The Northfield Saga 4 Storm Break

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“A rousing SF tale that stars a warrior hero with a strong moral center.”

—KIRKUS REVIEWS

CALVIN B. FISHER

As a native of Minnesota, CALVIN B. FISHER learned to spend long winters tearing through pages and pages of novels.

Storm Break is fourth in his award-winning Northfield Saga series.

The first three national award-winning novels in the Northfield Saga, Apocalypse Bounty, Stormrise, and Storm Warning, are riveting reads that continue to captivate his fans with each new book. His desire to write for an audience bloomed early; as a child, he sold stacks of homemade comic books to family and neighbors.

In the years since, his passion has refined and matured, but ultimately remains the same. His desire to bring characters to life is the engine that powers each work. He currently resides in Aurora, Colorado.

STORM BREAK

The Network’s war is ruthless—every life Stormrise saves is met with twice the loss. Mark Northfield struggles to protect his friends in a bleak, post-apocalyptic world, fighting a losing battle against relentless despair. His enemy, General Arkland, thrives on this hopelessness and will stop at nothing to destroy Stormrise. With superior manpower, advanced technology, and a new weapon codenamed V2, Arkland is poised to crush all resistance forever.

But even with the odds stacked against him, Mark refuses to give up—not when his friends and the future of New Medea are on the line.

The Northfield Saga:

Storm Break

Calvin B. Fisher

Publisher Page

an imprint of Headline Books

Terra Alta, WV

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

by Calvin B. Fisher copyright ©2025 Calvin B. Fisher All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, except where noted otherwise, are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any other resemblance to actual people, places or events is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any other form or for any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage system, without written permission from Publisher Page.

To order additional copies of this book or for book publishing information, or to contact the author: Headline Books, Inc. P.O. Box 52 Terra Alta, WV 26764 www.HeadlineBooks.com mybook@headlinebooks.com Publisher Page is an imprint of Headline Books ISBN 13: 9781958914618 Library of Congress Control Number: 2024949247

P R I N T E D I N T H E U N I T E D S TAT E S O F A M E R I C A

To Bailey, mom, and dad, for your endless support.

1 Mark Northfield wandered through the food processing plant. While passing body after body, he ran his fingers across the machinery to make sure everything was solid. This wasn’t a nightmare he could wake up from.

They hadn’t been fast enough.

Stormrise scoured the plant. At first, the rebel group’s goal had been to find survivors, but that hope had been dashed. Now, the fighters hunted for information.

They searched for anything that might give them a lead on their next target. Maybe, just maybe, they could save the next group of slaves.

Rayne Simpson approached and said, “Viking. Skullbeard.

Saturn. Search the retainant lodgings.”

Viking was Northfield’s codename. The men next to him, Andy and Leo, had the codenames Skullbeard and Saturn.

“The retainant lodgings?” Leo asked. “Retainant” was the Network’s euphemism for a slave. “I doubt we’ll find anything useful there, boss.”

“You’re right, but we need to cover our bases,” Simpson said.

He looked around and sighed. “We’ve come this far.”

A violent wind battered them. It kicked up dirt and dust. The sky was dying, casting red over everything. The bright autumn leaves seemed to burn.

The toxic gas that characterized the wasteland glowed soft yellows and oranges. As always, when stepping outside, Northfield 5

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was hyperaware of his gas mask. If something compromised the mask, a bad death awaited him.

It was a death these poor people had endured. Northfield closed his eyes.

The slaves had been provided gas masks so they could move between the facility’s buildings. The gas masks had a failsafe mechanism, though. In case of an escape attempt or an attack on the facility, the gas masks could be shattered from an overseeing tower. The slaves would be left exposed to the toxic gas.

Stormrise’s attack on the facility had been planned. Northfield and Leo were responsible for neutralizing the tower. They needed to hit hard enough, hit fast enough, so the guards didn’t have time to shatter the masks.

That hadn’t happened. While Stormrise was fighting to free the slaves, their masks had been shattered. The facility’s windows and doors had swung wide open, beckoning the gas.

If we were faster, he thought. He clutched his gun tightly. If we were just a little faster…

Leo read his mind. “We did the best we could,” he said.

“Freeing these camps is an odds game. It has to go perfectly, or everyone dies.”

“I don’t know,” Northfield said. “To the people, dead in there… I don’t know.”

“We’ve saved a lot of people this summer,” Andy said. “I’m with Leo on this one. We do what we can, but past that…”

Leo said to Northfield, “You’re the guy that pushed us to rescue the first facility, remember? I was with you on that decision then. I’m with you even more now.”

“Yeah,” Northfield replied, “I know. But when I see the bodies, I keep coming back to the fact that these people would be alive if we hadn’t come today…”

“And what life was that?” Leo asked. “Slaving away at gunpoint for the Network? Every grueling moment of their lives spent in this wretched place?”

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“I know, I know. But maybe they still would’ve preferred that to dying.”

“Well, I’m not gonna let people live like this.” Leo reiterated, “We fight. We do what we can. That’s it. End of story.”

They entered the retainant lodgings. “Lodgings” was an awfully generous term for the conditions they saw. Stacks and stacks of bunks were crammed next to each other.

“Damned rat cages,” Leo muttered in anger. “I’m gonna get ahold of Arkland’s neck and throttle him…”

“No Interior at this facility,” Andy said. “Thank God these people didn’t have to endure that, at least.”

Leo stared at the dirt and squalor. “They had to endure more than enough already.”

Northfield shivered at the mention of the Interior. Within the Interior, the Network performed research on people.

The research was mostly psychological. It was never good.

The three men sifted through the dead’s belongings, what little they possessed. The luxuries afforded to the slaves varied by facility. Some permitted scant luxuries; others allowed none.

It generally depended on the whims of the facility’s overseer.

Or, more darkly, if the Interior’s psychological research had an interest in how deprived the slaves were kept.

This facility seemed to allow books and other small conveniences. That made the facility among the more merciful, the only semblance of praise this place could receive.

Northfield sifted through the books. Mainly, he searched for notebooks or some other form of writing. He didn’t find any, however. It didn’t seem that the overseer had allotted the slaves writing materials, probably to prevent this sort of scenario.

He had to take a break.

I’m sorry, he thought, closing his eyes. He considered what he would’ve done differently. What alternative steps he would’ve taken, what shots he would’ve taken. He couldn’t think of anything, not right now. But still, his heart told him 7

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

something was out there. There was something—there had to be something—he could’ve done differently.

“Hey,” Leo exclaimed. “Look what I found.”

He held up a book; it was a Princess’s Sword novel.

Leo added, “This is the one Becca’s been looking for, right?”

Andy studied it, and he nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

Leo pushed it into Andy’s chest and said, “Look at that. You’re gonna win Uncle of the Year now.”

Andy stared at the book.

Leo asked, “What?”

“I don’t know… Whoever this belonged to just died, man.

Doesn’t it feel wrong taking their stuff?”

“They’re not using it anymore. Should we just let it rot?” Leo added, “I’m not going back empty-handed. Take the damned book.”

Reluctantly, Andy accepted it, and they continued searching.

They didn’t find anything of note.

Rayne alerted them that it was time to go. Enemy reinforcements would arrive soon. Stormrise needed to bug out before that happened.

Widow Team, along with Stormrise’s Bravo and Charlie Teams, boarded their vehicles and sped away from the scene.

Northfield watched the facility fade from view, darkening to a silhouette behind the ruby sun before finally melting into the fiery gas.

Today was a failure. They had failed with other facilities, too.

However, they had also liberated facilities. They had brought slaves into their fold and given them new lives, ones where they at least had a choice.

Still, the successes seemed to pale in comparison to the failures.

Why was that? How come the warm glow of victory never felt as potent as the burn of loss?

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It was the way of the world, Northfield supposed. It was the way of this cursed world.

They had lost this camp. The only way was forward, though.

To save more lives. To rescue more people. At least, that was what he kept telling himself. *** Clang. Clang. Clang.

With a rhythmic pace, Mark Northfield hammered the filtration pipe into place. The sweltering heat wave would be one of the year’s last before the temperature started to drop.

The beating sun felt good except for on his face, which cooked behind his gas mask. He ignored the discomfort, though. Today was a good day. One of the better ones. He was going to enjoy it as best he could. So he savored the heat, along with the soft, whistling wind and the lumbering clouds above.

He ran his hand through his hair, wiping out as much sweat as he could. He continued to hammer. Clang. Clang. Clang.

This, Jess… This is it. Building something new. Building something good.

Just a day’s worth of hard work, with something to show for it. Not having to think about what choices to make. Not having to worry about choosing wrong. If only this could be every day.

He picked up another nail, centered it, and hammered again.

If only this could be every day.

He sighed, picking up another nail.

Maybe the nightmares would stop.

“Ow!” he shouted, recoiling. He’d missed the nail and whacked his poor thumb.

He held his thumb tightly as it throbbed. Maybe I should pay a bit more attention to what I’m doing, huh?

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If you were here, Jess, you’d be teasing me while grabbing a Band-Aid to patch me up. That little sentiment says all about who you were in a handful of words.

I miss you. Thought I’d let you know again, just in case you forgot.

He stepped away from the filtration pipe, admiring his work so far.

Stormrise had been searching for a place to plant their second base of operations. The task had been easier said than done.

Stormrise’s primary headquarters had been retrofitted from an old school, and it had served them well. The classrooms, cafeteria, and gym had been easily repurposed to suit their needs.

However, Stormrise leadership wanted to avoid using another school. They didn’t want to establish a pattern the Network could follow. If the Network ever discovered their first base’s location, it would be easy enough to do a region-wide search of former schools.

In the rural expanse, safe from the Network’s influence, there weren’t many other types of buildings big enough to serve as a headquarters.

After months of searching, they had come across the main street of a small town, Amber. The town wasn’t marked on most maps. Despite Amber’s remoteness, the main hotel was surprisingly large. Prior to the apocalypse, Amber had likely been a pitstop for interstate travelers since the town had a gas station as well. In this dark, apocalyptic world, the town had been sundered from memory.

The location was less concealed than their main base in the forest, but the remoteness made up for it. The town entirely avoided all known Network flight paths.

Stormrise leadership decided that it was the right fit. Even better, Stormrise could grow into the neighboring buildings.

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There was a restaurant connected to the hotel, which they would convert into a cafeteria. A warehouse at the end of the street would suit their garage and storage needs.

For now, they worked on retrofitting the hotel and former restaurant for post-apocalyptic life. First, they piped the filtration system through the buildings, which would defend against the toxic gas outside. Then, they would seal all entries and exits to the buildings. Once they mounted solar panels on the rooftops to power the whole thing, the base would finally be livable.

The work was slow. That was primarily because Chief Kaminski had only assigned a handful of people to the base’s construction.

Chief Kaminski wanted compartmentalization between the bases. If one base was discovered by the Network and its members ended up captured, they wouldn’t be able to compromise the other base.

Half of the filtration pipe had been secured to the hotel’s roof.

So they were halfway done with one rooftop. That didn’t include piping through the hotel’s interior or getting the warehouse ready for storage. Not to mention the cafeteria.

Northfield exhaled. The simple, hard work did lose some of its luster when he considered just how much simple, hard work they had left.

Leo and Andy hammered away on other corners of the rooftop.

“I’m gonna take a break,” Northfield declared. His bruised thumb agreed.

“A break?” Leo exclaimed. “You’re soft. Like the old geezer.”

“You took a break, like, thirty minutes ago,” Andy said to Leo. “That’s because I had to piss,” Leo said. “It’s different.”

Northfield left them to their bickering and climbed down from the roof.

Odell Barnes sat on a wooden park bench, and Northfield joined him.

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“Working hard or hardly working?” Northfield joked.

Odell held his hand up. “I banged up my thumb.”

“Really?” Northfield said. “I just did the same thing.”

“We’re going to kill ourselves if we keep this up,” Odell said, chuckling.

“No chance,” Northfield replied. “I’m not gonna do the Network’s job for them.”

“I don’t know why I signed up for this,” Odell said. “Give me cleaning duties, and I’m as chipper as a bird. But this grueling work…”

“I’m enjoying it more than I thought I would,” Northfield replied. “It’s therapeutic.”

“You’re young. Your bones haven’t degraded yet. Mine have been reduced to brittle sticks, just waiting to break.”

“That’s a vivid image.”

“Well, my bones are feeling quite vivid right now.”

They sat quietly for a moment, listening to the dry, cracked leaves as they skittered across the pavement.

“How are things going out there?” Odell asked. When Northfield didn’t answer, he said, “I’ve heard from others. But I want to hear from you.”

Northfield sighed. “I don’t know. We’ve failed to save the last two camps. We’re getting worse, not better. The Network is getting quicker on the draw. When we walk through those camps and see the people we failed to save…” He paused before adding, “We’ve helped a lot of people so far. We have. But it’s hard to see.”

He could feel Odell’s stare, even through his gas mask. “You haven’t been sleeping well,” Odell said.

“I don’t think I ever sleep well.”

“Even worse, then. I see the bags under your eyes.”

Northfield stared at the trees in the distance. “I’ve been managing. How have you been holding up?”

“Me?” Odell said. “Well, I think my life’s been easy compared to yours.”

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“How have things with Aubrey been?”

“She’s forgiven me. We’ve been talking, and things have been mending.” He added, “I know I don’t deserve it. And that… that’s been the toughest part. I know there’s no point in dwelling on it.

But I just can’t seem to help it. I can’t seem to get the feelings to go away.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t think they’ll ever go away. I tried to drink them away, and we all know how that turned out.”

“You haven’t had anything to drink, have you?”

“No,” Odell said. “I know what it brings, Mark, but some days, it just seems better than the alternative. Most days, if I’m being honest.”

“Stay strong, Odell. We’ll get through this. Hell if I know how, but we will.”

Odell patted him on the shoulder. “One step at a time. Always one at a time.”

Northfield nodded toward the rooftop and said, “Should we get back up there? I think my thumb’s just about done throbbing.

And I don’t want Leo to cry and moan.”

“More than he already will?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “Somehow, more than he already will.”

Odell gestured and said, “Lead the way.”

13

2 “Hey, Becca,” Andy said.

“What?” she said absentmindedly. She was deep into a Princess’s Sword book. The spine was cracked, close to splitting in half. Lord only knew how many times Becca had read the book from cover to cover.

“Oh, nothing,” he said.

She didn’t even glance up. Sydnee eyed him quizzically, though. She saw that he held something behind his back.

Andy said, “I just remembered that we’re coming up close to someone’s half-birthday…”

That caught Becca’s attention. “People celebrate halfbirthdays?”

“Only sometimes,” he replied. “Only when kids have been good.”

Sydnee gave him an even harder side-eye.

“Sort of like Santa Claus?” Becca wondered.

“Yeah. Sort of like Santa Claus.”

“Then why haven’t I celebrated a half-birthday before?” she asked. “Have I been bad?”

Not the direction Andy wanted to go with that one. “Uh…” Sydnee stepped in. “Uncle Andy’s pulling your chain. People don’t usually celebrate half-birthdays.”

“Why not?”

“Because we like to save up all the fun for the real birthday,” she replied.

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“Oh,” Becca said. She returned to her book.

Sydnee’s side-eye wouldn’t relent. Andy felt himself withering under her stare. He could feel her question in that gaze, burning him like a ray of sunlight: What are you doing?

He scrambled to find the right words to recover the mood.

He said, “Well, even though we don’t usually celebrate halfbirthdays, this year is an exception. For a very special girl.”

“Are you pulling my chain again?” Becca asked, not looking up from her book.

“No, I—” He sighed. “Look, Becca.”

She didn’t listen; she leaned in closer to her book. The story must have suddenly become gripping.

He didn’t understand how someone could read the same book over and over and still get sucked into it. Then again, he wasn’t much of a reader. He struggled with keeping focused on the first go-around.

“Becca, look,” he said again.

She listened this time. Her eyes immediately homed in on the small, wrapped package that he had pulled out from behind his back.

“For me?”

He nodded. Quick as a rabbit, she snatched the present.

“Becca!” Sydnee scolded. “What do we say?”

“Thank you, Uncle Andy!” she exclaimed. She held the present, energy radiating from her little fingers. She waited for Sydnee’s approval.

Sydnee nodded. Within a heartbeat, the wrapping paper was torn to shreds and scattered on the floor. She squealed, holding up the new Princess’s Sword book.

“Thank you! Thank you!” she cried, hugging Andy. “I love you.”

“I love you too, kid,” he said.

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She set down her old Princess’s Sword book. Andy didn’t doubt that it would be forgotten for at least a month or two until her new book’s spine was just as beaten up.

Sydnee gave him a new look. It wasn’t a look he liked. He could feel the disapproval in it.

“Fifteen minutes, Becca,” she said. “Then you go and play with the other kids, okay?”

“But, Auntie…”

“Fifteen minutes. The book will be waiting, I promise,” Sydnee replied.

Becca sighed, but nothing could truly get her down, not now. She greedily opened the book. She wouldn’t make good conversation for those fifteen minutes, guaranteed.

After the time had passed, Becca reluctantly put the novel down and made her way to the far end of the cafeteria, where a group of kids played four square.

When she was out of earshot, Andy asked, “Did I do something wrong?”

Sydnee sighed. “You know she’s using those books to cope with Erik’s death. You know we’ve been encouraging her to play with the other kids. You know that’s been hard for her lately, and she’s been isolating. Is it hard to connect the dots here?”

“So I shouldn’t have given her the book?”

“No, you definitely should’ve. Just on her actual birthday.”

“But that’s six months away,” he said. “I couldn’t keep track of that book for so long. I would’ve lost it, guaranteed.”

She put her hand over his. “It was nice of you, Andy. Don’t get me wrong. It’s just… I hate being put in the position of the bad guy, you know? Now I’m gonna have to tell her to stop reading the shiny new book that Uncle Andy gave her. Erik did the same sort of thing, and I don’t want to have that same dynamic with the three of us.”

He mulled that over. “Next time I go out in the field and find something cool, I’ll let you give it to her.”

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“It’s not about that, Andy. It’s just… Couldn’t you be the one to scold her sometimes? So I don’t always have to?”

“Yeah, but…” He scratched his chin. “Is it my place to do it?

I mean…”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not her dad, you know? And I…” “I’m not her mom, either. What’s your point?” Sydnee said.

Defensiveness crept into her voice. He sensed that he was in dangerous territory.

Unfortunately, he stepped right onto the blinking landmine.

“Well, true, but you two are blood-related, and I’m not.”

“Are you serious right now?” she exclaimed. “Did you really just say that?”

Andy blinked. “I didn’t mean it that way at all. I’m sorry. I…” She exhaled and stood up. “I’m gonna go get some water. You better be glad that Becca didn’t hear this conversation.”

When she left, he ran his hand through his hair and muttered, “Oh, man.”

“What’d you say this time?” someone said. Andy looked over and saw Samuel Perez holding a tray full of food. He slid into the chair that Sydnee had sat in and started shoveling wild rice into his mouth.

“Something stupid,” Andy muttered.

“Well, that was a given,” Samuel replied, mouth full.

Andy watched Becca play. He said, “We’re just trying to figure out how to best take care of her. I’m not doing things right, I guess.”

He turned back to Samuel. His head was nearly inside his bowl, and he ravenously consumed his rice. Andy sighed.

Eventually, Samuel mumbled something.

“What?” Andy asked.

Samuel swallowed, and he repeated, “Racing games.”

That didn’t clarify things. “What?”

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Samuel pointed at Becca with his spoon. “Racing games.

I loved them as a kid. Absolutely loved them. Drove my dad insane. I grew out of it, though.” He returned his attention to his food, ending with, “She’s a good kid. She’ll be fine.”

Becca didn’t seem very engaged with the game. She watched the ball bounce past her instead of trying to hit it. The other kids threw up their hands in frustration.

“How did you grow out of it?” Andy asked.

“Girls,” Samuel said with a chuckle. “I discovered girls.”

“Oh, man,” Andy said. “I don’t even want to think about Becca dating right now.”

“All will happen in its due time,” Samuel replied. He took a break from eating, and he shrugged. “You’ve got it good, Andy.

What can I say? I’d kill to have a family like yours. I guess that’s what I’m doing, in a way. One day, Andy. One day.”

“Is this the part where you tell me not to screw it up? Like the other guys?” Andy said.

“Nah,” Samuel said. “I know you’ve got it handled, kid.”

The ball came toward Becca, and she hit it this time. Andy smiled. Maybe everything would figure itself out, eventually, in its due time.

Apologizing to Sydnee, though—that was a more immediate problem. Andy needed to find the right words to say.

Unfortunately, that was always where he got himself into trouble. *** “We have pictures, at least,” Anne Kaminski said. She spoke of the latest camp that Stormrise had failed to liberate. “We’ll distribute them throughout New Medea. Hopefully, we’ll pick up new recruits.”

“Every time we hit a camp, we send pictures to the city,” Geralt Salb said. “I think we’re starting to get… Ah, what’s the phrase?

Diminishing returns. Anybody itching to join us because of the 18

Calvin B. Fisher

camps, well, they’ve gone and done it already.”

Kaminski crossed her arms. “You’re right, Geralt. The effect is waning, and it’s not helped by the Network’s counterpropaganda.

But we have to try. I won’t let the deaths at that camp be in vain.”

Everyone in Stormrise leadership agreed.

Northfield said, “These camps are getting harder to free.”

Rayne Simpson nodded. “The Death Corps soldiers have been drilling their protocols in case of an attack. That much is certain.”

General Earl Taylor said, “We may need to reconsider our strategy.”

Rayne Simpson shook his head. “These camps are our primary source of new recruits. What we need to do is double down. Figure out a way to hit harder—and faster.”

General Taylor said, “It’s not that easy. How do you propose we hit harder and faster, exactly?”

“We train harder,” Rayne Simpson said. “We drill the men harder.”

“They’re already training hard,” Taylor replied.

“They can be pushed further,” Simpson said. “It won’t be easy, and it won’t be fun. But the men will do it gladly. They’ve all seen the camps. They know what’s at stake. Lives are on the line.”

General Taylor shook his head. “Working harder isn’t the answer. Neither is throwing more men into the fray. We need to be smarter. We need more intel on these camps. Better than that, we need insiders. If we had an inside guy at one of these camps, it would make a world of difference.”

Rayne countered, “Planting an insider has been one of our biggest challenges. Besides, even if we successfully get someone on the inside, it would take years for them to get high enough clearance to be assigned at one of these camps.”

“I know,” General Taylor said, rubbing his chin. “If only there was a way to accelerate the process.”

“Unfortunately, there isn’t one,” Rayne said.

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“If there’s one thing you can’t fault the Network for, it’s being lax with the rules,” Geralt chimed in.

“What we really need is RAID armor,” Chief Kaminski concluded. RAID armor granted its user enhanced mobility.

RAID soldiers could dart around a battlefield in a blur, jump great distances, and perform other great feats. “If we had even one or two sets of armor, we could hit camp watchtowers before they could even blink.”

“Another thing we’re all in agreement about,” General Taylor said. “But we’re retreading old ground here. We can’t use the armor because it’s keyed to its pilot’s DNA. If somebody else tries it on, the suit locks up. As long as we have that roadblock, RAID suits aren’t an option.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m just pointing out their potential, once again. I’d like to put a bigger priority on salvaging armor and studying it.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. They had avoided bringing the armor to home base out of fear that the suits contained hidden tracking agents. They had considered bringing one of their resident tech whizzes, Dimitri, out in the field to study them.

Anne Kaminski said, “With that in mind, we need to be more selective about the camps we hit. Whenever we get a leak from New Medea about a camp, we rush to liberate it out of fear that the camp will disappear otherwise.

“That’s clearly not the case, though. General Arkland is keeping these camps running, even the Interiors, up until the moment we attack. Next time we get a leak about a camp, we need to take a deep breath and proceed with caution.

“Furthermore, we can’t rely on liberating camps as our sole means of recruitment. We need to redouble our outreach in New Medea.”

“It’s gonna be hard, Chief,” Geralt said. “The Network’s propaganda machine is oiled up and purring.”

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“Liberating the camps is hard, too. We need to keep trying both until we have a breakthrough.”

General Taylor frowned.

“What is it?” Chief Kaminski asked him.

“Stormrise has grown significantly in the past few months,” he said. “With all this talk of growth… I want to be careful, that’s all.”

“Of course,” she said. “With growth comes an increased risk of infiltrators. We’ll need to tighten our recruitment measures, as well as our security at HQ. But our people are prohibited from using any device that can communicate outside of the base.

As long as we secure people’s comings and goings from here, a potential infiltrator would have a hard time contacting the Network.”

“It’s not just that,” General Taylor said. “As our numbers have grown, I’ve noticed a lot of the newer recruits are less… bought in.”

“What do you mean?” Chief Kaminski asked.

“Well, volunteers from New Medea go 110 percent at their tasks. With some of the new recruits, I find myself having to… motivate them more.” He pressed his lips together. “It makes sense. The original Stormrise recruits voluntarily let go of their lives in New Medea, often decent lives, to fight for a better future.

It was a choice for them.

“The new recruits from the Network’s camps, well, they don’t see it as much of a choice. They see Stormrise as their best shot at survival. Nobody is forced to join us, but all of them do because there just isn’t a better option.”

Rayne Simpson said, “We have to do a better job of welcoming recruits in. But we can’t slow our rate of growth. We need to keep our momentum up. We can’t afford to lose it, not against an enemy as big as the Network.”

General Taylor said, “I don’t know… Maybe our lack of success with the latest raids is a sign that we should slow down.”

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Simpson shook his head vigorously. “The more time we give the Network, the worse off we’ll be. General Arkland is an expert at spinning the narrative, and he’s an expert at diversion. If we give him long enough, he’ll convince everybody in New Medea that we’re the ones running the slave camps.”

“I’m not saying we stop, Rayne,” General Taylor said with a slight edge in his voice. “But I want to keep our priorities clear.

If we don’t establish order and purpose now, then what do you think will happen when we beat the Network? An orderless, purposeless army will produce chaos. And if we truly care about New Medea’s future, we cannot allow chaos to follow.”

Geralt butted in. “None of this matters unless we win. This is all academic to me. And academics bore the hell out of me.”

“I second that,” Simpson said. “Our culture’s not going to matter much if we’re all dead. Or get cast off to some gulag in the pit of the earth.”

Chief Kaminski said, “I understand where you’re coming from, Earl. If Stormrise doesn’t stand for anything when we win, and the city is pushed into anarchy, then what was the point of it all? But we have momentum right now. And we can’t let it go.

We just can’t.

“But we can certainly do a better job of integrating the new members into Stormrise. I want to make a number of changes.

We’ve been pairing refugees with others from the same camp for daily tasks. We wanted to ease them into their new lives here by surrounding them with familiar faces. I want to change that. Let’s intermix new recruits with Stormrise veterans. Unity will grow through proximity.

“Secondly, I want to open up more in-the-field opportunities.

We’ve kept refugees away from battles. After what they’ve gone through, we wanted to give them a reprieve from the violence and hardship.

“But shared hardship is one of the surest ways to bond with others. Being in the thick of it, I think, will help newer members 22

Calvin B. Fisher

buy in. There are lots of refugees hungry to strike back at the Network, but they don’t have an avenue to do so. These field roles will be volunteer only, of course.”

She looked at each member of the Stormrise leadership team.

“But past these policies, we push on. We keep up the momentum.”

General Taylor and Rayne exchanged a look before nodding in agreement.

Geralt said, “Fine by me.”

Northfield nodded his assent, too.

Chief Kaminski dismissed the group. Geralt and Northfield walked through a Stormrise hallway together. Geralt kept up well on his crutches; he was an expert at using them now.

“You were quiet in there,” Geralt said.

“Yeah,” Northfield said, then sighed. “I think I’m just having a hard time seeing it all in perspective. Miss the forest for the trees and all of that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s just… Figuring out the right move feels like it’s getting harder.”

“It’s always been hard,” Geralt said. “And it will be when we’re facing a thug like Arkland.”

Aubrey approached on the opposite side of the hallway. She waved.

“Aubrey,” Geralt said. There was warmth in his voice, underneath the gruffness. “You haven’t stopped by in a while.”

During Geralt’s recovery from his amputation, he had bullied his way into having a TV permanently stationed in his room. He let Aubrey use it on occasion.

“Soaps are off-season,” she said and smiled. “Once they’re back on, believe me, I’ll be pestering you.”

“Don’t you like watching movie reruns, too?” he asked.

“Geralt, I’m starting to think you actually enjoy my company.”

He grinned.

She turned to Northfield and asked, “How’s Odell doing?”

23

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

“He’s doing alright,” Northfield said. “One step at a time, you know?”

She nodded.

Northfield added, “I heard you’ve been helping the retainants.

How’s that going?”

“It’s been hard,” she said. “A lot of them aren’t very trusting, but who can blame them? But it’s also been good. They need help settling in, adjusting, and I feel like I’m finally where I need to be.”

Northfield nodded. Aubrey wanted to work out in the field, ideally as a contact for informants in the city. Assigned to home base instead, she had been feeling stifled lately.

“Speaking of which,” she said, “I’ve got to get to it. I’ll see you guys later.”

Geralt watched her leave.

“Is someone smitten?” Northfield asked.

“Aw, shut up,” Geralt said. He met Northfield’s eyes, and Northfield felt his scrutiny. His voice grew serious. “Kicking Arkland to the curb’s gonna take focus. Eye on the ball. Hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” Northfield said.

Geralt huffed, and he stalked off on his crutches.

Northfield thought, I don’t have much control. That’s something this world has drilled into me. It’s far bigger than anything I can wrap my hands around.

But I don’t want us to lose this fight. God help me, I don’t.

24

3 The combination of autumn, a heavy wind, and a big forest meant one thing: the spread of leaves. Way, way too many leaves.

Stormrise’s headquarters had solar panels outfitted on its roof. With all the leaves and dirt blowing about, the panels had to be cleared off.

Unfortunately, Elliot was on solar-panel-cleaning duty today.

His sister Helen joined him, along with two other former slaves from Section 808. They weren’t people he had talked to at the Network’s labor camp. They weren’t people he had any intention of talking to now.

He swept off a panel and sighed. This didn’t feel much different than his days in the camp, shoveling scrap metal into a roaring furnace. Sure, the temperature was bearable, but the manual labor felt awfully similar.

The nearest guy leaned on his broom. Elliot knew his name was Craig because the guy had tried kicking up conversation a few times. Elliot had merely grunted to dismiss him.

Craig spent more time taking “breaks” than sweeping. When he mustered up the strength to work, he swept half-heartedly. He had cleaned off three solar panels, and they had been up here for hours. Worse yet, those three panels were nowhere near spotless.

Elliot swept more aggressively. Anger bubbled within him.

Craig continued leaning on his broom, drinking in the morning sky.

Elliot got fed up.

25

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

“Hey! Are you gonna sweep or just sit on your ass?”

Craig shrugged, cool as a cucumber. He said, “What’s the point? They’re going to send up another crew tomorrow to do the same thing. It’s not like anybody tracks how clean these panels are.”

“You’re giving them more work to do,” Elliot said.

“Way I see it, we’re doing more than our share already. Most of the time, the panels aren’t that dirty, but we got this billowing wind today. Might as well even out the load, right?” He added, “And besides, I’ve already done a lifetime’s worth of labor. Let some other sod catch up.”

“If everyone thought that way,” Elliot asked, “don’t you think things would start to fall apart?”

Craig chuckled. It was a deep-belly sound that grated Elliot.

“What do I care what anyone else thinks? That’s their business.”

He tilted his head, seeming to have a moment of introspection.

“But maybe you’re right. Maybe I should work a bit harder.”

There was a slyness in his voice. Elliot detected an ulterior motive. He didn’t like it.

“Just today?” he said questioningly.

“I’m working up to guard duty,” Craig said. “Perimeter duty, specifically. Those guys camp out all day, doing nothing. That’s the high life, right there. If I have to put in a bit of elbow grease to land the gig, then so be it.”

“That doesn’t sound boring to you?”

“Not if I sneak out a couple of beers,” he said, chuckling.

Elliot narrowed his eyes. “Perimeter duty is an important job.

If the Network comes, the guards need to let everybody know.”

“Yeah, and that’s my exact problem,” Craig said, seeming to miss Elliot’s point. “The brass only gives those perimeter jobs to people who can be trusted. I need to be a good boy until I land it. If I’m caught slacking out here, I won’t get picked.” He saluted Elliot and said, “So, thanks for the nudge, my man. You let me know I need to pick up the pace.”

26

Calvin B. Fisher

Elliot wanted to nudge him off the building. He shook his head in disbelief. Craig sounded grateful, like he really thought Elliot had done him a favor.

Over the next few minutes, Craig did work harder. He swept the solar panels with discipline.

But knowing the ulterior motive only made Elliot feel worse.

He swept while the frustration bubbled up again. It threatened to overflow, so he moved away from Craig.

He found a dirty panel next to his sister. Helen swept at a good pace; she was always a solid worker.

As he swept, he could feel her eyes on him.

“What’s up, Elliot?” she asked.

He sighed. She could always needle in on when something was bothering him. It only furthered his irritation.

“I’m fine, Helen,” he said. “Quit doting over me, okay? If you spent half as much time sweeping as worrying, we’d already be done.”

As soon as he said it, he knew it wasn’t fair. However, she didn’t push the issue. She had been doing that less.

So they worked in silence. All the while, Elliot eyed Craig.

He swept. He simmered. He swept some more. Helen knew he was simmering, which only made him simmer more.

Finally, he nodded in Craig’s direction, and he muttered, “That guy.”

“Craig? What about him?” Helen asked.

“He stands there with a broomstick up his ass,” Elliot muttered.

“He stops working the second he thinks nobody’s looking.”

She secretly watched him for a few moments. She said, “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I know. And it gets worse,” Elliot said. “He wants to be on perimeter duty so he can drink beer and take naps.”

“Well, hopefully he won’t get his way,” she said.

“That’s the thing,” he said. “He just might.”

27

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

“So we’ll put in a complaint about him and move on,” she said.

“Past doing that, just let it go, Elliot. He’s not worth the anger.”

They resumed sweeping. That frustration continued, however.

He set down his shovel and muttered, “The Craigs of the world.”

“What?”

“How many Craigs does Stormrise have?” he asked. “I’ve seen others, besides him. I can guarantee the Network doesn’t tolerate that behavior. Not even a little bit. So, how many Craigs?

The Craigs of the world versus the Network. How’s that gonna go, I wonder?”

She set down the broom. He could sense her frustration even before she spoke. “I’m sick of this, Elliot, okay? Everything that comes out of your mouth is a complaint. You spend your time finding every crack and fault here. But what’s the point? We’ve already decided that there isn’t anywhere safer for us. We’re not leaving.

“So, do you know what you could do about these problems instead of whining? You could be the solution. If Craig’s doing half the work, then you could step up and do double. Craig versus the Network might not be a match.” She looked down and away.

“But Elliot versus the Network? Elliot at his best? The Network wouldn’t stand a chance. You refuse to try, though. Fine. I can’t force you. But keep the whining to yourself.”

She finished cleaning a solar panel with an emphatic sweep, and she moved away from him.

He looked over at Craig, who had resumed practicing the art of getting nothing done while looking like he was doing everything. He turned to his sister, who swept even harder than before, clearly taking out some of her frustration on the leaves.

The other slave on the rooftop worked hard, too, having cleaned more solar panels than anybody else.

Elliot supposed that maybe the Helens outnumbered the Craigs. Guys like Craig might skirt by with the bare minimum of effort, but sweeping solar panels would be all that they amounted 28

Calvin B. Fisher

to. The competent would rise, while the lazy would flounder. This guy would never see his prized perimeter duty job.

If Craig was confined to sweeping solar panels, well, Elliot could live with that. Maybe, just maybe, he could try to be the change that his sister wanted.

Elliot continued to sweep. *** General Arkland gazed upon the city from his penthouse in Memory Tower. It was the newest, and tallest, tower in New Medea.

The construction had been long. It had been laborious.

The skyscraper had begun development under the auspices of the Nexus, the Network’s former committee, which Arkland had served under.

Memory Tower was one of five skyscrapers begun as part of the Great Restoration Initiative. The initiative had been created by the former Chair of the Network, Rudolph Harrison, and he had pitched it to the other four Chairs as a way of glorifying the Network. The buildings would be monuments to the Network’s power and reign.

The towers would symbolize the five fingers of man’s hand, reaching to the heavens.

Unfortunately, even the best-laid plans could go astray.

The towers had hit hitch after hitch, delay after delay. But ever closer they had inched toward completion.

Then the Petal Park massacre had happened. Stormrise had been birthed as a response. Development of the towers, despite being close to completion, slowed to a standstill.

Development stopped entirely after Arkland deposed the Nexus.

29

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

After Stormrise’s unveiling of the Network’s retainant camps and the revelation of the horrors within to the public, the Network needed a positive news cycle.

The completion of one of the five skyscrapers, Memory Tower, and the grand opening ceremony that would soon follow would accomplish that. The Network would not be cowed, not quite so easily.

Memory Tower stood high above the other buildings within the Platt neighborhood, a mostly residential area with thin, weaving alleys. Three main roads converged upon Memory Tower, two from the front and one from the rear. A wide park extended from the mouth of the building, and the two front roads met at its entry. Groves of cherry trees filled the park.

Both the building and park were simply beautiful. Better yet, the location was central to the city. Memory Tower would serve as the new headquarters for Arkland, giving him easy access to the many meetings he attended throughout the city. The tower was a veritable fortress as well, with a state-of-the-art electrical barrier system around its exterior. The barrier served as a contingency against potential assassination attempts from any enemies that got ahold of his agile RAID armor.

However, none of these were the true reasons that Arkland had chosen to finish Memory Tower first, before the other four skyscrapers.

Memory Tower was the tallest. In Rudolph Harrison’s hand analogy, it served as the middle finger.

Arkland couldn’t turn down the irony.

“Sir,” Jane Sloan, his second-in-command, said. “The Heads of Science and Resources have arrived. Where do you want to receive them?”

“The garden,” Arkland said.

Sloan conveyed the order to the guards.

30

Calvin B. Fisher

Arkland pivoted from the windows, and he took in the massive penthouse. It had two floors, and the second-floor balcony overlooked the main living room.

“How do you like it?” he asked.

“Big,” she said. “Refined. It suits you.”

They descended to the indoor garden on the floor under the penthouse. It contained beautiful plants and stones sliced by creeks and separated by ponds. Stone walkways granted passage through the garden, with bridges arcing over the ponds.

“A brilliant addition,” Sloan remarked.

His guests arrived. The Head of Resources took in the scenery while the Head of Science wallowed in his anxiety.

“Good afternoon, sir,” the Head of Resources greeted him.

“Morning,” the Head of Science mumbled.

“I hope this garden is a nice oasis for your busy days,” Arkland said, knowing perfectly well that this meeting would be anything but calm for them. He targeted the Head of Science. “How is progress on the OGRE project?”

“It will go another four weeks past our scheduled date, General Arkland. Maybe… maybe six weeks. Yes, I would say six weeks. Tentatively.” The Head of Science muttered something incomprehensible before dabbing his sweat-laden brow with a handkerchief.

“Another delay,” General Arkland repeated. His voice was level. “Tell me, how many delays has the OGRE project had up to this point?”

“It’s not my fault,” the Head of Science pleaded. He looked accusingly at the Head of Resources. “The improved OGRE design is more intricate. In other terms, the mech has more parts. More parts means more assembly. More assembly needs more people. I’ve asked for those people, but I can’t get them.”

He dabbed his forehead again. The Head of Resources crossed her arms, and she was unfazed. “I don’t have the people to spare, Hubert. We’re thinly stretched as it is, especially for anything that 31

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

requires security clearance.” She turned to General Arkland and said, “Corps morale is low, and it’s even worse at the retainant camps. We try to minimize communication between the camps, but word about Stormrise’s raids still reaches them. Every camp is paranoid that it’ll be hit next. Worse still, the raids have created intel breaches despite our protocols. Treacherous soldiers have been emboldened to leak information to Stormrise.

“Recruitment is also difficult,” she added. “Potential recruits know about the camps. Ignoring whatever compunctions they might have, they know the camps are getting attacked. And they know that if they sign up, they might be assigned to a camp. It’s causing timidity. And fear.

“The problems are worrying, General.” She turned to the Chair of Science and said, “So no, Hubert. You cannot have more people. You’ll have to make do.”

General Arkland said, “There will be supply shortages in the city. That means we double down on our propaganda strategy in New Medea. We put emphasis on the dwindling resources and the declining living conditions in the city. We stir up ire, and we point it towards Stormrise.

“The people’s moral outrage at the retainant camps is only sustained when the camps are an abstract, ethical question.

When the food on their table isn’t affected, they’ll scream in indignation all day long.

“But once the fact that these camps enable their means of living clicks for them, you’ll see the anger settle. People will mutter and wish it wasn’t so, but they’ll be hesitant. To join Stormrise and throw away their comfortable lives, people need to be driven. That hesitation will be enough to stop most citizens from taking the plunge.”

The Head of Resources said, “That sounds great and all, General, but it still doesn’t solve our recruitment issue. People may become reluctant to support Stormrise, but that doesn’t mean they will rush to join the Network, either.”

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Calvin B. Fisher

“Reward your friends and punish your enemies,” Arkland said. “The one and only political rule. We siphon supplies off from the city and give them to Network personnel and their families.

Make citizens buy into the system. If they’re contributing and bought in, well, they’re far less likely to unroot from the system.”

The Head of Resources said, “I don’t disagree with you.

But these are long-term solutions. Short-term, Stormrise will continue attacking camps. I believe there will be more leaks as much as we try to prevent them.”

Jane Sloan said, “You’re worried that Stormrise is going to bleed out the camps faster than new soldiers can be recruited.”

“Yes,” the Head of Resources said. “Exactly.”

“We can conscript people,” the Head of Science suggested.

“No,” General Arkland said.

The Head of Science blinked. He was caught off-guard.

Clearly, he thought that he had stumbled upon the perfect solution.

“But… we took people for the retainant camps,” the Head of Science said. “How is this any different?”

“We did that in the shadows, and we took alleged wrongdoers and vagrants. It gave the citizenry the room to deny, ignore, or even support our actions. Most importantly, our choice of targets instilled a sense of security. If the normal citizens behaved, well, then they thought they would be okay. Of course, in reality, we took who we wanted, justifications be damned.

“But the narrative held. Unless we want our military to be perceived as weak, we cannot claim to take the same class of people with conscription. No, any conscription effort would have to be out in the open,” General Arkland explained. “The Network’s key value proposition in New Medea is that it provides stability. It provides normalcy—a life where people don’t have to fight any longer. The main aversion to Stormrise is that people don’t want to fight again. They would rather not choose a side.

33

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

They want to keep living their lives. Apathy is one of our key advantages.

“If we conscript people, we’ll be forcing them to fight. And if people are forced to fight, then they might as well fight for the side they perceive as moral. So, no. Conscription would backfire horribly. The demand to fight needs to come from Stormrise.

We’re the stalwarts of peace. It is an essential part of our narrative.”

The Head of Science nodded thoughtfully.

Jane Sloan said, “If I may, sir.”

General Arkland nodded.

“I think I have a way to alleviate a number of our concerns at once. The Head of Science will get his people. We’ll also hurt Stormrise,” she said. “Badly. They’ll think twice about attacking another camp, therefore alleviating the bleed-out concern, too.”

That intrigued Arkland.

Sloan hesitated for a moment before adding, “But it will require us to shut down a retainant camp.”

General Arkland’s voice hardened. “We have been over this before. Everyone here knows where I stand. We are not shutting down the camps.”

The Heads of Resources and Science exchanged a glance.

“I understand,” Jane Sloan said. “I’m not suggesting that this becomes a pattern. But please hear me out. I think, just this once, it warrants an exception.”

He considered this before giving his approval.

Jane Sloan explained her idea. General Arkland had some questions and objections, but Sloan had already accounted for them.

When she finished, Arkland studied the others. The Head of Science’s anxiety was soothed. The Head of Resources remained as stoic as ever, but Arkland could tell that she, too, was pleased with the plan.

General Arkland endorsed the proposal, and his inner circle got to work laying out the plan’s particulars. The main point of 34

Calvin B. Fisher

contention was which camp to get rid of. Once the meeting was adjourned, the Head of Science and the Head of Resources felt a whole lot better than they did coming into the meeting.

General Arkland and Jane Sloan lingered in the garden, peering out of the large windows. The trees past the grove weaved through the city streets and blended, forming a gradient of fall colors. Electronic billboards stretched across the buildings, shining brightly even in the midday sun.

“You outdid yourself this time,” General Arkland said. “You’re a smart woman, Sloan.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

They shared a moment of silence.

General Arkland said, “If I die, you’re going to replace me. I already have it arranged. How does that make you feel?’

“I’d prefer not to think about it, sir,” she said. “My loyalty is to you. Not this city. And certainly not to the Head of Science or Resources.”

“So what happens if I’m out of the equation? If you’re left with New Medea under your reign? What would you do?”

She turned to him. “Why are you asking this, sir? Questions like these… it isn’t normal for you.”

“It’s important for me to know my people,” he said. “You most of all.”

She took a moment to ponder his question. “Loyalty doesn’t have to stop with death. I can still carry on your work.” She added, “Loyalty is about the only thing that persists through death. Until I die, I suppose. Then, my loyalty will truly be dead.

Ashes, like everything else.”

“So none of this has any meaning to you,” he said.

“Change doesn’t, at least,” she said. “Everything becomes dust eventually. So what does change matter when it’s dust?” She met his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean, before the end comes, we have to hate our time here. In the meantime, Arkland… In the meantime…”

35

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

There was a softness in her eyes. It was something he couldn’t recall seeing before.

He turned back toward the windows. She did the same. She stood close to him. She stood awfully close.

“The day is still young, Sloan. We have a lot to do.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. Her voice had reverted back to its usual formality. “I need to prepare for your upcoming meetings.”

He nodded. “You’re dismissed.”

She left the garden. He watched her go, his lips tight. When the door closed behind her, the silence of the room felt dominant.

Down below, the city buzzed and buzzed and buzzed. He recalled the former Chair of the Network.

He had been so proud of New Medea. So proud that he had ushered this grand city into being so soon after the apocalypse.

So proud to start projects like the Great Restoration Initiative.

General Arkland had sneered then. He sneered now, too.

“All to dust,” he muttered to himself. Indeed, this city would be one big pile of ash someday. The last breath would be taken by somebody, somewhere.

But until then, there was movement. There was action.

He left the garden to meet the dazzling city.

36

4 “The source is good,” Softball said. She was one of the two tech experts in Stormrise.

The other tech expert, Dimitri, sat next to her. He crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. He added, “I agree. This source has led us to high-level supply trucks in the past, which indicates that they have a high level of clearance. And at this point, they’ve given us enough information to get strung up on a lamppost— multiple times, if the Network could find a way to do it.”

“I know,” Anne Kaminski said. She crossed her arms and frowned thoughtfully. “But the intel contradicts what we’ve heard in the past. The Network isn’t supposed to have slave camps within the safe zone.”

The “safe zone” referred to a hundred-mile radius around New Medea that was free of toxic gas. The Network had rid the gas as a gesture of goodwill, but also as a means of forming a prison. The Network prevented development outside of the city limits. Nobody wanted to live in the gas, which drew everyone into the city.

“Well, we also heard that there were no camps at all,” General Taylor said with a grunt. “And look how true that ended up being.”

Dimitri nodded in assent. “Disinformation. Minimizing the spread of knowledge. That is the Network’s MO.” General Taylor glared at Dimitri until Dimitri noticed. He knew why immediately; it was his slouch. Dimitri sat up straight.

37

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

“Who the hell knows anyway?” Geralt said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they had a camp right in the heart of New Medea.”

“That’s probably a bridge too far,” Rayne Simpson muttered.

“I doubt they’d be that stupid.”

Northfield felt trepidation, much like Chief Kaminski. He said, “Who’s to say this isn’t a play at disinformation, either?”

“I think it all makes sense when you lay it out,” Softball said. “Apparently, this camp’s purpose is to organize scavenged materials. Slaves from other camps are sent out into the wastelands, and they hunt around for useful materials. The loot is sent to this camp, Section 604. Then, the slaves there organize the scrap. The scrap is then sent to other camps as needed for further processing.

“So Section 604 is a hub. And you want a hub to be centralized, right? That means less transit to the other camps.

“If you want it centralized, then you want it relatively close to New Medea. And relatively close means within the safe zone.”

Chief Kaminski said, “I can understand the logic. Still, having a camp inside the safe zone presents risks. First, slaves who tried to escape would have a chance of reaching New Medea alive.

And secondly, it would be easier to find.”

Softball said, “I don’t necessarily think they would be worried about that second point. I mean, a hundred-mile radius is still a lot of real estate, right?” She tapped her lips. “I wouldn’t put it beyond the Network to hide a few slave camps in that much real estate.”

“If this is true, it’s great news,” Rayne said. “If we can raid a camp without worrying about every slave dying in an instant, well, our lives get a whole lot easier.”

“Reinforcements are closer, though,” General Taylor said. “It won’t be easy.”

“I know. Believe me, nobody is gonna say a thing about things being easy.”

“You just said ‘easier.’”

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Calvin B. Fisher

“Well, last I checked, ‘easy’ and ‘easier’ are different words,” Rayne said.

“Everyone is in a bickering mood today, evidently,” Chief Kaminski said. “Focus, people. Earl, you’re right. Reinforcements are an even greater concern than usual. We need to assess the Network’s capacity to resupply its troops before we commit to any offensive. But that step still is putting the cart before the horse. First, we need to make sure this camp actually exists. We need to send a scouting party. Does anyone disagree?”

She looked around the circle. Nobody dissented.

Rayne said, “It should be Widow Team that leads the scouting op.”

“Of course,” she said. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With that, she dismissed the meeting. Rayne relayed the news to Widow Team. They were shipping out within the hour.

The uneasiness hadn’t left Northfield. He couldn’t give a reason for the feeling, and that only made him feel worse.

He leaned against some lockers in the hallway and sat down.

A moment of rest, a moment to take a few breaths. Maybe that’s what he needed.

It didn’t help.

Another chance to save people. But also another chance to fail.

I just… I can’t see more dead bodies. Not by my hands. Not this time. I don’t think I’m strong enough.

Why am I so weak, God? *** It was a perfect autumn day. A soft breeze rustled the trees, occasionally plucking leaves off the increasingly barren branches.

The sky was a soft blue, and the sun shone. Only a handful of clouds were present, white ships stranded on a sea.

The men of Widow Team lay at the top of a hill. Their camouflage blended in with the thigh-high grass. They peered 39

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

through goggles at Section 604, which resided at the bottom of the hill.

The first thing that stood out about Section 604 was the giant walls around the perimeter. The other labor camps hadn’t possessed them. Since the other camps resided outside the safe zone, the toxic gas served as the main deterrent for escape.

Because Section 604 sat inside the safe zone, it had to rely on more conventional security measures.

Section 604 had a square shape, with guard towers in each corner. A lake sat behind the camp, with the shoreline wrapping around the right side of the facility. Thus, the back and right walls were surrounded by water.

A forest bordered the left-side wall, running along the lake’s coastline.

Three large roads converged on a parking lot in front of Section 604. Widow Team’s intel seemed correct: Section 604 served as a hub for gathered materials. Scavenged goods were brought to this facility for organization and then distribution.

Three tall garages were on the front wall of Section 604.

Widow Team had already seen multiple semitrucks enter the facility.

Widow Team’s vantage point allowed them to see over Section 604’s walls. Five main buildings occupied the camp.

Two large, identical buildings sat against the back wall.

However, only one of them was operational. The building on the right was shut down. Yellow caution tape wrapped around its exterior, and the area around it was closed off. The building appeared to be undergoing some sort of construction.

Guards escorted slaves to the left-side building during the day. From this, Widow Team surmised that these buildings were the organizational plants, where slaves sifted through scrap materials and arranged them for transport.

Two slightly smaller buildings bordered the right-hand wall.

They appeared to be the slave quarters and the guard quarters.

40

Calvin B. Fisher

The last main building hugged the left-hand wall. It was a garage for semis and other vehicles to park.

A few other buildings resided in Section 604, but they were small and didn’t seem to hold much significance, serving basic functions to keep the camp running.

Although Widow Team wanted to learn more, the men didn’t dare inch closer. The grass dwindled as the hill descended to meet the parking lot. The watchtower guards could easily spot them.

So, Widow Team snapped some pictures and then snuck away. Samuel waited a half mile away with their vehicle, safely tucked under a weeping willow. *** Stormrise leadership studied the pictures that Widow Team had taken. Rayne had also drawn a map of the facility’s layout.

He said, “There doesn’t appear to be any heightened awareness or fear of attack. I don’t believe the Network is aware of the intel leak.” He pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes. “I think we have a real shot at this.”

Anne Kaminski pointed at the center of the map. “No Interior?”

Rayne shook his head. “This one’s purely a labor camp.”

General Taylor crossed his arms. “You look like you have a plan, Rayne.”

“Yes,” he replied. He pointed at the forest to Section 604’s left and said, “Coming in from the west is our best approach. There isn’t enough concealment from the south or east, and I don’t think Stormrise wants to get into the business of amphibious assaults from the north.

“So here’s what I’m thinking. We’ll attack at night when the slaves are sequestered in their quarters. We’ll send a strike squad to advance through the forest. Widow and Bravo Teams will make up the squad. They’ll take out the watchtower guards and 41

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

climb over the west wall. The camp has security cameras, so we should expect the alarms to sound as soon as they enter.

“Once inside the camp, the strike squad will have two objectives. First, secure the slave quarters and protect the slaves.

The Network will kill the slaves otherwise. The second objective will be to open the front gates.

“A second, larger attack force will be waiting just outside of the camp’s view. When the gates are open, the larger force will enter Section 604. We’ll overwhelm the camp with power and transport the slaves out.

“We hit quickly,” Rayne said, summing up. “Then we get out.”

General Taylor grunted. He said, “It’s a good plan. It’s simple.”

Rayne said, “Simple is better. Less moving parts to get messed up.”

“I want this done right,” General Taylor said. “The second force needs to be big. Once the gates are opened and the slaves are secured, we steamroll the place.”

“Hell yeah,” Geralt said. “Let’s whip their asses.”

Northfield still had that sinking feeling, but he couldn’t attribute it to anything. He studied the map. The plan made sense.

He nodded in affirmation. “Let’s go save some lives, huh?”

Lastly, Anne Kaminski said, “It sounds like we’re all in agreement. Rayne, Earl. Rally the men.” *** The wind had died down. Not even a flutter of leaves could be heard. That was a problem for Stormrise’s strike squad as they crept through the forest. They had to be extra wary of branches and leaves lest they alert their enemies.

Most of the leaves had freshly dropped, at least. They were soft and hadn’t yet degraded to brown, crackling husks. The fighters managed to keep their footsteps quiet.

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Calvin B. Fisher

No clouds marked the sky. The moon wasn’t visible, either.

All that remained was a pale slate of stars stretching forever.

As the strike squad neared Section 604, they slowed down.

Northfield felt the steady pulse of his heart, which reached his ears.

He exchanged glances with Leo. His brother-in-arms nodded to him. Northfield nodded back.

They were up first.

