Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Echo Squads Three and Four are in place. Hold for Commissar Red Saviour.”

  The Commissar’s voice made him jump a little. He was used to having a disembodied Vickie in his head. Not so Red Saviour. “Final check. Being sound off. Giving go or no go.”

  “Echo Four, go.” “Echo Three, go.” “Echo Two, that’s a go.” “Air Support, we’re on-station. Go.” Bulwark cleared his throat. “Infil, go.” “Echo One, go, Commissar.” “Squad Red, ready.” A new voice, with the clipped tones of a military scientist chimed in. “Hammer, go.”

  Saviour’s voice was just as cool. “All squads, confirmed go status. Molotok, you are clear for launch.” “Molotok.” That was Russian for “Hammer.” Figured for Saviour to say it in Russian.

  There was a long pause. John kept his gaze focused on the entrance for the Nazi HQ. If everything went according to plan, the favor that Vickie had somehow called in—or used blackmail to get—from some high-ranking muckety-muck in the Air Force Space Agency would hit the entrance dead on.

  Seconds passed. John was beginning to suspect that there was a problem, or that those in charge hadn’t understood the Commissar, when the biggest explosion he had ever personally seen erupted a mere two hundred yards away. Danger goddamned close! It was two thousand yards to the east of the Thulian HQ, and nearly on top of the death machine he was inside. His teeth rattled inside of his head, and he saw spots. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that everyone inside was alive, albeit shook up. More tense waiting. Here’s hopin’ that they don’t drop the next one right on top of us.

  It happened sooner than John thought it would; to reorient something in parking orbit miles above the Earth, calibrate it so that it could strike a target the size of a Buick . . . it was math that was beyond John. But the NASA and DARPA eggheads had done it. A solid tungsten rod, half the size of a telephone pole with a baby guidance computer and some stabilizing fins, smashed into the top of the Thulian HQ. John realized a moment later that the first round that had almost hit them was merely a ranging shot, nowhere near the full power of what was coming. It hit the stone facade at orbital velocity; the sheer energy released was on a scale with a tactical nuclear device, or some of the largest conventional bombs ever detonated. Debris and superheated dust exploded outward, forming the iconic Cold War mushroom cloud even though there was nothing nuclear about it. John could see some sort of energy shield rippling in the very belly of the explosion. It was awesome: a testament to the preparations of a generation that feared Soviet dominance of space, a true space-age weapon. It struck him as ironic that it was now being used to serve a coalition force that was partially composed of hard-liners. “That’ll get their attention.”

  “Am being glad was never used as planned,” Saviour said dryly over the freq. “Davay, davay! Echo One, comrades, deploy!”

  The side of the mountain that hid the Thulians had evaporated, exposing the entrance. As if they had heard John, the hangar door split open, orange and malevolent light spilling out through the smoke and dust. Almost immediately, Thulian troopers and death machines began to pour out, like ants from a disturbed nest.

  Bulwark spoke up. “We’re waiting until the second wave comes. Then we make our move.”

  “Roger, Infil.” That was Vickie. “I’ve got Saviour on her own freq now. Fewer voices in your ear, the better. CCCP and Echo One moving in to intercept now. Air Support on the way; they’re gonna lay thermite bombs and boost-napalm in Arc Light right behind the first wave.”

  * * *

  It was very easy to be detached when you were hundreds of miles away from a furnace-hot valley that was about to get a lot hotter. Vickie tried not to be too detached. This wasn’t a video game.

  “Air Support ETA, ninety seconds, Commissar.”

  The Thulians, despite having their visages hidden behind armor and death machine viewports, looked pissed. They moved with a purpose; their supposedly secret North American headquarters had just been attacked with one of the most powerful weapons in the history of Earth, discounting nukes and OpFour metahumans. They charged ahead in attack columns, with additional SS troops attached to the death machines.

  Echo One, comprised of fast-movers and shooters, went out to engage them. She recognized one of the metahumans; Speed Freak, with a passenger. She’d taken note of him for being connected with Johnny, during the fight between the whole of the CCCP and the Rebs on the outskirts of Atlanta. Parker, the meta’s Christian name, was speeding ahead of the rest of his squad; a very serious-looking Echo OpTwo with a grenade launcher was riding shotgun with him. “Parker,” that was ironic, considering he was doing everything but park right now. Equally ironic—that was Bella’s last name.

