by T. C. Edge
She turned her eyes away briefly, looking down, and shook her head. Ragan stayed silent.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you need to go. And,” she added, looking up, “I’d trust no one else to get this job done.”
He smiled, though there was something in his eye, something that told her that, if she really pushed, he’d relent. That he’d hand over the reins of this missions to someone else. That he’d become a spectator only, watching from afar.
And that, beyond even his words, told her that he really did love her. That he would, in fact, do anything for her.
She smiled. And I him, she thought.
She drew him into another kiss, the world melting away around them, only broken as Tanner’s voice rang over towards them from the distance.
“Hey, lovebirds! Time to go!” he called.
They broke apart, fingers twining together, and headed back to the jet.
114
Chloe stood, looking out over the city of Cincinnati.
It wasn’t how it had been several days before, hidden in mist, battered by a storm. There was no sound of gunfire chattering in the centre, no distant booms of explosives going off.
Instead, all was calm, all was quiet.
The skies remained dark, though the blush of dawn was beginning to give the city shape. The silhouettes of buildings, many crumbled and destroyed, began to glow clear from the gloom. It was a war zone that had been a central source of conflict for some time. Only under the light of day would it’s true state be revealed.
But not yet. No, now it was half hidden in shadow, the light not yet bright enough to bring much detail to the streets. Those streets weren’t the ones Chloe had previously visited, either. Days ago, they’d approached from the south, ready to hunt Mikel. Now, they’d flown right over the city, landing to the north, where a hasty basecamp had been erected.
They’d landed not long ago, the two jets settling down beside several others. Chloe noted their slightly different shapes and colouring, some used by the Panthers, the others by the Spectres. To see those jets lined up, side by side, was quite symbolic. When they left the jets, and moved towards the large staging area, set within a grand military tent, that symbolism appeared as something more concrete.
Panthers, Spectres, military leaders from both the NDSA and WSA, all working together. Yes, there looked to be some tension in the air, the Panthers and Spectres mostly keeping to their own groups, standoffish and wary of one another, but this was progress. A part of Chloe felt oddly emotional at the sight. It was something so many people longed for; a cessation of the conflict, a ceasefire to bring an end to many years of war.
Would this common threat be the spark they needed? Would the imminent rise of the MSA, of the lowly surging to power, force the two great nations of the continent to put aside their differences, and sue for a lasting peace?
No one could answer that question, at least not yet. This may be a false dawn only, a temporary hiatus. Clearly, the fighting in the city to the south had been put on hold, but would that speak of something bigger? Or, once the MSA threat was dealt with, would the embers begin of fire up again, eventually returning to the blazing inferno that had engulfed so much of the continent?
Chloe pondered this as she stood at the entrance to the massive staging tent - although it really appeared as more of a warehouse. Towards the rear, the military leaders had quickly come together, gathering as one to discuss their plans of attack.
General Linklater was there, his appearance suggesting he was just as frightening as Colonel Slattery had made him out to be. Tall, grim-faced, with eyes that never seemed to blink, he looked like he hadn’t cracked a smile in decades, his face locked into a perpetual grimace. It only seemed to grow more intense with the arrival of Slattery, who suddenly appeared to Chloe like a lost lamb bleating in the fields, begging for its mother to come find him.
She chuckled at the thought. Big ol’ Slattery wasn’t that scary after all…
Others were there too, of course. Captain Maddox had immediately joined up with his superior among the Panthers, Major Mitcham, the two quickly assimilating President Rashmore into their ranks. Having their national leader so close to a bunch of Spectres clearly put them on edge, though it really shouldn’t. They’d all agreed to this ceasefire and temporary alliance, and breaking it would contravene the rules of war.
Yes, there would be some unease, maybe even a bit of hostility, but surely it wouldn’t boil over into anything more?
Ragan had - of course he had - quickly become prominent in the planning of the strike. At the rear of the tent was a central area, set with tables and screens and other equipment, where all the leaders gathered. Ragan, to no surprise, had led the discussion, Cal right there by his side. His presence had, naturally, caused a bit of a stir, to which he seemed to thrive. Any glares from nano-augmented soldiers, and Panthers in particular, only seemed to widen his grin.
He’s got confidence, I’ll give him that, Chloe thought, watching on.
Knowing the things he could do, that wasn’t a huge surprise. Though, as Remus had informed her, he wasn’t entirely invulnerable.
As Ragan had requested, she’d ordered Remus to perform a furtive scan of the man en route, which he’d done with the required discretion. He’d flown to a high perch, settled down, and watched Cal as they’d flown. Chloe, sat in her seat, had been informed of what he discovered, their nanites interfacing and updating Chloe in realtime.
The picture was…well, bizarre. Cal’s synthetic body was unlike anything she’d ever seen, far more strange than nano-vamps, who weren’t exactly human themselves. He was a mixture of human parts and the expected biology, with significant robotic augmentations.