The strike squad reached the forest line. A barren clearing lay between them and Section 604, about a football field in length.

Rayne clicked his radio three times. The strike squad was too close to the camp to risk speaking, especially on a night this quiet. The three radio clicks would signify to the secondary force that the squad was in position.

Northfield and Leo crept ahead. They faced the left wall of Section 604, which had guard towers on either side. There was one guard per tower. If the strike squad tried to cross the clearing, the guards would spot them.

Northfield took aim at the guard in the left tower. The guard wore a pair of night-vision goggles, the same model Northfield and the strike squad wore.

The guard had a relaxed air about him, with a slight slouch in his posture. He seemed awfully tempted to lean against the pillar next to him.

He hadn’t noticed the slight disturbance along the forest line. He hadn’t noticed the slight rustling in the branches and brambles nor the emergence of two men with rifles.

Leo held up his hand. He had acquired his target. Northfield centered his scope. He raised his hand, too.

His palms were sweaty. If he missed this shot… If he missed…

No, he thought. I’m not adding to my nightmares. Not tonight.

In unison, he and Leo fired. Northfield’s shot hit the man square in the sternum. He collapsed, dying instantly.

43

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Northfield raised his hand, signaling a kill shot. Leo did the same.

In a flash, the squad charged across the clearing. There was no telling how long until the guards’ deaths were noticed.

Stormrise had to capitalize on every second that it could. Every delay meant an opportunity for the Death Corps to rally their defenses or kill the slaves.

They reached the foot of the wall. Two men from Bravo Team fired grappling guns, which hooked onto the ledge. After tugging the ropes to ensure that they held, the strike squad ascended.

Climbing the wall was agonizingly slow. Running through the barren field had left Northfield feeling exposed, but this took his discomfort to another level. Hanging in the air, with no cover around him, instilled a sense of vulnerability.

Despite his discomfort, the climb reminded him of his days in Cumulus. He remembered grappling up the walls of Heaven’s Rebirth to reach Nathaniel Salb, Geralt’s brother.

He felt a kick of nostalgia.

Nathaniel… if you saw your brother now… I wish I could watch that.

And John, Elena… you would have gotten a kick out of Stormrise. You really would’ve.

Pangs of sorrow followed, but he pushed the feelings out.

Now wasn’t the time.

He reached the top of the wall, and he helped lift the soldiers behind him. He studied the facility, scanning from the warehouses on his left to the front gates on his right. The place was still—deathly still. Guards occupied the far towers, but they hadn’t noticed the infiltration team yet.

A supply warehouse sat below the strike squad, nestled up against the wall. The squad didn’t have time to dally. As soon as everybody had climbed the wall, Northfield and Andy descended onto the roof of the warehouse, along with some men from Bravo Team.

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Piercing alarms shattered the silence. Bright lights flooded the facility. Someone must’ve spotted them on the security cameras.

Muzzles flashed from the opposite guard towers. Bullets punched through the warehouse’s thin roof. The squad pressed on. Getting discovered this early wasn’t welcome, but it wasn’t unexpected, either. They still had the drop on their opponents.

Two objectives: Save the slaves. Open the front gates. Widow Team was assigned the first objective, with Bravo Team tasked with the latter. Northfield filtered everything else out of his head except for reaching the slave quarters. Everything else was just noise.

He jumped off the warehouse roof, dropping into a combat roll when he landed to distribute the impact across his body.

There were two trucks in the facility: one parked in front of Plant A and the other parked in front of Plant B. They blocked the guard towers’ lines of sight, so Northfield ran and took cover behind the closest truck.

Andy joined him.

“This isn’t good,” Andy muttered.

“We’ll save them,” Northfield said. “We will.”

Northfield looked back at Leo. He had remained on the wall, along with Rayne. Bravo’s best sharpshooters provided overwatch, too. Leo fired his rifle and then signaled to Mark. The guard in the left watchtower was dead.

Northfield turned the corner, charging at the truck in front of Plant B. Because Plant B was closed for construction, he didn’t have to worry about hostiles coming from that direction.

The guard in the right watchtower had a clear shot at them now, but he didn’t dare take it, not with Leo and Rayne providing suppressive fire.

The slave quarters and the guard quarters stood on the other side of the truck. There was a clamor of footsteps, paired with the 45

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

mechanized voices of Death Corps soldiers, distorted by their faceplates.

The guards in the quarters were off duty. Most of them had likely been sound asleep only a few minutes ago. They had geared up quickly. They had trained for this contingency, clearly.

It was the Death Corps. Northfield couldn’t expect any less.

The guards had two objectives: kill the intruders and kill the slaves.

Rayne and Leo turned their attention to the guard quarters and opened fire. Their suppressive fire pinned the guards inside.

But the suppression wouldn’t last forever, and guards were bound to slip into the slave quarters.

The slaves weren’t armed. It would only take one guard with an automatic to kill them all.

Northfield signaled to the slave quarters. Andy understood.

They rounded the truck, and with heads lowered, they charged at the slave quarters. Muzzles flashed from the windows of the guard quarters, and bullets tore up the ground around Northfield and Andy.

Rayne’s heavy machine-gun fire restricted the guards’ ability to retaliate, but they wizened up quickly. Smoke grenades sailed from the windows, and dark clouds plumed. The smoke killed Rayne and Leo’s visibility, reducing their ability to suppress the enemy. Northfield spotted a few black silhouettes darting from the back of the guard quarters to the back entrance of the slave quarters.

Northfield and Andy had almost reached the slave quarters.

His lungs burned, but he ignored the sensation.

His objective. That’s all that mattered.

Images of their prior raids assaulted his mind briefly. All the bodies, all the lost chances, all the lives vanished into the ether.

He pushed the memories away.

They were all dead. Try as he might, he hadn’t learned how to revive anyone yet. But here, tonight, he could make a difference.

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He kicked open the front door, and the lights momentarily blinded him. Once his eyes adjusted, he spotted rows of bunks.

Slaves cowered underneath them. Somebody must have turned on the fluorescent lights when the alarms sounded and then hid without turning them off.

A few slaves shrieked, but before Northfield could explain, the back doors kicked open. Two Death Corps soldiers entered the quarters, followed by a third.

“Down! Everybody, stay down!” Northfield yelled as Andy filed in behind him. He dropped into a crouch and opened fire, as did Andy. The first floor contained only bunks; Northfield and Andy didn’t have any dense furniture to hide behind.

They were quicker on the trigger than their enemies. The front two Death Corps guards collapsed, their rifles clattering on the floor. The third guard retreated behind the back door. He barked something in that warbled, distorted voice. Northfield couldn’t make out the words. The soldier was probably asking for help.

Northfield pointed upstairs. Andy understood and darted up the stairwell. He would secure the second floor.

The slaves continued to cower under the bunks.

“Clear!” Andy yelled.

Northfield peeked out of a window facing the guard quarters.

More smoke grenades had been deployed, creating a wall of black.

Northfield said to the slaves, “We’re Stormrise, and we’re here to rescue you! Go upstairs. It’s safer.”

Nobody budged. The close proximity of gunfire hadn’t helped their courage. Northfield didn’t have time to coax them.

“Dammit,” he muttered. He took cover by a window and peeked out of it. He only got a glimpse before a volley of Death Corps fire forced him to duck. There had to be a dozen guards closing in.

47

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Andy fired on them from the second floor, but the soldiers charged on despite being out in the open. They were going to kill the hostages, even if it cost them their own lives.

The smoke screen cut Northfield and Andy off from their allies. They were alone against this threat, for now. Overall, the strike squad was outnumbered.

Come on, Bravo. Get those gates open. Please.

He relocated to another window, one next to the stairwell.

He popped up and fired his rifle at the incoming soldiers. None of his shots found their mark, not before he had to duck to avoid their retaliatory fire.

Northfield had spotted three bodies; Andy had taken out a few targets. Northfield relocated to another window. The guards were too close now and too numerous for him to stick his head out of the window again.

He toggled his weapon to automatic fire. He stuck the barrel out of the window and emptied the rest of his magazine. He hoped a wild bullet had hit a guard, but he wasn’t feeling particularly lucky. His main goal was to slow them down. He needed to buy every second that he could.

He loaded a fresh magazine into his rifle. He turned his focus to the front and back doors. No more looking out the windows.

The next time his enemies appeared, they would most likely come through those entrances.

A few moments passed. Compared to the rest of the chaos, they felt quiet. He didn’t like it; it meant his enemies were planning a coordinated push.

Andy returned to Northfield. He signaled to the front and back doors, and Northfield understood.

They positioned their weapons on the stairwell rung.

Northfield aimed at the front door, while Andy aimed at the back.

The black silhouettes appeared in the front and back doorways at the same time. The Death Corps were attempting a two-pronged push. Northfield and Andy opened fire.

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The stairwell didn’t provide any cover; they were completely exposed. The best form of defense here would be a good offense.

They had driven their enemies back, but only for a moment.

The Death Corps surged again, and the Stormrise men opened fire at the doorways.

Northfield spotted something out of the corner of his eye.

Death Corps soldiers had rounded to the left wall of the building, and they aimed through the windows.

He yelled and swiveled his gun. Andy did the same, and they fired at the far windows. Their enemies opened fire as well.

Northfield’s and Andy’s shots were accurate, and they took down the window threat. It came at a cost.

Because they’d pulled away from the doors, the guards were free to charge into the room. Andy and Northfield turned their sights back to the doorways, firing at the threat. A swell of bullets came toward them, ripping chunks off the stairs and puncturing the rung.

More guards appeared at the windows.

There were too many bullets, and the Stormrise men were too exposed. They dove down the stairwell to the ground floor.

Northfield’s side hit the ground hard. He’d bruised a rib, but he didn’t feel any pain. Adrenaline overwhelmed his senses.

As they lay on the first floor, the rows and rows of beds blocked their attackers’ sight. The beds made paltry cover, and bullets could tear through them like tissue paper. Nonetheless, the obstruction kept the Stormrise men alive, at least for now.

The guards at the doors opened fire. But Northfield realized the fire wasn’t directed at them.

No, he thought. His eyes widened. The Death Corps soldiers were opening fire on the beds. They were killing the slaves.

He sprang to his feet, and he aimed over the beds. He didn’t get a chance to fire. There were too many enemies.

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He dropped back down as bullets from multiple directions flew at him. The Death Corps continued shooting at the beds.

Northfield heard screams. Piercing screams.

No… he thought. This can’t… this can’t happen. I can’t sit here and listen to these people die…

More gunshots followed, but they were different. The bullets came from outside the slave quarters. The guards shouted, barking orders to one another, and they turned their attention to the windows.

The guards were picked off swiftly by gunfire on all sides.

Rayne and Leo breached the slave quarters, taking out the last of the opposition.

They found Northfield and Andy, and they pulled them to their feet.

“Thank God you two are alright,” Rayne said.

“Are the reinforcements here?” Northfield asked.

“Bravo had some trouble with the gate,” Leo said. “But they got it open. Our guys are coming in now.”

The surviving slaves still hid under the beds. Northfield repeated his earlier message. “It’s okay. We’re Stormrise, and we’re here to rescue you. But you’ve got to help us, okay? You’ve got to come out.”

When most of the slaves realized that the intruders weren’t going to kill them, they tentatively crawled out from underneath the beds.

Not all of them did, however. There were four beds near the back entrance where the slaves underneath didn’t budge.

Northfield checked them, and he closed his eyes. Dead, all of them. Three had been executed by the guards, and the last had taken a stray bullet.

Two more slaves had been wounded, but neither’s wound appeared to be critical.

Northfield’s fingers clenched the bedframe..

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Calvin B. Fisher

Oh, God. If I would’ve stacked up against the back wall instead of the stairwell, then maybe I could’ve…

He pulled himself together. There are dozens alive. Hold on to that. Just hold on to that with everything you have.

Soldiers from Stormrise’s primary attack force entered the slave quarters, and they aided the civilians.

“Widow Team. Gather on me,” Rayne said. He said to Northfield, Andy, and Leo, “The others can handle getting the slaves loaded up. The four of us are going to breach the guard quarters and see if there is any data we can salvage. There’s a chance an enemy soldier or two is still holed up in there, so be on your guard. Afterward, we’ll rendezvous with Red and get out of here.”

On their way to the guard quarters, they passed Stormrise’s primary force, with all of their vehicles parked in front of the slave quarters. Samuel got out of his vehicle, and he gave his comrades on Widow Team a salutary wave.

Rayne breached the front door of the guard quarters, with Northfield, Leo, and Andy following. They checked all their angles, but they moved quickly. They wanted to get in and out of this place as fast as possible.

The guard quarters were similar to the slave quarters. They also contained rows of bunks, albeit ones built from much higherquality materials, and they were spaced out further. Unlike the slave quarters, the guard quarters had a basement.

“Split up,” Rayne said. “Viking, on me. We’ll take upstairs.”

Northfield followed his leader while Leo and Andy went downstairs.

The upstairs area was split into three sections. The first contained more bunks. The second appeared to be an entertainment area, with TVs, books, movies, and other forms of media.

“Glad they got to relax while working these people to the bone,” Rayne muttered.

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They approached the heavy wood door, which led to the last room. Northfield narrowed his eyes and stopped. He signaled to Rayne, and his leader stopped in his tracks.

Northfield heard something on the other side of the door.

He and Rayne readied their weapons, and they stacked up against the door. Rayne tried the handle, but it wouldn’t open.

Somebody had locked the door from the other side.

After Rayne rattled the door, fully automatic gunfire raged, ripping holes through the door. Rayne judged the angle of the gunfire by the holes. He placed the barrel of his rifle against the wall, adjusted it once, and fired two shots.

They heard a creaking noise, the sound of a chair cushion compressing as someone crumpled over. Then, a thump.

Northfield took a step back and kicked down the door.

The Death Corps guard’s body lay at his feet.

Monitors were arranged in neat rows on the wall, each running footage from security cameras. This was a security room. This guard had likely been the one to spot Stormrise.

Rayne radioed Leo and Andy. “Find anything?”

“Just more bunks,” Leo said.

“Head up here,” Rayne said.

“Got it, boss.”

A desk stood underneath the array of monitors, and a computer sat atop it. The guard hadn’t logged off the computer, so Northfield was free to peruse the files.

“They store the security footage,” he said. “For six months, it looks like.”

“Hmm,” Rayne said. “There could be intel on there.”

Northfield stuck a flash drive into the computer. Dimitri insisted that the soldiers carry flash drives on factory raids in case they found useful data. Northfield was glad that he had planned for the contingency.

“We don’t have time to download all of the files,” Northfield said. “Not before the Network’s reinforcements get here. What 52

Calvin B. Fisher

should we prioritize? The footage is split up into files. Per month and per camera.”

Rayne considered it, and he said, “The footage from the front gates. Seeing who comes in and out may be the greatest intel. Get the most recent months.”

Northfield started the file download. Leo and Andy joined them, and Rayne filled them in on their findings.

As Northfield watched the download bar progress, he said, “It’s strange.”

“What is?” Leo asked.

Northfield frowned. “Whenever we’ve raided a place, the Network always destroys its data. This stuff is intact, though. The guard didn’t bother deleting the files.”

“Maybe he forgot protocol in the heat of the moment,” Leo said. “Humans are the failure point in any system, right?”

Rayne’s radio crackled to life. “We have a problem. Repeat, we have a problem.”

Leo frowned, and he responded, “What problem?”

“The gates… the damned gates have shut on us.”

Widow Team glanced up at the security camera overlooking the front gate. Sure enough, the gate was shut. One of their soldiers frantically hit the open button, but the gate wouldn’t budge.

“Oh no,” Northfield said, gasping.

Two electric blurs darted across the wall. The forms slowed and materialized into RAID soldiers.

“Threat above,” Rayne shouted into his comms. “I repeat, you have a threat above—” “Aaagghhh!”

His voice was cut off by screaming soldiers. The RAID soldiers fired on the soldiers near the gate. The RAID soldiers had wide-open sightlines. The soldiers didn’t stand a chance.

More Death Corps soldiers filed out of the watchtower stairwells. They had been inside, lying in wait.

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The garage of Plant B opened. The caution tape wrapped around the plant offered some resistance before tearing apart.

Three exo soldiers marched out. Behind them came an entire attack force of Death Corps soldiers, one that easily outnumbered Stormrise.

A trap, Northfield realized frantically. This was all a trap.

54

5 “Viking! Saturn! Hit those RAID soldiers,” Rayne barked.

“Skullbeard, with me.”

Northfield and Leo darted out of the surveillance room. They took up positions at windows facing the front wall. The RAID soldiers had wiped out the soldiers at the gate control. They remained in position, high-powered rifles scanning the area.

They took shots at any Stormrise soldiers out in the open.

Stormrise soldiers took whatever cover they could.

Fortunately, most had already entered the slave quarters to assist the slaves. They were momentarily protected.

“Charlie! Get everyone to the trucks!” Rayne commanded into his radio.

“We can’t, dammit,” the Charlie Team leader said. “If we step out into the open, those exos will tear us apart!”

Rayne and Andy went to the back windows, and Rayne swore. The exo soldiers wielded miniguns. They couldn’t move quickly with the guns, but they didn’t have to. They sat fat and happy, overwatching the open lane between the trucks and the slave quarters. With how fast the miniguns fired, anybody who tried to cross would be cut to ribbons.

Northfield fired a flurry of shots at one of the RAID soldiers.

None of the bullets hit his target. The RAID soldier repositioned himself, disappearing in a blur of electric blue before stopping behind one of the guard towers. He fired a shot at Northfield 55

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

with his high-powered rifle. The shot missed, but it tore through wall after wall.

“Great,” Leo muttered, spitting curses. “Just wonderful.”

Northfield moved to another window. “With that stopping power… we’ve got to take these guys out.”

Leo said, “They’re on overwatch duty. They ain’t hopping and jumping about like they normally do. We can kill ’em. We just need to hit our shots.”

And not get hit by theirs, Northfield thought.

The dull roar of minigun fire sounded. They heard piercing shrieks through their earpieces.

Two of the exos had turned their minigun fire on the slave quarters. That explained why the other soldiers weren’t advancing. Why bother when the exos could just tear the place apart with a hailstorm of bullets?

Instead, the other soldiers supplemented the exos’ fire with their own.

“Put the beds against the wall!” Charlie leader shrieked.

“Dammit, everything against the wall!”

The last exo soldier turned his minigun to Stormrise’s vehicles, unleashing bursts that shredded the tires, rendering them undrivable. Stormrise’s means of escape had been cut off.

“Think,” Rayne said. “Come on, think.”

Northfield popped up to shoot, but he was quickly driven back to cover. A flurry of gunshots from what felt like every direction bore down on him.

The soldiers from the stairwells had found overwatch positions as well. Now, they, too, fired at the guard quarters.

Northfield crawled across the floor, staying low, moving out of the enemies’ focus fire.

“Can’t get an opening,” Leo cried. “Can’t get a blasted opening.”

Enemies in front of them. Enemies behind them. Stormrise’s numbers were being reduced bullet by bullet. The slaves they’d 56

Calvin B. Fisher

hoped to rescue died bullet by bullet as well. Stormrise’s efforts were like vapor, fading into the ether.

Enemy reinforcements were inbound, too. Northfield knew that. They would arrive far earlier than any help from Stormrise.

Widow Team’s radios crackled to life.

“Boss… I think I’ve got an idea. For once in my damned life.”

“Red?” Rayne asked, using Samuel’s codename. “Where are you?”

“I’m still in the truck,” he said.

“Is your truck still drivable?” Rayne asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Samuel replied. His truck was parked behind the other Stormrise vehicles, which blocked the bullets for him. “Look, as I said, I’ve got an idea. But it involves me gettin’ out of this truck. There’s stuff I need to grab from the other vehicles. You’ve gotta cover me. Can you do that?”

Rayne looked at his men. He radioed Charlie leader. “Red needs our cover. We all need to make a push to protect him.

Make a distraction, if we can. Clear?”

“If we crane our necks out, we’re gonna take casualties,” Charlie leader said. “Are you sure this is the right choice?”

“We don’t have another,” Rayne replied. “Let us know when you’re ready, Red.” “Right now, boss.”

They lined up against the windows facing Red. “What’s that big oaf got up his sleeve?” Leo muttered to himself.

Northfield took a deep breath. One more push, he thought.

One more.

“C’mon, buddy,” Andy whispered to Red, although their friend was far from earshot. “Stay safe.”

“Go!” Rayne yelled.

Northfield pointed his gun out the window. Meanwhile, Samuel skulked out of the vehicle.

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Northfield centered his sight on a Death Corps soldier providing overwatch. He pulled the trigger, and the soldier toppled over.

A barrage of gunfire came his way, as it did toward Leo and Rayne and Andy and the soldiers in the slave quarters.

A high-powered sniper shot shattered the top of the window frame. Shards of wood cut Northfield’s face, and he instinctively fell behind cover. He saw the trail of the shot; it hit the back wall and punctured through it. A chill went through his bones at the thought of the RAID soldier’s bullet finding its mark.

If a bullet even hit his arm, and it shattered like that…

He shook his head, breathed in and out, and tried to get his heart to stop thudding out of his chest.

In and out. Fingers trembling, he switched his rifle to fully automatic. He didn’t need to hit anything, not now. He needed to distract.

He moved to a nearby window, and he steeled himself. He rose, screaming until his lungs were strained, and he pulled the trigger. He aimed in the vicinity of the overwatch soldiers, firing until his weapon went dry.

He drew a flurry of fire, and he quickly ducked and reloaded.

Sniper shots tore the window apart, leaving smoldering holes in their wake.

“Red!” Rayne said. “Status?”

“Almost done grabbin’ what I need… Hang on. Alright, I’ve got it. I’m heading back to the truck. Heading back…”

Leo swore loudly, and he pounded on the ground.

“You hit?” Andy asked.

Leo shook his head. “That idiot… I know what he’s doing.

I know what he’s doing.” He scowled. “Keep him covered.

Everything you have.”

“Charlie, status?” Rayne asked.

Charlie leader responded, “Miniguns are tearing us apart.

But we’re covering Red.” 58

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Samuel said, “Alright, I’m starting the engine. Just a bit longer, alright? Not much, I promise.”

“There’s gotta be another way,” Leo said. “Sam, just—” “There ain’t one,” Samuel replied.

Leo lowered his head. He turned to the others. “One last push.”

Rayne nodded. “We’ve got you covered.”

Samuel slammed on the gas. The truck roared, its wheels spitting up smoke before the vehicle peeled backward.

He hit the other trucks, pushing them behind as he continued to race backward.

Northfield’s eyes widened. He understood now, too.

They had packed explosives in the vans in case they couldn’t get the front gate open and had to blow it. But they couldn’t make it to the front doors now; the exos would tear them apart.

So instead Samuel had gathered the explosives and created a giant payload.

“For all your armor,” Samuel muttered. “For all your tech…”

The truck sped toward the cluster of exo soldiers and normal soldiers, engine whining all the way. The soldiers took notice of him. The exos fired away with their miniguns.

Samuel didn’t flinch, even in the thick of the onslaught. “For all your training that went along with it…”

Holes ripped through the truck.

Samuel grunted. He had been shot. But that didn’t stop him.

He had too much momentum.

Samuel said, “For all of that, you’re gonna get killed anyway because you losers stood too close together.”

Impact. The truck crashed into the nearest exo soldier. The world seemed still, just for a moment.

Samuel’s truck exploded. A giant fireball mushroomed, smoke reaching the heavens. The blast consumed all of the Death Corps in the vicinity. When the fire faded, the exo armor 59

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

was reduced to charred husks, and there were even fewer of the unarmored soldiers remaining.

Samuel’s truck was gone, with only shards and remnants left in its wake.

“Sam,” Leo muttered. “You idiot…”

Northfield’s hands were numb. Samuel… Oh, man. Samuel.

He reeled as his mind tried to wrap around what had happened.

“Sam… he couldn’t have,” Andy said.

Rayne put a hand on his shoulder. “I know. I know. But he bought us our chance,” he said. Although his voice was resolute, there was a small waver in it. “I’ll go to hell before I waste it.

We’ve got to pull it together and carry on, alright?”

Andy nodded. He tried to say something, but he couldn’t, so he just nodded again. Finally, he uttered, voice hoarse, “Alright.”

You’re with… you’re with Erik now. And all of our other friends.

You’re with them now. Rest easy, friend. Rest easy.

They peered out the windows. Northfield spotted something before the enemy soldiers on overwatch fired upon them, driving them to hide. They certainly weren’t out of the woods yet. Not by a long shot.

Northfield said, “There’s a semitruck parked in front of Plant A. It’s out of the action, so I bet it still works. Probably unloaded, too. If we find the keys, we could make a break for it. Fit everyone in the back trailer and ship out.”

The other members of Widow Team nodded. It was their best plan at the moment.

Rayne said, “We’re in the guard quarters. If the keys are anywhere, they’re gonna be here. Start searching. I’ll alert Charlie leader and HQ. Dimitri and Softball will have to arrange a pickup location for us when we get out of here. I don’t want everyone crammed inside a semi for the trip back in case we run into more trouble.”

60

Calvin B. Fisher

Widow Team poked around the guard quarters. For the first time this fateful night, luck appeared to be on their side. Andy located a key rack on the first floor. He grabbed every key, just to be safe.

“Let’s go,” Rayne said. He radioed Charlie leader. “We’re on the move. Copy?”

“Copy,” Charlie leader said. After a moment of hesitation, he added, “We’ve got a lot of wounded. We can’t move very fast.”

“We’ll cover you,” Northfield said, looking at Andy and Leo. His friends nodded.

“No time to waste,” Rayne said. “Let’s move.”

They stacked up against the front doors of the guard quarters.

After the count of three, they pitched smoke grenades out the windows.

“Go, go, go!” Rayne shouted. Widow Team rushed into the chalky black clouds. What remained of Stormrise’s forces in the slave quarters, along with the slaves, did the same.

Death Corps forces fired indiscriminately into the smoke.

Northfield ducked and kept running. He needed to get into a better position before trying to fight back.

Bullets whizzed past him. He charged forward, praying a random shot wouldn’t hit him. Still, the smoke-cloud push was at least possible now. If the three exo soldiers were still firing into the cloud with their miniguns, they couldn’t have hoped to make it through.

He broke through the smoke cloud. The semitruck was in view. The vehicle hadn’t suffered any critical damage. Pallets of cinder blocks dotted the area for the plant’s reconstruction effort—if the plant had ever really been under construction. The whole project was most likely a ruse, all a setup for this ambush.

He ducked behind one of the cinder block pallets. Leo, Andy, and Rayne appeared through the smoke a moment later. Andy still had the ring of keys, so he bolted to the truck. Rayne and Leo took cover behind pallets as well.

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The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

There was no sign of Stormrise or the slaves through the smoke. Charlie leader had been right about them not moving quickly.

How many wounded do they have? Northfield wondered. He hadn’t gotten a good look. He didn’t want to wonder about how many dead they had suffered. He couldn’t think about that now.

Samuel…

He fired at the Death Corps soldiers on overwatch. The RAID soldiers relocated, fast as lightning, to the side wall. The very wall that Stormrise’s strike squad had initially climbed.

With the RAID soldiers at Widow Team’s flank, they had an open sightline. Widow Team knew the RAID snipers were a bigger threat, so they cornered the cinder block pallets. Now, the pallets obstructed the RAID soldiers, but Widow Team was still open to gunfire from the soldiers on the front wall. The danger of the two-angled assault was evident.

Gunfire rained on them. Rayne swore and tossed his last smoke grenade toward the front wall. Smoke plumed in the clearing.

A RAID sniper fired a shot at Northfield. It tore through the cinder blocks like warm butter.

Rayne yelled, “We need to take those guys out! Split focus.

Viking and Saturn, on one! Skullbeard, you and I on the other.”

Northfield and Leo fired on the first RAID soldier. The RAID soldier relocated. They tracked the RAID soldier’s movement and fired on him when he halted.

The RAID soldier lifted his electric shield, which blossomed out of metal cylinders on his arm.

The RAID soldiers Northfield had encountered in the past had been equipped with submachine guns. Even with their shields raised, they had always continued their offensive.

These RAID soldiers’ high-powered rifles were too cumbersome to aim while they used the shields, however. That explained why the RAID soldiers in the city didn’t use them.

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Calvin B. Fisher

“They can’t shoot with their shields,” he yelled to the others.

“Keep on the pressure! They can’t fire back.”

His friends all made the connection. Leo yelled, “Stagger your fire!”

Northfield understood why. When one of them was reloading, the other would fire so the offensive wouldn’t pause. If they paused, the RAID soldiers would take advantage.

They rotated around the cinder blocks to once again obstruct the overwatch soldiers’ sightlines. They kept fire on the RAID soldiers.

The semitruck started with a jump, then hummed softly.

“Found it!” Andy yelled, referring to the key. He had been cycling through the keys, trying to find the matching one.

Stormrise’s remaining forces, along with the slaves, emerged from the smoke. Northfield’s chest fell.

There weren’t many of them. Their group wasn’t much bigger than the initial Stormrise force.

And in that group, a lot were wounded.

The mission was supposed to add to their numbers. They were supposed to be saving more people than they lost.

He kept fire on the RAID soldier. The soldier darted around the walls, hoping to lose Northfield’s sight, but Northfield kept on the soldier.

No more will die. Not tonight.

“Reloading!” he yelled. Leo fired on the soldier while Northfield ejected his magazine. He felt around his carrier, finding only one magazine left. “I’m almost dry,” he announced.

“Me too,” Leo said.

“We all are,” Rayne said. “We’ve got to go—now!”

Stormrise soldiers who were still in fighting condition and weren’t already helping the wounded joined in fighting off the Network. They took aim at the soldiers on the front wall.

Meanwhile, the wounded and the innocent boarded the semi’s container.

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The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

“Everyone’s in!” Charlie leader announced.

Stormrise’s remaining forces loaded in.

“Somebody else should drive,” Andy said. “I don’t know how to drive a semi.”

He scooted over, and Rayne took the wheel.

Samuel had always been the driver. But they couldn’t focus on the void he had left behind. Not now.

“We can hang on to the railings. Provide some cover fire,” Leo said, referring to himself and Northfield.

Rayne shook his head. “Get in back with the others. Our only way out is ramming through the front gates. The impact will tear you off the railings.”

He was right.

They hopped into the back compartment. Rayne gunned the engine, and the truck charged forward.

The RAID soldiers, free of incoming fire, now had the ability to shoot back. They repositioned themselves behind the truck so they had a sightline into the back compartment.

“Heads down!” Northfield yelled.

The RAID soldiers fired. One of their shots went astray. The other didn’t. The high-powered bullet pierced through two slaves before puncturing the wall. The retainants fell, their wounds too deep for them to stand a chance.

Gunfire came from above, fired by the soldiers on the front walls. Stormrise’s saving grace was that the truck was moving so fast it was hard for their enemies to land accurate shots.

A violent jolt rocked Northfield’s head. The truck punched through the heavy gates, storming ahead into the apocalyptic night.

Bullets trailed them, but they grew more and more distant. The RAID soldiers didn’t follow; they thought better of challenging Stormrise’s forces by themselves, wounded as they might be.

Stormrise got away. But it didn’t feel like it.

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Calvin B. Fisher

The container was quiet, save for moans of despair and pain from the wounded.

“Ahead of us, on every damned step,” someone muttered.

Northfield recognized Elliot’s voice.

Elliot didn’t look injured. Helen would be happy about that.

Elliot said to himself again, “Every damned step.”

Nobody had the heart to disagree with him.

65

6 “A contingent of Stormrise has escaped Section 604,” the officer reported to General Arkland. “Search parties have been dispatched. But, sir, I don’t think they’ll turn anything up. When we lose Stormrise in the wilderness, they have a talent for staying hidden.”

General Arkland nodded. He had expected as much. “You’re dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” the officer said, saluting before withdrawing from the general’s office.

“We foresaw this as a likely outcome, sir,” Jane Sloan said once the officer was out of sight.

Indeed, they had. The leaks about Section 604 had been entirely intentional. They had hoped Stormrise would attack the facility, and they didn’t disappoint.

While laying their trap, they had to be cautious. If the Network deployed too many forces to Section 604 or had reinforcements situated too close, Stormrise might have sensed a trap. As such, General Arkland hadn’t ordered more patrols around the area.

Stormrise springing their trap was a priority. As a result, however, given Stormrise’s tenacity, General Arkland had foreseen that some of their forces might wiggle through.

“By our tallies, Stormrise’s deaths equal their gains,” he said.

“They exchanged seasoned soldiers for inexperienced slaves. It’s a loss to them.” He turned to face Sloan. “We have immeasurably more manpower. They can’t win a war of attrition.

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“This is a great success. It’s important that our men at Section 604, and the organization in general, realize it. Pass news of this victory through all of our channels.”

Jane Sloan asked, “Even the news media?”

“Yes,” he said, “I want the public to see Stormrise losing.

Nobody is willing to risk their lives for a cause that won’t win.

Minimize the fact that Section 604 is a retainant camp, of course.”

“I suspect most people will piece it together anyway,” Sloan observed.

“Yes,” Arkland said. “But we’re giving them the opportunity to deny it. The excuse of ‘we didn’t know’ is all people need.” He thought for a moment and said, “Let’s have an awards ceremony for the soldiers at Section 604. We’ll portray Stormrise as hopeless and our side as the source of valor.”

“Reward your friends and punish your enemies,” Jane Sloan said, quoting one of Arkland’s favorite maxims.

He nodded.

She said, “Anything else, sir?”

He considered it for a moment. “Arrange for the Head of Science to take me on a tour of his mech facility. I want to see his progress firsthand. I also need to broach a subject with him.”

“Broach a subject?” she repeated.

“Yes,” he said. “He won’t like it. But I think the time is growing ripe.”

“It will be done, sir,” she said.

He gazed out the windows. The streets were quiet tonight.

Yet the neon-dripped buildings continued glowing.

Advertisements played on their giant screens. While the streets were dead, the buildings created a sense of movement. They were like reanimated corpses, shambling about, lacking a discernible purpose.

He rubbed his eyes. The bags underneath were heavy. It was late.

67

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

*** Stormrise’s medical clinic was bedlam. There were too many wounded, and the nurses and doctors were exhausted. Dr. Mitchell and a few nurses had been on call for the night, but the number of casualties far exceeded their worst fears. Everyone had to be awoken. Work had to be done, and a lot of it.

Northfield had followed the injured to the clinic, and he had volunteered to help in any way he could. He followed the nurses, engaging in whatever busywork they could entrust to him.

Every bone in his body felt weighed down. All the adrenaline pumping through his system had taken its toll, and the exhaustion was nearly debilitating. Still, he pushed on. He wasn’t an unfortunate soul on one of the hospital beds. He could keep pushing.

He moved from one patient to another, then to another.

He struggled to hang a morphine drip for one of the slaves.

A minigun bullet had been embedded in her thigh. She wouldn’t walk without a limp. But maybe she would keep the leg.

Northfield volunteered in the clinic often; the nurses had taught him how to start an IV. He had gotten pretty good at it.

Not tonight. He tried to prick her arm multiple times, but the IV wouldn’t take. Her dehydration and blood loss made the vein difficult to hit. She didn’t register any pain from his failures.

The agony in her leg was too overwhelming. She groaned, on the verge of screaming.

He wiped his brow and blinked. Come on, Mark. Focus. Focus.

After a few more tries, he flagged down one of the nurses.

“Can you… I need help…”

The nurse took the IV and brushed Northfield to the side.

She was too busy for pleasantries. He moved on in search of another patient to help.

He drowned in the chaos. The beds, all occupied. Screams, cries. Bandages, gauze, and blood abounded. Patients were 68

Calvin B. Fisher

wheeled to the operating room, in and out of the doors, as the doctors and nurses hastily conducted surgeries.

The sight of a nightmare. Another nightmare. He thought, Please… I can’t have anymore. I can’t.

His numb, deadened feet caught onto the side of a bed. He tripped, catching himself with his hands. A nurse, beelining for a patient’s bed, failed to see him in time. She tripped over his back, spilling onto the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching to help her up.

She swatted his hand away. “Dammit, keep it together,” she said.

She’s right. Pull it together, Northfield commanded himself.

Odell made eye contact with him from across the clinic.

When Odell had heard the news, he had volunteered as well.

Dr. Cohanan was ready for another patient. Northfield volunteered to wheel the patient to her operating room.

He pushed the patient, fighting the numbness in his legs.

Dr. Cohanan waited outside the operating room. Nurses and volunteers sterilized the room as best they could. The pauses to sterilize were Dr. Cohanan’s only breaks during this dire night.

Northfield leaned over, breathing in and out.

Dr. Cohanan narrowed her eyes. “You’re in no condition to be helping.”

He looked around and said, “You need help. And I can’t just stand by… I can’t.”

“You need to rest,” she said. “Right now, you’re a liability.”

“I—” he started.

“You’re done,” she said. “That’s an order. In this clinic, my rules reign. Go.” A nurse emerged from the OR. He said, “We’re ready, doctor.”

Dr. Cohanan washed her hands as the patient was wheeled in. The door shut behind them.

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The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

Dr. Mitchell had watched the exchange. He was taking a breather, too, by the looks of it, as his operating room was prepared for another patient.

He put a hand on Northfield’s shoulder. “You brought them here, son. Let us take some of the load, huh?”

A nurse summoned Dr. Mitchell. His patient was ready.

Northfield left the clinic. The halls were eerily absent of sound, save for the cries and clamor from the clinic.

He found a bench in a hallway, far from the clinic.

He clasped his hands together. They trembled.

The disaster at Section 604 played over and over in his head.

He couldn’t stop it.

He sat there for a while. He didn’t know how long. Eventually, someone approached, a silhouette in the corner of his eye.

“Can I join you?” Odell asked.

Northfield scooted over.

He rubbed his temples. A headache was starting to form. His mind was just spinning and spinning.

“Did I ever tell you that I was stationed in Japan?” he asked.

Odell shook his head.

Northfield said, “Well, I was there. Trying to keep a hold on the eastern front, you know? That’s where I learned about Jess’s cancer. Over a radio call, with crappy reception. Because of the static, she had to repeat it twice.

“I didn’t know what to say. So I said nothing. Then, our time was up. There was a line of guys behind me, waiting to speak with their families, too.

“I needed to get back to her. I knew that. The war was falling apart. Things back home, well, they were getting bad, too.

Dangerous.

“My squad hatched an escape plan. We had a boat to commandeer. We knew that nobody was gonna care. Not anymore.

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“The night came, and we were ready to go. But then my squad was called into action. A platoon was pinned under enemy fire.

“I was in Raven 404. We were called to help in situations like that. We were known as the guys that got you out.

“My squad was set to leave, anyway. But that meant hanging our guys out to dry. And I just couldn’t. So I watched the boat sail away.

“I joined with another squad, and we fought.” He frowned.

“The entire platoon ended up dying anyway. Dead to the last man before we even got there. My chance to get home early was lost for nothing.

“I didn’t come home for months. Not until everything really fell apart. Jess and I managed to reunite just before the end. But I wonder, Odell. If I had gotten home earlier, we could have prepared better. We could’ve stockpiled the supplies that she needed. We could’ve run with a different group. Things could’ve been different.”

“They could’ve,” Odell said, but there was doubt in his voice.

Northfield put his head in his hands. “If we’re gonna lose in the end, Odell, then what’s the point of fighting? Aren’t we just making everything worse? Just think about if Stormrise didn’t pick a war with the Network. If we just retreated further into the woods and continued building our community. Everyone would still be alive. People would be happier. Things would be better, wouldn’t they?”

“That’s assuming the Network would leave us alone.” Odell sighed. “We don’t know the future, Mark.”

“But if we knew,” Northfield said, “would it change anything?”

“Lord knows my decisions would be different if I did,” Odell said. “But Stormrise is fighting for the right things. Somebody has to give justice an even shake, don’t they?” He put a hand on Northfield’s shoulder. “This fight was going to happen, eventually.

I believe that. If not Stormrise, then somebody else.”

“You think so?” Northfield asked.

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Gently, Odell urged, “You should go to bed, Mark. This sort of thinking right now, it’s just not good for you. Get some sleep.”

Northfield’s hands still trembled.

Softly, he said, “I don’t… I don’t know if I can. I’m afraid to.”

Odell nodded. He didn’t say anything more.

He remained on the bench at Northfield’s side. Together, they watched the night pass by.

72

7 The next day was filled with funerals, most of them lacking a body. At Section 604, the survivors couldn’t have recovered their fallen. There just hadn’t been time.

Wives, daughters, husbands, and sons all mourned. The missing bodies made it all the worse. Even a modicum of closure was denied to them.

A number of retainants also died in the clinic. Nobody knew their names, not even the surviving retainants. At best, they knew a designation: 39-B, 78-A. Sometimes, they didn’t even know that much.

So the retainants were buried, too, with words of passing spoken for them. There was a sadness to their anonymity, worse in some ways than the mourning families. Perhaps better in others.

Northfield wasn’t sure. It was hard to take everything in.

The memorial for Samuel was one of the last. Rayne gave the eulogy.

After the funerals had concluded, Northfield stood with Andy, Leo, and Rayne, the surviving members of Widow Team.

They stood over the marking they had made to commemorate their friend.

“Not even a body to bury,” Andy said, echoing the thought they had all grappled with throughout the day.

Leo put a hand on his shoulder. “Sam got worked up about all sorts of nonsense. But I don’t think he gives a single damn about whether his body got put in the dirt.”

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“Yeah, you’re right,” Andy said. “But it matters to me. He wanted a family, you know? But he didn’t get that. We couldn’t even give him a plot of land to rest in.”

“He had us,” Rayne said. “We loved him, Andy. We’ll remember him.”

“I know,” Andy said.

Northfield said, “Sam knew what he was doing with that van.

He didn’t waver. Given the choice, he knew what he wanted…”

He trailed off, trying to find the right words. “You, Becca, and Sydnee get to stay together now. I’m sure he knew that. And even though he’s gone now, he had that impact. That mark. To do something like that… I guess we should all be so lucky.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Andy said. “He would’ve been a good dad. I wish we lived in a world where he could’ve just done that.”

“We’ll get there,” Rayne said. “One step at a time. One day at a time. We keep firm.”

Andy was silent for a moment. Then, a faint smile crossed his lips. “With Erik and Sam gone, who’s gonna piss us off during cards now?”

“Might need to invite a couple of Death Corps soldiers to spice things up,” Leo said.

They laughed at the thought, and they said their last goodbyes.

The sun was setting as they made their way through the forest back to Stormrise’s headquarters. Beams of orange cut through the crisscrossing branches. The light was bright. The shadows were even deeper.

An early dinner was served in the cafeteria. It had been a long night for so many. Leo didn’t want to eat. Instead, he went to the gym, his favorite refuge. Rayne didn’t join them in the cafeteria, either. He said he had matters to attend to, but Northfield suspected he just wanted some time alone.

Andy joined Sydnee and Becca. Northfield wanted to give them some space, too.

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Calvin B. Fisher

He got his serving, a familiar white fish and wild rice.

Appetizing enough, most days. Today wasn’t one of them.

He saw Dr. Cohanan sitting at a corner table by herself. Even at a distance, she looked dead-dog tired.

She spotted him, and she gestured for him to join her.

She had hardly touched her fish and rice. He suspected that there would be a lot of leftovers today.

“You holding up okay?” he asked her.

“Things have calmed down in the clinic. Those who could be stabilized are stabilized. Those who couldn’t be have died.” She rubbed her bleary eyes. “There are a few whose lives hang in the balance. But all we can do at this point is wait.”

“You’ve saved a lot of people,” he said. “You should be proud of what you’ve done. But you answered how the clinic’s doing.

How are you doing?”

She shrugged. She was less inclined to answer that question.

He asked, “Did you get any sleep?”

“Believe it or not, yes,” she said. “I napped before coming here. The others are holding down the fort.” She smiled and said, “Bet I look like I could use a few more winks, huh?”

“Yeah. Just a little more sleep, though. Only a year or two.”

“Would if I could,” she said. “Unfortunately, we can’t afford any sleeping beauties around here.”

She picked at her food with her fork, dissecting it more than eating it. He tried a bite of his fish. It was pleasantly bland. He had a feeling that anything richer would have upset his stomach.

“Look,” she said. “Last night… I’m sorry if I was too harsh on you.”

He waved her comment off. “You did the right thing. I wasn’t helping. I was being a hindrance.”

They sat in silence for a minute, both of them not eating much of their food.

Eventually, she asked, “Do you think we’ll ever explore space again?”

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The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

“What?” he asked. The question caught him off-guard.

“You know, space. If we’ll ever go to Mars. Or the moon. Or, hell, even just orbit around the planet.”

“Huh,” he said. “I haven’t really thought about it. It just seems so far away.”

“Maybe it’s the answer to all of this,” she said, looking around.

“We can pack into a metal tube and ship off to a hunk of barren rock.”

“That would be a life of staying indoors, having to wear a suit just to venture outside. I don’t know if that’s much different than the toxic gas.” He shook his head. “Not for me. Live or die, I’m gonna do it on this hunk of rock here.” He sighed and said, “The past, though. If only there were a way to go back.” He looked up and said, “If I knew then what I know now…”

Dr. Cohanan set down her fork, and she shook her head. “I wish my patients could come back. I wish I could have zigged instead of zagged. But it’s impossible to change the past, and things are better for it. Think of it this way.” She leaned forward.

“If you could redo the past, when would you stop? How many times would you try to change things? Until everything is perfect?”

“Nothing’s ever perfect,” he replied.

“Right,” she said. “So what would you be left with? You either redo the past endlessly or let things be. And if you let things be, you’d be left with guilt. The guilt that maybe, just maybe, you could make things even better if you gave the past one more tweak. That’s a curse if I’ve ever heard one before.”

“Guess I’ve never thought of it that way,” he said.

She said, “I dream of a fantasy future. A stupid one, maybe.

But it’s the future, at least. Not the past.”

He pondered her words. He smiled and said, “Well, if you get a ticket to Mars, save a spot for me. Alright?”

“Eh, I don’t know,” she said. “I heard the prices are out of this world.”

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Calvin B. Fisher

He cocked his head. He said, “If you could redo the past, would you take away that joke?”

She laughed and punched him in the shoulder. “A critic now, are you? Eat your damned food.”

He did. His body needed the nutrition even though he still didn’t have much of an appetite. *** Helen and Elliot sat at a nearby table. Her brother was downcast and withdrawn. It reminded her of their days at the Network’s slave camp. However, he wasn’t the only one. Everyone who had returned from Section 604 was out of sorts.

Throughout the day, she had stayed by his side, not pressing him. He wanted his space, she knew, and she would let him have it.

During their meal, though, Elliot decided to speak up. They sat alone at a distant table. He glanced left and right, making sure nobody else was listening.

“I just… I don’t know, Helen,” he muttered quietly so his voice couldn’t be overheard.

She waited for him to continue.

He said, “The Network knew we were coming. Had the entire thing laid out like a dinner spread. Dammit, they’re always six steps ahead of us. Six or seven or eight.” He shook his head. “And we just walked right into it. Lambs to the slaughter.”

“It was a bad night,” she said. “I can’t even imagine, Elliot.

I’m sorry.”

He didn’t respond. He stared at the table, sullen. His fists were clenched.

She reached out and put her hand over his. “I’m proud of you. It was brave of you to fight. You saved lives. I hope you realize that.”

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The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

He shrugged. “And we lost even more. I just don’t see it, Helen.”

“See what?”

“How we win,” he said. “The Network is stronger. I thought we’d be smarter. But we’re not.”

“We’ll learn from this,” she said. “We won’t trip up an ambush like this again. That’s what I believe.”

“Well, while we’re learning, the Network already has it all figured out,” he said.

She squeezed his hand. “I understand how you feel. But I have faith that Stormrise will win.”

“How?” he asked. He looked into her eyes, searching. “How can they win?”

She didn’t have an easy answer for him. She closed her eyes, trying to think of what to say.

“People are on our side,” she said. “Even if they don’t know it yet. If people knew, if they really knew what our time in the camp looked like, they wouldn’t support it.”

“Supporting it and standing by and letting it happen are two very close things,” Elliot said.

She couldn’t deny it. She held her brother’s gaze and said, “I knew there would be ups and downs with Stormrise. I knew this came with the territory. We’ve got to persist. It’s our only option, right? To persist.”

Elliot shrugged and returned to his food. He was done talking, it seemed.

Maybe Elliot was right. Maybe Stormrise would lose in the end. The forecast didn’t look all that great. But she didn’t want to think about it any longer. ***

78

Calvin B. Fisher

“As you can see, General, the OGRE is proceeding apace,” the Head of Science said, standing tall. It was a rare sight for the habitually slouched man.

General Arkland gazed upon the mech behemoth. The robot stood thirty yards tall, at least—tubes draped from the ceiling, hooking into the mech like a hospital patient in critical care.

The metal was cold, silvery, and menacing. The limbs were thick yet still mobile-looking.

“Last week, we completed the first walking test,” the Head of Science said. “The new leg joint is proving itself.” He coughed and said, “We’ve found a small problem with the torso swivel.”

Arkland looked down on him.

The Head of Science coughed again and said quickly, “Turning from left to right quickly causes a… snag in the unit.

But that’s just a small mechanical problem. A misaligned bolt, our engineers are thinking. We should solve it quickly.”

“What’s next, then?”

“Well,” the Head of Science said, “once base movement is ironed out, we’ll move on to the propulsion systems. I feel very confident in our calculations. When we fit the propulsion system onto the mech, I feel confident field testing will begin shortly after.”

“Then weapon systems?”

“Yes, sir.”

General Arkland stared into the cold face of the mech suit.

The mech had three glowing “eyes” in the front, although they weren’t really eyes. Each was composed of thousands of microcameras. There were more eyes in the back. The pilot would have a full three-dimensional view of the battlefield. The cameras covered redundant views; if one “eye” was shot out, the pilot wouldn’t lose visibility.

Originally, the eyes had been bloodred. Sloan had thought they had looked too threatening for the general populace, so Arkland had switched the color to a more neutral blue.

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Sloan had also recommended a name change for the mech: Guardians. The name had a better connotation, and Arkland had agreed. When the mechs were unveiled to the public, they would be called Guardians.

“General,” the Head of Science said, “may we speak in private?”

Arkland nodded. Corps soldiers escorted them to the office of the section’s commanding officer. The office had been promptly cleared out for them.

Arkland took a seat behind the officer’s desk. The Head of Science remained standing.

“General…” the Head of Science started. “Overall, the development of the OGRE has been rocky.”

“I am well aware.”

“Well,” the Head of Science said, swallowing. “Now that we’ve worked out the kinks in the mechs—” “For now,” General Arkland said. “Let’s see if any more show up when you get to the propulsion system.”

The Head of Science trembled. “As I said, I do believe that process will go more smoothly.”

General Arkland had to admit that he derived a certain pleasure from making the man squirm.

Nonetheless, he had places to be. “Continue, Hubert.”

The Head of Science composed himself and said, “Now that we’ve worked out the kinks, the development of a second mech will go much quicker. However, with that said, I have some concerns about continuing the mech program.”

“Such as?”

“Well,” the Head of Science said, “I want to say that I believe in the OGRE’s merits. However, we still need to build the mechs one by one. They are such complex machinery that I don’t think we will feasibly automate the process for years. Perhaps decades.”

General Arkland waited for him to continue.

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The Head of Science said, “We are also still producing the RAID and exo suits one by one. They are intricate machines, too.

Fortunately, I suppose, their small numbers have enabled us to make adjustments. We’ve fixed the exo armor’s weakness in the ankle that Stormrise exposed—” “Get to the point, Bowler,” Arkland said.

“I… The repair got me thinking. With some design tweaks and some simplification of their interiors, I can derive a method to mass-produce our advanced armor. Once the OGRE is complete, I suggest a shift in focus to that.”

General Arkland resisted a bitter smirk. Hubert Bowler might have intelligence, but he was as predictable as the sunrise.

Whenever he got bored with one project, he would find another to satisfy his curiosity. Like some stray cat, his curiosity led him. The justifications, well, they were just dressing, even if they often proved correct.

“Two mechs,” General Arkland said. “That’s what I need, Bowler. Despite the OGRE’s destructive potential, it’s a psychological tool. Remember? One mech proves we can create a deadly weapon. Two proves we can repeat it.”

“Two can be done,” the Head of Science said. “But I don’t have to oversee the second mech’s development. I can entrust that to my protégé. She has proven adept.”

“Very well,” General Arkland said. “She can lead the second project.”

“Excellent,” the Head of Science said, clasping his hands together. “Then I can proceed with the automation designs and—” General Arkland held up a hand. “I feel confident in our rate of development for our other advanced combat units. I have another project in mind for you. V2.”

The Head of Science’s eyes widened to saucers. “V2?”

“Yes.” 81

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“I… I… sir,” the Head of Science stammered. “I have to advise against that.”

“Your objection has been noted,” Arkland said. “But you’re going to do it anyway.”

The Head of Science was quiet for a moment. He seemed to be steeling himself. “Sir, I spent years—years—finding a way to remove the gas from New Medea. That world… I don’t want to go back to it. I don’t.”

“V2 is your design,” Arkland pointed out.

“Yes,” he replied. “The other Chairs on the Nexus wanted me to run through what reinstating a new version of the gas would entail. The new version had a similar formula, but it significantly reduced visibility—a device to maximize fear. But it was an intellectual exercise more than anything else. We never… I never…”

Arkland was amused. He had never seen the Head of Science put up such a fight before. Sweat covered the man’s brow.

“Hmm,” the general said. “Have we finally reached the limits of your curiosity? Finally found a Pandora’s box you aren’t interested in opening?”

The Head of Science grimaced. “The damned gas, Arkland…

I hate it. I hated living like that. It was so claustrophobic. Every time I stepped outside, I would panic, and I just… It was a living hell.”

General Arkland nodded. “Everybody else feels the same way.

That is why V2 will make such a great deterrent. Psychological warfare, Hubert. Sure, we could build a big bomb instead. But the gas instills such a raw fear in people, given the last decade.”

The Head of Science met his eyes. “But, Arkland… I know you. I know you’ll pull the trigger.”

“If I have to,” he said. “But it’s our enemies that will determine that, won’t they?”

“I…” the Head of Science stammered, squirming. “I have another idea. A new napalm launcher for the exo soldiers. A 82

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focus on target suppression and area control. I already have blueprints…”

“I’ll review them,” General Arkland said. “If the weapon satisfies me, you’ll pass the project along to another subordinate to develop. I want you on V2.”

“I… No,” the Head of Science said. “I don’t want any part of V2.”

“No?” General Arkland said softly. The Head of Science trembled.

General Arkland stood up. He approached the Head of Science. The Head of Science was a rotund man, but he lacked an imposing presence. The same couldn’t be said about General Arkland.

He loomed over the Head of Science, looking down at him.

He took a step forward, forcing his subordinate to step backward.

He leaned down, putting his face close to the Head of Science’s.

“You’ve had a long leash, Hubert. You’ve been allowed to roam as you wish, working on the projects that interest you because they’ve been largely beneficial to the Network.

“That leash may have become so slack that you forgot it was there. Let’s make things crystal clear. You’re my dog, Hubert. You do whatever tricks I tell you to. You jump through my hoops.

