Crimson Strike

by Peter Bostrom

  “Dear Lord,” Lieutenant Stanton said weakly. “It tore through our special forces team like they were tissue paper.”

  Rand groaned, his face pale. “Speaking of tissue paper, I’m feeling incredibly nauseated.”

  Kovac and Lopez both scooted their chairs away from Rand as he covered his mouth. Captain Patel slowly turned around, her face rigid. She lowered herself into the chair in front of her, grabbed a nearby data pad, and began tapping at its screen. Lopez inspected her own retrieved data pad for damage and gave a deep sigh of relief upon finding none.

  “Captain?” I asked. “What now?”

  Patel swiped upward repeatedly. “It’s clear that we can’t go in with an entire team. We need something more subtle—perhaps a single soldier.”

  “I’ll do it,” I said immediately.

  Patel scoffed. “You’re always so eager to take center stage, aren’t you? Well, you won’t be using this as another opportunity to jump ranks. Not again.”

  “And besides,” Patel said with a smirk. “I said I needed something subtle, Sergeant Walker. You’re about as subtle as a sledgehammer.”

  Kovac grunted, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw his hand drop to the head of his vibro-hammer, as if he were comforting the weapon at Patel’s insult.

  Patel’s eyes flicked from side to side on her data pad until she paused and tapped the screen once forcefully. “There she is,” Patel said. “The smallest soldier we have. Specialist Meyer will be our eyes and ears inside.”

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and opened my mouth to say something, but stopped myself shut it quickly. Unfortunately, Patel caught me.

  “What is it, Sergeant Walker?”

  I bit my lip. I’d already been embarrassed once by bringing up Winnifred, and I really didn’t want to have to go through that again. But if it could save lives . . .

  “Captain,” I said firmly. “I really think you should bring in Win—” I stopped. “Bring in the enemy combatant to help us understand what’s happening inside.”

  Patel didn’t stop me, so I kept going. “You saw yourself what a single werewolf did to your special forces team—and he was a teenager, not a highly trained soldier.”

  I looked around the room. “We’re out of our depth here with these wolves. All of us . . . myself included. If there’s any way we can get a leg up—”

  Kovac snorted. Yeah, that probably wasn’t the best phrase to use when discussing canines. I shook my head, then continued. “If we have a secret weapon that could neutralize the enemy—or at least get us inside their heads—why wouldn’t we use it?”

  Patel tilted her head slightly to one side, but still didn’t say a word. Thinking about Winnifred brought back memories of rejection by Kayla Polidori. What if this woman was different than her double? It was certainly the case with Colonel Hiller. Why not for Winnifred? Why couldn’t she be a Resistance warrior who could turn the tides in our favor?

  So I decided to take a chance. A kaiju-sized chance.

  “Okay,” I continued quickly, “if you’re so worried about me somehow jumping rank, how about this? If the prisoner isn’t really a Resistance warrior and doesn’t provide any information you consider to be valuable, then . . . then I’ll resign my rank and go back to being a Private.”

  “Too late,” Lopez said under her breath. Kovac snorted again and I shot both of them a quick, nasty look.

  Patel stared at me for a few moments, her brows knitted in thought. “I’ll grant you that she may be part of this so-called Resistance. But the possibility of death can make people do desperate things—even change their allegiance. Are you really willing to lose your rank on account of a possible turncoat?”

  I swallowed hard. Should I risk the leadership position I’d wanted so bad on account of this woman? If I misjudged the situation, I could end up back as a maintenance worker someplace even worse than Nix station—like being stationed at HQ on Rhea. Their cooks are infamous for cutting corners on meal prep and, as a result, their bathroom plumbing backs up about a dozen times a day. That’s probably where I’d be headed if my gamble here didn’t pay off.

  But then I remembered the subtle grin on Winnifred’s face earlier. Nobody had ever smiled at me like that—and maybe nobody ever would again. I had to see her again, demotion be damned.

  “Yes,” I said firmly. “I’ll give up my rank if her intel doesn’t save lives.”