  “Back it down, Speed. Echo One, davay the hell up and close ranks.” She switched to Russian and the CCCP freq. “Povernite napravo, piat’sot metrov. Begite kak esli bi vi shli pod ognem, potomu cho vi popadete pod obstrel esli vi ne potoropites!” Nothing like telling them that they would be on fire if they didn’t move like they were already in flames to get them motivated.

  She switched to the Air Tac comm freq. This was like touch-typing now, she could switch freqs and cameras without even thinking about where her fingers should go.

  Vickie scooted a stealthed “eye” the last couple feet to where she wanted the strafing run to start, and another to the end and painted the spots with laser dots. “Angel Flight, you are go for primary bombardment. T-Bird, you are go for follow-on bombardment.” The Air Force Thunderbirds were not the only aerobatic team that had practiced combat against simulated metahuman targets before the Invasion. The T-Birds had gotten all the press coverage, given they were clearing out Vegas where there were a zillion cameras not counting cell phones. The Blue Angels had been itching to prove they were better than their fellow airmen ever since.

  Now they were getting their chance in their six hardened F/A 18 Hornets, followed by the six Thunderbirds in their F16 “Vipers” (as the crews called them) literally coming in at Mach one at least.

  The first jet crested the ridge. The Mach one shock wave rippled across the battlefield. It was dwarfed by the inferno the jets laid down. And at Mach one, with the expert pilots of the Angels and Thunderbirds at the stick, not even the Thulians could move in time to track them. They laid down their rockets and incendiary cannon fire, putting a slash of hell across the landscape that cut the first wave off from behind, then climbed vertically in what must have been nearly nine-gee climbs. Sadly, the two “eyes” were the first casualties. Ah well. More where they came from. She had a crateload of them out there, and an awful lot fit into a crate. One of the things that Verd had kindly left behind when he rabbited were the blueprints and manufacturing instructions.

  “Angel Flight and T-Birds returning to base for re-arm.”

  She was already flying more of her “eyes” over the battlefield, looking for trouble spots.

  “Copy that. Godspeed and get back here as fast as you can.”

  “Roger. Save some for us.”

  All that practice with bigger and bigger teams was paying off. She was in a kind of zen state where it was possible to keep track of everything in all of her monitors. Well, almost all. Infil Team was holding off till the second wave, so she could ignore them for now.

  Cut off by the gash of fire across their escape route, the Thulians headed for the logical place for defensive entrenchment until the swath of thermite and boost-napalm burned out. Of course they did. They knew this land, and they knew the best places to dig in.

  However, as familiar with the lay of the land as they might be, they were not the only ones smart enough to figure out where the good defensive positions would be.

  As Echo One and CCCP raced toward them, the Nazis hit the concealed thermite mines that had been planted there in the predawn hours by some very select Echo metas . . .

  A second swath of fire exploded up on the ridge. Even though she was expecting it, she jumped, her heart racing.

  * * *


  Verdigris stared glumly at the view from his spy cam. It showed a vaguely human-shaped swath of light hovering motionless just above the office that he knew held the new Echo Chief Bella Dawn Parker.

  It was the Seraphym—just high enough off the ground to put her out of range of a sneak attack from Fei Li. Not that he thought a sneak attack would succeed. Her presence was just a great big fat warning sign. No Trespassing, Violators Will Be Ashed. She knew that, and she knew he knew, and he knew she knew he knew.

  Feh.

  “I could overcome her.” That was Fei Le, who was lounging in one of Verdigris’ best chairs, feet up on the desk. “If you doubt I could take her alone, then between us, your bodyguard and I could.”