You run laps around my track. If I tell you to inhale V2 out of a damned crack pipe, you do it.

“How quickly you forget, Hubert. I killed the other Chairs without hesitation. What in the world makes you think that I’d give you special treatment?”

The Head of Science’s lips quivered. Sweat continued dripping down his shiny forehead. His legs wobbled. He was in danger of fainting at any moment.

“V2, Hubert. You’re going to pore over your designs again.

You’re going to give me a time estimate. Then you’re going to 83

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complete the project a week earlier than that estimate. Am I clear?”

The Head of Science blinked. “C-C-Crystal, sir.”

“Good,” General Arkland said. He opened the door to the office and turned back toward his underling. “Don’t make me remind you again.”

Arkland shut the door, leaving the Head of Science to his quivering.

84

8 Andy, Sydnee, and Becca sat at one of the cafeteria tables. It was a free period, the last before bedtime.

The cafeteria, though filled with people, was quiet. Although weeks had passed since the botched Section 604 raid, sorrow and melancholy continued to pervade Stormrise.

Becca, uncharacteristically, hadn’t opened a book. Instead, she stared forward absentmindedly, seemingly consumed in a world her mind had conjured.

Andy and Sydnee, for their part, casually played cards.

Sydnee kept eying Becca with increasing concern.

A group of kids were playing four square in an open area of the cafeteria.

“Why don’t you go and join them?” Sydnee asked, giving Becca an encouraging nudge.

“No,” Becca said, shaking her head. “I don’t want to.”

“You look so bored,” Sydnee said. “You don’t want to play?”

“I don’t want to!” Becca said, nearly shouting. Heads turned from nearby tables.

Sydnee and Andy exchanged glances. Becca wasn’t usually the type of kid to lash out like this.

After a moment, Becca appeared chagrined by her outburst.

She mumbled something.

“What did you say?” Sydnee asked.

Becca mumbled again.

“We can’t hear you, hon,” Andy said.

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“Lucy said I couldn’t play with them,” Becca said more loudly.

Sydnee and Andy turned toward the four square game.

The tallest girl, Lucy, appeared sullen. She hit the ball hard at the other kids.

Lucy’s dad had been part of the reinforcement crew at Section 604. He didn’t make it back.

Sydnee and Andy exchanged another glance. Sydnee pressed her lips together, trying to think of what to do.

Andy, for once, had an idea.

“Come on, Becca,” he said, standing up.

“I said I don’t wanna play,” Becca said with irritation, yet more softly than before.

“Come on, don’t you want to play with me?” he said.

“They won’t let us play,” Becca said.

“That’s alright,” he said. “We’re gonna start our own game.”

Sydnee gave him a questioning glance. He winked at her.

“Okay,” Becca said sullenly, but she got up and followed him.

The cafeteria had a bin of toys, which was pulled out during free periods. He fished around until he found a rubber ball.

He found an open area of a cafeteria near a wide, flat wall.

He knelt next to Becca and held the ball up. “We’re gonna play a brand-new game,” he said. “Wall ball.”

He explained the rules to her.

“And you can play with just two people?” she asked.

“Yep,” he said. “No problem at all. Want to play, you and me?”

She nodded with a hint of eagerness. They started to play, tossing the ball against the wall. He played incredibly gently at first before slowly increasing the speed once she got a better handle on the game.

The rubber ball smacked hard against the wall; the sound echoed throughout the cafeteria. Heads turned. Andy caught a couple of glares from nearby adults, but he ignored them.

The kids playing four square paused their game, instead watching Andy and Becca from a distance.

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Becca giggled; she was having fun. They continued to play, and she started to get the hang of it.

The kids inched toward them. Eventually, they stood right outside of Andy and Becca’s play space.

Lucy asked, “What are you playing?”

Andy caught the ball, and he turned to the kids. “Wall ball.”

“Wall ball?” she said. The kids looked at each other. They hadn’t heard of the game, either—one of the many shortcomings of growing up in a post-apocalyptic world.

Lucy asked, “Can you teach us?”

Andy knelt by the kids, gesturing Becca toward them. “We’ll teach you. But under one condition.”

The kids nodded hastily. They were eager to learn.

Andy said, “Anyone who wants to play gets to play. No excluding anyone. You’ll teach them how to play, too. Got it?”

He focused on Lucy in particular. The young girl glanced toward Becca before she nodded.

“Becca,” Andy said. “Do you want to teach them how to play?”

He tossed her the ball, and she proceeded to teach the other kids. She mixed up some of the rules and explained some things poorly, as would generally happen when someone new to a game tried to teach others. Andy interjected occasionally, clarifying and correcting when he needed to.

Once the kids started to play and got a few rounds under their belts, Andy quietly receded from the game. Laughs, giggles, and shouts filled the cafeteria.

He passed a table just as the rubber ball ricocheted wildly and sailed over it.

The adults at the table had a variety of reactions. A few were happy that the kids were having fun. Others didn’t look too pleased.

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“Good grief, Andy,” a man groused. “Could you have taught them a more irritating game to play? We’re gonna be plagued for weeks now.”

“After all we’ve put the kids through,” Andy said, “watching them play an annoying game is the least we can endure, isn’t it?”

The man threw his hands up and grumbled some more. Andy returned to Sydnee.

“Wow, Andy,” she said. “You handled that… I don’t think you could have handled it better.”

“I stuff my foot in my mouth more often than not,” he said.

“But what can I say? I’ve got it sometimes.”

She continued watching the kids, arms crossed. She had some sort of look in her eye. Longing, maybe? Andy couldn’t exactly tell.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I just wish I would’ve thought of that. I’m good at disciplining, Andy. But I guess I’m just not very fun.”

“Don’t say that,” he said.

“Erik was always her fun dad, and I was the strict aunt,” she said, sighing. “I guess there’s a reason for it.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. “Sydnee—” “Whenever you leave, she’s always waiting for you to come back,” Sydnee said. “She’s a puppy at the window. If you were gone, she would fall apart. If you were gone… I don’t know what I’d do.”

“You’re selling yourself short,” Andy said. “You have no idea how much that kid depends on you. Without you, Becca and I would be lost. Worse than that, probably. We need you, Sydnee.”

There was a glimmer in her eyes.

“You do?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m bummed you even have to ask.”

She wiped her eyes and turned back to the kids. “Well, I guess we all need each other, huh?”

“That’s right,” he said.

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They watched Becca laughing with the other kids. Andy felt good. It was the first time in a while he had felt good. *** It was early morning, if it could even be called morning yet.

The sun hadn’t yet shown any signs of peeking over the treetops.

Northfield cupped his coffee. Most people still slumbered in their beds and would continue doing so for a while. He wasn’t alone in the cafeteria, though. Denizens mirrored him, sitting at tables with their cups of coffee, bleary eyes staring forward. They had nightmares, too.

His hands trembled.

He sipped. The coffee was too hot, but he hoped the heat would jolt him into the waking world and shake the dream off. It didn’t. The dream still plagued him.

“Mind if I sit down?” someone said.

Northfield looked up and squinted; the ceiling lights were too bright for his waking eyes. Nonetheless, he could make out Odell’s silhouette.

Northfield gestured to the seat next to him. Odell obliged and sipped his coffee. Northfield figured it must have been too hot, too.

“Bad dreams?” Northfield asked.

Odell shrugged. “Yeah. But what’s new?”

“What’s new,” Northfield repeated in solidarity.

They relished the silence.

“I miss the birds,” Odell said. “When this time of year rolls around and the birds stop chirping… it makes the mornings feel especially dead. You know?”

Northfield listened. The birds were indeed gone. He hadn’t noticed.

“How are you holding up, kid?” Odell asked.

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“Besides the nightmares?” Northfield asked. He hesitated before he said, “Back when I was a kid, I played baseball. Pitcher, mainly. And one time, this one poor kid stepped up to the plate.

He had these big dinner-plate glasses.” He frowned. “The count was 2–1. I aimed center-plate, but my next pitch went wild. Ball sailed out of my hand with a mind of its own.

“It clocked the kid right in the face. I remember him sobbing, trying to find where his glasses had dropped. He accidentally stepped on them with his cleats. When he picked them up, they were smashed to hell.

“I can’t tell you how bad I felt about it. But it was one of those things where you completely forget about it after a while, you know? I haven’t thought about it in years. Decades, even.

Probably not since before the apocalypse.

“But I dreamed about it last night. In the dream, though, I knew the ball was gonna hit the kid. But I couldn’t stop my arm.

Kind of like one of those dreams where you’re running but go nowhere.”

He looked into his coffee cup.

“It’s like every mistake I’ve ever made is bubbling up to the surface, Odell.”

Odell frowned in a knowing way. He took another sip of his coffee. “Maybe it’s because you want them to bubble.”

“What are you talking about?” Northfield asked.

“You’re focused on the past because it’s easier,” Odell said. “I don’t think you truly feel a deep sense of regret for hitting a kid in baseball.”

“Yeah, maybe not the baseball memory,” Northfield said.

“But the others… Believe me, the deep sense of regret is there.”

Odell set down his coffee cup. He stared at the rim for a while.

“I drank again,” he said.

That woke Northfield up.

“It happened a week ago. I’ve been dry ever since,” Odell said.

“Does Aubrey—” 90

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“I told Aubrey,” Odell said. “She forgave me, Mark.”

Odell ran his thumb around the rim of his cup. “She forgives me for everything. Yet I still dwell. Yet I still drink. I can’t forgive myself. Do you know why?”

Northfield shook his head.

Odell said, “I think it’s because it’s easier, too. Backwards is easier than forwards. The days ahead look dark and scary. And I’m just a tired old man. Tell me, Mark. How often do you think about the future? Where will this all end?”

Northfield looked down. A spike of fright hit his system, and it caught him off-guard. “If we lose, Odell, I just… I don’t know.”

“I don’t know, either,” Odell said. He sighed. “I need something to drink. And if Jack’s not an option, I suppose coffee will do. Want another cup?”

“Yeah,” Northfield said. He felt even more tired thinking about starting the day. “Thanks.”

Odell brought him another cup. They drank in silence and waited for the sun to rise.

91

9 There was anticipation and some degree of trepidation among Stormrise leadership. They stood in front of Dimitri and Softball, who had requested the meeting. The computer monitors glittered behind the two tech wizards like constellations.

“We got our hands on more leaks,” Dimitri said. “And boy, there’s a lot to go over.”

“Is the source verified?” General Taylor asked. “You’ll forgive me for being skeptical after what happened last time.”

Dimitri’s face darkened. His sorrow was apparent.

Softball answered Taylor’s question, albeit with a hint of defensiveness. “Her identity has been confirmed. She’s a highranking scientist working under the Head of Science, Hubert Bowler. Her credentials check out.”

Kaminski noticed Dimitri, and she put her hand on his shoulder. “Any intel we get from the outside is a risk. We understand that, Dimitri. We don’t blame you.”

He brightened up somewhat, but the sadness lingered.

“Still,” Rayne said, “our source last time, by all counts, was sincere. But the higher-ups leaked the information intentionally to bait us into a trap. What assurance do we have that this isn’t the case again?”

“Well, none,” Softball said. “Except one thing.”

“And what is that, exactly?”

“The information’s pretty damaging to the Network. Based on that fact, I don’t think this is a baiting tactic.” She paused, and 92

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then she declared, “The Network is working on a new project, codenamed V2.”

“Always with their damned projects,” Geralt muttered.

Softball’s lips curled into a frown. “V2 is another rendition of the gas. But new and improved. Allegedly.”

A shock traveled through Stormrise leadership.

“I… It can’t be,” Chief Kaminski said. “If there’s one thing every soul in New Medea can agree on, it’s that they don’t want the gas to return. Hell, the fact that the Network expunged the gas is what bought them so much political leeway. If the public catches on about this… this is political suicide.”

“See?” Softball said. “The Network might leak other info to bait us. But this… I don’t think it would be worth it to them.”

Dimitri said, “Arkland’s gambit is, when the weapon is complete, resistance in New Medea will fizzle out.”

“He may be right about that,” Chief Kaminski said, rubbing her chin. “He may very well be right about that. If he threatens to use the weapon, nobody will want to stand against him. Nobody will want to bring that hell upon New Medea again.”

Dimitri said, “By developing the weapon in secret, he hoped to avoid political blowback until it was too late for anyone to stop him.”

“How long until V2 is complete?” Chief Kaminski asked.

“The source didn’t know for sure. A few months to a year,” she said.

“Does the source know where V2 is being produced?” Rayne asked. “Maybe we can stop them.”

Softball shook her head. “The source isn’t assigned to V2. She has only heard about it.”

“This puts us on a timetable, doesn’t it?” Northfield asked.

His hands had been trembling. He hadn’t noticed.

The Stormrise members looked among themselves.

“I believe it does,” General Taylor said. “At our current readiness… we aren’t even close to where we need to be.”

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“Cat’s out of the bag, though,” Geralt said. “That gives us an opportunity.”

“You’re right about that,” Chief Kaminski said. “Dimitri and Softball, alert our agents in the city. Spread this information to the public using any and all means necessary.”

“Already in motion, Chief,” Softball said.

“There will be outcry. There will be rage,” Chief Kaminski said. “For once, it’s in our favor. I think our recruitment will pick up significantly.”

“Getting new members without having to raid a camp,” Rayne muttered. “Hell if that’s not welcome.”

“Speaking of camps,” Dimitri said, “V2 isn’t the last of our leaks. Our source may not work on V2. But she is assigned to a different project we’re interested in. RAID armor production.”

“We’ve learned of another location,” Softball said. “Section 201.”

“It’s a robotics factory where RAID armor is built,” Dimitri said. He leaned forward. “Do you know what that means? We haven’t been able to use RAID suits because of their security.

The DNA of the user is imprinted in the suit, locking it down if anyone else tries to use it. But if we steal the suits straight from the factory shelves…”

Rayne connected the dots. “Then they haven’t been imprinted with users yet. Meaning that they’re unlocked.”

Dimitri nodded.

“That’s still a secondary problem to me,” Rayne said. “The armor’s rare and expensive. The Network has to be tracking it.

That’s the reason we’ve never tried to crack the armor lock in the first place. We haven’t wanted to bring a tracking beacon to base.”

Dimitri said, “True. But if we grab the armor early enough, maybe tracking tech won’t have been applied yet.”

“Maybe,” Rayne said doubtfully. “But if I was the Network, I’d put tracking software inside pretty damned quick. Specifically to stop us.”

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Dimitri nodded thoughtfully. “The locking tech is the bigger problem to me. The encryption… well, who knows how long that would take to crack. To stop tracking, we’d just have to disable the signal.”

“Can you do that?” Rayne asked.

“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Dimitri said. He and Softball exchanged a glance.

Softball said, “We need the suits.”

“We do,” Rayne agreed. “It’s been a long time coming. We’ll be able to scout better. We’ll be able to go on the offensive better.

They’re force multipliers.”

“We didn’t get much more from the source,” Softball said. “But we know the factory is big. One of the Network’s best guarded.”

“And that’s saying something,” Dimitri said.

General Taylor frowned. “We don’t have the manpower for another ambush. Worse yet, there isn’t any heart for it among the troops right now.”

Rayne frowned deeply. “If the Network figures out that we know Section 201’s location, they may shut down the camp. Or reinforce it even further.”

“We just can’t do it, Rayne,” General Taylor said firmly. “If we face losses like Section 604 again… I don’t think we can recover.

We need to be smart about this. Measured.”

Chief Kaminski said, “Although V2 is terrible news overall, it gives us a golden opportunity to recruit. Fill up this headquarters, as well as our secondary base, now that it’s fit for occupancy. I agree with General Taylor. We don’t have the capacity right now.

But soon, we may.”

Rayne sighed. “Dammit. You two are right. As much as it pains me to admit it.”

“We’re gonna dig the knife into the Network,” Geralt said.

“But I wanna place the knife in the right spot. I’m on the same page. We’re riskin’ the Network catching wise and blowing our 95

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chance, but everything’s a gamble. You’ve gotta play a hand only when it’s worth playing.”

“Well, if even Geralt and Rayne are with me on taking it slow…” General Taylor said.

“Mark?” Chief Kaminski asked. “What are your thoughts?”

“If this is the biggest camp yet,” he said, rubbing his beard, “then that probably means they have the most slave labor, or close to it. Leaving all those slaves to their toiling… It’s hard. But I don’t think we can risk it, either. If we lose more than we save…

I’ve seen enough sad families around here.”

She nodded. “It’s settled, then, at least in my mind. We recruit.

We rebuild. When we’re at greater strength, we’ll go for Section 201. We’ll save the slaves. We’ll get the armor.”

“There’s one more thing,” Softball said. “The source mentioned another project in development. She doesn’t have any more information than that.”

“That doesn’t bode well,” General Taylor said, sighing. “As if we didn’t have enough problems.”

Kaminski said to Dimitri and Softball, “Keep your ears on the ground and see what else you can learn about Section 201, V2, and this other project. More information only helps us. Great work.”

“Sure thing, Chief,” Dimitri said.

The group was dismissed.

V2, Northfield thought. If General Arkland succeeds…

He clenched his fists. Remember when the first gas bombs dropped, Jess? I sure as hell do. All I could think about was finding you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.

And I found you. I did. But it didn’t last long, did it?

He looked up at the pale white ceiling.

We’re on a timer. One way or another, this will end.

Is there some small measure of comfort in that? I don’t know. I don’t know…

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*** Elliot was sick to high hell of sweeping solar panels. He never liked the monotony, but it was worsened by the disaster at Section 604.

Stormrise royally got its ass handed to it. Multiple bullets had sailed just over Elliot’s head. A few inches lower, and his brain matter would have been splattered across the concrete.

And now he was… here. Sweeping solar panels. The most arbitrary of arbitrary tasks.

Sure, that was how the Network would fall to its knees, by Elliot doing double time on sweeping duty.

Section 604 happened weeks ago. A restlessness had steadily grown in his chest ever since.

He had withheld his complaints from Helen. She couldn’t stand his complaining. Whining to her hadn’t accomplished much, anyway.

Have faith in Stormrise. That’s what she had said. Have faith everyone can turn things around. How was he supposed to do that by brushing crap off the roof, day in and day out?

Still, he tried. He owed it to her. He did.

Done for the day, he headed to the locker room along with the others assigned to rooftop duty. He let the lukewarm shower water wash over him. He liked showers hot, but the showers had been having trouble getting hot water. A water heater issue, probably. It had been that way for weeks, though.

He had trouble imagining that the Network’s showers didn’t work.

He dried off and started getting dressed. Craig, the ever-lazy worker, dressed next to him. Today hadn’t been an exception to Craig’s laziness, but Elliot ignored him. There was no point in getting ginned up by Craig. His sister had been right about that.

Craig had a big grin plastered on his face. His lips practically wrapped around his ears.

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Eventually, Elliot couldn’t help himself.

“What are you so chummy about?” Elliot asked.

“Today’s my last day,” Craig declared.

“What, they finally decide to put you out to pasture?” Elliot asked.

Craig chuckled heartily. He took the joke more lightly than Elliot had hoped. “No. I’m getting a promotion, baby.”

Elliot froze. “A promotion?”

“The big wigs are doing some shuffling around,” Craig said.

“After all the casualties at Section 604, there are a lot of openings.

So I asked, and sure enough, they assigned me to guard duty.” He pointed at himself and said, “This stud’s gonna be watching the front entrance.”

Elliot was speechless.

Craig said, “Picture it, man. Sittin’. Drinkin’. Then more sittin’.

It’s gonna be paradise.” He saw Elliot’s expression and frowned.

“Aw, don’t feel bad, man. You can take advantage of the openings, too. I’m sure if you ask, you can get off of sweep duty. Especially since you were at Section 604, you know.” He muttered, “God rest all their souls and all that.”

He sauntered out of the locker room, leaving Elliot alone.

Elliot sat on the bench and stared forward.

Craig on guard duty. They put Craig on damned guard duty.

The man couldn’t even handle sweeping a roof. And now he was supposed to watch the front gates?

He buried his face in his hands, and he sat there. He sat there for a long time. *** Easy. The plan was too damned easy. That’s what happened when you put Craig on guard duty.

Elliot got his hands on a whiskey flask, and the rest of the plan flowed from there.

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The sun had barely crept over the horizon. A light fog covered the forest. The visibility was terrible, worsened by the toxic gas pervading the air.

He approached Craig’s assigned hidey-hole, a treehouse concealed by layers and layers of branches.

He stood underneath the treehouse and huffed. Craig didn’t stir. Maybe alcohol wasn’t even necessary. Elliot could potentially stroll out of camp unseen.

But no. He wanted to be sure.

“Craig!” he shouted.

The treehouse rustled. Craig peeked his head out. Elliot couldn’t see his face behind the gas mask, but he could sense Craig’s big, dumb smile. It was nauseating.

“Elliot! The hell are you doing out here?” Craig checked his watch. “It’s so early…”

“I’ve gotta be honest,” Elliot said, “I’m getting sick of the day in, day out here. I need a break.” He looked out past the trees, and he said, “I’m gonna take a bike, and I’m gonna ride for a day.”

“I… Er, more power to you, Elliot,” Craig said. “But have you given proper alert of your trip? I mean, that’s the protocol and all that, especially these days.”

Elliot shook his head. “They wouldn’t approve my request.

After everything that’s happened, I doubt they’ll sign off on a joyride.”

“Dang, Elliot,” Craig said, scratching his head. “I feel for you.

I do. But I don’t think I’m technically supposed to just let you go on without letting someone know.”

Elliot pulled out the whiskey flask and held it up. “Come on,” he said. “Keep a hush on this for me? From one roof-sweeping vet to another?”

Craig studied the flask. He clambered down from the treehouse and snagged it. “Heh. One vet to another. I’ll keep hush-hush. You don’t gotta worry about me.”

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Elliot scowled behind his gas mask. When wearing a mask, he didn’t have to conceal his expression. One of the few perks of the toxic gas.

He kept the disdain out of his voice, though. “Thanks for doing me a solid, Craig. I’ll be back before sundown.”

Craig waved him away, not overly concerned about the details. Elliot returned to camp and fetched his motorbike before riding out into the wastelands.

The next part of his plan was the riskiest. If he didn’t tread carefully, he would be dead.

He cruised on the main roads, heading toward New Medea.

His hands started to sweat. He gripped the handles more tightly.

Soon enough. Soon enough, he would run into Death Corps soldiers.

He felt around in his pocket, making sure he hadn’t forgotten.

He breathed out. It was still there.

In the distance, through the fog and toxic gas, he saw a black, boxy silhouette on the incoming road. It was a Death Corps transport truck of some sort.

He pulled the object out of his pocket, a white flag. He held it over his head and waved it as he and the Death Corps truck neared each other.

The truck honked loudly when it spotted him.

Elliot parked the bike, and he continued waving the flag. He made sure to keep his other hand in view of the truck.

The Death Corps truck couldn’t jump the median, so it proceeded forward and made the soonest possible U-turn.

Elliot watched and waited, suppressing his anxiety as much as he could.

The truck stopped a fair distance from him. A radio blared.

“You are not authorized to be out here. Lay down with your hands against the back of your head. Comply, or we will kill you.”

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Elliot complied. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched soldiers file out of the vehicle and thoroughly check their flanks, making sure this wasn’t some sort of ambush.

As the soldiers drew nearer, Elliot could feel the pounding of his heart in his ears. His time in the retainant camp flashed through his head. Tormentors, adorned in the same black armor, plagued his life.

He narrowed his eyes. Predators and prey. The way of the world.

A boot pressed on his back. The soldiers searched his body and his bike. All they found was the white flag.

“Who are you?” the commanding officer asked. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“I know where Stormrise’s headquarters is,” Elliot said.

The soldiers, all of them, stopped in their tracks. They knew what it would mean for them if they managed to bring Stormrise’s location to General Arkland.

Elliot said, “Take me to General Arkland. I want to make a deal.”

101

10 Andy and Sydnee enjoyed cups of morning coffee. The morning had been slow, with a light slate of chores and duties assigned for the day. Stormrise leadership tried to lighten the load when they could, occasionally giving their people what was close to a day off. With morale down, they needed it.

Becca didn’t join them. Instead, she and a handful of other kids were clustered around the wall, tossing their rubber ball and running and laughing.

“You’ve got a hell of a smile, mister,” Sydnee said, sipping her coffee.

“What?” Andy said. He hadn’t noticed. He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s just funny how much entertainment kids can squeeze out of a rubber ball and a wall.”

“You’ve got that right,” Sydnee said.

“It’s pretty cool,” he said. “How little it takes sometimes to make them happy. I think, in some ways, it makes them better suited for this world than us.”

“And that’s a good thing,” she said. “They’re the ones who’ll eventually have it, right?”

He nodded, watching the kids. She wrapped her arm around his.

She said, “I think they’re gonna be okay, in the end. Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said. He pursed his lips and added, “Still, I wish we could make it a little easier on them, you know?”

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She said, “If Erik were here… well, we know. I wish we still had him, you know?”

“Every day,” Andy said softly. “Every day.”

Andy saw Odell and waved him over.

“Mind if I sit down?” Odell asked.

“Go right ahead,” Sydnee said.

Odell took a long sip of his coffee, savoring it. He watched the kids play, and he said, “Wonderful morning, isn’t it?”

“Sure is,” Andy said. *** Northfield sat on a bench in the hallway near the infirmary.

Deep bags marked his eyes. He hadn’t slept well. That was hardly a surprise, though.

He clasped his hands together and looked down at them.

Hey, God. I know it’s been a while since I’ve sat down and talked to you.

I had another dream. Another replay from my past. Jess and I, fighting about my enlisting. She was scared, and I handled it poorly.

It has me reflecting, and I think Odell’s right. God, I’m just…

I’m so afraid of losing.

I’ve always believed that, regardless of consequences, doing the right thing was what counted. Actions mattered most.

But if I would’ve just stayed home instead of shipping off… If I would’ve just gotten on the boat back to the States…

If I would’ve just stayed in my cabin on the outskirts of Cumulus… If I wouldn’t have set off Zeus’s Mercy… If I wouldn’t have signed up with Stormrise…

Would things be better? Everything I do just seems to make things worse. And the thought that I’d be better off not trying… It’s just too terrifying to bear.

103

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

Things are converging. I feel that in my bones. This fight is moving towards the end, and I don’t want us to lose. Lord help me, I don’t want us to lose.

“Hey there, stranger,” someone said above him.

He met the eyes of Dr. Cohanan.

“You look like you’ve missed your morning cup of coffee,” she said.

“One cup? Make it six,” he said. He stood up and asked, “You just got off the night shift?”

She nodded.

“Amazing,” he said. “How on earth don’t you look more tired?”

“Well, when half of your job description is sleep deprivation, you get used to it,” she said.

“So, off to bed for you, huh?” he said.

“Almost,” she said. “I want to go on a walk, Mark. Get some fresh air.”

“It’s a nice morning. At least, it looks that way out of the windows.”

“Care to join me?” she said. “I’ve been talking to nurses and patients all night. I wouldn’t mind a conversation away from IVs and blood draws.”

“Sure,” he said. “I don’t have anywhere to be for a little while.”

They headed to the garages.

“Calm night at the clinic?” he asked.

“And we’re right back to talking about IVs and blood draws,” she said with a laugh.

“Oh, sorry,” he said.

“It’s alright. I’m just teasing you.” She shrugged. “Yeah, it was calm. Always gets that way when Stormrise isn’t very active in the field.”

“Which is good,” he ventured.

“I suppose. But it feels like the type of calm that comes before a storm, you know?”

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He nodded. He knew the feeling well.

“You were married, weren’t you?” she asked.

The question caught him off-guard. “I… Yeah, I was. How could you tell?”

She pointed at her index finger. “Sometimes, you rub your fingers here. Where a ring used to be.”

He blinked. “I didn’t realize I did that.”

“You don’t do it often,” she said. “Just when you’re idle. But it’s enough for me to tell that you fiddled with one at some point.”

She asked, “Divorce? Or everything else?”

“Everything else,” he said.

She said, “What happened to the ring? You didn’t want to be reminded of her anymore?”

“No, not quite,” he replied. “A couple years into the apocalypse, I got robbed. As we all did, at one point or another.” He sighed.

“They took the ring. Jewelry wasn’t worth much in those days.

Not like they could pawn it off to anyone that gave a damn. Can’t imagine they got much from it. Not as much as I lost. So maybe they were just cruel. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’m better off not having the ring. You’re right: I did fiddle with it too much. And I’ve got enough to remind me of her.”

He wanted to change the subject. He asked her, “Were you married?”

“No,” she said. “I got close. But I was too focused on work.

I drove him off.” She frowned. “It all seems so stupid now, in retrospect. If I’d known what was coming, maybe I would have just… whatever.”

“If we would’ve known what was coming, we would’ve all done things differently,” he said.

“I guess that’s true,” she said. She left it at that.

They neared the garages. He looked her up and down and said, “It’s a bit chilly outside. You may want to put on an extra layer.”

She said, “I’m fine. I like the cold.”

105

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

They strapped on gas masks, and they went outside.

The wind whistled, rattling the canopy of trees. The scant leaves hung on to the branches for dear life, each seemingly moments away from being plucked and sent tumbling into the air.

They took a moment to relish the peace.

She turned to him and asked, “Mark, do you think I—” Red. He saw red.

Splatters of red, spilling from her chest, covering his hands, his jacket. A crack snapped from somewhere on the tree line, but he barely heard it.

She fell into his arms, and he caught her. The sound registered in his mind as a gunshot, dimly.

“I—” she started to say, but she didn’t say anything more. She didn’t say anything more.

“Lauren?” he said, then screamed, “Lauren!”

Her head slumped, and there was a gurgling noise. The blood pumped out of her chest, and another bullet raced through the sky and hit the bricks behind him, and he held her, and he dragged her back. And she didn’t speak again. She didn’t speak again.

He saw slivers of blue lights among the treetops. RAID soldiers.

She was breathing. There were still shallow inhales and exhales. He held her close and pulled her back inside the garage.

He turned and screamed, “We’re under attack!”

The guards were quick to move, at the ready with their guns.

“RAID soldiers,” he said, panting, panicking. “They’ll be here fast.”

The guards nodded. One of them had already alerted the rest of the base. A loud alarm droned, one everyone in the base was familiar with. It was a sound they had all trained on in case of imminent attack. The sound of nightmares.

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Calvin B. Fisher

He dragged Dr. Cohanan through the garages, through the decontamination chambers, back to the safety of the interior base.

He put pressure on her wound, and he tore off her gas mask to make breathing easier.

But it was too late. Her eyes had rolled back.

He held her hand. He wanted her to squeeze his hand back.

He wanted her here. He didn’t want her to go. He didn’t want her to go.

But her eyes were dead. She was dead.

He let out a single choked sob, and he clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw ached.

God, I… God, he thought, but he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t speak to Him now. If he did, he would break down, and he couldn’t have that. He couldn’t have that. He needed to act.

He closed her eyes and brushed her cheek. She had helped so many people, and all he could do was watch.

His mind flashed to everyone else at the base. They were alive.

He left her there. She deserved better. But this was all he could give right now.

He rushed back into the garage, and he pulled a submachine gun off the weapons rack.

He would bleed for every damned inch of ground. The Network could be sure of that. *** Andy and Sydnee looked at each other, then immediately searched for Becca.

The alarms turned Andy’s stomach into knots. He’d been in his fair share of emergencies and gunfights. But not here. Not with Sydnee and Becca.

107

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

The kids had abandoned their game, and they ran toward the back side of the cafeteria. There sat the nearest bin containing gas masks.

The kids had run through emergency drills. The very first step was to always, always get a gas mask.

Becca hadn’t forgotten her training. Good girl.

Andy blinked. Gas masks. He and Sydnee needed them, too.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He put a hand on Sydnee’s shoulder and said to her and Odell, “Stay here. I’ll get us masks.”

He ran for the supply closet, located near the front of the cafeteria. A couple more well-prepared men and women had already reached the closet, and they were distributing masks and weapons.

Andy grabbed a pistol and masks. He strapped his mask on as he returned to Sydnee and Odell.

Becca had retrieved her mask, and she ran back from the other side of the cafeteria.

Andy passed out gas masks to civilians nearby.

He knelt down and brushed Becca’s hair upon her return.

“It’s gonna be alright,” he said to her, although a dullness in his heart told him otherwise.

“What now?” Odell said. He stood near them, as did a handful of parents and children. They looked to Andy for guidance.

Andy scrunched his face. Rayne was a better leader. So was Leo. Or Mark. Not him. He shouldn’t be…

No time. He had to do this. There was no other option.

He listened. Protocol called for them to escape. The second base was ready for occupancy, so they could all head there.

Only a handful of Stormrise’s members knew of the location, but Stormrise leadership could distribute that information once everyone had escaped.

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The question was, which way to escape? Vehicles were parked in three locations: the garage, under the front awnings, and out in the woods. The remaining option was a last resort, as the vehicles were furthest away. The existence of those vehicles was only known by a handful of the most trusted Stormrise members in case an attack was spurred by an inside leak.

Whether to head to the front or back of the headquarters…

Well, that depended on which way the attack was coming from.

They would head in the opposite direction of the primary offensive.

Andy closed his eyes and listened. He heard gunfire from both the rear and front of the facility. Not good.

He registered small-arms fire in both directions. Smaller strike teams, he suspected. It made sense; Andy couldn’t imagine how the Network could have rolled up in full force without Stormrise noticing.

A small strike team for this mission probably meant RAID soldiers.

Andy groaned internally, but he kept a brave face on the outside. Everyone needed a show of strength right now.

The garages were closer. For now, that had to be enough.

“The garages,” he declared. “We head for the garages.”

With a destination in mind, they ran toward the cafeteria doors. Andy stopped once he reached them.

He gripped the handle and held his pistol at the ready.

He announced, “When I open this door, I’m gonna check the corners. Once I give the all-clear, everyone’s gonna follow me, okay?”

He received a collection of nods. He began to open the door, but he heard something. It came from the wall next to him.

Beep. Beep.

Andy opened his mouth to shout a warning, but he was too late.

109

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

A blinding flash of light erupted, but he didn’t even hear the sound. Something hit him in the side of the head. He fell, crashing onto the floor, and everything went black. *** Odell gasped in horror. Andy was sprawled out in front of him. Sydnee kneeled over him, shouting his name desperately.

Others fared worse than Andy. A woman’s gas mask had been struck directly by a brick, cracking it and creating a breach. Toxic gas flooded through the crater in the wall. She breathed, and it was too late.

She inhaled, whimpered, and then started coughing profusely.

Coughing and coughing and coughing. Blood came up, but she didn’t stop coughing. She wouldn’t stop, not until she was dead.

It was too late now. The gas had gotten into her.

She had been a new arrival. She had introduced herself to him once, but he couldn’t recall her name.

The charry smoke from the blast started to clear. Through the haze, he could make out the glowing blue arm of a RAID soldier.

His stomach lurched. Stormrise members fired upon the enemy.

“Becca!”

The voice belonged to Sydnee. Becca was running away. The girl stumbled as she ran, clearly disoriented. Concussed, possibly.

She was running in the wrong direction, toward the back of the cafeteria. She was panicking.

Sydnee tried to get up, but she let out a sharp cry. Her leg.

Her leg was broken.

There were two craters along the back wall of the cafeteria.

The Death Corps had created more breaches. Shadowy RAID soldiers emerged from the smoke and rubble. They opened fire.

The Stormrise members answered in kind, as best they could.

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Becca hit the corner of the table, stumbled, and fell. She didn’t get up.

Odell looked around. Nobody else saw her. Nobody except him and Sydnee.

His hands trembled.

Running to her… Running into the middle of a firing zone…

He couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

He turned toward the cafeteria doors. He could make a break for the vehicles. That was still the escape plan, after all. He could get there, and if anyone asked about Becca, he could say that he hadn’t seen her. After all, nobody had.

Sydnee paid Odell no mind. Nobody would know. Becca could still be okay, anyway. If she stayed down, maybe someone else would come along and grab her. Somebody else was better equipped to help. Odell was hardly a soldier. Yes, he would be more helpful if he escaped. He really would just be getting in the way.

He shut his eyes. He’d turned away the children at the church all those years ago. In all these years since, hadn’t he learned a single thing?

He took a couple of tentative steps toward the girl. Then he broke into a sprint. He kept his eyes laser-focused on her.

To hell with the smoke and fire. To hell with the bullets. To hell with the RAID soldiers.

Bullets arced. His legs ached already, and he was out of breath.

The RAID soldiers fired upon the armed Stormrise members first, aiming to take out their biggest threat.

Odell stumbled over a cafeteria chair. He had been running too fast to right himself; he tumbled to the floor.

A sharp pain erupted in his knee. But he could still move. He picked himself up and limped toward the girl.

She was only a few meters away now. She had realized running toward the back wasn’t a good idea, but she stood frozen, unsure of where to go in the chaos.

111

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

“Becca,” Odell whispered. Then he said, louder, “Becca!”

She blinked, and she found him through her mask’s lenses.

“Odell?” she cried. Her voice was distant.

“It’s alright,” he said. “It’s alright. Come here.”

She crawled toward him, struggling. He wrapped his arms around her.

There was a swelling in his chest. He couldn’t describe it, but he wanted to cry.

No time now. He picked her up and turned around. He hunched over, covering her body with his, and he headed back.

Bullets sailed back and forth, but he and Becca weren’t the primary targets. He ignored the protests from his leg as best he could. He soldiered on. He felt like nothing could stop him.

Maybe, just this once, nothing could.

He reached the front doors. The RAID soldier that had breached the wall was busy fighting the armed Stormrise members. Andy’s party near the door had been largely forgotten.

The woman with the breached gas mask was dead now. Odell tried to recall her name once more, but he still couldn’t.

“Thank you,” Sydnee said. “Thank you.”

Andy was still unconscious. Becca wasn’t in any condition to walk, either, and Sydnee had a broken leg. Everyone else in the cafeteria had scattered or fled in the chaos.

Odell couldn’t carry them all.

Sydnee had come to the same conclusion. “Just… get her out,” she said.

“I…” he started.

“Get her out,” she insisted, groaning from a pang of pain in her leg.

“Sleeping on the job, huh?” someone said behind them.

Sydnee’s eyes widened. “Leo!” The Widow Team sharpshooter stood over them, strapped with guns. He picked Andy up in a fireman’s carry, and he said to Odell, “Help me with her.”

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Calvin B. Fisher

Odell understood. He piggybacked Becca, and together, he and Leo helped Sydnee to her feet. They supported her as they hurried through the cafeteria doors.

113

11 Helen couldn’t believe what was happening. After all of her and Elliot’s running, after their suffering, she had finally come to believe that they’d found somewhere safe. Now it was all falling apart, explosion by explosion, bullet by bullet.

She clenched her teeth as another explosion rocked the base.

She strapped a gas mask over her face, as did Elliot beside her.

Abruptly, he led her to the barracks. They were alone.

“Elliot,” she said. “We’ve got to go.”

He ignored her. Instead, he sought his bunk, and he reached under it.

“Elliot!” she said more urgently.

Elliot pulled out two bright blue ribbons. “Tie this around your head,” he said.

She looked between him and the ribbon. “What?”

“The Corps,” he said. “The soldiers won’t fire on us as long as we’ve got these on. That’s part of the deal.”

She didn’t understand. What the hell did a ribbon have to do with anything?

His eyes were cold. Numb, behind the haze of his visor.

A thought occurred to her, one so ghastly that she felt a deep shame for even considering it. No. Elliot couldn’t have anything to do with the Corps.

But his stare continued. He urged, “Helen. We don’t have much time.”

The tone… the tone of his voice…

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Calvin B. Fisher

She recoiled, stumbling backward. She caught herself on one of the bunks.

Elliot didn’t reply. Instead, he said, “Tie the ribbon around your forehead. Make it clear as day.”

She didn’t move. “I… You told them, Elliot? Those people, they locked us up. They made us work like dogs. Like chattel.”

“I…” he started, then looked away. “We don’t have time to argue. This is the only way, Helen. We were dead, otherwise.”

Her eyes widened. “Our friends are dying now!”

“Friends,” he said. He looked at Craig and sneered. “Friends.

I… Whatever, Helen. Put on the damned ribbon.”

“No,” she said. She took another step backward. She hunched over in a defensive position.

He sighed in frustration. “We don’t have time. How many times do I have to tell you?”

He took a step toward her. She took another step backward.

“Not any closer,” she said. “Get the hell away from me, Elliot.”

“Come on, Helen. Don’t be stupid.”

He reached out to her. She lunged, pushing him back. He stumbled back.

“Are you really gonna be this dense, Helen?” he cried. “They’re all dead either way. Don’t you get that?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Better dead with them than alive with you.”

He didn’t move. The ceiling light caught the lenses of his gas mask so that she couldn’t see his eyes. By the way his shoulders slumped, it seemed her words had wounded him.

She felt a tinge of guilt. Then, another explosion rocked the building. Her guilt evaporated completely.

“Fine,” Elliot said, getting to his feet. “You want to die with these people… fine. Go ahead and be an idiot.”

He made his way to the door, but he hesitated at the doorframe. He tossed the blue ribbon at her. She didn’t make a move to catch it, and it lay by her feet.

115

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

He ducked out of the room.

She stared at the ceiling, surrounded by violence and death and destruction. Her brother…

No, she couldn’t think about him. She needed to get out of here. *** “Well, lucky for them, I’ve got a surprise,” Geralt said. He fished under his bed and pulled out an assault rifle.

“Damn, Geralt,” Aubrey said.

Tucking a gun under his bed was against protocol. Then again, he’d never been a big believer in protocol.

He had packed away some magazines; he stuffed them into his pockets.

Aubrey had made another deal with Geralt to watch her soap dramas on his TV in exchange for tackling a few of his chores.

He had just returned to kick her out when the explosions started.

The rifle didn’t have a sling; he awkwardly fumbled with the gun as well as his crutches.

“Get in the chair,” Aubrey said, nodding to the wheelchair in the corner of the room. “I can push you fast.”

Geralt started to protest before he stopped. She was right.

She could push him faster than he could move on his crutches, especially with the gun.

He didn’t want to die in the chair, though. He scowled.

“Fine,” he said. He sat down, and she wheeled him out of the room.

“You see any bad guys, you shoot them down,” Aubrey said.

“That was the plan. Believe me,” he said.

They didn’t have to wait very long. When they reached an intersection of hallways, RAID soldiers approached from their side. They moved so quickly that they were just blue blurs.

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Geralt didn’t hesitate. He discharged his weapon, opting for fully automatic. One of the bullets had to get lucky and knock one of his enemies down.

None of them did. The RAID soldiers continued unabated, while Geralt was left with an empty magazine.

The RAID soldiers didn’t pay them any mind. They crossed the intersection, continuing down the opposite hallway.

“Damn pricks are fast,” Geralt muttered, swapping out his magazine.

“They could’ve killed us,” Aubrey said.

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“But they didn’t, Geralt. They ignored us. Why?” He peered down the hallway and scowled. There were a lot of scowls to be had today.

“They’re going towards Kaminski’s office,” he said.

Aubrey cursed. “They’re gunning for Stormrise leadership.”

“Looks like,” Geralt replied. “Bet one of those cronies radioed his buddies once they found the office. Killin’ Kaminski and the others is their main objective, I’m thinking.”

“Not good, Geralt,” Aubrey said, cursing again.

They heard gunfire in every direction. This attack was bad.

Really bad.

The hallway the RAID soldiers had come from looked clear; Aubrey and Geralt had a clear way to get out.

“Protocol’s clear,” Aubrey said. “Everyone gets to the escape points as quickly as possible. But, Geralt, if Kaminski and the others are in there…”

“I just missed every damned shot on those guys,” Geralt said.

“Look how fast they move. And you can’t shoot while wheelin’ me around. What are we supposed to do, exactly? Get mowed down, too?”

He opened his mouth to tell her to push him into the clear hallway. However, something stayed his tongue.

117

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

This world had taught him one lesson in the last decade. You had to look after yourself first. Doing anything else was a fool’s game.

Especially in this case. Helping Kaminski and the others was doubly a fool’s game. He was just asking to get killed. Him and Aubrey.

He didn’t want to die in this chair.

Easy choice. It was a hell of an easy choice.

And yet…

He pulled the charging handle on his rifle, loading a bullet into the chamber.

“A RAID soldier took my leg,” he said. “’Bout time I reciprocate.”

“Alright, Geralt,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

She pushed him forward, but she quickly made a detour.

“What? Where are we going?” Geralt asked.

She stopped by an armory locker, which was stocked for emergencies like this. She opened the locker and said, “You’re wrong about one thing, Geralt. I can push you and shoot.”

Geralt grinned. What a woman.

She loaded a pistol. Armed and ready, they hurried to Kaminski’s office.

The RAID soldiers stood outside of the office, with their electric shields raised. A flurry of gunfire came from within, keeping the soldiers at bay.

At least somebody was alive. Geralt and Aubrey’s actions wouldn’t be futile. Well, unless they all died. Then this all was worth jack shit.

The RAID soldiers unleashed volleys of bullets that ripped through the walls. They figured a bullet would kill someone eventually and thin out the herd for slaughter. They were probably right.

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Aubrey positioned Geralt’s chair next to a locker so his body was mostly concealed but he could lean on the arm of his chair and fire around the corner.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Hell no,” he replied. “But I ain’t ever gonna be. Let’s waste these guys, huh?”

He lined up his shot. The soldiers faced the door, and they were arranged in a neat line from his perspective. If he shot right, his bullets could hit a few of them at once.

He nodded to her. She nodded back.

They opened fire. He had his rifle on semiautomatic for increased accuracy, but he rapidly pulled the trigger.

They killed two RAID soldiers, catching them utterly surprised. The two further back, however, were shielded by their fallen brethren. They pivoted their shields toward Geralt and Aubrey, blocking their bullets.

Geralt cursed, although at the end of the day, could he complain about taking down two RAID soldiers? Those pricks were slippery.

“Kaminski, or whoever the hell’s in there, push!” Geralt yelled. “We ain’t takin’ these guys out on our own!”

“Copy that,” General Taylor shouted from within the office.

A volley of gunshots came from Kaminski’s office. The RAID soldiers were caught in a crossfire. If they blocked Geralt’s and Aubrey’s bullets, they were open to shots from the office.

The RAID soldiers’ solution, as was typical for them, was to go on the offensive.

One RAID soldier rushed Geralt and Aubrey, while the other pushed into the office. The soldier seemed to disappear, materializing again near Aubrey and Geralt.

Aubrey put a foot on his chair and kicked it backward. She used the momentum to dive out of the way right as the RAID soldier leveled his submachine gun at her and opened fire.

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Her abrupt movement threw off his aim, and he missed.

Aubrey was in the opposite direction of Geralt. The RAID soldier’s shield faced her, which left him open to Geralt.

He fired. One of his shots hit the RAID soldier in the back. It didn’t take the RAID soldier down, though. He was still standing.

The soldier turned his shield—and weapon—onto Geralt. He saw the barrel pointed at his chest.

Not in this damned chair.

The soldier froze before falling to his knees and collapsing entirely. Aubrey lay on the floor, smoke drifting from her pistol.

The charging handle was back; it had been her last shot.

“Nice moves,” he said, wheeling toward her.

She nodded, too out of breath to respond. She shoved another magazine into her pistol.

They rushed to Kaminski’s office. The other RAID soldier had entered, and there was a violent exchange of gunfire.

The gunfire stopped abruptly. There was silence. An eerie silence.

Geralt and Aubrey shared a glance. This went one of two ways.

“General Taylor,” Aubrey said. “Do you copy?”

“Yes, ma’am,” General Taylor said.

Geralt and Aubrey shared a sigh of relief. The relief vanished when they heard groans of pain from within the office.

They opened the door. Blood splattered the walls. The RAID soldier lay on Kaminski’s desk. He had tried to rush over the desk, it seemed.

The blood wasn’t all from him, though.

Chief Kaminski knelt over Rayne.

Geralt cursed.

“I’m alright,” Rayne said between groans. “Caught me in the shoulder, is all.”

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Kaminski helped Rayne to his feet. He clutched his wound.

Blood seeped out, but he would probably be alright. Assuming he didn’t catch another bullet.

“This is a disaster,” General Taylor said.

“Later,” Chief Kaminski said. “Focus, General. Right now, we get everyone out.”

“I can get behind that,” Geralt said. He held his rifle at the ready.

Chief Kaminski nodded. “Let’s go.” *** Elliot displayed his blue ribbon prominently, shouting as he came across a band of RAID soldiers. He half-expected to get blown away on sight.

That’s what he deserved, wasn’t it?

His expression hardened. Deserve? What did that word even mean anymore?

The RAID soldiers leveled their weapons at him, but they didn’t fire. In the midst of the chaos, he admired their trigger discipline. Once again, he was reminded of the class of enemy that Stormrise thought it could stand against.

They escorted him out, and he boarded a vehicle, engine already purring and ready for him.

“Where’s the other one?” the driver barked in the droning, modulated voice produced by his helmet.

Elliot felt a sharp tinge. He drowned out the feeling mercilessly.

“Not coming,” he said.

The driver didn’t ask any further questions. The vehicle sped off, and Elliot watched the trees sweep away the burning and bloodshed behind him.

Along the way, they passed a concealed watchtower. Craig had been scheduled there today.

Bullet holes and blood scarred the tower.

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Craig enjoyed sleeping on the job. Well, he would be doing that permanently now.

Despite his intense disdain for the man, Elliot felt no sense of triumph.

He hoped Helen would make it out. But then again, she had made her choice. She could have been here now, if she wanted.

She had made her choice.

He kept telling himself that. *** Northfield was the only one left in the garage. The two Stormrise guards had been killed by the approaching RAID soldiers.

He ducked behind one of the trucks in the garage. The RAID soldiers had lost sight of him for now.

He inserted a new magazine into his gun, and his hands trembled from exhaustion. He leaned his head against the truck.

It was funny how just a few minutes of fighting could spend him so.

An explosion rattled his teeth right down to the roots. He widened his eyes in panic.

The vehicles… they’re blowing up the vehicles.

He clenched the grip of his submachine gun tightly. He was outnumbered. He was outgunned. He was outmatched.

God, I can’t be as fast as these guys. But please, make me faster than I am. I can’t be as strong as them. But please, make me stronger than I am.

He sprang to his feet, and he popped over the hood of the truck. He counted four RAID soldiers in the garage, and they were placing C4 charges on trucks that were parked in a long row. Northfield opened fire, aiming for the nearest soldier.

The RAID soldier ducked down and raised his electric shield.

The soldiers turned from their task, noticing Northfield.

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Three of the RAID soldiers rushed him, while the last continued rigging up charges. It was better to take out the threat quickly than come at him one-on-one.

Northfield breathed. Here we go. Here we go.

He crouched and turned his submachine gun outward. When he was outnumbered like this, the RAID soldiers would favor aggression, utilizing their shields.

Northfield had had an idea for a while. Now, it was time to put it to the test. In those suits, their bodies were faster and stronger than his. But unless the Network’s technology was far more advanced than he thought, the RAID soldiers didn’t have faster reaction times than him. Their brains still moved at the same speed.

It explained why the RAID soldiers used their speed in short bursts to quickly close distances or reposition themselves, but they had to slow down like regular men for more complex tasks.

It explained why the RAID soldiers moved at fairly regular speeds when hooking up the C4 charges. They couldn’t perform small motor skills at high speeds.

They couldn’t react faster than Northfield. And they weren’t smarter than him.

The three soldiers would use a three-pronged assault. One on each of his flanks and one above. The soldier on his right got off to the fastest start.

Northfield switched his submachine gun to automatic fire, and he held the trigger, unleashing a constant stream of bullets.

The RAID soldier approaching on his right flank was moving at a breakneck pace. He couldn’t react to the bullets until they were already tearing him apart.

The RAID soldier’s body went limp as it continued moving forward. His body skidded on the floor, sliding yards and yards.

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and act before they could react. In a head-to-head fight, he would lose every time.

The two assaulting RAID soldiers materialized, one from around the bed of the truck and the other soaring above like a geared-up spider monkey.

They fired on his prior position, but Northfield had rolled around the corner, now against the hood of the truck. He skulked as he ejected his magazine and inserted another.

The RAID soldiers were confused at what had just happened; they froze for a moment as they assessed the situation. Northfield sprang into action, unloading into the back of the RAID soldier that had soared over the truck.

An explosion rocked the garage. The other RAID soldier had destroyed another vehicle.

The roof of the truck obstructed the third RAID soldier’s line on Northfield. So in a blur of light, he dashed to the other side of the truck, then dashed at Northfield. His shield was up, and he prepared to unload his submachine gun.

His head recoiled back, and he collapsed. Northfield had been expecting the move, and his gun had already been ready, aiming exactly where the RAID soldier had wound up.

Northfield gasped for breath. The burst of movement had been so quick, and so violent, that it winded him. The gas mask didn’t help.

His job wasn’t done, however. Another explosion erupted.

The last RAID soldier had planted another explosive and destroyed a vehicle.

His legs felt like lead, but he wasn’t done, not yet.

The doors to the garage opened abruptly; the contamination room’s protocols had been overridden.

A wave of Stormrise members rushed in, checking flanks. Leo was in the front. Andy was slung over his shoulders, bleeding.

His head moved around a bit; it seemed he was coming to.

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Leo and Odell supported Sydnee. Northfield could tell immediately that her leg was broken.

Odell also carried Becca. Her head hung over his shoulder, but she appeared conscious.

More Stormrise members followed. Armed fighters surrounded the unarmed and injured, forming a protective shell.

There were so many injured. But Northfield couldn’t worry about his friends yet.

“A RAID soldier’s in here,” he yelled. “He’s trying to blow up the vehicles.”

A vehicle exploded, punctuating his words.

“Fan out. Get the bastard,” Leo yelled. “And hurry! We’ve got these guys on our asses, too.”

Somebody tossed an explosive at the doors leading into the garage, causing the walls to cave in. It wouldn’t stop the RAID soldiers forever, but it would stall them.

Northfield joined the protective bubble around the unarmed and wounded.

“You alright?” Leo asked.

“Yeah,” Northfield replied. He glanced at Sydnee, Becca, and Andy with concern. “You all?”

“We’ll live,” Leo said.

“None of us were hit,” Odell said. “Just banged up, is all.”

Leo looked around and said, “You took down three RAID soldiers by yourself?”

“Had to,” Northfield replied.

“Hot damn,” Leo muttered.

The bulk of the soldiers searched near the exploded vehicle, but the RAID soldier was nowhere to be found.

Then a volley of bullets came down from the rafters. The enemy didn’t aim for the armed hostiles. Instead, he aimed for the cluster of civilians. Even though the civilians were surrounded by protectors, that didn’t help against an attack from above.

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Cries of pain and anguish rose. Northfield and every other man with a gun turned to the rafters and opened fire. A bullet got lucky and hit the RAID soldier. He fell from the rafters, his body smacking against the pavement.

Odell shouted, as did Becca.

The two of them dropped.

“Becca!” Sydnee shrieked. Leo grunted as all her weight fell on him without Odell’s support.

Northfield’s heart stopped.

Odell was slumped over.

Becca was sobbing; she had fallen to the floor and didn’t know what was going on. A woman helped her off Odell’s back, and she held her close, quickly checking for wounds. Becca was clear.

