by T. C. Edge
“Sir?”
“Let’s be honest, Jason,” said Slattery, sinking back, losing his posture. “This particular fight is out of our hands now. We had our chance, and blew it. It seems possible, I’ll agree, that the MSA have the data, given Martha’s affiliations, and that Hunt is helping the CID to recover it. If that’s the case, what can we add?”
Jason sighed and nodded, lowering his eyes.
“I don’t know, Colonel,” he said, voice weary. “I suppose I just want to understand, if nothing else. It makes me feel better, thinking that only Councillor Mitchell betrayed us, sir. I prefer to think of anything else as being a terrible misunderstanding.”
“And that’s probably what’s happened,” admitted Slattery.
The men went silent for a moment. Jason, the younger, standing tall ahead of the desk; Slattery, wizened and weakened, falling into a slouch behind it. It was an unpleasant thing to admit defeat, for those who’d made it their sacred duty to rid the world of this coming evil. But admit it they had to - their part in this was done.
Jason left the Colonel alone, moving back out into the command centre with a tired and despondent step. The poor young man still had the vigour of youth, yet to be hardened by the feeling of defeat. Not Slattery. This was a big one, yes, the greatest regret of his life. But he’d move on. He had to move on.
Whisky would help. Doctor Jenkins had forbade it, but no matter that now.
Jeremiah Slattery reached to his drawer, drew out the bottle, and filled a glass high.
A toast, he thought, shaking his head, to my terrible failure.
97
Mikel crept forward through the woods, an impossible thrill burning through his blood.
To his left and right, ten identical men went with him, led by the one called Heston. Colonel Heston, apparently, the man Mikel had rightly assumed to be the leader of those three synthetics in the training hall.
The other two, unfortunately, hadn’t made the cut. The man called Will was on standby, one of the ‘reserves’. The other, Kendrik, hadn’t done enough to be considered for this mission.
Mission.
What a funny thought it was for Mikel to be here, working alongside these men. Really, that wasn’t how he saw it. He merely saw this as playtime, part of a grander game, a chance to test himself out in a proper combat environment.
The briefing earlier, which he’d barely listened to, made a few points clear - they were to be attacking, and destroying, the entire base of the Crimson Corps. All of their best soldiers, Mikel knew, were nano-augmented. He wouldn’t feast on their blood any longer, but he still had a particular hankering to kill their sort.
After the briefing, the men had been rendered unconscious after being loaded onto a jet - another safeguard to ensure that no one could possibly give away the location of the facility. Mikel didn’t mind on that occasion, waking a little while later as the jet sped through the sky, hunting down the location of the Project Dawn base, deeply secluded in the Colorado mountains.
The jet had landed a way out, beyond the scope of the base’s detection scanners, forcing the squad of synthetics to continue their journey on foot. They moved quickly, quietly, through the forested hills, the first light of morning beginning to shimmer in the skies.
All wore combat suits of black, the fabric light mesh and extremely durable. Mikel was used to the colour, if not the feel of the tight fabric on his skin. His new skin. New fabric on a brand new body. That thought would still take some getting used to.
The entire thing, in fact, was surreal. The men sounded the same, moved the same, looked the same. In time they’d begin to alter these patterns - the tone and timbre of their voices adapting, their gait doing the same, even their aesthetic looks evolving slightly - but for now they were all so very alike.
All but Mikel, of course. After all, these men were fitted with human minds. His new form had been imbued with the consciousness of a nano-vamp; a very different beast indeed.
Already he moved more gracefully, shaped his features into a tighter configuration, and set a sharper hiss to his manner of speaking. He refused to blend into this group as they might wish him to.
No, this was all just a testing ground for Mikel. An opportunity to see what he was capable of in combat. And a chance, also, to observe the others and learn a little more about just what the MSA were planning. Beyond this mission, there was apparently something bigger at play. Mikel had heard rumours of an attack against New York, against the CID. And Hunt…apparently Hunt was there now.
The thought set a smile to his handsome new face. A smile growing increasingly malicious, less charming. If he proved himself today, he might get a chance to go after Hunt.
Oh, the man surely wasn’t their primary target, but he would be for Mikel. He could almost imagine the reunion now, the confusion as Hunt looked upon his new form.
Glorious. It would be so very glorious.
And it started right here.
They pressed on through the gloomy woods, the altitude rising, the air chilling. Colonel Heston, clear only by the marking on his shoulder that signified his position, moved at the front, the others fanning out to the left and right.
Mikel took one flank, keen eyes searching the way forward. They drew to a stop as they reached an elevated mound, one of many hillocks here in the highlands. Through the trees ahead, a strange shimmering appeared, stretching left and right, as though the air was being heated.
“Cloaking field,” whispered Heston. They’d been told that the base had one, a large bubble that served to hide the place from sight. It was, however, only good from a certain distance. From this vantage, the odd distortion of the air nearby was clear enough to see.
What they couldn’t see, however, was the base itself, hidden within the field. The briefing had included a general run-down of the base beyond, however, information provided by Martha Mitchell.
From this approach, they knew that they’d be facing a high wall ahead, just inside the cloaking field. As soon as they passed, their presence would be noted, though at this time of the morning, many would be caught napping. Quite literally.
