by J. L. Lyon
“Grand Admiral,” Marcus said with a childish grin. “We were told to be expecting you back.”
Derek would have loved nothing more in that moment to kick the man’s teeth in. He had expected Napoleon Alexander’s orders had gone ahead of him and had been prepared for it, but Marcus acted as though the MWR’s threat on Derek’s life was a foregone conclusion.
“And I’m sure you’re just leaping for joy inside,” Derek said sarcastically. “Tell me about the chase.” He walked forward and motioned for Gentry to follow. As the Specter Captain was already on Derek’s right, Marcus had to scramble around them and then jog a bit to catch up. It was a small feat of revenge, but seeing the man so awkward almost brightened Derek’s mood.
“We have harried them west, just as you ordered,” Marcus replied. “Skirmishes only, as often as we had the upper hand. Now that we are within sight of the Corridor’s defense shield, they have turned north toward the walls of Prime. I don’t know what they plan to do once they get there. There’s no getting past the Solithium fence.”
“You might actually be surprised by that,” Derek said, nodding slightly toward his companion. “Specter Captain Gentry here tells me there might be a way in.”
Marcus glared at the man as if seeing him for the first time, “Is that so? And how could he possibly know that?”
“The Specter Captain grew up in Corridor Prime and was trained there. Perhaps he should tell you. Go ahead, Gentry.”
“Yes, sir,” Gentry replied. “My father worked a farm near the docks, Specter General, in the shadow of a Solithium shield generator. I would go out with him sometimes, and during breaks would take a swim in the river. One time I noticed a big hole in the shield where it passed underwater, but at the time I didn’t think anything of it. During soldier training, I remembered that day and went back, but there was no hole.”
“So you imagined it,” Marcus snapped. “Just because you think you saw it doesn’t mean it was actually there.”
“I would agree, sir,” Gentry said. “Except that just two years ago, while I was training in underwater maneuvers with the Fortieth Army of the Corridor, I saw the hole again. Only this time it was miles from where I had seen it before, and on the other side of the river. I led a squad through the hole and we came out on the bank...outside the city. By the time we decided to go back in, the hole had closed.”
“Why wouldn’t you have reported this?”
“I did, Specter General,” Gentry replied. “But my commanding officer didn’t believe us. He thought we invented the lie to cover a night of drunken stupor that landed us outside the city walls.”
“And perhaps he was right,” Marcus said. “In any case, I don’t see how this means anything. Holes that appear at random? What good will that do Silent Thunder?”
Derek sighed, exasperated, “What it means is that under certain conditions, water can disrupt a Solithium shield. One would only need to know the cause of that disruption, and they could recreate it anywhere they wished.”
“You think Silent Thunder has this knowledge?”
“Probably not,” Derek conceded. “Not unless they have someone with them who is experienced with Solithium shields and water, as Specter Captain Gentry is. However, it proves there are tricks we do not know about. If we were blind to this, what other ways are there into the city? Silent Thunder managed to get into Alexandria itself through underground tunnels we thought closed. We should not assume they will be trapped on this side of the river.”
Marcus nodded, as if in sudden understanding, “You think that if we wait here for the Persians, as the MWR has ordered, that we will give Silent Thunder enough time to escape.”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“But you forget that we can pass into the city through the front gate,” Marcus argued. “If they do make it in, we can still track them.”
“What’s the approximate population of Corridor Prime, Specter Captain?” Derek asked.
“Close to seven million.”
They reached the command tent in the middle of the Spectorium’s camp, and Derek faced the Specter General, “If they make it through that barrier, we will have to burn the city down to find them again. Don’t fool yourself about our power. These people hid more than a thousand rebels in central Alexandria. Corridor Prime will be child’s play.”
“We have our orders, sir,” Marcus said, a bit of fear starting to seep through. “If you go against the MWR again...”
“I have no intention of disobeying orders,” Derek cut across him. “The MWR wants both Silent Thunder and the Persians destroyed. We’ll try it his way first. Then we will try mine.”
Derek started to enter the tent, but stopped as he heard Marcus growl under his breath, “Get back to your squad, Gentry. I’ll deal with you later.”
“Just a moment, Specter Captain,” Derek held up a hand to halt Gentry’s movement, and then focused his attention back on Marcus. “Actually I would like Specter Captain Gentry reassigned...to me.”
Marcus frowned, “I’m not sure I understand, sir. Gentry is a part of the Spectorium, and we are all assigned to you.”
“No, I mean I would like him reassigned to me personally,” Derek smiled. “As my Chief of Staff.”
Marcus turned white as it slowly dawned on him what Derek meant. “B-but...” he stammered, “Only members of the Ruling Council have ever taken on chiefs of staff.”
“I know,” Derek replied. “Make it happen, Marcus. Gentry, with me.” He left Marcus standing outside the tent in horrified shock as he and Gentry entered. The Specter Captain’s mouth opened and closed several times as he started to speak and changed his mind.
