Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle

by Mercedes Lackey

  Bull felt a sudden kick to his midsection, grunted in surprise, and tried to return the blow. His attacker easily dodged the punch, and was already moving on to the next target. The Blacksnake skirmishers appeared to be identically dressed in light armor and hooded face coverings. In fact, they were all the same height and build, and moved in the same eerie manner. Their limbs seemed to possess an enhanced range of articulation, bending at strange angles, orchestrating prescient attacks in all directions. They were constantly on the move, not happy to fight just one Echo meta but all of them, lashing out with quick attacks before moving to a new target. Whatever they were, their tactics were working. Bull’s team flailed about helplessly as the skirmishers continued their onslaught, an untouchable dervish that was quickly wearing them down. Unable to build up to a run, Frankentrain was knocked over as one fighter delivered a devastating flying kick to his chest while another rolled to trip him up at the feet. Another drove a series of jabs at Arctic, ending in a wild uppercut that sent her reeling. One by one, the Echo metas were falling.

  Bull collected himself and watched their dervish dance through his stunned team. He kept focus on one of them, willed a condensed shield to flare up around his fist, and reared back in anticipation. As the agile scrapper attempted to tumble past him, Bull struck, and delivered a massive blow to the midsection, amplified by his kinetic shield. The fighter, and all his dopplegangers, flew back towards the front of the car, their forms merging into one sprawling figure who groaned and gripped his stomach in pain.

  “Fall back!” Harmony shouted, seizing another one of her ops by the arm. Bull actually expected her to drain him on the spot, but evidently he was worth more alive than sucked dry. She gave him a rough shove towards Bulwark, snarling “Finish the damn job!” while the rest of her force retreated to the next car. He was a large, heavily armored man, almost as large as Bull. He hunched over, and began to roar as a portal opened up in his chestplate. Bull watched with alarm as a light began to intensify in the man’s chest cavity, realizing what it meant.

  “Take him down!” Bull shouted. The artillery units on his team, those that could still stand, unleashed hell on the living cannon, but all for naught. The man stood his ground, letting the barrage of bullets and force blasts ricochet off his armor, and all the while his power source continued to glow ever brighter.

  “Nice try,” the armored man snarled. Even his head was armored, protected by a series of interlocking metal plates. “I’ll bet you could eventually find a weak spot in this armor, but you’re out of time, and something tells me I won’t have problems getting past yours.” He began to scream as his buildup hit a critical point, and he leveled his chest to blast them and the entire back of the train to ashes. He began to laugh maniacally, and stopped with the thunder of a single gunshot. His head snapped back, and when it flopped forward Bulwark saw an oozing crater where the man’s left eye used to be. He fell to his knees and sank to the ground, the light in his chest extinguished.

  “How’s that for a weak spot, dickhead?”

  Bull turned around. Scope relaxed, and lowered her smoking gun.

  “Nice shot,” he said.

  “We’ve kept in shape,” Scope shrugged. “Even learned a few things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like how guns don’t solve every problem,” she answered. “But sometimes, they make a hell of a persuasive argument.”

  * * *

  “. . . freaking nonintuitive . . . Baromarcú faszfej excuses for engineers, can’t have a nice big red button that says ‘Emergency Brakes,’ oh no . . . Overwatch to Unter! Who’d you leave on the controls?”

  “Busy, Overwatch!” One of the Blacksnake metas had been holding his Echo comrades at bay; he was able to generate a sort of bone armor over his skin, with spikes protruding from his knuckles. He was busy . . . dissuading the Echo metas from advancing, leaving the Blacksnake behind him to take potshots. To hell with this. Unter vaulted over a pile of seats that had been ripped from their moorings and used as a makeshift barrier, charging straight for the meta. He could see the Blacksnake merc grinning, his grown armor rattling as he braced himself. Just before they met, both metas reared back and punched; Unter altered the trajectory of his thrown punch slightly. With a crack as loud as a gunshot, their fists met; the bone spikes and armor on the merc’s fist shattered and started oozing blood, causing him to scream. Unter shut him up with an uppercut that landed on the tip of the merc’s chin, sending him to flip over onto his back, knocked out cold.

