by Lee Stephen
Rising to his feet, Javon leaned back against the tree. Stone-faced, he stared into the rainstorm. That look in the colonel’s eyes, those collar-shaking gestures. Even with Lilan being unable to speak in his final moments, Javon knew exactly what had just happened.
A transfer of command.
As Javon stared down at his pistol, his eye focus shifted slowly past it to his helmet on the ground, its featureless faceplate looking back up at him. Kneeling down slowly, he picked it up in his hands, then fit it over his head, the frigid sensation of rain on his afro and scalp replaced with cold, hard metal. As the helmet’s internal cameras reengaged and the forest came into view, he reached his hand out blindly to grab hold of Mark’s arm. The cadet ceased his efforts and looked shakily at him. “Just pick him up,” Javon said, his voice once again amplified by the slayer’s helmet.
Acknowledging with a trembling, “yes sir,” Mark complied, straining to pick the fallen colonel up and hoist him over his shoulder.
Javon turned the volume of his helmet amplification to full blast. Turning back to the firefight, he said, “Everybody…time to move!” There was nothing more that they could do there. Any hope for their survival was outside of the forest.
* * *
Natalie could see the exchange of firepower through the storm. As she and Becan drew nearer to it, the echoes of gunfire replaced the hammering of rainfall. Approaching at an angle that put the two of them out of the primary combat zone, she was able to circumvent EDEN’s forces entirely as she made her approach.
Bullets zinged past her head from the direction whence she and the Irishman had come, as if they’d been caught up to from behind. Sliding to her knees, she scurried behind a tree, as did Becan adjacent to her. “Oleg,” the Irishman seethed.
“Hold your fire!”
The voice—one Natalie recognized—called out from the storm as the hail of bullets stopped. It was Logan. “Lo!” Leaping to her feet, Natalie pivoted around the corner of the tree and back into the open while Becan stared at her dumbstruck.
Far behind them and with Logan at the lead, he, Marty, and Sasha moved quickly in Natalie’s direction. Though Marty and Sasha had indeed stopped firing, their weapons were still raised and ready. “Nattie, get on the ground!” Lifting his own chaos rifle, Logan moved around her to get an angle at Becan.
“No!” cried Natalie alarmingly, moving quickly to block the Australian’s line of sight. “Logan, don’t!”
“What the hell do you mean, don’t?”
Holding both her hands out, one to stop Logan and the other to stop his partners from circling them, she pled. “Stop! Everyone, stop!” When they only partially complied, she stared wide-eyed at Logan. “EDEN is lying to you!”
The Australian looked at her like she was crazy. “The hell are you talking about?”
“We came here to find a device,” Natalie sputtered rapidly. “A Ceratopian device with evidence of a conspiracy between the Ceratopian government and Benjamin Archer! Scott was on their tail—this was supposed to blow it wide open. None of this is what you think!”
Logan looked at her like she was crazy. “They’re messing with your head, Nattie. There’s no kind of conspiracy—”
“There is! I swear to God, Lo, I need you to trust me!” Though she tried to keep the other two Vectors in her sights, it was impossible to do without losing track of someone. The three of them had her and Becan evenly surrounded.
“Ma’am, if you da hostage, you better jus’ come wit’ us,” said Marty. “Hey, we’ll take y’all both. We’ll talk about all dis over a nice game of pedro.”
Natalie glared at him. “We’re not going with you.” Her focus turned back to Logan. “Help us get out of here, Lo. I’ve never lied to you before, and I’m not starting now.”
“Whoa, now.” Marty held a hand up, staring at Logan while Natalie addressed him. “Let’s not start listenin’ to da crazy-talk.”
“Trust me, Logan.” Standing pleading and motionless, Natalie stared through the rain dripping down her eyelashes. “Trust me. You were right about everything else—but I’m right about this.”
Marty raised an eyebrow. Casting a look in Sasha’s direction, the two held steadfast stares of mutual uncertainty as they listened to the conversation unfold.
“There are things none of us were supposed to know about. Things that, if we knew, would expose them for what they’re doing.”
“And what exactly are they doing?” Logan asked warily.
