harmlessly from the near-impervious hide of the beast. They did unbalance it, long enough for Randal to follow Ariane into the labyrinthine hedges. These were snow coated, climbing three meters into the sky and nearly as thick. The two ran blindly through them, hoping to lose Tsepashin in the maze.
Randal felt as if he were running down a chute to slaughter, like one of the massive, gen-engineered cattle he'd seen out on the Dry Flats.
It was no problem for Randal to outrun Tsepashin. Fist suits sacrificed speed for armor. Medics, though, were never intended to see combat and Ariane's suit was woefully slow. It was only a matter of time until he caught them. Randal would buy as much time for her as he could, but short of a miracle...
A dry, rattling laugh rolled over the maze, amplified by speakers.
Ariane stopped, pressing back into the hedge. Randal nearly fell, skidding to a halt on icy granite. "We can't stop, we have to keep moving."
"Promise me you won't let him take me alive." Panic fluttered in her voice.
"I promise. Please come on."
"I mean it, Randal. We both know he's going to catch us. Promise me!"
"When the time comes, I won't hesitate." And he would not. Tespashin would never touch her.
She seemed satisfied with his answer, setting off at a run. They rounded a corner, skidding to a halt as a black blur flew overhead several meters down the path. The two instinctively ducked as Tsepashin passed out of sight, jump jets flaring. "Do you think he saw us?" Ariane asked in a small voice.
Randal did not answer, pulling her in the opposite direction. His heart thudded in his chest. It was the worst feeling in the world to have the woman he loved threatened and to know there was almost nothing he could do about it.
They ran down a short straightaway and into a dead end. The crunch of snow underfoot behind them was so faint Randal barely recognized it for what it was.
"Step away from the medic. It would be a pity if she were accidentally damaged." The voice was like cold fog on bare skin.
Randal turned to face Tsepashin. He shifted as if complying with the order, the arm with the machine gun rising subtly. It would be a headshot. She would not have time to hurt with a headshot
Randal nearly swallowed his tongue in shock as flame blossomed around Ariane.
When the flare dampeners on his visor reduced the opacity an instant later, he saw the compact rocket tube smoking in her hand. Ariane had fired it from the hip. Tsepashin was sprawled supine in the snow, tendrils of smoke curling from the crater in his breastplate, right over the heart.
Both stared at the downed monster, neither quite comprehending.
"Blight. That was amazing. . ." Randal said when he found his voice again. He rested an armored hand on her shoulder. "We'd better keep moving. There might be others."
"Of course."
With an unearthly snarl, Tsepashin sat up. They could see where the warhead had spiderwebbed the armor but failed to penetrate. Ariane had only stunned the beast.
Pushing off from the ground, he stood. "Now you will hurt before I kill you, Captain Knox." The voice was pure contempt. "For the girl, I have other plans." A clawed hand rose, the chaingun barrels impossibly wide as Randal stared into them.
Randal crouched and then leaped, engaging his jump jets. He sensed the air being ripped apart above him as Tsepashin fired high, surprised.
With a wrenching sound the two armored figures collided, falling to the ground. A hand caught Randal's helmet in a viselike grip, claws fracturing the edges of his viewscreen. Randal hammered a fist into Tsepashin's helmet. The Abkhenazi rolled to the side, tossing Randal into a nearby bench. The two scrambled to their feet, Randal a moment faster. He charged before Tsepashin could raise the chain gun in his direction.
A massive claw sliced at him. He ducked under it, coming up inside his enemy's guard. Randal screamed defiantly, snapping a climbing spike into place and stabbing at the thing's chest. The spike punched cleanly though the pock made by Ariane's rocket. It slid deep into the black heart of Tsepashin and came out wet, the blood dripping like ichor in the dim light.
Tsepashin shuddered with reflexive movement, a claw scratching feebly across Randal's faceplate. He toppled to the ground.
Randal turned from the body and ran to Ariane's side. They backed away, unable to believe Tsepashin was really dead. Randal was so intent upon the downed foe that he barely noticed when the comset squelched.
"Randal, what's your status?"
"Jeni?" His voice cracked with tension. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Jeni? We're in the hedge maze. Where are you?"
"Why in the world would you be there? Anyway, we're holed up in the wine cellar. Pieter's puzzling a way out."
Why in the world would they be there? "Tell Pieter to take your team out the cellar door near the gardens. We'll meet you there."
