by Jay Allan
“Samovich…dead?” Taylor’s voice was weak.
“Yes, he’s dead. And the omega program is deactivated.”
“Thank you,” Taylor said, just as he heard the sound of gunfire outside the door. Then boots clomping hard on the floor, men pouring into the room. For an instant he thought he was dead, that Samovich’s guards had come. But then he heard a familiar voice.
“Drogov,” it yelled. “Get away from the general.” Then, an instant later. “Kill hi…”
“No.” Taylor yelled with all the strength he had left.
Daniels held his arm up toward the soldiers flanking him.
“He killed Samovich, disarmed the doomsday device.” Taylor’s voice gurgled, blood spurting out of his mouth with every word. “He kept his word.”
Daniels’ eyes flashed toward Drogov for an instant. Then back to Taylor. “Medic,” he screamed as he ran over to his friend.
“Jake…” He leaned down, his hand on Taylor’s face. “Jake…”
Taylor was slipping in and out of consciousness. His mind reeled, floating, images of the room, of his friend leaning over him, moving in and out of view. He could feel his body, the tingling of the nanobots racing to heel his stricken lung.
I’d be dead already without them. But this is a big lift, even for tech like that.
Was he dying? Would the amazing modifications save his life? Or was his wound too deep…was it mortal, even for a Supersoldier?
He lay back, the voice soft distant…calling to him.
“Jake…Jake?”
Chapter 28
Captain Stan Wickes, Upon Seeing AOL Headquarters:
I feel like I’m dreaming, but God damned if you don’t all look like a bunch of silver-eyed Marines!
Taylor was in darkness, lost. Silence.
No, there was something…a sound? His name?
A feeling too…hands on him, a pinprick. Then a surge of energy, of awareness. He could feel the darkness slipping away, like water draining from a sink. Then there was light, above him, bright.
“General?” He could see the face hovering over his. “General Taylor, can you hear me, sir?”
“Hear you…” he rasped, his throat dry, his words barely audible.
Then more clarity, his vision brightening. He felt tugging, his jacket, shirt coming off. Then pressure on his chest, pain. He saw a shadow. The man leaning over him, pressing down on his wound. Then coolness, a fresh dressing. He tried to raise his head, to look around the room.
“General, I need you to lie still until we can get you to a field hospital.” It was the soldier leaning over him. And now he saw more familiar faces, standing above, looking down at him. One in particular.
“Hank…”
“Rest, Jake. You got hit bad, but we’ve got you now. You’re going to be okay.” Daniels was trying to hide the worry, but Taylor had known him too long.
“Gunfire,” Taylor rasped. He could hear the firing outside the office.
“We hold most of the floor, Jake. The enemy is trying to push their way in, but we’ve got them held.”
Taylor turned his head slowly, painfully. He stared up at his friend. “I’ve known you too long, Hank. I can tell when you’re lying.” He paused and gasped for a breath. “Tell me…the truth.”
Daniels stared back at Taylor, silent for a moment. Then he said, “We’re trapped up here, Jake. We’re holding out for now, but there are too many of them. We’ve got about forty men left up here.”
Only forty…
“Turren…the warhead…”
“We got a signal through to him, Jake. I ordered his men to go back the way they came.” Daniels paused, as if he was guilty for sending away men they desperately needed. “I didn’t think they had a chance of making it up here.”
“Did the right thing…”
“General Daniels, they’re coming from three directions…” One of the soldiers had rushed through the door. Taylor didn’t get a good look at the man’s face, but he could see a bandage wrapped around the soldier’s leg…just as he noticed a bloody strip of cloth tied around Daniels’ arm.
“Pull the men back, Sergeant. Set up a pile of debris along the entry to the corridor. It’s narrow there. That’s where we’ll hold.”
“Yes, sir.” The soldier turned and ran back out of the room.
Taylor watched the whole exchange, realizing neither one of them believed they could hold out much longer. He felt more alert, the drugs and his nanos combining to help him from his stupor. “How long, Hank?” Taylor looked at his friend. “No bullshit between old comrades…how long?”
