by Jason Luthor
“Call me whatever you like, Supreme General Yousef. I’m here to demand the surrender of your forces. You will order your troops to disarm, and you will have the prisoners you took from Central Freedom ready for escort back into the city. Afterward, you will surrender yourself to me for war crimes committed against the people of Central.”
He looks aside for a second and smiles. “You talk as if you have any authority to make those demands. So, you’ve activated the Panzer. Your armored toy is marching on the most heavily defended location in all of the Deadlands. Do you really think that seems like a wise decision?”
“You’ll want to recheck your sensors, unless you think I would bring only one weapon to a fight.”
His eyes go to the junior officer. “Well?”
“We’re picking up . . .” His eyes go wide. “Over a hundred thousand signatures, sir.”
“Over a hundred thousand?” For a second, he looks shocked, but Yousef doesn’t miss a beat. He just stares Jackie down as he gives his next order. “Full alert. Bring all of our defensive emplacements online and notify all air and ground forces to prepare for deployment.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, and the words are barely out of his lips before the room goes dim and an alarm starts blaring from deep inside the fort.
It doesn’t distract Yousef, whose eyes never leave from Jackie’s. “Is that the response you wanted, General Coleman?”
“No, but it’s the one I expected. I’m coming for my people, General Yousef.”
“I don’t respond to empty threats.”
“You have less than an hour until you find out how empty my threats are. Coleman out.”
The screen closes, and instantly, Yousef looks to another officer seated along the wall. “What’s the deployment time until we can get the Dynamis sky bound?”
“Nobody’s active on the ship right now, general. It’ll take a while. At least an hour or two.”
“General,” another officer says. “By the time that happens . . .”
Yousef’s voice is tense as he shoots back, “I know. The Panzer will be close to firing range. I’d rather have the Dynamis available when that happens instead of letting that monstrosity have a direct line of fire on the fort. Tell Commander Petrovic to ready his staff and crew. All engineering teams need to be onboard, and make sure we have pilots ready to fly.”
“Relaying your message, sir.”
The general shakes his head as he sits back, his fingers folding in front of him. “And one more thing. Tell members of security to have the little girl, Amanda, taken to my office. Coleman’s a vicious fighter, but she doesn’t have the metal, at the end of the day, to make the hard calls.” I look at him out of the side of my eye, but I keep myself from saying anything stupid. Still, just the thought of him doing anything to Mandy . . . I actually don’t have time to think about it. Me and Yousef are both surprised by the sound of Doc Watson chuckling. The general looks his way, his fists clenching as he does. “Does something amuse you, dear doctor?”
“Why, of course,” he says with a twist in his lips. “You’re playing cards without knowing what’s in the deck. Certainly, you realize that, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re betting against Jackie Coleman, general. Do you understand what that means?” He shakes his head. “No, obviously you don’t. Otherwise, you’d feel exactly the same way I feel. You don’t gamble against Jackie. I’ve watched her for years, seen exactly what she’s capable of.” His voice is still humored, but there’s a tinge of darkness as he says one last thing. “You only think you know what she can do, but that’s because until now, you’ve kept your guns pointed solely in her direction. You’ve never actually seen what she can do to those who threaten the people she cares about.”
Erin’s Recording 05
It’s otherworldly, being in that control room and listening to her talk the way she is, that awkward helmet with all of its wires just sitting like some alien crown on top of her head.
“Recon Two Four, divert south and take a left at the next block for three blocks. Recon Three Four, move east and link with Recon Two. Strike One Three, hold your position until Recon Two and Recon Three arrive at your position.”
“Christ and saints above,” I mumble as I’m looking at the screen hanging over me. It’s all flashing lights from around the Deadlands, readouts from our soldiers, and maps trying to show where everyone’s positioned. I can barely get my head around the display I’m looking at, let alone try and imagine what it must be like to be seeing out of a hundred eyes scattered over miles of territory. “A damned nightmare is what it must be. How the hell am I going to manually control the Angel’s gone?”
“Strike One Four, continue east and bypass fighting on the north. Siren Six Two, provide air support for Strike One Four on the ground.”
“Hope mother chose wisely when it came to the faith,” I mumble as I fiddle at the cross on my chest, my fingers lifting it to press it to my lips for a second. The whole floor beneath us vibrates as the guns along the collar of the Panzer start going off, the giant viewscreen at the front of the deck showing us a view of the world in front of us. It’s like staring out of the eyes of a giant as the city erupts with explosions. “General, I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you this, but we’ve got inbound Talons swarming the area.”
“Alert fighters from Fort Silence,” she says without so much as a look my way. “Keep an eye on the guns and let me know if you think we need support here.”
“I can do that. I can do that,” I continue mumbling as my eyes go from one monitor to another. “Christ help me, please say I can do that. And this isn’t me swearing, Lord, I promise you that. I could just use a bit of luck for once.”
Dodger’s Recording 22
I’m almost completely not ready for it when Colonel Martin bursts through the door to our hideout, his eyes panicked. He doesn’t have the chance to say anything before I blurt out, “Is it time?”
