Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle

by Mercedes Lackey

  They were, none of them, real. It didn’t seem to matter, as the Blacksnake metas and troopers took one look at them and screamed for a retreat. As they thundered away, the real Echo and CCCP metas followed, taking full advantage of the illusion, and with a relieved grin Mel turned to Bulwark and began to laugh.

  “Laissez les bons temps rouler,” she said. “Y’know, I think I would even . . .”

  Her words were cut short, as a sudden shot rang out. Her head flew back and Bull caught her as she fell limply into his arms. An angry cut ran the length of her temple, ending with a bullet lodged right above her ear. Reverie gasped for breath, in shock.

  “Somebody help me!” Bull yelled, and an unfamiliar young man clad in nanoweave under an Echo Med scrub top knelt at his side. Quickly, he fished out a compress pad, a roll of bandages and forceps from his satchel. He plucked the extruding bullet from Reverie’s head, pressed the compress pad to the wound and immediately began to wrap the bandages around her head.

  Bull looked up. Where had the shot come from? Aside from the Blacksnake ops that had been captured, the rest were retreating back up to ground level! He scanned the scene, and saw a silhouette pause briefly at the entrance of a service tunnel.

  As Harmony looked back, her eyes locked on Bull’s. She shrugged an insincere apology, turned, and was gone.

  “You got this?” Bull asked the Echo medic, who continued to work quickly on Mel’s head wound. The medic nodded.

  “I want you to get her out of here, up to the emergency triage bay they’ve got set up upstairs. Think you can do that?”

  The medic gave him an irritated look. “You’re asking if I can do my job?” he snapped back.

  “Fair enough,” Bull said. “What’s your name, son?”

  “Jakob,” the boy answered.

  “Well, Jakob, if she wakes up before I get back, tell her she did a damn good job.”

  “Yessir,” Jakob answered.

  Bull laid a gentle hand on Mel’s shoulder, stood up, and ran for the service tunnel.

  * * *

  Somehow, Frank found himself without a team. He had been on Team Three, but he’d gotten separated after being a meat shield for them when someone threw a hand grenade. He’d blacked out for a second—just because he was tough, it didn’t follow he was entirely immune to concussive force—and when he woke up, he was alone.

  Where had all those Blacksnake come from? They certainly hadn’t been on the train.

  “Frankentrain to Team Three. Frankentrain to Team Three.” He waited, wincing at the sounds of gunfire and worse echoing in the station as he instinctively took cover against the side of the fourth car. He didn’t want to look at what was left of the first one. Poor Rider.

  “Frank, where are you?” Finally an answer.

  “Next to the train,” he replied.

  “Stay there, we’ll rendezvous with you when we get clear. If you see anything that isn’t us, shoot it. We have Snakes crawling all over us.”

  That made him think of something. Those remaining cars were presumably full of satchel charges, probably C4, military and paramilitary explosive of choice. This was an asset he would rather Blacksnake didn’t get their hands on. Scope and Acrobat probably just pulled the detonators; stick them back in and you’d have working bombs again. I’d better collect them.

  He got himself back in the second car, which had taken relatively little damage. The guy that Overwatch had put on the controls had managed to get the train slowed enough so all that happened when they came in hot was a little crumple at the front and a couple Snakes with broken necks. He began looking for backpack-type bags that were all alike amid the debris and busted signs and other props. As soon as he found two he looked in one, and sure enough . . . bricks of C4 and canisters. The canisters were probably ball bearings or the like for shrapnel. Scope or Acrobat had pulled out the familiar-looking detonator and the end (the radio receiver? probably) was crushed. Smart kids. Left it in the bag, so no one would find it rolling around and figure out the satchels had been tampered with.

  “Echo to Frankentrain.”

  “Go, Colt,” he replied, piling the satchels just outside the door.

  “Your team is supporting Echo Med. Any action where you are?”

  “I can hear it, but nothing close. I’m grabbing the C4 satchels the Snakes left on the train so they don’t come back here and try to use it. When you can send me a heavy lifter to come get it, I’d appreciate.”

