Kaelyn lay on the ground, playing dead, trembling. Her leg was bleeding. The bullets whistled above.
Here in Lindenville. Here in this beautiful town. Fire. Bullets. Bodies.
A corpse lay beside her. A young man with shaggy hair. With glassy blue eyes.
She crawled away, and she bumped into another corpse. A woman. Her face locked in a silent scream.
And Kaelyn knew she would remember these faces forever.
"Up you go, you little bitch." Strong hands grabbed her, wrenched her up. "Ah, there you go. See? You can cooperate when you're taught to behave."
Kaelyn found herself facing the policeman again. The one who had ridden the horse. Who had struck her. Who had fired on her. He stood on the ground now, clutching her so tightly he almost broke her arms.
She read his name badge.
"Officer Miller." She fixed him with a steady gaze. "You murdered people today."
He laughed and spat on her face. "Fucking hippie."
He handcuffed her. Kaelyn had lost the will to fight.
A few moments later, she found herself in the back of a police car. As it drove through the burning town, Kaelyn lowered her head.
How has it come to this? she thought. This is Earth! This is America! We fought the Nazis, the communists, the terrorists. We fought back waves of alien invasions: the scum, the marauders, the grays. We fought under the banners of the Golden Lioness. We're the good guys!
But President Ben-Ari, the Golden Lioness, had disappeared years ago. The Colony War burned in space. And now Lindenville burned too.
Now Kaelyn didn't know who she was. Who they were. How they had strayed so far from the righteous path.
Later in her life, she could never remember arriving at the police station. Or being manhandled inside. Or the reporters surrounding her, snapping photos that would appear next morning in news around the world. Everything was a daze to Kaelyn, and her ears wouldn't stop ringing.
Finally she found herself in a jail cell. The door slammed shut, sealing her in darkness. Kaelyn thought of the dead and wept.
Chapter Twenty-Four
A Rising Fire
On the basalt plains, the Human Defense Force licked its wounds.
Outside the smoldering ruins of Basilica, they buried whatever bodies they had managed to pull from that hellish city.
"We lost this battle," Jon said, gazing at the city on the mountain. The ashy wind fluttered his hair and stung his face, hot and scented of death. "We killed nearly every Bahayan who hunkered down inside the labyrinth. We demolished the cathedral on the mountaintop, symbol of Bahayan freedom. But we lost. Historians might write that the Battle of Basilica was our greatest defeat in this war."
George slung an arm around him. "But we survived. That's gotta count for something, right?"
Did we survive? Jon wondered.
He felt dead inside. Hollow. He could barely feel a thing. His body had survived, yes. Perhaps his soul had died upon that mountain. Died when he pumped the tunnels full of fire and heard the men inside scream. Died as he moved from street to street, gun booming.
I wish I could be like the old heroes, he thought. The ones from the stories. They fought monsters. They fought aliens and robots and cyborgs. They never had to shoot people. Never had to shoot boys too young to shave.
He lowered his head.
He didn't know how many of his fellow soldiers had died in this battle. But it was thousands.
Most still lived. But none had survived unscathed.
Even those of us who lived—we will carry this inside us forever, Jon thought. We will forever remember the Battle for Basilica.
He embraced George, silent, just needing his friend. Etty joined the embrace. They stood together as jeeps rolled around them, as medics worked to save the wounded, and as helicopters rumbled above.
Even louder roars drowned out the helicopters. Thunder boomed.
Jon and his friends looked up.
A squadron of Firebirds, the dreaded starfighters of the HDF, were shrieking toward the city. Their fury shook the world. The legendary Firebirds had fought in every human war over the past century, dominating space and sky. Today they stormed over Basilica, engines roaring like dragons of old.
Their bombs fell.
Balls of fire bloomed across the city. Mushrooms clouds billowed. White light flooded the landscape.
On the basalt field, everyone knelt and covered their eyes.
The booms hit them a few seconds later—the sound of falling titans.
"They nuked the city," Etty whispered. "My God, they nuked it."
When the light dimmed, Jon looked back at Basilica.
Little of the city remained.
