Psychic Warrior pw-1

by Robert Doherty

  “Get out of here, Jackson. To the ERP!” Dalton ordered. “Everyone, to the ERP!”

  Dalton turned back toward the smashed cargo car. He could see mercenaries climbing over it, placing charges on the steel doors. Dalton fired, cutting down the demolition men.

  Another scream. Dalton looked over his shoulder. The Chyort had Captain Anderson’s avatar over his head, ripped it into two pieces at the waist. Chyort threw one piece in each direction, the parts fading as they tumbled to the ground.

  The Chyort leapt into the air, spreading its leathery wings, and headed straight for Dalton.

  Dalton jumped into virtual space. The Chyort was there also, still coming. Dalton jumped fifty meters left. It gained him a half second as Chyort pivoted on its wings.

  Dalton jumped to the ERP, hoping he would lose Chyort in the process.

  Raisor was completely in the real world, a ghostly white form above the limousine. Another quarter mile and they would be there.

  * * *

  Leksi yelled orders to his surviving and shocked men. The demon flashed out of sight, which made his job a little easier. He directed men to finish placing the charges. Using the radio, he ordered forward the lift helicopters and also learned of the destruction of his gunships.

  There was a quick snap of plastique firing. Leksi climbed up on the cargo car. Scattered on the down side of the car lay twenty plastic cases.

  “Get them out!”

  * * *

  Dalton knelt next to Barnes. Trilly was standing to the side, nothing apparently wrong with him.

  “I can’t move, Sergeant Major,” Barnes whispered. “I jumped here, but I can’t do anything more.”

  “I’ll get you back,” Dalton promised. “Hammond! Where the hell are you?”

  Lieutenant Jackson was circling overhead, keeping an eye out, flashing in and out of reality as she checked both the real and virtual plane.

  There was no one else. Five gone. Half the team was wiped out. Dalton thought of Lang Vei, the tanks rolling through the wire, then banished that nightmare from his mind.

  “Jackson,” he said, reaching up with his mind.

  “Yes?”

  “Can I take Barnes back somehow?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Give me a suggestion,” Dalton said. “You ’re the expert.”

  “Try to meld into his psyche. Attach him to you emotionally. That might allow you to take him into the virtual plane and back.”

  Dalton reached down, cradling Barnes’s avatar in his arms. He was concerned to see the form fade from view slightly before coming back.

  “I’m going,” Trilly said.

  “No, you’re not,” Dalton said. “You ’re a soldier, and a sergeant. You stay here with us and we all leave together.”

  Dalton didn’t have time to worry about Trilly, or the energy to stop him from running. A voice echoed inside his head.

  “This is Hammond. I can’t keep Sybyl on track for both locations.”

  “Where is Raisor?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Dalton thought she was lying, but this wasn’t the time for it. “Cut his power and concentrate on my team. Get us out of here. Then you can bring him back on line.”

  “But— ”

  “Do it!” Dalton turned his attention to the form in his arms. “You’re coming back with me,” Dalton said. “You’re coming back with me, Barnes. You understand?”

  Barnes’s avatar weakly nodded.

  “But if I— ” Hammond’s voice wavered.

  “Do it!” Dalton screamed with the power he had. “We’re dying here. Most of my team is already dead.”

  “All right,” Hammond said. “I’m focusing power on your team.”

  * * *

  The Ellipse, the lights of the White House just beyond, appeared to the right. Raisor landed on the roof of the limo with a solid thump that could be heard inside. He knew bodyguards would be reacting, but it was too late. His right arm switched from wing to six-foot-long blade. He poised it above the roof directly above where he knew his target was sitting. He relished the feeling, the anticipation of payback, and then began to thrust the arm down, when his form vanished and he was in darkness.

  He screamed, his anger and frustration echoing into the virtual plane.

  * * *

  Dalton focused as he had in the hospital room with Marie. A myriad of emotions raced through him like a fast-moving stream of quickly varying temperatures. “Dalton!” Jackson screamed.

