No Graves for Heroes

by Jason Winn

  Axel rolled under the shuttle, out of Silva’s view.

  “Axel Nash,” Silva shouted. “Come out, like a good little American.” He started looking around the shuttle. “Your kind has become so well behaved, now that you’ve been broken. You were all once wild stallions, but now you’re a pack of plow horses.”

  Axel pushed himself up and dove behind a pile of crates. Silva was now looking in the opposite direction with his one good eye. He stalked around the shuttle, keeping his rifle barrel aimed where he looked.

  “You never told me why you were on Pangaea,” said Silva. “You could at least tell me that.”

  Axel continued to move behind the crates, careful to stay behind Silva. He needed to find a ranged weapon. He found a fire extinguisher on the wall and carefully took it down. He pulled the safety pin and tossed it in a high arc over Silva’s head. It crashed into a maintenance bench, activating and spewing a suppression cloud into the air.

  Silva took the bait, charging into the cloud and firing in all directions. Axel made for the weapons crates. They were open. He found a pistol and slapped in a magazine. When he whirled around, there Silva stood, assault rifle aimed at his chest.

  “Russians never fall for old tricks,” he said. “Drop it.”

  Axel released the pistol. In his haste he hadn’t considered Silva’s charge to be a feint. He had no more options, save for the frog’s tongue concealed in his left hand.

  Silva’s one eye scanned Axel up and down. He smiled. “Red is a good color for you, Nash. Now, last time, why where you on Pangaea? And before you answer, know that as soon as I’ve concluded my business, I will kill everyone else on board. Just tell me and I might let a few of them live. Then I’ll be welcomed as a hero in the new Chinese government. Maybe we’ll pay a visit to that tired old country of yours and let you work in our new factories. I hear a few of you Yankees are still good for something.”

  Axel was about to answer, when the ship roiled again with the sound of the troop carrier docking on the hull. Any second now, plasma torches would be cutting a hole for shock troops to pour in through.

  Axel felt his strength drain. He spat another mouthful of red paste. Silva smiled. “Can’t handle your liquor. So typical.”

  “We were there to pick up those kids.”

  “And?”

  “And they’re spies for French intelligence.” Axel had no reason to hold anything back at this point. Silva and his friends in the battle group outside would get what they wanted. At this point he was only hoping they didn’t torture the kids to death. Maybe they’d be given life in a prison, if he told Silva everything.

  “I see,” said Silva. “Makes sense. The frogs get themselves in a spot of trouble and they send in the expendable Americans. That’s what you’ve become on the world stage, a bunch of errand boys. So sad. What’s President Gardner getting out of all of this? He’s risking UN control if he gets caught.”

  “I have no idea,” said Axel. “You want the truth? This is just a paid gig for me.”

  “Hero veteran running black ops. At least Russia took care of their own. On top of what I’m getting for this job, I still get a war pension and a plot in the honor garden cemetery, next to my fallen brethren.” He smirked. “I hear the Pettys didn’t even commission a section of Arlington for the Solar War vets. They just let them lay in the gutter, trying to forget the entire thing ever happened. Is that true, there are no graves for your heroes?”

  Axel clinched his fists. He’d never wanted to kill someone so badly in all his life. The Petty slight was something he’d tried to block out with mountains of slate. But it never fully disappeared. He’d suffered more than most, but the open contempt for the fallen men and women by the Values Party was the one thing he could never forgive. The worst thing was, those Values Party scum had cozied up to the Russian megacorporations, selling the last American state secrets to line their pockets. Was it any wonder so many had fled to other nations? Hope was a powerful force, but it could only take so much before being extinguished.

  Not yet.

  He was about to respond when footsteps echoed in the hallway.

  A frail smile creased Axel’s lips.

  Silva smirked. “Don’t think that’s your blonde friend. I shot her in the back. That was kind considering what she did to me.” He pointed to the side of his mangled face, then reached into his pocket.