Every wall and tower had fallen. Even chunks of the mountainside had collapsed. Some of the basalt melted back into magma. Once more, lava trickled down the volcano.
He shook his head. "No, they didn't nuke it. Not with us so close. Those were conventional explosives. Just… big ones."
Etty rubbed her eyes. "But the white light…"
"The Santelmos," Jon said. "The white light was them. Their death throes."
Etty hung her head low. "How horrible."
A jeep rumbled by. A potbellied, mustached NCO stood inside, bellowing into a megaphone.
"All soldiers! Into your units! All soldiers—into your companies, into your battalions, stand for inspection! All soldiers—form ranks!"
It took a while to organize. The army had shattered. Units had collapsed. Many platoons had been demolished, some down to only a handful of survivors. Some soldiers could not even move, just lie on litters, screaming, weeping, or begging.
For a long time, NCOs rumbled back and forth in their jeeps, desperately trying to reorganize the survivors into something resembling an army. Finally Jon stood with the rest of the Lions Platoon.
It was so small.
They had been fifty soldiers once. They were twenty now.
Sergeant Lizzy—on Earth, recovering from the bullet Ernesto put through her chest.
Captain Carter—his body cremated in the explosion.
The rest—fallen on the mountainside.
You served in this platoon too, Paul, Jon thought. Before me. You too are gone.
The vision of Paul in the cathedral haunted him. A shapeshifter. A cruel trick. The memory stabbed him.
He looked at his friends. At George and Etty. And Jon realized that, along with Maria, they were the most important people in his life now. He loved them more than he had ever loved anyone. Here in this horrible place, with death all around, his love overwhelmed him. He had never felt such love—as bright and abounding as dawn after rain. He pulled both friends into another embrace.
Unfortunately, Clay Hagen was among the survivors. He stood nearby, still wearing his grisly necklace of severed ears. The brute ruined the moment by snorting and muttering something about them being gay for one another. Jon tried to ignore him.
Boots thumped.
A familiar figure stomped toward the Lions Platoon—a burly man with white hair. Jon recognized Colonel Pascal, Lizzy's father.
The survivors of the Lions Platoon stood at attention and saluted. Even Clay saluted, and he almost never saluted officers. Maybe it took a colonel to put some discipline into him.
"You boys, I recognize you," Colonel Pascal said. "Lions Platoon. The platoon my daughter once served in. Where's your captain? Where's Michael Carter?"
Jon lowered his head. "He fell in battle, sir. He died a hero."
Pascal blanched. "Carter is dead?" he whispered. "Goddamn. He was a good man."
"The best of men," Jon said.
For a long moment, Pascal was silent.
"Michael Carter wasn't just another soldier," the colonel finally said, voice grainy with emotion. "He loved my daughter. He would have married her after the war. He was like a son to me."
"I'm sorry, sir," Jon said.
Clay stepped up. "With all due respect, sir, war culls those who
don't have that true killer instinct. Carter was a good man. A brave man. But he didn't have what it takes. He wasn't ruthless. Not like me." He puffed out his chest. "I'm a natural born killer, sir."
Eyes rimmed with red, the colonel turned to Clay.
"What the hell are you wearing around your neck, soldier?"
Clay raised his chin. "Trophies, sir. The ears of slits I killed. Even got the skull of a slit general in my rucksack. I killed more slits than anyone else in my platoon. They all goddamn know it."
"Is that so?" the colonel said.
"Yes, sir! I hate the bastards. After all, they killed the captain." Clay smirked. "If you ask me, sir, we should nuke every last one of them gooks from orbit. But hell, I kinda enjoy going into their hidey holes in person. Killing them close up and personal is fun."
The colonel looked at the rest of the platoon. "Is this son of a bitch telling the truth? Is he a natural born killer? Killed more slits than anyone?"
Nobody could deny it. They had all killed people. But nobody relished it like Clay. Certainly nobody wanted to brag about killing. So they just remained silent and nodded.
The colonel looked back at Clay. "Son, what's your name?"
"Corporal Clay Hagen, sir!"