Odell wasn’t.

A bullet had hit him in the ankle. That was what had brought him down to his knees. Another shot had followed.

That shot had pierced his chest.

“Odell? Odell?” Northfield yelled, shaking his friend’s shoulder, already knowing that it was too late.

His brain threatened to shut down. Not Odell. Not Odell, too.

“Everybody, pack into a vehicle,” Leo commanded. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

He shook Northfield with his free hand.

“I know, man. I know,” he said. “But we can’t stay here.

Dammit, we can’t stay here.”

The caved-in doors rumbled. The Death Corps were trying to blow their way through. RAID soldiers would be coming around the sides soon enough, too.

Leo was right.

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friend was already gone, into the clouds and hopefully on his way to somewhere better. Northfield could only pray for that now.

Odell’s voice. It had always been so calming. Despite his own struggles, he was a rock amidst the storming seas of this place.

One more conversation. If only Northfield could have one more conversation.

Stop. Just stop.

He put his hand on Odell’s shoulder, one last time.

“Goodbye,” he said. His voice was choked.

Becca’s cries reached his ears. There would be time for more mourning later. Lord help him, there would be.

With his free hand, he assisted a Stormrise fighter who had taken a bullet to the thigh.

The survivors boarded vehicles and fled Stormrise headquarters.

127

12 Stormrise’s first priority after escaping was to determine the source that compromised their base. If they still had a leaker in their midst, then they could be attacked again when Stormrise leadership revealed the location of the second base.

In the first stroke of fortune for the day, the source of the leak was determined easily. Helen had met up with Geralt Salb’s party, and she had escaped via the front vehicles with them. She had revealed that her brother had betrayed them, and RAID soldiers had escorted him out.

Elliot was a loner type. They determined it was unlikely that he had any accomplices. So Stormrise leadership felt comfortable distributing the location of the second base, and the survivors met in the town of Amber.

Stormrise leadership gathered to discuss their next steps.

“A strike force of RAID soldiers,” Chief Kaminski mused.

“General Arkland had our location. Yet he only sends one strike force. Why?” They all mulled it over.

General Taylor spoke up. “Best odds of success. If he dispatched a larger force, our scouts would’ve noticed. There’s a better chance we could have all escaped before Arkland’s men arrived. By sending a small strike force of elite RAID soldiers… they may not have succeeded in killing everyone.” His voice grew dark. “But they did kill a lot.”

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Rayne nodded in agreement. He had a bandage wrapped around his arm. Dr. Mitchell had patched up his wound.

Rayne said, “We have our agents in the city. We have agents out in the field. Even if General Arkland killed everyone at HQ, he still wouldn’t have killed every Stormrise member. So instead of making that his goal, he opted to cripple us instead.”

“It’s a waiting game for him,” Northfield said. “He’s waiting until V2 is complete. He knows resistance is gonna dry up afterwards. It’s a race. So if he can stunt our legs, he’s still gonna win.”

Chief Kaminski mulled that over. She said, “We need time to figure out our next step. Right now, I want everyone to rest. Take time to mourn. Take time to clear your minds as best you can.”

They all agreed on that point, and Northfield left to catch some sleep. It was easy to find an open room in the hotel on Main Street, which now served as the main building of their headquarters.

As soon as Northfield lay down, the wounds of the day pummeled him.

Odell. Never again would he see his friend’s smile. It was always warm, always gracious, but it always carried a weight of sadness.

He’d never have another conversation with him.

Northfield hadn’t told him how much he cherished their conversations. Or at least, he hadn’t enough.

Dr. Cohanan, too. All of the death, it was just too much to think about. Too much to comprehend in one night.

He hoped Dr. Cohanan’s oasis awaited her in heaven.

His dreams would be torment. He knew that.

But he didn’t want to keep his eyes open, either.

He said one last prayer for them, and for everybody in Stormrise, and he shut his eyes.

His fears had been well-founded. He didn’t have pleasant dreams.

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*** Helen couldn’t sleep. Telling Stormrise leadership about her brother’s betrayal, speaking those words aloud, brought the disbelieving haze she had been drifting through into sharp reality.

She played every moment back, again and again. She went through every day since her brother had returned from the Interior, where he had changed forever.

Could she have stopped him from turning? Did she say something wrong? Did she do something wrong? Was there something she didn’t do that she should’ve?

Why, Elliot? Why? The questions pounded in her head with the tempo, with the strength, of a war drum. The faces of the dead flashed in her head, and she mourned them. If they were alive, would they blame her?

She missed her brother, too. Maybe that was twisted. But she did. They’d been together ever since they were little and especially since the world fell apart.

His absence was a void, and she felt herself plunging into it.

Above all, she felt alone.

Lord, she felt alone. *** Andy and Sydnee had trouble putting Becca to bed. She was scared, and she had a headache, and she didn’t want to close her eyes. Andy and Sydnee sat next to her for a long time, until she finally fell asleep.

It wasn’t long before she whimpered and mumbled incomprehensibly to herself. The nightmares would reign tonight.

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Andy and Sydnee sat on the adjacent bunk, watching her.

They had deep bags under their eyes.

Sydnee rubbed the cast on her leg absentmindedly and whispered, “She’s not going to sleep well.”

“No,” Andy said. “None of the kids will. But they need to try.”

Becca tossed in her sleep.

Sydnee sighed and said, “I’m tempted to wake her up. Free her from whatever her nightmare is. But staying awake and thinking about it is even worse.”

“Yeah,” Andy said. He wanted to say something to comfort her, but he didn’t even know where to begin. He clasped his hands and looked down.

She reached over and wrapped her hand around his.

She said, “It just… It felt like we finally broke through. She was playing with the other kids, laughing. Finally pulling out of herself.” She frowned and said, “There’s no ‘getting better,’ not after your dad dies. But she was at least getting some semblance of normalcy. Some sense of stability, you know?”

She clutched him tightly.

She said, “And then… this. How much is this going to set her back? How much is it going to set back all of the kids?”

He caressed her cheek. He said, “We’re alive, Sydnee. You, me, and her. I have to focus on that, Sydnee. That’s a win, the biggest.”

“Thanks to Odell,” Sydnee said. “Without him, Becca would be…” She closed her eyes. “And he’s gone now, too.”

“Yeah,” Andy said. “We’re in his debt, and I wish to God that I could have repaid it. But I can’t think about the past right now.

It’s too overwhelming. But if I focus on the fact that the three of us made it out okay… that’s the solace, I think, I need right now.

That all of us do. When tomorrow comes, we’ll think about who we’ve lost, what we’ve lost, and how to move forward. But not now.”

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She considered his words. She wiped her eyes and said, “You’re right, Andy. We’re breathing. We need to remember that.”

She looked deeply into his eyes. Hers were crusty and bloodshot, yet he felt a swelling in his chest.

There was a beauty in their softness, and he was reminded that this was the woman he loved. This was the woman he’d move worlds for.

“Can you just… Can you hold me?” she asked.

It was an easy request. He held her until they somehow, miraculously, fell asleep. *** The next day, they held a remembrance for each of the dead. The memorials were quick. They had a lot of people to go through. They didn’t have any bodies to bury, either. Northfield hated how common that was for Stormrise.

The remembrances were held in the restaurant-turnedcafeteria. After the final memorial, Anne Kaminski stepped onto the stage, which had hosted live bands and performances in the days before the apocalypse.

She looked exhausted. Sleep eluded her, as it had most others.

The bags under her eyes were prominent. Her hair, normally prim and proper, splayed out.

Still, she stood upright at the podium.

She said, “Yesterday started off like any other day. It ended as the worst day in Stormrise’s history.”

She looked down and closed her eyes. “Our enemies hurt us yesterday. By God, they did. The wounds we’ve received will never fully heal.

“Yesterday reminded me of how hard this fight is. Of just how hopeless it can be, at times. Yet it also reminded me of how necessary it is. The Network saw an opportunity. Our enemy 132

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used it to slaughter us, with no care for the women, children, or infirm.

“The Network will do this to any dissidents. General Arkland has V2 in development. He wants to permanently snuff out any resistance that kindles against him. He wants to crush hope itself.

“Part of me doesn’t want to do this anymore. Part of me wonders if the deaths of our loved ones are worth this cost. But then I remember why. I remember why.”

She pressed her lips together firmly. Then she said, “We’ll grieve. We’ll regroup. We’ll recover. And we’ll move forward.

God help me, I wish we didn’t have to.

“Our friends we’ve lost… they joined Stormrise for a reason.

They joined because they knew what was at stake. They didn’t get to see the light at the end of the tunnel. But they want us to.

“Part of that is being there for each other. Look around and see a friend in mourning. Help them. Pray for them. Be there.

We need each other—now more than ever.”

Around the room, Northfield saw the same exhaustion and sorrow in everyone’s eyes. However, he saw the same determination that Chief Kaminski possessed.

Like Chief Kaminski had said, the Network had hurt them badly. Northfield could sense the hunger for payback in many eyes.

A repast was held in the same cafeteria afterward. The gathering was devoid of food and drinks. Stormrise hadn’t escaped with any food, save for the emergency dried food stored in the base. They needed to ration the food until their inventory could be rebuilt from fishing in the nearby lakes and hunting in the forests.

The one drink they had was a nonalcoholic punch created from a dried mixture. It had a vaguely fruity taste, and it was slightly oversweet, but it was better than nothing.

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So the Stormrise members had to be content with mingling, either in clusters of standing groups or in gatherings around the tables.

Northfield wandered from group to group, offering his condolences to the families and friends of the lost. He found himself growing weary, but he pushed through the fatigue.

He refilled his glass with punch. When he turned around, he met Dr. Mitchell. The doctor looked haggard. Northfield hadn’t expected anything different. With Dr. Cohanan gone, Dr. Mitchell had to fill the void as best he could with the wounded.

Dr. Cohanan, he thought. He clenched his cup.

“We lost a good woman, Mark,” Dr. Mitchell said. He stuffed his hands into his long overcoat and stared at the ceiling. “One of the best.”

“She helped everyone in Stormrise at one point or another,” Northfield said. He closed his eyes. “She deserved better. I just…

Dammit, I wish she wasn’t gone.”

Dr. Mitchell looked down, stuffing his hands even further into his pockets. “Want to know what I respected most about her?”

“What?”

“The fact that she didn’t want to do any of this,” Dr. Mitchell said. “She was always going on about running away. Or about taking some prolonged vacation somewhere.”

Northfield couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. That she did.”

“Even though she felt that way, Mark, she never ran away.

She stayed here. She pushed through it all. Up until the very end.

It’s more than I can say for myself.” He tilted his head and asked, “Remember when we first met?”

“How could I forget?” Northfield asked. Dr. Mitchell had run a halfway clinic between New Medea and Stormrise headquarters before Stormrise leadership eventually decided to shut it down and consolidate their medical forces at Stormrise.

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Northfield had arrived at Dr. Mitchell’s clinic with Geralt in tow. Geralt had needed treatment for the knife wound that ultimately took his leg.

Dr. Mitchell said, “I wanted to run away, too. Difference was, I actually did it. I requested that station. It was remote. I had my emergencies, but there was just something about being at Stormrise, in the middle of it all, that scared me.”

“But you came back,” Northfield said. “You helped people.”

Dr. Mitchell waved the words off. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not trying to talk about myself. My point is that she was strong. She endured.”

Northfield suddenly felt her in his arms again. When the bullet went through her and there was nothing, just nothing, he could do.

“She was inspired by you, you know,” Dr. Mitchell said.

“What do you mean?”

“She talked about you,” Dr. Mitchell said. “Thought it was so brave how you went out into the field, then volunteered at the clinic as soon as you returned. She said that you made her want to keep going. If you could do all of that, then, well, she could keep doing her job, at the least.”

Northfield blinked. “I… I didn’t know she thought so highly of me.”

“Yeah, well,” Dr. Mitchell said. “They say you should tell people how you feel because you won’t get a chance when they’re gone. I guess she never got that chance with you.” He pressed his lips together. He said, “I’ll see you around, Mark.”

Dr. Mitchell left, and Northfield lost him in the crowd of mingling, mourning souls.

He spotted Aubrey Robinson sitting alone at a table. Even from a distance, he could see the redness in her eyes.

He found it odd that she was alone among so many people.

Perhaps she had chosen to sit by herself and she didn’t want company.

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Yet at the same time, maybe she could use a friend. He decided to go and ask. Asking never hurt.

He approached her table. She offered a sad smile.

“Hey, Mark,” she said. “Sit with me?”

He pulled out a chair and sat down. “I’m sorry about Odell, Aubrey.”

“I’m sorry for you, too,” she said. She pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose.

He looked down and closed his eyes. He felt a big swell in his throat, and talking became difficult.

He didn’t want this to be so difficult. He didn’t want to keep doing this. To keep feeling this.

“Yeah,” he managed to say, just barely.

He let a few more seconds pass, trying to compose himself.

He didn’t notice that his eyes had gotten watery until a tear fell.

She noticed, and another sad smile crossed her lips. “I’d offer you my napkin, but it’s got my gross snot in it now.”

“No thank you,” he said, offering something close to a smile.

He sighed and said, “I’m gonna miss talking to him.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I spent so much time angry at him, Mark. So many years. What a waste.”

He said, “You made up with him in the end.”

“I did,” she said. “But I wish it was earlier.”

Northfield shook his head. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself. With everything that happened between you two, I was amazed at how you forgave him so fully. And how you stuck by him, even after he slipped up again and again. You were kind.”

She met his eyes. They were even more red. His words had hit a sore spot.

“You think so?” she asked.

“Yeah, I do,” he said, with all the genuineness in the world.

She looked off in the distance, still thinking deeply. “He saved Becca. I hope that gave him some solace in the end.”

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“Yeah,” Northfield said. He stared into his cup. “I hope so, too.” *** After the repast had ended, Stormrise broke up, with most of its members seeking an early bedtime. Northfield wandered a bit, to clear his head. He came across Geralt sitting between a decrepit ice machine and vending machine. The former Yellowback held a bottle of gin.

“Come drink with me, Mark,” Geralt said.

Northfield sat next to him, but he refused a drink. “Where’d you find that bottle?”

“Man has his secrets,” Geralt said, taking a swig. He coughed, clearing his throat. “I’ve gotta tell you something.”

Northfield said, “I’m all ears.”

“I see why you do it,” Geralt said.

“See why I do what?”

“Act all goody-two-shoes.”

Northfield didn’t understand where he was going with this, so he waited for Geralt to continue.

Geralt said, “For everybody else, the Network’s ambush is gonna go down as one of the worst days of their lives. But I gotta be honest, Mark. For me, it ain’t like that.”

“What do you mean?”

Geralt shrugged and looked up at the ceiling. “I was at a crossroads. Literally. A cross between the hallways. Aubrey and I. We had two choices. We could go one way and help Kaminski and the others, or we could turn tail.

“Every bone in me screamed to just escape. It’s the survivor in me. But by God, I didn’t, and I don’t know why. Instead, I told Aubrey to wheel me towards the danger.

“It was stupid, Mark. It was brain-dead stupid. It was against protocol, too. I had all of the excuses in my pocket.

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“But I’ll tell you what. When we bull-rushed her office, I don’t think I’ve ever felt better.” Geralt drank again. He said, “You know what? Didn’t think I had it in me, either.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Northfield said.

“What are you talking about?”

“If I had been there to see it, I would’ve put money on you choosing to help Kaminski.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Northfield said, “I would’ve.”

Geralt shook his head. “Then you’re even more naive than I thought.”

“Am I, though?” Northfield replied. “I would’ve been right.”

“Heh. Well, you got me there,” Geralt said. He muttered something, and he took another drink.

Northfield noticed his sorrow; it ran deeply through the lines in his face, in his weathered eyes, in the corners of his lips.

They sat in silence, taking in the eerie solitude of the hallway.

138

13 “Give me your report, Bowler,” General Arkland said.

The Head of Science adjusted his glasses. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, but he quickly wiped them away. He couldn’t hide his anxiety. It was apparent to everyone in the room.

Jane Sloan stood behind Arkland, stoic as always. The Head of Resources sat in a chair next to the Head of Science, in front of General Arkland’s desk.

She studied the Head of Science with an air of disgust, easily discernible by the slight curl of her mouth and the narrowness of her eyes. Ever the survivalist, she loathed the signs of weakness, the same as General Arkland.

General Arkland sat back in his chair. No need to pounce, not yet.

The Head of Science perceived his relaxation, and he relaxed himself. He took a deep breath and said, “I’m happy to announce, sir, that the OGRE mechs—I mean Guardians—have passed their final battery of tests. Two mechs are ready for deployment, with pilots able and ready. Another pair of mechs are under development.”

“And V2?” General Arkland asked.

A shadow passed over the Head of Science’s face. He tried to conceal it, but he failed. General Arkland would hate to see him at a poker table.

“V2… V2 is proceeding according to schedule, sir.”

General Arkland felt an abrupt spike of frustration. He was tired of this game.

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“Is that right, Hubert?” he asked, blood on the edge of his voice.

He saw the whites of Bowler’s eyes before the Head of Science tried to save face.

“I… I… Sir, you can look at the schedule.”

“I can look at a damned schedule just fine,” General Arkland said. “I’ve heard reports that you’ve stalled progress at the facility.

‘Safety inspections,’ allegedly, which are inexplicable according to your subordinates.”

“I…” The Head of Science furrowed his brow. “They’re supposed to report to me. Directly. Why did…?”

“Wrong.” General Arkland said. He bared his teeth. “They report to me. You all report to me.”

The Head of Science swallowed and composed himself.

General Arkland could see the realization on Bowler’s face: that this conversation would be the life or death of him.

Unfortunately for him, General Arkland had already decided.

The Head of Science leveled his voice, and he said, “Yes, I’ve taken some extra safety precautions. Perhaps I went too far. But with how dangerous V2 is, can you blame me for taking safety seriously?”

“Maybe not,” General Arkland said. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a revolver. “Maybe not.”

“Sir?” the Head of Science nearly squeaked.

General Arkland didn’t level the weapon on him. Not yet.

“But there are other things I can blame you for, can’t I?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” the Head of Science said. The whites of his eyes told Arkland otherwise. His pallid skin told Arkland otherwise.

The Head of Resources scooted her chair away from Bowler ever so slightly.

General Arkland said, “Are you going to make me say it?

You’re going to regret it if you do.”

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General Arkland didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t say a word.

Not until the Head of Science broke.

In a voice as quiet and somber as death, the Head of Science whispered, “I leaked V2.”

The Head of Resources reeled. The surprise on her face was genuine; she didn’t know about this. Jane Sloan was as stoic as ever.

The Head of Resources asked, “Bowler… what the hell were you thinking?”

“I’m wondering the same thing,” General Arkland said. “I have a good pulse on people, usually, but this surprised me. I knew a part of you wanted to, but I thought you were too cowardly.” He leaned forward. “Why did you do it, Bowler? What pushed you over the edge?”

The Head of Science put his hands up reflexively. “I’m not…

I’m not on their side. I’m not with Stormrise. I’m on your side.”

General Arkland sneered. “Tell me, then. How was this supposed to work in your mind?”

The Head of Science pressed his lips together. For once, General Arkland could see a backbone emerging.

“It’s V2, General. I refuse to go back to that toxic, nightmare world. I absolutely refuse it.” He wiped sweat from his forehead.

His hands trembled severely. “Nothing is worth that damned cost.” He continued, “I thought leaking V2 would cause such a public backlash that you’d reconsider. That you’d cancel the project.”

“Was giving Stormrise a new rallying cry part of your calculus?”

The Head of Science looked down. “I figured that V2… would give them some ammunition. But with our Guardian project and all our troops… they can’t win, sir. We don’t need V2. We don’t.”

General Arkland leveled the revolver at the Head of Science.

The rotund man froze in place.

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General Arkland said, “I know you didn’t leak V2 personally.

You had one of your subordinates do it. Who?” “D-Donna Bass,” the Head of Science said. “But I don’t know where she is. I arranged for her to disappear, and even I don’t know where.”

“Did she leak anything else to Stormrise?” General Arkland asked.

The Head of Science shook his head and said, “I expressly told her to only leak V2.”

“Yes, I’m sure you did,” General Arkland said. “However, if she arranged to meet with Stormrise, did you consider that she might tell them more than you ordered? That, like a certain man in this room, she might have breached confidentiality?”

The Head of Science’s deer-in-the-headlights look told Arkland that he hadn’t even considered the possibility.

General Arkland shook his head. “A brilliant scientist. But an idiot all the same.”

He was tired of this man. He pulled the trigger and delivered a single, clean shot through the Head of Science’s forehead.

The Head of Science recoiled back; his weight tipped the chair over, and he fell onto the ground. Blood marked the far wall, and it pooled on the floor. Someone would clean it up later.

General Arkland paid him no further mind. He faced the Head of Resources, although he didn’t aim the gun at her.

“You’ve been doing good work, Nancy. However, let this be a reminder of the importance of loyalty.”

She met his eyes firmly. “Don’t forget, General. I ran the retainant camps for the better part of a decade. The enemy will not show me leniency or mercy. I gain nothing from helping them, and I never will.”

General Arkland believed her. Nancy McRoberts prized survival above all else.

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“Bowler’s operations now fall under your wing. Replace all the people loyal to him. I believe that will be a small number. He was never a man to inspire loyalty.”

The Head of Resources glanced at the dead man on the floor.

She turned back to Arkland. “Consider it done, sir.”

“Put resources on finding Donna Bass, too,” General Arkland said. “We won’t know what else she may have leaked until we can find her.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re dismissed,” General Arkland said toward the door.

When the Head of Resources departed, Jane Sloan asked, “Do you think we’ll find Bass?”

“No,” General Arkland said. “If she’s smart, she is bunkered somewhere, and she won’t come out unless Stormrise wins.”

“Perhaps she joined Stormrise,” Sloan theorized.

“It’s a possibility,” Arkland said, “although she may be reluctant to join their ranks. Bowler’s chosen few have never struck me as fighters.” He stared at Bowler. “What a damned mess.”

He gestured for her to follow him. They would continue their conversation elsewhere. They left his main office, and he ordered his men to clean up the body. He and Sloan moved to a conference room on the other side of Memory Tower. His office and the conference room resided on the floor below the garden.

Wide windows stretched from floor to ceiling. The orangeauburn sunrise flooded in. He ran his hands along the flat, charcoal-black table, which was oblong in shape.

They would be safe, conversing here. The rooms were searched regularly for bugs.

“What have we learned?” General Arkland asked. His men were sifting through Stormrise headquarters, gathering intel.

“No intel was recovered from their computer lab,” Jane Sloan said. “Stormrise must have had protocol in place for such an attack. All of the sensitive information on their computers has been scrubbed clean.”

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General Arkland nodded. It was a disappointment, but not unsurprising.

Jane Sloan continued, “Sixty dead on their side. None of them notable marks. No Anne Kaminski, Earl Taylor, Rayne Simpson, Mark Northfield, or Geralt Salb. Based on our current intel, it is safe to assume they got away.”

“Sixty dead,” General Arkland repeated. “A sizable chunk of their forces.”

“Yes,” Sloan replied, “although it’s hard to discern exactly how big of a chunk. Elliot estimated around 180 to 200 at their camp, but that was just a guess. That’s not to mention that Stormrise always has some number of forces in the field, as well as undercover agents in New Medea. They have informants, too.

It’s difficult to discern how many could mobilize. Elliot McTavish was not privy to that information.”

“And he wasn’t privy to the location of Stormrise’s secondary headquarters, either,” General Arkland observed.

“No, sir,” she said. “Our men haven’t found any leads on that front, either.”

General Arkland said, “With all things considered, this operation was a limited success. The primary goal of damaging Stormrise and its morale was achieved. Its secondary goal of killing Stormrise’s leaders was a failure. Which, based on the size of the strike force, we knew would be a possibility.”

He frowned. “If Stormrise stumbled at this juncture, I thought they wouldn’t be able to rally before V2 was complete.

However, that was a calculation I had made before becoming aware of Bowler’s leak. Stormrise will use V2 as a rallying cry, and I believe they’ll have some measure of success doing it.”

“I concur,” Jane Sloan said.

General Arkland said, “Stormrise will have more fight left in them than I originally thought. If I could’ve gone back, maybe I would have taken a different course of action. However, we’re here now. The question is, what’s our next step forward?”

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“Mitigating the damage caused by the V2 leaks,” Sloan said.

“Cut off Stormrise’s ability to recruit as best we can.”

General Arkland nodded. He thought for a moment, and he said, “The Guardian mechs are complete. Let’s unveil them to the people, branding them as the V2 version of our exo suits.”

She nodded, and there was a glimmer in her eyes. “That’s smart. If we unveil another project labeled as V2, we can more credibly reject the V2 gas rumors as false. We can claim that the leakers had bad intel. We can make people think the mechs are the real V2.”

“Exactly,” Arkland said. “Classic misdirection. Many will see through the ruse or not believe it. But this will breed confusion.

Confusion creates indecision, and indecision creates inaction.

With enough inaction, we win every single time.”

“I’ll arrange for a ceremony to reveal the mechs,” Jane Sloan said. “I’ll coordinate with our media apparatus.”

“Thank you, Sloan,” he said.

“The napalm launcher is also complete. Should we unveil it at the ceremony as well?”

“I’m always for a show of force. Do it,” Arkland said. “Any other orders of business?”

“One,” she said. “After the attack on Stormrise headquarters, our surviving RAID soldiers extracted Elliot McTavish. His sister, whom we also agreed to extract, refused to come with us.”

“An expected outcome,” Arkland said. “A Stormrise loyalist isn’t going to turn on a dime, especially given her history.”

“The question remains, sir,” she said. “What are we going to do with him?”

“Honor our arrangement,” Arkland said. “Reneging on deals unnecessarily is bad for business.”

“He wants more,” she said. “He doesn’t want to be turned loose in the city. He wants further protection. He’s afraid of reprisal from Stormrise.”

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Arkland pondered that. “Very well. Offer him a position in our guard detail.”

“Sir?” Sloan asked.

“I’ve read his psych report from Project Augustus,” he said. “I know what motivates a man like him. He’s a competent soldier to boot. But even past those things, one thing is certain about Elliot.

Now that he’s turned against Stormrise, we can trust him. After what he’s done to his former friends, he can’t go back to them, can he?”

“No. I suppose you’re right,” she said. “Very well. I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you, Sloan,” he said. “You’re dismissed.”

She lingered for a moment, as if she wanted to say something.

Arkland caught something in her eyes. It almost seemed like longing, but he couldn’t tell. He didn’t want to tell.

She left. Arkland stepped to the windows and gazed out of them. The sun was unstoppable in its rise, ushering forth another day. The city was waking up before him. It was his favorite sight.

That lull, that moment of quiet, before everything began.

He could see all the moving parts before him now. Stormrise would make its moves, and he would make his.

The game would end. One way or another, it would end.

He stepped away from the windows.

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14 Stormrise clustered around the large TV on the back wall of the cafeteria. General Arkland had announced a grand ceremony, one that would shed light on the V2 rumors that had plagued the city. The ceremony took place in the park in front of Memory Tower.

Northfield waited tensely. He could expect a lot of things from General Arkland. The pure, unvarnished truth was not one of them.

General Arkland stood on an elevated stage. The air was biting. Pale clouds blanketed the sky, with darker clouds skulking at the horizon. It would snow later, most likely.

There were two large structures behind Arkland, each about thirty yards tall. Cloth was draped over them, concealing whatever lay underneath. Their shapes were wide and sturdy, resembling trees.

Northfield doubted that Arkland planned to showcase trees, though.

In addition, a giant TV screen hung directly behind Arkland.

General Arkland looked strong, standing in the middle of it all. His thick eyebrows framed his face sturdily, and his eyes stared forward, unwavering.

He began. His voice boomed. “The Network is well aware of the rumors that have been plaguing this city regarding something called V2. We’re aware of the fear and anxiety these rumors have caused. This assembly is aimed at addressing them. The best way to dispel rumors like this is to shine a light on them.

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“It is true: we have been working on a project under the title of V2. However, that is where truth ends and falsehood begins.

V2 is not a toxic gas.”

General Arkland raised both of his hands, gesturing to the concealed objects. Prompted by the gesture, Death Corps guards pulled away the cloth.

Giant mechs were revealed, staring forward with glowing blue eyes. They were bipedal, with thick limbs that still looked capable of swift movement. Rocket boosters bulked out the shoulders and legs, further enhancing their mobility. Each mech arm bolstered a battery of weapons.

The centers of the mechs had a roundish shape. A human pilot could sit comfortably inside one of them.

General Arkland proudly declared, “Behold the next evolution of our exoskeleton technology. After our exo soldiers come the Guardians.”

Northfield figured this must be the additional project their source had mentioned.

General Arkland nodded to the screen above him. Footage began to play, showing a field test of a mech.

The mech had multi-gun systems on its arms. Miniguns shredded static targets, while cannon mounts simultaneously reduced other targets to powder.

The mech’s propulsion system activated, and it hovered in the air. Rocket systems emerged from its shoulders. There was a brief pause; the mech appeared to be acquiring targets. A battery of micro-rockets launched at the remaining dummies, rendering them char and dust.

The propulsion system abruptly stopped, and the mech dropped to the earth, kicking up geysers of dust. It seemed that the mechs couldn’t stay airborne for long. However, getting such a bulk of machinery to levitate in the first place was a marvel.

The footage faded to black.

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General Arkland said, “The Guardians are the true V2.

They’re the Network’s latest and greatest tool to protect the city.

V2 being a toxic gas project is a lie.

“You can guess where this lie came from. Stormrise caught wind of our project, and it got scared. Stormrise wants to turn you against us, and it has grown desperate.”

On cue, the screen came to life again. The images quickened Northfield’s heart. They showed Stormrise’s headquarters, showcasing the rubble and ruin left in the wake of the Death Corps’ attack.

Murmurs of despair traveled through the Stormrise crowd.

Seeing images of their former home, showcased by their enemy, was a hard pill to swallow.

The Network opted not to show any bodies. Northfield knew that had to be a calibrated decision.

General Arkland gestured to the image, and he said, “You see, we conducted a successful counterattack against Stormrise’s headquarters. Our victory is only a matter of time, and the remnants of Stormrise’s forces are reeling. Their leaders will devise something, anything, to strike back at us.

“So its leaders have resorted to their traditional playbook of lies and deceit. But it won’t work. We won’t bend to their will.”

Arkland waited for a round of applause to end. Then he said, “That’s not all. I have an encore for all of you.”

Another video played, demonstrating a new napalm launcher wielded by an exo soldier. Fireballs burst from the weapon, careening through the air and exploding on targets.

“The napalm launcher is an evolution of our flamethrower technology. With better range and better suppression, the launcher is another tool in the Network’s arsenal. I hope this shows how we work continuously, day after day, to forge better methods of protecting the citizens of New Medea.

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and watch our enemies fade to irrelevancy.” He ended with the Network’s slogan. “Strongest for the one.”

With that, General Arkland’s ceremony concluded. He waved to the crowd, and he departed from the stage.

The news channel changed focus to its news anchors, who provided their canned opinions on the speech. They would prattle on and on, repeating their vapid opinions for days to fill the airspace. The Network’s propaganda machine was always hard at work.

Somebody, blessedly, turned the TV off.

Northfield turned to Geralt, who stood beside him.

“These people,” Geralt said, scoffing. “They could spin a damned mountain range.”

Anne Kaminski summoned Stormrise leadership for a meeting to discuss General Arkland’s announcement. She included Dimitri and Softball as well.

“More force multipliers,” Earl Taylor said, running his hand over his scalp. “Just what the Network needed. More force multipliers.”

“This was a smart play by Arkland,” Anne Kaminski said. She frowned deeply. “This was very smart.”

“Are people going to believe him?” Rayne Simpson said.

“That V2 is really this mech project?”

Geralt said, “It’s gonna be like… Hell, what’s it called?” He snapped his fingers. “Rorschach test. It’s like a Rorschach test.”

“What are you talking about?” Northfield asked.

“It’s got the pictures with the ink stains, and everybody sees something else inside of them.” He frowned. “It was a good analogy in my head. Point is, people are gonna see what they see, based on what they already believe. Everybody skeptical of the Network’s gonna call their bluff. Everyone who isn’t, or who just doesn’t want to see nothin’, will take Arkland at his word.”

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on the edge of joining our cause will still be motivated by the V2 gas. What Arkland cut off from us is the center. The people not predisposed to action, who feared the V2 rumors, will be put at enough ease not to act.”

“Well, fortunately for us, I think there’s a lot of people along that margin,” Rayne Simpson said.

“Whatever the case may be,” Earl Taylor said, “I’m still caught on the mech-sized elephant in the room. We had our suspicions, but that mech demonstration was worse than my fears.”

“Mine too,” Kaminski said.

“Its weapons appear oriented towards infantry combat,” Rayne said. “Which makes sense since our operation relies mainly on guerilla warfare. If we come across one of those things unprepared, we’re going to be dead in the water. It will tear us apart.”

“We could throw a thousand men at it, and they’d be shredded,” Taylor said.

“Not to mention the new napalm launchers,” Dimitri said.

“Those could cause some damage.”

“They keep getting better,” Softball said, with a hint of despair in her voice. “They’ve already repaired the exo suit’s ankle weakness. It was our best way of taking down those guys.”

“Funny, they’ve never mentioned that little fix publicly,” Geralt said.

“They probably don’t want to cue people into the fact that there was a weakness we exploited,” Softball muttered.

“I don’t know if we’ll find another golden egg like that,” Dimitri said. “The only weak spot I know of now is at the base of the neck, where the wires join up. But that’s protected by blast padding. If you bust through that, well, you’ve probably already blown the exo’s head off. Not helpful.”

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Northfield wanted to focus on a way forward. He said, “We have the location of a RAID armor factory. RAID armor is our answer. It’s the only thing that can outmaneuver the Guardian mechs and exos.”

“David and Goliath strategy, huh?” Geralt said.

“That’s what this whole fight has been, right?” Northfield asked. “David and Goliath.”

“The Network caught wind that V2 was leaked,” General Taylor said. “It might know the RAID factory location was leaked and have acted accordingly. It may not be a viable target anymore.”

“Only one way to find out,” Rayne said. “We need to scout it out.”

“The last time we scouted out a Network facility, there was still an ambush waiting for us,” General Taylor observed.

“The Network changes its tactics. So can we,” Rayne said.

“We’ve had a pattern of attacking a facility as soon as we catch wind of its existence. Let’s not do that this time. We don’t have the manpower anyway. Let’s survey it as we build up our forces.

When we feel ready, we can attack.”

Anne Kaminski thought it through. “If the Network knows that we have the factory’s location, it would have reinforced the facility by now. If the facility still looks viable after the first scouting run, we should be reasonably confident that the Network won’t further reinforce it in the near future.

“That still leaves open the possibility of another trap, but that’s where additional scouting will mitigate the risk.”

She nodded, seeming to convince herself just as much as her allies.

She said, “Very well. We’ll take every opportunity at our disposal to recruit. To rebuild our numbers. In the meantime, we’ll learn everything we can about the RAID factory.

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“Any operation against it needs to be executed flawlessly.

We can’t sustain another massacre. Still, we must attack sooner rather than later. V2 is our ticking time bomb. Every day we spend preparing is another day closer to General Arkland’s goal.”

They were all painfully aware of that point. *** Widow Team embarked on the first scouting mission to the RAID facility. It lay within the gas-free perimeter, so Widow Team removed their gas masks after passing the gas line.

Breathing fresh, clean air was a relief, even if the frosty air burned Northfield’s lungs. It served as a reminder, too, of General Arkland’s V2 plans. Threatening to take away the clean air would be a devastatingly effective tactic.

The RAID facility differed from the Network’s other retainant camps, mainly due to its location.

Most retainant camps stood in the middle of nowhere, far down some peeled-off side street, hugged by wilderness. The Network didn’t want anyone, namely Stormrise, stumbling across their facilities. The camps were in places that you would only go to if you knew of the camp in the first place.

The RAID factory, instead, was nestled neatly in the corner of a small town, bumping up against a nearby river.

Widow Team’s intel suggested this location had been chosen by the Head of Science himself. He had visited this RAID factory frequently, so he wanted it inside the safe perimeter, in a place that didn’t feel so “lonely.”

The small town had a little downtown district in its center, with a dozen or so brick buildings standing two or three stories tall. The main street, named First Street, led directly to the factory.

The factory and town had been built prior to the apocalypse, and the factory had been the beating heart of the town, back in its heyday.

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According to Stormrise’s insider, the town had long since been abandoned.

The RAID factory sat atop a slightly elevated hill, with no structures in its immediate vicinity. The buildings along First Street, therefore, would give them the best vantage points to observe the factory.

Widow Team parked their vehicle miles away. After all, driving down First Street didn’t befit a scouting mission. They trekked the rest of the way on foot, sticking to the barren forests with their spindly branches.

They reached the edge of the forest, which stopped right before First Street. They edged closer, but Leo abruptly stuck out his hand. He signaled for them to lie down immediately.

They hit the snow. They wore white camouflage, so they blended in. Unless someone had an incredibly discerning eye, they would seem like slight ripples across the snowy surface, but no more.

Northfield tilted his head up ever so slightly. He discovered the reason for Leo’s concern.

On the wall of one of the buildings, one story above the ground, a small black object swiveled back and forth.

It was a security camera. First Street wasn’t quite as abandoned as they had thought.

The Network likely figured, too, that the buildings on First Street were the best vantage points for any enemies approaching their facility. So the guards might as well set up some security cameras, just in case.

Fortunately, the men of Widow Team were far enough away that the cameras probably didn’t spot them. However, there was no way to be sure until they saw if the Network reacted or not.

When the camera turned away, Widow Team retreated back into the shelter of the trees.

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know if they had blown their cover. The entire operation could be compromised.

The Network didn’t react, though. No vehicles or troops were dispatched to investigate. By all signs, it appeared that the Network remained unaware of their presence.

First Street was a no-go. Who knew how many more cameras were there? They had a better chance of giving their enemies intel than gaining any themselves.

Without any vantage points in the area, Widow Team had to explore other options.

They returned to their vehicle and reported their progress to Chief Kaminski and General Taylor.

Then they retrieved a drone from the back trunk.

Stormrise generally avoided drones when surveilling.

Stormrise hardly had state-of-the-art drone technology. The best they had been able to recover and refurbish were civilian drones from before the war began. Military drones had encrypted access to prevent them from falling into enemy hands. That same encryption also kept Stormrise out.

The Network, for its part, hadn’t invested much into drone technology over the years. In the wastelands, where gas killed visibility at extended distances, drones didn’t have much utility.

In the city, the Network had access to the city’s litany of security cameras, so drones were redundant.

Stormrise’s drones lacked advanced features like night vision and high-resolution cameras. They couldn’t go very high, either. In most circumstances, men on the ground, adorned in camouflage and equipped with binoculars or cameras, provided better intel at less risk.

This case served as an exception. Flight during the day presented too much risk, so Widow Team would fly the drone at night and take their chances. Visibility would be poor, and activity at the camp minimal, but they would have to make do.

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Rayne piloted the drone. Under the cover of darkness, the drone darted through the air, making its way above the forest.

The trees grew scarcer, giving way to the facility.

Clouds blanketed the sky, which served the drone well.

It blended in better without light from the stars or the moon behind it.

Widow Team just had to hope there weren’t any soldiers within the camp with night vision goggles and a particular interest in the night sky.

The drone hovered just outside of the facility, just close enough to give them a view within the perimeter walls, but no closer.

There was a central road from the main gate that divided the facility in two. Fortunately for Widow Team, streetlights illuminated the road, making it visible to the drone. Likewise, the guard towers at the corners of the facility were lit.

Four buildings occupied the center of the facility. The largest took up over half of the area, stretching lengthwise from the main road. It had an entirely flat roof and stood about three or four stories tall; it was hard to approximate height from the drone’s perspective.

This, in all likelihood, was the production factory.

The other three buildings stood across the central road, and they were arranged in a column. The largest stood nearest to the main gates, with the two smaller buildings closer to the back of the facility.

Although Widow Team could make out the buildings, the lighting wasn’t good enough for them to determine what the buildings were used for.

On the drone feed, Leo pointed at the rooftop of the production factory. He cursed. “Look.”

Northfield squinted. The drone feed didn’t have a high enough resolution to render the building in great detail, and the darkness didn’t help.

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Then he saw them: small pixels of blue shimmering in the black. There were four sets of them spread across the building.

“RAID soldiers,” Northfield whispered. The glowing blue was from their distinctive arm plating.

“Damn,” Andy muttered.

“What else did you expect?” Leo muttered. “It’s the RAID production facility for crying out loud.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Andy said.

Northfield ran his hand through his hair. The Network’s advanced units made everything so complicated.

“Four of ’em on the roof, at least,” Leo said.

“There could be more in the watchtowers,” Northfield said.

“Could be,” Leo replied.

The watchtowers had overhead coverings, preventing their drone from seeing inside them. Widow Team could lower the drone to get a better angle, but they didn’t want to risk it.

“I don’t see any exo soldiers,” Rayne said. “That’s a good sign, at least.”

“They could all be holed up inside one of those buildings, just like last time,” Leo said.

Aside from the RAID soldiers, the facility seemed as still as death.

“We won’t find out tonight,” Rayne said. “The drone is running low on battery.”

“Already?” Leo said. “Stupid piece of crap.”

Rayne surveyed the facility once more. To himself as much as his men, he said, “The RAID soldiers aren’t a welcome sight.

But still, I don’t see an army here. It doesn’t look like the Network has beefed up this place. There’s a real shot that we have the drop on them.”

“Unless there are guys lying in wait,” Leo reminded him.

“Yes,” Rayne said. “Unless that’s the case. But based on the information we have, I think this target is viable. We need more intel, though. So, we’re going to do what we talked about.

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We’re going to survey. We’re going to track. We’re going to learn everything we possibly can before touching this place.”

Northfield felt a prick of anguish in his stomach. The thought of another clash with the Network made him tentative.

If Stormrise acted, it needed to succeed. Based on its recent track record, he had reason enough to be afraid.

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15 Stormrise deemed the drone too risky to fly day in, day out, so Stormrise gleaned as much information as it could from observing the camp from a distance, on foot, by watching the traffic into and out of the facility.

Widow Team conducted all of these scouting operations.

After the camera scare on First Street, Stormrise wanted only its best men on the job.

Since Stormrise’s primary goal was acquiring RAID armor, the timing of their attack was critical. It needed to attack when RAID suits were actually finished and ready for use. Stealing half-built RAID suits wouldn’t do Stormrise any good.

The suits were hand-built, and their construction appeared to be a lengthy operation.

Still, the Network appeared to have the process down to a regular cadence. Every two weeks, on Monday mornings, two vehicles with large trailers would arrive at the facility and swiftly leave.

Other vehicles visited the facility, but none with the clockwork cadence of the Monday morning vehicles. Stormrise surmised that these vehicles picked up finished RAID suits. Other visitors restocked the facility with supplies, whether they be food for the occupants or materials to keep RAID armor development chugging along.

The Monday morning vehicles arrived too early for any production to begin for the day. Hence, Stormrise determined that the RAID suits must be fully completed by Sunday night.

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In order to get the RAID suits, the optimal time to attack the facility would be then.

So Stormrise had determined the time to attack. The viability of an offensive still remained in question.

Widow Team scouted out the watchtowers and determined that the base stocked each tower with a RAID soldier. The presence of more RAID soldiers was unwelcome news but not unexpected. That meant Widow Team would have to deal with eight RAID soldiers at the very least.

After what a squad of RAID soldiers had done to their headquarters, facing down so many RAID soldiers wasn’t a prospect any member of Stormrise looked forward to.

Yet the RAID soldiers didn’t present an insurmountable threat. The greater question was whether the Death Corps had an ambush set up for them. The men on Widow Team didn’t have a view into the facility’s buildings.

Unless they wanted to scale the walls, they had no sightline on foot, and they couldn’t pilot the drone anywhere close enough to peer into the buildings.

They tried their best by piecing together other bits of information.

Because the main factory was churning out RAID armor, they knew the factory was at least being used to some extent, and it wasn’t merely a honeypot to lure Stormrise in. However, the factory could have been reduced to half capacity, much like Section 604 when Stormrise’s troops had been ambushed.

Stormrise had no baseline to tell if the RAID factory operated at full capacity.

Stormrise knew even less about the other three main buildings. Judging by the Network’s prior facilities, there were likely slave quarters, guard quarters, and a third utility building.

However, any one of them could have been hollowed out and stocked with soldiers.

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Dimitri and Softball estimated the number of people that would reasonably occupy each facility and compared it with the size of the non-RAID deliveries into the facility to see if there were any discrepancies. A discrepancy might indicate the Network packing the facility with more manpower than would otherwise be the case.

They came to the conclusion that the traffic into the facility matched what they would expect for the facility’s standard operations.

Still, their result was an approximation at best. It was back-ofnapkin math, which served to justify whether Stormrise would send its men and women to their potential deaths. It wasn’t good enough. Still, it might be all that Stormrise could get to make a judgment call.

Widow Team continued its reconnaissance, hoping to glean more information.

Meanwhile, at Stormrise headquarters, Anne Kaminski coordinated recruitment efforts with their undercover agents in New Medea. Each recruit went through an arduous screening process to prevent another Elliot from slipping into their ranks.

Still, the recruiting went well. There were a lot of people anxious to join, courtesy of V2. Although V2 could be the doom of Stormrise, the kindling of people’s passions to fight was a great silver lining.

Once recruits made it to Stormrise, they were partitioned and sent to carry out various duties. Most of them were sent to combat training. Stormrise needed all of the able-bodied men and women it could get its hands on.

The city hall building in Amber had been cleared out and retrofitted into a workout and training area.

When trainees entered city hall, they stepped into General Taylor’s domain.

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*** “The Network is stronger than us. It’s more capable than us.

Hell, in a lot of ways, it’s smarter than us,” General Taylor said.

Sweat dripped from Helen’s forehead, pooling on the floor just under her. Her arms shook, and a deep pain spread from her shoulders to her chest.

“Fifty!” the drill sergeant boomed, his voice echoing throughout the training area.

She lowered herself until her nose just touched the ground.

Exhaling heavily, she pushed upward. The pain in her upper body intensified.

General Taylor continued, “It has an endless supply of soldiers. We are limited.”

“Fifty-one,” the drill sergeant yelled. Helen grimaced, and she began another push-up.

General Taylor said, “The Network might have more soldiers.

But we can have better soldiers. The Network has more brain power. But we can still be more cunning.”

“Fifty-two.”

Helen hadn’t even finished fifty-one. She sped up to keep pace with her comrades.

General Taylor said, “The Network is working on V2. We have to stop it. Time is not a luxury we have. Our only option is to push. And to push hard.”

“Fifty-three!”

Helen didn’t want to think about how many push-ups they had left.

General Taylor said, “That extends to you, our new recruits.

We are pushing you hard. We are going to continue pushing you hard until our goal is complete. It is the only way to succeed, so it is what we are going to do.”

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ups had only been the latest in a battery of exercises, but the drill sergeant didn’t give the new recruits time to recover. They strapped on gas masks and ran to the nearby forest. An obstacle course awaited.

Exhaustion plagued every fiber of Helen’s body, but General Taylor’s words resonated with her.

She was never much of a fighter herself. Despite her misfortunes in the apocalypse, she had managed to avoid much direct fighting.

After the assault on Stormrise’s headquarters, she had volunteered to fight at the front lines, hence her running through combat training with newcomers. Stormrise needed the people, and she was as able-bodied as any. More than that, though, she felt that she had a debt to repay because of Elliot.

When they reached the obstacle course, the drill sergeant commanded the recruits to form groups of four. They would run through the obstacle course in teams.

Helen sought out a group to join. She found a warm face among the retainants: Aubrey. Aubrey had helped the former slaves adjust to Stormrise, and she had now earned even further respect by volunteering for front-line duty.

Two others joined them, a man and a woman. Helen casually recognized both. They had come from similar situations to her.

They were former slaves who had served in noncombat roles for Stormrise, but they had stepped up due to the losses.

The man and woman had joined their group out of necessity, or for Aubrey, because they could hardly hide their disdain for Helen. Through their gas masks’ lenses, she caught the mistrust in their eyes. The intensity of them made her want to shrivel up.

They didn’t say anything to her, but they didn’t need to say anything. Once again, she was acutely reminded of Elliot. He had delivered these people’s husbands, wives, and even children to their deaths. He had betrayed them all, including her.

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She still didn’t know how to cope with it. She didn’t ask why very often. Whenever she did, she found herself going around and around in circles, continuing to unravel.

Her only option was to stop thinking about it. She had to push forward. She had to keep on moving forward, just like General Taylor had said.

They studied the obstacle course. The construction was slipshod at best, having been set up in a hurry once Stormrise had relocated. Screws stuck out of the wooden boards that constituted the majority of the course.

The first obstacle was simple, but that didn’t make it easy.

Screws kept a tall plank of wood upright against a tree.

They needed to climb the obstacle. One person alone couldn’t do it; the first person would need to be lifted to the top, and then he or she would need to help the others climb up.

“Straight and simple,” the drill sergeant said. “Up the wall, through the course. Everybody on your team needs to complete it. You either succeed as a team or you fail as one.”

He signaled for the teams to approach the starting line.

Without further ceremony, he counted down to zero and whistled loudly. With that, the teams were off. Helen and her team scrambled up the wall, and they proceeded to the next set of obstacles.

From rope swings to tires to balance platforms, their team pushed through as fast as they could, reaching the end before having to travel all the way back.

Helen’s team didn’t get first. But they didn’t get last, either, which meant they avoided running laps as punishment. That served Helen just fine.

The drill sergeant ordered them to clean up, get dinner, and then proceed to their evening chores. They still had a lot of work to do around camp, from retrofitting rooms to wiring up electrical systems to simple cleaning. Helen didn’t look forward to it, but somebody had to do it.

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She showered. Water had been piped into two of city hall’s former meeting rooms, and they now served as crude locker rooms. She relished the water on her face, even though it was cold and smelled metallic. She relished the relative peace, even though it wasn’t really all that peaceful or quiet, surrounded by other women.

She wasn’t in chains, nor six feet in the dirt. There were worse things to complain about.

When she dried off, she found Aubrey next to her.

“You did well out there,” the woman said.

Helen was taken aback. It was a casual, benign comment. It was also the nicest thing anyone had said to her in a while.

“Thanks,” she found herself saying automatically. “You too.”

A few women passed them, drying off. They greeted Aubrey, but they ignored Helen.

Once they passed out of view, turning around a corner of lockers, Aubrey sighed and met Helen’s eyes. There was sympathy in hers.

“It’s not your fault,” Aubrey said. “I know that. And they know that, too, deep down. They’ll come around.”

“Isn’t it my fault, though?” Helen said. “If anyone could’ve stopped him, it was me.”

Aubrey shook her head. “No. Clearly, he could keep up a mask. Besides, you’re doing your part. You’re on the front lines, even. Just hang in there, alright?”

Helen appreciated the encouragement; she really did. Yet it was a bit overwhelming after so long, and she was anxious to change the subject.

“What about you?” she asked. “Why’d you volunteer? I thought you were trying to become a contact with the informants in the city.”

Aubrey said, “I’ve always wanted to be out in the field. You’re right: that’s what I wanted. Being a contact is a selective process, obviously, because of the trust needed, and I was waiting for my 165

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shot. But now Stormrise needs all the manpower it can spare on the front lines. We don’t have the luxury of choice anymore.”

“Sorry it didn’t work out how you wanted it to,” Helen said.

“Don’t be,” Aubrey replied.

“For what it’s worth,” Helen said, “I’m glad to have you out there.”

Aubrey smiled at that. “Hell of a fight we have coming up. But still, I’d take it over running that stupid obstacle course again.”

Helen laughed. Together, they left the locker room. Helen felt her spirits lift ever so slightly.

Her brother wasn’t here. But there were other people around her.

There were worse things to complain about, indeed. *** Stormrise leadership gathered to discuss the latest reconnaissance mission of the RAID factory.

“We have all the information we’re going to get,” Rayne said.

“Not without severely risking a compromise.”

General Taylor said, “Yet we still can’t rule out the possibility of an ambush.”

“Correct,” Rayne said. “Unlikely, yet still a possibility.”

“It’s been months since we caught wind of this facility,” Geralt said. “If the Network really had an ambush set up, would they sustain it for months just in case we showed up?”

“I think we underestimate the Network’s determination to kill us at our own peril,” Northfield said.

“I’ll second that,” General Taylor said.

“Earl, how is the training of our new recruits going?”

“Good,” he said. “They’re hungry. They’re determined.

Quality recruits. However, they’re green.”

“They survived the apocalypse,” Rayne said. “Is anyone really green anymore?”

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“True enough,” Earl said. “They’re hardened, in that sense.

But they still need to work better as a unit.”

“When will we be ready for an operation?” Kaminski asked.

Earl exhaled loudly. “If it came to the wire… I would say we’re ready enough now.”

Kaminski said, “We don’t have any insight into V2’s progress.

We don’t know how much time we have. All we can reasonably guess is that V2 isn’t ready yet. Otherwise, the Network would have used it as a deterrent already.” She frowned. “If only we had a defined timeline… It would make these judgment calls much easier.” She looked at the men around her. “But we don’t have a timeline. So we’ll have to make do. Rayne, what’s your opinion?”

He paused. He didn’t make his call lightly. “Despite the risks, I think we need to go for it. We need the RAID suits, and we have a deadline. I just don’t know if we have any other feasible option.”

Kaminski nodded, then turned to Northfield. “Mark?”

Northfield closed his eyes. Lives might hang in the balance, based on what he said here.

He could picture his allies clearly on the battlefield. He watched them fall to gunshots and shrapnel and fires and chaos.

Will this be another inflection point in my life? Like that day in Japan, Jess, when I wondered if I should leave on the boat or stay?

Will this be a day I think about for years to come and wonder what if?

He didn’t want to make a choice. However, forcing the burdens on another’s shoulders felt like an even worse crime.

“I think we need to do it,” he said. “I’m with Rayne.”

General Taylor pursed his lips. “Even if there isn’t an ambush, the RAID soldiers alone present a considerable threat, to say nothing of the other personnel at the camp. We can’t afford another massacre. It’s taken us months to rebuild our forces. I don’t know if our morale could handle such a blow, either.”

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“Stealth,” Rayne said. “It’s our best shot. I believe we can hit the RAID soldiers before they even know we’re there. Their speed won’t do them much good against an unseen bullet.”

“And if you’re spotted—” “We have to take the risk,” Rayne said firmly.

Geralt pitched in. “I’m with Mark and Rayne. I ain’t fond of waiting.”

General Taylor sighed. “I agree with the assessment, too. I just… I want to make sure we’ve considered everything. The lives of my men and women are on the line.”

Chief Kaminski put a hand on his shoulder. “Our men and women,” she said. “The lives of our people are just as much our concern, Earl.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I know.”

Chief Kaminski said, “This isn’t our ideal action. Yet it’s the action we need to take, all the same. We will attack the facility.

We’ll steal the RAID suits and save the lives of all the slaves we can.”

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16 The cold pierced right through Northfield’s gloves, even though they had supposedly been designed to prevent just that.

