Psychic Warrior pw-1

by Robert Doherty

  * * *

  General Rurik paced back and forth, bathed in the glow of the flashing red light that indicated that Feteror was out.

  “Anything further on what our friend has been up to?” he asked the senior technician.

  The man looked up from his computer screen with a troubled visage. “It is most strange, sir.”

  Rurik halted in his pacing. “What is?”

  “Feteror is gone, but I’m picking up indications that he isn’t gone.”

  “How can that be?”

  The man shook his head. “I am not certain. There is a presence inside of Zivon that I cannot pin down.”

  “Well, pin it down,” Rurik snapped.

  * * *

  Dalton felt the embryonic solution slide up his legs as he was lowered into the isolation tank. He knew the other members of his team were being lowered at the same time into their own tanks, but he could see nothing with the TACPAD helmet securely fastened on his head. He gave a thumbs-up as the solution came up over his waist, then chest.

  “All right.” Dr. Hammond’s voice echoed in his ears. “All systems are green on all tanks. We are ready to proceed.”

  Raisor’s voice replaced hers. “We have final approval from the National Command Authority. Psychic Warrior is a go for its first operational mission.”

  Dalton felt the first tinglings of the TACPAD being activated.

  * * *

  From his rocky aerie Feteror watched Leksi move his forces out. Then he leapt into the air, sliding into virtual space, and jumped.

  He came out where he thought the air convoy with the PAL codes should be. He twisted in the air, searching, and spotted it moving at 140 knots to the northwest. He focused on the MI-14 in the center. He knew that to act too early would be to alert the troops guarding the train, so he flew alongside.

  Chapter Twenty

  Fifth time wasn’t much better. Dalton’s lungs tried to expel the liquid coming in, but lost the battle. His mind was focused on other matters though, noting the pain and nausea with almost a detached feeling.

  “Give me the latest satellite downlink,” he asked Hammond, through Sybyl.

  “This is live feed from a KH-14 over the target,” Hammond told him as a picture formed in Dalton’s mind. He saw a bridge over a river. A train on the western side, approaching. There was only one very long car with two engines pulling. He could also spot two gunships flying cover.

  “Expand,” Dalton ordered.

  Hammond had Sybyl relay the request to the NSA computer, which forwarded it to the spy satellite.

  As Dalton waited he ran down the checklist for complete interface with Sybyl. A new picture was forwarded. The river crossing was a small spot in the lower left corner. Dalton traced the rail line as it moved into Russian territory along the east side of the river. He knew the resolution wasn’t good enough to be able to spot the planned ambush, but that wasn’t what he was looking for.

  “The immediate rally point-the IRP-will be here.” Dalton picked a hill on the west— Kazakhstan— side of the river. He searched further. "The emergency rally point-the ERP-will be over this mountain.” He designated the spot he wanted. “Use the ERP if you become separated or things go to shit. If it’s really bad, come all the way back here to Bright Gate. Is that clear?”

  He received an affirmative from the other members of the team and Raisor.

  “All right,” Dalton said. “RVers, head for the first jump point.”

  * * *

  Leksi leaned down and placed his head alongside the rail. He could feel the slightest of vibrations. He stood, gesturing for his demolition men to work more quickly.

  This section of track curved left, following the river. The demo men were placing two sets of charges on the rail. A pressure trigger was wired to the first set of charges. When fired, the explosives would take out a forty-foot section of track.

  Leksi had carefully chosen this site. He knew that blowing a straight section of track would be fruitless— he had seen a train cross over sixty feet of blown track and pick up the track on the other side. But with the curve gone, the engine would smash into the mountainside on the east side.

  He looked up the steep slope. His missile teams were settling in, throwing small camouflage nets over their positions. The FM radio hooked to his combat vest was crackling with noise.

  “This is Tiger Flight. In position. Over.”

  Leksi spoke, the voice-activated boom mike in front of his lips transmitting. “Hold until I call you in. Over.”