  “Ura ura ura! Push them back!” The rest of the Echo team rallied, running past him to meet the enemy. The Blacksnake weren’t prepared for the push, and fought a pitched battle as they retreated to the third car. “Ready, Overwatch. The dogs are running.” Unter leaned over the controls and began to follow the instructions that Overwatch had given him.

  “Nechevo. Good job.” At that moment the train lurched a little and metal began screaming. “This is Overwatch, all Echo, CCCP. Control of train established. You’re coming in hard anyway; there’s too much speed to scrub and there’s gonna be a controlled crash. I’ll give you a five-second warning countdown.”

  Unter surveyed the fight; this bunch of Echo now effectively had the Blacksnake sandwiched in car three between themselves and Bulwark’s team. He idly felt the back of his head where he had been shot; his hand was covered with blood when he pulled it back. Not something to repeat in the near future. Strange dreams after I’ve been shot in the head.

  “Overwatch: all troops! Brace for impact! Five!”

  “Team, we are coming in hot! Brace yourselves!” Unter gripped two poles, hoping that his strength wouldn’t fail and allow his hold to falter.

  “Four! Three! Two! One!”

  * * *

  “Overwatch: Command: open Djinni private, open Pride private,” Bella whispered. “Red, did you get all that? When the car hits, I’m going to jump away from Verd and have hysterics. That should get attention on me, and when the second train hits, I’ll have a meltdown. That should distract everyone from Pride, and he can jet off to the station. If,” she added with only a little sarcasm, “that meets with your approval, my lords and masters.”

  “Make sure you jump far enough away and even if Khanji reacts, I think I can keep her from disemboweling you,” Red replied, with just as much sarcasm.

  By this time, Bella was so keyed up she almost didn’t have to fake hysterics when the first car smashed into the parked train. She shrieked unintelligibly somewhere around high C, leapt nearly to the edge of the stage, and pointed in the direction of Five Points. Tears were rolling down her face for Paperback Rider; even with the station being underground, the sound of that impact meant nothing short of the most resilient metahumans would have survived it.

  When the second impact came, her “meltdown” included a controlled tumble off the stage—something she hadn’t told Djinni was in the program, but which her own parkour practice had ensured wouldn’t even leave much of a bruise, and which would absolutely guarantee that all attention and cameras were riveted on her. As people clustered around her, she moaned dramatically, and feigned confusion until Djinni’s “Okay, he’s away and not even Khanji noticed,” told her it was safe to come tearfully to her feet and babble explanations about flashbacks.

  “Verd’s pissed off. You stole his show. Heh, now he’s looking for Pride. So’s Khanji.”

  Look all you want, monkey boy, she thought, viciously. And come on down here to see if I’m okay. I’ll give you a handshake you’ll never wake up from.

  * * *

  John had almost become a head shorter when the first car crashed; a jagged piece of metal had gone whistling through the air where he had been less than a second before. Natalya had been one of the first people up, yelling orders and trying to prepare the troops for the second train. The Echo Med team were still busy dragging off the wounded and putting the still-living Blacksnake mercs out of reach of the Commissar.

  He started to lo
ok around for the rest of the squad; Mamona was the first one that he spotted. She was leaned up against an overturned vending machine, dazed and bleeding from a cut on her forehead, courtesy of a Blacksnake knife. John trotted up to her, kneeling down and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Y’all right, comrade? We’ve got more fight comin’ to us.” She seemed to focus a little more, wiping some of the blood off of her eyebrow before nodding to him. “Follow me; we gotta police up Bear an’ meet with the Commissar.”

  Pavel wasn’t too far away; he was standing in front of a large piece of shattered mirror, grunting and cursing under his breath. It wasn’t until he turned at the sound of their approach that John and Mamona saw why.

  “This may being slight problem.” A foot-long piece of rebar was sticking out of Bear’s chest cavity, perilously close to his gyroscopic heart. “Have been trying to extricate Amerikanski steel, but there was a chance of nicking plasma conduits.” He shook his head. “Not ideal for anyone in the station that is not wishing to become Tennessee Fried Turkey.”