Shaking her head, Natalie hesitated before finally answering, “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“All right, dat’s about enough,” said Marty, making hand gestures to Sasha.
“I’ve never lied to you about anything,” said Natalie quietly, knowing full well that Logan could hear what she was saying. Her gaze remained held with intense conviction. Drenched, muddied, and beaten, Natalie Rockwell was forgoing an escape that was right there for the taking. “I’ve never lied to you.”
Logan’s eyes stayed fixed to her, and indeed he could hear every word she said. Behind the Australian’s EDEN visor, his deep eyes revealed his wrestling with conflicted convictions. At long last, his gaze not once having wavered from Natalie’s—the woman he’d gone all this way to find, for reasons that had nothing to do with what was taking place around them—Logan made his choice. Inhaling deeply through his nostrils, Logan leaned his head to the side just enough for his neck to quietly crack. Eyes shifting to Sasha, then Marty, the Australian said, “I think these two are comin’ with me, mates.”
The Cajun looked at him, stupefied. “Aw, come on. You bein’ real?”
Ever so faintly, the corners of Natalie’s lips curved up. Glancing back, she gave Becan a nod.
“You know if y’all do ’dis, we gonna have to kill y’all?” Marty asked.
“I’d like to see you try that.” The Australian tightened his grip on his weapon.
Pivoting to face Marty, Natalie said stern-faced, “You’re outnumbered three-to-two.”
Marty rubbed the top of his head. “Well, you know,” he said, glancing at Sasha, “the two of us do kinda count as double.”
As Becan hurried to join Natalie and Logan, the Australian said to the two Vectors, “Don’t make a mistake.”
“You da one makin’ it, chief.” Marty’s voice fell dangerously low.
“Freeze!” The voice came from out of nowhere behind Sasha, prompting both he and the others to jump. “Don’t move!” It was Esther. The scout-turned-valkyrie was standing behind Sasha, the barrel of her pistol pressed to the back of his neck in the exposed slit just beneath his helmet. With her finger on the trigger, she glared at Marty, then Logan. “Becan, Venus…come on.”
Natalie looked at Esther as she motioned to Logan. “Him, too. He’s with us.” When Esther gave her a stern look, Natalie said, “Just trust me.”
Setting his hands on his hips, Marty sighed.
“Where’s Scott Remington?” Esther asked, glaring at Marty as the others slowly moved toward her.
“Your outlaw leader done went and got captured,” the Cajun answered. “Just like y’all about to be.”
Esther shot him a smug look. “Yeah, not sure if you’ve been paying attention, but—”
Sasha whipped around, sending his shin sweeping beneath Esther’s feet. As the wide-eyed Briton flipped and went airborne, he ripped her pistol clean out of her hand and pivoted to aim it at Logan, who froze. Esther hit the mud face-first, wrenching her head up in pain as her helmet bounced off and Sasha lowered his knee upon her back, pinning her down.
“Sodding…augh!” Esther screamed, lifting her mud-caked face.
“It’s okay,” Sasha said in a manner that seemed intended to be equally assuring both to Marty and the adversaries. “I got her.”
The shot rang out cleanly, seeming to pierce through the storm itself as it cut through the rain toward the standoff. The familiar, yet muffled pop-pop of a bullet finding its target emerged, and ever
y person present flinched. But none as much as Sasha.
Stumbling forward, his knee leaving Esther’s back, the Vector scout sunk down to both knees as he looked down. In the center of his purple and white armor, at the only place where a bullet could have found flesh, flowing crimson liquid began to pour out. Turning his head slowly in Marty’s direction, Sasha relinquished his grip on the gun he’d taken from Esther. He fell to the mud.
Everyone froze. Staring wide-eyed at Sasha’s body, Esther drew in a breath and whipped her head to the forest. Through dangling tendrils of wet hair, she saw Jayden in the distance. Lifting his good eye from his sniper rifle, the protector locked eyes with his wife.
Marty’s face contorted with rage. Before anyone else could react, the Cajun bolted toward the cover of a nearby tree, glaring through his visor with a murderous rage. Swinging up his chaos rifle with ruthless intent, he laid down on the trigger.