“I really don’t know, Jake. Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. Less if they work up the courage to rush us.”
Taylor nodded his head forward. “It will all fall to Karl. Samovich is dead, the UNGov armies destroyed. If we die, at least we die in victory.”
Daniels nodded, and he forced a fragile smile. “Yes, Jake…victory. Who would have imagined we would have gotten this far? It could have been a ditch on Eratsus somewhere…” He reached down with his hand, and Taylor lifted his own, grabbing hold of his friend.
“They’re coming!” It was a cry from out in the hall, one of the soldiers shouting over the din of gunfire.
Daniels turned and stood in front of Taylor, holding his gun toward the door. Ready to make a last stand. Then he saw a shadow just outside the window. And another…then more. They were coming right toward the building, spreading out. Airships!
* * *
“General Taylor…General Daniels…this is Colonel MacArthur. Please respond.” MacArthur sat in the flyer’s command chair, his face hard and grim, like a statue. “General Taylor, General Daniels…any AOL personnel. Please respond.”
Macarthur sighed. He was tense, nervous. He turned toward the pilot. “They’re in there somewhere. Captain Turren said they were on the top level. I want the building surrounded, all ships ready to fire on my command.”
“Yes, Colonel.” The pilot turned to his com and relayed orders to the other ships.
MacArthur flipped the com unit back on. “General Tay…”
“Colonel, this is General Daniels. I’m here with General Taylor. We’re trapped in one of the offices, with enemy forces pushing us back. How the hell did you end up here?” There was excitement in his voice.
“Captain Terren, General…he sent word that you might…need some help, sir.” MacArthur stared down at his display, punching at the keys on his workstation.
“Well, Captain Terren was absolutely right, Colonel. We’re damned glad to see you.”
“Stay put, General. We’ve got your transponder signal, we’ve got your location. We’re coming in blazing.”
“Understood.”
MacArthur looked back toward the pilot. “Lock in on General Daniels’ signal. Transmit their coordinates to all our forces. And order all ships…open fire on the rest of the floor.”
MacArthur felt his ship shake, as it opened up on the building. He watched as the heavy polycarbonate of the windows shattered under the impact of thousands of autocannon rounds, intense automatic fire from a range that made point blank seem like a sniper’s long-ranged trick shot.
“Keep firing,” MacArthur said, his voice feral, almost bloodthirsty. “Keep firing until every gun runs bone dry.”
* * *
“Easy…easy…” Hank Daniels had his hands under Taylor’s shoulders, easing his friend into the airship. MacArthur’s bird was hovering just outside the window, the top of a desk thrown between its open hatch and the shattered window. It was precarious, even dangerous, but there was no choice. Jake Taylor was a Supersoldier, a hardened veteran of the harshest place men had ever fought…but Daniels knew his friend would die without immediate treatment, care he could only get in a field hospital. And there was no quicker way to get him there than hauling him right onto a Dragonfire and flying him there.
The airship shook slightly, and the makeshift ramp slid to the side. Daniels wobbled a bit,
his eyes glancing briefly down, at the kilometer drop below. But he held on, stepping forward, climbing into the airship, and pulling Taylor after him. He took another step back, and the soldier holding Taylor’s legs followed.
“Okay, we’re in, Lieutenant. Close this hatch and get us back to camp.” His eyes dropped to Taylor, his friend’s face pale, sweatsoaked. “Full speed. We don’t any time to waste.”
He looked back at the building as the hatch slid shut. He’d left Major Stamford in command. In command of twenty survivors…plus three dozen troops from MacArthur’s ships. Just over fifty men to hold the target of the quest, the building that had been the center of Earth government. He knew he should have stayed behind himself, kept command until reinforcements arrived, but right now he’d didn’t give a shit about Earth, about hunting down the survivors of UNGov’s security troops…none of it. His only concern was for his friend, for the man responsible for all they had achieved. And he wasn’t going to leave Taylor’s side. Not for anything.