Stark-white puffs of vapor floated into the sky whenever he exhaled.

The sky was barren and clear, just like the forest he skulked through. Stars speckled the blackness, but it was a new moon, so the sky was darker than it otherwise would have been.

A steady, constant wind hit his back. The forest blocked it somewhat, but not much. The wind was strong enough to send drifts of snow scraping across the ground, swirling and whipping and growing larger.

Numb fingers. Heavy winds. Neither were conditions that Northfield relished. However, Stormrise couldn’t wait until a Sunday night with perfect conditions, especially not during this cold and brutal winter.

Widow Team ran point on the operation. General Taylor’s forces followed them, broken up into three teams.

Together, they would comprise the initial strike force of the operation.

They didn’t want the initial force to be too large; stealth and speed were their primary advantages, and having too many soldiers would jeopardize both.

A secondary force waited with vehicles. As soon as the operation went hot, the secondary force would arrive at the facility to bolster the infiltration force, as well as help transport the RAID suits and any slaves.

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The strike force pushed ahead. They were close to the edge of the forest line. A clearing lay between the forest line and the facility, with no cover except for small trees scattered far apart.

Even with camouflage, Stormrise couldn’t cross the clearing without getting spotted by the watchtower guards.

The solution was straightforward: take out the watchtower guards first.

Northfield reached the forest edge along with Leo. They dropped into prone positions and crawled out into the clearing, just enough so their sightlines wouldn’t be obstructed by trees.

They were tasked with taking out the guards within the south rear watchtower, which overlooked the river. Two of General Taylor’s sharpshooters moved similarly to Leo and Northfield.

They were assigned the south front watchtower, which overlooked the front gate.

Stormrise aimed to advance from the south clearing, and both watchtowers had sightlines over it. When planning the operation, Stormrise leadership had considered a two-pronged assault from the north and south. However, that option had been ruled out. Stormrise would have needed to take out guards in all four towers simultaneously, and that opened their approach to too many potential slip-ups. A single offensive from the south was deemed the best route.

The opportunity for screwups still loomed. That fact was at the front of Northfield’s mind.

He peered through his scope and studied the two RAID soldiers in his assigned watchtower. One peered at the lake while the other stared out at the clearing. Northfield felt a chill.

The latter soldier stared straight in their direction. The soldier remained relaxed, though. He didn’t see Northfield or his allies.

Their camouflage worked well.

“You got a bead?” Leo asked him.

Northfield centered his sights on the RAID soldier overlooking the river.

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“I do,” he said.

Leo radioed, “Widow One and Widow Two are in position.”

Northfield heard the reply through his earpiece. “Bravo One and Bravo Two are in position.”

“Ready to engage?” Leo asked.

“Affirmative.”

“Copy that. On three,” Leo said.

He didn’t count verbally; Northfield and the others counted in their heads.

One. Northfield put his finger on the trigger.

Two. The RAID soldier exhaled. A puff of vapor drifted into the shadows and darkness.

Three.

Let my aim be true.

He applied pressure to the trigger. The stock punched against his shoulder, recoiling as the bullet soared toward his target.

The RAID soldier froze, just for a moment. Then he collapsed.

“Tango Four down,” he said through the radio.

“Tango Three down,” Leo said. Northfield could see it for himself; at the edge of his scope, he saw another shadowy figure collapse.

“Tango Two down,” Bravo One said.

There was a pause. Northfield’s breath caught in his throat.

Finally, Bravo Two said, “Tango One down.”

“Copy that,” Leo said. “Phase one successful. Over.”

“You heard the man,” Rayne said. “Strike force, move out.”

Everyone on the strike force exited the forest and darted across the clearing. The exposure under the night sky was blistering.

However, despite their forces moving en masse, the RAID facility didn’t stir. The guards were eliminated, and there didn’t seem to be anyone else to spot them.

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Unless, of course, Stormrise was waltzing straight into a trap.

They reached the foot of the wall. Grappling hooks shot into the sky, hooking onto the railings of the front and rear guard towers.

Widow Team ascended a rope hooked onto the rear guard tower. Northfield climbed just behind Rayne, pulling himself hand over hand. He climbed over the railing, entering the RAID facility in earnest.

He crouched, keeping under the watchtower’s rear walls and out of sight. Leo and Andy came up behind him, followed by a number of Stormrise forces. They lined up against the rear walls.

Rayne whispered through his radio, “Widow in position.

Over.”

“Copy that. We’re in position. On three.”

After the count, the men in Widow Team’s watchtower popped their heads and weapons over the wall. The Stormrise soldiers in the adjacent watchtower did the same.

Four RAID soldiers patrolled the rooftop of the factory, their armored arms shimmering with blue light. Likewise, RAID soldiers occupied the far watchtowers.

Stormrise acquired targets, as they had practiced time and time again. Multiple soldiers targeted the same RAID soldiers to reduce the chances of missing.

Northfield opened fire, along with his allies. The RAID soldier crumpled in his sight. In his periphery, he saw other soldiers fall.

Before any sense of relief hit him, he heard on his radio, “Missed tango. I repeat, missed tango. Northwest watchtower.”

Rayne and Leo cursed. The watchtower was kitty-corner to theirs. Northfield homed in on the watchtower, hoping to find the escaped target. He had no luck. The RAID soldier was smart enough to duck out of danger.

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burned Northfield’s eyes, and they needed a second to adjust.

Red alarm bells blared in tandem.

The adrenaline gut-punched him.

“We need to move,” Rayne said. He said into his radio, “We’ve been made. Send in the cavalry.”

“Copy that. Inbound,” the leader of the secondary force replied.

Northfield’s brain flashed back to the devastating ambush on Stormrise, the last time they had tried to raid a facility. He forced the memories out as best he could.

The watchtower had a ladder. The soldiers slid down it, one by one.

Northfield reminded himself that detection was expected.

Stormrise couldn’t have feasibly escorted dozens of slaves out of the facility without the Network being alerted to their plan.

Eventually, Stormrise was going to get noticed, and the question was always when.

Stormrise needed to neutralize the RAID soldiers, as they presented the biggest threat. In large part, Stormrise had accomplished that goal, with only one quarry getting away.

This contingency had been one of the most likely, and Stormrise had been prepared for it.

Still, with the battle heating up, it was hard to feel sanguine about anything.

Northfield followed Rayne. Widow Team was the closest to the factory’s garage, where the RAID suits were arranged for pickup. The RAID suits were their primary objective.

The exchanges of gunfire began. Quickly, they ratcheted up in intensity, with more and more Death Corps soldiers joining the fray.

Widow Team reached one of the factory’s rear doors. Andy blew the hinges away with his shotgun.

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Death Corps soldiers, in all likelihood, would file in through the factory’s front doors. Widow Team would have a firefight on its hands.

Northfield took a deep breath.

Widow Team headed into the factory. *** The anticipation was nearly unbearable for Helen. She sat in the back of a combat transport vehicle, surrounded by her fellow soldiers. She served under her squad leader; Helen’s team would run point on this part of the operation, while the other team in her squad would provide support.

Ahead, she heard the chaotic chatter of gunfire and the detonation of grenades, and they grew louder as their vehicle headed toward the danger.

Her heart rate jumped, and attempts to control it by steady breathing didn’t help much. She couldn’t see the action. She couldn’t act yet. All she could do was sit in this vehicle, listening in anticipation.

Her teeth chattered. It was caused by the cold, but also by fear.

An intense explosion ahead rocked her molars. She knew the reason for this one. The lead truck had fired a rocket at the RAID facility’s front gates, blowing them wide open.

Within moments, Helen would be inside the facility, smack dab in the middle of the action. Her heart rate spiked. She breathed in and out.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Aubrey.

Aubrey nodded to her, and she nodded back.

Helen’s nerves were bolstered, somewhat, and just in time, as their truck came to a screeching halt.

The back doors swung open, and their squad leader shouted, “Go, go, go!”

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Helen’s boots felt filled with lead, but she climbed out of the vehicle, achingly aware of the rifle in her hands and the gunfire around her.

Her boots hit the ground, and she looked around to get her bearings.

She froze, her heart stopping mid-beat. She gazed upon the tall, oppressive walls and the looming watchtowers.

In that moment, she was brought back to her days as a slave under the Network’s thumb. The long days, shoveling slag into a furnace, bearing the heat while guards stared, firelight reflecting off their faceplates. The long nights, staring up with sleep ever elusive, wondering if she would be stolen in the night only to end up somewhere even worse.

Here she was, right in the middle of such a similar place. A flight instinct threatened to overwhelm her. Every fiber of her being screamed for her to run, far from this place, as far as her feet could carry her.

“To the slave quarters! On the double!” her squad leader barked.

Helen blinked, shaking her head. She remembered why she was here. There were others suffering like she had.

Gunfire roared within the slave quarters. Screams followed.

Helen narrowed her eyes. She wouldn’t leave them to suffer, even if it meant giving up her life.

She hustled with her squad to the slave quarters. Death Corps soldiers were positioned along the main road, as well as at the guard quarters, and they fired at Helen’s squad from multiple directions.

Bullets flew at her, but she kept her focus on the slave quarters.

She would get there. She would get there.

The other team in her squad engaged the enemy soldiers, drawing their fire away from Helen’s team.

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They reached the front doors of the slave quarters. The shooting within grew louder, as did the screams. The Death Corps were killing them.

Helen blinked as a memory forced itself into her head. She was within the refinement factory again, hiding under the metal shredder. Gunfire surrounded her, and every moment, she feared a bullet would find her.

Helen shook her head, forcing the memory out. But her hands still trembled.

Her squad leader tried opening the doors, but he couldn’t.

The doors were bolted shut to keep the slaves from escaping.

He leveled his shotgun at the door hinges and blasted them.

He kicked the door open, and he entered the slave quarters.

Aubrey entered next, with Helen behind. The rest of her squad followed.

They fanned out, weapons raised.

They were met by a team of Death Corps soldiers who were spread across the rows and rows of bunks.

Soldiers? They were butchers.

Helen opened fire, as did the rest of her squad. The Death Corps soldiers fired back. Helen ducked behind the nearest bunk bed, and the rest of her squad similarly sought cover.

She popped over cover, unleashing her fury via the cold, biting metal in her hands. A violent dance followed, with both sides firing, ducking, and firing again.

It was a quick dance. In such close proximity, bullets found their targets.

Fortunately, today it was Stormrise’s bullets that landed. The Death Corps soldiers lay dead.

Her squad didn’t waste any more time. They called for the survivors to come out of their hiding spots.

Some of the braver slaves came out from underneath beds.

Her squad had to coax some of the more fearful out.

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Helen crouched near a bed, where a terrified woman hid underneath. There were bullet holes in the mattress. A Death Corps soldier had been actively trying to kill her, but his bullets had luckily missed.

The woman was clearly rattled by the experience. Helen could understand all too well.

Helen remembered Mark Northfield helping her from underneath the shredder. It felt so long ago, yet still like yesterday.

She remembered the warmth in his voice. She remembered the comfort and relief she had felt, even while still in the midst of danger.

She tried to summon the same warmth to help this woman.

She extended her hand, speaking softly, letting the woman know it was going to be okay.

The woman clasped her hand, and Helen pulled her up.

Her team gathered the survivors. They counted thirty slaves among the living. Fifteen had been killed by the Death Corps.

Helen felt sorrow for the losses, but she didn’t waver in her conviction. She had been in the slaves’ places. She had wanted someone—anyone—to try saving her, even if they failed in the attempt.

Stormrise had failed some of these slaves, but it had rescued most. For Helen, that was enough.

A grenade landed on the other side of the walls. It detonated, ripping out chunks of rebar and sending them flying. Nobody was wounded by the blast, but it served as a stark reminder to Helen.

This mission wasn’t over. Not until everyone was out and far, far away from the gunfire.

Her squad leader had the same idea. “Everyone, we’re moving out.” He said directly to the slaves, “If you want out of this hellhole, come with us. We’ll get you to safety. And freedom.”

The slaves looked among themselves. Not one soul stayed behind.

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*** Stormrise’s forces advanced from the main road, flanking the Death Corps soldiers in the RAID factory.

With Widow Team attacking from the front and Stormrise’s secondary troops advancing from the rear, the Death Corps soldiers faced a two-front attack that they couldn’t defend against. They quickly folded.

Widow Team cut through the factory. The assembly floor occupied nearly all of the factory, with small offices and surveillance rooms jutting out of the corners.

The assembly floor was devoid of the large, bulky machinery that one might expect of a factory because the piecemeal components were all assembled by hand. Instead, there were rows and rows of tables, where circuitry and soldering equipment abounded.

A garage stood prominently on the back wall of the facility, facing the main road.

Stormrise’s target sat right next to the garages. Rows of RAID suits hung on intricate racks, fully assembled and ready for pickup in the morning.

“Jackpot,” Leo muttered.

“Come on,” Rayne said. “Let’s get the garage open.”

“I’ve got it,” Northfield said. The task was easy; he hit a switch on the wall.

Stormrise vans pulled up to the garage right on time.

“No time to waste,” Rayne said. “Load them up.” He announced via radio, “Alpha targets are secured. I repeat, alpha targets are secured.”

“Nice work,” Anne Kaminski replied, the relief apparent in her voice.

“Now get everyone home,” General Taylor said.

“Copy that,” Rayne said.

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The nearby Stormrise soldiers joined Widow Team to load the RAID suits.

Leo tried to pick one up by himself. He huffed and said, “Damn, these things are heavier than I thought.”

Two to three Stormrise members had to lift each suit.

Fortunately, hangers ran through each suit and held the pieces together, including the helmets.

They managed to fit the suits into the vans. There was no room left for soldiers; without further delay, the vans sped off, leaving the facility.

The Stormrise soldiers sought out their assigned escape vans, which were parked on the main road.

The Death Corps soldiers offered resistance, but their numbers had been cut down significantly. They were remnants that Stormrise had no trouble contending with.

When Northfield boarded his assigned vehicle, he was joined by slaves.

Helen’s squad succeeded, he thought. Thank God. A crescendo of screeches pierced the night as Stormrise’s vehicles tore up the earth and raced out of the facility. Bullets chased them out, but their enemies’ gunfire was fading.

Stormrise faced no further opposition on their journey back to headquarters. It was a clean, textbook getaway. In fact, the operation had gone almost entirely according to plan.

The retainants were checked into Stormrise headquarters, and each was examined for injuries. Afterward, they were debriefed on Stormrise. They were all offered the standard choice of staying with Stormrise or going their own way. Not a single retainant chose the latter.

Stormrise, unequivocally, had won this fight. The movement came out for the better, with game-changing RAID suits and an increase in numbers.

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Yet Northfield found himself in his bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to close his eyes. A deep knot sat right in the center of his chest, a big old ball of dread.

I should feel better, he thought. I should be celebrating. I should feel hope, right?

If anything, our prospects of winning have gotten better. So why, God, do I feel even worse? Why does it feel like the damned roof ’s about to cave in on me?

I just… I can’t wrap my mind around it. I can’t.

He closed his eyes. Despite his body’s exhaustion, his mind spun too much for him to sleep.

This dread… It’s gonna go away, right?

He closed his eyes, waiting for the nightmares to visit.

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17 Stormrise took ample caution with the RAID suits. Although the suits hadn’t yet been calibrated to a specific user and locked down, Stormrise still needed to deal with any tracking technology within the suits.

In preparation for the attack on the RAID factory, Stormrise had built a laboratory for the RAID suits, located far away from their headquarters in Amber. That way, if the Network did manage to track the suits, the Death Corps wouldn’t be led to the city. The last thing Stormrise wanted was to fall victim to another attack.

Dimitri and Softball were stationed at the standup lab. When Stormrise delivered the RAID suits, the tech experts wasted no time in cracking one open and examining its internals.

Widow Team stayed with Dimitri and Softball, while the rest of Stormrise returned to home base. Stormrise’s new arrivals needed to be evaluated by their medical experts and then settled in. The medical experts still felt the void left by Dr. Cohanan, but Northfield didn’t want to think about her right now.

Softball had been nervous about leaving their main base.

Widow Team’s presence comforted her. The team had helped her out of a tough situation before.

“Fast hands,” Andy commented, watching Softball work.

“We’re trying to figure out whether the Network’s gonna sic an army on us right now. So, yeah, I’m moving quickly,” she said over her shoulder, continuing to work.

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After a few minutes, Dimitri said, “Okay, I don’t see anything in the way of physical trackers.” He asked Softball, “Do you?”

“No,” she said after a moment. They had both searched different RAID suits. Two pairs of independent eyes reduced the risk of missing something.

Dimitri said, “Still, not a whole lot we can glean from staring at the hardware. Tracking software is probably built into the suits. When the suits turn on, they could ping the Network or something.”

“How confident are you in that happening or not?”

“No way to tell,” Dimitri said. “Again, we can’t tell how the software works when they’re powered off. Wires don’t tell us much, you know? But once the suits are on, we should be able to tell if they’re sending the Network anything.”

“Well, how confident are you in being able to tell?”

“Fairly confident,” Dimitri said.

Softball elaborated, “The only way these things could communicate with the Network is via the radio towers, the same ones we hook into for our comms. That means emitting a radio signal at some frequency. We can see if the suit’s emitting to any channels. Any message in the signal will probably be encrypted, so we won’t be able to tell what’s being sent, but—” Northfield finished for her, “The presence of a signal will tell you if the suit’s communicating with the Network. And no matter what the message actually says, that’s enough to let us know something bad is happening.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Softball said.

“I feel like Taylor, asking so many questions,” Rayne said, sighing. “So let’s say there is a signal. Can you kill it?”

“Well,” Dimitri said, “I bet the suit’s software runs from a single executable. We won’t have access to the source code. We can reverse-engineer it, maybe, with enough time, but—”

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He was losing Rayne, so Softball interrupted, “No. We can’t shut it off programmatically. Not in the ten to fifteen minutes we’ll have, give or take, before the Network’s on top of us.”

“Okay then,” Rayne said. “So what’s the answer?”

There was a long pause. The tension between Rayne and the tech experts increased until it was nearly unbearable.

“We don’t exactly have one right now,” Dimitri said.

Rayne’s frown could have cut through concrete. “You and Softball said that killing any tracking tech shouldn’t be a problem.

It, in fact, sounds like a problem. You haven’t had a solution this whole time?”

“Well…” Dimitri trailed off. He scratched his head. “Not exactly… no.”

Rayne barely contained the anger in his voice. “People died to get these suits. If they’re being tracked, they can’t be used. Why the hell did you make it seem like this wouldn’t be an issue?”

“It’s…” Dimitri stuttered. “I…” Softball said, “What would have been the point?”

“Our friends, our family, not getting shot to death for the sake of a complete waste,” Rayne said in disbelief that he had to explain himself. “For starters.”

“Stormrise needs these RAID suits,” Softball said, “if we’re to stand any shot at winning. Does anyone disagree with that point?”

She was met with silence.

Softball continued, “So we were going to get those suits anyway. We were gonna run into this problem anyway. Dimitri and I figured there wasn’t any point in getting everyone even more worried than they already are.” She frowned. “You’re right.

I ain’t out in the field. I sure as hell ain’t taking any bullets for the team. But problems like this… This is what I do. This is what Dimitri does, too. So let our problems be our problems, alright?”

Rayne considered her words. Then he nodded, placated.

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“Besides, we have some more time to think about the problem,” Dimitri said. “We have more immediate concerns. We need to power the suits up in the first place.”

“Which, lucky for us, is a much easier problem to solve,” Softball said. “You see the little plugs under the right armpit?

Dimitri lifted the RAID suit arm to show Widow Team.

Softball said, “For how complicated these suits are, I don’t think powering them is all that difficult. We just need to find an electrical supply and the right-sized plug.”

“Easy enough things to whip up,” Dimitri said. “We probably won’t ever be able to charge them as fast as the Network. But we’ll be using the armor for fast, intermittent ops. Plenty of time to charge them in the meantime.”

“Batteries? We can make that happen,” Rayne said.

Dimitri said, “The suits have batteries already. We need a source of energy.”

Rayne sighed, not interested in debating semantics.

“Whatever you need. Figure it out, and we’ll make it happen.” *** Stormrise spent the next few weeks constructing charging stations for the RAID suits. Fortunately, Stormrise had ample experience in getting energy up and running in the wasteland.

For a long time, Stormrise had been stocking up on solar panels at a safe house. The panels had been scavenged and then restored. The purpose of the stash was to get a new base of operations quickly powered up, a necessity for the filtration systems used to clean the air of toxic gas in the event of an attack.

It had been a wise plan in light of what had happened to Stormrise.

After outfitting Amber, Stormrise had enough solar panels left over to power the suits.

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Widow Team spearheaded the effort, along with a handful of additional volunteers. Stormrise had its hands full onboarding the Network’s former slaves and integrating volunteers into General Taylor’s forces.

They arranged the panels in an array, then hooked them to inverters, which converted the energy into alternating current.

Long wires snaked from the inverters to the suits, which stored the energy in a litany of micro-batteries weaved throughout each suit.

Northfield enjoyed the work. He hammered solar panels into place. He hammered and hammered and hammered, then sought out the next solar panel to work on.

He let the work dull his mind. He let it pull him away from his thoughts. He let it pull him away from the dread, the despair sitting in the center of his chest.

After a few weeks, Stormrise could generate enough power to make the suits operational. However, Stormrise didn’t dare turn on the suits, out of Dimitri and Softball’s fear that they might try and communicate with the Network.

Fortunately, though, Dimitri and Softball had a breakthrough on the tracking problem. They convened with Widow Team.

“The plan, well, I gotta admit, it’s risky,” Dimitri said. “If things go wrong, well, the Network could be right on top of us.”

“I have a feeling that everything we’re going to do in the coming days will be risky and dangerous,” Rayne said. “Let’s do it.” *** Dimitri, Softball, and Widow Team traveled to a forest in the middle of nowhere, out in the toxic gas, far from both Stormrise headquarters and their RAID lab. That way, if the plan went south, they wouldn’t lead the Network to either their friends in Amber or their RAID suit stockpile.

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Northfield glanced up at the looming treetops. He felt like an ant in comparison. He hoped he appeared even smaller than that to any Network helicopters, if they came sniffing around.

Widow Team and the tech experts didn’t bring much with them. They had a single RAID suit, which Widow Team struggled to pull out of their van.

“Where do you want this?” Andy said.

“Oh. Huh…” Dimitri said. “Let me think for a sec.”

“Hurry up, kid,” Leo said, groaning.

“Right there,” Softball said, pointing at a small clearing between two tall trees. “As long as we can inspect the suit, it’s fine.”

Widow Team trotted over to the spot she indicated with the RAID suit in tow.

“Stop lifting with your back, Andy,” Leo said.

“What? Oh, thanks,” Andy said, straightening out.

They set down the suit, exhaling in relief.

“Do you have it?” Rayne asked Dimitri.

“Oh, nuts,” Dimitri said. “I think I forgot it at HQ.” Even behind a gas mask, Rayne’s glare was palpable.

Dimitri reached into his pocket and fished out a quartersized device. “Kidding, heh. Jeez, guys. A little levity can go a long way…”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should work on your standup routine,” Softball said. She scratched her arm. Being out in the middle of nowhere, without the relative security of Stormrise’s headquarters, made her anxious. “Let’s get on with it, huh?”

“Sure, sure,” Dimitri said. He surveyed his friends’ faces.

“Everyone ready?”

Softball pulled out a device. It had a screen in the middle and two handles jutting out of the sides with joysticks. It looked like a bulky video game controller.

She turned on the device and turned the dials a few times.

“Frequency monitor’s ready to go.”

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“You know, this all could be an exercise in precaution,” Dimitri said. “We might have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

He turned to Rayne. “But, uh, just in case we ping the Network with our direct location, how long do we have again?”

“I assume soldiers are on the ready, just waiting for us to turn one of these suits on,” Rayne said. “I’d say twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes,” Dimitri said, exhaling. “Alright. We’ll work with it. Let’s do this.”

Northfield knelt next to the suit, and he found the on button underneath the armpit. The suit powered up, pulsing once with blue light before glowing steadily.

“Oh, man,” Andy said. “Gotta admit, this armor is pretty cool up close.”

Softball said, “Okay, starting at low frequencies, then moving up.”

She slowly turned the left joystick on her device. On each frequency, she paused for a couple of moments. The RAID armor could potentially send out a steady stream of data or ping out information at intervals instead. She waited on each frequency in case of the latter scenario.

“Nothing yet,” she said.

“Well, that’s a good sign, right?” Andy said, trying to keep up the enthusiasm.

Northfield waited by the suit, steady. He trusted Dimitri and Softball to do their jobs. He would do what they asked, when they asked.

Minutes passed as Softball steadily increased the frequency.

Their hopes grew, as did their tension. With each frequency that passed by, there was a decreased likelihood that their fears would be realized. At the same time, if they discovered signals emanating from the RAID suits, they had less and less time to react. Their location could have already been sent to the Network, with forces en route.

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The prospect was terrifying. Softball’s hands trembled each time she rotated the knob. The tension was taking its toll on her.

She adjusted her gas mask and muttered, “Stupid thing…”

She continued rotating the knob and pausing on each frequency.

Dimitri looked around, and he said, “No news is good news, right?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna hold off on popping the champagne,” Softball said.

The minutes passed, as did the frequencies. Widow Team held steady.

“Wait a minute,” Leo said. He hunched over, instantly on alert. “Do you hear that?”

“What?” Softball asked anxiously. She held the frequency monitor close to her ear. “I don’t hear anything.”

“No, not that,” Leo said. He pointed into the air. “From up there.”

Northfield heard it then, too. “Helicopter.”

“Oh no,” Softball said, gasping.

Andy asked, “Any chance the Death Corps are just randomly flying by?”

“No,” Leo said. “We aren’t in any of their known flight paths.”

“I thought you said twenty minutes,” Softball said to Rayne.

“It was a guess,” he said. “There might have been a patrol that happened to be closer.”

“We’ve still got a lot of frequencies to go,” Softball said. “That helicopter’s gonna be right on top of us, and then… and then…”

“The helicopter is far away,” Dimitri said. “We’ve still got some time.”

“We should get packing,” Softball said, glancing around.

“While we still can.”

“Your call, boss,” Leo said to Rayne.

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Rayne glanced down at the suit. “The suits are too valuable to leave even one behind.” He met Softball’s eyes. “Let’s keep trying, just a little bit longer. Can you do that?”

She hesitated for a moment. She turned her attention to the frequency monitor and said, “Frequency 100.3 is clear. Moving on.”

She continued through frequencies as the thundering of helicopter blades drew closer. The constant droning in their ears wouldn’t let them forget, even for the slightest of moments, that danger approached.

Softball’s hands shook. “Nothing. Still nothing. I… We’ve got to go, guys.”

Northfield reached out, and he put his hand on hers. He met her eyes, and he said, “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”

She said, “Easy for you to say. You don’t know how bad I look in a jumpsuit. I’m not fit for a chain gang, either.”

“We’re going to protect you,” he said. “Just like when we saved you from your apartment.”

“That was then. But we ain’t been doing so good lately,” she said.

“This time’s different,” he said, and he felt himself truly believing it. “I promise you. Okay?”

She looked at the monitor in her hands. “Okay,” she said.

“Just a little longer.”

She dialed through frequencies before they all heard an audible PING from the monitor.

“Got it!” she exclaimed. She relayed the frequency to Dimitri.

He turned a dial on his device, attuning it to the same frequency. He muttered, “Dammit, why did I make this knob so tiny…”

Meanwhile, Softball brought the monitor closer to the suit. She said, “Remember, we’ve got to find the source of the transmission.”

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“We’re ready,” Andy said. “Just give us the word, and we’ll move.”

She passed the monitor over the suit’s extremities, its head, and its chest. “No spikes,” she said, traces of panic once again finding their way into her voice. She glanced at Northfield, and she said more calmly, “Flip the suit over.”

“You got it,” Northfield said. Widow Team lifted the suit with a groan and set it back down, with the backside up.

The helicopter really thundered now. Pretty soon, they would see it, even through the canopy of trees.

Which meant the helicopter would see them, too.

Northfield felt himself getting anxious. It never felt good, being his enemy’s quarry. However, he couldn’t let his nerves show. Not unless he wanted Softball to unravel.

“I’ve got the scrambler ready,” Dimitri said, holding up his device triumphantly.

Softball trailed her monitor along the backside of the suit.

When she passed over where the bottom tip of the right scapula would lie, the monitor spiked.

“Here!” she said, pointing rapidly at the spot. “Here, Dimitri!”

He stuck the scrambler onto the target area.

Nonetheless, the frequency monitor continued to beep.

“Is that expected?” Andy asked.

“Yes,” Dimitri said. “The scrambler encodes the outputted message to something the Network can’t read. It doesn’t kill the signal.” He scratched his head. “But, uh, we won’t know for sure if it works or not until—” “We’re gonna find out,” Softball said. “Let’s get our asses in gear, huh?”

“You heard her,” Rayne said. “Get the armor back in the van.”

Widow Team lifted the armor in unison and hauled it into the back. The helicopter was nearly on top of them now. They could pick out the black specter through the tree line.

“Does it see us?” Andy asked.

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“Yeah,” Leo said. “I’m almost positive.”

Flashes of light erupted from the bottom side of the helicopter.

Trees next to their van splintered, with scraps of wood careening through the air.

The roar of gunfire quickly followed.

“Make that completely positive,” Leo muttered.

Rayne took the driver’s seat, and he slammed on the gas. The van kicked up snow and dirt before lurching forward.

Another burst of gunfire came their way, pockmarking the ground where the van had been parked. It barely missed them.

“Ah hell,” Softball said, on the verge of panic. “This isn’t good.”

“It’s one copter,” Northfield told her. “We’ve faced worse, trust me.”

“It ain’t gonna be just one,” she said. “There are gonna be more. Right?”

“We’ll be out of here before reinforcements show up,” he said.

“I promise.”

Andy added, “That helicopter’s got speed. But we have the tree line and the gas as cover. We’ve just gotta shake them.”

Rayne took a hard right, turning the van around a wide oak tree. Bullets chopped at the massive trunk.

Northfield and Andy pulled out surface-to-air rocket launchers. They had stowed them away in the van; they had figured an air vehicle would be the first Network reinforcement to show up.

They kicked open the van’s back doors.

“Don’t fire yet,” Rayne said hastily. “Don’t waste the rockets.”

Northfield and Andy looked up. The tree canopy loomed.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Northfield said. “Rockets can’t make it through the canopy, anyway.”

The canopy didn’t cause the helicopter any hesitation. The turrets spun away, slicing branches, sending them showering down.

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“If we’re not firing now, when the hell are we gonna fire?”

Softball exclaimed.

“We did our job,” Dimitri said to her. “We’ve just got to trust these guys to do theirs, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Softball said, not sounding comforted by the prospect.

“The forest opens up ahead,” Rayne said. “There’s a small creek and a bridge before the forest gets dense again. That bridge is an open area to fire the rockets. That’s when you two pull the trigger.”

Andy said, “Copy that.”

A bullet pierced the roof at an angle, hitting the windshield.

A spiderweb crack formed.

“Eek!” Softball cried in surprise.

“Keep low,” Leo said to Softball and Dimitri. “Get as small as possible.”

Softball and Dimitri listened.

Leo turned to Rayne and said, “Let’s get to that bridge sooner rather than later, huh?”

“I don’t need to be reminded,” Rayne said.

He took a hard left, swiveling the van around a tree and throwing off the helicopter’s aim. Northfield pressed against the wall to keep himself upright.

The helicopter’s fire ceased abruptly.

“Did we lose them?” Dimitri asked.

“No,” Leo said. He listened for the helicopter, and he said, “Damn. I know what they’re doing.”

“What?” Softball asked. “What are they doing?”

“They know we’re headed for the bridge,” Leo said. “They’re heading us off.”

“Do we turn around?” Andy asked.

Rayne glanced at the cracked windshield. “No. We can’t play chase with them in the forest for long. We’ll get clipped sooner 192

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or later. Or, even worse, reinforcements could come. We need an opening to fire. That clearing’s our only way.”

Leo said to Softball and Dimitri, “Remember what I said about getting small? You’re gonna wanna do that twice as much now.”

“I can only pretzel myself so much,” she said.

Leo turned to Northfield and Andy, and he said, “If we’re driving straight-on with the helicopter, you’re not gonna be able to fire from the back of the van. You know what that means, right?”

“Yeah,” Andy said. “We’ve gotta hang off the side and point the rockets forward.”

“It’s gonna be dangerous,” Leo said. “I can do it instead if one of you wants to trade.”

“And let you have all the glory?” Northfield said, a wry smile behind his mask. “I’ve got it.”

“Same with me,” Andy said. “You just hang back and grumble, like you always do.”

“Heh,” Leo said. “Fine. Good luck.”

Leo got low, joining Softball and Dimitri.

They could see the bridge through the tree line now. The helicopter loomed just past it. Northfield felt a spike of adrenaline.

He breathed in and out, keeping steady.

They hung onto the sides of the van and swiveled around, aiming the rockets forward. The helicopter caught onto their movements and adjusted.

Wisely, the helicopter hovered directly in front of the van, shifting from side to side slightly. Neither Northfield nor Andy could target it because the van’s body cut off their sightlines.

The bridge ahead was awfully thin, too. They couldn’t hang off the sides for long.

“This sucks,” Andy muttered.

“What’s going on?” Leo asked.

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“Don’t worry about it,” Northfield said. “Just stay down.

Drawstring, keep driving.”

“Understood,” Rayne said. He had enough trust in Northfield not to ask questions.

“What are you thinking?” Andy asked him.

“The roof,” Northfield said.

“What?” Andy said. But he quickly understood. “Oh.” “Only one of us has got a chance of climbing up. I’m gonna get up. Then you hand me the rockets, alright?”

“That’s gonna be dangerous, man,” Andy said.

“And we’ve got to lose the copter, or it’s gonna get a lot more dangerous,” Northfield said. “You with me?”

“Of course,” Andy said. “Just hang on, alright?”

Ahead, a branch loomed low enough to swat Northfield off the roof. Once they passed under the branch, he started his climb. He grabbed onto the van’s back ridge and started pulling himself up.

The van hit a rock, shaking the frame wildly. Northfield’s grip loosened.

Out of all my plans, maybe this isn’t the smartest.

He pulled with all his might, and his chest flopped onto the roof.

The van entered the clearing. The helicopter hovered on the far side of the bridge, right at the tree line. As soon as it saw the opportunity, the turrets started spinning, and bullets showered down.

“Brace yourselves!” Rayne screamed although Northfield could barely hear him over the gunfire.

Being out in the open amidst the gunfire almost froze Northfield. He hesitated only for a moment, though, before continuing his climb. He lifted his right leg onto the roof, followed by his left.

He swiveled around and said, “Rocket me!”

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Andy passed him the launcher. Northfield clutched it desperately, knowing it was his lifeline in this vulnerable position.

He swiveled the launcher toward the helicopter, and he aimed through the scope. The rocket beeped as it tried to lock onto the target.

The turrets flashed rapidly. Softball screamed from below.

The helicopter started tilting its aim up toward Northfield, making him its primary target.

The stream of bullets neared him. Exposed, he would be torn to ribbons.

The launcher beeped at a higher pitch, and lights within the scope blinked green. The launcher had locked onto the helicopter.

Northfield pulled the trigger. The rocket soared into the air, heading for the helicopter.

The enemy vehicle stopped firing and began evasive maneuvers.

The van jolted suddenly, and its speed significantly slowed.

The roof slid under Northfield’s feet, and he tumbled forward, losing his grip on the launcher.

He had nothing to grab onto, so he flattened himself on top of the van. His feet dangled over the windshield, but he managed to avoid flying over the hood.

There was a loud screeching of metal, and the van shuddered violently.

The van had just barely squeezed onto the bridge. Its sides scraped against the guardrails, and metal was sheared off, accompanied by flying sparks. The van moved at a crawl.

A loud whirring came from the sky. The helicopter had returned, spinning up its turrets once more.

The rocket had failed. The helicopter had deployed flares, which threw off the heat-seeking rocket.

Northfield needed to get the other launcher from Andy.

He got his feet back under him. The roof continued to shudder and shake under him from the tenuous squeeze through 195

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the bridge. The instability and turbulence were nauseating, but he didn’t even have time to think about complaining.

He made his way across the roof as the helicopter resumed fire. Bullets showered down, this time from a side angle. He heard Rayne yelling something below, but he couldn’t make out the words. Probably telling Dimitri and Softball to take cover on the opposite side of the van.

He reached the trunk. Andy was already waiting with another launcher. Northfield seized it, and he aimed once more at the helicopter.

The launcher acquired a target lock, and Northfield sent a rocket hurtling toward their enemy.

The helicopter stopped firing immediately, pitching hard upward. Based on the franticness of the pilot’s movement, Northfield guessed that he didn’t have another flare to fire off.

The van hit a snag against one of the bridge posts. The van jerked to the left, flicking Northfield off the roof.

He soared clean over the side of the bridge. He let go of the launcher, and he plummeted.

He dully heard an explosion before he made impact.

The creek wasn’t very far below the bridge. But the creek was sheer ice.

He landed on his side, but the sideways momentum from his fall kept him tumbling around. He ended up on his backside, staring up at the sky.

His breath had fully escaped him. His ribs were bruised, maybe worse.

He was dazed, and all he could do was stare up and watch a fiery ball tumble down from the sky. A meteor. It looked like a meteor.

The helicopter collided with the earth, and an even bigger fireball erupted.

Mission… accomplished, Northfield thought, resting his head back.

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Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two figures making their way down the creek’s bank.

“Holy…” Andy said, rushing to him. “Dude, are you okay?”

“I’m just… fine,” Northfield said. His ribs weren’t doing him any favors. He had to be close to some sort of record for bruising and breaking ribs. “Is everyone else okay?”

“Yeah,” Andy said. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Come on,” Leo said to Andy. “Let’s get him up.”

Together, they picked up Northfield and carried him back to the van.

Leo muttered, “These RAID suits better be worth it.”

197

18 Subject 0875-B pounded on the one-sided glass, screaming bloody murder and begging to be let out. Although those on the other side of the glass could hear her, she might as well be mute.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

Her orange jumpsuit stood out starkly in the harsh light.

Sweat matted her brow. Her fellow prisoners that had been sent here, well, they hadn’t come back.

General Arkland supposed that things could be different for Subject 0875-B. She could survive this. It all depended on how well the V2 project progressed under the leadership of the Head of Resources.

General Arkland wasn’t feeling especially optimistic today.

However, he wouldn’t let that show in his face.

Jane Sloan and the Head of Resources joined him in the observation room.

Jane Sloan glanced around, and she said, “I know we’ve done these tests before. But still, standing this close…”

“Everything has been triple-checked and then checked again,” the Head of Resources said. “We’re safe in here.”

“I know,” Sloan said, but she didn’t quite sound like she believed it.

The subject continued to scream and pound on the glass.

“Let’s start,” Arkland said.

The Head of Resources pulled out a handheld device, and she said, “Commencing in three, two, one.”

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She pressed a large red button. A short delay followed before a hissing noise started in the chamber.

The subject glanced around, frightened.

A faint glowing red gas seeped into the chamber through ceiling vents. Soon, it flooded the entire chamber.

The subject pounded even harder on the glass, but she had stopped screaming. She had the wisdom to hold her breath.

“The timer has started?” Arkland asked.

“Of course,” the Head of Resources replied.

They waited, patiently, until the subject had to breathe. Panic took over, and she inhaled deeply.

Arkland and Sloan exchanged a glance. Now the test really began.

The patient didn’t react at first. That was a good sign. With the original gas, one large breath would be enough for the microbots that constituted it to activate and destroy lung tissue.

Death would follow by brutal suffocation within the minute.

The subject, tentatively, took another breath.

Her eyes widened sharply. Arkland understood the look of pain immediately.

This test was already over. The subject just hadn’t realized it yet.

Arkland watched as the subject doubled over.

She held her throat, suffocating, choking up pieces of lung tissue. Her face swiftly discolored to purple-blue, and she collapsed. Any signs of movement, or breathing, swiftly ceased.

“Vitals say she’s dead,” the Head of Resources said. She clicked another button, and a high-pitched whirring noise followed. Another set of vents along the ceiling sucked the gas out of the room. The Head of Resources said, “Our neutralizing agent appeared to have some effect this time. She had one sound breath before the gas activated. Her body had a higher tolerance.”

Two men entered the test chamber. Even though sensors indicated that all the gas had been removed from the chamber, 199

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the men still wore full hazmat suits. Extra precautions didn’t hurt anyone.

“And so, the march of progress continues,” Arkland muttered as the men dragged the woman’s body out of the chamber for further study. He turned to the Head of Resources, and he said, “Find out why the neutralizing agent failed this time and give me a report.”

“Yes, sir,” the Head of Resources said.

General Arkland left the testing chamber, with Sloan following behind him. They descended to the ground floor and entered their limousine. They sped along the streets of New Medea. The V2 facility was located within the city. Despite the danger inherent in V2 testing being conducted in the city, it was better than the alternative. He wouldn’t stand for the testing being done at some remote outpost within Stormrise’s grasp.

“Where next, Sloan?” he asked.

“Construction workers,” she replied. “They’re taking advantage of our bad publicity as of late. They’re threatening to unionize.”

“That’s right,” General Arkland said, sighing. “This can of worms continues to spill.”

“Back to V2, sir,” Sloan said. “I believe we’re at a crossroads.

V2 is ready to move into mass production. However, the neutralizing agent is behind schedule.”

“That is the case,” General Arkland said, waiting for Sloan to make her point.

She said, “The promise of a personal neutralizing agent is what sated our upper officials. Most, of course, don’t buy our cover story of the Guardians being the true V2 project. They’ve heard enough rumors.”

“Are you suggesting, Sloan, that we halt V2 until the neutralizing agent is complete?”

“I am presenting it as an option,” she said.

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He shook his head. “Move V2 into mass production. It will still take months until it’s ready to be used. Convince our stakeholders that we’ll have the neutralizing agent done by then.”

“I imagine many of them will remain fearful, sir, until they see the neutralizing agent in effect.”

“They can be as scared of V2 as they want,” General Arkland said. “Remind them of what will happen if Stormrise is allowed to grow. That possibility should frighten them more.”

“I’ll do my best to remind them, sir,” she said.

General Arkland leaned back in his seat. The limousine drove over a smooth, freshly paved road. He wondered how many people, ten years ago, would have ever dreamed of having freshly paved roads again.

“Construction workers,” he muttered under his breath. He said to Sloan, “They sense a moment of weakness, and they’re moving in to strike. It’s not just them. Any signs of faltering, and everyone will be on top of us. We need to strike at our enemies’ weaknesses while shielding ours. It’s as simple as that, Sloan. It’s always been as simple as that.”

She nodded. “Sir.” He couldn’t read the tone of her voice. It could be interpreted equally as agreement or disagreement.

Sloan had no trouble sharing her professional opinion. Her personal opinions, however, remained closely guarded. He had encouraged that attitude, he knew.

He trusted Sloan to do her job. That fact, almost always, was enough for him.

Yet every once in a while, he found himself wondering what she truly thought. *** “I’m gonna turn it on, okay? I hope it doesn’t scramble your brains, but I make no promises.”

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“Why would you even say that, Dimitri?” Softball asked.

“Who the hell does that help?”

“I, uh…” Dimitri said, scratching his head. He turned and asked, “I didn’t scare you too much, Mark, did I?” “No,” Northfield said. “I mean, if this thing does shock me into oblivion, I probably won’t even feel it, right?”

“Sure,” Dimitri said. “Yeah, let’s go with that.”

“It’s not too late,” Leo said to Northfield. “You can hop out of that tin can, and I’ll take your spot.”

“Appreciate it,” Northfield said. “But no can do. I pulled the short straw. The rules of the straws can’t be broken.”

“He’s gonna be fine,” Andy said. “In about two minutes, we’ll all be jealous of him soaring through the air.”

“Easy there. If he just manages to take a couple of steps, I’m gonna consider that a win,” Dimitri said.

Rayne watched with a worried frown.

The conversation about who would be the guinea pig to try out a RAID suit was long and protracted. Although Dimitri and Softball had inspected the suit as closely as they could, they couldn’t fully eliminate the possibility of some additional Network security protocol activating as soon as someone entered the suit.

The technology was so advanced that Dimitri and Softball were still making sense of it.

Rayne had successfully convinced Chief Kaminski and General Taylor that someone from Widow Team should be the first to try out the suit. Widow Team always took on Stormrise’s most dangerous tasks, and this was one of them. Then the question was who on Widow Team would be chosen.

Rayne argued strongly that he should be the one to try it. If anyone would be at risk, he wanted it to be him over his own men.

Andy, Leo, and Northfield argued against it, as his leadership skills were invaluable. They managed to convince General Taylor and Chief Kaminski of that fact, so Rayne was out of the running.

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Andy, Leo, and Northfield all volunteered, not wanting each other to take the risk. They ended up resolving the issue by drawing straws. Northfield had drawn the short one.

Northfield kept as still as possible in the RAID suit. It wasn’t hard to do. The suit weighed heavily on him. There was a slight layer of padding between his skin and the metal. He felt like he was inside a vacuum-sealed casket.

He couldn’t imagine how the RAID soldiers moved so quickly in the armor, but he supposed that turning on the suit would help.

“Ready, Mark?” Dimitri asked.

“Yeah, let’s get on with it,” he said. “The anticipation is killing me, you know?”

“Readings are coming through,” Softball said. “We’re good to go.”

Dimitri and Softball had attached some small diagnostic hardware to the suit. They hoped to get metrics that would help them better understand the RAID armor.

Underneath the suit’s armpit, there was an on button, right next to the power supply.

“Just cry out, and I’ll turn it off ASAP, alright?” Dimitri said.

“Got it,” Northfield said. He prayed he wouldn’t need to.

Dimitri flipped the switch. There was no abrupt change. The armor started to emit a steady electric buzz, soft enough that any other noise would drown it out. The armor’s trademark circular plates on the left shoulder and arm started to glow blue.

The largest change, however, was the steady evaporation of the heaviness Northfield had felt. The suit now felt like it weighed less than paper. The buffer between him and the rest of the world vanished.

The helmet wrapped around his face, and a heads-up display appeared on his visor. In the left-hand corner, he saw a small diagram of a human body, all gray except for the head, which was green. He felt a distinct tingle in the base of his neck. Then 203

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all the other parts flashed green, along with a small message: All systems OK. “Good news,” Northfield said. “I don’t think this thing is gonna kill me.”

Relief washed over the faces around him, especially Rayne’s.

“Okay,” Softball said. “Next up is movement. Can you get off the platform and try taking a couple of steps?”

“Sure,” Northfield said. The suit was atop a small box and held up by hooks underneath the arms. He lifted his arms from the hooks, and he tentatively stepped down.

It was all far easier than Northfield had expected. He felt no resistance from the armor. That wasn’t to say, however, that movement didn’t feel strange.

He said, “It’s weird. When I move my arm, it doesn’t feel like my arm is moving. It feels like the suit is moving my arm for me.

Does that make any sense?”

“Do you see these readings?” Softball said, pointing at her monitor.

“Yeah,” Dimitri muttered. “It’s sort of what I expected, but it’s a whole ’nother thing to actually see it. This is freaking awesome.”

“Care to fill the rest of us in?” Leo asked.

Dimitri said to Northfield, “Mark… have you felt anything in your spine? Like sensations?”

“I did,” he said. “When we turned on the suit, I felt a tingle in my neck.”

Dimitri and Softball exchanged a glance.

“So freaking cool,” Dimitri said.

“Ahem,” Leo said. “We’re waiting with bated breath here.”

Dimitri said, “When your brain sends a signal for your arm to move, the armor intercepts that neural message and directs the suit to move faster than the message can reach your arm.

When you described the suit moving your arm, Mark, you were right on the money.”

“Why is it designed like that?” Andy said.

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Dimitri said, “The RAID armor enables soldiers to move far faster than normal humans. Well, the only way that can happen is the armor moving for you. It figures out what your brain is trying to do and executes the movement far faster than your arms or legs can. Your body is just along for the ride.”

“Kind of creepy,” Leo said.

“Maybe,” Dimitri said. “But it’s so cool.”

Northfield took a few steps forward. The strange feeling of the armor moving his legs for him started to subside.

“You get kind of used to it,” Northfield said.

He walked back and forth across the makeshift lab.

“Let’s try a bit more speed,” Softball said. “Can you jog?

Lightly, please.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Northfield said. The weird sensation had entirely faded, and movement felt as natural as it did outside the suit. In some ways, it almost felt more natural.

“Huh,” Andy said. “It’s kind of funny, watching someone casually jogging in the armor. I’ve only seen the armor bumrushing me, you know?”

“This is powerful,” Rayne muttered. “The strategies and tactics these RAID suits open up for us…”

“You and General Taylor are gonna have a field day,” Leo said.

Once Northfield had finished jogging, Softball said, “Well, testing basic movement went a lot smoother than we thought it would. Mark, how comfortable would you feel about trying out the suit’s advanced movement systems?”

“At this point, I feel like I could take on the world,” Northfield said.

They went outside to conduct the tests; he would have more room to maneuver. He didn’t need a gas mask because the RAID suit had built-in air filtration systems. His allies strapped on gas masks, and they ventured to a nearby clearing in the forest.

“What do I start with?” he asked.

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Dimitri said, “I don’t know. Maybe running really fast. Or jumping high into the air.”

“Or,” Softball said, “we start a bit slower so he doesn’t hurt himself.”

“Like what?” Dimitri asked.

“The suit’s built-in shield,” Softball said. “Mark, how about you try deploying yours?”

“Sure,” he said. He held his arm in a shield pose, and he thought about conjuring the shield.

That was all it took. The plates on his left arm vibrated before coalescing into an electrified shield.

“It feels strange, being on the other side of one of these,” he muttered.

“Hope it’s gonna feel a little more than strange for the Death Corps,” Leo said.

“Okay,” Softball said, speaking to Northfield. “You figured that out quickly. I’m with Dimitri. Let’s try out something bigger.

Can you try running fast?”

“Sounds good to me,” Northfield said. “One question. How do I do that, exactly?”

“Beats us,” Dimitri replied. “Maybe just think about it? That strategy’s been working like a charm so far.”

“Heh. Yeah, that’s true enough. I’ll give it a go,” he said.

He concentrated, thinking about the times he had seen RAID soldiers move at blistering, inhuman speeds.

I hope I don’t slam into a tree or something.

A blue targeting reticle materialized in his visor. It aligned with the focus of his vision, a patch of grass on the far end of the clearing.

Unsure of what to do next, he started to move toward the target. The twitch of his shoulder was enough. The suit took over the rest.

The patch of blue flew forward in a rush. Before Northfield knew what he was doing, his hands and feet were pressed into 206

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the ground, stopping his momentum. He didn’t know if it was his instincts or the suit. Probably the suit.

A blue aura had appeared around the suit, which now dimmed.

Across the clearing, his Stormrise allies cheered, Dimitri loudest of all.

Northfield decided to utilize his speed to return to them. He aimed himself to the side of his allies. If he missed, he didn’t want to ram into someone.

The targeting reticle appeared again. With the slightest twitch of movement toward the direction of the target, his body flew forward. The suit took care of the rest.

“I’m gonna be honest, this is going way better than I expected,” Softball said.

“What’s it like?” Dimitri asked him.

Northfield explained the sensation and the targeting reticle.

“Makes sense,” Dimitri said, scratching the side of his gas mask. “If you’re gonna be moving faster than the human body can react, you want to pick a target beforehand.”

Northfield said, “I gotta say, the armor is incredibly intuitive.

It feels like a second skin, almost.”

“Looks like the Network’s got some good UX engineers,” Dimitri muttered.

“Uh… what?” Andy asked.

“Forget about it,” Dimitri said.

“Mark, are you ready to keep going?” Softball asked. “I want to see what else the suit can do.”

“Let’s do it,” he said.

They ran through more of the suit’s functions, things they had seen the Death Corps employ on the battlefield. The most exciting was the suit’s leaping ability. Northfield soared through the air using a similar targeting system, which also provided him with a trajectory for his jumps.

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They also conducted failure testing so any unwelcome surprises wouldn’t be discovered in the heat of battle. For instance, with the RAID armor’s complex neural interface, could it still function without a helmet?

Fortunately, the armor had an emergency “manual” mode for such a contingency. As long as the suit still had power, the pilot could move its limbs. Dimitri suspected that the suit still read neural inputs from the spinal column and transmitted them. However, the helmet’s targeting system was integral to the suit’s enhanced mobility, so the pilot had to say goodbye to superhuman speed.

Once Dimitri and Softball were satisfied with their testing and Northfield was tired, they returned to the laboratory.

While Northfield disembarked from the suit, he asked Dimitri and Softball, “Earlier, you said the suit propels your body to move, not the other way around, right?”

“Well, I mean, technically, your brain is part of your body,” Dimitri said. “And that’s what kicks off the movement, so—” Softball cut him off. “Okay, Mr. Technical.” She said, “Yeah, Mark. That’s essentially it.”

“Based on what you’ve observed, do you think it’s even necessary to have limbs? Or could the suit purely move from your mind?”

“I… Huh, that’s a weird question,” Dimitri said. “Why do you ask?”

“Geralt,” Softball said. “He’s thinking about Geralt.”

Leo said, “Heh. The Yellowback running around in one of these things? I’d pay to see that.”

“Me too,” Rayne said. “If he’s willing, I would be fine with him trying out a suit.”

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“Are you sure you’ve got the right suit?” Geralt said. “This thing feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.”

“It’ll feel lighter once it powers on,” Northfield said.

“Ready?” Softball asked Geralt.

Geralt cracked his neck. “Turn this bad boy on.”

She powered up the suit. Once it started glowing, Geralt said, “Woah. You were right, Mark. The armor feels light now.”

“Try moving your arms,” Softball said.

Geralt did. “Weird feeling.”

“It’s the suit moving your body for you,” she said. “Whenever you’re ready, try taking a step.”

He looked down. “It really does feel weird. I don’t think you’ve got the settings tuned right.”

“The strangeness should pass,” Northfield said. “You’ll get used to it.”

Geralt kept looking down. He said, “You all know I’m missing a friggin’ leg, right? How exactly am I supposed to step down?”

“It’s like we talked about,” Softball said. “The suit moves based on your thoughts, not your body.”

Dimitri said, “You should theoretically be able to move around all the same.”

“You see there?” Geralt said. “‘Theoretically.’ I don’t like that word. It’s a hell of a couch word.”

“Don’t tell me Geralt Salb is scared of a little step,” Leo said.

“I’m not scared,” Geralt said sharply.

“You can do this,” Rayne said.

“I know I can do it,” Geralt said defensively. He muttered, “As long as the settings are tuned right.”

“They are,” Softball said. “All of our readings look correct.”

“I’m telling you, though, it feels strange,” Geralt said.

“If you want to hold off, we can get you out of the suit,” Dimitri said. “Try another day.”

“No,” Geralt said. He stared at the ground. “If I fall flat on my face, I’m gonna yell at all of you.”

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“Believe me, we know,” Leo said.

Geralt took a deep breath. Slowly, he took a step with his intact leg.

“So far, so good,” Northfield said.

Geralt paused there for a while.

Then, slowly, the other boot lifted.