  “I think I’ve got a solution. Hold still.” With a grunt, John yanked the rebar out of Pavel’s chest, dropping it to the ground with a clatter. “Just ’cause I’m a curious sort, what would’ve happened if it had hit your heart?”

  “Station would be having new skylight.”

  Mamona gulped hard. “Right. Shall we?”

  They ran together to where the Commissar was positioning the Echo personnel; everyone had their weapons out, and those with more flamboyant powers had them charged and ready. John, Pavel, and Mamona fell into place, waiting. The second car came screeching in much like the first, sending a shower of sparks off of the rails; it was clear that it was going significantly slower, however. When it impacted with the rear of the wreckage of the first car it further compacted the ruined cabin, causing everyone to duck and recoil.

  “Be vigilant, tovarischii! They will being in third car!” The assembled Echo and CCCP recovered and trained their weapons on the third car, collectively holding their breath for what seemed like hours but was in fact only a handful of seconds. Finally, the doors creaked open. Dazed and bloody Blacksnake mercs stumbled out, some clutching weapons and others supporting each other.

  John was about to move in when a familiar feeling creeped up his spine. In a second it felt like a cold snake was coiled in his guts. Something is wrong, something is going to go bad.

  At that moment flashbangs went off, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. John was able to recover just in time to see what looked like nearly two dozen more Blacksnake mercenaries pour in from service entrances and back doors.

  Shit! I thought we had the station secured! There wasn’t any time left to think; almost as one, everyone started shooting—or closing in for hand-to-hand. It was absolute chaos.

  * * *

  Where had all the Blacksnake come from? The last Bulwark had heard, Vickie was only reporting about twenty moving on the station. This was a lot more than twenty.

  “Overwatch to Bulwark. No, I don’t know where they came from. Working to locate all of them, but they keep shooting out cameras. Overwatch to Bulwark’s teams. DON’T MOVE.”

  A moment later, the earth heaved up beneath the cement flooring, providing barricades of earth and broken concrete behind which they could take some scant shelter.

  “Okay, now you can move.” Vickie sounded very weak, and shaky. “AFK for thirty seconds—sugar, caffeine.”

  “Take positions behind those barricades!” Bulwark bellowed. “Fan out! I want Omega Tango maneuvers, people!”

  “Davay!” Red Saviour’s voice rang out as even more Blacksnake mercs streamed into the station. “Squads Odin and Dva, left and right flank!”

  For a moment, the dazed Echo and CCCP metas were completely caught off guard. Within the space of a few heartbeats, they had witnessed one astonishing thing after another: the crash of the train, the sudden onslaught of Blacksnake forces breaching the station, and the very earth rising up from beneath them to serve as makeshift cover. Bull and Saviour’s voices cut through their confusion, snapped them to attention, and with shouts of renewed vigor, they moved into position and opened fire on the advancing Blacksnake troops.

  It was relatively easy to tell the Blacksnake that had been on the train; they were stumbling around, dazed and confused, and being pulled out of the wreck of the train by their fresher compatriots. A few of the Echo ops immediately surrounded them, guns trained on their hearts, ordering them on the ground. Already battered and bruised, most did as they were ordered, though a few chose to attack, and were immediately put down with short bursts of gunfire. Bull glanced around at the fallen and captured Blacksnake operatives. Harmony wasn’t there.

  “Comrade Bulwark!” Saviour shouted. “Numbers are nyet in our favor! Best defense being offense!”

  Bull nodded. “We’re going to have to force a retreat then, to gain some ground until we can secure another choke point!” He glanced around the barricade at the Blacksnake forces, who were returning fire from behind stone columns and debris. He looked back at Saviour speculatively. “You feeling reckless?”

  Saviour broke out into peals of laughter, so much so that she couldn’t speak for a moment.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Bull said, as he ran to her side and brought his shield to life around them. “Go!” he barked. “Let’s see how much pain you can dish out!”