“It’s time,” he huffs as he closes the door behind him. “I’d barely made it onto the street before I saw a lot of movement and realized I needed to come back down before someone saw me.”
Almost in perfect sync, a beeping starts blurting out of my tablet. I quickly tap to receive the call and immediately get another voice saying, “Lieutenant Anne? We’re seeing a ton of movement out of Central up here in the Reprieve District. Tanks, transports . . .”
“The whole military.”
“At least a lot of them, sir.”
“Relay order Martin Branagh Execute. Anne out.”
Martin looks my way. “This is it, then.”
“Not quite. First the order’s got to get relayed on the short broadcasts. You know, to make sure everyone knows what’ s going on. Then everyone starts to get into position. That’s when I give the citywide order.”
He nods, his body suddenly swelling as he sucks in air. Although he’s been deferring to me the last few weeks and acting like an old man, I suddenly see that old Martin, his broad chest and dad muscles swelling as his fighting instincts kick in. “You’re ready to lead this, then. Because I’m ready to follow.”
There’s no hesitation when I look back at him and say, “I’ve spent enough time getting ready. This is it. But I’m trusting you to stop me if you think I’m doing something stupid.”
“Maybe, but . . .” He shakes his head. “A commander has to make the tough calls. I’m not going to put any doubt in your head while we’re out there. But, if I do see something I think you’re overlooking, I’ll pass it along. What I won’t do is second guess you after all the work you’ve done putting this together.”
“It’s appreciated,” I tell him as I get onto my feet and grab at my combat vest. I grab one for him and toss it his way. “You’re up there. I’m down here, for as long as possible, coordinating the attack. I’ll take the tunnels to the Green Zone once we’ve got as many people off the island as possible.”
“Citywide feeds are
plugged into your monitors for both street visuals and troop mapping. Good luck, lieutenant.”
Personal Recording of Devleena Kumar 12
Fighting in a Zero-One class suit of power armor. There’s no real explaining what it’s like if you’ve never been there. Running down a street at 50 miles per hour, powered by armored legs that can send you leaping so far, sometimes you feel like you’re flying. It’s something only our class of powered armor was designed to do, and the second we see those tank turrets shifting to aim at us, I give the order.
“Skyward, now!” And then we all launch, our legs sending us over the energy blasts that tear past us. Imagine a two-ton suit of armor slamming into the ground. The world goes shaking around us as we land, the concrete exploding apart into clouds of dust as we start firing our rifles, spikes the size of a man’s arm eating into the enemy ahead of us. Their power armor goes exploding apart under the gunfire. At this range, we’ve got all the advantages. Our suits were designed for this kind of attack. Theirs weren’t. Theirs were designed to be mobile and avoid traditional weapons. We’re not traditional, and our armor was made to soak up the kind of damage that would wipe out any other type of powered armor. It’s the whole reason the suits were designed, so we could get dropped from the skies like the wrath of God, and that’s why we’re always at the head of the attack. I can feel the pumping of my rifle as it fires rounds into the nearest soldiers, their armored suits exploding under the gunfire. “DEC Two, take those tanks!”
I get the confirmation from the rear, but I don’t have to turn to know they’re doing their job. I can hear the explosions, and I can see the balls of fire flying through the air. Next to me, Torres grabs one of the enemy’s guns and crushes the barrel before putting a boot into the guy’s chest. The front breastplate of the walker dents inward before she hits him with an uppercut that knocks his robotic head right off, the huge blade under her gauntlet decapitating his armor. No head, no remote-controlled power armor. It’s the quickest way of getting these remote piloted suits out of the fight.
Of course, not even a team of DEC troopers can lead the charge by themselves. That was easy enough to see when Neddy needed to rescue us. We’re meant to grab attention and clear things up for everyone else. That’s exactly what happens. With all guns on us, there aren’t any pointed at the sky. In my ear, I hear Jackie saying, “Siren Six One, you’re clear for your attack run.” Half a second later, those Suiciders are flying overhead, rockets unloading from beneath their gliders and pounding the street. Rows of explosions tear through the pavement ahead of us, but we don’t have time to sit around and stare. One of the enemy troopers gets too close, that massive rifle of his swinging my way. I swing my weapon and hit his, throwing him off balance. He staggers toward me, and I drive my armored fist down into the back of his head. It takes him a second for him to hit the ground, and the second he does, my rifle fires a round through the back of his armor.
“Drive them back!” I yell as I turn back into the enemy lines, my feet launching me into the air. I come crashing back down, right into the middle of what’s left of the rear guard on this street. Anyone not in a suit of power armor gets sent flying, tossed like toys, as I start to fire into the ground forces scattering at the sight of me. The enemy starts to retreat, but coming up from behind them is a deployment of Sha’b forces, men and women dumping out of armored transports. It’s my team of DEC troopers tearing into the enemy from one side and the Sha’b coming at the enemy from the other end. But in the middle of it all, there’s me, a giant walking suit of death that’s wreaking havoc in their lines. “They’re pinned! Finish them off.”