"I'm giving you a battlefield commission, son," Colonel Pascal said. "You're a mustang now. An officer who never went to an academy. We do that sometimes. Especially when too many officers are wiped out in battle. You're now Lieutenant Clay Hagen."
Jon stared in silent shock.
His world seemed to shatter.
What? Clay Hagen—the brute, the murderer? The psychopath who mutilated his victims? An officer in the Human Defense Force?
"Colonel, sir—" Jon began.
But Pascal waved him silent. His face was a storm of emotion, and his eyes were still damp. Perhaps it was Carter's death. Perhaps the colonel was going mad with grief.
Pascal clasped Clay's shoulder. "From now on, Lieutenant Hagen, you command this platoon. Make me proud, son." He stared down at Clay's chest and shook his head in disgust. "But for God's sake, man, get rid of that disgusting chain of ears."
With that, the colonel stomped off to bark orders at another platoon.
Jon remained standing there in silent horror. He looked at George and Etty. He saw the same terror in their eyes.
Clay approached them. Lieutenant Clay. New commander of the Lions Platoon.
A thin smile stretched across his face. His wide-set eyes narrowed with malice. The fires of insanity burned in those pale blue eyes.
"You're mine now." His grin widened, demonic, revealing sharp teeth. "We're going to have so much fun."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Awakening
Kaelyn spent a cold, miserable night in jail.
And she knew she was lucky.
The police had opened fire on the demonstration. As she sat behind bars, many protesters lay in morgues.
And that was nothing compared to the bloodbath in Bahay.
"Is it true, Lizzy?" she said. "The videos on the placards. Did you see these things?"
The sergeant sat on a concrete slab, sharing the little jail cell. Her medals hung from her dusty army coat. She took a long, deep drag on a cigarette, then blew a ring of smoke.
"It's true, kid." She tapped the cigarette, scattering ashes. "It's all true."
It was only them in the cell. The male protesters were kept separately. Kaelyn had no idea what was happening outside the jail. Whether the town was still burning. Whether bullets were still flying. In here, it was just her, Lizzy, the shadows, and memories.
Kaelyn lowered her head. "They told us we were heroes. That Earthlings flew to Bahay as liberators."
Lizzy snorted and puffed on her cigarette. "If you believed that, kid, you're dumber than I thought." She sighed and leaned back. "I suppose that makes me an idiot too. I believed that shit once. I went to Bahay to fight evil. But that's bullshit. This ain't another war between humans and aliens. The Santelmos are barely involved. It's humans versus humans in the jungle. And that ain't right."
Kaelyn sat beside her. "Tell me about Jon and George."
Lizzy took another long drag. She smiled wistfully. "They're good men. I hope they come home soon."
"Men?" Kaelyn tilted her head. "And you call me a kid."
The sergeant seemed to gaze ten thousand miles away. "Whatever Jon and George are now, they're no longer kids."
Kaelyn pursed her lips. She saw again those images. The bullets flying. The people dying. The corpses beside her.
"I'm not a kid either," she said. "I was this morning. Not anymore. Lizzy, if what I saw in the videos is true…" She shook her head slowly. "It's a horrible crime. A stain on the legacy Einav Ben-Ari built for Earth. It's…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Genocide."
Lizzy nodded. "Yep, it's fucked."
"We must stop it!" Kaelyn paced the cell. "We'll raise hell. We'll protest again! I'm not afraid. Those videos from the placards? We'll upload them to the internet. Make them go viral. It's an election year. We'll make President Hale lose. We'll end this war!"
Lizzy snickered. She lit another cigarette. "It's pointless, kid. Lost cause. Didn't you see what happened out there on Main Street?"
"Yes!" Kaelyn said. "I saw it. A proud demonstration for peace. I saw you, a soldier, a decorated war heroine, speak out against the war. That inspired me. That made a difference." She crossed her arms. "And don't call me kid."
"All right, Ginger." Lizzy lay on the concrete slab and shut her eyes. "Keep telling yourself that. I'm going to sleep."
"Lizzy!" Kaelyn knelt beside the older woman and grabbed her arm. "How can you sleep now? We must plan the revolution!"
Lizzy rolled over, turning away from Kaelyn. "Listen, Ginger, leave me alone. I was just shot a few weeks ago. I'm still in pain, and I'm fucking tired."