"Roger that. Should we expect unfriendlies?"
"Resistance should be minimal. But there's a hovertank on the prowl, so move with a purpose."
Ariane stood rooted in place, her eyes never leaving Tsepashin. They needed to run. It was only a matter of time until someone on the roof spotted them.
"C'mon, love. It's over."
"Over?" Her voice was plaintive incomprehension.
"All over."
Hesitantly, she followed him as they jumped out of the maze. It was a short sprint to the skimmers and no one intercepted them. The largest of the vehicles was marked on the doors with the crescent and star of a field marshal. It looked big enough to hold all the survivors. Randal took some satisfaction in using Mashkhadov's personal skimmer.
The doors were too narrow to admit their suits. They hunched down behind the vehicle while Randal walked her through the autodestruct sequence.
After securing the shell-shocked girl in the rear of the craft, Randal clambered into the pilot's chair. Lacking Johnny's larcenous abilities, he was thankful the staff car needed no keycard — military vehicles seldom did. He powered up the skimmer, giving it a quick preflight.
His hand dropped to his sidearm as a face appeared, peering in the side hatchway. "Whoa, Kipper. Easy there. Have room for four more?"
"Pile in quick. Hey, you fly this thing. You're better at it." Randal climbed through the interior hatch and settled in next to Ariane.
Bullets spanged from the skimmer's shell. The Headhunter returned fire while the others bundled into the passenger compartment. A round followed them inside, burying itself in the hardwood paneling.
Firing a last burst, the Headhunter hopped into the skimmer, flashing a "Go" signal to Pieter.
The side door slid shut as the craft lifted off raggedly, rear first followed by the nose. Pieter cackled as he flew. "Hopefully the anti-aircraft cannons won't take a shot at this thing. After all, who'd shoot at a Field Marshal?"
Ariane glanced up at Randal. There was an ethereal look to her, cheeks blanched pale, dark eyes unblinking. She took his hand, holding it tightly and managing a weak smile. "Let's not wait for the cathedral. Let's get married tomorrow."
"The minute I can find a chaplain."
The skimmer gained altitude, listing to the side and giving the occupants a view of the chateau.
Randal's lips twisted into a bitter smile, his eyes blurring with unshed tears. The Abkhenazi, like so many ideologues before them, tortured and killed in the name of perfecting humanity. How many innocents had died in Soviet gulags, Islamic holy wars or Abkhenazi experiments?
> Man was unchanged since his Fall — twisted from what he was and always one malignant idea from barbarism. A millennium ago, men were killing each other in castles like the one below. They were still doing it. Man's technology changed, but his nature was a constant. The worst atrocities in history came when he forgot that fact and tried to create a terrestrial heaven.
With such flawed stock, what hope was there?
Ariane rested her head on his shoulder, her soft brown hair crushed against his cheek. Faith, hope and love; these three remain. God wouldn't allow his creation to suffer forever.
The chateau grounds passed from view as they traveled to the nearby mountains, to safety. Kissing Ariane's temple, he slipped an arm around her slender shoulders and held her close. Even in the ruin of war he had found love, sustaining faith and hope for the future. He knew his nation had as well.
EPILOGUE
Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.
—Matthew 5:9
The office of His Excellency the Interior Minister mingled the ugly joylessness of Khlisti aesthetics with the conspicuous consumption of a corrupt official. Heavy, brocaded curtains of mud brown flanked the windows, and the furniture was massively constructed from some dark wood. On one side of the room hung a gold-framed painting of the Minister himself, while a portrait of the Abkhenazi president smiled paternally from the opposite wall. On the Minister's desk sat a gold pen set, a guldor pichok letter opener, and a globe done in ruby, topaz and other gemstones.
Interior Minister Ghorbani had occupied his chair for only thirteen months, since the end of the civil war. When the New Genevan counteroffensive smashed the Abkhenazi army, it also broke the hard-liners' hold on power. The army returned angry and radicalized by their experience. Generals, politicians and prophets each claimed a slice of the military, and the country fell in upon itself.
In time, Moderates triumphed and restored relations with New Geneva. Randal and Ariane Knox were among the first to repopulate the New Genevan embassy. Peace was, if anything, more challenging than war: Moderates might renounce violence, but many still despised "infidels;" the economy was backward and awash in red tape; and Khlisti bitter-enders plagued Abkhenazia with terrorist attacks.
Knox's Irregulars Page 29