  “Overwatch to Echo and Frankentrain. Got a man that can take it in three trips or so. Don’t shoot him, he looks like a geriatric junkheap.”

  A moment later, the aforementioned “geriatric junkheap” did come clanking out of the smoke from the ruins of a Caffeebucks. “Privyet, comrade!” the creature saluted jovially. “Am beink the famous Sovietski Medved, the Russian Bear!”

  He didn’t look anything like a bear, he looked like some Cold War version of an android designed by drunken engineers, but Frank was happy to see him. He piled the old man’s back and arms with the satchels, as the odd fellow happily babbled about exploits of the far past and what he’d done five minutes ago, then just as happily trotted off again, laden like a mule.

  Frank emptied out what had been the third and fourth car and his commie pack mule turned up to carry that lot of satchels away as well. But it was as he was just starting the fifth and final car that Overwatch reported him being delayed, so rather than leaving something out in the open that Blacksnake would immediately recognize as (a) theirs and (b) useful, he piled the satchels up at the back end.

  He was about halfway through when Overwatch came over the Echo freq. “Overwatch to Frankentrain!”

  “Go, Overwatch.”

  “Are you still on the tracks? Big trouble coming up the tunnel!”

  He ran to the end of the car and peered through the smoke and glare from the daylight out there. And then he saw it, moving ponderously up the tracks, probably because the extra clearance over the tracks gave it the only clear path to move without hunching over. If it even could hunch over.

  Blacksnake’s been making toys. Someone in their R and D must have been studying the Krieger power armor, because there were obvious similarities. It didn’t look as if it was made of the superstrong stuff the Kriegers used; this was more like tank armor, which made it as strong as a tank, but also made it as heavy as a tank. Put that much weight on two legs instead of two treads, and you had to have a lot of motive power to make it move; probably why it was so big. Instead of energy cannon, it had twin M134 miniguns for arms. If it started firing it would be able to mow down pretty much anything like a harvester going through a field of wheat. Echo nanoweave was meant for small-arms fire, not 7.26 x 51mm shells coming at four thousand a minute. The damn thing was nothing more nor less than a killing machine, and could probably even take down any OpThree that wasn’t invulnerable.

  With a moment of impossible clarity, he knew that he was in exactly the right place, at exactly the right time, and he knew exactly what to do.

  “Got it covered, Overwatch,” he said casually, and began clearing the rest of the satchels up to the end of the train. The thing was so heavy it was lumbering at a pace far slower than a normal man’s walk, but he hurried nevertheless, grabbing a couple of discarded Reb bandanas along the way. With his makeshift boiler-plate armor, he looked more like a Reb than Echo. He tied one of the bandanas around his neck, the other around his head. By the time he got the last of the satchels piled up, the mecha was halfway to the train.

  Dropped tasers were everywhere. He picked one up, and jammed four of the broken detonators into the nearest block of C4, and waved at the mecha.

  It stopped. He got the impression of peering, but that was probably because the operator was using zoom and maybe light-amplifying tech to get a better look at him. He waved again, then pointed to his ear, and made a “negative” sign. Even a moron should take that to mean “Hi, I’m friendly, lost my radio.”

  Nice thing about Ec
ho. We’re all so upright and decent . . . well, except maybe the Djinni . . . nobody ever thinks we would lie.

  Then again, with twin miniguns, this thing really didn’t have to worry if he was friendly or not. After all, what could he do to it?

  He waited patiently for the thing to lumber towards him—hoping that if the operator decided to err on the side of caution, his own armor and the back of the train might keep him from getting turned into salsa before he got his chance to take the thing out.

  But the operator was, thankfully, convinced of his own invincibility and continued to lumber forward, until at last it was within inches of the back glass, peering down at him. An external speaker squawked to life.

  “What unit are you with?” the operator demanded.

  “Unit Misfits,” Frank said. “And I figured you could use a lift.”