  Natalya looked at Bull like she could kiss him. Instead, she grinned wolfishly and together they charged around the barricade. Without having to concern herself with taking cover, she was able to concentrate all of her attention on wreaking the greatest amount of devastation possible. Her blasts simply passed through Bull’s shield, though the glimmering bubble still reflected the Blacksnake gunfire right back at their foes. Granted, the reflected gunfire wasn’t even remotely accurate, but the bullets continued to ricochet off concrete floors, ceilings and occasional metal objects, so what the reflected fire lost in accuracy, it more than made up for in being unpredictable.

  As for Red Saviour, her energy blasts were accurate and absolutely devastating. If Blacksnake troops took cover behind something that could move, they found it blasted away from them, or into them. If they took cover behind something that couldn’t move, they found it being eaten away. And if they didn’t take cover . . . Saviour was making no attempt, whatsoever, at nonlethality.

  The Blacksnake troopers were forced into retreating—right up to the point where troops showed up with flamethrowers.

  “Borzhe moi!” Three flamethrowers belched fire at them at once, and now they were the ones retreating.

  But their retreat caused the flamethrowers to advance, which opened holes in the line.

  “Echo. Gaps at your nine. CCCP, gaps at your two. Behind two, troops are reloading. Echo, full mags on your side, watch it and stay in cover.” Overwatch was doing her job again. “Check your HUDS if you’ve got ’em. CCCP, if Echo Med is secure, get your assets downstairs, we need you.”

  These were well-trained troops; no bullet-hosing for them, they might have been carrying full-autos, but they were picking their shots and conserving their ammo with short bursts. There was a lot of lead in the air.

  As the flamethrowers continued their determined advance, Bull and Saviour traded places with their shock troops, who dove from nowhere to create general chaos amidst the frontline Blacksnake fighters. Saviour broke off from Bull, raining force blasts into whatever openings she could find, pummeling entire mobs of confused Blacksnake metas.

  Bulwark fell back behind the barricades, and gripped his shoulder. He winced. One of the jets of flame had singed him. He was about to launch himself back into the fight, when the barricade came under attack. Dodging gunfire and flying over the top, one of his operatives crouched down beside him, and flashed him a grin. It was Mel Gautier—now once again callsign Reverie.

  “Report,” Bulwark grunted.

  “Those were some ballsy moves there, cher,” she said. “G
ave the rest of us an opening. Our melee specialists have opened it up a little more, spread them out a little, and the rangers are picking off targets from cover.”

  “Enough to turn this around?” he asked.

  Mel peeked around the barricade, and jerked back as more gunfire ricocheted off the warped concrete. “Tough call, but we definitely gained a bit of ground. I’d say we’re fifty-fifty now.”

  “Not good enough,” Bull said, grimly. He appraised her with a grave look. “I’m going to need the group shot. You up for it?” He knew Mel had come a long way since returning to Echo. Her sessions with Bella had apparently worked wonders. So far, her fieldwork had been exemplary, but they had barely tested her limits. His discussions with Bella about her had been blunt, but Bella could only shrug and say she was coming along, she was ready and fit for duty, but that no one would know just how big a job she could handle until she tried it under fire. Was she ready to try something so big?

  Mel nudged him playfully with her elbow. “I’m back here, ready and waiting. I’ve been itching to try something like this for a while now.”

  Bull nodded in encouragement, but he saw past her swagger and assumed confidence. She was nervous, that much was clear, and her hands shook slightly as she closed her eyes. She clenched her hands into tight fists, and when she opened her eyes they blazed with indigo fire. Bull watched in amazement as the doors of the crashed train were blown out, and streams of Echo operatives came rushing out. It was perfect. She had gotten it all, from the sounds of the doors being ripped away, to the battle cries of the fresh combatants as they thundered towards the Blacksnake line, screaming for their blood. They very much looked the part as well. They were, each of them, indistinguishable from their real-life counterparts. Bull saw Yankee Pride leading the charge—his gauntlets, a gift from his father, glowing with yellow energy. Unlike Saviour, his energy all went into punches, and no one wanted to be on the receiving end. Behind him were Corbie, Motu and Matai, Silent Knight, the three remaining Winds, Belladonna Blue and Red Djinni. And behind them, still more, the flower of Echo, dozens of heavily armed combatants in full nanoweave bearing heavy assault weaponry.