“Woah,” Geralt muttered. He tentatively placed the boot back on the ground.

He took another step. Then another. Then another.

“Good,” Softball said. “You’re doing good. Let’s—” Geralt broke into a sprint, running clear across the laboratory.

“Wooo,” he yelled. “Hell yeah!”

“You still think the suit’s miscalibrated?” Leo asked with a wry grin.

“Oh, shut up,” Geralt said.

“How’s it feel?” Northfield asked him.

“You know how it feels,” he replied.

“Well, you got a handle on running,” Softball said. “Now, jog on back, and we can—” “No,” Geralt said. “I heard how you guys tested Mark earlier.

Super running. Super jumping. I want a piece of that. Let’s go out and try it.”

Dimitri and Softball shared a glance. They shrugged and said, “Alright.”

Geralt picked up on everything exceptionally quickly. He dashed across the clearing before anybody had given him instructions on how to do it. He vaulted into the air, soaring to the treetops and crashing back to the earth, punching divots into the ground.

Geralt’s joy was radiant. Even Leo stopped poking fun at him as they all enjoyed watching him push the suit to its limit.

Afterward, Geralt disembarked from the suit, and he grabbed his crutches with some measure of reluctance.

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“Back down to earth,” Geralt said. He looked wistfully at the suit. “It was good while it lasted.”

“You have the hang of it,” Northfield said. “That’s for sure.”

“It felt good,” Geralt said. He and Northfield walked to the exit, following the others.

“This was your idea, wasn’t it?” Geralt asked Northfield.

He shrugged. “Somebody would’ve thought to get the great Yellowback into one of these suits sooner or later.”

Geralt paused for a long while. He said, “Thanks for this, Mark.”

He patted Northfield on the shoulder, and they continued on.

Northfield smiled. It was the first genuine smile he had felt in a long time.

211

19 Another day, another meeting. Yet another discussion with malcontent or paranoid people with whom General Arkland had to smooth things over.

Worry over Stormrise. Worry over general unrest in the city.

The tightrope walk seemed to grow narrower each day.

Sometimes, Arkland forgot how tired he was.

He rubbed his forehead, smoothing a headache that was trying to form.

“Where next, Sloan?” he asked.

She sighed. This all was wearing on her, too.

She said, “Electrical workers are threatening to unionize.”

“Another damned union,” he muttered.

“They smell blood in the water,” she said. “They’re taking inspiration from the construction workers, even though we managed to stop their union.” She hesitated. “I think this is only the start, sir. I’ve been hearing murmurings from the teachers, the carpenters—” “We need to make an example of someone,” Arkland said.

“Arrange for one of these aspirational union leaders to have an accident.”

“I advise against that,” she said. “The V2 rumors have already caused damage to our reputation. We’re holding back outright revolt. We won’t be afforded plausible deniability, not now. If we kill labor leaders, things could get ugly for us—quickly.”

“I know,” he said, exhaling in frustration.

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“Sir?” his limousine driver said. “We have a problem ahead.”

“What?” Arkland asked, leaning forward.

“There’s a protest on Gainskeeper Bridge,” he replied. “The street is blocked. The caravan can’t move forward.”

Arkland peered through the windshield. Sure enough, he could see a crowd on the bridge, replete with picket signs and bad attitudes. The black SUV, the first car in Arkland’s caravan, sat at the mouth of them.

“How is this the first time I’m hearing about this protest?”

Arkland demanded.

“I… I don’t know, sir,” his driver said. “It must have just formed.”

“Flash protests have become more common lately,” Sloan said.

“How long will the reroute cost us?”

“Fifteen minutes,” his driver replied.

Arkland frowned.

Jane Sloan put her hand on his. Gently. “We don’t need to risk an incident. We can spare the time.”

“Fine,” he said. Then, to the driver, “Reroute us.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver said. He coordinated with the other caravan vehicles to change routes.

The next fastest route brought them onto a thin side road skirting above the edge of the highway. It grew increasingly narrow as the median wall crept closer and closer, along with the looming buildings to their right. The lanes merged into one.

A T-intersection presided at the end, with busy crossings either way. Arkland’s vehicle waited behind the lead vehicle, with one more vehicle in the rear. There had originally been four caravan vehicles; the last was still stuck in the protesting crowd across the bridge.

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he restrained himself. Whining would only make himself look weaker.

A man appeared on the street corner. He wore a hood that concealed his face in shadow. He looked ominous.

However, the two objects on his person were the most concerning. He carried a bottle of sorts. A long, cylindrical object was slung over his shoulder.

He had a Molotov cocktail and a rifle.

Arkland recognized the weapons at the same time as his guards.

“Down, sir!” his driver screamed. He looked through the rear windshield, planning on backing up.

The rear convoy vehicle tried backing up, too, but a line of cars had accumulated behind the stoplight.

The convoy’s rear vehicle slammed into a passenger vehicle and continued backing up. Wheels screeched violently, echoing off the median wall, but the rear convoy vehicle wasn’t going anywhere. Which meant, by extension, Arkland’s vehicle wasn’t going anywhere.

The assailant lit the Molotov cocktail, and he hurled it at the front vehicle. The cocktail exploded on the hood, and the flames spread quickly. Screams from inside rang out. A Death Corps soldier stumbled out of the vehicle, half of his body engulfed in flames.

The assailant turned his rifle on the middle convoy vehicle, and he opened fire.

Arkland ducked, keeping his body low, as did Jane Sloan.

Bullets thudded off the bulletproof glass. Arkland would be safe from gunfire. However, explosives or incendiaries were still clearly a threat, and Arkland had no doubt the assailant planned on using them.

Arkland peeked up. There was a bullet crack in the nearest window. Still, it held. The assailant paused, lighting another Molotov. Arkland knew the target.

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“Get out. Now!” Arkland yelled.

He slipped out of the door, away from the assailant. Jane followed as the Molotov careened through the air. His driver made it out, barely, before flames enveloped the car.

They moved away from the vehicle. If it exploded, they didn’t want to be anywhere near it. However, they were forced out into the open, which put them in the assailant’s line of sight.

Arkland’s driver fired upon the assailant with a pistol, but he was promptly cut down by gunfire.

“Charles,” Sloan screamed. “Get behind me!”

She dove on top of him, putting herself squarely between him and the attacker. Her body was much smaller than his, but she tried to make herself as big as possible to cover him.

“Sloan…” he started. He looked up. The attacker had his barrel homed in on them.

“No more gas,” the attacker screamed. “No more!”

Gunshots followed. But they came from behind Arkland and Sloan.

Two Corps soldiers had stepped out of the rear caravan vehicle, the one that had reversed into civilian vehicles.

They fired upon the attacker. The attacker, out in the open, fell to their onslaught of bullets. His weapon clattered on the pavement next to his body. Blood pooled, and there was a deep void of silence.

A hand extended to Arkland. It belonged to the soldier that had felled the attacker. He pulled Arkland to his feet.

“Are you okay, General?” the soldier asked.

“Yes,” he replied. He looked to his assistant, who was being assisted by the other soldier. “Sloan?”

“I’m alright, sir,” she said. However, she sounded shaken. The adrenaline hadn’t left her body yet.

He turned back to the soldier who had saved him. He wore the Corps’ trademark faceplate, so Arkland couldn’t recognize 215

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him from the outset. However, he knew who was assigned to his caravan.

“Elliot?” he asked. The man appeared to be the proper height.

“Yes, sir,” the man replied.

Arkland smirked. The former slave turned Stormrise fighter turned personal bodyguard. There was a dark irony in the fact that this man, of all people, had saved him. Some might have called him crazy for assigning Elliot to his personal detail. His intuition had served him well yet again.

“Nice job, son,” he said, patting Elliot on the shoulder.

However, the young man wasn’t focused on him. Instead, he stared at the assailant’s body.

“Stormrise?” he asked.

“No,” Arkland replied. “Stormrise wouldn’t have sent just one.” *** “Your hunch appears to be right,” Sloan said. “The attacker, by all available data, was a lone operative. He had no connections to Stormrise. He was a disgruntled electrical worker. His boss testifies that he had seen signs of instability in him for a while— angry outbursts, incoherent behavior, an inability to get along well with clients, and so on. Once rumors about V2 had begun to spread, his paranoia had steadily worsened.

“Being an electrical worker, he had come to learn about our meeting with the aspiring union leaders. With the protests forming along the main road, he figured this would be his shot to take you out.”

“And he nearly did,” Arkland said. “The fact that some psycho came so close is unacceptable, Sloan.”

“I agree, sir,” she said.

“If this had been Stormrise, the outcome would have been very different,” he said.

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“Yes,” she said softly. “I agree.”

He stared out the high-rise window. The city, once more, felt like it was in the palm of his hands. From all the way up here, well, the darkness in the alleyways looked awfully small.

In the pavilion directly below, the Guardian mechs loomed.

Even from a high elevation, the mechs looked giant.

“For the sake of appearance, I refrained from placing RAID units on my guard detail when visiting the unions,” Arkland said.

“Fear over my safety was the last thing I wanted to communicate.

However, the risk seems too great now. I need increased security when traveling. That much is clear.”

Sloan said, “I have an even more drastic suggestion.”

He turned to her, indicating for her to go on.

“We estimate another four to five weeks for V2 to complete production,” she said. “What if, until production completes, you remain in Memory Tower?”

“And become a shut-in?” Arkland said. “A man in his high castle? No, Sloan. I won’t do that. Buffing up security is one thing.

But I won’t let Stormrise or the other miscreants in this city think I’m that scared.”

Despite his dismissal of her proposal, she persisted. “We know that Stormrise is going to try something soon, Arkland.

Stormrise has to do it before V2 finishes production if it wants any chance of toppling us. We can increase caravan security, yes, but Stormrise is good at attacking caravans.

“Stormrise will find any opportunity where you’re vulnerable, and that is when you’re traveling above all else.” She stepped up next to him at the window, and she peered down. “This building is a veritable fortress. We have the Guardians, exo soldiers, RAID soldiers, and a heap of ordinary foot soldiers. We can pull in more manpower to defend this place, too.”

She turned and met his eyes. Hers pleaded with him.

“A month, Arkland. Maybe a little more. That’s all I’m asking.”

“It’s cowardly, Sloan.”

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“What does it matter, General?” she asked. “When did you start caring about Stormrise respecting you? You care about winning. Above everything else.”

He didn’t respond. He had to concede that point.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll hunker down here. Now, how is the press handling this?”

“I’ve ordered them to blame Stormrise for the attack. They’re highlighting the killed soldiers, but they’re downplaying how close the attacker got to killing you.”

“Good,” Arkland said. He knew she would handle the situation correctly. “One more thing. Arrange an award ceremony for Elliot and the other soldier, Reece. We need to keep up morale and show we’re still victorious.”

He still saw that look in her eyes.

“You dove on top of me,” he said. “You put yourself between me and the attacker.”

She paused. “I did, sir.”

“You could have been killed.”

“I could have been killed either way.”

“I was the primary target,” he said. “You moved directly into the line of fire.”

“It’s my job, sir,” she said nonchalantly.

“Your job, Sloan, is to be my second,” he said.

He put his hand on the window. He pressed his fingertips into the glass.

“You could have had it all,” he said. “By just standing still, you could’ve had something all of my other subordinates dream of.” He gestured to the city below them. “All of this, for yourself.

Why’d you do it?”

“My job is to help you achieve your vision,” she said. “The best way is by keeping you alive. Am I wrong?”

“To hell with my vision,” he said. “If I would’ve died, I’d be nothing but bones and dirt. Why’d you let the opportunity pass by?”

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She gazed out at the city. “The crown can be heavy, General.

I don’t want your job.”

“Then what?” he asked. “What do you want?”

She pursed her lips. “What’s it matter? Do you trust me?”

“I do,” he said. “But I don’t know why. That is what I’m trying to figure out.”

“This is what I want,” she said, looking around. “Isn’t that enough?”

He frowned.

She checked her watch. “I have an appointment coming up.

Permission to leave, sir?”

“Granted,” he said.

She strode out of the room. He continued gazing down at the city. All of a sudden, the silence felt too silent. He fetched whiskey and a glass, and he returned to the window. The sun’s last rays of light struck the tips of the buildings, leaving the shadows to feast upon the rest.

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20 “Of course, they’re blaming us for the attack,” General Taylor said, sighing.

“If only it had been us,” Rayne replied. “Arkland would be dead.”

“It doesn’t matter if we’re blamed,” Chief Kaminski said. “This isn’t going to change anyone’s opinion about us one way or the other. I’m more concerned about Arkland’s response. Discontent is rising in the city. V2 is nearing completion. If the general is smart, he’ll hole up and wait until he has his ace card.” She frowned. “And regardless of what else can be said about Arkland, he’s smart.”

“He’s also arrogant. A man of action, too,” Rayne said. “It’s hard for me to imagine him hiding from us. Sitting around all day isn’t his style.”

“He’s making an exception,” Chief Kaminski said. “Reports from our agents in the city support my hunch. Since the attack, Arkland has hunkered down in his tower.”

“For all his preaching about strength,” Geralt scoffed, “he’s fine with cowering away.”

“He is if it means victory,” Kaminski said.

“Time is running out,” Northfield said. “He’s forcing us to make a move.”

“Precisely,” Chief Kaminski said.

“His tower is a fortress,” Rayne said. “He has men, advanced soldiers, and those mechs. I don’t know if we could take it.”

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“His tower may not be our only viable target,” General Taylor said. “If we take down his production of V2, we would buy ourselves some time. A production plant might be a softer target.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t know where V2 is being produced,” Kaminski said.

“We’ve discovered classified intel in the past,” General Taylor said. “We could find out.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Kaminski said. “After the first V2 leak, Arkland is undoubtedly taking every precaution to prevent more of them.”

“Taking down one facility might not help us,” Northfield said. “This is Arkland’s big gambit, after all, and we’ve got a talent for attacking Network facilities. I don’t think he’s going to put all of his eggs in one basket. I think he has multiple production facilities. If we manage to find one location and take it down, I don’t know if we’d even slow him down.”

“I agree,” Kaminski said. “I believe our only way of stopping Arkland is by taking down the man himself. Does anyone disagree?”

She was met with silence.

General Taylor asked Rayne, “How is the RAID armor training going?”

“Better than we could have hoped,” Rayne said. “The armor is intuitive, and the soldiers are learning to pilot the suits at a record pace.”

“Well, then here’s a plan you’re going to love,” General Taylor said. “Memory Tower is a fortress. Infiltration may be a better tactic than brute force. We could send in a small band of operatives, those trained with the RAID armor, to sneak in and capture or kill Arkland.”

“I wish we could,” Rayne said. “But Memory Tower has a barrier system to prevent just that. Even if we found a way to bypass the barrier, the tower is so heavily fortified that I don’t 221

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think even the best men could slip through. And if a squad is detected all on its lonesome, every man would be slaughtered.”

“Even if they took out Arkland, we got more to consider,” Geralt said. “His second-in-command, Jane Sloan, is in lockstep with him, ain’t she? If he dies, she’ll take his torch.”

“Fortunately for us, she’s almost always around him,” General Taylor said. “And our insiders report that Arkland’s V2 plan is unpopular. If we take Arkland and his second out, there is a good chance that V2 will be canceled.”

“You may be right,” Chief Kaminski said. “However, is that something we want to leave to chance?”

She was once more met with silence.

She continued, “We have been fighting the Network for a long time, far longer than V2. We need to take out Arkland and Sloan, but if we merely do that, we might end up just resetting the status quo. We need something declarative. We need to plant our flag, so to speak.”

General Taylor understood where she was going. “We’re nearing the conclusion that, I think, we’ve all already made up our minds about. A full-on assault on Memory Tower. Take it over entirely. An all-out bid to throw out the Network.” He frowned and met the eyes of each person in the room. “There’s a reason I’ve been fighting against the idea. Even if it’s possible, a lot of good men and women would die.”

Chief Kaminski met his gaze, unflinching. Northfield noticed just how deep the bags under her eyes were.

“I know,” she said.

“I’m not sure if it’s possible,” Rayne said. “But if it is, it’s going to take every person we have. All of us, at the base, as well as our informants and allies in the city.” He added, “The assassination attempt made the discontent in the city clear. I think there is ample opportunity to rally citizens to fight with us.”

Northfield observed, “The more we bang the drum, the better chance the Network has of catching wind of an imminent attack.”

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“Doesn’t matter,” Geralt said. “Arkland’s been ahead of us since day one. You really think he’s not expecting us to make a move, eventually?”

“True,” Northfield said.

Chief Kaminski pondered this for a few moments. She eventually said, “I want to meet with our chief informant in the city. He has the pulse of New Medea better than anyone I know. I want his opinion on how large a force we can muster.”

General Taylor said, “We’ll send for the informant and meet in a neutral ground outside of the city.”

Dimitri and Softball communicated with the city’s informants directly while Taylor and Kaminski were the only people who kept tabs on their identities and correspondence. They preferred to keep the circle of knowledge as small as possible, especially after Elliot’s betrayal. If the informants’ identities were compromised, they would be put in danger.

Chief Kaminski shook her head. “No. I want to go to him in the city. And meet him personally.”

“Anne, that seems risky to me,” Rayne said.

“It’s been so long since I’ve even set foot in the city,” she said.

“The people we’re going to lose if we greenlight an attack… I need to, at the very least, go to the city and see for myself. I need to hear for myself before I can make that call.”

General Taylor said, “If you get captured or, God forbid, killed…”

“It’s a risk,” she said. “Of course it is. But we’re asking everyone here to risk even more. I have to do it. Can’t you see?”

General Taylor pursed his lips, but he nodded. “It’s your call to make.”

“Widow Team will escort me,” she said. She flashed Rayne a smile. “Nothing but the best, right?”

He grinned. “You got that right.”

“Well, in that case,” General Taylor said, “we should smuggle some weapons into the city while we’re at it. Give the informants 223

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and their connections a way to arm up if we decide to give the green light.”

“Good idea,” Chief Kaminski said. “Two birds with one stone.

Wish me luck.”

“Godspeed, Chief,” General Taylor said. “Godspeed, all of you.” *** After the meeting ended, Geralt caught up with Northfield in the hallway.

“You got a minute, Mark?” he asked.

“Sure,” Northfield replied. “What’s going on?”

Geralt frowned. He looked reluctant to speak, which wasn’t something Northfield was accustomed to seeing from him.

Northfield waited patiently.

Geralt finally said, “You know I ain’t a guy to ask for favors.”

“Nope, I think that’s you. ‘Geralt the Freeloader.’”

Geralt glared at him. Northfield’s sarcasm had hit a nerve.

“Kidding, man,” Northfield said. “When I think of you, trust me, I don’t imagine a cup in your hand. You’re too prideful for that.”

“Damned straight,” Geralt said. His chest puffed out just a little bit. Northfield hadn’t exactly meant it as a compliment.

“But…” Northfield said, leading Geralt to ask whatever he came to ask for.

Geralt became reticent. It was a while before he spoke.

He said, “If we end up hitting Memory Tower… I want to be there. In the action, you know.”

Northfield understood the connection. “You want a RAID suit.”

“Yeah,” Geralt said.

Northfield’s lips pursed. “You know that would put you in one of the advance squads, right?”

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Geralt nodded. He understood the situation. There were limited RAID suits, and Stormrise was going to distribute them to soldiers tasked with the most important—and dangerous— parts of the mission.

“I’ve been out of combat for a while, Mark,” Geralt said.

“Obviously.”

Northfield said, “That’s the thing, Geralt. It’s not my call.

There are guys who have been fresh in combat for a while. Why would Kaminski and the others give you a RAID suit over them?”

“Because I’m better,” Geralt said. “Do you forget that I was the leader of the damned Yellowbacks?”

Northfield shook his head. “Of course not.”

“How the hell do you think I got there?” Geralt asked. “I fought. And I beat everybody else. That suit, Northfield…

Dammit, it lets me fight. And I want to fight.”

“Why?” Northfield asked. “There’s another guy who can easily take the advanced suit. Hell, it’s more than easy. It’s actually gonna be hard to even convince Kaminski otherwise. There are other ways to help, Geralt. The city’s gonna need leadership, even if we win.”

Geralt didn’t respond for a while. He stopped and set his crutches against the wall. Geralt pressed his hands together, working his fingers in a busy way. That dour, reticent look was on his face again. Northfield could tell he was working up to something, so he waited.

Geralt coughed to clear his throat. He glanced left and right to make sure nobody was nearby.

Then he said, in a quiet voice, “When Stormrise HQ got raided… I was in that chair, but I had a gun, and I was fighting.

When I helped leadership, dammit, I felt alive. I’ve always been about surviving… but then I felt different, you know?”

Northfield nodded.

Geralt said, “You asked me why I want to fight. I could ask you the same question. Hell, you’re in these leadership meetings, 225

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too. You could bow out and take a ‘leadership’ role. But you want to fight. I see it in your eyes. You don’t think I feel the same way?”

Northfield said, “I’ll do my best, Geralt.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Geralt said. “Just try and get me a chance.”

Northfield met his eyes. There was a softness in the blue that he hadn’t seen before.

“It’s crazy to think about how we met,” Northfield said.

“You’ve changed, Geralt.”

“Yeah,” Geralt said, flashing a cocky grin. His eyes darted away, however. “Hell, if Nate could see, Mark. Hell, if he could see….”

Geralt picked up his crutches and set off, not meeting Northfield’s eyes again. *** Helen had spent a decade in the post-apocalypse. Worse yet, she had spent a portion of that time in a slave camp.

Yet somehow, what she now witnessed managed to be one of the most hellish things she had ever seen.

The Network news stations broadcast an awards ceremony adorning Corps soldiers with medals. Her brother, Elliot, stood at the center of it all.

Not only had he betrayed Stormrise, but he was now a member of General Arkland’s personal guard. The details, somehow, only became more galling. During the attack on Arkland, he had been one of the soldiers who had saved the general’s life.

General Arkland couldn’t make the ceremony, for whatever excuse the Network news stations gave. The Head of Resources, Nancy McRoberts, doled out the awards in his stead.

As the Head of Resources looped the medal around Elliot’s neck, Helen had trouble reconciling this version of her brother with the one she had known all her life. The one she had survived 226

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the apocalypse with, the one she had endured a horrid slave camp with—a slave camp run by the very people giving him accolades.

She desperately searched her brother’s face. She peered at his flat mouth and straight-set eyes for something—anything—to tell her why.

The man was a mystery to her. She couldn’t read pride. She couldn’t read disdain. Just an overarching vagueness, like a haze blocked him from her sight. It made him more distant than a stranger.

The platinum medal glimmered from the camera lights, and it depicted an angel or archangel or something of the like. It had the title of Medal of Extraordinary Valor or something along those lines. It didn’t matter to Helen. It was meaningless. The Network had ginned up their achievements from the ether, and they meant nothing to her.

Did they mean anything to Elliot? She wondered what he would do with the medal. Frame it? Tuck it under his bed? Toss it off a balcony?

“I’m sorry,” someone said nearby. Helen almost jumped.

Although she was in the cafeteria, she had gotten so absorbed that she had forgotten there were other people around.

The voice belonged to Aubrey, who stood beside her with a lunch tray. Helen didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded.

Aubrey nodded to the open spot next to her and asked, “Can I sit?”

“What? Oh, sure,” Helen replied.

They watched the ceremony in silence. After Elliot received his award, the Head of Resources took the podium. She began a speech about duty, honor, and all the rest.

Helen stared down at her food. She had been so hungry just a little while ago, but her appetite had left her.

“There’s something about it,” Aubrey muttered.

“Huh?” Helen replied.

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“The veil being torn away,” Aubrey said. When Helen looked at her quizzically, she said, “I had a friend once. I learned he’d been lying to me for years. I learned that he’d done something that I couldn’t have imagined him doing. When you learn that someone’s not who you thought they were, it tears the ground out from underneath you.

“You question everything. But most of all, you question your own judgment. If you were so wrong about them, who else were you wrong about? You don’t feel like you can trust yourself anymore.”

“Yeah,” Helen replied, quietly. “I just… How the hell did I misread him this badly?”

Aubrey met her eyes. “Don’t listen to the doubt, Helen.

Elliot’s failures aren’t on you. People are complicated. People hide themselves. They can be really good at it, too. Nobody else predicted Elliot’s turn, Helen. You have to remember that.”

“But I was the closest one to him,” Helen protested. “If anybody should have seen signs, it was me.”

Aubrey shook her head. “Your own brother? A guy you survived the apocalypse with? A guy you survived a slave camp with? After all of that, how could you have an objective opinion about him? Out of everyone, Helen, you’d have the hardest time seeing something like this brewing. The closest ones to us, they’re the ones who can blindside us the hardest.”

Aubrey put her hand on Helen’s arm.

“I just… I want you to know this isn’t unique to you, Helen.

Okay? You’re not a failure. You’re not a bad person. You’re not.”

Helen sighed. The words didn’t reach her, not as much as she wished they would.

“Your friend,” Helen asked. “What happened with him?”

“I came around to forgiving him. And forgiving myself,” she said.

“Really?” Helen asked. “How did you get over it all?”

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“Time,” Aubrey said. “That’s the main thing. Just time.” She added, “The hurt, Helen… it will be there. But don’t give into despair or self-loathing. Have faith in yourself and keep moving forward. Just get through the days. Day after day.”

Sadness had crossed Aubrey’s face at the mention of her friend. She tried to hide it.

“What?” Helen asked, prodding it out.

Aubrey sighed, reluctant to speak. “It’s just my friend… He never quite forgave himself.” She sighed. “I wish he would’ve.”

She smiled at Helen, burying the sadness.

“Just remember, you’ve got friends here. If you ever need to talk, or just want company, I’m here.”

“I know,” Helen said. “Thank you, Aubrey. I mean it. Really…

It means a lot.”

Her attention returned to the TV. Her brother remained in the background as the Head of Resources finished her speech.

She wondered if her brother had anyone there for him, and she doubted it.

She wondered if he still thought his betrayal was worth it. His dark, stoic face gave her no answer.

229

21 The skyline of New Medea impressed, as always, with Arkland’s Memory Tower lording above all. The clouds drizzled, which made the already cold day even more uncomfortable.

Widow Team, along with Anne Kaminski, entered the city via one of Stormrise’s hidden entrances, like the one Northfield had used to escape the city. That time seemed so long ago now.

Much about a man, about a world, could change in a handful of months.

Widow Team and Kaminski used the poor weather as a pretense to wear bulky, shrouded clothes, which would conceal their faces from the surveillance cameras that littered the city.

Kaminski studied the sidewalks intently, soaking in every detail like a sponge. Northfield, for his part, did the same. The outskirts of the city had never been in great shape, but things appeared even worse now.

They passed a Corps squad car. A pair of officers pressed citizens against the hood, and they were handcuffing them. A half-written word in graffiti marked the brick wall behind them, and spray paint canisters lay at the suspects’ feet. The story told itself.

Widow Team’s van kept moving. Another squad car passed them on the opposite side of the street.

“Lots of activity out here,” Kaminski said. “Is the Network usually this active?”

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“Around here?” Rayne said. “No, not really. Let’s get in and out quickly. I don’t want to dally.”

Kaminski studied her map of New Medea’s streets. She pointed ahead and said, “Two more lights, then a left.”

“Got it,” Andy said. He was the driver for the mission.

“We’re looking for a derelict apartment complex,” Kaminski said.

“Lots of those around here,” Leo said.

“My contact says we’ll know it when we see it,” she said.

Andy followed Kaminski’s directions without incident. On the street corner, they were met with a short, stubby, and very much derelict apartment complex.

It was apparent why the apartment complex had been abandoned. A fire had consumed it at one point or another.

Scorch marks haloed nearly every window, which had all been boarded up. Yellow caution tape wrapped around the complex, but that didn’t stop vandals from turning the complex into their personal art project. Graffiti abounded.

Leo muttered, “What a damned eyesore.”

“I’m guessing this is it?” Andy asked.

“Yes,” Kaminski replied.

Andy parked the van far enough away to not arouse suspicion if Corps patrols came by, but close enough to minimize their time walking out in the open.

The streets were quiet. Nobody wanted to be outside in this weather. On one hand, it was comforting to have few eyes on them. At the same time, it made Northfield feel a bit exposed.

They kept their heads down, angling away from any security cameras. Given the weather, they looked perfectly natural, appearing as mere citizens trying to turtle up against the cold.

Widow Team subtly surrounded Kaminski, keeping her in the center. Northfield walked behind her, along with Rayne, while Andy and Leo kept ahead. All of them kept an eye out for any approaching Network personnel.

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“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you about something,” Northfield said to Rayne.

“What?” Rayne asked.

“Our friend on crutches wants to join our club,” Northfield said. He kept his voice low. He doubted even Kaminski could hear him. Still, he spoke in coded language, just in case.

Rayne kept his head forward, and Northfield couldn’t see his expression underneath his hood.

Northfield said, “I know nobody has joined our outfit since…”

His voice trailed off. Still, it was hard to mention Erik or Samuel, especially around Rayne.

“We’ve been doing fine as is,” Rayne said. “I care more about us being a well-oiled team than having more guys.”

Northfield said, “I know. But for the upcoming… party, we’re going to need all the numbers we can get.”

Rayne said, “He would use one of our new rides?”

“Rides,” of course, was code for the RAID suits.

“Yeah,” Northfield said.

Rayne turned to face him. His frown was apparent. “We don’t have many to spare. There’s a lot of good men and women waiting in the wings who have fought tooth and nail for those rides. Why does our friend deserve one over them?”

“He wants to contribute,” Northfield said. “He wants to be a part of it all. I understand that.”

“What he wants and what’s best for everyone are two different things,” Rayne said.

“We’ve all… journeyed with our friend before. When we left New Medea. He can hold his own.”

“Holding his own is one thing,” Rayne said. “But it’s not my main concern. I need to be able to lean on the men who are part of this team. Our friend may be competent. He’s clever and thinks on his feet. That’s for certain. But he’s always struck me as a deeply selfish man. And I can’t trust selfishness.”

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“I…” Northfield said. “Our friend is a complicated man, definitely. But I don’t think your assessment is fair.”

Rayne faced forward again.

Northfield said, “It’s not just him. You haven’t filled our empty spots. Even at our leaders’ behest.”

“There is no filling those spots,” Rayne said, with an edge to his voice. “Nobody can fill them.”

“I know,” Northfield said. “But nobody’s trying to. Not like that, at least.”

“Do you trust him?” Rayne asked. “Deeply? With your life?”

“Yes,” Northfield said. He didn’t hesitate.

Rayne thought about it for a while. He said, “If you vouch, then I’ll agree to it. But the other men have to be on board, too.

And we’ll put him through a test.”

“Understood,” Northfield said. “Thank you.”

They reached the derelict apartment complex, and Widow Team did a quick scan to make sure no Death Corps soldiers were inbound.

A rusted-over intercom hung next to the main doors.

Northfield was surprised when Kaminski pressed on the intercom and it was in fact operational. She pressed the talk button in a specific, coded sequence. Once she had completed it, the comm emitted a crackle.

A man said, “Welcome to the Hotel Extraordinaire. Who am I speaking to?”

His voice had a hint of gravel; he could be anywhere from his thirties to his fifties.

Kaminski replied, “Building inspection. We’ve received reports of a fire hazard.”

“Oh, darn. I thought everything was spick and span,” he replied. The wryness in his voice was prominent. “I guess I’ll have to let you in, won’t I? Safety first, of course.”

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The front doors clicked. Even though they were burned, rusted, and everything in between, clearly, they still served their purpose.

Widow Team took one last look around. Deeming the coast clear, they went inside.

They followed Kaminski up a set of stairs. The floorboards creaked with every step, creating a crescendo of unpleasantness that echoed off the walls. Even the Network’s crack units would have a hell of a time sneaking up on anyone in here.

Nearly everything bore charcoal-black scars from the inferno.

The floorboards, despite their creakiness, seemed to be the only things that had been repaired, due to their lack of scorch marks.

On the third floor, they stopped in front of a room that, from the outside, appeared no more interesting than any of the other rooms they had passed.

Kaminski didn’t have to knock; somebody opened the door for her.

A wide smile greeted them, belonging to a man with jetblack hair that bore more than a few gray streaks. Deep brown eyes sparkled in the low-hanging lights. Wires snaked from the lights, connecting to a generator at the end of the hallway.

“Glad to see you made it in one piece,” he said. “Getting up those stairs can be a hell of a time.”

Kaminski hugged him tightly. The man returned the affection.

“Good to see you, Neil,” she said.

“You too, Anne,” he said softly. He looked up and said, “Are you gonna finally introduce me to your friends?”

Kaminski introduced each member of Widow Team, and Neil shook their hands.

He cocked his head back, and he said, “Well, come on in.”

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operations room. A wide table occupied the center, with various papers and pictures strewn about.

“Sorry about the mess,” Neil said. “It’s… Well, what the hell can I say? I’m messy.” He looked again at Kaminski, and he cracked a big grin. “Man, it’s good to see you.”

Kaminski said to the others, “Neil’s a good friend of mine. In fact, he is the man who convinced me to take a stand against the Network. When we were conceiving Stormrise, we quickly came to the conclusion that it needed to be based outside of the city but that we still needed a city presence. I left the city, but Neil remained.

“Neil spearheads our effort in New Medea. He maintains our relationships with undercover Stormrise operatives, as well as our sympathetic donors and informants.”

Neil said, “Not directly, of course. Not most of the time. I have people who report to me, and people who report to them, and so on.”

Kaminski nodded. “We also decided, early on, that compartmentalization was the name of the game. Only let people know as much as they need to know. It’s why only General Taylor and I know of Neil, along with Dimitri and Softball, who directly communicate with him.”

She met his eyes, and she added, “Neil is our lifeline with the city. Everything flows through him. His job, in many ways, is more important than mine. Yet he’s content to remain in the shadows. He’s a good man.”

“Oh, stop,” he said. “You’re gonna make me blush.”

“It’s true,” she said. “And I don’t get to say it enough.”

“Let’s change the subject,” he said. “All this praise is gonna swell my head.”

“How have things been, Neil?”

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no serious breaches of our command line.” He crossed his arms.

“But you’ve heard all that from my reports. You still haven’t told me why you wanted to meet.”

“I know,” she said. “I just wanted to do all of this in person.

For my own sake.”

“I figured,” he said. “Which makes me think this is about one thing. The big hit.”

“Yes,” Kaminski said. “You have that right.” She paused before asking, “If we rally all of your contacts, everyone, could we do it?

Could we take Arkland’s tower?”

Neil’s smile evaporated as he thought her question over. He asked, “Is there any other way?”

Kaminski shook her head. “V2 puts us on a strict deadline.

We don’t have many options. If you have any ideas, we would be happy to hear them.”

He picked up a pen from the operations table and clicked it.

“Unfortunately, I’m coming up dry, too.”

He shuffled through papers, and he laid a New Medea street map atop the pile. With his pen, he circled a building near the center.

“Memory Tower is here,” he said. He added more circles, steadily extending from the tower. “Here are all the nearby Corps Domestic Zones. They’re gonna be on high alert. If we give the Network even so much as a whiff that we’re planning something, reinforcements will be sent to Memory Tower before we even get there. And they will have even more reinforcements to send after that.”

“Do you think you could rally the troops without tipping off the Network?”

“I would give it the old college try, believe me, but almost certainly not.”

“It’s what I expected,” she said, “but also feared.”

Rayne said, “So we’ll be facing everything the Network can throw at us.”

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“Pretty much,” Neil replied.

“Ain’t that a lovely thought,” Leo muttered.

“Will we have enough?” Kaminski asked Neil.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “My network extends far and wide.

If everyone answered the call, we’d be talking close to a thousand people. Maybe more, maybe less. Our segmentation means I don’t have full visibility into how far my network reaches. But of those people, who knows how many will turn tail? We can also rally citizens to take a stand and fight for us. But who knows if they will? We’ll need everything, Anne. Everything.”

“What would you have me do?” she asked him.

He stared at Memory Tower. “Like you said, we’re out of time.

And we’re out of options. But that’s your call to make.”

“We started all of this together,” she said.

“And there’s a reason you’re the leader,” he said. “Tough calls, Anne. You know how to make them.”

Rayne concurred with him. “We trust your judgment, Chief.”

“Thank you,” she said. She stared at the operations board.

“We brought weapons for you, Neil, in case we greenlight the operation. Rayne, can you and your men go and get them? Neil will show you where to stow them.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Rayne replied.

Northfield started to move with them before Kaminski said, “Not you, Mark. I want to talk with you.”

After Neil and the other members of Widow Team left, Kaminski approached the boarded-up windows, and she absentmindedly ran her hand against a window frame.

“You’ve been quiet,” she observed. “And that concerns me.”

He shrugged, but he averted his eyes. “I don’t have the knowledge of New Medea that the rest of you have. I’m not the best guy to assess the feasibility of the operation.”

“I disagree,” she said. “You’re the only one with true experience doing something like this.”

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The memories of Cumulus hit him in a rush. He remembered storming the Network stronghold, Little Empire, with Elena and John and the Yellowbacks. He remembered the gunfire that tore away everything. He remembered the blood. So much blood.

The bodies, his friends. He remembered detonating Zeus’s Mercy and seeing the city showered in blue. He thought that would be the end of it all. But it wasn’t.

“I guess this feels pretty familiar,” he replied. “Another storming of a Network tower.”

She nodded grimly, and she waited for him to say more.

He said, “I don’t know. It feels… hopeless now, in a way, although it felt hopeless back then, too. And we still did it.”

“It’s comforting,” she said, “that you felt hopeless, too.”

“But there was a cost,” he said. “I was the only survivor.” He met Kaminski’s eyes. “If we do this, a lot of people are gonna die.

Win or lose.”

“I know,” she said. From her tone, he could tell that she was picturing the gravestone of every Stormrise member. “It’s a lot to ask our people to not only risk their lives but almost certainly give them up. I can’t let that be a waste, Mark.” She asked, “The attack in Cumulus… was it worth it to you?”

“I think long and hard about that,” he said. “A lot. When I was up in Little Empire, wounded, and my vision was going dark, I remember looking out at the skyline and thinking that we had done it. That, by clearing the city of toxic gas, we had made everything better. Violence followed, though, and chaos, and all of this.”

He put his hand out and trailed his fingers along the wall.

“I have a lot of dreams. About the past, you know. And Little Empire is one of them I have often. But would I go back and change what happened? God, sometimes I wish.

“John and Elena. They were two people I fought with to the end. Friends. They fought for the mission with all of their hearts.

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For them, I’d do it all over again. They believed in it, and if they were here now, I know what they’d think.

“Even if we take out Arkland and the tower, maybe somehow the Network still rallies. Maybe we face a full-on war that we can’t win. Maybe the election we hope to have just doesn’t go our way, and the Network or someone worse comes into power.

Maybe we’ll all die in the attempt. Maybe we won’t even make it to the front gates.

“We just don’t know. But we do know one thing. We know Arkland’s vision for the city. We know his vision for humanity in general. And John and Elena wouldn’t want any part in it.”

He closed his eyes and said, “Erik would say the same thing.

And Samuel. And Dr. Cohanan. And Odell. And all the rest.

Truth be told, Anne, my legs feel weak. But for them, I’ll walk up to Arkland’s gates.” He shook his head and said, “Look at me. Not much of a leader, am I? I’m just a follower of the dead.”

Kaminski put her hand on his shoulder. “You’re a leader, Mark. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a man of action, and you lead by it. Do you know how many people are inspired by your bravery? How many are inspired by your wisdom? Your experience isn’t the only reason I wanted to talk to you.”

He looked at the ground. “Any wisdom I’ve built up has been from making mistakes. I’m just lucky I’ve lived this long after so many of them.”

“We’re lucky to have you,” she said. She pondered his words carefully. Eventually, she said, “So you’re in favor of greenlighting the operation?”

“I am,” he said.

“That helps me, Mark,” she said. “It really does. Thank you.”

That familiar, stubborn terror crawled up his throat. He wondered if this would be another memory that his nightmares would feed upon.

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He recalled Cumulus once more. He recalled those last moments with Elena. Freeing the city from the toxic gas was her dream, but she never got to see it. He wondered, in her final moments, if she believed he would succeed. He hoped so.

A small smile touched the corners of his lips. He said to Kaminski, “Elena was brave, decisive, and self-sacrificing. You would’ve liked her.”

240

22 Northfield crouched in wait, yet every fiber of his being itched to race ahead. There was something about wearing the RAID suit that prompted movement. Perhaps it was the power of it all. If you could move faster than a speeding bullet, well, then part of your body wanted to just go ahead and do it.

Yet he restrained himself, and he remained perched on an outstretched limb of a tree. The forest had bloomed, and the leaves were vibrant.

“Tango in sight,” Leo said.

“Copy that,” another, new voice replied. Geralt.

Northfield couldn’t help but wonder what Rayne thought about the former Yellowback’s performance. That’s what this was all about.

“Viking, are you in position?” Rayne asked.

“Affirmative,” Northfield replied. “Ready to spring.”

“Skullbeard?” Rayne asked.

“Affirmative.”

“On three,” Rayne said. The men counted in their heads.

In unison, they launched out of the forest and into the central clearing.

In the center stood a former toolshed, which had been dressed up as best as possible to resemble a Guardian mech.

Their target had a head, as well as a set of arms that looked paltry when compared to the real thing.

“Rocket salvo inbound,” Rayne announced. “Viking and Onion.”

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Onion was Geralt’s callsign. Rayne had chosen it, although Northfield didn’t know exactly why. Something along the lines of Geralt having layers and being sour.

Northfield and Geralt darted in opposite directions, then deployed the RAID suits’ electric shields. The shed, for better or worse, was just a shed, so no actual rockets came their way. In a real battle, however, Northfield’s and Geralt’s rapid movements would hopefully lose the rockets, but they would utilize their shields just in case.

“Firing rocket one,” Andy said.

“Firing rocket two,” Leo replied.

Both men held logs over their shoulders; they represented rocket launchers. Widow Team didn’t want to waste munitions on a training exercise, especially one that the team had already run through multiple times.

“Rocket one misses,” Rayne said. “Rocket two hits. The hull is damaged but not breached.”

Geralt darted to the mock Guardian’s flank, and he said, “Onion in position. Firing.”

“Hit,” Rayne said. “Tango’s right leg. Immobilized but not down. Machine guns engaged, Onion.”

“Roger that,” Geralt said. He hid his entire body behind his shield. The real Guardian’s high-caliber rounds would shred through a RAID suit; the shields’ electromagnetic field slowed bullets, so they would ideally protect against the gunfire. Not for long, however. The firing would drain the shield battery quickly, and once it ran out, the gunfire would punch through it all the same. Likewise, any exposed parts of the body would be mincemeat.

Geralt was pinned. He needed to be bailed out, in other words.

Northfield darted to the Guardian’s other flank. “Firing,” he declared.

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“Rocket two misses,” Rayne declared. “But the OGRE is turning to address the threat.”

Northfield didn’t wait. He darted away as the Guardian-shed swiveled, at least in their collective imagination. His rocket had served its purpose, which was to let Geralt fall back and reload his rocket launcher.

“Drawstring in position,” Rayne announced. “Firing.”

He fired his own imaginary rocket from above, targeting the same position that Leo’s rocket had hit.

“Rocket hits. Hull breached,” Rayne said.

“Copy,” Andy said. “Moving to position.”

He dashed forward and swapped out his rocket for a submachine gun. Its magazine was empty, also to preserve ammunition for the real fight ahead.

“Firing,” Andy declared.

“Pilot hit,” Rayne declared. “Tango is down.”

With that, the training exercise had concluded. The men gathered in front of their infernal enemy, the shed.

“It’s gonna be that easy, right?” Andy said.

Leo scoffed. He said to Rayne, “Of course you made your own rocket hit. Critical blow.”

“I was the closest to the mech,” Rayne argued. “I had the best positioning. Statistically, my shot would have had the best chance of hitting.”

Leo chuckled, satisfied that he had pushed Rayne’s buttons.

“Good coordination,” Rayne said to Geralt and Northfield.

Geralt shrugged. “Training is all fine and dandy. But in a real fight, we’ll really see if our coordination is up to snuff.”

“You’re right,” Rayne said. “We’ll see. Go on ahead, Geralt.

We’ll meet you there.”

Geralt nodded, understanding that Rayne wanted to talk to Widow Team without him. He faded into the woods, heading to where they’d parked their van.

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Widow Team gathered around Rayne. He got right to the question. “What do you all think about Geralt?”

Leo and Andy exchanged glances. Leo shrugged and said, “He can work as part of a team. Better than I thought, honestly.

He’s got a good head, and he’s a brawler to boot.”

Andy added, “We’ve already fought with him back in New Medea. We know he can handle the pressure.”

“You know how I feel,” Northfield said.

Rayne deliberated. He, of all of them, seemed the most reluctant.

“Do you think differently?” Leo said. “Did you see something we missed?”

“No,” Rayne said. “I agree with your assessments.” He sighed and said, “It’s about time, isn’t it? Geralt is in. Let’s go tell him.”

When they broke the news, Geralt grinned and said, “You just watch. We’re gonna kick Arkland’s teeth in together.”

“Amen to that,” Leo said.

The drive back to Amber was calm. They exchanged war stories, all of them funny. They stayed away from the sad tales.

They all had too many of those, and they wanted the day to remain positive.

When they arrived at the hotel, Geralt stopped Northfield in the hallway.

“Thanks for vouching for me,” Geralt said. “I won’t forget this, Mark.”

Northfield said, “It was no problem at all, man. Don’t worry about it.”

Geralt grinned and said, “Heh. A lot of unimaginable stuff has happened lately. I lost a leg. Then I’m running around in a robo-suit. Pretty damned crazy to think about, ain’t it?”

“No kidding,” Northfield said. “I keep telling myself there’s no point in guessing at the future anymore. Yet I still do, and I wind up surprised anyway.”

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“That’s a constant,” he said, “being flabbergasted as hell at what the world serves us up on a plate.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Northfield said, chuckling.

Geralt frowned and grew contemplative. “Crazy to think about. You know, back when we were growing up, Nate did everything he could to impress me.”

Geralt continued, “He just wanted to make his older brother proud. He never could do it, though.” His frown deepened.

“Eventually, he got the memo and stopped trying. That was when we were little. We got further apart the older we grew, and you know the rest.”

Northfield did, indeed. Geralt and Nathaniel hadn’t been on speaking terms when Northfield and his allies arrived at Geralt’s doorstep for help.

“It’s funny,” Geralt said. “Now I find myself wondering if he’d be proud of me.”

Northfield put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s an easy one, Geralt. He’d be very proud. Seeing where you’ve come and what you’ve done… he’d be happy.”

“You think so, huh?” Geralt said.

“Absolutely,” he replied. “Not a doubt in my mind.”

Geralt nodded. Then he nodded to himself again.

Northfield said, “But it’s hard, though, isn’t it? You just want to see them again and hear it from their mouth, for real.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Geralt said. He asked, “If you saw your wife again, what’s the first thing you’d say to her?”

“That I love her,” Northfield replied.

“Well, duh,” Geralt said. “I mean, after all that boilerplate stuff was out of the way.”

“It’s not boilerplate.”

“You know what I mean,” he said.

Northfield paused. “I’d ask if we’re okay. I’d ask if she forgives me.”

“What, you think she’s still mad at you for something?”

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“No,” he said. “I know she’s not. But it’s just… My nightmares mess with me, you know? I start to doubt.”

Geralt shook his head.

“What?” Northfield asked.

“If you really did get that chance to see her again, spending time asking her a question that you already know the answer to feels like a damned waste to me,” Geralt said. “Hell, even dwelling on it now’s a waste.”

“What about your brother?” Northfield asked, turning his logic back on him. “Dwelling on him isn’t a waste?”

“It’s different,” Geralt said. “You know she’s not mad at you.

My brother, well, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “You’re right. Guess I’m splitting hairs.” He and Northfield reached a junction in the hallway. “Forward, Mark. That’s all we’ve got. Forward.”

“Yeah,” Northfield said, sighing. “I know.” Wanting to change the subject, he asked, “But what would you do if you saw Nate again?”

Geralt pondered. A grin broke across his face, and he said, “I’d punch him in the shoulder. Always used to piss him off, especially when he was focused on something. Seeing his scowl again… Ah, hell. What I wouldn’t give for that.” He headed in the opposite direction as Northfield, and he called over his shoulder, “See you around, Mark.”

Northfield watched him depart.

If I got to see you again, Jess, before the end… maybe we could spend the moments in silence instead.

I could just hold you close. I could feel you in my arms and simply enjoy the moment. I wouldn’t have to think. I just… I wouldn’t have to think. ***

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“It’s crazy, Sydnee,” Andy said. “The RAID suit is… It’s indescribable. It makes you feel like a superhero. Like the Flash or something.”

Sydnee nodded along, but she didn’t seem as enthused.

“What?” Andy asked.

“It just sounds like the RAID suit gives you a lot of power.”

“Well, yeah, that’s what I’ve been saying,” he replied.

“And with great power comes great responsibility. Isn’t that something another superhero says?”

“Spider-Man, yeah,” Andy said.

“That puts an extra burden on your shoulders to protect your friends that aren’t in armor. I know you, Andy. You’ll dive into danger if it means keeping people who rely on you safe.”

He shifted in his seat to face Sydnee more directly. “Look, I—” She held up her hand. “You don’t need to explain or say anything. It’s just scary. But I love you, Andy, and I’m proud of you. I know Erik would be as well.”

Andy averted his gaze. Becca played wall ball with the other kids in front of them. “You think so?”

She wrapped her arm around his. “Of course, Andy. You always have.”

“So have you, Syd,” he said. “So have you.”

Becca threw the ball, hard, hitting the wall before another player could reach it. She cheered at getting the kid out.

“We’ve done a good job, haven’t we?” Sydnee said. “In light of everything that’s happened?”

Becca giggled with some of the other kids. Andy said, “Yeah.

We’ve given her our best, at least.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t gotten bored of wall ball yet,” Sydnee said about the kids. “You should teach them a new game soon. It will give them something to keep their minds occupied.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Andy said.

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When Stormrise began the assault, Sydnee would remain behind with the kids. With her leg injury, she couldn’t fight. She was on standby; if the attack failed, their headquarters would no longer be safe. If the Network captured Stormrise fighters, they would be able to convince at least one of them to give up Stormrise’s location. Why wouldn’t they, when the war was already lost? Sydnee would have to get the kids to safety.

But neither of them wanted to talk about that possibility.

248

23 The assault on Memory Tower was planned, replanned again, and replanned yet again, until all of Stormrise leadership felt comfortable with it. Well, comfortable was a relative term.

Nobody felt comfortable about sending their men and women into what would be the toughest battle of their lives.

Coordination of said plans followed, as did training. Always, it seemed, there was more training.

They couldn’t control whether they won or lost this fight. The winds of the day would blow one way or another. All they could do was prepare and pray and prepare some more.

The days passed, and then, finally, the day of the assault arrived. A wave of feeling passed through camp, invisible but undeniably there. A feeling so thick that you could practically swim in it.

Everybody felt the feeling, but nobody could quite find the right words for it.

Fear. Fear, perhaps, was the largest portion of the feeling.

The fear of death—and of family and friends dying. Perhaps equally, though, it was a fear of failure. Lives had been spent to champion Stormrise’s cause. All of that sacrifice ending with only a sea of bodies to show for it sat, nice and nestled, in the back of everyone’s minds.

Righteous anger and determination balanced out the fear.

However, there was a sense of relief mixed in.

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It was a relief that this long struggle, one way or another, would come to an end. They were going to attack Memory Tower.

They would either do it or fail, and that was it.

For those old enough to remember traditional schools, they recalled exam day. So much studying, all boiling down to an hour with pencil and paper. For Stormrise, their graduation lay on one end, while the guillotine lay on the other.

Anne Kaminski gathered everyone in the cafeteria one last time. She sat on the stage, alongside the other Stormrise leaders.

Once the crowd had settled, she made eye contact with Northfield and nodded.

He approached the podium, and he stared out at the crowd before him. Stormrise’s numbers had grown once more since the Network’s culling. He tried not to think about how many of them would still be here after the operation.

After taking a deep breath, he adjusted the microphone and leaned into it.

“Hey, everyone. This is the day, huh?”

He held fast to the podium. He had to remain strong.

He continued, “We’re in what feels like an impossible situation.

Our small force, pitted against the might of the Network. Time’s not on our side. Numbers aren’t. Technology’s not.

“I’ve been in a similar situation. In Cumulus, things felt just as hopeless.”

He closed his eyes, letting the memories flow back. After his conversation with Chief Kaminski in Neil’s hideout, she had asked him to speak before Stormrise. She wanted him to share the same hope that he had given her.

He continued, “Somehow, we succeeded. Lately, people have been asking me if we’ll win this fight, too. Truth is, I don’t know.

I feel the same hope and despair that you do. I don’t. I pray we succeed. I pray to God we do.

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“But there’s something I want to talk about aside from winning or losing. I want to talk about the people I fought with.

Two people named Elena and John.”

He shared their story. He told the crowd about his friends and how bravely they had fought.

Then he moved on to the hardest part.

“They died that night,” Northfield said. “And their deaths stick with me more than anything else that night. The sadness of them, yes, but not just that. With their last breaths they gave.

“John put himself into the line of fire so the rest of us could advance. Elena, down to her final gasp, just wanted me to push through for the sake of the city.

“I didn’t know them very long in life.” He paused, demanding that the lump in his throat go down. “But their deaths… They were gifts. They were blessings that pushed me forward. They still help me continue on, to this day.

“I want you to remember this: our lives can be gifts to other people. In this fight, we may die. But we don’t have to lose our lives. We can give them.

“They can be our gift to our friends. To the people of New Medea, who stand by and hope we pave the way forward.

“We can’t choose the moment of our deaths. But going into the fight knowing that my life is no longer mine to have… it calms me. More so, it inspires me to do everything I can for those around me.

“To give each other hope and life, even when you’re down in the dirt with each other, deep in the trenches… through life and death. What a blessing that is.” He closed his eyes, thinking about his friends again. “What a blessing that is.”

He met the eyes of those in the crowd. He caught himself looking for Dr. Cohanan and Odell before remembering. The sadness in his chest weighed heavily.

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Chief Kaminski took the podium. She turned back and said, “Thank you, Mark. I know you’ve been an inspiration to all of us.”

He closed his eyes.

She addressed the crowd. “Like Mark said, we don’t know the outcome of this day. I have true hope for our success. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have greenlit the operation. I do not take your lives lightly.

“But win or lose, I think it’s important to reflect on the bigger picture and remember why we’re doing this. General Arkland’s vision for the world is antithetical to human dignity. We’ve seen it time and time again, through slavery, experimentation, and violence. No matter how nicely he may dress up his regime, no matter the technicolor array of lights he strings around it, we know that’s what it really boils down to.

“And we want no part in it. We’d rather die than live in his version of the world. That is the gamble we’re taking today. We’re putting that resolve to the test.

“Today is a pivotal moment in humanity’s future. What we do here will have ramifications for years upon years. We should be grateful for that. Most people live their lives having to accept their society and the moment they find themselves in. The world moves along, heedless of them.

“Not us. Not today. We get a true chance to make change. We get to play a part in the history of the world. It’s an honor. But it’s one that comes with a steep price. Yet I believe it’s a price worth paying, and I know you feel the same.

