by T. C. Edge
Nadia’s expression grew more strained at that. She began searching quickly for news that might support the suspicion of a strike on her own home nation.
“Either way,” said Slattery once more. This time, his voice was quieter, blessedly. “That’s an increase, possibly a significant one, on the overall numbers of synthetics we’re aware of. There were fewer than a dozen in Colorado. Now we’re looking at what, at least twenty, split into three units? And there may well be more.”
“That sounds about right, sir,” said Tanner.
Slattery sighed down the line, his breathing a little tight.
“If they can do such damage with only that many soldiers…” he began, then trailed off, sighing again.
That sigh didn’t really require an explanation. It was one of defeat; a realisation that, if only such a small number of soldiers could wreak such havoc and mayhem, then what would a larger force be capable of? And, since their numbers appeared to have doubled since the strike in the mountains earlier that morning, how many of these soldiers might the MSA eventually have?
Had they built an army of them, just waiting to be filled with the minds, the consciousnesses, of experienced soldiers? Were these merely the first batch, tested and ready for action? Were there legions more of them preparing their own assaults elsewhere, set to swarm the lands and strike down armies, governments, toppling entire militaries and nations alike?
That was the bigger picture, a horrible portrait of the future. But for Chloe a more personal concern flourished: Ragan.
She headed again for the window, gazing out upon the black sky and lands below, littered with lights like fluorescent algae on the ocean. In the distance, New York was a radiant blur of pale silver and yellow, a great, vast city, powerful and enduring. And yet, right now, though you couldn’t see it from here, its heart was being struck at, stabbed clean through.
And Ragan…Ragan was there.
Chloe felt her insides coil and twist at that thought. She turned away from it, refusing to let it breathe. It wouldn’t serve her to overthink things, for her thoughts to turn morbid. She moved back to the briefing table, right up to Nadia’s side.
“Anything?” Chloe asked. “Any news from Houston?”
Nadia shook her head.
“No rumours of an attack there yet,” she said.
“They may just be focusing on the immediate threats,” offered Tanner, scanning through more footage across the table. “They’ll start with New York and LA, then move on elsewhere. This looks to be a systematic termination of any agency or organisation who has knowledge of who they are, and what they’re doing. First Project Dawn, now the CID.”
“And LA?” asked Chloe. “Dax said that they’re not really aware of the full threat of the MSA yet.”
“A preemptive strike,” said Tanner. “Or they might just be there to assassinate President Arnold and other senior government figures.”
“You think we should get in closer, maybe?” Chloe said, glancing again at the window, and the distant blur of the city beyond. She felt restless, powerless, just floating up here in the clouds. “We could help…”
“Not a good idea,” came Slattery’s voice over the speakers. Despite the lower volume, it still made Chloe jump. “If a foreign jet approaches the city, they may think we’re with the enemy. They’d blast us from the sky before we even had a chance to explain ourselves.”
“And what could we do anyway?” said Tanner, looking at her. “There will be dozens of Panthers and nano-augmented agents in the CID and protecting the Black House. Adding two and a half extra nano-enhanced isn’t going to help.”
“Two a half?” Nadia said, frowning.
Tanner pointed at the patch over his right eye.
“I’m the half,” he said bluntly. “I’m sorry to say it, but we’re spectators here. All we can do is send warnings elsewhere, to LA and Houston. Update the other nations on what we know.”
“Already in progress,” said Slattery. “Jason is sending out messages now to all government agencies. I presume that, this time, they’ll take the warnings seriously.”
“Won’t do much good,” said Chloe grumpily, her earlier optimism draining.
“It may,” countered Slattery. “At the very least this might initiate a coalition against the threat of the MSA. The other nations will be forced to put on a united front and collaborate.”
“Yeah, if there’s anyone left to lead them,” said Nadia. “The reason they’re eliminating prominent targets is to prevent that very thing, Colonel.”
“True,” grunted Slattery, voice strained. “And, historically, getting the NDSA and WSA working together on anything has been difficult.”