Time slowed as the bullets soared toward Jayden. They tore through his armor. Stumbling backward as blood erupted, Jayden’s sniper rifle fell from his grasp. The Texan collapsed on his back.
“Jay!” Esther shrieked. The valkyrie scrambled up from the ground, flinging mud in all directions as she ran in abject horror for the Texan. The instant she popped up, Marty swiveled to take aim.
The unraveling happened almost too quickly to comprehend. Natalie froze. Logan shouted. Becan tore off red-faced for the Cajun. In doing so, the Irishman became Marty’s greatest threat. Forsaking his clean shot on Esther, Marty pivoted to the other side of the tree and opened fire on Becan. Every shot from his chaos rifle hit its mark. Becan was spun around in midair by the peppering of bullets, blood spewing from his mouth as he rolled through the mud.
Logan returned fire.
Despite the slamming of rain, despite the popping of gunfire, despite the screaming of Esther…it was as if all sound had suddenly muted. Standing in the middle of the erupting scenario, Natalie’s emerald eyes stared widely at the collection of bodies. First to Becan, the one who’d saved her, lying still before her. Then to Sasha, the Vector, who had fallen at Jayden’s hand like a heavy sack into the mud. Then lastly, to Jayden himself, unmoving on his back in the distance as Esther—his newlywed wife—scampered desperately for him. Three bodies in three seconds. The world suddenly gone wrong.
A mere few inches from Natalie’s head, bark from a tree exploded. Natalie flinched back, blinking as she fixed her sights on Marty. But he wasn’t the one firing.
EDEN’s cavalry had found them.
Diving behind another tree, Natalie slid until she was fully behind it. The rationalization process of her mind skipped ahead. It was time to get out of there or die. “Logan!”
The Australian was moving and firing, as was Marty, both men emptying magazines and slamming in new ones with reckless efficiency, each one coming close but not connecting with their targets—each other. Two killing machines vying for the kill.
“Fall back!” Natalie screamed as she took off toward the Australian, bullets from the coming storm following her. There was no time—no chance—to recover either of their fallen comrades. They had to leave now.
Logan was transfixed on Marty, the two men locked in a bloodlust exchange of projectile-fueled malice. Neither man looked prepared to relent.
“Lo, fall back now!”
Seeming to hear Natalie’s voice for the first time, Logan looked her way briefly before the wave of firepower from EDEN’s forces garnered his focus. Sliding behind a tree, he fired a last burst of suppression before taking off after Natalie.
Pointing to Esther, who was still screaming in the face of her fallen husband, Natalie said, “Get her!” There was no point even attempting to order Esther to come. Natalie knew the younger woman wouldn’t obey. Logan all but collided into Esther from behind, grabbing her as she tore and screamed to get away from him, clawing, kicking, and biting with every ounce of primal ferocity within her. But the Australian’s grip was secure. With bullets flying around them, the three survivors tore off for the rest of the team.
The pair from Richmond’s Room 421 were left to the storm.
By the time Natalie and Logan’s retreat intersected with the desperate escapees from the ground op team, EDEN was already on the verge of overtaking them. Of the six-man team of slayers that Valentin had dispatched, only two remained. With Mark struggling, Javon had taken over the task of carrying Lilan’s body, with Tom shouldering the unconscious Lisa Tiffin and Ju`bajai clinging to Jakob’s back as they scampered down the forested mountainside. Only Feliks and Pyotr were left to join the slayers in battle. The team was decimated.
Slowed down by a wildly thrashing Esther, Logan was rendered a mule while Natalie led the way and fired occasional shots behind them. Eventually, however, they rendezvoused. With EDEN nipping at their heels, the group tore down the sloping mountainside as a single team for the first time since the onset of the mission.
Of all those who saw Esther’s frantic struggling against the hulking ex-mercenary who carried her, none watched so closely as Ju`bajai, and within a minute of first beholding Esther, the Ithini’s eyes were opening widely in focus as a mental blanket was laid down. In the midst of her vitriol, Esther’s eyes suddenly widened, then rolled back. Unconscious in a connection-induced slumber, her struggling ceased.
Halfway down the slope, Logan began fiddling one-handedly with his helmet comm while holding Esther with the other. As soon as the frequency he was looking for was set, he began shouting into his mic.