  Black-armored shock troops stormed into the shuttle bay, fanning out in all directions. They bristled with tactical gear, including closed helmets capable of withstanding the vacuum of space. Battle rifles shot laser range-finders in all directions. A split second later, little red dots danced across Silva and Axel’s chests.

  “Drop your weapons,” said a voice through a speaker embedded in a helmet.

  Silva’s rifle clattered to the floor. He held up his hands. “Where’s your commanding officer?”

  A tall, slender trooper stepped forward. “Get on your knees.”

  Silva spread his hand out, revealing a transmitter. “There’s a rather nasty bomb on board. I drop this, it goes off. And we all die. That wonderful armor you’re wearing will only slow your deaths.”

  Helmets turned to look at the officer in the center of the group.

  “Leave me to be on my way,” said Silva with a predator’s grin, “and you get to go home to your families.”

  Axel knew he wasn’t bluffing. He’d already seen enough ordinance on the ship to outfit a company of soldiers. A bomb or bombs could easily be in the trove of weapons crates.

  Ten yards separated the shock troops from Silva. Axel wondered if any of them would be stupid enough to try to tackle him. He’d no doubt drop the transmitter in the melee.

  Silva glowered at the shock troops. His chest heaved, causing the syringes protruding from his chest to undulate. One fell to the floor and rolled over to rest at the feet of the lead trooper.

  “Which faction are you with?” Silva asked. “Did Rota send you? Show yourselves or we all die.”

  “Put the safety on that transmitter, and we will talk,” said the commander. Axel was pretty sure it was a woman’s voice behind the helmet. Could that be Kim? She was only a few years younger than him. There was no way it was her. She was probably retired to a moderate beachside community, back on Earth.

  “No!” shouted Silva. “This is your last chance. Do you stand with the revolution or not?”

  The commander produced a box the size of a pistol magazine and popped off a safety cap. A red button flashed just under her thumb.

  Axel recognized the tactical EMP device. It could fry the electronics for everything in the ship, including life support. He and Silva would be dead in seconds, along with the kids.

  Silva gasped. His thumb pulled back on the transmitter.

  Time slowed for Axel. He twisted and launched the frog’s tongue, cupped in his hand, at Silva’s transmitter. The thin, metal-clad whip flew through the air and wrapped around Silva’s wrist. Axel clicked the recoil button a second before the sticky tip of the thread adhered to Silva’s wrist. The stim-rattled brute tried to flinch away, but he was too late. A low roar rumbled up from his chest.

  A split second later, Axel jerked the frog’s tongue back toward him with every fiber of his remaining strength. In the same motion he ripped his last combat-stim from his pocket. Silva, off balance now, careened toward Axel. Rage and hatred burned in each other’s eyes as they careened toward one another. Axel felt the souls of his fallen brother and sisters. This final move in the Solar War would be for them. A revenge for heroes.

  Axel brought the combat-stim up, flicking off the safety cap. The transmitter flew from Silva’s hand. It arced into the air. Axel rammed the needle of the stim tube into Silva’s remaining eye, feeling the auto-plunger engage. Silva’s own momentum drove him against Axel’s thrust, burying the metal tube into his skull.

  Axel’s head snapped up. He sidestepped Silva, allowing the now howling demon of a man to crash to the floor. Violent convul
sions took over his body as his brain was shot with a full dose of industrial amphetamines. The shuttle bay echoed with his dying screams. Axel dove for the transmitter and missed it by inches. He crashed to the floor, sliding into the weapons crates.

  He rolled over, bracing for the inevitable bomb concussion to rip the ship apart and feel the icy nothingness of space. Instead, he saw the shock troop commander holding the transmitter. The ship had not trembled. The bomb had not gone off. Axel watched as the commander punched a button on the small device and handed it off to a subordinate.

  Chest heaving, head spinning, Axel tried to get up. He couldn’t. The last exertion had sapped what little artificial strength he had left. The commander walked over to him and offered a gloved hand. Axel took it and rose to his feet. Little red dots danced on his chest.

  “Seriously?” he managed, looking down at them.

  The commander raised a hand and one by one, the dots vanished.