There’s a bunch of affirmatives as my people start slicing into the troops from Fort Silence. Pieces of powered armor go flying as our bladed gauntlets cut through them. Guns keep rattling off, tearing into confused groups of soldiers who don’t know whether to fight the enemy to their right or us on their left. I see those Absolution class suits of power armor the Sha’b are wearing tearing the enemy up from the opposite side. Those walkers may not be as sturdy as the suit I’m riding in, but that hardware can move. I see a half dozen of them thrusting side to side across the streets, like they’re skating on pavement, and avoiding almost every shot coming their way. Their guns are firing the whole time, taking down one soldier after another until the street’s clear.
“Vanguard leader to Dark Angel. Streets are clear here.”
“Confirmed, Vanguard leader. You’re clear to push forward. Watch for reinforcements coming up from the southeast.”
“Yes, sir.” I turn to look down the street and into the distance. All I can think is that there’s still a lot of ground to cover, and we just got done fighting an advance force. You can’t expect things to go that easy the whole way in. “Let’s move out, Vanguard!”
Dodger’s Recording 23
In the middle of a fight, you generally know what you need to do. You follow orders, think on your feet, watch out for the person next to you, and survive. When you’re coordinating a fight, it’s different. Everything in you might want to run and help out the people who are fighting for you, but doing that means there’s nobody coordinating the bigger battle. And sitting there, in the tunnels underneath Central, I’m having to fight against all my impulses telling me I need to go and personally do something.
At the station I’ve set up to monitor the fight, I’ve got six screens of jumbled information in front of me. I’m sitting in a chair with my body armor strapped on and my helmet sitting off to the side, but I’ve got my eyes on the monitors and a headpiece to communicate with whoever I need to. It’s just hard. Baby Boys around the city are feeding me video from the skies, and maps of the city are showing me live movement of our forces. Using the two, I’m able to piece together who’s where and what they’re about to face, then I have to make the best decisions possible about what to do next.
The truth, though, is that I have to trust the militia to do their jobs. Every block leader knows the escape route and where to move. That’s the torturous part though. Sitting there, doing nothing else but watching as they follow the plan. Once in a while, I have to message the troops and tell them to change direction. Other times, they call in asking for clarification on their route or ways to avoid the enemy. For the most part though, all I can do is watch.
On one screen, there’s a video feed of the militia falling back to Freedom Bridge. I’ve got an aerial view showing crowds running the last mile, in the direction of Battery Park, from where the Battery District got its name. Battery Park, where Freedom Bridge begins to rise over the bay and cross to Second Freedom. I switch views quickly, bringing up a view of the old castle there, where the militia’s dragging in injured men and women and turning the place into a makeshift field hospital. It’s small, round, and not able to fit more than may a few hundred people. Troops are lining up along the walls and bracing for any soldiers from Fort Silence that might eventually arrive, but I’m not liking it as a location. Stone walls from a thousand years ago don’t hold up against tank rounds.
Still, it’s the least of my concerns. Once people started mobilizing and moving south, fighting broke out almost immediately further north, near midtown and the Governance District. That’s where combat’s been the heaviest, with Dravic’s men pushing south and clashing with the militia all along 23rd street. The two formed a wall of opposing forces, firing at one another from one side of the island to the other, and for a while, the militia was holding. With more tanks and walkers arriving on 23rd though, people were forced back. Worse, with a chokepoint forming on Freedom Bridge and people unable to get across to Second Freedom, the evacuation stalled. That left too many people north of the Battery District and forced into either the Garden or Washington Square Park.
Another screen displaying the Garden shows militia with a strong position along the rooftop, holding off incoming troops from Fort Silence. Still, I’ve got an eye on the columns of tanks and power armor pushing south and holding my breath. At the
very least, I’m comforted by the fact that we were able to smuggle some heavy weaponry there. Not enough to hold out indefinitely but enough to stall Dravic’s men. The round exterior of the building’s slowly being smothered as more soldiers from Fort Silence filter into the area, the glass windows lining the Garden walls exploding apart under gunfire. Still, at least the militia’s got a decent place where they can defend themselves.
There’s a similar situation unfolding at Washington Square, with people rushing into the old university there. The university was a good choice, with multiple interconnected buildings stretched over the area of a city block. It’s huge, with most of the entrances blocked off and only a few ways in. That lets the militia take up positions at the windows all along the building, but I cringe as I see stonework that’s existed for centuries chipping apart underneath gunfire. Outside, in the park, I think about the giant arch overlooking the park and how it’s stood there for a thousand years. I wonder if it’ll survive the night.
Still, with areas of the city starting to swarm with walkers and lift tanks, I get a little bit of satisfaction when our traps go off. I see it happening almost simultaneously on two screens showing two different parts of the city, blasts of blue light exploding out of nearby buildings and grinding Dravic’s forces to a halt. Lift tanks lose their repulsors and go smashing into the ground while walkers stumble forward, their legs locking up as they collapse into the pavement. That gives our militia time to reposition itself, with some of them pushing people along to places like the Garden while others take start taking the fight back to Dravic’s troops. Wherever we have people equipped with rocket propelled grenades or old-fashioned grenades, I start seeing explosions ripping the streets apart and tearing into the enemy. Suits of armor buckle under the explosions, and there’s a moment when we can actually breathe.