From just behind him, Natalie asked, “What are you doing?”
Pausing mid-comm, he shouted back to her, “Calling in a favor!”
“A favor? From who?”
“Kenji,” said Logan into his comm, “this is Logan Marshall! Remember when I told you one day I’d need help? Today is that bloody day!”
Natalie held her hands out to maintain her balance as she moved downhill. “You know people in Atami?” she asked, referencing the city they were approaching.
“I know people who know people in Atami!”
“Since when?”
Bullets zinged past Logan’s head as he re-gripped the wildly flailing Esther. “There’s a lot you don’t know, Nattie!”
* * *
Tasman Sea
South Pacific Ocean
THE SUPERWOLF’S ENGINES screamed as the sleek Advanced Tactical Fighter cut through the cloud tops, moonlight reflecting off its silver wings as it weaved back and forth across the night sky. For the past sixty minutes, Tiffany had been playing a game of cat-and-mouse with two mixed squadrons of Superwolves and Vindicators—one from Nagoya and the other from the newly-christened base in Sydney. Despite her best efforts to stay out of missile range, it was impossible to completely avoid the almost two dozen aircraft that were after her. Just the same, Tiffany’s game had been a defensive one in which full throttle was employed as often as possible. So far, it had kept her alive despite some frighteningly close near misses with her adversaries’ javelin missiles.
As per mission parameters, Tiffany had maintained full radio silence with the ground ops team in Japan throughout her flight, though the EDEN radio on board her Superwolf had allowed her to eavesdrop on—and occasionally taunt—the pilots who were pursuing her. Diving through the clouds toward the ocean far below, Tiffany once again queued them up. “C’mon, boys, you’ve gotta give me something better than that! I’m about to fall asleep over here!”
Her hazel eyes on the radio, the blond pilot raised a brow when she saw the aircrafts nearest her break off their pursuit. Her bewilderment only intensified when the others in the two respective squadrons mimicked them. “Uhh,” she said over the mic, “what, is this getting boring for you guys, too?” As every actively pursuing aircraft about-faced to leave, Tiffany muttered confusedly off-comm, “Seriously, guys, what the hell?”
Suddenly, approaching at Mach-4 from the north, a new, lone Superwolf made its entrance. Keeping her eyes on the display, it was plain to see that the s
olitary fighter was on a direct intercept course with her, while all the others were leaving. “O-kay,” she said curiously, queuing up the oncoming Superwolf. “Feelin’ brave, buster?”
The channel crackled, and the voice of the approaching pilot came through. It was a voice as crisp and clear as it was utterly unconcerned. It was one the Valley Girl—and all pilots—knew well. “Hello, Tiffany.” The blonde’s eyes widened behind her flight helmet as a chill struck her spine. “I am Sin.”
Tiffany looked frantically at the radar screen, honing in on the identification marker above the Superwolf, truly paying attention to it for the first time. Recognition was instant. Lifting her head to stare at the expanse before her, she held her breath.
Sin. A call sign that struck fear even into the hearts of those privileged—and superior—enough to fly alongside him. It was a reference to supreme arrogance. The kind of arrogance needed to defy God with reckless abandon. To reject a freely-given blessing. To slay the albatross.
Mariner.
“Oh, veck,” Tiffany whispered. Swallowing hard, the blonde cleared her throat and shakily replied, “I’m, uhh…I’m Sapphire.”
“No. You’re not.”
Tiffany’s hands were shaking. A lump formed in her throat as she gripped the joystick tighter. Her palms moistened.
“Call signs are earned,” Mariner said. “You have earned nothing. You’re just a girl in a plane.”
Jon Mariner was the squadron leader of the Flying Apparatus. The Vector Squad of the sky. And he was their Klaus Faerber. The Flying Apparatus didn’t just annihilate Bakma Couriers—they embarrassed them. They made complex maneuvers look pedestrian. They anticipated like they were telepathic. Jon Mariner was the number one pilot in the world—and numbers two through twenty were under his authority.
Tiffany had a natural gift for flying. She made flying an “art,” as her Academy instructors put it. But against Mariner, she’d be lucky if she lasted a minute.