He felt the ship moving, turning around, repositioning to head back to headquarters. Then he felt the thrust, the flyer blasting hard. He watched the building disappear behind them, and he pushed the concerns from his mind. The top ten floors were shattered wrecks, and most of the UNGov troops below that level had fled. He could see them streaming away from the building, fleeing in panicked rout. There was work left to do, members of the Secretariat and other high-ranking UNGov officials to find, scattered pockets of resistance to stamp out. But he knew the war was almost over. And he had no idea how to proceed. There was only one man who could step into the void, lead humanity from the brink of chaos into the future.
His eyes dropped to Taylor’s still form.
“Colonel, is there any way you can get more speed from this thing?”
Chapter 29
From the Journal of Jake Taylor:
Victory. How many times have I imagined it, dreamed about it? How many times have I endured the pain and loss only by telling myself victory would make it all worthwhile? Now that we have it, the taste is bittersweet. Satisfaction, yes, and joy that my soldiers can stop dying, at least for now. But also new burdens, heavy ones. I’d allowed myself to think of the destruction of UNGov as the end, that in bringing liberty to the people of Earth, I too would taste freedom. But alas, it is not to be. I can see nothing in the future, save strife and duty. And more desperate struggles. For Earth is in total disarray, and I fear I will be compelled to replace one totalitarian regime with another, at least for a time. And I can never forget what I alone of my people know, the secret the Tegeri shared with me. The Darkness is coming.
Taylor walked slowly, leaning on a cane. He wasn’t supposed to be out, at least not according to the surgeons, but he’d never been one to pay much attention to what he was told to do. Besides, the only one who’d seen him leave was a guard, a private from Juno who stared at him with that horrendous worshipful expression. It drove him fucking crazy, but he had to admit it also had its uses.
Daniels and MacArthur had saved his life at UNGov headquarters, there was no question about that, and perhaps more than anyone, Captain Turren. If the airships hadn’t arrived when they had, he knew he’d have died right there on Anton Samovich’s floor. That was an end he’d never quite imagined, and one he was grateful to have avoided. He owed Karl Young his thanks too…for violating his orders and responding to Turren’s call when Taylor himself had forbidden any offensive moves against UNGov headquarters until further notice.
However the gratitude was partitioned, the surgeons told him he’d been minutes from death when they’d brought him in. They’d gotten him into surgery just in time and removed the projectile…and fixed enough of the damage to allow his nanos to do the rest. And the tiny implants had done just that. It was only three days later now, and he was up and around, even if unofficially and in defiance of his doctors’ orders. A normal human being would have been in bed for weeks, probably still in a recuperative coma.
“Jake,” Daniels said as he saw his friend and commander walking down the center of the camp. He was standing around with a group of officers—General Young, Colonel MacArthur, General Akawa, a few others he didn’t recognize. And a man Taylor never thought he’d welcome in his camp. Alexi Drogov. “Should you be up and around?”
“No, probably not,” Taylor said, though it was clear in his voice he didn’t give a shit if anyone thought it was a good idea. “But I’ve been lying in that bed for almost four days, and I’m going to lose my shit if I don’t get up and around…at least a little.”
He nodded toward the cluster of officers. “Besides, it is past time I do some work and stop dumping my responsibilities on all of you.” He turned toward Drogov. “And I don’t believe I’ve thanked you for saving my life…and for killing Anton Samovich. I feel like you did my job for me after I failed to get it done.”
Drogov nodded. “I gave you my word, General.” He paused. “I doubt we will ever be friends…we are very different people. But I do not lightly make promises. I was loyal to Anton for over thirty years, and my efforts played no small part in his rise. But the man at that desk wasn’t my old friend. He had been taken over by madness, broken by the disasters that had befallen him. And though I have employed brutal methods to serve my needs, I am not a monster who would sit by and watch billions killed to no advantage.” He paused, looking at the small group of officers. “But there is no place for me in what is to come. I know you could never trust me, and to be honest, I do not share your optimism for democratic government. I respect you for dealing honorably with me, but if you will excuse my bluntness, I find your faith in the population to be a bit naïve. I do not underestimate your abilities, but I think you will be shocked at how little they appreciate you for bringing them freedom and how quickly they will learn to despise you, to blame you for all their failings.”