“So let’s face this battle with aplomb. For our families. For our friends. For each other.” She raised her fist. “For New Medea!”

“For New Medea!” the crowd yelled, accompanied by applause and hollers.

The cheer would soon be tainted by tragedy, they all knew.

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anything to root out. Still, they took the cheer and excitement and held it tightly, for however long it would last. *** An abandoned warehouse, situated near the outer boundary of New Medea, served as the staging ground for the operation.

The operation had been given the fitting, if slightly on-the-nose, name of Kingfall.

Northfield fitted into his RAID suit and ran through a checklist of suit verification steps. The checklist included basic joint movement, along with the suit’s accelerated movement abilities and boost jumps. He wasn’t alone; everyone equipped in a RAID suit ran through the same checklist. Nobody wanted to die from a suit failure that could have been caught beforehand.

All his systems were operational, and so were everyone else’s.

The Network had built robust suits; he couldn’t deny that.

He equipped weapons next. Stormrise didn’t have standardized gear. Soldiers took whatever they could get their hands on, so he had a variety of small arms to choose from.

He opted first for an assault rifle, kitted for accuracy with an extended barrel and long-range scope. He also snagged a compact submachine gun, albeit one with an extended magazine.

He equipped a laser sight to match. When the fight got close and heavy, the submachine gun would be his best friend.

Lastly, he grabbed a rocket launcher. He hoped it would be enough to take on the Guardians.

The weapons connected to a mag-plate on the back of his RAID suit. Since the suit also enhanced his strength, the load wasn’t onerous.

The ability to hold multiple weapons at once was yet another advantage of the RAID suit. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be practical for him to take an assault rifle, submachine gun, and a rocket launcher with him.

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He grabbed a variety of grenades, from stunners to smokes.

They settled neatly on a mag-belt on the suit. He added a knife to the belt, too.

He carefully inspected each weapon, starting with the assault rifle. Like the RAID suit, he wanted to prevent any failures that he could. He would disassemble, clean, and reassemble every weapon. He was joined by the other men of Widow Team.

The men were quiet. Reflecting, Northfield supposed. That was certainly what he was doing.

Being in a warehouse, preparing for the big strike, brought back memories of Cumulus. There had been a lot of recalling that night lately.

No matter what happens tonight, Northfield thought, I’ve had a life blessed by others. Even through all of my hardship, I can’t deny that. Not for one second.

Elena and John. You were life-giving to me. But you weren’t the only ones.

Stormrise, too, saved me. Men and women gave their lives to rescue me from captivity. People who never even met me rescued me from captivity. They gave their lives for mine. And it hasn’t stopped there. Kaminski took me in and gave me a chance to help.

At least, to try to help.

It doesn’t stop there, either. There are strangers like Jameson, all the way back in Cumulus. At one of my lowest moments, when I was thinking the unthinkable, he gave me a ride into the city. A simple ride changed my life.

I would never have met any of them if I had just stayed in my cabin. I wouldn’t have met Stormrise. If I hadn’t set off Zeus’s Mercy, I wouldn’t have gotten a chance to know these people.

My choices led me to them. And despite all of the regret in the world, that’s something to consider.

He set down his assault rifle, fully reassembled and ready to go. He moved onto the submachine gun, but he paused before disassembling it.

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Jess, you not only made me feel loved, but you made me feel like a man worth loving. It sounds like the same thing, but it’s not.

Not to me at least.

After all that my friends have done for me, have I done enough for them?

God help me, I don’t think so. I’ve been focused on the past, haven’t I? Too focused to be grateful for what’s in front of me.

Let me be better. Please.

The thoughts became too difficult to bear, so he pushed them away and focused on getting ready.

After the men of Widow Team finished their preparations, Rayne gathered them.

His helmet’s faceplate retracted, revealing his face. He met the eyes of Northfield, Leo, and Andy, and he said, “I’ve fought with many men over the years. But none are better than you.

You’re competent men. But that’s not what’s most important.

You’re good men. It’s been my supreme honor to fight with you, and it will be my supreme honor to fight with you once more.”

His brow furrowed, and he said, “I wish Sam and Erik were with us, too. But they’d be glad, knowing we’ve kept up the fight.

That’s the best thing we can do in their honor now.”

He clasped Geralt on the shoulder, and he said, “I’m glad you’re here. It takes a brave man to fight this fight with us.”

Geralt said, “You know who’s gonna need to be braver than us tonight? General Arkland, when he sees us barking at the gates.”

“Amen to that,” Leo said.

“We couldn’t ask for a better leader,” Andy said to Rayne.

Northfield added, “You’ve led us through thick and thin. We know you’ll do the same tonight.”

Rayne looked down for a moment before meeting their eyes again. “Once more, into the burning and darkness and blood.

Once more we ride.”

He clasped each of them on the shoulder. They boarded a small sedan. A combat vehicle wasn’t necessary for them; with 255

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their RAID suits, they merely needed transport to their assigned positions.

Northfield couldn’t believe this was the night. He focused on his prayer, and he prayed it once more. *** General Arkland watched the skyline as Jane Sloan concluded her report.

“A mass of vehicles is approaching from all directions. Our officers fear that this is Stormrise’s big offensive.”

“Dammit, Arkland,” the Head of Resources, Nancy McRoberts, said. She had been in a meeting with Arkland when the news broke.

“Pull yourself together,” Arkland said. “Being a quivering mess was Bowler’s domain. Not yours. We’ve prepared for this. This is what the Guardians are for. This is what our additional ground forces are for.” He said to Sloan, “Summon reinforcements. I want everyone here—now. Our choppers, our men.”

“I’ve already made the call, sir,” she said. She paused, and she put her hand to her earpiece. “Hang on, sir. Incoming report.”

She listened, and her face grew increasingly dour.

After the report concluded, she said to Arkland, “It’s not just vehicles. There is an armed crowd en route.”

“A crowd?” Arkland said. “How many?”

“There hasn’t been an accurate headcount,” she said. “But it could be a thousand. Maybe even two.”

“A thousand?” the Head of Resources cried. “Armed?”

“Yes,” Sloan said. “The crowd formed quickly. We believe it’s an organized flash mob, with Stormrise and its associates facilitating. However, the crowd is too big to be composed of Stormrise alone, unless we’ve vastly underestimated their size.

We believe ordinary civilians have answered the summons.”

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“Why haven’t we started firing upon them yet?” Arkland said.

“Well, our officers knew that would start a de facto war in the city. Chaos, to be certain. They wanted your green light first. Do they have it?”

“Yes,” Arkland said. “This is no longer a time for games. We kill the threat, and we do it quickly with supreme prejudice. Put mortar rounds on their location. Send RAID soldiers to fire down on them. Send helicopters to do the same.”

“Yes, sir,” Sloan said. She withdrew to disseminate his orders.

That left Arkland and the Head of Resources alone. She stared intently out the window. No sign of the incoming attack could be seen below; buildings obstructed their view. The world below would alight quickly, however.

“V2, Arkland,” she said. “You pushed them too hard, too quickly.”

“Perhaps,” Arkland said. “But I’m not sure. Without V2, this final confrontation with Stormrise was likely to come to pass, no matter what. The rebels aren’t going to go away until we obliterate them publicly. Until we make everyone believe that we can’t be defeated and they can.”

“You make the future you envision, Arkland,” the Head of Resources said.

He noted the scorn in her voice, but he didn’t bother disciplining her. There were enough battles to come.

“The cards have been dealt,” he replied. “We can only play our hand now.”

“We should still evacuate,” the Head of Resources said. “There is no point in remaining here, where a stray bomb or bullet could hit us. We should retreat to safety.”

“No,” Arkland said. “That’s the very last thing we should do.”

“Why?” the Head of Resources asked.

“This is the tallest building in New Medea,” he said. “This is my tower. It’s symbolic. If our soldiers see us running from it, 257

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that will give the wrong impression. It will lend credence to the idea that we’re afraid. That we’re losing.

“Worse yet, if Stormrise takes the building, we’ll have lost. In the eyes of New Medeans, we’ll have been conquered, whether it’s so or not.”

Jane Sloan returned to the room. She moved to Arkland’s side.

The Head of Resources said, “You speak of them taking this tower, Arkland. Do you really think it’s possible? We have more men, more weapons, and more power.”

“Anything’s possible,” Arkland said. “And I’m not in the habit of underestimating my enemies. We’ll treat this as the grave threat it is, but also as an opportunity. This is our chance to obliterate Stormrise in front of everyone. If the winds blow our way tonight, the city will be ours. Fully.”

“Opportunity or not, General,” she said, “it didn’t have to come to this. It didn’t.”

“You’re dismissed,” Arkland told her.

The Head of Resources turned on her heels and left.

Once the door closed behind her, Sloan said, “She’s been mouthing off lately, Arkland. Is her insubordination a problem?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “She ran the retainant camps. She knows Stormrise would give her as much mercy as me. Sink or swim, she’s with us.”

They gazed upon the city together. The clouds were a murky red-black. Like the bowels of hell had gone topsy-turvy with the sky. A few streaks of lightning flashed in the distance, so far away that the thunder didn’t reach their ears.

Sloan said, “I’ve ordered men to bring us armor. Exo armor for you and RAID armor for me. Just in case.”

“Just in case,” Arkland said. He put his hand on the glass. “I can be honest with you, Jane, can’t I?” “Yes, you can.” She watched him intently. He saw a hint of warmth there.

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“Us and Stormrise… I wouldn’t rather have it any other way than tonight.”

“I know, sir,” she said.

“Ready the canisters. In the event that they breach the building.”

She nodded gravely. “At your command.”

259

24 The sky was red. Charred. Dark. Ugly.

A torrential downpour fell upon the city. The lightning remained distant, for now at least, producing great flashes of light at the horizon, but no thunder—instead, the howling wind and the dull roar of rainfall filled Northfield’s ears.

Wind plucked flowers off the cherry trees lining the streets.

The flowers traveled with the gusts, and there were so many that they resembled drifts of snow. The flowers and the rain made for a cluttered, chaotic sight.

Stormrise wasn’t deterred by the weather, instead continuing to move forward. The streets had been vacated. Word had spread ahead of Stormrise, and wary citizens knew better than to put themselves between the Network and Stormrise.

He hoped the weather, too, would dissuade any potential adventurers from venturing out into the city streets. He hoped for anything and everything that would minimize civilian casualties. He hoped for anything and everything that would minimize Stormrise casualties, too, for that matter. However, he knew there would be many today.

He didn’t join Stormrise’s soldiers on the ground. Instead, he followed along the nearby rooftops, joined by the other soldiers equipped in RAID armor. Geralt shared the same rooftop as him.

The other soldiers of Widow Team prowled the rooftops on the other side of the street.

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He was amazed at how many people Stormrise had summoned. Hundreds filled the street, and that was just one column of Stormrise’s total offensive.

Three main roads converged on Memory Tower, two from the front and one from the back. On each, a column of Stormrise forces advanced.

A deep siren pierced the veil of sound created by the rain and wind. That siren was quickly followed by a veritable army of sirens, blaring from loudspeakers on almost every building.

A monotone voice bellowed warnings, ordering civilians to get off the streets.

The familiar chill of anticipation passed through Northfield.

The Network had long since noticed them by now. How could it not, with its litany of soldiers and security cameras?

The sirens and warnings told Northfield that the Network had greenlit its countermeasures. The chaos of the weather was about to pale in comparison to the upcoming battle.

Stormrise pressed on, undeterred. Chief Kaminski led the column below Northfield. General Taylor led the other front column, while Neil led the rear column. All three leaders insisted on being at the front of the pack, despite the risks. They left standing orders to Rayne, Northfield, and other subordinates if anything happened to them.

Hopefully, they would be amply protected. The columns were sandwiched by combat vehicles to protect their front and rear, as well as provide fire support.

Furthermore, one RAID team was assigned to protect each column from the rooftops. Widow Team covered Kaminski’s column. General Taylor had created two new teams, assembled from the best RAID armor pilots Stormrise had to offer. Echelon Team protected Taylor’s column, while Omega protected Neil’s column at the rear.

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strong gust of wind could topple them over. That or a stream of gunfire.

Northfield’s resolve steeled. He would protect them with every fiber in his being. His mind, his tools, his body. Everything to keep them safe within the imminent, looming hellscape.

Jet-black blots marked the sky, looking ever more ominous against the red backdrop. Northfield didn’t need to make out the silhouettes; he knew what they were.

The droning of helicopter blades filled the air. A lot of them.

Shrill sirens echoed from the streets, distinct from the warning bells. Ground forces had been dispatched and were converging on their location. They would attempt to surround the Stormrise columns and mow them down—fish in a barrel, or as close as they could make them.

The battle was beginning. It truly was now. How many times had he dreamed of this moment? How close would it be to his nightmares?

As the helicopters drew nearer, he could make out two distinct types. There were bulkier transport helicopters, along with smaller, more agile attack choppers.

The transport helicopters stopped well before reaching Stormrise. They instead descended on distant rooftops, safe from enemy fire. RAID soldiers disembarked. With their speed, they could cross the remaining distance on foot. The helicopters departed, presumably to airlift more soldiers.

The attack choppers, on the other hand, continued their advance. Their targets were obvious. They would try to hit the Stormrise columns, especially the protective vehicles. Once the vehicles were down, Network ground troops would have an easier time converging on Stormrise.

Death Corps combat vehicles, the Hounds, pulled up on the streets and formed a blockade.

Exo soldiers lumbered out. Even from a distance, their silhouettes struck Northfield as different. They carried massive 262

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weapons, distinct from the miniguns and flamethrowers they had used in the past. He recognized the napalm launchers from Arkland’s demonstration. They didn’t bode well.

Nonetheless, Stormrise would have to push through them.

They would have to push through the blockade. They would have to push through everything.

So many different enemies. So many different directions. It was nauseating.

Rayne’s voice came through his helmet’s speakers. He went to work, designating targets and priorities.

They had righteousness on their side, but that seemed to matter so little in light of all the helicopters and guns and vehicles and men.

Still, Stormrise marched on. Stormrise would meet its enemy.

No running. Not tonight.

Lightning flashed, closer now. The bolts arced across the clouds. Sharp cracks of the nearest strikes punctuated the deep rumbling.

The enemy RAID soldiers advanced, crossing rooftop after rooftop. They would arrive soon.

Northfield heard the call through his helmet.

“Open fire.”

He raised his weapon. His allies, his friends, the skulkers of the abyss with him, did the same.

They fired their rifles. *** A bullet could pierce your head and kill you before you even registered a muzzle flash. There was a profound lack of control in gunfights like this, and it made each one feel like a roll of the dice.

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with fear and adrenaline and energy, which swelled in a giant wave that crashed into his heart and reverberated throughout his body.

Throughout his years in this war-torn, gas-choked world, he had become an old hand at this fight. He knew how to wage the battle, to the point where self-calming techniques were encoded in his subconscious. He knew what to do, when it needed to be done, and he attributed his survival to that subliminal sense.

The chaos in this battle had no parallel. Chaos erupted so quickly, so violently, in just about every direction. Heavy machine-gun fire mixed with the chattering of small-arms weapons. Grenades exploded with grit and gristle and screams, tearing up gravel and pavement and the bodies of men.

All of that was to only speak of the streets below. The threats among the rooftops and the sky hung ominously, drifting toward the heart of the battle. RAID soldiers darted ahead, angling to fire upon Stormrise infantry. The drone of attack helicopters mixed with the high-pitched gunfire, the base of a truly ghastly orchestra.

Northfield found himself unsure of where to go or what to do. Every thought, every move seemed wrong.

If he targeted the attack choppers, he would be leaving the RAID soldiers free to attack his compatriots below from a superior firing point. If he attacked the RAID soldiers instead, the same could be said about the attack chopper.

Either course of action would still leave his allies on the street to fend for themselves against the Network’s blockade.

The other columns were inhibited by similar defenses. The Network machine-gun fire was joined by the exo soldiers’ new napalm weapons. They launched high-velocity bursts of flame like rockets, except the exo soldiers didn’t have to reload one at a time like rocket launchers; they could fire the flame bursts in rapid succession.

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The line of Stormrise vehicles at the head of their charge protected the infantry from direct attack, so the exo soldiers angled their shots upward and rained down hell in meteoric fashion.

Northfield fired, but his assault rifle felt insignificant. Rayne barked into his ear, continuing to designate targets based on priority.

Watching his enemies fighting with such ruthlessness and vigor filled him with resolve.

His enemies were laser-focused. Northfield had to be focused as well. Any hesitation, any slowness, would be taken advantage of by his enemy. He wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t allow it.

Rayne called for Widow Team to focus on the rooftop RAID soldiers. Northfield forced down any questions or what-ifs.

Rayne had given him a task. He had to execute.

Rayne’s designation made sense. The vehicles below had anti-air rockets. They could fire back at the chopper. The RAID soldiers, on the other hand, would be harder for ground forces to hit.

Northfield targeted a RAID soldier who wasn’t paying attention to him. Instead, the RAID soldier targeted Andy.

Northfield fired three shots from his rifle, maintaining utmost precision.

A bullet found its mark, hitting the RAID soldier in his abdomen. The soldier crumpled.

One down. The easiest way to take down a RAID soldier was to strike when he was unaware or distracted. Speed wouldn’t do anything if a bullet struck him before he could react.

Unfortunately, the same logic applied to Northfield and his allies. He had to be hyperaware of his surroundings. He had to know where his enemies were at all times.

It was a daunting task.

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Echelon Team fought on the rooftops across the street since the front columns Widow and Echelon protected were side by side.

Already, the teams were outnumbered by enemy RAID soldiers. Northfield didn’t know how Omega, the team escorting the rear column, fared. Those men had to fight alone.

They started with sixteen men across the three teams.

Hopefully they still had that number.

He acquired another target. Before he could fire, he caught a glimmer out of the corner of his eye. A bolt of lightning had illuminated an enemy’s scope, which faced him. He raised his shield a second before a volley of bullets hit it.

Close. Too close. He called out the target, and Leo fired at the enemy. The enemy’s attention was drawn away, leaving Northfield free to move again. He repositioned himself to another rooftop.

Across the street, an enemy RAID soldier turned his attention away from Echelon. Instead, he targeted the streets below, preparing to open fire with a rapid-fire submachine gun.

The enemy took cover behind a roof access door, blocking him from Echelon. However, Northfield had a bead on him. He aimed his precision assault rifle, put the scope on the enemy’s center mass, and took him down. The enemy didn’t get a shot off.

The Stormrise soldiers below had been completely exposed.

If Northfield hadn’t fired in time…

No. No what-ifs.

Still, that overwhelming feeling caught up with him again.

How was he supposed to protect his friends below from so many enemies?

He didn’t know. He just didn’t know. He could only try and have faith.

He found the next target, and he fought. Then he found the next target. And he fought.

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reddish sky, which grew redder and blacker as smoke from the war plumed and overtook everything.

He fought through the cries and screams of allies. One man from Echelon, killed. A radio report then came in. A man from Omega, killed.

Northfield fought through the grunts and growls of enemies.

He fought through their speed, their strength, their superiority in numbers. He fought from one target to the next. From one to the next.

He darted across rooftops. He fired, he reloaded. He blocked, he charged. He fought without hesitation. Every second he delayed meant potentially another dead man or woman below.

Another person who wouldn’t make it through this storm-laden, war-heavy night.

It passed like a blur, because he became a blur. A RAIDarmored electric blue blur, harnessing the very power of his enemies.

He stopped to reload his assault rifle before realizing it had run out of ammunition. He swapped to his submachine gun, which he had fortunately packed even more ammunition for.

Still, he didn’t take it as a great sign. Stormrise hadn’t gained much ground. They still hadn’t broken through the Death Corps’ blockade.

Still, in that moment of pause, as he switched off the weapon’s safety, he felt a hint of victory. The RAID soldiers had all been eliminated. Surface-to-air rockets had destroyed the helicopters.

Stormrise’s RAID teams could turn their attention to the blockades and help Stormrise push forward.

His ears caught the fateful drone of helicopter blades. The transport choppers had returned. They dropped off another batch of RAID soldiers, the same number of them, on the same rooftops as the first time.

Their progress had been wiped out. And they were down men for the effort.

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The situation grew worse. Sirens approached from behind.

The glass windows on skyscrapers flashed red and blue, reflecting the emergency lights at street level. Network reinforcements were only a few blocks away, and they would arrive at Stormrise’s rear within minutes.

Overwhelming. Insurmountable. Hopeless.

Northfield pushed those thoughts out of his head. One enemy to the next. It was all he could do. *** “The second wave of RAID soldiers has been dispatched, sir,” Lieutenant General Gladwell said. Gladwell directly led the ground troops in this fight, while Arkland provided command from the safety, and the perspective, of his tower.

Arkland observed the conflict from all directions. He could see Stormrise’s columns on the main streets, stalled by his blockades. Individual units were too small for him to make out, but he didn’t care about individual units. The entire battle, win or lose, was all that mattered.

“Please twist your arm, sir,” an aide said. He did as she asked, and she affixed armor to his left wrist. He was almost suited up in exo armor. Only his right arm, gloves, and helmet remained.

Jane Sloan stood beside him, as always. She was already fully suited in her RAID armor; it was quite a lot faster to put on than the exo armor.

General Arkland sensed a nervous tension over the radio. He asked, “What, Gladwell?”

“I think it’s time to fire the mortars,” Gladwell said. “Our blockades are keeping Stormrise’s columns at bay. If they break through, our mortars will be significantly less effective on a moving target.”

“Are our blockades breaking?” Arkland asked.

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“No, sir,” Gladwell said. “They are holding firm.” He added with emphasis, “For now.”

“What’s the status of our reinforcements?”

“They’ll arrive at Stormrise’s rear in two minutes, sir,” he said.

“Wait until they arrive,” Arkland said. “Then fire. But I don’t want them fired a damned second before. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Gladwell said.

General Arkland twisted his right arm so his aide could affix his armor. Sloan watched him.

He said, “I want them boxed in, Sloan. If we fire prematurely, they might try to double-back or even escape. I will not allow that to happen. No retreat, Sloan. No escape. Stormrise is going for our jugular.

“I’m doing the same. Our enemies want to end this today?

So be it.”

She nodded. He could see the same determination in her face.

“So be it, sir.”

269

25 A sharp whistle broke through the chatter of gunfire and grenades. Helen looked up, along with her nearby comrades.

“Mortar!” one of them screamed, just as the mortar round made impact.

The mortar hit the second story of an apartment complex.

Brick and glass showered down. A trio of Stormrise soldiers were beneath the debris, and they frantically ran away as fast as they could. Two of them escaped. The third was hit in the head by a brick. He fell, and Helen couldn’t see more of him past the clutter of bodies around her.

They had gotten lucky. The mortar’s target had clearly been the street, and their enemies’ first blast had been off-target.

She heard a pair of whistles.

“Mortars! Mortars!” her allies screamed around her. The initial blast had caught the attention of nearly everyone.

A palpable wave of panic washed over them all.

The first blast landed ahead of her. A deep, gravelly explosion ensued as pavement and cement were ripped from the earth and sent in all directions.

Screams, shrieks, and horror followed. Helen blinked. She caught a limb—no, multiple limbs—flying through the air.

The second blast landed behind her to the same effect.

Screams. So many screams.

Resolve fractured under the immense weight of fear. The Death Corps shot mercilessly at their convoy, with no shortage of bullets passing through to the mass of infantry.

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A few shoulders rammed into Helen. Those with weaker courage were scrambling backward. But she immediately saw that they had no means of escape.

Death Corps reinforcements had arrived at their rear. Squad cars and Hounds lined up to face the vehicles in her column’s rear.

Her column was caught in a sandwich. Death Corps forces in front, held back by Stormrise’s front-line vehicles. Death Corps forces behind them, held back by the rear of Stormrise’s column.

The gunners on Stormrise’s vehicles shot valiantly at their encroaching enemies. When one soldier fell, another would assume the gunner’s seat.

Their enemies didn’t charge in. Within moments, Helen understood why.

Another pair of mortars fell. They landed near Stormrise’s rear and front vehicles, with one of each getting caught in the heart of the blasts and destroyed.

The mortars weren’t primarily targeting the infantry in the center of the column. At least, not yet. Instead, they were taking out Stormrise’s protection. Once the vehicles were gone, their enemies would be free to charge.

Helen’s resolve started giving way to something deeper than panic. Despair seeped into her bones.

She had convinced herself that this fight was winnable. That somehow, despite all the winds blowing against Stormrise, she and her allies would come out on top.

Amidst the mortars, amidst the swarming enemies, it felt downright impossible.

This was the future that her brother had envisioned. Stormrise massacred by superior opponents like inept cattle, down to the very last man. She understood, in that moment, why he left, and that was the most despairing realization of all.

She heard General Taylor’s voice through her earpiece.

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“All ground forces need to get inside the damned buildings.

Set up defenses and hold fast. We need to give our vehicles room to maneuver.”

Chief Kaminski’s voice followed. “We will get through this.

Trust our RAID teams to forge a path. Until then, hold on. Just hold on.”

In the background of the transmission, Helen heard the same gunfire and explosions that surrounded her. Her leaders were in the thick of the fight, too.

The resolve in their voices made Helen believe there was still a chance. At least a small one. She held on to it fiercely.

Instinctively, she understood General Taylor’s rationale.

The vehicles were sitting ducks. The mortars had their location keyed in. If Stormrise didn’t do something, the vehicles would be obliterated in no time at all.

Infantry retreating into the nearby buildings would provide cover against the mortars, but it would also afford the vehicles more room to maneuver. Relocating to new positions meant the mortars would have to recalibrate their aim, meaning more potential misses. Stormrise needed to buy every second it could.

She followed her nearby comrades to the closest building. A bullet-torn street sign notified her that this was a coffee shop. The doors were locked, but that didn’t stop them. A fighter kicked in the door, and Stormrise’s forces filed in.

A few alarmed shouts arose. Patrons were hiding under tables. Within the shadows, fearful eyes watched the intruders.

Anger burned within many of them.

It didn’t take a genius to understand why. Stormrise was the aggressor. The offensive had put these people in harm’s way.

Helen felt sorrow, and she wondered how many civilian casualties would result from this night. She wondered if Elliot had considered that as one of his reasons for leaving.

The justification made her feel better about him for a moment.

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But she didn’t think it was a reason. Her brother only cared about himself.

She set up a defensive line with her comrades. They watched through cracked and broken windows, and they waited. Helen prayed that the vehicles would remain standing and prevent the Death Corps from rushing in.

Aubrey stood guard alongside her. She gave Helen a short, determined nod.

Helen understood. Live or die, they were fighting this fight together. It was a small comfort, but it would have to be enough.

No matter what came, she would hold to Kaminski’s charge.

She would hold on. *** By the time Rayne and General Taylor had begun issuing commands in response to the mortars, Northfield had already started moving.

They needed to take out the mortars as quickly as possible.

All three RAID teams were assigned to the task.

With every mortar impact, Northfield felt a pang in his chest.

He wondered how many died. He wondered how many more blasts Stormrise could endure.

The enemy RAID soldiers now acted on the defensive. There was little point in attacking Stormrise ground troops when they had all sought shelter. If the enemy RAID soldiers dropped to the streets in pursuit, they would be hit by their own mortar fire.

Instead, they fought to prevent Stormrise’s RAID soldiers from advancing toward the mortar teams. As long as the mortars were firing, Stormrise’s columns were pinned.

Lightning crashed and rain poured and guns fired. Bullets whistled across the rooftops in volleys that were only surpassed in magnitude by the rain.

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The enemy RAID soldiers fired behind the cover of their shields. Their positioning was strategic, and their gunfire came from multiple angles. They dug in and kept Widow and Echelon Teams just out of range of a RAID suit’s dash. Despite the urgency of the situation, a blind push forward would tear through Stormrise’s men.

“Pinned,” Rayne muttered. “Dammit, our guys are getting killed down there.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Geralt said.

“Give it to us,” Rayne said.

“Circle up,” Geralt said. “We move as one. Like a big friggin’ turtle. They ain’t gonna shoot through a flank if we don’t have a flank to shoot.”

The plan clicked for Leo. “If we disrupt the Death Corps’ defensive line… we can hit them from the sides while Echelon hits them from the front.”

Geralt nodded.

“It’s gonna slow us down,” Northfield said as another mortar struck. A secondary explosion followed; one of Stormrise’s vehicles had taken the hit directly.

“Well, are we movin’ fast to begin with?” Geralt asked.

Northfield supposed he had a point.

Rayne pondered the plan before he communicated it to Echelon Team. The soldiers situated themselves to provide covering fire for Widow Team.

The men of Widow Team deployed their shields and circled up.

“Get all nice and snuggly,” Geralt said.

“I dunno, man,” Andy said, wincing as bullets hit his shield.

“I feel like a fish in a barrel.”

“We better get this barrel moving then,” Leo said.

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aimed to minimize their enemies’ chances of shooting a lucky bullet in an opening.

Bullets peppered their shields. There were small pauses as their enemies repositioned themselves, trying to find a vulnerable angle. These breaks were barely perceptible before the gunfire resumed.

Geralt’s plan had held up well enough, so far. None of them were dead yet. The real test would come when they reached the rooftop ledge.

They had to cross a wide alley to reach the next rooftop. Using their suits’ propulsion was easy. The difficult part was doing so in unison, to keep their circle formation.

“Three, then two,” Rayne said. The others nodded, implicitly understanding.

Northfield, Rayne, and Geralt targeted the next rooftop, then dashed with their RAID suits. When they landed on the rooftop, they assumed a fan formation, with Northfield and Geralt facing outward. That way, they at least protected their front and flanks.

Andy and Leo followed; when they landed, they fell in behind their friends, resuming their circle formation. They hustled across the rooftop.

They splashed through giant puddles, and Northfield almost lost his footing. Visibility was getting worse. That didn’t matter, at least for now, because he kept his head nice and under his shield.

The onslaught of bullets intensified. None of the men dared to peek over their shields. They just kept moving. Mortars and thunder roared, bullets screamed and whistled and crashed, and Widow Team just kept on moving.

They reached the edge of the next rooftop, and they traversed to the next in the same process.

As soon as they resumed formation, Leo announced bad news.

“Chopper! On our nine.”

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Northfield faced nine o’clock, but above his shield, he couldn’t see anything save for the reddish sky and a deluge of rain. The rhythm of helicopter blades was audible above the gunshots.

When lightning struck next, he saw the black helicopter frame lowering from the bleeding clouds.

He recognized it as an attack chopper just as its turret opened fire. Northfield raised his shield to meet the incoming rounds.

“Brace!” he screamed.

His friends stopped moving, and they all turned their shields toward the chopper.

Northfield took the brunt of the hit. Bullets pelted his shield.

Normally, the shield’s electric barrier would kill the bullets’ momentum and he wouldn’t feel the impact.

The helicopter’s bullets were too high-caliber for the electric field to fully nullify them. Every impact felt like a miniature rocket, and his shoulder felt closer and closer to ripping out of its socket.

The helicopter was unrelenting, but so were the nearby enemy RAID soldiers. They surrounded Widow Team, six of them, firing relentlessly into any crack that opened in their formation.

But Widow Team had moved far enough forward and was now in line with the enemy defensive line. To attack Widow Team, enemy soldiers had to turn away from Echelon.

That gave Echelon the opening they needed. They surged forward.

The onslaught on Widow Team lessened as enemy soldiers turned their attention to the offensive.

“Permission to take out that chopper,” Leo said. “By any means necessary?”

“Granted,” Rayne replied.

Leo broke away from the formation; Andy tried his best to fill the void, blocking enemy volleys.

Leo repositioned himself atop a nearby fire escape door. He unsheathed his rocket launcher.

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The helicopter sensed the imminent threat, as did the surrounding RAID troops. They diverted their attention to Leo, but he had already fired the rocket.

The rocket had launched from too close for the helicopter to deploy defensive measures. The rocket crashed through the window, detonating in the cockpit. The helicopter fell in a smoldering ruin.

Leo repositioned himself using his RAID suit’s speed; he had moved away from the fire escape door before his enemies could pull the trigger.

Widow Team capitalized on the distraction; Northfield lowered his shield and shot at the flanks of the RAID soldiers ahead of him. The helicopter crashed onto the adjacent rooftop, breaking through the top floor. Mortars continued thundering down.

Widow Team managed to kill a number of RAID soldiers in their counterattack; now they outnumbered the RAID soldiers in their immediate vicinity. Widow Team thus abandoned their turtle approach, and they went on the offensive.

Echelon broke through enemy lines as well. Together, the teams took down the remaining enemy RAID soldiers.

The teams moved with efficiency. All of their training and all of their trials had led up to this moment. It showed.

They checked their surroundings one last time. Rayne exchanged a look with Leo. Even through his RAID helmet, Northfield could tell Rayne’s expression was grave.

Although they had escaped without bodily injury, the helicopter had nonetheless cost them greatly. They had wasted a rocket.

They needed to save every rocket they could for the Guardian mechs that lay ahead.

Widow Team moved to the final rooftop, which overlooked the large plaza around Memory Tower. Echelon joined Rayne and his men.

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Omega Team overlooked Memory Tower from the opposite side of the building. The Stormrise teams exchanged their observations.

Two groves of cherry trees led to the front of the tower. The trees were in full bloom, creating a forest of pink that looked too bright, too cheery for this night of devastation. Nature thought so, too. The intense wind plucked flower after flower, sending a cloud of cherry blossoms across the sky. The city skyline dripped with neon behind it all. Watching, waiting, along with the rolling thunder and the lashing of lightning.

The groves, notably, lacked Death Corps forces. At the base of Memory Tower, however, lay the true threats. Echelon and Widow Teams observed two mortar teams firing into the city streets. Omega Team reported one mortar team at the rear of the tower. There were three mortar teams in total, one to bombard each of the main roads.

Two Guardian units protected the mortar teams. One stood in front of Memory Tower, protecting the front two mortar teams, while the other Guardian protected the rear mortar team.

The mechs waited patiently. They were ready to whittle down any threat that managed to squeeze past the Death Corps’ perimeter.

Which, unfortunately, meant Stormrise’s RAID teams.

Omega had lost another man, and the team needed help.

Echelon Team split in half, with two of its men departing to provide backup for Omega. They zipped along the perimeter, remaining at a distance from Memory Tower. Getting too close to the mechs without a battle plan would be suicide.

The remaining men from Echelon were absorbed into Widow Team.

“Can you hit the mortar teams from here?” Rayne asked Leo. The sharpshooter peered through his scope before shaking his head. “They’re protected by walls surrounding the mortars.

The weather doesn’t help, either.”

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Rayne nodded. They all understood. They needed to get closer, which meant they had to take out the Guardians. Widow Team would be charged with taking down the front Guardian, while Omega would be trusted with the rear.

“Flagbearer, this is Widow Team,” Rayne said, using the callsign for Dimitri and Softball’s intel support. “No way but through the Guardians. Give us all a reminder. What should we expect here?”

Dimitri had wanted to join the attack personally, as he had during the liberation of Section 808, arguing that Stormrise needed every able-bodied person to fight. While he had been correct on that count, Stormrise had also never conducted such a large or complex operation before, and it needed all the organizational support it could get.

Softball, for her part, was happy to contribute from behind her computer screen.

Dimitri’s voice was uneasy, which encouraged nobody in the field. “As far as offensive weaponry, they have multi-weapon systems on their arms, each able to shoot in different directions.

They may look lumbering, but they can levitate. I wouldn’t rely on any one piece of cover to protect you.”

“Wonderful. Any weaknesses?” Rayne asked. He knew the answer, as they all did, but he wanted to ask anyway.

“None that we know of,” Dimitri said regretfully. “We haven’t managed to dig up any schematics of the Guardians.”

The Guardian at the front of Memory Tower faced Widow Team, almost directly. Maybe the mech could see them already.

It was hard to tell.

“If the enemy RAID soldiers we just faced were smart, which they were, they would have alerted the Guardians that we’re coming,” Rayne thought out loud. “Stealth is not an option.

Maybe we split, hit the Guardian from the sides.”

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“Remember,” Softball cautioned, “they’ve got eyes in the back of their head. Any direction you approach, they’ll see you. You’ll need to be careful.”

“Bad option, then,” he said. The men of Widow Team saw why. The groves were the only source of cover. If they approached from the sides, they would be exposed and torn apart.

“Straight shot, then,” Rayne said. “We go through the groves.”

Black silhouettes blotted the sky. More helicopters were inbound. There was no point in further delay.

Widow Team dropped to the streets, then darted into the cherry tree groves. Under the trees’ concealment, they hoped the helicopters would fly right on past them.

They took to the treetops, dashing between branches with their suits’ speed. Northfield and Geralt moved through one of the groves, while the remaining members of Widow Team traversed through the other. For a few moments, it felt just like Widow Team’s training exercises. Northfield had an ugly feeling that the fight wouldn’t be anything like training.

They readied their rocket launchers as they approached.

They slowed their movements, ever so slightly. The tree cover was dense; even if the Guardian knew they were coming, maybe it had trouble seeing them. If they could get close enough, they could unload all of their rockets in one strike. Maybe this fight would be over sooner than they thought.

When they had traversed three-quarters of the grove, the Guardian’s head swiveled, ever so slightly, to face Northfield and Geralt. They hoped the mech couldn’t see them.

They were wrong. The mech likely had some sort of thermal vision, which made spotting their forms easier. There was a whirring noise, and the Guardian mech launched a volley of micro-rockets into the air from shoulder mounts.

“Ah, hell,” Geralt said. “Move, move!”

He and Northfield propelled themselves off of the trees.

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A split second later, the volley of micro-rockets descended, blowing up the tree behind them.

The mech had already begun another attack, utilizing the multi-gun systems on its arms. One of the weapons, a minigun, spat out a thousand rounds per minute, forming a stream of destruction. The streams from each arm cut through trees, splitting them like wishbones and sending branches and wood shards in every direction.

Geralt and Northfield had to keep moving. If they paused for one moment, they would be caught up in the bullets.

Meanwhile, other weapons on the mech’s arms went to work.

Higher-caliber cannons had their own rotor mounts, and they tracked Northfield and Geralt independently from the miniguns.

Instead of aiming directly at the Stormrise men, the cannons predicted their movement, shooting at where they expected Geralt and Northfield to move.

They didn’t just need to outrun the mech. They needed to outsmart it.

One of the multi-gun systems diverged, seeking another target. The mech had caught wind of the other Widow Team men.

He and Geralt were driven out of the grove. They found themselves in the open space of the plaza.

That was exactly what the mech wanted.

The mech rocketed into the air, using its limited propulsion system to remain airborne, all the while continuing its assault on Northfield and Geralt with its arm weapons.

The mech unleashed another volley of micro-rockets.

Northfield and Geralt moved. Geralt darted back to the trees while Northfield dodged in the opposite direction.

Immediately, he realized his error.

The rockets changed course, moving on his position. These rockets had an additional heat-seeking mechanism. The mech 281

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had waited until they were out of the trees; otherwise, branches and trunks might have taken the blast instead.

Northfield darted away as far as his suit could take him. He ended up on the street bordering the plaza. The rockets had kept apace. No, they had even gained on him. As fast as the suit was, it couldn’t outrun rockets.

Buildings loomed on the other side of the street. An idea flickered in his mind, and he didn’t have time to do anything but act on it.

He waited an instant longer before darting to the closest rooftop.

Some of the rockets couldn’t change course quickly enough, and they rammed into the brick wall.

A handful of micro-rockets remained, however, hounding him with no less fervor.

He had no more time. He made himself into the smallest ball he could, and he deployed his shield.

Impact. There was a blinding flash and a deafening roar as if a supernova had gone off in front of him.

His shoulder wrenched into his collarbone, close to dislocating. His body flew back, back, back.

His back slammed into a fire escape door. His head smacked against it next, an unpleasant secondary impact.

He saw stars, but he was alive. He drew himself to his knees.

His shield had been destroyed in the blast. He wouldn’t be blocking bullets, or missiles, anytime soon.

That was unfortunate, because it sure as hell seemed like he needed to do those things.

He returned to the rooftop edge and assessed the situation.

The pleasant cherry tree grove had been devastated. The back half had been reduced to a wasteland, fiery and charred and dead.

The mechs fought stubbornly, seemingly undamaged.

Northfield had trouble seeing his allies through the smoke that had been stirred up.

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Omega Team reported in. Two more men had died. Their Guardian hadn’t suffered a dent, either.

Enemy attack choppers had caught wind of the battle, and they converged on the plaza.

Widow Team kept their focus on the Guardian. Rockets sailed through the air toward their quarry. The Guardian was both swift and ample in its defenses, so the volleys hadn’t changed much.

As Widow Team had practiced in training, their best bet was to strike from directly overhead the Guardian, where its defenses appeared to be weakest.

Problem was, nobody could get close enough to the Guardian to even begin thinking about getting above it.

Northfield studied the situation. Blindly throwing himself back into the fray wouldn’t buy Stormrise much right now. There had to be some way to be smarter about the situation.

He watched the attack helicopters spray streams of bullets at his friends below. Suddenly, an idea occurred to him.

Another helicopter approached from the rear. Presumably, it was a reinforcement from one of the Network’s Corps Domestic Zones, CDZs for short. They were the Network’s glorified police stations that maintained order in the city. They were heavily militarized, like everything else about the Network.

Northfield dashed across rooftops, keeping to the shadows as best he could, moving in the dark night whenever the lightning ceased.

“See the helicopter, three o’clock?” he said into his comms.

“Affirmative,” Rayne said.

“When it opens fire, lead it to the Guardian,” he said.

He positioned himself directly under the helicopter as it flew overhead. He leaped into the air, and he attached himself to the underside of the helicopter. The vehicle continued flying, undisturbed.

He felt completely exposed, and he prayed that there was enough chaos in the battle to leave him undetected.

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Once the chopper neared his allies, its twin turrets opened fire.

Bullets cut down one of the men from Echelon Team. Northfield’s heart panged, and every muscle in his body compelled him to move.

It would be so easy to swing up from the underside and stop his enemies from firing upon his friends. But he had to remain still. He had to get closer.

He pulled the rocket launcher from his back, and he got ready.

Leo and Andy caught the chopper’s attention. They moved closer to the Guardian, putting themselves at great risk. They faced fire from not only the helicopter but the Guardian’s litany of arms. They dodged the weapons’ fire as best they could, but they couldn’t sustain the onslaught.

The Guardian’s micro-missiles chased after Leo. He put himself behind a tree as quickly as he could, but it wasn’t enough to absorb the blow.

“AAGGHHH!” he screamed through the microphone.

“Saturn!” Rayne called out, using his codename.

There was no response.

Northfield suffocated his concern. If they didn’t take care of the Guardian, they would all be dead.

“Just a bit closer,” Northfield said. “Just a little bit closer.”

Andy valiantly remained in the fray. He dodged the helicopter’s missiles, skated by the Guardian’s turrets, and outmaneuvered its cannons. His courage swelled Northfield’s heart.

Whatever happens next… serving with these men has been an honor.

The helicopter stopped, opting to hover in place. Northfield wasn’t as close as he wanted to be. But he couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

From his vantage point, he had a clear shot on the Guardian’s topside. And perhaps more importantly, he had the breathing room to take proper aim.

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I can’t miss. Please, I can’t miss.

He imagined that Jess was behind him, wrapping her body around him. Her hands found his and she guided his aim.

It was all in his head. Or, maybe a little bit of it wasn’t. Either way, it gave him poise. It gave him steadiness.

He fired the rocket. The projectile jetted forth, homing in on the Guardian’s head.

An explosion roared. It was a direct hit.

Northfield didn’t have time to assess the damage or even think about preparing another rocket. His little stunt had caught the attention of nearby Network forces, and they commenced firing upon him.

Friendly fire, it appeared, was a secondary concern. The Network had its priorities. The mechs were more important than a helicopter.

Underneath the chopper, he was a sitting duck. He dropped from the underside, plummeting to the ground. His RAID suit absorbed the shock of the landing.

The Guardian staggered, taking one halting step forward.

Smoke plumed from the back of its head, where the rocket had landed.

Swiftly, the Guardian steadied itself, and it resumed firing its machine guns and cannons at Stormrise’s forces.

One rocket wasn’t expected to pierce through the Guardian’s armor on its own. Despite knowing this fact, Northfield felt his mood sink. He had let his hope get the better of him.

He dodged to the side as a spray of gunfire came from the helicopter above him. It was trying to get its revenge, it seemed, for Northfield hitching a ride.

More enemy helicopters flew into range, and the onslaught on Stormrise felt intolerable.

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fired a stream of rockets at Andy. He didn’t have anywhere to move, not without getting cut down by bullets.

The rockets, impossibly, were completely off-course. They streaked past Andy, multiple yards distant from him.

The Guardian fired another set of rockets at Rayne from its other launcher. These rockets, too, went awry.

Northfield realized that the misses weren’t so impossible, after all. His rocket might not have pierced the Guardian’s head, but it hadn’t been fruitless.

“The Guardian’s rocket targeting looks busted,” he said through his comms.

“Its machine guns are working just fine,” Andy said.

“It’s something,” Rayne said. “We need to push the advantage.”

Northfield dashed to the Guardian’s left flank. The Guardian didn’t react, instead focusing its energies on its allies. Smoke plumed from the Guardian’s head.

“I think some of its optical cams are out, too,” he said. “I don’t think it sees me.”

“Then fire, dammit,” Rayne said.

Northfield didn’t have to be told; he was already aiming his launcher.

The rocket flew, hitting the Guardian once more in the head.

This time, the behemoth recoiled back. Then, it lurched forward in an effort to steady itself, but it had overcorrected.

The Guardian fell onto one knee. Its momentum brought the mech’s smoking, damaged head forward in full view of Stormrise’s RAID teams.

“Fire,” Rayne screamed. “Everything you have!”

Widow Team unleashed their remaining rockets. Some missed completely, sailing past their opponent. Others hit the mech but were too low, detonating harmlessly against the mech’s reinforced chest plating.

But a whole heap of rockets hit the sweet spot.

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Smoke clouds, remnants from the blast, surrounded the mech.

Then, impossibly, the mech stirred.

Enemy helicopters filled the defensive void, ensuring that Stormrise’s soldiers still couldn’t slip past to reach the mortar teams.

The mortars thundered on.

The Guardian opened fire with its chain gun, wholly unwilling to give up the night.

One more rocket streamed out of the remains of the woods.

One more rocket that had perfect placement.

The rocket hit the Guardian’s head and detonated. It was the final straw on this armored camel’s back. The Guardian reeled back one last time, falling to the earth and cratering the concrete.

A figure limped out of the woods. Leo’s helmet had been shattered, so his grin was plain for the world to see.

“Not so tough, are you?” Leo said.

“Saturn!” Andy exclaimed.

Northfield’s heart swelled at the sight of his friend.

They didn’t get time to celebrate.

Omega leader radioed in. His voice was ragged.

“It’s coming for you guys… Dammit, it’s coming. I’m sorry, we… Ah, hell.”

“Incoming!” Geralt screamed.

Widow Team dashed just as a volley of rockets exploded around them.

The other Guardian hovered in the air, its silhouette enveloping the night sky. The mech had used its thrusters to propel itself around Memory Tower.

The mech landed between the mortar teams and Widow Team. Their path was blocked yet again.

A few of the choppers relocated to Memory Tower’s rear to defend against Omega.

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“We’re out of rockets,” Rayne announced after glancing around. He said into his radio, “Omega, without the Guardian blocking you, do you have an opening? Can you hit the rear mortar team?”

“I… I’m sorry,” Omega Team’s leader said. “It wiped us out.

All except me and Ryan and… Dammit. We can’t push through, not with the choppers, not by ourselves. But… we’ll try. We’ll try.”

“What the hell are we gonna do?” Leo asked.

Nobody answered. Without rockets, they had no means of damaging the Guardian. Without taking down the mech, they weren’t going to reach the mortar teams. That wasn’t even to speak of just staying alive.

The mortars whistled in the air, detonating behind them.

Once more, they sounded like the thundering ticks of a doomsday clock.

288

26 “We could route to the back. Assist Omega with the rear mortar team. We’re faster, right?” Leo offered.

“No,” Rayne said. “This mech needs to go down, or it doesn’t matter what we do.”

Northfield understood his reasoning. Kaminski and Taylor’s front columns were the primary offensive. Neil’s rear column couldn’t take Memory Tower by itself. Worse yet, the mech could always reposition itself and mow down approaching Stormrise troops. How many men could those machine guns kill?

No. If they were going to win this fight, the Guardian had to be taken out, without delay.

“Flagbearer? Can you find a way to take these things out without explosives?” Rayne asked urgently.

“I… I don’t know,” Dimitri said. “We’ve been looking.”

“And we’ll keep looking,” Softball said, sounding determined but also fraught with despair. “Just keep… just keep fighting, alright?”

“Put everything you have into the bastard,” Rayne ordered his men. “Whatever happens, we’re going down swinging.”

The Guardian unleashed its machine guns and cannons and rockets with no signs of slowing down. The choppers provided fire support. Together, they managed to keep Widow Team at bay.

Stormrise’s RAID troops fired their small-arms weapons at the Guardian to little effect. They targeted the mech’s eyes, but 289

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even those proved to be bulletproof. Bullets ricocheted off the mech’s armor like they had hit the side of a mountain.

Widow Team’s men lobbed all of the grenades they had, from explosives to smokes to stunners, but none had any real effect. At best, they staggered the mech for the slightest moment before the mech resumed its offensive.

Leo and the last man from Echelon turned their attention to the helicopters, firing their weapons to either drive them back or take them down. They weren’t succeeding.

Mortars continued to bombard their friends. Time was sand, slipping between their fingers.

Omega leader reported in. His last man had died. Only he remained.

But what else could they do but fight? Retreat wasn’t an option. Death Corps forces were at their backs. Past that, nobody had forgotten the stakes. If they fled, then Arkland’s supremacy would be confirmed. Tonight was their fight, be it their victory or annihilation.

Still, there had to be a better way to fight. A way that Northfield was missing.

He glanced up at the attack choppers firing down upon them liberally. He recalled his recent use of one against the Network when he had hitched a ride on the underside.

The helicopters had wizened up; they hovered at a greater altitude, just out of the leaping range of a RAID suit. Still, Northfield felt there was something there he could leverage.

Just as a thunderbolt struck, an idea occurred to him. His blood started to pump, reaching his ears.

“Hey, Geralt,” he said. “Feel like doing something crazy?”

“What, this isn’t crazy enough?” he retorted.

Northfield explained his plan over the comms.

Andy said, “You’re right, Mark. That’s friggin’ insane.”

“It’s the right call,” Rayne said without a hint of hesitation. He ordered his men, “Protect Mark and Geralt! Buy them a berth.”

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Geralt and Northfield met up on the battlefield, dodging past bullets and explosions.

They positioned themselves directly underneath one of the attack choppers.

“How the hell do you want to do this?” Geralt asked.

“I’ll get on your shoulders,” he replied. “Just jump as high as you can. I’ll do the rest.”

“If you say so,” Geralt said. He crouched, allowing Northfield to get onto his shoulders. “Ready?”

The Network, as a collective, sensed something was happening, so they turned their attention to the Stormrise men.

“Now,” Northfield said. “Or we’re gonna miss our chance.”

Geralt crouched further, and then he sprang into the air.

Northfield watched the enemy helicopter swell in his view, waiting, waiting.

Once their momentum slowed, right before they reached the apex of Geralt’s jump, Northfield readied his legs.

He sprang off of Geralt’s shoulders, using the last of Geralt’s momentum to propel himself into the air.

He reached for the landing skid, grasping, grasping.

His momentum slowed. He extended his shoulder as far as it could go. He barely wrapped his fingers around the landing skid, and he held on for dear life. Quickly, he clutched the rail with his other hand for a better grip.

He had reached the helicopter. Yet he had no time to sigh in relief. He clambered onto the side of the helicopter.

The door slid open, and a Death Corps soldier tried stuffing the barrel of his rifle into Northfield’s face. Northfield swatted the weapon away, grabbed the soldier, and tossed him out of the chopper.

He slipped inside, ducking as the pilot unloaded pistol rounds at him. Northfield still possessed the speed of his RAID suit, and the pilot stood no chance. Northfield shot him twice.

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The pilot drooped, his arms slackening. Northfield removed him and took his seat.

He didn’t know how to fly a helicopter. He couldn’t operate its guns.

But from his time in the military all those years ago, he did glean a couple of things.

The cyclic control, the joystick-looking thing, controlled the helicopter’s pitch. The throttle controlled the engine’s speed.

Lastly, the rotor pedals controlled the yaw.

He pressed the pedals just slightly, just enough to angle the chopper toward the mech. Once that had been done, the next steps were easy.

He dipped the helicopter’s pitch, and he jacked the engine’s speed to maximum.

The helicopter raced toward the mech. The Network forces in the area had wizened up to Northfield’s plan, and they started firing at him.

Northfield braced, making himself as small as possible as bullets flew around him. He needed to wait just a little longer. He had to make sure the chopper kept on course.

The Guardian noticed the incoming attack, and it launched into the air via its jump jets to get out of the way. Northfield had predicted the maneuver, and he tilted the chopper upward, realigning with the mech.

The Guardian opened fire with both machine-gun turrets.

The bullets tore through the helicopter, shattering the windows and shearing metal.

Just a few more moments. Just a few more moments.

The mech cut off its jump jets, plummeting back to the earth in another attempt to get out of the helicopter’s trajectory.

Northfield angled the helicopter downward.

It was time.

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He dove out of the chopper. Looking back, he had just enough time to see a fiery explosion erupt before the ensuing shock wave threw him through the air like a wet rag.

He spun and spun and spun, losing all track of direction. His helmet had noise-dampening technology, but his ears still rang in the aftermath of the blast.

He hit the ground hard. His shoulder blade made contact first before he rolled and tumbled across an expanse of concrete.

Finally, he skidded to a halt. His RAID armor had protected him from serious damage, but the impact stole his breath.

He gasped while his head spun around and around. Trying to lift it brought along a wave of nausea, so he waited for it to pass, staring at the blank concrete.

An arm wrapped around his shoulder.

“For such a straitlaced guy, you come up with some crazy ideas,” Geralt said. “C’mon. Get up.”

Northfield blinked, and he let Geralt pull him up.

“Did it work?” Northfield asked.

“See for yourself,” Geralt said.

The nausea had passed enough for Northfield to finally lift his head.

The Guardian’s and helicopter’s remains lay in a crater together, forming a cluttered mess of metal and smoldering ruins.

“You totaled the damned thing,” Geralt said.

With the mech taken care of, Widow Team could focus its attention on the helicopters and encroaching enemy RAID soldiers. The helicopters, disquieted from Northfield’s maneuver and wary of the incoming fire, retreated higher into the sky.

Most importantly, Stormrise’s forces were free to attack the mortar teams.

By the time Northfield had rallied, Widow Team had already eliminated the front mortar teams. Andy and the man from Echelon Team split from Widow Team, joining the survivor from Omega Team to take out the rear mortar team.

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The mortars, which only moments ago had been the great blockers of Stormrise’s progress, now stood dormant.

Stormrise’s RAID teams assumed control of the mortars.