“OK,” Heston said, turning to his men. His cold blue eyes - a slight deviation from the other synthetic clones - were clear enough through his mask. “We move through the field, scale the wall, and spread through the base in two teams, as prescribed in the briefing. Alpha squad will head for the barracks to take out the nano-augmented soldiers. Beta squad will move for the command centre and destroy it. Then we cull the place, building by building. Understand?”
The men all nodded, each one a mirror image of the next. Mikel had been included in the ‘beta’ squad, something he didn’t much care for. He was a squad unto himself, as far as he was concerned.
Instructions set, Colonel Heston turned back towards the rippling field of air ahead, appearing as the surface of a calm ocean, the base hidden in its depths. Right now, it simply seemed as though the forest continued beyond the cloaking field, though the trees looked marginally discoloured on the other side and slightly…unnatural.
As they crept over the hillock and moved swiftly towards it, however, the truth came into view.
They passed the veil, and the discoloured forest was immediately replaced by the high walls of the base, the watch towers along its flanks, the military structures beyond. Mikel took a moment to enjoy the sensation, watching as the others surged right for the ramparts.
They reached it at pace, and scaled it with ease, scrambling up like lizards and propelling them right over its top.
Mikel followed right after, sprinting on, surging up, hurdling the thirty foot barrier as if it were nothing but a minor obstacle. He came down on the other side, landing strangely lightly in the earth, one knee and palms to the floor to cushion his fall. He noted that a couple of the other soldiers had tumbled on their landing. Pathetic. They were still getting used to these forms.
They continued on, pacing quickly down an alley between two building
s, emerging into a courtyard lit by the early morning sun. A small squad of a dozen soldiers were already on patrol, passing by at a jog. They stopped, turning to look upon the intruders.
It took them a moment to realise what was happening.
A moment, in such situations, was all that was needed.
With a frightening efficiency, the troop of synthetics hauled weapons to shoulders and shot simultaneously, the silence of the mountain morning snapped in half by the sudden cacophony. Most of the Crimson Corps soldiers dropped, wearing only their training fatigues which gave little protection at all.
A couple managed to scramble away, wounded but alive, fleeing and screaming warnings as they went. They headed northwards, towards the barracks. Alpha squad, with Colonel Heston at their head, followed in swift pursuit.
Beta, led by another high ranking soldier - a Major named Olson - moved the other way. They spread off south towards the command centre, Mikel part of their number. He danced along at the rear, a grin on his face as more chattering gunfire filled the air.
What a blissful sound. What a wonderful start to the day.
He lifted his gun and shot at anything he saw that moved. His eyes were magnificent, providing such steady aim. He’d always been a fine sniper, but this…oh this was something else.
As they reached the command centre, people were already hurrying inside from the courtyard beyond; the central building here the best stronghold they’d have. The place was ten storeys tall, wide and broad, perhaps with basement levels too. They’d need to sweep the entire thing later, but they’d start at its heart, it’s core. The place where the intelligence was held, where the Crimson Corps was run.
Run by a man named Colonel Jeremiah Slattery, apparently; the most important man on the base. If nothing else, Mikel wanted that kill.
He surged into the lead as the killing began, seeking his prey.
Jason stormed through the door into Slattery’s office, eyes narrow, breath panting.
“Sir, we have to get you out of here immediately. We’re under attack.”
Slattery sat up from his desk, empty whisky glass to one side. His chest thumped, heart straining. Had he dozed off?
The sound of muted gunfire began to sing outside.
“What? Who…” he grunted.
Jason shook his head, rushing forward.
“I don’t know, sir. About a dozen assailants were spotted scaling the eastern wall. Our men will deal with them. We have to get you out.”
He came around the side of the desk and took a grip of Slattery’s arm, preparing to manhandle him to his feet. Slattery didn’t want, or need, the aid. He pressed Jason away and took to his feet himself, before moving after the young man towards the door and out into the command centre.
The place was in a state of panic. Intelligence officers were rushing around, not knowing what to do. The concept of the base being found and attacked had been considered and prepared for. There were contingencies for everything, as you might expect, and it was always imagined possible, even likely, that their base of operations would be assaulted one day.
But preparing was one thing. Acting in the face of such danger was another, especially for those not trained to deal with it.
Slattery wanted to stop, to preach calm, to give directions to his staff. Jason wouldn’t let him. Perhaps it was the young Lieutenant’s duty to ensure their Colonel survived. While others were safeguarding intelligence, or deleting files, Jason was merely bundling Slattery through the room, hauling him along despite his protestations.
“We have to get you out, sir,” he kept saying. “The rest of the council are well protected…”
He managed to momentarily extricate himself from Jason’s grip, enough time to take a look at a bank of security monitors as they passed. He could make out several armed men in black heading for the barracks north of the base. Across other screens, the path of their destruction was clear. Men and women, soldiers and staff alike, lay littering their track. Bundles of bodies dotted the courtyards between buildings, blood pooling around them.
Slattery looked again at the soldiers, noting their movement. By God they were quick. Quicker than anything he’d ever seen. They spread like the wind, blowing through the base like a storm, a tornado of destruction obliterating everything in its path.