  Dalton looked up as Chyort materialized in front of him. Dalton stared into the dark red eyes.

  “Who are you?” Dalton demanded.

  The demon took a step forward and Dalton felt the earth shake beneath him. He turned, putting himself between the demon and the body in his arms.

  Dalton closed his eyes and focused only on Barnes. Dalton felt pain slice into his back. He focused on the isolation tanks in Bright Gate as he took a glance over his shoulder. A form came leaping between him and Chyort. Trilly!

  Dalton jumped, Barnes with him.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Feteror hesitated. He looked down at his right hand. The claws had torn into the American’s back, going in over six inches, yet the man had ignored the pain and jumped. The other American who had jumped between them had died with one slice, the head neatly separated.

  Feteror knew he could follow the Americans into their hole in the Rocky Mountains. He felt he now had the power to break through their psychic fence. Like a wolf among the sheep, he could rip them to shreds.

  He turned and looked back toward the east, where the battle had occurred. With regret, Feteror jumped back.

  He came into reality on top of the wreckage of the cargo car, scaring the wits out of the men pulling the bombs out.

  Leksi yelled, telling the men to keep working, to ignore the demon. Then the naval commando climbed up to face Feteror.

  “You were late,” Leksi said. “Who were the others? The ones who fight like you?”

  “Americans.” Feteror liked the way his demon voice sounded, like boulders rubbing together, underlaid with the treble of the screams of the damned. “And I was not late. This was your job, not mine.”

  “And I will finish it if you would stop frightening my men.”

  Feteror snapped into the virtual plane.

  * * *

  Barsk kept a safe distance from the men reeling the thick black cables.

  “Are you ready yet?” he demanded of the scientist.

  Vasilev sighed and looked up from the computer terminal he’d been working at for the past hour. “This program was written for top-of-the-line computers in 1963. Computers have come a long way since then. This was upgraded several years ago but it is still out of date. I am trying to integrate the old software with the new hardware, but it is difficult.”

  “I don’t want to hear excuses,” Barsk said.

  “I’m not giving you excuses,” Vasilev replied. “I am telling you what is happening.” He ran a trembling hand through his gray hair. “I can assure you I want this to work more than you do. It will put an end to the nightmare my life has been.”

  “Then get it working,” Barsk snapped. “I’m beginning to— ” He halted as he felt a wash of cold through his stomach. He turned.

  The Chyort coalesced into being inside the hangar.

  “Are you ready yet?” the demon hissed.

  “We still have to hook up the power cables,” Barsk said.

  A long claw pointed toward Vasilev. “Is the program for the phased-displacement generator ready?”

  Vasilev shrugged. “I am working on it.”

  Chyort blinked out of existence and then reappeared, looming over the old man. “You’re working on it?”

  “I am doing my best.” Vasilev took an involuntary step backward, bumping into the computer console. “It has been many years and— ” He paused as a claw touched his neck, pressing against the pulse that beat on one side.

  �
��There are things worse than death.” Chyort’s words swept over the scientist. “You know that, don’t you?”

  Vasilev nodded.

  “I know you don’t fear death,” Chyort continued. “But what I will do to you if you fail me will be worse than anything you can imagine. I will— ” The demon paused, the head turned.

  Then the creature was gone.

  * * *

  Dalton swam in the pain, his entire body awash in it. He tried to push his mind through the overwhelming tide of agony. He remembered the bayonet; he focused on it, the feeling of ice sliding into his back. Then the butt stroke from the NVA soldier holding the AK-47.

  Awakening in the prison. Weak from loss of blood. Reaching, feeling blood still soaking through the dirty rag tied over the wound. Pressing his back against the concrete wall, stopping the bleeding. Holding the position, even when the guards came in and kicked, he pushed against the wall, knowing if he didn’t, he would bleed out.

  “Sergeant Major?”

  No, Dalton thought. I’m just a Spec/4. Junior team member.

  “Sergeant Major?”

  Dalton tried to open his eyes but there was only darkness. And the pain.