  “Bad idea.” Verdigris sighed. “First of all . . . you’ve never seen the Seraphym all-out. I have.” He’d been collecting eyewitness accounts and video capture ever since she “visited” him. “She’s a Four, General. For all I know, she’s a Five. Never mind that delusion that she’s an angel; in everything else she’s as sane as they come, and she has pretty much held back on what she can do.” He thought of the footage he’d seen of her taking on not one Death Sphere, single-handed, but a full dozen of them. It had taken her no time at all. That one hadn’t made the news. He’d quietly bought the footage and the rights, so he could study it. He still didn’t know why she chose particular incidents to handle, but it was pretty clear that if she decided that she needed to, she was definitely not something to cross. “She wants Belladonna Blue alive and in charge of Echo. You make a move on her or the blue chick, and—” He made a little piff motion with his fingers. “You only got away the first time on a frontal attack because for whatever reason, the Seraphym didn’t feel like killing you. You wouldn’t stand the chance of an ant in a deep fryer.”

  “I think you underestimate me as well.” Fei Li shrugged. “Nevertheless . . . Echo is doing us a favor, weakening our greater enemy, and we should allow them to do so unmolested, I suppose.”

  Verdigris couldn’t help but acknowledge the wisdom in that. But his pride had been stung at the loss of Echo and the public disgrace that he had suffered because of it and the allegations that had been levied against him. Bella Dawn Parker would live . . . for the moment. One thing that Verdigris never did was to forget to whom he owed debts, however.

  All in time.

  * * *

  Natalya watched through her old-fashioned binoculars as Echo One ripped through the remaining Nazi troopers. For all the witch’s magic, she still couldn’t give a good distance view of the battlefield that wasn’t through a camera, and you had to have a camera in place exactly where you wanted to look. For some reason, this gave Red Saviour a perverse feeling of satisfaction.

  The Echo troops moved fast, and they were well coordinated; the Echo metahuman that was serving as their squad leader had dismounted from the race-car-looking metahuman, firing his grenade launcher at a steady pace. A tactic that worked here that had not worked in city streets was to fire at their feet. The friable soil cratered, and they generally toppled over. That left them vulnerable.

  With many assault rifles and multiple-grenade launchers, it was short work to take care of the already weakened Nazis. The odd meta that looked like a child’s “transforming” toy, Speed Freak, performed a suicide slide, ripping through two weakened troopers under his metal treads. In cover at the ridge behind the skirmish, Saviour had positioned several two-man rocket teams. Armed with Stinger missiles and AT4 launchers, they fired barrages of rockets at any troublesome Nazis. Her heart warmed at the sight of the carnage that the explosions wrought, with her mind flitting back to the massacre at Saviour’s Gate. Each Nazi killed gave her joy. This is right. This is how true Soviets fight—crush the enemy, and no quarter given.

  One of the metahumans, one that she didn’t immediately recognize, fabricated a glowing “chain” of energy; it lazily looped itself around three of the armored troopers, drawing them tight together. Immobile, the Nazis were an easy target for the rocket teams and the rest of Echo One.

  When the last Thulian trooper was killed, the squad began to set up defensive positions. They were hasty, and made to be retreated from quickly. Now, we wait. Now they know we are serious opponents, and the real battle begins.

  She amped up the magnification on her binoculars, shifting her view to the entrance of the Thulian headquarters. The force that exited was much larger, much better organized. Hundreds of troopers, dozens of their floating Death Spheres. “Echo One, being stick to the plan. Disengage after initial contact, being sure to stick to primary retreat vectors. How copying?” There had been opposition to Saviour as the battlefield leader. The US Military had wanted one of their generals. Nat had wanted to point out how poorly the US Military had been doing against the Kriegers, but fortunately, all of Echo had risen up and let it be known that it would be someone who had actually won engagements with the enemy, or no one, and the US Military could go against the target without metahuman help.

  “Reading you five by five, Red Leader. Can’t see for the dust here. What’s the vector?”

  “Is being your six o’clock and closing.” Saviour noted with satisfaction that he didn’t waste breath in answering; the Kriegers were rapidly closing within firing range for the missiles and grenades.

  “Commencing fire on your mark, Red Leader.”

  She waited until they were just at the edge. This was meant to sting, not be a serious threat. “Now. Slap faces.”