  “Roger. Over.”

  Leksi took one last look around, then sprinted for cover. He paused just before sliding off the embankment and looked up. He scanned the skies, but there was nothing he could see. Still, as he got behind the concealment of a large boulder, his eyes went once more to the sky, then to the rail.

  “We ’ve spotted the ambush site,” Jackson reported through Sybyl. “The train is only about two minutes from passing through the kill zone.”

  “Roger. We’re coming,” Dalton relayed back to her. “Jump point one. Let’s go!”

  Dalton concentrated on the first point that had been relayed back by the RVers.

  He was there. He paused only long enough to make sure the other members of the team came in. Then he was on to the second jump point.

  * * *

  Leksi pulled a set of night vision goggles out of his buttpack. The mercenary next to him stared at him in confusion. Leksi ignored him. He had learned early to trust his instincts.

  He slipped the goggles over his head and, making sure they were turned to the lowest possible setting so they wouldn’t overload in the daylight, he switched them on. He scanned the sky. Nothing. Then he turned the switch to infrared.

  Leksi paused in his scanning. There was something up there, a disturbance as if something was passing through the air, but he couldn’t see anything solid. Leksi frowned. He pulled the night vision goggles off and pulled his binoculars up and looked in the same direction. Nothing. He put the goggles back on and the sky was clear.

  A tap on his arm brought his attention back to earth. He could hear the train now. The lead engine was in sight, a half mile away. Leksi reluctantly took the goggles off, the mystery of the disturbance having to be put off for the time being.

  Dalton was the first one into the immediate rally point. He materialized, feeling the rocky ground under his feet. Other forms appeared all around.

  “The train is about to enter the kill zone,” Jackson reported. Along with the message came the view she had. Dalton could see the train. And the ambushers.

  He looked about the IRP. Everyone accounted for. Except Raisor.

  “Anyone seen what happened to our CIA friend?”

  The responses were all negative. There was no time to wait or to devise an elaborate plan.

  “Captain Anderson. You hit the side of the hill and work your way down. My team, we’ll go right on top of the train. Clear?”

  “Clear!”

  * * *

  The train hit the trigger. The explosion was relatively small, just enough to cut the track in both spots. The lead engine raced off the embankment and slammed into the rocky mountainside two hundred meters from Leksi’s position with an impact he could feel through the rubber soles of his boots.

  The second engine buckled on top of the first, gushing steam forth.

  The lone cargo car smashed into the back of the second engine, bounced off, broke its coupling, then rolled three times before coming to a halt, between the engines and Leksi.

  Leksi jumped to his feet, waving with his free arm for his men to follow.

  Overhead, the lead Havoc came racing in for a gun run. Two SAM-7 missiles flashed out of the hidden positions on the mountainside, and the gunship became a fireball.

  The second one had been about a quarter mile behind the first, and the pilot desperately tried to pull out of his run.

  Two more missiles fired. They closed the distance and hit the remaining Havoc
.

  Leksi put his AK-74 to his shoulder and fired a burst, killing a dazed soldier climbing out of the armored cargo car.

  * * *

  Feteror was still in the virtual plane. It was interesting keeping himself fixed in the center of the cargo bay of the MI-14 as it flew. He was watching the female colonel who had the case attached to her wrist. The army had changed much since his time. To trust such an important thing to a woman!

  It was time.

  He entered the real plane.

  Colonel Verochka looked up, sensing the change in the inside of the cabin, the hair on the back of her neck rippling as if she had been touched by an electric shock.

  Feteror materialized, letting color flow into the form of his avatar.

  Verochka pressed back against the hard seat back in disbelief. The loadmaster ran for the cockpit, screaming into his microphone, but Feteror reached out and grabbed him around the throat with one massive hand. Feteror squeezed with that hand while he slammed the other into the man’s chest and through. The man screeched. Blood exploded out the back, splattering Colonel Verochka. The loadmaster’s head popped off with a horrible ripping and snapping sound.