  “Sergeant Major! This is Dr. Hammond.”

  Hammond? Why was it so dark? Even in the cell there had always been a little light seeping in from the corridor.

  A white dot appeared, so tiny and so far away.

  “Focus on the dot.”

  Dalton tried to scream, but instead he gagged. Something was in his throat, blocking.

  “We’re bringing you out, but you have to be aware.” The voice was insistent.

  Dalton wished the woman would just shut up. He slid down the concrete wall and rolled onto the floor into the fetal position. He was so tired and it hurt so badly.

  A new voice ripped into his skull, louder than the other one.

  “Damn it, Sergeant Major! This is Lieutenant Jackson. I’m ordering you to get back here. Don’t you give up!”

  Dalton shivered, feeling cold seep into his body, strangely lessening the pain. He saw Marie, the same as when he had first met her, the skin on her face smooth, flawless. She was beckoning to him to go in a different direction. Dalton pushed himself to his hands and knees. He began crawling toward Marie.

  “Come back, Sergeant Major Dalton.”

  Dalton felt the opposing tugs, Marie and the warmth and comfort of just going to her, and Lieutenant Jackson’s voice grating on his mind, his conscience, his sense of duty. He looked toward Marie and he knew she knew. She smiled sadly and faded from view, mouthing something that he couldn’t make out.

  Dalton stared in her direction until there was nothing there. The other voice kept nagging at him. Then he remembered.

  The team was gone. Massacred. He couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t fight again. The last time, he had left Marie alone for five years. He couldn’t do that to her again.

  He let go of his grip, sliding toward where Marie had been.

  He saw her once more.

  * * *

  “Why did you summon me?” After the glorious feeling of power during the battle with the Americans, being contained inside Zivon was unbearable to Feteror.

  “Because the situation has changed,” General Rurik said. “Twenty nuclear warheads have been stolen.”

  “You have already tasked me to accomplish two missions. Yet you bring me back here to inform me of this?”

  “Did you find the phased-displacement generator?” General Rurik demanded.

  “No.”

  Rurik stepped closer to the speaker. “Did you find my family?”

  “I have a lead that I was tracking down when you called me back.”

  “Give me the lead,” Rurik ordered.

  “I am forwarding the information through Zivon,” Feteror said. “But it would be best if you allowed me to continue on the mission.”

  “I do not trust you,” Rurik said. “You are up to something. You will wait while I verify what you have learned.”

  Feteror remained silent, itching to get away. He forwarded information through the electronic channels of Zivon. He watched as General Rurik took it off the computer screen and then grabbed a phone, calling Moscow, shutting down the psychic wall for a moment.

  * * *

  A spear of pain slammed into Dalton’s chest. It felt like his lungs were getting ripped out through his throat.

  “Goddamn it, Sergeant Major, you’ve got to hold on.”

  The words were coming from outside, from a great distance, but the fact that they were external was so novel to Dalton, he marveled at it for a few moments. So much had been inside his head for so long now.

  Another voice— it was Hammond’s, a part of his mind recognized— spoke: “He’s in arrest. Stand clear.”

  Dalton screamed as a jolt of electricity through the microprobe lanced his chest. The pain was bad, but the real hurt was seeing Marie fade again with each pulse of his heart in response to the electric shock.

  “No!” Dalton yelled, the word garbled by embryonic fluid sputtering out of his mouth. He rolled to his side vomiting, knocking away Hammond, who was getting ready to shock him again.

  “He’s got a pulse,” Hammond announced.

  Dalton pushed away Jackson’s hand as she tried to hold his head.

  “Leave me alone,” he whispered. He turned to his other side, his back to those in the room, and kept his eyes closed. He searched for another glimpse of Marie, but there was nothing.

  Leksi swung his arm around his head and pointed up. The pilot responded by increasing throttle and pitch on the blades. Laden with ten of the nuclear bombs, the first Hip rose into the air.

  Leksi ran to the second and jumped on board. It followed the first.