  A withering, but short, volley of fire issued from Echo One’s position. Several Nazis went down; not enough to force them to take up a defensive posture, but enough to let them know that the good guys were still there. Let their fascist arrogance take the better of them. And that it did. The remaining Nazis charged forward, powered legs thrusting against the rough terrain at frightening speed. Echo One immediately disengaged; they didn’t bother to move in bounds with cover fire. The Nazis were still out of range to use their energy cannons. As frighteningly powerful as those cannons were, they were not precision weapons. Terror and intimidation was the name of the game of the Thulians; get in close and count on their nigh invulnerable armor to keep them safe as they mowed down nearly defenseless foes. No longer; we are not sheep, but wolves. And we have very long teeth.

  “All positions, be ready.” There was, as Pavel liked to say, going to be a “great Dixie fry.”

  * * *

  The screens of the death machine had a selective binocular plate; it was weird and awkward to use, almost to the point of necessitating a third arm, but it worked well enough once you got the hang of it. John and Bulwark watched from the two forward-facing seats. They saw the Thulians rush out to engage Echo One, saw the metahumans pull back into the valley; John noted that Speed Freak was among them. He didn’t have time to dwell on it, however. Just as the Thulians had the whole of their initial force in the valley, three flights of fast-movers, super-sonic jets, ripped through the sky and loosed their payloads in the kind of maneuver called an “Arc Light.” Huge columns of fire shot out across the ground, incinerating or weakening the Nazi troopers. Fire, extreme or prolonged heat made them vulnerable; they were getting their fair share, and then some.

  “All right,” Bulwark squared himself in his seat, placing his arms in the piloting sleeves. “That’s our cue.” The Death Sphere lurched forward, almost stuttering along. Beads of sweat stood out on Bulwark’s forehead as he concentrated; he made an adjustment to one of the many pedals located in front of his seat. The steering straightened out, and John almost wouldn’t have known they were moving forward if it weren’t for the scenery flashing past through the viewport.

  “Roger, Infil. You’re go, everything’s green by the timetable. Take her in.”

  They’d been over the terrain until they probably could have walked in blindfolded. The route was set. Vickie was only monitoring for this part of the trip to keep them updated on what was going on down with the fight if it was going to impact them, and warn them
of anything unexpected. One of her little spy eyes was glued to the top of the Thulian orb, so she didn’t have to depend on the orb’s optics.

  John watched the second wave of Thulians spilling out of the base. There were most certainly more of them; death machines, troopers, and those weird mechanical eagles. Part of him wondered how many more were in there. The sphere lurched into the air, wobbling towards the entrance. This wasn’t due to Bulwark’s piloting; this was to simulate damage, to give them a reason for returning to the base. The sphere lurched drunkenly towards the entrance. This made for a miserable ride inside. When they were close to seven hundred yards away, Vickie cut into the channel again. “Infil, halt, halt, halt. Angel Flight and T-Bird incoming. Steel Rain.” The death machine grudgingly obeyed the commands. Moments later, John saw the ground vibrate as the Blue Angels, flying low and way too fast and too close, went over their heads. They pulled up, clearing the mountain headquarters by a good margin; a split-second later, dozens of small explosions rocked the massed Thulian forces at the entrance. Thousands of bomblets and mission-specific munitions dropped, turning some—but not damned enough, by John’s estimation—of the troopers into twisted metal and smoldering corpses.

  “Heads up, broken eagle, three o’clock, on an intersect.” There was probably something like radar in this thing, but if so, no one had figured out how to use it. Bulwark halted their forward progress, and a wing-crumpled eagle plowed into the ground ahead of them. “Put some juice in it, Bull; things are heating up out here, and you’re gonna wind up as part of the collateral damage.” Bulwark said nothing in reply, but when the sphere got moving again, it was going a lot quicker. Bulwark bounced it along the ground as part of their ruse, and every bounce made the occupants’ teeth rattle.

  “Remind me never to let you park my car.”

  “Thank you, Operative Nagy.”

  “Keep sharp, people. Hug right.” They were at the entrance now, and hugged one side while fresh troops streamed out. No one seemed to notice them.