His skeleton was a fusion of bone and some metal Chloe had never seen, making his skull almost invulnerable to regular bullets. Additional security protected his heart - yes, he did have one of those - with a ribcage that was laced with a mesh of metal armour, almost like an internal vest around his organs. Structurally speaking, he was incredibly well protected. Perhaps armour-piercing rounds would get through his defences, but most regular ammunition would not. And his ability to heal, Remus had told her, was more advanced than the nano-enhanced, his flesh knitting quickly and most wounds being no real hindrance at all.
His range of abilities were, however, more difficult for Remus to decipher; those, he told her, you’d only be able to interpret fully by seeing him in action. Well, Chloe had seen him in action; she’d shot him, in the head, at close range, and had done so without warning. On someone else - on anyone else - that bullet would have struck.
Not Cal.
The overall determination was that killing one of these things would take a concerted effort, heavy weaponry, and probably a bit of luck. There even appeared to be some sort of chip, some device within his skull, which Remus told her was probably designed to increase his senses and mental acuity.
So, they were dealing with soldiers who were quicker, stronger, and smarter than they were. Soldiers who could dodge bullets from close range, withstand most gunfire without fatal injury, and fight harder, for longer, without needing rest.
With his analysis complete, Chloe had only one thought.
Thank God we have one of them on our side.
She’d quickly updated Ragan on what she’d found just after landing. He’d nodded, eyes narrow, but hadn’t said anything. It was probably about what he expected.
Mostly, however, Chloe hadn’t interfered, or joined in with the gathering of leaders at the rear of the staging area. She was quite convinced that she had little to contribute, and frankly, didn’t want to have to endure those sideways glances and constant mutterings about what ‘she’ was doing there. She still knew they were coming, of course, but only now she couldn’t hear the mutterings, and the glances were far enough away for her to ignore them.
Instead, she stayed towards the front of the tent, looking out over the city, enjoying the rise of dawn, with Remus p
erched upon her shoulder. She looked out there and saw a vision of what might be. Of a war zone now gone stale and quiet. Of a new dawn rising over that battered city, a symbol of a past now gone, and a future on its way.
And then she thought of the Crimson Corps, of the patch they wore on their training fatigues; the rising sun climbing up over a parched land, of a bright new day bringing light to the darkness. Now, all that remained of the Crimson Corps were the men, and woman, behind her; Colonel Slattery, Jason, Ragan, Tanner, and Nadia.
It was quite fitting that they were all here, at the heart of this fight, helping to usher in this bright new day.
“You OK, gorgeous?” came a voice. Chloe turned to find Tanner striding over, right eye covered in a patch, left eye curved affectionately. He stepped right up to her side, bowed his head to Remus, and then turned out to look at the blushing dawn. “What are you doing over here on your own?”
Chloe glanced over, and Remus lifted his beak, insulted.
“Sorry,” said Tanner. “I meant both of you, of course.”
Remus nodded and settled down.
“Just…thinking,” Chloe answered, eyes forward. “I don’t have much to add back there.”
“Yeah, sitting this one out I hear?”
Chloe nodded.
“I don’t want to get in the way. I’m not a real soldier, Cliff.”
“No, you’re much better than that,” Tanner said, laying an arm over her shoulder, pulling her towards him. “Anyway, you won’t be alone here with this grim lot.”
Chloe looked up into his criss-crossed face.
“You’re not going?”
Tanner scrunched up his nose, shaking his head.
“Nah, I’d rather stay with you.”
“You’re not doing it for me, are you? Cliff, you love fighting!” She eyed him. “Did Ragan put you up to this?”
“Hell no,” Tanner huffed. “You think I’d do anything he tells me?” He grinned. “No, it’s my eye. Hard to fight with only one of them. I’d get in the way more than you would, I’d wager.”
“I don’t believe that. Even with one eye, you’re better than half the soldiers in this place. And who’s going to fly?”
“Sweet of you to say, honey,” Tanner said. “But I’m fine with missing out. And they’ve got plenty more pilots to pick from, all of whom, strangely, have two working eyes.” He signed, but covered it in a grin. “It’s all right. We’ll go wait in the falcon. I’ve got another bottle or two of whisky stashed away…”
“Which you’re not drinking without me…”
Both of them spun around to find Nadia striding forward this time, her southern twang warming the air between them. Chloe loved that accent of hers; it just sounded so friendly and inviting. Her expression tended to match it, sleek brown eyes catching brilliantly in the early morning light, short brown hair bobbing around her shoulders.
“You’re staying too?” Chloe said, feeling a pulse of something inside, that kinship she’d so longed for.
Nadia swept up towards then, moving to Chloe’s other flank, locking her between the two.
“Honey, I’m not leaving you alone with Cliff, are you mad? Have you not learned anything about him these last couple of weeks?”
She grinned and looked past Chloe at Tanner, who simply laughed, that mirthful sound echoing into the large tent. She seemed to regard Tanner with more affection than ever since his disfigurement. It was as though that terrible affair had somehow dismissed all the suggestions and innuendos, made Nadia realise just what she wanted, and how much she really cared about him.
Perhaps, Chloe thought, she thinks that his scarred face will put an end to his philandering?
Maybe that was just her being cynical, but there was nothing wrong with it if it were true. Tanner had spent years womanising. Now, perhaps, he could put that aside, and they could both stop pretending.