  Leksi flipped open his cellular phone and punched in memory one.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “Sergeant Barnes made it back, thanks to you,” Jackson said.

  Dalton’s hands were cradled around a steaming mug of coffee. He had ladled in several heaping teaspoons of sugar. He took a sip, relishing the burning feeling on his tongue. He was seated at the table in the small conference room off the experimental chamber. He couldn’t bear being in there, looking at the bodies of the rest of his team floating inside their isolation tanks. Jackson was seated next to him. Hammond was on the other side of the table.

  “Where is he?” Dalton asked.

  “In the dispensary. He’s sleeping, but the doctor gives him a clean bill of health.”

  “One out of nine. And the rest of the team?” Dalton asked.

  Jackson shook her head, not able to answer him.

  “Their bodies are still viable in their isolation tanks,” Dr. Hammond said.

  “Like the first team?” Dalton said.

  “Yes,” Hammond said.

  Dalton rubbed his forehead. “So they’re probably dead, as far as they’re concerned, right?”

  “We don’t know that for certain,” Jackson said.

  “And Raisor?” Dalton knew he had to ask.

  “We don’t know,” Hammond said. “His body is also in stasis. I restored his power, but there’s been no contact. I think we might have lost the connection when I diverted all power to your team.”

  “Where did he go?” Dalton demanded.

  “We don’t know,” Hammond said, “but we have a larger problem on our hands. I just got a call from Washington. Your mission failed. The nuclear warheads have been stolen. Combining that with the information you brought back about the phased-displacement generator, we have the biggest danger this country has faced since the Cuban Missile Crisis. The National Security Council is very concerned. They are considering their options.”

  Dalton looked up at the doctor, recognizing the panic in the clipped sentences. “Very concerned? Is that what you call it? They should be crapping in their pants. Options? What options? What are they going to do?”

  Dalton took a deep drink of coffee, feeling the burning liquid hit
his bruised throat. He relished the pain because it sharpened his mind, brought it out of the fog of near death and despair. The issue of Raisor’s disappearance bothered him, but it was a msytery that wasn’t a priority right now.

  “For starters, they can now work with the Russians, given that the warheads have been stolen,” Hammond said.

  “That’s like reuniting the Three Stooges,” Dalton said. “The Russians had to have known about— ” He paused, realization hitting him like a punch in the gut.

  “What is it?” Lieutenant Jackson asked.

  “Something’s not right about all this,” Dalton said.

  “What do you mean?” Jackson asked.

  “This Russian avatar, Chyort, it’s not right.” Dalton’s mind was racing as he considered all he had experienced. “Chyort attacked us, not the mercenaries taking down the train.”

  “Maybe he thought you were the greater threat?” Dr. Hammond suggested.

  Dalton shook his head. “No.” He turned to Jackson.

  “Chyort was in the railmaster’s shack the same time you were, right?”

  Jackson nodded.

  “So he knew about the change in the timing of shipment. Yet the Russian guards weren’t ready. They ran right into the ambush. And Chyort attacked us, not the ambushers.

  “He’s with them. I don’t know why, and I don’t know how, given that this Chyort is supposed to be part of the GRU, but he is with the Mafia, helping them. And we aren’t going to recover those bombs or stop the phased-displacement generator from being used, until we stop Chyort.”

  Dalton turned to Dr. Hammond. “If you had to destroy your own project— stop Psychic Warrior— and you couldn’t defeat it on the psychic plane, how would you do it?”

  Hammond spread her hands, taking in the complex. “To make sure I succeeded, I’d take out Bright Gate.”

  “Which leaves you with the opposite situation from what we have right now,” Dalton said. “What happens to me if I’m on the virtual plane and my body here is destroyed? Or Sybyl is taken off-line?”

  “I don’t know for sure what happens to your psyche if your body is killed, although I assume it would also be killed,” Hammond said. “But if Sybyl is taken off-line, then you will lose all the power and support you get from the computer. Your psyche might still be floating around out there, but it won’t be able to do much.”