“I’d say, sir, that this is a rather unique situation, though,” offered Tanner.
“Indeed,” said the Colonel.
“But it’s all rather…moot, isn’t it?” grumbled Chloe, looking to Tanner, then Nadia, then at one of the speakers, filling in for Colonel Slattery. “Nothing matters unless we know where these soldiers are coming from? Knowing they’re originating in the Mid-States is hardly enough.”
“A valid point,” said Slattery, after a short moment of silence. “The risk of a strong reaction from the WSA, in particular, is likely. They pride themselves on their military prowess, and will react accordingly. A lot of innocent lives could be lost across the Mid-States.”
“You think they’d do that?” Chloe asked. “Like…attack Chicago or something?”
“I wish I could say no,” said Slattery. “But the reality is, if the WSA have no specific target to strike at, they will turn their eyes upon the highest concentration of civilians.”
“The hope,” Tanner added, looking to Chloe, “would be that killing innocents would weaken the MSA’s resolve, and provoke a ceasefire, even peace.”
Chloe frowned.
“Well, that makes no sense,” she said. “How would killing innocent people force a country to sue for peace?”
“To protect them,” said Tanner. “The WSA have almost unlimited resources, and a far greater population than the MSA. If they send a large force to attack Chicago, say, then they’d deal an enormous amount of damage. Yes, the MSA would send in these new soldiers to protect the people, but they do appear to be limited in numbers, at least so far.”
“Precisely,” said Slattery, a tone of approval to his voice at Tanner’s summation. “The MSA have more powerful soldiers, but the WSA have far greater numbers. In the end, the Mid-States might be using all of this to carve out a better deal on this continent. They essentially have a new super-weapon, and will point it at the others, and demand a ransom.”
“Point, and shoot,” said Chloe. “Looks like they’re already using it, Colonel.”
“Yes, but these early attacks will likely fade. They are proving what they are capable of, and may seek to bargain afterwards. The same thing happened during World War Two, when the old United States dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It served a double purpose - end the Japanese resistance, and display the power of their new weapon to the Soviet Union, who were becoming the real threat to their hegemony. It was a warning, really, of what they were truly capable of.”
“So, you think all this…might be temporary?” asked Chloe, staring at one of the speakers in the corner of the jet.
“It seems likely, if you look at human history,” the speaker said, Slattery’s voice coming out of it with a slight buzz. “In fact, and though it doesn’t seem it now, it may help to stem future conflict. If the MSA so choose it, they can use these new soldiers to maintain a balance across the continent, police the other nations. It really just depends upon what their goals are.”
“And how the other nations react,” added Nadia. “A lot of life might be lost first, before any talks are undertaken. If that’s actually what the MSA want.”
“Such is always the case,” said Slattery, voice thoughtful. “Great loss of life often inspires periods of peace. It just seems to be the natural cycle of mankind
.”
Natural, thought Chloe. There’s nothing natural about this…
She left the discussion there, withdrawing her voice, and herself, and moved up towards the cockpit. She felt drained by the almost callous manner in which the current events were being considered. Perhaps that was just how people like Slattery thought. He seemed to be able to detach himself from the humanity of it, the very real atrocities that were now occurring, and consider the future in an almost…academic way.
She didn’t blame him for that, nor did she consider it a criticism. It was just how he thought, his mind quickly extrapolating possible futures and outcomes that may now occur. Yet it seemed perverse to even imagine how great loss of life could, in the long term, be a good thing. How killing hundreds, thousands, even millions, might end up saving many more.
She moved towards the co-pilot’s seat, dropping down in a weary slump. From behind her, Remus came swooping, landing on her shoulder, perhaps sensing she wished for his company and comfort. She lay her head back, shutting her eyes, trying to stop her mind from rushing, but failing miserably.
She felt Remus creeping along her shoulder with his spindly bird legs, nuzzling her neck with his head. No…that wasn’t a nuzzle.