  A wicked grin spread over Patel’s face. I looked over to my team, who were all openly staring at me. Apparently, they didn’t agree with my move. I had to do something to win them back.

  “But on one condition,” I said.

  Patel leaned forward. “You also send for our Battle Steed,” I said. “Just in case.”

  “Very well,” Patel sneered. She spun around in her chair, pressed a button, and issued the orders. Before signing off, she added, “And make sure both the prisoner and the machinery are put into maximum security restraints before transport.”

  She reached over to different panel, pressed a another button, and said, “Specialist Meyer, do you read me?”

  Almost immediately, a high-pitched voice replied, “Loud and clear, Captain.”

  “Proceed as planned.”

  Had I misheard? “But Captain, what about Winnifred?”

  A sly smile spread across Patel’s thin lips. “Oh, I intend to keep my promise. By the time your pretty little girlfriend arrives, we’ll have plenty of footage for her and our own scientists to review.”

  “You’re sending one small soldier to spy on those bloodthirsty monsters?” Lopez spat in an uncharacteristic show of emotions. “That’s a suicide mission.”

  Kovac nodded. “They’ll eat her alive.”

  Patel pursed her lips. “I know what my soldiers are capable of. Soon, you will, too.”

  She reached over and pressed a button on the console, replacing the formerly blank main screen with another helmet cam view. This time, instead of the front of a building, we saw the inside of a dark, enclosed space, illuminated by a pale yellow light.

  “Where the hell is that?” I asked.

  “Ventilation shaft,” Patel answered. “From an access point on the roof.”

  After a minute or two of travel through the shaft, we watched Meyer carefully remove a wide-slatted vent and set it down quietly inside the shaft. She poked her head through the opening, revealing a long hallway lit by faint green exit sign lights. She dropped silently to the floor and looked around.

  At one end of the hallway, there was a yellow glow coming from somewhere beyond. The vid showed Meyer creep down the hall toward the light and stop just behind the corner. She removed a small mirror and slowly held it out to get a better view.

  The reflection showed an empty corridor that led to a metal catwalk over a large open area of the factory, where the yellow light seemed to be coming from. As the soldier moved quickly to the next corner, the yellow light grew brighter. She used the mirror once again. On the concrete floor below, we saw a yellow-tinged scene of large machines with a wide open, central space.

  The mirror tilted to reveal more of the factory floor. At the far end of the open space was a line of black floating coats. There was an audible gasp from everyone in the command center, including me.

  It took me a second to understand what I was seeing. Vampires. Around the necks of the floating wardrobe were glowing yellow objects—philosopher’s stones, by the look of them.

  “Where—where the hell are their bodies?” Patel stammered.

  “Vampires don’t cast reflections,” I said softly.

  A werewolf suddenly entered the mirror’s field of view, dragging a middle-aged man in greasy gray coveralls. The wolf tossed him out into the middle of the space and left him standing before the magical hovering outfits. Their yellow gems began to glow more brightly and, at the same time, the man suddenly froze in place.

  The line of dark clothing parted and the charcoal-colored armor with a stiff crimson cape drifted forward
until it joined the line.

  “That has to be the Red Dragon,” I said. “But which one’s his second-in-command that Winnifred mentioned—the Dragon’s Tail?”

  Patel shushed me and shot me a withering stare. I shushed.

  As soon as the caped figure came even with the others, the yellow light intensified and the man began to scream. His arms and legs shot out and began to tremble violently. Suddenly, the pitch of his scream rose as his limbs twisted, swelled, and then burst from his coveralls, revealing deep brown fur.

  The yellow gems dimmed, and the man—now a werewolf—dropped to the ground, heaving. He raised his muzzle upward let out an agonized howl of pain. The werewolf who had brought the man approached slowly and lifted the newly-minted wolf to his feet. Paws? This newest member of the pack whimpered as he stood, but didn’t put up any sort of struggle. Then both the beasts shuffled off between two tall machines.

  “My gods . . .” Patel said.

  But before we could process what had just happened, the mirror showed another werewolf entering the factory floor with someone in its arms. The wolf laid this person on the floor in front of the floating vampire clothing and stepped back to reveal a sturdy-looking woman in bloodied fatigues.