He turned, taking a look at those gathered…and finally at Taylor himself. “So, General, if you honor my pardon, I will retreat to my estate in the Swiss countryside and slip away into comfortable retirement…and interfere no more in your undertakings.”
“Your pardon will be honored.” Taylor didn’t smile, but his look was less than overtly hostile, which was an improvement.
“And my men? There are only fourteen of them left…the rest perished in the fighting.”
“And your men. They will all be pardoned.” Taylor paused then extended his hand. “And thank you again for what you have done. Whether you believe in our cause or not, you helped bring it about.”
Drogov shook Taylor’s hand. Then he turned toward the others and said, “Now, if you will all excuse me, I will make my exit…and leave you all to discuss the future of the world.” He turned and, with a last nod, he walked away.
Taylor watched him leave, and then he turned back to the others. “So, don’t you think it’s time you caught me up on things?”
“Well, Jake…” Karl Young sounded nervous, tentative. “…things have been chaotic. There are UNGov remnants hanging on in some areas. I’ve sent military teams to take care of them.” He hesitated.
“What is it, Karl?”
“Well, Jake, we’ve got other problems too. Some cities are descending into anarchy, others are overrun with criminal elements. Over just the past few days, the number of problem spots has multiplied. Our resources are already stretched thin, and things just keep getting worse. We’re trying to govern along the principles we’d agreed upon, but…”
“But?” Taylor’s voice was grim, tense. He knew where this was going, what it would push him to do. And all he wanted in the world was to resist.
“But the only way we’re able to restore order anywhere is with brute force. Jake, we’ve got to keep a world in order, and we just don’t have the strength to do it. We’ve lost too many soldiers in the fighting. There just aren’t enough.”
Taylor sighed. “Well, we can’t let the world slip into chaos, can we? We have to make this work, somehow. Maybe if we move
up elections…” Taylor let his voice slip away to silence. He knew as well as the rest of his people. Rushed elections, without any safeguards or controls, with no constitutions or guarantees of rights in place…they would only allow the same kind of people to gain positions of power. Taylor had no intention of allowing any vestige of UNGov to remain, but he was just as determined to avoid repetitions of the corrupt, dishonest governments that had preceded it.
But how do we get from here to there?
“Excuse me, General, but if you’ll allow me a moment, I might be able to help, at least with regard to manpower if not political nuance.”
Taylor turned toward the man standing behind Karl Young. He was old, much older than anyone else in the gathering. He had a few stringy strands of gray hair hanging from his otherwise bald head. His eyes were deep in the sockets, and he looked like death warmed over. But there was something in his stare, an energy, a strength.
“Jake,” Young said, “this is Captain Stan Wickes. He was an American Marine back in the day. He was also the head of the New York Resistance.”
Taylor nodded, a look of respect replacing one of confusion. “Captain Wickes, it is an honor.” Taylor’s tone softened. “I don’t know what to say about New York, Captain. We all grieve with you.”
Wickes nodded, giving himself a few seconds and then wiping the bleak look from his face. “Thank you, General. It is a great honor to meet you, sir. New York was my home, but now all we can do is fight to ensure its sacrifice was not in vain.”
“What would you propose, Captain?”
“Well, sir, as I see it, you need trustworthy troops now, to serve as garrisons, to keep order and maintain the peace until a new government can be created. I am old, General…” He gestured toward his head. “…and I look all the more so since the dose of radiation I took as I watched New York consumed in nuclear fire. But your medical personnel saved my life, General. They tell me my hair will even grow back. And I would like to help you. There are more military veterans, sir, not just Americans, but British, German, French, Japanese…from all the old nations. They are all at least sixty, but that doesn’t mean they can’t serve again, to fill in the breach. And to train the next generation. I say we rally them, call them back to service. And I have contacts with the various Resistance movements too.” He looked down for a moment. “My comrades in New York are all gone, but there are hundreds in other cities…no, thousands. Let us reach out to them, form a core of operations for each city around them.”