  Feteror threw the body to the floor and turned to the woman. Her right hand was scrabbling at her side, trying to draw the pistol strapped there, but her wide eyes were focused on him.

  Feteror slashed out with his right hand, forefinger extended, a six-inch razor-sharp claw at the end. It sliced through Verochka’s wrist, cleanly severing her gun hand.

  The door to the pilot’s compartment opened. The copilot stuck his head in, saw the demon and the carnage, and the door immediately slammed shut, the lock clicking.

  Feteror drew back, pulling his wings up high, his most frightening pose. Thus he was caught off-guard when Verochka darted forward, blood still spurting from the stump of her right wrist. She ducked under his left wing. Feteror whirled.

  Verochka had her left hand, briefcase tucked under the arm, on the lever that opened the side door. Feteror paused, confused.

  Verochka opened the door, the wind ripping it away. She dove out with the briefcase.

  Feteror roared and dematerialized. He re-formed, streaking down, following Verochka’s body. He was impressed, not only with the decisiveness of her actions, but the way she kept a tight body form on the way down, her arms tight at her side, head down. It was all so clear to Feteror; he could even see the thin trail of blood spurting out of her wrist into the air behind her.

  He spread his arms, unfurled his wings, and scooped her out of her fall.

  Feteror came to a hover, leaning his demon face into the colonel’s. “Very brave,” he hissed.

  He felt her slam the briefcase against his back as she struggled. Her face was pale, from fear and loss of blood.

  * * *

  The first thing Dalton saw was green tracers ripping by just inches to his left. Hammond’s assurance notwithstanding, he rolled right, and fired at the source of the tracers. His first fireball hit the man in the chest, blowing a hole straight through.

  He continued firing, seeing in his mind the other members of the team materializing.

  “Shit!” a voice yelled. “Something’s wrong!”

  Dalton knew immediately that it was Trilly, both from the voice and the tactical update that Sybyl was constantly playing in the background of his mind.

  “I’m losing form,” Trilly said, the surprise evident in his voice.

  “Get out of here,” Dalton ordered.

  “Going to ERP,” Trilly confirmed.

  Dalton continued to fire at the attacking mercenaries.

  “Hammond, what’s going on?” Dalton demanded.

  “We ’re having trouble keeping track of everyone. There’s a divergence. Someone’s split off.”

  Goddamn Raisor, Dalton thought. “You keep power to my team, do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  An explosion flashed on the hillside as Captain Anderson’s team took out one of the SAM sites.

  * * *

  Feteror stiffened. He turned his head from the frightened face of Colonel Verochka. Something was wrong.

  “It was nice to meet you,” he hissed to her. He let go of her body, snapping his claws shut on her left arm, severing it— and the attached metal briefcase— from her body.

  He listened to her scream, both from the fall and the loss of her arm, her body tumbling to the ground far below.

  Still hovering, Feteror ripped the case open, the metal parting easily. He dropped the empty case as he held the single piece of paper inside between two claws. He scanned the PAL codes listed, matching them to the warhead serial numbers, putting the information into his database.

  Then he dematerialized and jumped.

  * * *

  Raisor floated above the limousine as it cruised down Constitution Avenue going from the Capitol toward the White House. He wanted to wait, until the limo was directly across from the White House, on the south side of the Ellipse, before striking.

  It was difficult, though, to hold back. To keep at bay the anger, the passion of revenge he had nurtured ever since finding out what had happened to his team, to his sister.

  It had taken this, an international crisis, for him to be able to go back on the virtual plane with the power to use the weapons they’d developed for the psychic warriors. Now he was bringing those weapons home to the woman who had so casually tossed away the first team of psychic warriors.

  It was night in Washington and Raisor began to allow his avatar to form in the real plane, directly over the closed sunroof of the limousine.