"You can't give up, Sergeant Lizzy Pascal." Tears gathered in Kaelyn's eyes, and her voice trembled. "Please. You inspired me. And you can inspire millions. If you give up, what hope is there for us?"
"None!" Lizzy sprung to her feet, wounds and all. "You saw what happened, dammit! I protested. I led that protest. And people died! Ten, twenty—maybe more! The cops shot 'em. Because of me."
"And millions are dying on Bahay!" Kaelyn shouted. "And our soldiers—"
"Pipe down in there!"
A voice boomed from outside. A baton rattled against the bars. A guard glared at them, then walked on, muttering something about goddamn hippies.
The rest of the night passed quietly. Lizzy lay very still, facing the wall. Kaelyn sat on the cold concrete floor, staring at the bars, thinking of Jon and George, of the videos she had seen, and of her own oncoming conscription.
In just a year, when I'm eighteen, I'll be drafted too, she thought.
She had to end the war by then. Somehow. But what could she possibly do? How could she possibly take down the leader of the Human Commonwealth?
Finally, in the morning, keys rattled in the lock. The barred door swung open. The guard was back, his uniform wrinkly. He muttered something about "damn hippies" under his breath between sips of coffee.
"Here, sign this release form." He shoved a tablet into Kaelyn's hands. "Just a thumbprint! For God's sake, I don't need your John Hancock. Goddamn hippie."
Lizzy signed it next. And just like that, they were free to go.
"Later, kid," Lizzy said. "Try not to cause any more riots."
The veteran winked, gave Kaelyn a sad smile, and wheeled out of the jail. A bus rumbled to a stop, belching smog. Lizzy lit a cigarette as she rolled up the ramp, and then she was gone.
Kaelyn stood in the jail's doorway, daring not take another step, like some broken animal fearing freedom after too long in a cage. She almost wanted to turn around, to return to her cell.
But with a deep breath, she stepped onto the sidewalk.
She had hoped to feel optimism, to savor her freedom. Instead her heart sank.
Her dad was wait
ing to pick her up.
The commander, as people called him, sat in his car, facing forward, face stern. He was not in the military anymore. He had retired years ago. But Henry Williams, retired HDF captain, was still every inch the military officer.
Kaelyn debated walking home. She even toyed with the idea of running away.
If she had shown some courage yesterday at the protest, it all faded now. Perhaps a night in jail had broken her.
So she entered the car. She sat beside her father.
He began to drive. He still did not look at her. He did not say a word. His mouth was a thin line.
They pulled off the highway and into Lindenville. Kaelyn could see the damage now. Charred shops. Blackened trees. Even a few overturned cars. The protest must have grown into a riot overnight, but it was over now. Only ashes remained. And tomorrow there would be more graves in the cemetery.
Finally Kaelyn could not bear the silence.
"Dad."
The commander stared ahead. He did not speak.
"Dad," she tried again. "Are you going to say anything?"
His hands tightened around the steering wheel.
"Dad, I wasn't involved. I mean—not at first! I was just walking by, but when I saw the videos, when I heard them, I had to know more. And then the police came, and—"
He slapped her.
He actually slapped her.
She gasped. He had not hit her since she'd been a child.
"You dared march with traitors!" he said, teeth bared. "Our boys are fighting in space. And you dared march against them! For the enemy!"
"Dad, no!" She clutched her burning cheek. "That's not what's happening. The war is wrong! I met a sergeant. Her name is Lizzy Pascal. She fought in the war, and won medals, and she told me we're killing innocent people. Babies. And—"
"I will not hear this!" Father said. "I—"
"Dad, you have to listen! I—"
He pulled over.
"Get out."
"Dad!"
He spun toward her, sneering. His face was red. Demonic. "I served in the military for years. I would still be there if not for my wound. I taught you and your brother to respect the HDF. George respects it! He enlisted. I didn't think that fat piece of shit had it in him. I know he's soft. But he manned up and he enlisted, and now he's there, fighting the enemy! While you're here betraying him! Putting him in danger. Get out!"
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