  The woman on the ground stirred.

  “Harris?” Stanton blurt out. “That’s impossible—I was certain she had died . . .”

  On the screen, the mirror disappeared quickly and was almost immediately replaced by a plasma gun. Meyer leapt up and moved out onto the catwalk.

  Patel shot forward in her seat and hit the console. “Meyer—get out of there. Now!”

  “Sorry, Captain,” said Meyer over the comm. “I can’t leave one of our own in this hell hole.”

  “Meyer, stand down!” Patel yelled. “We don’t know how many more—”

  And, as if on command, a blurry figure dropped onto the catwalk in front of the soldier, and the screen in the command center suddenly cut to static.

  17

  CAPTAIN PATEL YELLED at the console, then spun away from the screen. She slammed her fist against the table, which caused the data pads resting there to rattle loudly. She rubbed her face and then looked up at me.

  She kept staring at me for a good, long moment, then said, “I suppose I have to send you in now.”

  I nodded and opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off. “Don’t get me wrong—it’s not because I think you can do better than my soldiers.” She glared at me, then continued, “It’s because I can’t afford to lose any more of the good ones.”

  Pain radiated from her eyes. It reminded me of how my crew had looked when Colonel Hiller had died in battle trying to save us back around Pluto. So I just lowered my head slightly and gave a single nod.

  “Okay, team,” I said. “Let’s make those bastards pay.”

  Kovac grinned, but Rand and Lopez looked terrified. “Oh, come on,” I said. “We’ve dealt with worse.”

  “Have we?” Lopez said, cocking her head to the side.

  “Oh course we have,” I said as I stood to retrieve Rand’s duffel bag. I heaved it up onto the table, where it landed with a variety of clanking sounds. I began counting on my fingers. “Remember Monstros? Sinistra? Latchjaw? Frakking Craniax?”

  “While that is accurate,” Rand said as he reached over Kovac and pulled the bag across the table. “I’m not certain it is entirely comparable to a building full of bloodthirsty monsters in at least two varieties.”

  He unzipped the bag and pulled out four bandoleers, full of gunmetal gray ammunition clips, tossing each onto the table in front of our team members. “However,” Rand said with a smile, “I’m still confident we can calcitrate their nether regions.”

  My team stood slowly and fitted the bandoleers over their thick protective vests. I opted to only pack a single plasma pistol—loaded with silver slugs—and adjusted the sheath of my rod-sword. Lieutenant Stanton was standing now, sliding helmets across the table to each of us.

  “I’m not so sure about this,” Stanton said. “There are clearly still civilians alive in the building. This is no operation for a foolhardy group of misfits, let alone a juvenile leader with mysterious powers that are inconsistent. At best.”

  I removed the Power Glove from my side cargo pocket, pulled it on, and turned it so that the orange, purple, and red philosopher’s stones were facing Stanton. “It sounds like you’re just a teeny bit jealous of this.”

  Stanton shook his head. “On the contrary—I think it will do a splendid job of catching your entrails when one of those monsters slices you open.”

  “And besides,” he continued, “it’s only a matter of time before Peacekeeper technicians replicate those stones and put them in the hands of every soldier—making you entirely obsolete.”

  Before I could respond, there was a knock on the command center door.

  “Come,” Patel said.

  My team put on our helmets as a dark-skinned soldier entered and saluted. “Captain Patel, we have the prisoner. And the special machinery will be here shortly.”

  Patel stood and led us out the back of the command center. At the bottom of the stairs, beside a small, sleek Peacekeeper transport, stood two armed guards behind Winnifred Harker. She was wearing loose, light blue hospital clothing, but they couldn’t hide her athletic frame. Her wrists were fastened together by two very thick, shiny metal rings with a dark band near the top, and they hung just in front of her waist.

  Her blue-green eyes glinted in the exterior lights of the mobile command unit. Damn—I’d almost forgotten how stunning they were. Her black hair fell effortlessly to either side of her pale face, and her red lips curled when she saw me. There was that smile again—the smile I’d wanted so badly when I was younger.