  * * *

  Leksi pressed his back against the railbed. Another fireball flashed by overhead, catching one of his men in the head, blowing it open like an overripe melon.

  He looked up the slope. More of these monsters were coming down the hillside. All of his missile teams were dead.

  “Tiger Flight!” he yelled into the mike to be heard above the sounds of firing and screaming.

  “Tiger Flight. Over.”

  “Get in here for support now!” he screamed.

  “Roger.”

  * * *

  Dalton carefully stood. The surviving attackers were scattering, some hiding, others running.

  “Captain Anderson,” Dalton projected. “I want you to secure— ”

  Dalton halted in mid-sentence as a scream seared through his brain like a red-hot spike. He staggered, losing all sense of his surroundings.

  * * *

  On the hillside, Feteror had come into the real plane directly behind one of the attacking avatars. He had a very good idea who they were, and he didn’t hesitate. With all the power of SD8-FFEU being directed through him, he grabbed the form and crushed it in his claws.

  The energy/matter of the avatar in his hands vanished in a flash of light.

  * * *

  At Bright Gate, Dr. Hammond stared at her control panel in dismay.

  “What’s happening?” Dalton demanded, his voice echoing out of the speakers.

  Hammond typed furiously on her keyboard.

  “What is going on?” Dalton repeated.

  “Sybyl’s overloading. Something’s affected two of the avatars. I’m trying to pull them back, but Sybyl can’t do that and keep everyone else going at the same time. Also the power split, going to two different locations-we’ve never done that before and Sybyl is having trouble maintaining all your forms.” Hammond ran a hand across her forehead. “It’s all happening too fast.”

  * * *

  Dalton became aware of his surroundings. He staggered back, feeling a pounding in his head. A line of green tracers burned through the air, right by him. He sank to his knees.

  “Get out of there!” Jackson’s voice echoed through his brain.

  Dalton snapped out of existence at that place, into the virtual plane. He could hear more screams in his head. He checked tactical but there was nothing coming from Sybyl.

  “What the hell is going on?�
� he projected toward Jackson.

  “Chyort!” was the quavering answer. “Choppers-gunships inbound from the east!” she added.

  Dalton came back into the real plane fifty meters from where he had been and behind the man who had shot at him. Dalton fired, the fireball blasting through the man.

  “We ’re interdicting the choppers!” Jackson informed him.

  Dalton looked up. He could see the two eagles and Jackson’s falcon head east.

  Looking down, he saw two of his teammates backing up, firing their energy tubes. Dalton followed their aim and saw what had scared Jackson.

  * * *

  Feteror felt the energy bolts hit him. He wanted to laugh, to shriek his glee. The energy poured into him, strengthening him beyond anything he had ever experienced, beyond anything SD8-FFEU had ever given him.

  He dove forward, arms outstretched, into one of the American avatars. The white head was sliced off, the round shape bouncing onto the ground, then slowly shrinking and disappearing as it lost its energy shape.

  He struck out at another and it staggered and collapsed to the ground under the blow.

  * * *

  “Status!” Dalton screamed. “Hammond, I need status!”

  “I’m hurt!” the avatar at Chyort’s feet called out— Barnes; Dalton recognized the yell.

  “Go to the ERP!” Dalton ordered.

  He shot a fireball at the demon as it bent over Barnes’s form. The ball hit Chyort directly in the back. The surface there briefly glowed, then faded.

  Two blazing red eyes turned to look directly at Dalton. Barnes’s form disappeared as he jumped. At that moment Captain Anderson’s avatar came winging down from above and smashed into Chyort’s back. The two forms tumbled together.

  Another scream resounded in Dalton’s head. He knew now that each scream meant one of his people was dead.

  Or their avatar was. He didn’t and couldn’t take his thoughts further than that right now.

  “We took out the gunships,” Jackson informed him. “But both of my partners got shot up. Williams and Auer are gone!”