“Later, Specter Captain,” he said. “For now, just try not to make a fool of yourself.” Or a fool of me, he thought dryly. This decision was calculated, and one he had been considering for a long time, but it would reverberate through the hierarchy like a shockwave. No grand admiral had ever taken on a chief of staff, as it was considered a need only for administrators like the Ruling Council. By taking one on himself, he gave the signal that the position of grand admiral was now more than just the head of the System’s armed forces. He was more than just the foremost soldier. He was a force to be reckoned with in the decision-making processes of the ruling class. I am nothing like Grand Admiral Donalson, he thought. And it’s time to let the world know what I’m capable of.
He might have made the move sooner, if there had been anyone he felt he could trust with the job. He could only hope now that he had chosen well.
“Gentlemen,” he said to the Specters gathered in the tent. “Status report on Silent Thunder.”
“Yes, Grand Admiral,” the senior officer replied. “There have been ten skirmishes since the initial battle at their camp. We estimate that their numbers have dwindled to about a hundred and fifty warriors. They have turned north on a trajectory that will lead them to Corridor Prime.”
“How long since the last skirmish?” Derek asked.
“10 hours.”
“And we’re confident they believe we have lost their trail?”
“They do not seem to be driving north as hard as when the skirmishes came multiple times a day,” the Specter answered. “It is conceivable that they have dropped their guard.”
“Any sign of Commander Sawyer?”
“None, sir.”
Derek nodded, disappointed but not surprised. “Okay, then,” he said, feeling some of his dread return. “Give me everything you have on the Persian force.”
The senior officer motioned to the man at the controls, and the portable projector came to life. Derek stepped forward and studied the video, which showed several thousand Great Army soldiers formed up into battle lines.
“This is the combined force of the Great Army you ordered out from Alexandria and Montreal,” the Specter explained. “They met the invaders at the midpoint between the two cities before Specter General Thorne could arrive with backup. We were able to get video foo
tage of the battle. As you’ll see, it didn’t last long.”
For a moment nothing happened, and then it came: a whirlwind of light and flame, fine and thin right down the center of the soldiers, as the Persians cut through two entire divisions of the Great Army. The light, white and terrible, destroyed whatever stood in its path, while the fire of the soldier’s weapons did nothing to stop the advance. The bullets ricocheted right off the invaders, as though they were made of stone.
No, he reminded himself. Not stone. Diamond armor. They are wearing diamond armor.
In minutes it was over. The white light was gone, and the only evidence that remained of the Persians’ passage was the line of smoke and bodies that ran through the Great Army. It was like someone had shot a giant bullet straight down the center, leaving the rest untouched.
“Not one of them turned and fought?” Derek asked.
“No, sir,” the Specter replied. “Some of our men even tried to pursue them, but they could not catch up. And even if they had, they would not have even slowed them down.”
“What about air support? Bombers?”
“Also sent. But satellite tracking is spotty in parts of the Wilderness, as you have experienced yourself in tracking Silent Thunder. Despite how fast they are moving, they are very good at hiding.”
Derek’s hands were sweaty at his sides. How were they supposed to fight that? They might outnumber the Persians 3 to 1, but that armor made them all but invulnerable. He might as well attack them with sticks, from what he had just seen.
Any enemy can be defeated, he thought. We just need to attack them where they believe they are strongest.
“Roll it back to when their vanguard is in the center of the screen,” Derek ordered. “Then zoom in.” Let’s put some humanity back into this faceless terror.
The video rewound, pulling the Persian line backward through the Great Army until its spearhead was at the center like he asked. Then the screen enlarged and it began to roll forward again. Derek took another step forward, his nose now only inches from the projection.
Five men made up the vanguard, three in front to smash into the enemy and two slightly outside to widen the path for the men who fought behind. Now that he could observe them up close, he saw that these five men actually caused most of the damage. It was not so much a bullet, as he had originally thought, but an arrow. The vanguard was the arrowhead, and the rest of the Persians were the shaft. They fought as well, but their job was to keep the Army at bay, while the vanguard shocked them into submission. It was a genius maneuver.
“Freeze it there,” Derek said. The video paused on a view of the front three, weapons in mid-swing. His eyes narrowed as he studied them, two men armored in gold—obviously Persian—and a third man armored in black. The third man wore a helmet that completely concealed his features, and the frame showed a flash of light at his neck where a bullet had disintegrated against his armor.
“Any significance to the gold and black?”
“We think it might be a sign of rank,” the Specter said. “Though we don’t know which is higher, gold or black. Despite the fact that the gold armor exposes their skin, it doesn’t seem to make them more vulnerable than those in black.”
“I don’t think it’s rank.”
Derek started at the voice of his new chief of staff. He had almost forgotten Gentry was there. “What do you mean, Specter Captain?”
“With respect, sir, I think it’s simpler than that. Look at their weapons. Those in gold fight with Persian scimitars, while every man in black wields a traditional Spectral Gladius. And then there’s the formation...may I?”
Derek nodded, “All yours, Specter Captain Gentry.”
“Thank you, sir,” Gentry bowed slightly. “Specter, if you could roll it back about 30 seconds and press play.” The Specter did so, and as the video began moving forward again Gentry pointed to two of the men in the vanguard. One wore gold, and the other black. “These two men here are the leaders of the force. All commands originate from them.” Gentry let them watch for a moment, and Derek saw that he was right. It was so subtle he hadn’t noticed it immediately, but whenever an adjustment was needed their subtle hand motions were passed back along the line. What’s more, though the men behind reacted the same to the orders, the hand signals were different.