They were like no soldiers Slattery had ever seen.
My Lord, he thought. What are they?
A burst of gunfire clattered from down below. It seemed to come from the stairwell, perhaps a floor or two down. People who’d been running that way, hurrying downstairs in their panic, suddenly turned and fled back into the command centre. Slattery looked to the security screens for the building, and saw the corpses clogging the main atrium.
He felt a strong hand grab his arm, and found Jason’s eyes lit bright.
“Sir, they’re coming to kill us all!” he said. “We can’t just stand here.”
He nodded, and they began rushing towards the emergency exit. From here, there were three ways out of the building - the elevators to the ground floor, the stairwell, or the emergency exit that provided access to the rear. It was an old fire exit, really, just a separate stairway that led to a different way out. It appeared to be their only option.
They moved quickly for it, others following right after. Those who had weapons - there were always at least a few soldiers stationed with them - began to secure Slattery’s exit as best they could. Two went with them, following right behind. Several others moved for cover, waiting to fire upon the assailants coming their way.
Slattery knew it already - they’d have no chance. Dozens lay dead already…dozens. How could such a small force disable his nano-enhanced so easily? Men forged by war, men of experience who’d seen service across the continent.
All of them, so easily terminated…
Has our worst nightmare come true?
He felt his heart lurch at the thought, his body slammed violently through a door and down a flight of stairs. Jason held his side, keeping the older man from falling. Slattery’s chest flared, tightening, a sensation he’d so recently experienced.
He had to stop, placing his hand against a wall, drawing a long breath, several of them. His cohort of two guards stood, weapons trained up the stairs. Several other technicians were now fleeing their way.
More gunfire sounded above, more shouts and screams. Jason pulled Slattery from the wall and continued to haul him down.
Doing his best to control his breathing, Slattery scrambled on down the steps, passing several levels. They managed to reach a corridor on the ground floor, one way leading towards the main atrium, the other to the rear of the building. They chose the latter, though Jason hissed an order at one of the guards to hold back.
“Don’t let anyone follow,” he said. “Send them the other way.”
A diversion? Was Jason really that cruel, to send innocent, fleeing men and women out towards the main atrium, rather than the safer option to the rear?
Slattery had no time to ponder it. The guard did his duty, staying back, diverting others the other way. The remaining guard and Jason were now Slattery’s only escort. They poured down the corridor towards the emergency exit at the back. The sound of screaming and chatting gunfire began to fade in their ears.
They burst from the rear of the building, and out into a quiet alley. Their only way out now was in the air, the aircraft hanger not too far away. Stopping for a moment, Slattery managed to catch his breath. Some of it, at least. Jason and the guard listened closely, assessing the way forward. By the continued sounds of gunfire and screaming, the barracks were still being assaulted, the battle raging violently towards the north.
“We head right for the hanger,” Jason said, turning his eyes on his Colonel. Their roles had been reversed, the apprentice taking charge. He looked to the guard. “Watch our flanks. Give warning of any attack. We’ll have to cross open ground. We sprint, sir,” he said directly to Slattery. “We get to the hanger and get the hell o
ut of here.”
Slattery nodded, wheezing, feeling as though he was about to pass out.
“You’re the boss,” he managed to say, a weak smile, in defiance of the situation, rising upon his lips.
And with that, they turned and fled.
Mikel stood in the centre of the command centre, the place a wreck. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, oozing blood. Mikel smiled. The Crimson Corps. How appropriate that they were all leaking the colour…
Across the large space, stations had been abandoned, billowing smoke. Screens had been cut up by gunfire, the walls peppered with holes. Several glass-walled rooms surrounded the area, apparently bulletproof given they remained intact. Mikel had barely listened to the briefing earlier, but he knew for certain that one of those rooms had been Colonel Slattery’s office.
Across the room, the other synthetics in his squad were meticulously eliminating any final stragglers. Unusually, Mikel hadn’t killed too many of them himself. It had been too easy, no sport to it at all. This command centre was filled with intellectuals; the smarter men of the military, those who gathered intelligence and hacked data.
He wasn’t going to find much of a fight here.
He heard movement, spreading from the rear. Eyes worked up to find an emergency exit opened up, the hammering of footsteps clanking from metal steps several floors down. He glanced over to Major Olson, who was now ordering for explosives to be set up. The mission, really, had a single purpose - disable the organisation’s ability to further their cause. Eviscerate their capabilities.
That meant taking out the command centre, and killing all the soldiers. The deaths of Colonel Slattery, and the other members of the council was, though important, of secondary concern. Destroying the base and their military arm would completely incapacitate them.
And, to be brutally honest, Project Dawn was hardly of any concern anyway. This was primarily a dress rehearsal for what was to follow.
Mikel hurried on towards the emergency exit, speeding off down the stairs. He looked down the core and found a single guard in attendance at the ground floor, directing a few stragglers out towards the atrium. He flung himself over the side of a railing, letting gravity speed him past the last few levels. He dropped like a stone, coming down right in front of the guard, who stumbled back in shock as Mikel landed before him.