  Axel squinted, trying to see through the tinted visor.

  “Search the ship,” said the commander.

  The troops filed out, leaving Axel alone with the commander. After a moment, the commander reached up and pushed a button on the side of their helmet. The entire dome receded back into the collar of their chest armor. An old friend looked back at him, Lieutenant Kim. She had streaks of gray in her jet-black hair, a few wrinkles around the eyes. But she was still as beautiful as Axel remembered.

  “Lieutenant,” he said sheepishly. “Glad you got my message.”

  She smirked. “It’s Colonel now.”

  Her shoulders twitched and Axel felt a hard slap on his cheek. “What was that for?”

  “You only ever call me when you need something.”

  Axel’s stinging jaw dropped. “I…I…”

  “You said you wanted to be exclusive after that night on Olympus Mons. Then you never called me.” Her eyes narrowed and her face turned angry.

  “You know I did find your missing frigate.” There was silence. He could feel her anger melting. “And several of the conspirators.” He pointed to Silva’s unmoving body.

  Kim stabbed a finger toward his chest. “It’s going to take a lot more than that to make me forgive you.” She tried to stifle a smile.

  “Well, while you’re forgiving me, can I get some medical attention? I’m kind of missing half the skin on my chest.”

  “I told you to get that old crusty skin fixed.”

  “Hey, you said you thought it was sexy.”

  “I was being nice.”

  “Axel!” shouted Devon from the doorway. She ran over and hugged him.

  “I see you have moved on, anyway,” said Kim.

  “It’s not…” Axel started. “Never mind.” He pried Devon off of him. “Take it easy. Just because I can’t feel anything right now doesn’t mean I should be hugging people. Silva said he shot you.”

  “He did.” She turned to show off three bullet holes in the center of her back. “But he didn’t hit anything important.”

  Kim scoffed. “A squib? You’re dating a squib now?

  “No,” Axel shot back.

  “I guess that’s good.” She eyed Devon up and down. “She can’t get pregnant.”

  Chang was on his knees at the front of the bridge, hands bound behind his back. A trooper stood over him with a rifle aimed at his head. Two more troopers were pulling McKenzie’s body back into the hold of the ship. A military engineer sat at his computer wearing a pair of goggles that seemed to blink and flicker in sync with the monitor. Axel had seen those once, something that hackers used to interpret computer code for analysis.

  Devon sat quietly at a console while Ravel and Jean-Baptiste were examined by medical staff in the ready room off the bridge. Axel watched the bridge monitor streaming several feeds from the Beijing news channels. The violent footage had been replaced with talking heads and scrolls in Chinese. The sound was down, but clearly everyone was pissed about the events on Pangaea, Ganymede, and the corporate headquarters for several weapons and communications firms.

  In all, the death toll, including innocent civilians, stood at two million and rising. The imperial family was hanging onto power by a thread and there was already talk of a special governance advisory council convening, without the new emperor’s consent. A power struggle was brewing in the wake of the failed coup.

  Kim stood next to Axel, shaking her head. “Things are going to get messy soon. I just called this in and my CO tells me Joint Forces Command is already arguing over who to support in all of this.” She sighed and looked at something on her data pad. “We’ve got a spare shuttle that will get you home.”

  Axel, sporting a fresh coating of artificial skin under a bandage and a loose shirt, forced a smile. That was the first bit of good news, other than the kids being alive, he’d heard in a while. “Thanks.”

  “It’s only fair to repay you for helping us find this cell and our frigate.” She held up a small data drive. Axel recognized it as the one Jean-Baptiste took from his apartment on Pangaea. “But I can’t let you leave with this.” Her voice was cold and stern.

  “It’s not what you think,” said Axel.

  “It’s got intel-level encryption on it,” said Kim. “That’s not for vacation photos.”

  “I know, but…”

  Her eyes dug into his. He’d seen that look years ago. It meant she wasn’t fucking around. Her charity only went so far. It ended at that data drive.