“Not two ranks,” Derek said, suddenly understanding. “Two forces. United in purpose, but under separate commands.”
“I believe so, sir,” Gentry said. “Those in gold are undoubtedly Persian. But those in black are most likely not.”
“But who?” Derek asked. “Who is there in the world that would still align themselves with the Persians?”
“Russians?” the Specter offered. “The Argentines? Perhaps they made a deal to secure Persian cooperation, and agreed to help them hunt down Silent Thunder.”
“Possible,” Gentry said. “But unlikely. Russians favor red, and the Argentines, blue. I can think of only one group that favors black.”
Gentry’s words were followed by a very tense pause as everyone in the tent mulled over his logic. Derek lifted his eyes again to the video, where the last wave of the invaders fought through the now-scattered lines of Great Army soldiers. And then, as he watched the black-clad fighters swing their weapons and recognized there a familiarity of form and discipline, he knew. Somehow, he just knew.
“Son of a bitch,” he whispered, and then he barked out orders, “Get me a line to the MWR right now! Every minute of delay could mean all of our lives!” As they leapt to obey, he turned and whispered to Gentry, “Specter Captain, I promise you will be rewarded for this. But for now, I have another assignment for you. I need to know why the rebels are heading for Corridor Prime.”
“I’ve already told you everything I can about the city, sir,” Gentry said apologetically.
“I know,” Derek said gravely. “What I need you to do for me must be handled with utmost secrecy. If it is discovered, we could both be brought up on charges of treason.”
Gentry’s face went slightly white and his eyes widened. This will be the true test if I can trust the man...if he is worthy of the role I have planned for him. “Is it important, sir?”
“Very.”
Derek could almost see the wheels turning in the Specter Captain’s head. Torn between his newfound loyalty and his innate fear of reprisal, it really came down to one thing: did the reward outweigh the risk? Derek thought of a million promises he could make in that moment, but he spoke none of them. Gentry had to make the decision on his own.
In the end, he made the right one.
“What do you need me to do, Grand Admiral?”
25
“IT’S GETTING DARK. We should rest here for the night.”
Liz breathed out a long sigh of relief. If there was anything she had learned in the last day, it was that horses were not her favorite method of travel. All the bouncing had spread soreness from her calves all the way up to the wounds in her back. The Miracle Heal had done its work, and they wouldn’t break open again, but her back was still tender in the places where the claws had dug deepest.
Grace slowed Barley down to a trot as they followed a path away from the main road and down to an abandoned cluster of buildings. There were hundreds of these, thousands even, along the Old World roads that spidered across the continent like veins of broken concrete: small towns that had grown up along the main thoroughfares and were now just rotting ruins waiting to be reclaimed by the wild.
They had passed by several such places already since the forest, some larger and some smaller, but this was the first one they had actually entered. Liz expected these ghost towns were a common sight for someone like Grace who spent her life wandering the Wilderness, but she had spent most of her life in cities. Even while traveling with the Imperial Guard, Old World ruins were just a backdrop overtaken by countless soldiers.
But here, with only the two of them and the echoes of Barley’s hooves, it was quite a different experience. Somber
. Tranquil. Nostalgic. As though she was suddenly connected with the people who had once lived here—it was too soon to call them ancient, but they were people whose world looked nothing like her own.
As they made their way down the street she saw evidence of nature’s reclaiming: buildings overgrown with green, trees standing in odd places, and the occasional extreme weathering of the road, unseen to in over fifteen years of rain and storms. Several buildings had collapsed, but it was easy to tell the difference between slow decay and intentional destruction.
This town had escaped war. With all the conflicts that had taken place in the last two decades, it seemed a miracle that even a town so small could have remained untouched. But then again, just because its buildings had survived, that did not tell the story of its people.
What had happened to them? History gave only limited options. When the infrastructures of the nation that once ruled here were destroyed, millions flocked from places like these to Napoleon Alexander’s cities, where they were promised clean water, food, and work to support their families. At the time they were desperate and didn’t ask questions, so by the time the walls went up they had little reason to resist.
Others, perhaps, had become like Silent Thunder. Nomads in the Wilderness, always moving from place to place, free from Napoleon Alexander's rule but slaves to the fear of being captured or killed by the World System’s agents. The rest, she knew, had died of starvation and exposure, if the Great Army did not find them first.
And so here in this once sleepy town, rolled up into silent emotions and whispers in the wind, were the cries of a peaceful world brought to ruin by wars and greed. A legacy that in two more decades might be completely swallowed by the wild. The sadness of it nearly overwhelmed her.
They stopped in front of an oddly shaped building situated in a large square of concrete. Three rusted vehicles sat idle next to the front, rims overgrown with weeds. She could hardly tell what color they had been, though she suspected a deep blue, a black, and a tan of some sort—or perhaps gold. That didn’t really matter…what struck her was that they gave her insight into this place, where people drove their small vehicles and parked them in this concrete square, free to come and go as they pleased.