“Ouch!” she said, opening her eyes up, turning to him. “Did you just…peck me?”
Remus nodded his tiny, silver beak, and Chloe lifted a hand to swat him away.
“I’m not in the mood, Remus,” she said, shutting her eyes again, resting her head back.
Then he pecked her again.
“Jeez! Stop it!” she said, sitting up once more. She lifted to slap him off, but he hopped back, causing her to miss.
What had gotten into him?
She locked him with a stern glare, trying to command him to fly away. He didn’t. Odd. It was rare for her to not be able to mentally command the drone; it did happen occasionally, mostly when she was either extremely tired, or he had something very important to do.
“What?” she asked, looking directly at him.
He stood tall, then turned his head to the dashboard, pointing his beak down to a screen. He jumped from her shoulder and swooped down towards it, landing above the screen, looking down pointedly.
Then, as if a tap had suddenly been opened, the information he was trying to feed her flooded her mind. She’s been too lost in her own thought to notice, but now her attention was all his.
She looked at the dashboard, and saw that it was blinking with a message.
A message…from Ragan.
Her heart flared, eyes doing the same, as she quickly ran her eyes across the electronic script. She read it once, twice, then turned and ran back down the passage into the jet’s main interior. The others noted her charging step, feet clanking on metal, and turned to look at her.
“What…what is it?” asked Nadia, concerned.
Chloe’s face flourished into a beaming smile.
“Ragan!” she stammered. “He’s safe! He managed to escape the city!”
Nadia and Tanner shared a look, stepping around the briefing table towards her.
“There’s a message on the dashboard,” Chloe went on, feeling almost lightheaded she was so excited. “He’s just near the city,” she said. “He’s asking how close we are.”
“Ha! He’ll be happy we’re so near,” Tanner said, marching up towards her. “Does it say how he got out?”
“Not much detail. Just that he needs to get to a safe location immediately, and that he’s got important news.” Chloe said. “I don’t know how to send a return message. Would you mind? I’m kinda…eager to see him.”
“I’ll bet,” Tanner smirked, scars on his face twisting and contorting. It still amazed Chloe how handsome he managed to look despite the damage.
He continued his march past her, moving down the passage, and Chloe and Nadia hurried into step behind.
107
Chloe watched with bated breath as the little light approached in the night sky, growing brighter as it came.
She held a rifle in her hands, as did the others, each of them prepared for action should it determine to cause a fuss. As with their coming together with Colonel Slattery that morning, they needed to be wary of a trap, as unlikely as that might be given the circumstances.
The fact that Ragan had managed to send a message to the falcon was proof that it was definitely him; after all, no one else had codes over in New York to communicate with the jet. Of course, he might be acting under coercion, but that hardly seemed plausible for a man like Ragan Hunt.
No, it was him, Chloe knew. A smile simmered on her face at that thought, her eyes glued to the approaching light, drifting down towards them.
They’d landed some way outside of the city, many miles inland and beyond the surveillance of any of the NDSA border stations. The plains were grassy, quiet, the moonlight given shape to the rolling hills stretching into the distance. There were lights dotting the horizon; those of farms and small settlements in this wide expanse, and clumps of trees and little thickets grouped into black masses across gentle hillsides, and sloping down into shallow valleys.
The sparrow had landed beside the falcon, the two jets now set up side-by-side, their occupants spilled out and awaiting their guests. Slattery and Jason stood with the others, a quiet suppressing any further debate as they watched and waited for Ragan to arrive.
He’d suggested in his message that he wasn’t alone, though hadn’t elaborated. Chloe couldn’t speak for the others, but she was eager to find out just who he was with.
The light continued to grow near, before the outline of a jet appeared. Chloe frowned as it drew closer, then slowly settled towards the earth ahead of them. It had an odd shape, unlike most of the airborne transports she’d seen; quite bulbous in the body, and much smaller than she’d expected. She imagined he’d escaped from the roof of the CID, perhaps with Commander Wexley in tow. She must have got that wrong.