  “And the reason is, there is no way of knowing if it is holding Chinese state secrets. The kids in there aren’t willing to unlock it and my people can’t break the encryption, so it stays here.”

  It was a fair trade after all, Axel thought. He would be able to get the kids home, and that was the point of his mission. He was never asked to bring back the reason the two had gone dark. He would have a serious talk with Cougar, though, about all of this. The revelation of a lie this big would put a strain on their relationship.

  “Fine,” said Axel. “Keep it.”

  “Good. Sergeant Wong will get you over to the battle group. You can catch a ride with us to the next jump gate and we’ll drop you off at Mars. From there you can head back to Earth.”

  There was a pause before Kim spoke again. “I’m glad you’re still…” She looked away.

  Axel put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t mention it. Thanks for saving me and the kids.”

  Kim sniffed and glared once more at Devon before turning back to him. “Goodbye, Nash.” She left him on the bridge in the glow of the talking heads.

  A few days later, Axel was ecstatic to get onto the shuttle they’d fly back to Earth. While the quarters on the Chinese battle cruiser were nicer than his apartment back in DC, he was getting tired of Chinese navy food and the constant fear that he was being spied on. He and Devon had barely talked, at his insistence. He knew they were grateful for his help in the coup, but Americans were still viewed with heavy suspicion. No one ever acknowledged him in the corridors or mess hall. Ravel and Jean-Baptiste stayed in their room for almost the entire trip, with Devon bringing them their meals.

  Axel didn’t care if the kids were uncomfortable. They were lucky to not be sitting in a Brazilian prison or worse. The trip had given him plenty of time to reflect on his role in the new America that awaited him. Cougar’s standing would be lifted by all of this, provided the French forgave the loss of their intel, whatever it was.

  A sick part of him liked the fact that he felt useful again. Sure, he should have died a dozen times in the last three weeks, but he felt alive again. Running underground operations like the orbital bank heist with Killick ten years before was the last time he’d done anything truly daring, until this job came along. He missed it. He wanted to do it again. As he lay in his bed, trying to fall asleep, he recalled every moment of the mission, the salvage drones trying to tear apart the Zulu Dancer, the gun fights with the Russians and the Brazilians, the race through Pangaea.

  But each time, he came back to Danso and t
he Zulu Dancer. Those people didn’t deserve to die, especially Danso and his crew. Axel had to remind himself that was the cost of playing the international spy game. People died.

  People die no matter what, he thought.

  He convinced himself he wasn’t the direct cause of their deaths. He couldn’t think that way. If he did, his mind would freeze up and he would fall into a pit of despair. That’s how he ended up with a slate problem. But in all of this, he had never thought about doing a line of the stuff. Maybe because this was for a new America he believed in.

  Sitting on the Heinz, he had doubts the Petty family had his best interest at heart, or even that of the country. He used anything he could get his hands on to numb that time in his life. Everything he’d done as a coping mechanism—all the girls he made into mothers. Everything he’d done to try to cope with the war, with the defeat over Luna, stemmed from a subconscious self-doubt of purpose.

  I guess I hated myself for believing the dogma of the Values Party.

  But their lies were finally exposed. They were gone and being hunted.

  His warped sense of purpose during the war had festered a self-loathing for everything that had happened. But not this time. The true, full-flag saluting patriot in him knew this last mission was for the right cause, to lift America back on to the world stage.

  He would be a part of her resurrection.

  He drifted to sleep, feeling good about himself and a job well done for the first time in decades.

  Cougar waited silently at the edge of the outdoor training mat. Dressed in his American flag gee, President Gardner stood in the center of the mat, eyes closed, breathing deep, hand on his katana. Bamboo dummies mounted on poles surrounded him on all sides. Secret servicemen stood by nervously watching their charge. Sweat ran down Gardner’s forehead and nose. His practice sessions usually lasted an hour.

  With a blood-curdling war cry, Gardner drew his sword. The curved blade flew with a master’s precision, severing bamboo targets like paper. The metal shimmered in the rays of the setting sun. A second later, all the targets tumbled to the grass and the sword was sheathed.