Yes, Chloe liked that thought. She’d love nothing more than to see them together.
“So, are they leaving soon?” Chloe asked. She felt a pulse of nerves at that. She’d have to watch Ragan leave. Again.
“Plans are made,” Nadia nodded, the three of them looking out over the ruins of Cincinnati. “They’ll be loading onto the jets in a moment, getting into position. They need to be ready for when the entrance level of the facility extends above the surface.”
“And Martha can definitely do that?”
“According to Ragan, yes. He’s been liaising with her. She says she has her own plan in place to make sure.”
Chloe nodded, a throb of anxiety radiating from inside.
“Don’t look to worried,” Tanner said, squeezing a little harder at her shoulder. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
Chloe nodded, eyes down.
“Right, back to the falcon,” Tanner went on. “A drink will do you some good.”
She had no real chance to protest before she felt herself swept away, both of them hauling her out into the camp and towards the parked jets. They boarded, settling into the cockpit, Tanner drawing out a bottle of whisky and filling three cups.
And as they took their first sip - yes, it did help to soothe Chloe a little - the Panthers and Spectres came filing out of the staging tent, marching towards their own jets and disappearing inside. Ragan and Cal came too, and Chloe felt an unexpected gratefulness that Ragan had that super-powered synthetic alongside him. He’d done nothing so far, beside drawing the occasion devious smirk, so suggest he had betrayal on his mind, and Chloe imagined that he’d be a fairly useful asset once they got inside.
And if he does betray them…
One way or another, she’d find a way through his defences. Nothing…nothing would stop her from ending him.
Ragan looked up as he went, visible to the group through the falcon’s cockpit window. He’d be travelling with the Panthers, alongside Captain Maddox, Major Mitcham, and all his former colleagues. No doubt he’d have to endure some of the same treatment as Chloe always did; unfriendly glances, disparaging remarks.
And that made her feel even closer to him. He knew what she’d been through. He knew how it felt.
He stopped before he boarded, right ahead of the falcon, and drew a broad smile onto his face.
That smile. That face.
Chloe felt like running down to hug, kiss him goodbye. She didn’t. She just stood there with her friends, and watched Ragan salute.
They all saluted back.
115
The control room for the functioning of the Lake Michigan facility was, blessedly, located on the top floor. Not the entrance level that gave access to the facility, but the one directly below it. Up there, on the very same level, much of the space was given over to accommodating the more eminent staff; it appeared that the more important your position, the nearer the surface of the lake you’d be.
There were offices there too, including the President’s, tucked away at the one end of the level, furthest from the central entrance. The main facility was accessed by a large industrial elevator, necessarily big in order to transport equipment if needed for the labs, and furniture for the rooms.
It was big enough, thankfully, to transport large quantities of people at once. Plenty of space, Martha thought, for a sudden influx of special forces soldiers…
She stood, right now, in Sarah’s room, located at the end the southwest wing on that top level. The facility wasn’t rectangular in shape like most buildings, but had a number of wings that stretched off from a central core, branching off like the limbs of a tree.
From that core, or trunk, of the building, the elevators gave access to the levels below. There were, of course, stairwells too should the power fail and access via the lifts be temporarily halted. Most of the elevators, however, completed their journey here. Only the main industrial elevator rose up to the extendable entrance level, which was currently submerged.
Mostly, it was beneath the waves, hidden out of sight. Only when someone arrived at, or exited, the facility did the
technicians in the control room raise it up. It wasn’t a large level like those here, in the main facility; it was actually very small by comparison, fitted with a landing pad for aircraft, and a simple entrance hall that gave access to the industrial elevator to transport any arrivals to the levels below.
There were usually a couple of guards up there, but mostly the facility had limited defences. It’s greatest defence, really, was its location, and secrecy. Being a subaquatic facility made it extremely difficult to attack and access.
Unless you have someone on the inside, Martha thought.
“You look tired, mommy,” Sarah said, sitting on the edge of her bed. She had a book in her lap, of course. Seeing her without one was like seeing Pamela without a smug look on her face; rare as a blue rose. “You should sleep.”
Martha smiled and sent her fingers through Sarah’s hair, ruffling it lightly.
“Soon, darling. Soon I’ll have a nice long sleep.”
Sarah nodded, then sent those bright blue eyes of hers back to her book.
Martha continued to wait, going over things once more in her head. After talking with Ragan a number of hours ago, she’d immediately set about speaking with Kurt and Rick, her two bodyguards, about her plans.
Yes, they had been assigned to her by Pamela, but Martha knew them to be loyal. She’d also noted their aversion to these new synthetics, usually when examining their performance in the training hall, watching from behind the mirrored wall.
Kurt, in particular, looked at these new soldiers with a strong disdain. Rick seemed a little less toxic in his glares, though he was just a calmer character in general.
Speaking to them about the imminent attack was certainly a risk, but one she was willing to take. Ragan had been quite clear that an attack was coming anyway, and if she didn’t help them by making sure the entrance level was extended above the lake’s surface, an aerial bombardment would by their only option.
“We don’t want that,” Ragan had told her over the comms line only hours before. “But we’ll be forced to do it if we have to.”