  A larger transport approached, pulling behind it a thick-barred cage, and stopped beside us. Inside, the tiger-shaped mechanical beast’s green- and orange-striped body stretched the length of the six-meter long trailer. Her original purple fur had been so torn after our battle on Pluto that Rand had to replace all of it. So I had him make her new fur green with thin orange stripes as a reminder of the cartoonish fantasy villains we’d defeated during our team’s first—and only—actual battle.

  The mechanical creature hunched inside the three-meter tall space, looking miserable with her bent head and drooping eyes. But when I went over and put my hand on the cage near her chest, she looked up at me with her large, pitch black irises and purred.

  “Hey, Panthra,” I said quietly. “Don’t worry, girl—I’ll get you out of there.”

  “Is that . . . a Battle Steed?” Winnifred asked and took a step toward the cage.

  Panthra snarled and bore her ivory-colored metal teeth at the woman. “Whoa there, girl,” I said, my fingers passing through the bars of the cage to scratch her fur. “It’s okay. She’s on our side.”

  The mechanical beast made a low, continuous growl as Winnifred took another step closer to the cage.

  “That’s far enough,” Patel commanded.

  Winnifred stopped. Still facing the cage, she brought her shackled hands to her chest and bowed her head. The moment she did this, Panthra stopped growling and started purring, instead.

  “Huh,” I said. “That’s weird. I guess she likes you, after all.”

  Patel cleared her throat. “Enough with the tearful reunions, Sergeant. I need you to get me the captives. Alive.”

  She glanced at Winnifred and a wicked grin spread across her face. “And if you have any hope of keeping your rank—and your dignity—your sweetheart here will need to deliver something special from that factory footage.”

  Then, to the guards, she said, “Bring her inside.”

  But before the guards could grab her arms, Winnifred lunged forward, pressing her body against mine, and kissed me deeply. The smell of roses—real roses—filled my nostrils and I felt my knees go weak. As she was pulled away, our lips parted gently.

  “May Lady Fortune favor you, my hero,” Winnifred said behind he
r as she was unceremoniously shoved up the makeshift stairs and into the mobile command unit.

  “Gross,” Lopez said, then lightly pressed her own lips together.

  I felt my face redden, so I fidgeted with the strap on my helmet to try to cover myself. “Okay, team,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  Stanton escorted us from the mobile command center to an alley just a couple of blocks away where we could see the Cosmart factory. We were now on the opposite side of the building from where the teenage boy had wolfed out and killed the soldiers. Stanton pointed to a row of long, navy blue transports with Cosmart logos emblazoned on their sides and back ends that were connected to the building.

  “That’s where the transports pick up merchandise,” he said. “From there, it should be a straight shot to where those monsters have Private Harris.”

  “And I suppose your technicians have no idea where the enemy is holding the captives?” Rand asked.

  “Right,” said Stanton. “Well, off you go. Do check in once you’re inside.”

  And that was all the briefing we got. Stanton leaned against the wall of a nearby building and trained his rifle on the factory’s transport doors. I took one last look at my team.

  “Okay,” I said, stuffing a caramel Cassiopea bar into my mouth for a quick boost of energy. “Ret’s thoo thith.”

  Kovac nodded and stood to go while the others stared, motionless. “Okay—let’s do this,” he said simply, as I reached over and tucked the empty wrapper into one of Stanton’s pockets, then took off toward the factory.

  We moved silently to the middle of the docked transports, and after a few tries, we finally found a driver’s side door that was unlocked. We made our way through the interior vehicle’s dark storage area, bumping into boxes and trying not to curse, until we saw faint green light coming from beyond the loading door. The four of us huddled behind one particularly large box near the end and peeked out to survey our surroundings.

  The loading dock was lit dimly by green exit signs. The wide loading area was covered in stacks of boxes and crates that almost reached the cavernous ceiling, leaving only narrow walkways between the merchandise for workers to navigate and pray the stacks didn’t tip over. And through these slim paths, we could make out a flickering yellow light.