  And with that, he jammed the taser into the detonators, and hit the switch.

  * * *

  Bella didn’t have to feign shock when the explosion rocked the entire plaza. She staggered and looked wildly in the direction of the MARTA station, where a plume of smoke was rising.

  “Overwatch to Echo,” she heard, both on her Overwatch rig and through her normal comm. “That was Echo OpOne Frankentrain taking out a Blacksnake mecha the hard way.” The grim tone to Vickie’s voice told Bella exactly what “the hard way” meant.

  Her gaze whipped over to Verd and Khanji on the platform. She was just in time to catch a fleeting look of satisfaction on Verd’s face.

  But the explosion, coming on top of the two crashes, had set the crowd swirling in knots of confusion and fear. No one knew where to go, and people were starting to panic. Verd was going for the mic again—presumably to try and calm them down—while Khanji turned away to talk to one of his “special” security detail.

  This might be my only chance to—

  The thought was cut off as a hand grabbed her elbow and a familiar voice growled into her ear before she could react.

  “I told you, darlin’, she’ll gut you before you can blink. I’m getting you out of here before one of them figures out you just might know something.”

  Bella thought about arguing with the Djinni—but then her private Overwatch freq opened again.

  “Soviette to Comrade Blue. Skills are needed here!” Sovie was usually calm and contained, but this sounded desperate.

  That settled it. In the choice between saving lives and maybe taking down Verd, there was no choice. “Right. Let’s go,” she said grimly.

  * * *

  As hunts went, it was a simple one. When Harmony had fled, Bulwark had only paused to pick up a rifle off a fallen Blacksnake meta and had followed in hot pursuit, and without a word Scope and Acrobat had joined him. Overwatch had contacted them only long enough to tell them that the security cams had been disabled back there, which left them on their own for finding her. They pounded down the concrete corridor under dim lighting from regularly spaced fluorescent fixtures above them. There was no need for stealth. There really wasn’t anywhere to hide, and with her speed Harmony was already well ahead of them. She wasn’t one for stamina though, that was something they remembered from their time together. Eventually, she would have to slow down. Or had that been a ruse as well? She had kept so many secrets, she had played them so convincingly, but what choice did they have? They continued to run, their feet echoing off the concrete, but they were otherwise silent. There wasn’t any need to talk. They all felt the same, each knew what the rest did, as any battle-seasoned team should. There was no way they would let her escape, not this time.

  So when they came to the fork in the tunnel, nothing was discussed. They slowed to a stop, and with a look they parted ways. Bull headed left while Scope and Acrobat took the right, with barely a glance at each other. Just a few pointed words.

  “Remember, don’t let her close in!” Bull’s voice rumbled after them.

  “Signal if you find her!” Scope growled back.

  “We missed you, boss!” That was Bruno’s contribution.

  * * *

  As they ran, Bruno found his thoughts drifting back over the past few days. Their time behind enemy lines had seemed so fruitless. Try as they might, he and Scope had never found a way to ambush Harmony. She was simply never at Blacksnake HQ. Still, they kept getting hints and clues that pointed to her whereabouts. When she finally showed up for this, the big mission, it was too good an opportunity to miss. Taking her out could wait. Foiling the scheme against Echo had to take priority. It was all so crazy. This was Harmony! How did that shy, crazy nutjob they had all come to love pull one over on all of them, and on Bulwark of all people, for years? Who was she, really? And just how good did she have to be to . . . ?

  The thought snapped him back to the more immediate matters at hand. They were chasing her, blindly, someone who had been good enough to take out an entire squad of Tesla’s personal bodyguards and Bulwark with relative ease. He glanced at Scope as they sprinted through the tunnel, his hand outstretched to rein her in, when he felt that warm spot in his chest again. That warmth that always seemed to bloom when he looked at her, when he thought of her, that damn near cooked him alive the one time he had actually touched her. Not that he’d had much choice. When that pit trap had opened in the Goldman Catacombs, he watched his deepest, most desperate crush fall headlong into it. Had he known there were jagged spikes waiting for them at the bottom, he doubted it would have made a difference. He would have jumped in after her anyway. For an eternity, they had simply hung there, bouncing lightly on his zipline, their bodies pressed together as she held onto him for dear life. Every day since, he had relived that moment, every time he closed his eyes.