The odd jet altered its configuration as it descended to the plains, its wings drawing back in, its egg-shaped body - flat on the underside and curved on top - sprouting short legs at the bottom. It landed, boosters cutting off, the hum of its engines bringing a fresh quiet to the peaceful surroundings. Chloe, pulse rising, held her rifle to her side. Nadia and Tanner lifted theirs to shoulders, just in case.
The door to the jet opened up, and a pair of hands popped out the side.
“It’s me,” came a voice. Ragan’s voice.
Chloe lost half a breath at that.
He stepped out next, peeking around the edge first to show his excessively handsome face, before dropping into the dirt. The other half of Chloe’s breath abandoned her at the sight.
He stepped away, then nodded. Another man exited. He had the look of a Panther by his garb, his chin cut with a deep scar that outdid anything on Tanner’s face for pure gruesomeness.
The Panther moved alongside Ragan, and both looked on towards the gathering ahead. Nadia and Tanner lowered their weapons, and with a quick step, began moving forwards. Chloe, oddly, felt her legs almost locked in place. When she finally managed to mobilise them, she lurched forward nervously, legs heavy, chest beginning to heave.
She watched, moving on, as Nadia drew Ragan into a hug. She let him go, and Tanner stepped in. Ragan’s eyes performed the expected show of horror and sympathy at what he saw.
“Cliff…” he began, voice pained. “I…”
“No, none of that,” Tanner said immediately, shaking his head. “No sympathy, Hunt. I’m still much prettier than you.”
Ragan smiled, slightly awkward, as if not knowing what to say. From what Chloe had witnessed, Tanner had the sharper tongue in such exchanges. At the best of times, Ragan struggled to keep up. This, perhaps, wasn’t the time to try to figure out some quip.
He settled for a nod, then looked at Chloe as she joined them. Despite wishing to rush forward and jump into his arms, she held her poise and merely drew in as Nadia had, hugging him briefly, and then stepping back. They di
dn’t share a word, but didn’t need to. The look he gave her told her everything. She was certain that her own expression betrayed her too. And…yes, she could feel her eyes dampen.
Typical.
“So,” came Tanner’s voice. “Who’s your friend?”
Ragan blinked, pulling his eyes from Chloe, and turning to the Panther to his side, lurking off next to their odd, egg-shaped jet.
“This is Captain Maddox of the Panther Force,” said Ragan. “He was the one who took me in over in Cincinnati.”
The others, Chloe included, tightened up a little at that. Captain Maddox stepped forward, well built, stiff. He had unfriendly eyes, his hair short, that deep scar on his chin aiding in a rather grim facade. He nodded curtly at the group, grunting.
“Well, I don’t feel so bad now,” remarked Tanner, inspecting Maddox’s chin. “I’ve got you on quantity, Captain,” he said, “but you’ve got me nailed on quality. How did you get that scar?”
Maddox grunted again.
“Piece of shrapnel near cut my jaw in half,” he said. “Few years back. You get used to it. Maybe even learn to like it.”
He lifted his hand, stroking his scar with a strange affection. It was wide and deep enough to near fit his finger inside. Chloe shuddered a little at the sight and looked away, turning her eyes back to Slattery and Jason, who’d chosen - for some reason - to stand back for a moment. Perhaps to give the others time for their reunion.
Now, however, Ragan spotted them. He marched from the group towards the sparrow, the rest following behind. He lifted his head speedily as he approached Colonel Slattery, who drew up his own. The two men shook animatedly.
“Colonel, I’m happy to see you alive, sir,” Ragan said hastily. “I’m so sorry to hear about what happened in Colorado. I don’t know the full details, but know we suffered tremendous losses.”
Slattery nodded solemnly.
“There may yet be a few who survived, Ragan, into the mountains,” he said. “But for all intents and purposes, we are all who remain.”
Ragan nodded and looked to Jason.