  They were chasing a killer, and a damn good one, alone. No backup, no element of surprise, just the two of them against a cold-blooded monster. It was crazy. Could they really beat her? He felt his legs seize up, as the thought of losing Scope tore at his heart.

  “Paris, stop a second,” he said.

  Scope skidded to a halt, and glared at him.

  “How many times do I have to say it, Bruno?” she seethed, “Call me that again and I will gut you.”

  “Sorry, sorry,” he panted, holding up one hand. “Never knew anyone to be so touchy about their real name.”

  “It’s not my real name,” she insisted. “Hasn’t been for a while now.”

  “Fine, fine . . . Scope, stop a second.”

  “You winded already? You girl . . .”

  “No, no, course not . . . well okay, yes, yes I am,” Bruno admitted. “But it’s not just that. What are we doing? We really going to Zerg her, just the two of us? Remember all the stuff we heard about her, in the Blacksnake barracks? She’s their go-to assassin, she has been for years. What can we do that’ll top her? She’s . . .”

  “Remember!” Scope barked, and immediately lowered her voice. “Remember what Bull said. Keep your distance . . .”

  “And if she closes in? She’s fast, Scope, faster than . . .”

  “Remember,” Scope repeated. “Remember what we heard in the barracks.” She gave him a meaningful look, then looked down at herself and back to him. “We got this, Bruno. We . . .”

  She was interrupted by the hard clanking of smoke grenades as they bounced around their feet. Scope shouted in alarm but they were instantly enveloped in an opaque fog. At least their gas masks worked, though Bruno was still able to detect a faint acrid odor to it.

  “What is that?” Bruno shouted. “Tear gas?”

  “Smell’s wrong, and the color’s off,” Scope snarled.

  “Do you like it?” Harmony called out from further up the tunnel. “New Blacksnake tech, patent pending. That cloud’s going to persist for a while, so don’t bother waiting for it to dissipate. And don’t move. You can’t see me, but I can see you, and I’ve got my piece trained on both of you.” She paused. “Good to see you guys, by the way. You both look good.”

  “Save it, you two-faced, murderous bitch!” Scope snarled
. “Well? What are you waiting for? You’ve got the drop on us. Why don’t you take it?”

  Harmony sighed. “Do you really think I want you dead? Whether you choose to believe it or not, you two were the closest I’ve had to friends in . . . well, decades, really. You could even say we grew up together, in an odd fashion. When we first met, I thought I’d have my work cut out for me, fitting in. You both were so hopeless! Then you improved, faster than anyone would have thought, which meant I could let Echo think I was improving too. And look at you now! I’m impressed! Infiltrating Blacksnake to chase down little old me, I can only guess. Who would have thought shy, bumbling Bruno and Paris, the Queen of Piss ’n’ Moan, could pull it off?”

  Scope shook her head. “All right, seriously, you guys have to cut out this ‘Paris’ crap, or I’m . . .”

  “Going to gut us,” Harmony finished. “Yes, yes. Thing about old and tired threats, Paris, they tend to become . . . well, old and tired. You need a new bit.”

  “What do you want, Harm?” Bruno asked. He was, for once, not bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. Instead he stood motionless, but through the haze of smoke Scope just barely made out his fingers lightly tapping on his sidearm, which was bound to his leg.

  “Payback,” Harmony answered. “On a certain billionaire who seems to want me dead. He really rig that entire train to blow?”

  “Yes,” Bruno answered in a loud voice, drowning the faint snap from his holster as he unfastened the strap holding his gun.

  “I guess that means I owe the two of you as well,” Harmony said. “You saved my life, and that doesn’t happen too often. Wow, it’s great to have pals.”