Rayne updated General Taylor and Chief Kaminski on the situation, telling them to remain in cover. Northfield understood his intentions, as did all of them. The mortars’ trajectories were tilted inward.

Rayne commanded, “Fire.”

The mortars reeled as they launched payloads into the air.

The rounds whistled before descending upon the Network’s three blockades, each in front of a Stormrise column.

The two front mortars hit dead-on, blowing up the centermost vehicles in the blockade. The rear mortar fell slightly short.

Still, all three mortars accomplished their purpose. The blockades were no longer safe. Their enemies started to break up and disperse, leaving Stormrise’s columns free to advance.

Many of the Death Corps’ forces would draw inward, turning their attention to the Stormrise RAID soldiers that had successfully occupied their mortar stations. However, this opened them to attack from behind, courtesy of Stormrise’s columns. They were sandwiched between two enemy forces.

Still, the forces that constituted the Network blockades had no other option. It was either retreat inward or bear the mortar blasts. They had chosen the former.

Rayne ordered the mortars to angle further back. Now they targeted the enemy blockades beyond Stormrise’s rear vehicles, and they deployed a steady stream of shells.

The sustained assault would prevent Network ground forces from advancing. The Network could still replenish its forces with RAID troops and helicopters, but overall, the Network’s ability to reinforce was crippled.

Northfield faced Memory Tower. He had no doubt that Arkland had another veritable army stowed away inside, beyond those opaque black windows.

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He wondered if Stormrise had been too late in stopping the mortars. If Stormrise’s forces had been cut down too severely, their victory here would ultimately be for nothing. *** “General, our enemies have taken down the Guardians and assumed control of the mortar systems,” Lieutenant General Gladwell said.

“Stop them,” General Arkland ordered.

“I… We can’t,” Gladwell replied.

“Dispatch men from within Memory Tower,” Arkland said.

Gladwell said, “We’re too slow. Your personal guard is the only RAID unit we have left. Exos can’t move fast enough to stop them, either. If we send normal soldiers out through the front doors, exposed, they’ll be cut down. Even exos are targets Stormrise could pick off if they’re alone.”

Arkland cursed.

Gladwell said, “Our best bet is to lean on our defenses in Memory Tower and get reinforcements.”

Arkland watched the mortars fall. He clenched his teeth. *** The mortars had finally stopped. Helen stared out from underneath a table, not quite believing the quietness was real.

She remained in place, waiting for the mortar fire to resume.

She heard Chief Kaminski’s voice through her earpiece. “Our RAID teams did it. The enemy mortars are out of commission. I repeat, the mortars are in friendly hands. They are going to direct the mortars at our enemies.

“They’ve bought us our chance. They’ve bought us our opening. Now it’s up to us to seize it. Return to the streets and push forward.

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“We can do this together. I believe in all of you. Tonight is our fight.”

Helen heard the mortars drop again, and she instinctively shrank down. However, the mortars landed further ahead. She recalled Kaminski’s words; the mortars were on their side now.

It was one thing to hear it. It was another thing to make the deep fear within your bones recede.

A hand stuck out in front of her. It was Aubrey.

She pulled Helen out from underneath the coffee table. Her friend’s hand was strong. But it, too, was shaking.

The cafe was utterly destroyed. Mortar blasts had demolished the windows and caved in the ceiling.

A pair of legs stuck out from underneath the rubble. They were so covered in dust that she couldn’t discern whether they had belonged to a civilian or Stormrise soldier.

There were more bodies in the cafe. She recognized friends and some passerby acquaintances.

The thundering in her heart made her head pulse.

Other Stormrise fighters emerged from their makeshift cover.

They were shaken up, too. Determination, though, still burned within their eyes.

It restored her resolve, at least somewhat. But her resolve wavered again when she bore the glares of civilians, who also emerged from their hiding places. Bodies lay near some of them.

She wondered if they used to be the survivors’ former friends or family.

Helen, Aubrey, and the surviving Stormrise soldiers ventured out of the cafe. Their numbers had been reduced by a quarter. Two surviving fighters had calamitous injuries. One had a wounded arm and the other a wounded leg. They would not fight further.

The streets had endured an even greater beating. Craters pockmarked the pavement. The surface now resembled that of the moon.

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Stormrise’s vehicles were smoldering wrecks. Not a single one had survived. Neither had the men within.

Mortar blasts had scarred the buildings. The most damaged walls had caved in.

Her allies emerged from the remains, and she assessed their numbers.

Some buildings had been luckier than hers, with more Stormrise soldiers having survived. Others had been less fortunate, with fewer survivors straggling out of the ruins.

All told, this Stormrise column’s number had been reduced by about half. She didn’t know how the other Stormrise columns had fared, but they likely shared a similar story.

From her allies’ body language, she read the emotions.

Devastation. Despair. Shock. Horror.

She gazed upon Memory Tower, etched from the burning clouds. The general resided there, likely at the very top.

The mortars adjusted, and they rained shells upon the Network forces to their rear. The mortars would keep the streets clear for now. But helicopters thundered above. The Network’s forces wouldn’t be kept at bay for long. Their enemies still had an army at their disposal.

“Look at what they’ve done,” a Stormrise fighter muttered, aghast. “Look at what they’ve done. They cleared damn near half of us out. I just… We’re screwed. We’re frigging screwed.”

“Maybe we don’t have enough people to win,” Aubrey said.

“But we sure as hell have enough to try. I’m not putting my gun down just yet. Now come on.”

The man blinked, then nodded, recovering himself. He looked around and said to some of the others, who were still tentative, “Well, you heard her. She’s right. Surrender’s not an option, at least to me.”

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everyone onward. Her encouragement steeled any fighters that had still been uncertain.

Helen pushed on with the others. If this was her fight, then so be it. If this was her legacy, then so be it. She wouldn’t be the one who gave up. *** Stormrise leadership assembled at the front of Memory Tower. General Taylor ordered a portion of Stormrise’s soldiers to set up defenses against their surrounding enemies. These soldiers would hold the line. He ordered everyone else to scavenge the battlefield for any explosives unused by the enemy. They mainly searched the destroyed and abandoned vehicles that had been part of the Network’s blockades.

With the tower looming large, Stormrise would need every weapon it could find.

“This is going to be a bloodbath,” Neil muttered quietly, his eyes traveling up the stories and stories that stood between them and Arkland.

“Flagbearer, have you found a way past the outer defenses?”

General Taylor said via his comms.

“No, sir,” Softball replied.

The outer windows of Memory Tower were electrified, powered by generators. Of course, those generators were nestled inside bulletproof cages. The barrier system served as a contingency against the Network’s RAID suits being used against it, as Stormrise was trying to do now.

Without some clever solution cooked up by Softball and Dimitri, it would take too long to circumvent the defenses by brute force.

“I’m sorry we haven’t been more helpful,” Dimitri said. “The Network’s gotten better about hiding their weak points.”

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“Don’t be hard on yourselves,” Kaminski said. “We’ve done all the planning we could. Sometimes, an operation simply comes down to execution. And we’ll do our best here.”

“We’ve come far,” Neil said, glancing back at the path they had carved. “The only way out is through now. Let’s give it the old college try, huh?”

“Yes,” Kaminski said. “The old college try.”

A soldier approached Taylor and said, “We’ve salvaged a few grenade launchers. Not many, and they don’t have much ammo.”

“It’s something,” the general replied.

“Gather everyone. Prepare for the push,” Kaminski said, her voice infused with grit. “We move now.” *** Lieutenant General Gladwell said, “A contingency of Stormrise’s forces is preparing to enter the tower.”

“And what about our reinforcements?”

“They’re en route,” the lieutenant general said. “But they cannot get past Stormrise’s defenses.” He continued, “Stormrise is using the mortar systems to block off ground troop entry. They’ve also salvaged our vehicles, and they are using the mounted weapon systems to keep helicopters at bay. Any helicopter that enters the area faces a barrage of minigun fire. The same goes for RAID units. They can approach Stormrise, but for all of their speed, a barrage of turrets is insurmountable.”

“So much for leaning on our reinforcements arriving,” Arkland growled.

He could feel Gladwell wilting on the other end of the radio.

Despite his frustration, the news didn’t frighten the general.

He would either live through this day or his enemies would. It was as simple as that.

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“What steps are you taking to rectify the situation?” General Arkland asked.

“Fresh mortar systems are inbound. If we can take out Stormrise’s mortar systems, then our ground troops can move in. With our helicopters and RAID soldiers contributing to the offensive, we’ll overwhelm our enemies handily.”

“ETA?” Arkland asked.

There was a pause. “At least… at least thirty minutes, sir.”

General Arkland’s eyes narrowed. “The nearest CDZ with the required ordnance is fifteen minutes away. And that’s driving at a casual pace. What do you mean, thirty minutes?”

“There have been… complications,” the lieutenant general replied. “It’s clear that Stormrise’s numbers have been bolstered by civilian volunteers. But it appears there are other civilians that have found a different way to contribute.”

General Arkland didn’t have time for this. “Out with it, Gladwell.”

“Civilians are blocking roads with their cars,” he said.

“They’ve parked vehicles in the middle of the streets and left them there. Our reinforcements have to push through them or find alternative routes, depending on the intensity of the blockage.”

Arkland said, “Keep me apprised.”

“Yes, sir,” Gladwell said.

Arkland turned to Sloan, who had been privy to the conversation.

He said, “Ready the V2 canisters.”

She said, “We have a large contingent of exo soldiers within the building, ready to fight Stormrise tooth and nail. Exo soldiers excel in close quarters, in defensive roles. Past that, Stormrise’s forces have been whittled down, sir. Their heavy ordnance is lacking. They will struggle to take on the heavy soldiers. We still outnumber and outmatch them. I don’t think V2 is worth using.”

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She said, “Worse yet, I doubt its effectiveness. Stormrise came prepared with gas masks.”

“I know all of that,” he said. “Have you learned nothing from working with me all of these years?” He stared harshly out the window, watching his own mortars hit his own streets. He said, “The psychological warfare isn’t over, Sloan. Not by a long shot.

V2 will scare them. It will weaken their will.”

“The political ramifications—” “Don’t matter,” he cut her off. “After we kill Stormrise, who will be left?”

She nodded. “Understood, sir.”

“Summon them,” he ordered. She knew what he meant.

She opened the doors, and a team of RAID soldiers entered the room.

“You’re our last line of defense,” he said. “Our defenses in this building are strong. Our enemies should break. But in the event that they push through, do everything in your power to stop them from reaching this room.” He continued, “Stormrise cannot contend with all of our forces in the city. They’re gambling on reaching me before our reinforcements can arrive. Do you understand?”

His soldiers nodded. Among them was the great Stormrise turncoat, Elliot. Arkland locked eyes with him. He, better than the other soldiers, understood what was at stake.

General Arkland said, “Their strength is a bluff. We simply need to hold out long enough for that to become apparent.”

He dismissed them.

He and Sloan were alone. He pulled up the building’s security cameras on his computer.

He could feel Sloan’s eyes on him, not on the screens.

“Are you afraid?” he asked her.

“I shouldn’t be,” she said. “We still have superior firepower.”

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“Fear is anything but rational,” he said. “That’s why it’s such a great tool. And such a great hindrance.”

“In case the impossible does happen,” she said. “I just want to…”

The words died on her lips. Stormrise breached the front doors in a plume of smoke.

302

27 The Death Corps had established a kill zone at the front doors. Stormrise expected it. Stormrise would have formed a kill zone, too, had they been the ones on the defensive.

The Death Corps fired indiscriminately into the smoke cloud. The chatter of machine-gun fire was punctuated by the roar of napalm explosions.

Widow Team lined up across the open door. Widow Team had absorbed the last man from Omega Team. The men had to blaze the path forward for the soldiers behind them. With their RAID suits, they were the only ones with the necessary speed.

Leo was an exception. The destruction of his helmet had disabled his RAID suit’s targeting system, so he had lost his enhanced mobility. He could still fight, but he would charge with the standard Stormrise forces.

Northfield stared into the smoke. They would be rushing directly into the gunfire. Despite the suits’ super speed, they could easily meet an unlucky bullet. The others still had use of their shields, which mitigated the risk, but Northfield’s had been destroyed.

Geralt noticed, and he said to Northfield, “Grab onto my shoulder. We’ll dash together.”

He held up his shield, gesturing that he would block the incoming bullets.

Northfield nodded and said, “Good thinking.”

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Rayne said to his men, “On three, we go.” He counted, and then he screamed, “Now!” Northfield was jolted by an immensely uncomfortable sensation as he and Geralt heaved forward in a surge of motion.

Blitzing forward at such a high speed, but not being the one in control, was incredibly discombobulating. He could only hold on and embrace the surge.

Fortunately, his hand had magnetized to Geralt; otherwise, he would have certainly lost his grip. His shoulder would have been ripped clean out of its socket had the suit not kept it in place.

Everything faded to a blur. His vision was worthless in the smoke screen. What felt like thin trails of wind raced by him. An intense heat also surrounded him.

Geralt’s boots skidded across the floor, and as soon as Northfield felt a tug of resistance, he let go of his friend. His feet hadn’t been planted, so his momentum continued to carry him forward. The last thing he wanted to do was pull Geralt offbalance and get him shot for his troubles.

Northfield crashed into a concrete planter and tumbled over it. Despite his breath getting punched out of him, he recovered quickly, pushing himself up with his arms. At this point, he had gotten used to falling in the suit.

He glimpsed over the planter and took in his surroundings.

The lobby was massive, if it could even be called a lobby.

It looked more like an auditorium or shopping mall, with four wide-open stories above him that had overhanging walkways, balconies, and railings. Vertical electronic banners stretched down multiple stories. On normal days, they likely showed advertisements or propaganda. Tonight, they flashed bloodred, with words like LOCKDOWN and IMMINENT ATTACK showing prominently.

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in clean rectangular planters. Many were aflame now, having caught an unlucky splash of napalm. Smoke trailed upward, carrying the ashes of leaves and flowers.

Small pools and rivers flowed between the groves and planters, and there was a large waterfall at the back of the lobby.

They were oblivious to the surrounding chaos.

Exo soldiers loomed on the overhanging floors, mounting their napalm weapons on the balconies and blasting with reckless abandon. There were more exos than Northfield had ever seen at once. He counted three exo soldiers on the ground floor as well, but that was only what he could see past the concrete planters and groves.

The exos were accompanied by a significant number of standard soldiers armed with light machine guns and closequarters fare.

Geralt raced toward Northfield. Northfield’s uncoordinated landing behind the planter had been fortuitous. He was positioned not only behind the planter but underneath an overhanging walkway, which protected him partially from vertical attack.

Just partially, though. In this giant arena, with so many enemies positioned in so many places, nowhere was truly safe.

Northfield fired at enemies on the second story, and he kept tabs on his other allies. Rayne and Andy ducked behind cover.

Soon enough, he spotted the other members of Widow Team.

Their speed had protected them for now.

The enemies above turned their attention to him. There were far more than he could suppress with his submachine gun.

“Reposition,” he screamed to Geralt. His friend nodded, and they dashed in opposite directions.

Northfield felt a wave of heat near the heels of his boots. When he reached his destination, he glanced back. A blast of napalm had consumed the planter. He hadn’t even seen the projectile coming. If he hadn’t moved, he would have been burned alive.

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Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a flicker of yellow and white. Another exo soldier had his napalm launcher aimed at him. Northfield dashed away as another blast detonated at his location.

Machine-gun fire, too, tracked his location.

The opposition was overwhelming. He didn’t have the breathing room to fire back, and it took the entirety of his focus just to avoid the incoming napalm blasts and bullets.

For not the first time this night, the situation felt bleak.

He did see one glimmer of hope. Stormrise had an advantage.

There weren’t any RAID soldiers in the lobby, at least none that he could see. Stormrise had speed on its side.

The Network had likely deployed all its RAID forces earlier because the RAID armor’s speed was most beneficial when the pilot had enough space to maneuver.

However, the enemy forces would be eager to reinforce Memory Tower with more RAID soldiers if they broke through Stormrise’s exterior defenses. It was yet another reminder that Stormrise needed to finish this fight quickly.

Two stories up, a trio of Death Corps soldiers fired indiscriminately into the lobby. Their gunfire created noise, clamor, and chaos. Any wrong step could put you into the line of a bullet.

Northfield saw a path through, so he called out to his allies and signaled his intentions.

He propelled himself to a second-story walkway, threading lines of gunfire before launching himself to the third story. He vaulted over the railing, taking down the closest gunman.

Northfield caught the body. He used it as a makeshift shield as the two remaining gunmen in his vicinity opened fire. He stuck his submachine gun under the body’s armpit and fired back. The gunfire stopped, and the two soldiers fell.

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The third story was still stuffed with gunmen, who turned their attention to Northfield. He couldn’t shoot back, not without giving his enemies ample chance to cut him down.

But he had done his job. He dashed across the walkway, drawing enemy fire.

“Third story’s distracted,” he said through his comms.

An explosion roared beneath him. It was followed by a deep rumble and finally concluded by a loud crash.

“One exo down,” Rayne announced. He had shot a grenade underneath an exo soldier, causing the floor to buckle underneath him.

Some exo soldiers turned away from the front doors, directing their attention to the immediate threats around them. Not all of the exos pulled away, but enough did to create an opening.

“Now or never,” Rayne said to Kaminski and Taylor.

Kaminski and Taylor agreed; they didn’t have time to wait any longer. They gave the order.

Northfield sprayed his submachine gun, sweeping over every enemy soldier that he could. Actually hitting them was a secondary priority. He needed to draw as many of them from the front doors as possible.

Please, God, protect them.

With a swelling cry, the front doors burst open, and Stormrise’s infantry charged in, immediately fanning out.

Enemy exo soldiers fired their napalm launchers, and enemy infantry unleashed their machine guns. The distraction created

by Stormrise’s RAID soldiers had reduced the effectiveness of their kill zone.

But it was still a kill zone.

Cries rang out as bullets struck down Stormrise soldiers by the handfuls. The worst screams came from those hit by the napalm blasts, the fires of which spread quickly and violently.

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A galling, bloody mess, but the devastation only pushed Stormrise’s infantry to move even faster.

As soldiers streamed in, they turned their weapons to the enemy forces, firing with the wrath of men and women who had nothing left but the fight.

Enemy machine-gunners were struck down, but their numbers seemed vast and endless in this godforsaken lobby.

Northfield targeted an exo soldier that was one story lower.

Despite Northfield shooting at him, he entirely ignored the incoming bullets. He fired his napalm launcher with laserfocus at the Stormrise infantry. From his central location on the walkway, he had one of the best vantage points for killing Northfield’s friends.

Northfield had to stop him, but his submachine gun wasn’t going to do the job.

He vaulted over the railing, and he kicked off of it with all of his suit’s thruster power. He shot himself like a rocket at the exo soldier, rotating over himself so his feet stuck out first.

His feet hit the exo soldier squarely in the back. Despite the exo soldier’s substantial mass, Northfield’s speed managed to overcome his inertia. The exo soldier lurched forward. Together, they crashed through the glass railing and plummeted to the floor.

They collided with an earthen crack, and the floor tiles around them splintered. The exo’s breath was stolen, but his armor was still undamaged. Northfield lifted his boot and propelled it downward on the nozzle of the exo’s napalm launcher. The launcher bent out of shape, and it would no longer be usable.

He couldn’t think of a way to easily damage the exo further, and he didn’t have the time to devise one. Without a weapon, the exo presented much less of a threat. Northfield had higher priorities.

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Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar face. Leo shot valiantly at his enemies with a high-powered rifle. He flashed Northfield a biting grin.

The entirety of Stormrise’s assault force had now entered the lobby. Bodies littered the floor, and blood ran between the floor tiles in red rivers. The ones that didn’t bleed were burned.

Nonetheless, Stormrise still had men and women to fight.

The lobby was filled with his comrades, who fought with the stubbornness and grit to match their opposition.

One of the exo soldiers yelled something. Northfield didn’t catch his words, but they had a quieting effect on the Death Corps.

His enemies were bracing for something.

Small slits opened on the floors and walls. A loud hiss followed.

Something red plumed from the slits. It was a smoky substance of some sort, which glowed red.

Panic flooded his chest.

It was V2. Arkland had unleashed V2 in the lobby.

The gas spread quickly, enveloping the entire space.

Northfield’s RAID helmet was built to withstand the toxic wastelands; he could breathe without danger.

He heard a labored choke near him.

His eyes widened. Leo’s mask was broken.

“No!” he screamed. He ran to his friend, who had collapsed on the floor.

Leo clutched his neck. The veins throbbed. Northfield put his arms around Leo and turned him onto his side. He didn’t want Leo to choke on his blood or vomit.

Past that, he didn’t have a clue how to help. A hissing noise came out from between Leo’s clenched teeth. His eyes were narrowed from pain, the blood vessels within throbbing, and he met Northfield’s eyes.

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Northfield didn’t know what to say. He wanted to say something, anything, but his voice got caught in his throat. He held on to Leo, a cold comfort for a man who was thrashing and dying in his arms.

Please let the Network have got it wrong, just this once, he found himself praying. Please say that the scientists screwed up the batch or miscalculated its effectiveness. Just… something. I need something.

He felt the words dying, even in his mind. The Network didn’t get these types of things wrong. Not when it really counted.

“Leo,” he said, “I…” The man in his arms thrashed and bucked wildly before all movement ceased. Leo fell limp in his arms, and the man seemed all the heavier.

Life had left his eyes. Northfield blinked, and everything was blurry.

Burning shame and regret took hold of him. How many people had he watched die in his life? Yet he still found himself stumbling. Yet he found himself unable to say the right words, the words a man deserved when he had nowhere left to go but death’s door.

He laid Leo down gently.

He said to Widow Team, “Leo… he’s down.”

“What?” Andy cried. “No…” “Ah, hell,” Geralt said.

“We need to keep going,” Rayne said. Northfield heard a choke in his voice. “Leo wanted this, more than any of us. Hit them where it hurts.”

Rayne was right. Northfield pulled his eyes from Leo and glanced around. He had been blind to the rest of the world while his friend passed, but he couldn’t afford to be any longer.

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drowned the world. You could see a couple hundred yards or so through the V1 gas, give or take, based on the time of day and the weather. The same couldn’t be said of V2.

Northfield could only see a dozen or so yards ahead; everything beyond that was concealed behind a bubbling cloud.

Nonetheless, he heard the screams. He heard the gunshots and roaring explosions.

Panic. Many of his compatriots had been seized by sheer, blind panic. The battle had frayed their nerves, and the gas severed them completely.

The gas wouldn’t cause many deaths; Stormrise had come wearing gas masks. However, Arkland knew exactly what he was doing when he unleashed V2.

It was psychological warfare. It was meant to break them.

And it was working.

He battled hopelessness, and he fought on. Yet he couldn’t help but fear how many Stormrise fighters lay dead, cut down or burned to ash in the middle of this bloody cloud. This was yet another culling of their numbers during this war. They were dwindling. Northfield didn’t know if they had the strength to endure.

He came across Andy. They leaped to the second story and fought back to back, covering each other’s flanks.

The screams continued. The raw panic in their voices remained strong. They hadn’t recovered.

Chief Kaminski’s and General Taylor’s voices came through his radio. They urged their men and women to fight on, to push through the fear. They were steadfast, as always, and their voices somehow remained level throughout it all.

However, voices could do little in the midst of a death cloud, with enemies showering destruction upon them.

Andy fought valiantly, but Northfield noticed a tremor in his hands. Even he was shaken.

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General Taylor switched to Widow Team’s comms channel, and he said, “We aren’t going to push through this. They’re too strong.”

The words were devastating, coming from Taylor.

The general continued, “This damned gas has bought us one thing: concealment. We need to take advantage of it with our only other strength: speed. Flagbearer has come up with a plan.”

Dimitri said, “The ceiling isn’t reinforced. You should be able to breach it with explosives.”

Softball added, “From there, you can reach the stairwell.”

General Taylor said, “Only RAID armor can get up there.”

His voice soured. “No doubt that Arkland has more defenses past this lobby. You’ll be all alone when facing them. I’m sorry for that. I truly am.”

“I wish we could have thought of something better,” Dimitri said.

“You came up with something,” Earl said. “We have something, at least.”

Rayne said, “This entire op is a long shot. This is just one more. If it can be done, we’ll get it done. You can count on that.”

“Godspeed, Rayne,” Taylor said. “Godspeed, all of you.”

Northfield and Andy returned to ground level, and they retrieved grenade launchers from Stormrise troops at the front doors.

“If,” Andy said. “The way Rayne said ‘if ’… He doesn’t talk like that. I think… I think he’s scared, too.”

“He wouldn’t be human if he wasn’t,” Northfield said. He spared a moment to put a hand on Andy’s shoulder. “We can only fight. Everything else will fall as it will. The Death Corps may take our lives, but our last breaths are ours to breathe. They’re our gift, remember?”

With the fear swelling in his own heart, his words felt fraudulent, in a way. But he still believed them.

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Andy peered through the opaque gas, and he said, “Leo… I thought he’d be the last of us, Mark. I really did. If any of us were gonna live, I thought it’d be him.”

“I did, too,” Northfield replied. Leo was always so calculated and steady. It was beyond bizarre to think that he was now dead.

He couldn’t grapple with it, not fully. And now was not the time to try.

“God help us,” Andy muttered.

They ascended, propelling off the walkways with the power of their RAID suits. General Taylor was right; the gas did buy them the ability to move more freely. Otherwise, the Death Corps would have likely noticed that they were up to something suspicious, focused their fire on them, and torn them apart.

They met Rayne and Geralt on the top floor, and they were joined by the two new members to Widow Team, the remnants of Echelon and Omega.

Northfield gazed upon their small numbers, and shock hit him intensely. This was all that remained of Stormrise’s RAID soldiers. There had been three teams earlier. Now one remained.

There were so many reasons to despair. He pushed down the feeling. More of his friends below were dying to give him this chance.

It was Little Empire in Cumulus all over again. The realization filled him with even more fear.

Geralt’s RAID suit covered his entire body. Yet Northfield could see the anger in the man’s body language.

“I’m so damned sick of this,” he said. “I’m so sick of these people. I’m pulling Arkland off his throne even if I have to rise from the grave to do it.”

Rayne aimed his grenade launcher at the ceiling, and he said, “This will be another nightmare. But it will be our last. Take solace in that, and fight like hell until it’s over.”

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He fired, blowing a hole through the ceiling, and Stormrise’s remaining RAID soldiers sprang through the opening.

314

28 The floor they entered was filled with office cubicles.

Presumably, it was an administrative floor, where high-level worker bees conducted the day-to-day operations that kept the Network chugging along. The lights were all shut off, so the light source was the windows. Each lightning strike cast shadows across the walkways between cubicles.

Nothing of interest awaited Widow Team here. They needed to continue ascending, and punching their way through dozens upon dozens of ceilings wasn’t a viable option. Widow Team raced to the fire escape stairwell.

When the men weaved through the cubicles, Northfield spotted Network personnel cowering underneath desks.

Stormrise had attacked from all directions; the people within Memory Tower had nowhere safer to evacuate to. He doubted their safety was a priority to Arkland, anyway.

Once Widow Team had entered the stairwell, the echoes of footsteps greeted them, with the lumbering boots of exo soldiers rumbling deeply. Their enemies gave chase from below.

“Keep going!” Rayne yelled. He aimed the grenade launcher at the staircase above the door and fired. The staircase caved in, blocking anyone from following them. The exo soldiers in particular would have a tough time crawling over the rubble, much less crossing the gap Rayne had created.

Rayne tossed the launcher away. He had used its last round.

Stormrise’s RAID soldiers raced up the stairwell, ascending each flight with a single bound.

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They faced little resistance during the climb. Northfield’s heart raced from both exertion and nerves.

Arkland knew that he was the target. He had positioned his forces in the lobby to stop the bulk of Stormrise’s forces.

Northfield didn’t doubt that more defenses would be positioned near the penthouse as a final bulwark. There was little point in wasting men to reinforce the middle floors, which held little significance.

The stairwell terminated at the floor underneath the penthouse. Its architects, evidently, had figured a fire escape stairwell would be an eyesore for the penthouse’s occupants.

Stormrise’s men stacked up against the door. This penultimate floor, they knew, would hold Arkland’s last big defense. They readied their guns. Rayne gave a countdown.

Three.

Two. One. Northfield gritted his teeth. Rayne swung the door open.

At the first hint of movement, their enemies opened fire. The stairwell was engulfed in a flurry of gunfire and fiery explosions.

The men of Stormrise had already moved. They used their RAID suits’ enhanced speed to reposition themselves, fanning out across the area. First and foremost, they sought cover. In the chaos, they had no chance to assess, or even see, their enemies.

Northfield found something solid to duck behind. Safe for a brief moment from the bullets and firestorms, he took in his surroundings.

He found himself inside some sort of indoor garden with beautiful trees, much like the ones that graced the lobby. There were colorful plants and shining stones, sliced by creeks and separated by ponds. Stone walkways granted passage through the garden, with bridges arcing over the ponds.

Such beauty, now burning. Arkland would burn everything.

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Three exo soldiers stood at the opposite end of the garden, blocking the lone stairway to the penthouse, which ascended gently in front of a wall of windows. A guard of RAID soldiers joined the exos.

Northfield had been wrong earlier about Arkland running out of RAID soldiers. The general had reserved some for this final defense.

Northfield counted seven, maybe, but it was hard to tell among the chaos. No matter how you sliced it, Stormrise’s men were outnumbered.

In a stroke of fortune, none of his friends had been struck down at the stairwell entrance. His allies also regained their senses behind various pieces of cover.

The enemy RAID soldiers advanced swiftly. Northfield understood the strategy instinctively. They would advance and drive Stormrise out of cover. In the open, the exos’ napalm blasters or another RAID soldier could cut them down.

He keenly felt disadvantaged by his lack of an arm shield, and he scrambled to devise a game plan. So did his allies.

“There are too many of them,” Geralt exclaimed.

Rayne grunted in the affirmative. Northfield, too, knew it in his heart to be true as the enemy RAID soldiers opened fire.

He darted to a better piece of cover, and he watched a napalm blast sail above his head. They lacked the firepower to push through three exo soldiers, especially while contending with RAID soldiers.

Northfield propelled himself ahead and abruptly dropped to a slide. He caught an approaching enemy RAID soldier unaware, and Northfield opened fire with his submachine gun. The enemy caught bullets in the abdomen and shoulder, and he fell.

Northfield slid behind a giant stone.

One enemy down. The victory heartened Northfield. The positivity was immediately extinguished when a cry rang out through his helmet. He peered past the stone.

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Enemies had caught a Stormrise soldier unaware, and they filled his back with bullets.

The last man from Omega died screaming. His name was Joseph. Northfield hadn’t known him well; they’d hardly had a conversation. But he had a warm smile. Northfield remembered that much.

He opened fire. The enemy RAID soldier held his shield up in time, blocking the volley.

One enemy down. One of Stormrise was down. At this rate, they didn’t stand a chance.

A sinking feeling pulled on him, but Northfield fought it off.

Then Rayne said something that broke his heart.

“We need to change tactics,” Rayne declared. His voice was tight, but he hadn’t given in to despair. Not yet.

He explained a plan in quick, crude detail.

When he finished, Northfield was left with a numb mouth.

He said, “What… No. We can’t…”

“We have to,” Rayne said.

Andy said, “He’s right. It’s our only Hail Mary.”

“But why me?” Northfield asked.

“Our escape from New Medea. The Guardian mechs,” Geralt said. “You always find a way.”

Northfield tried to say something, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. His throat had swelled, and he could only get a choke out. Tears brimmed in his eyes.

But he didn’t argue. There wasn’t time. Everybody else had agreed.

God… make me capable past what I understand. Please give me strength. The strength that Jess always believed I had.

“On three,” Rayne said.

He gave the last fateful count.

One. Two. Three.

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Stormrise, borne of a great tsunami, surged ahead. They moved in a single blue blur, shields up and positioned at their flanks, staring their targets down with the determination of the desperate and the righteous.

They homed in on a single target: the exo soldier nearest the stairwell. They plowed into the exo soldier in a great, swelling rush. Their combined momentum knocked the exo soldier to the floor.

All of them except for Northfield.

Rayne, Geralt, and Andy stayed on the exo soldier. The man from Echelon deployed his shield and faced outward, blocking their mass as best he could.

The men of Widow Team struggled with the exo soldier, scrambling for his napalm launcher.

“Get it!” Rayne yelled, pressing with all of his might on the exo soldier’s wrist. Geralt joined him. “Get it!”

“I… Hold him still!” Andy shrieked.

Their screams pained Northfield, but as much as he wanted to do otherwise, he kept pushing forward.

He reached the stairwell, and he glanced backward. The other exo soldiers, with their slower speed, were in the midst of turning toward his friends. Northfield didn’t doubt that the exos would open fire with their napalm launchers at the first chance they got, even if it meant roasting their fellow exo soldier alive.

One of the enemy RAID soldiers noticed Northfield. He ignored the others and raced toward Northfield, shouting to warn his opponents. Northfield dashed up the stairs.

He reached the top right when the enemy RAID soldier reached the bottom. The enemy soldier pivoted and raised his rifle, about to fire a volley.

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wave from the blast sent the RAID soldier flying backward. He crashed through the window and plummeted.

That was the last Northfield saw of the soldier. The ceiling caved in, burying the bottom of the stairwell in a pile of rubble.

Northfield was cut off from the battle below.

“He’s through!” Rayne exclaimed via radio. “Everyone, fall back, now. Dammit, fall back—” An explosion roared through the radio, and Northfield felt a rumble underneath him. Static followed.

“Rayne!” Northfield yelled, but he heard no response. “Rayne!

Geralt! Andy!”

No response. He lowered his head.

The events had gone according to Rayne’s plan, even better than he had anticipated, with the gas pipe’s detonation producing even more rubble as a barrier.

Northfield had reached Arkland’s penthouse. But he was also all alone.

General Arkland was the key. If Northfield stopped him, then there was a chance that this entire battle could yet be won.

He readied his weapon, and he pressed on. *** The battle outside, to Helen’s best approximation, resembled a slowly leaking ship. Stormrise remained above water, so to speak, but with each passing minute, the situation grew more precarious.

Stormrise fighters manned vehicle turrets, fighting back encroaching helicopters with walls of gunfire. Their ammo, however, continued to dwindle, while more helicopters loomed on the horizon.

Their hijacked mortars fired with a steady cadence at the city streets, but their ammo similarly dwindled.

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Replenishing the mortars, in fact, was a task that Helen presently carried out. In the current stage of the outdoor battle, small-arms fire played little role, so many soldiers had been tasked with keeping their defensive weapons stockpiled. Helen helped fetch shells from a nearby stockpile with a fellow Stormrise fighter. Aubrey worked at loading a nearby mortar, and she was partnered with a different Stormrise soldier. Helen’s legs were weary, and her arms even more so. However, she knew that she had an easy role in the battle, and she counted herself lucky for it.

Midway through transporting another delivery of mortar shells, a bunch of glimmering shards crashed onto the nearby pavement.

She exchanged glances with the Stormrise fighter next to her.

They both looked up.

A black mass hurtled down. In the darkness, her brain instinctively thought it was a giant bird. The illumination from a lightning strike revealed it to be a RAID soldier.

An enemy one at that. Helen and the Stormrise fighter dropped their shipment, and they scrambled for their weapons.

The enemy soldier was limp, it seemed, stunned by the electrical security measures around the tower. The soldier came to, though, and he slowed his body’s fall with his thrusters before impact.

He landed on the pavement in the crouch of a natural-born predator. The Stormrise fighter opened fire with her shotgun, while Helen flipped off her rifle’s safety.

The RAID soldier held his shield up, blocking the incoming fire. He homed in on his fallen weapon, scooping it up and aiming at the Stormrise fighter.

He pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. The weapon, evidently, hadn’t withstood the fall.

He tossed away the gun and charged. His shield slammed into the Stormrise fighter, its electric charge paralyzing her 321

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with a shriek. Before she dropped to the ground, he dug a knife underneath her ribcage.

Helen screamed and opened fire, but the RAID soldier had already moved.

Something hit her hard, and a violent shock passed through her body. She lost control of her limbs, and she fell to the pavement.

The RAID soldier stood over her. She closed her eyes and waited for his knife. She didn’t feel anything at the vague realization of her impending death. She attributed that to the shock her body was experiencing.

Maybe it would make the knife less painful.

Yet, impossibly, the knife didn’t come. The RAID soldier remained still, rain splashing off his armor. The knife glimmered in the thunderstorm.

Her eyes widened.

She knew. The hesitation told her everything.

The paralysis had subsided from her jaw just enough for her to cry out, “Elliot?”

322

29 Northfield found himself surrounded by windows that rose multiple stories. The rain crashed against them, creating a harsh droning noise that was broken up only by the roaring thunder and explosions below.

The penthouse was giant, with furniture and chairs and a stocked bar. An open second floor hovered in the far-right corner, which presumably led to Arkland’s bedroom.

Someone in exo armor stood at the opposite end of the penthouse. He wielded a heavy machine gun. A napalm launcher was also beside him.

His back was ramrod straight. His posture was defiant. He would stand atop this world even as it crumbled around him.

Northfield knew who wore the armor.

General Arkland.

His machine gun was trained on Northfield, but he didn’t fire. He was waiting.

Northfield didn’t know why. Perhaps it was an idle, perverse sort of curiosity.

Northfield saw a chance, and he reached for it.

“General, you can still give up,” Northfield pleaded. “We can stop the bloodshed, right now. On both sides.”

“You came into my home,” General Arkland said. “How many of my men lie dead? How many of yours?” He chuckled. It was a venomous noise. “Don’t act like you care about bloodshed now.”

General Arkland opened fire.

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Northfield had already dashed away. He drew closer to the second-story balcony, and he scrambled to come up with a game plan.

Northfield only had his submachine gun, and its bullets wouldn’t pierce Arkland’s armor. He had no clue how he would take him down.

That all-too-familiar despair filled his chest, choking up his throat, but he forced it back down.

How many problems had he figured out in getting to this point? He figured out how to get past the mechs outside. He would figure this out, too.

Northfield tried one more time for peace. “It’s over, Arkland.

We have your building.”

Arkland let out a hearty chuckle. “You have it now, do you?

Your people are being massacred. You’re up here all alone, aren’t you?”

Arkland unleashed another volley from his machine gun, arcing across his body. Northfield moved away from the arc, toward the second floor.

Something in Arkland’s words bothered Northfield on a primal, instinctive level. He grasped to figure out what his subconscious was trying to tell him.

Then, like lightning, it hit him all of a sudden. His eyes widened in panic.

He’s not alone.

He caught a shadow out of the corner of his eye. On the second-floor balcony, a figure in black appeared.

A submachine gun, aimed squarely at his chest. He dashed away as this unknown assailant opened fire.

He moved underneath the balcony, cutting off the enemy’s sightline. Discombobulated, he stumbled, losing his footing. He tumbled across the hardwood floor.

General Arkland had been leading him to the balcony; he had been luring Northfield to an ambush.

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Now, with his damaged RAID suit, Northfield had to face a RAID and exo soldier.

He couldn’t despair. He had to move.

Arkland continued firing. Northfield rolled to his feet and dashed away to the opposite corner of the penthouse. He needed to buy himself time to breathe, to do anything.

No dice. As soon as he reappeared, the RAID soldier’s and Arkland’s gunfire converged on him. He dashed away.

The RAID soldier was the only opponent he could conceivably take on, so he would target the RAID soldier first. Arkland would have to wait until Northfield could come up with an idea.

He needed to push the offensive, immediately. Fighting the RAID soldier on the second floor would block General Arkland’s line of sight. If the soldier moved off of it, then Northfield would lose his chance.

He dashed across the penthouse and up to the second floor, vaulting over the railing. RAID soldiers could move with enhanced speed, but they couldn’t react at enhanced speeds, so he managed to reach the second floor without the enemy RAID soldier targeting him.

He opened fire with his submachine gun. He was too slow; the RAID soldier reacted in time and lifted their shield, deflecting the bullets.

He squinted and readied himself to move.

In such close quarters, the RAID soldier would try to ram him with their shield, stunning him with an electric shock. With his movement inhibited, the soldier could easily shoot him. It was the most straightforward play; he might have considered it himself if he still possessed his shield.

The RAID soldier charged at him, but he had already dived out of the way. He timed it perfectly. He was gone by the time the soldier reached his location.

The soldier’s flank was now exposed to him. He aimed his submachine gun and fired.

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But his aim was off, just slightly. Whether it was nerves or plain bad luck, he would never know. His first bullet hit below their center of mass, near their midsection. The recoil threw his second and third shots off, and they entirely missed their body.

By the time he fired a fourth, their shield had already swiveled in his direction, blocking the bullets.

“Ggnh,” the soldier grunted. Despite the RAID helmet’s voice-modulation technology, he thought it was a woman.

Despite the cry of pain, she remained standing. She sprayed her remaining magazine at him, but he had relocated to the far end of the second floor.

She glanced at him, then at her empty magazine. She disappeared in a blue haze, which tapered off toward the balcony.

She had moved to the first floor, likely figuring he would take advantage of her need to reload.

A pool of blood marked where she had stood.

Northfield ejected his magazine and reloaded another. He was running low on ammunition.

Bullets tore up the second floor. Since Arkland’s soldier had moved from the second floor, Arkland could fire at it with reckless abandon and not risk killing her.

It didn’t seem like Arkland to make that sort of consideration for one of his soldiers.

Northfield moved out of the bullets’ path, but he didn’t abandon the second floor. He needed to figure out what to do next.

The gunfire abruptly stopped. Northfield had a few seconds to wonder why before his answer came.

A big, flaming ball engulfed a chunk of the second floor.

Arkland had exchanged his machine gun for a napalm launcher.

He was willing to burn down his entire penthouse to smoke Northfield out.

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Arkland succeeded in that goal; Northfield had to move. He dashed off of the balcony and returned to the first floor, ducking behind a marble counter.

A napalm blast sailed over the countertop. Small-arms fire chipped away the marble. He glanced around the side of the counter and took in the situation.

The RAID soldier stood beside Arkland. Her shield was up, and her submachine gun was mounted atop it. She stood tensely, with her legs bent in an awkward position. She was in pain, clearly. She likely wasn’t very mobile; otherwise, she would have resumed the offensive.

Another napalm blast exploded against the frontside of the marble. Fire surrounded him, and his world became a living hell.

He couldn’t remain here; otherwise, he would get killed.

He dashed behind the bar. There was a lot of wood, and it all looked awfully flammable. However, just about everything looked flammable in the penthouse.

He tensed, ready to move again. He needed to keep moving and moving and moving.

Yet the offensive maelstrom didn’t come.

Instead, he heard a cry.

“Sloan!” Arkland screamed.

Northfield recognized the name; Jane Sloan was Arkland’s second.

Sloan, then, must be the RAID soldier. Northfield glanced around the bar.

Sloan had collapsed. Blood surrounded her, seeping between the floor tiles.

General Arkland held on to her limp body. He didn’t say anything, but there was a softness in his grip. He entirely ignored Northfield, the world deadened and burned to him.

But it was only for a moment. He set her down.

Northfield took a step out from behind the bar.

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“We need to stop this,” Northfield said. “Now, before anybody else has to die. Please.”

“Stop?” Arkland asked. A deep rage filled his voice. “How do you plan on taking me down? How?” Northfield froze. He still didn’t have a clue.

“Damned idiot,” Arkland growled. “A mountain of bodies, all because of your stupidity.”

He picked up his napalm launcher and opened fire. He didn’t hold back, firing volley after volley.

It took every ounce of Northfield’s concentration to avoid the onslaught. Arkland fired expertly, predicting where Northfield would move. Northfield desperately lunged and pivoted.

The shock wave of a nearby blast rocked him off of his feet.

He flew backward and crashed into a window. A spiderweb crack flared across it.

An idea struck him. If he lured Arkland close enough to a window, maybe he could push Arkland out of it.

He didn’t even know if the impact would kill Arkland or if there was some sort of countermeasure in the suit. But Arkland would at least be surrounded by Stormrise troops at street level.

It was better than facing the general alone.

He kept moving, trying to buy himself time as Arkland continued blasting away. He needed to get near Arkland.

Otherwise, the general could fire with reckless abandon.

The general stopped firing; his napalm launcher had run out of juice. He reached down and grabbed another napalm canister.

Northfield sensed the opportunity. He crowded Arkland, peppering him with submachine-gun fire. The bullets ricocheted off his exo-armor. Effective or not, Northfield counted on the psychological effect of getting shot at to ignite Arkland’s panic.

Two more steps toward the window, and Northfield could feasibly push him out. Just two steps. That’s all he needed.

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He stayed on the small of Arkland’s back. The general abandoned his reload, swinging his fist wildly. Northfield anticipated the blow and stepped backward.

Arkland stepped toward him, carrying through his momentum from the backhand. One step. Northfield just needed one more.

“You’re slippery,” Arkland muttered. “But you’re weak.”

Northfield feigned being off-balance; Arkland wouldn’t strike if he didn’t think he could hit Northfield.

His bait worked. Arkland swung the napalm launcher like an oversized baseball bat.

Northfield ducked to the side. Arkland once more carried the momentum through, and he took another step.

Northfield’s heart rate spiked in anticipation. Arkland was close enough to the window.

Activating the suit’s enhanced speed, he dashed across the penthouse. He pushed himself off the wall, then shot himself at Arkland like a missile.

As Arkland swelled in his view, Northfield’s eyes widened in horror.

Arkland had twisted around, swinging the napalm launcher around his body. It would hit Northfield, and it was too late to change his trajectory.

Northfield wrapped his arms around his head, protecting his skull as best he could.

The launcher slammed into his forearm and bicep, and he heard sharp cracks. The impact sent him spinning through the air. Everything was a hazy blur. He crashed onto the floor, rolling onto his stomach.

His left arm pulsed intensely at the points of impact. But when he put pressure on it to pick himself up, his arm didn’t give way. It wasn’t broken. The cracking noise he had heard was his submachine gun snapping from the impact. The weapon had obstructed his arm, and it had absorbed some of the impact. He 329

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knew he was lucky. Without the absorption, his arm would have shattered.

The blow had sent him halfway across the room. Arkland didn’t bother rushing him. Instead, he picked up the napalm canister.

The general said, “The window was obvious. You really thought I was stupid enough to fall for it?”

Northfield realized, in despair, that he had been played.

Arkland had trouble hitting Northfield due to his speed advantage, so he had baited him into coming closer.

Northfield batted away the despair as he picked up his broken submachine gun. He didn’t even have a functioning gun now, useless as it had been against Arkland.

He was still breathing, though. He would die before he stopped searching for another way.

Arkland twisted his napalm canister into the launcher, and Northfield grasped hold of another idea.

The napalm canister was flammable. However, its shell was reinforced against small-arms fire, which meant his submachine gun couldn’t do any damage, even if it was operational.

However, General Arkland’s machine gun lay at his feet. It still had ammo.

Northfield activated his RAID suit’s speed, dashing forward.

He grabbed the machine gun and tilted it up toward the canister.

“The machine gun? That won’t do a damned thing…” Arkland said, turning toward him.

Northfield didn’t aim for Arkland’s frame. He aimed for the canister and pulled the trigger.

“Oh,” Arkland said, glancing down. There was a small trickle of flame before the canister detonated.

Northfield dashed away as soon as he pulled the trigger.

He barely escaped the flames, which engulfed the entire world behind him.

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He skidded to a halt, and he glanced back. Arkland lay on the floor. His launcher and machine gun were destroyed. Thick black smoke consumed his entire upper body. Northfield couldn’t see through it. He pulled the knife from his belt, his last weapon, just in case.

But his enemy didn’t stir.

Is it over? he thought. Is it finally over?

He approached the body of his adversary.

A fist hurtled through the black smoke. Northfield’s instincts kicked in, and he dipped back. The blow didn’t connect fully.

Arkland’s knuckles scraped across his helmet. Yet the impact was still devastating.

His neck snapped back, nearly tearing off his shoulders. He sailed through the air, landing on his back. He hardly noticed.

His mind swam circles, and he blinked furiously to clear the haze. His helmet was badly cracked. The heads-up display fizzled out and died.

Arkland emerged from the smoke, like some demon that had been banished to the physical world. He had torn off his helmet, which had been ruined by the blast. His face was beet red and burned, but only slightly.

Northfield tried to dash, but he couldn’t. Arkland had broken his helmet. Without it, Northfield couldn’t use its targeting system to activate his enhanced speed. He could move at normal speed, but no faster.

He tore off the helmet and tossed it aside. The reduced visibility wasn’t worth the protection it still offered.

His knife was gone, too, he realized in a daze. It was lost somewhere in the shadows. Great. Now he had no weapon.

Arkland’s eyes widened. “Mark Northfield. I’ll be damned.

It’s you.”

Northfield met his gaze.

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of you. Why I had you shipped from Cumulus. You disgust me more than the rest of them.”

He glanced at Sloan’s body. It had been caught in the blast and sent across the room in a heap of blood and char. Her submachine gun was broken.

He turned back to Northfield.

“You have no vision. You graft onto others’ movements and you fight, grasping at some naive hope that things will get better.”

He gestured to the fire and brimstone outside. “How are things looking?”

Northfield found himself without words. He watched the smoke plume.

Finally, he said, “The world deserves better than what we’ve been given, Arkland. For our kids. In honor of those we’ve lost, too.”

“The dead? They don’t care about anything, Northfield.

They’re buried.” Arkland sneered, and he continued, “You don’t know what you want. You don’t even know who you are.”

“I may not know much,” Northfield said, narrowing his eyes, “but I know you need to be stopped. Slaves, V2… it’s evil, Arkland. Do you really not see that?”

“Evil,” Arkland said. He laughed. It was a bitter sound. There was anger within it, something raw. His eyes flickered with rage.

“It’s just a word. It’s nothing more than that. You should all know that.”

Leo, choking to death on the gas. Odell, shot while saving a child. Dr. Cohanan, gunned down while on a stroll.

And so, so many others.

The evil wasn’t meaningless to them.

Northfield clenched his fists so tightly they hurt. His heart quickened, but it wasn’t from fear.

“Don’t brush your victims aside,” Northfield said. “I won’t let you.”

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“I struck a nerve,” the general said, his voice assuming its normal coldness. His expression was impassive. Whatever lay behind his eyes had been sealed shut.

He stepped forward and put his fists up.

“Come here, Northfield,” he said. “I’m going to beat you to death.”

Northfield brought his fists up in turn. There would be no convincing Arkland. But Northfield didn’t want to anymore. *** “Stay back or I’ll kill her! Dammit, I will!” Elliot screamed.

Helen didn’t want to believe him, but she knew that he would go through with it. His arm wrapped around her neck, and his gun pointed at her temple.

He had caught the attention of nearby Stormrise fighters, including Aubrey. They had turned on him, guns drawn, prepared to fire. That was when Elliot grabbed Helen and put his gun to her.

She gasped, struggling to get any words out. Elliot held her neck tightly, perhaps to stop her from speaking.

“Easy,” Aubrey said. “Easy.” Still, she didn’t lower her gun.

Helen struggled, finally managing to say, “Elliot… I can’t breathe.”

He didn’t look at her. But his grip on her throat loosened.

Elliot could have run. He could have used his enhanced speed to dash somewhere, anywhere.

He hadn’t. Instead, he remained here, with Helen. She wedged some small measure of hope out of that fact.

“Elliot…” she said softly, in a rasping voice. “What are you doing?”

He still didn’t look at her. He stared at the helicopters dotting the horizon, and he said, “The general has more men than you 333

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can count. Once they break through… it’s over. We just need to hold out a little longer.”

“What… what then, Elliot?” she asked. “What then?”

He swung her around violently, toward another Stormrise fighter that inched closer. “Stay back!” he screamed.

Helen closed her eyes. She remembered sitting in a sandbox with him. They must’ve only been five or six. She had lost her shovel somewhere, but he had given her his own, flashing her his signature smile. His smile had always been so wide, his big front teeth shining bright, with a playful slyness that time and tragedy had long since stolen.

She remembered the endless laboring, the endless hardship in the Network’s slave camp. He was at her side, and that was the only thing that made the work tolerable.

That same brother now held a gun to her head. She couldn’t cope with it. She didn’t know how to reconcile the two men.

She just wanted to see that smile. One more time.

“Elliot,” she said, “I… I love you. I love you.”

His grip on her loosened, ever so slightly, but he held the gun to her head stubbornly.

She said, “Come back. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together. Like we always have.”

He scoffed with an amount of bitterness that frightened her.

“There’s no coming back, Helen. There never was. Not since I left the Interior.” His voice softened. “Stab an innocent man in the back and see what it does to you. Just see.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. She frantically searched for a way to beckon him from the cliffside.

His voice quieted to a whisper. “Pointless. You know that?”

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Arkland. He doesn’t fight for anything. He doesn’t care if he lives or dies. It’s all so… pointless.” He devolved to rambling.

“Killing a man… I couldn’t let that go… I had to survive.

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Otherwise, it just would’ve gone to nothing. But it already was nothing. It already was.”

“Elliot,” she pleaded.

“Helen,” he said. Sorrow dripped from every syllable. He seemed like he was going to say something more, but he didn’t.

His voice was choked.

He pulled the gun barrel off her head. She closed her eyes.

A gunshot deafened her.

His body fell away from hers. She turned, her ears ringing furiously, and cried out his name.

He hit the pavement with a dull thud, drowned out by the roar of mortar fire.

She kneeled next to him, but he was already limp, cold, lost.

Still, she held his hand.

Loneliness had accompanied her in this cold, shifting world.

But never had it been so acute, so piercing.

She sobbed. Despite herself, despite the situation, she sobbed.

Aubrey put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Helen. My God, I’m sorry.”

Helen blinked away the tears and turned away from her brother. She couldn’t stomach looking at his body.

She said, “Him and I versus the world. That’s how it always was. He was all I had, Aubrey. He was all I had.”

Aubrey kept her hand on Helen’s shoulder, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to say anything because Helen knew her words weren’t true.

She knew she wasn’t alone, not anymore. But her heart wanted to suffer with Elliot.

As the moments passed, Aubrey’s presence soothed her.

Helen glanced up. There were a lot of helicopters in the sky, illuminated by lightning. “Look at how many they have. Look at how few we’ve got.”

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“Yeah,” Aubrey conceded. “It looks bad. Maybe we’ll all be thrown in some ditch come morning. But we’ll keep fighting until sunrise anyway. You know why?”

Helen shook her head.

“Because that’s what we do,” Aubrey said, matter-of-factly.

“Now come on.”

Aubrey helped Helen up, and Helen said, “Until sunrise, huh?”

Aubrey nodded. “Until sunrise.”

336

30 Northfield and Arkland circled each other. Northfield suppressed his rage as best he could. He needed to keep a cool head because he had to be careful.

He had lost his suit’s enhanced speed, but Arkland still possessed his exo-suit’s enhanced strength. One wrong move, one solid blow above the neck, and Northfield’s exposed head would roll.

Arkland opened with a short, decisive jab. Northfield sidestepped. Arkland’s other hand was reared back and ready.

He was baiting Northfield, as he had earlier.

Northfield waited for Arkland’s hook. He ducked underneath it, then launched a jab. Arkland tilted his head back, avoiding the punch easily.

No good. Arkland was tall; he had superior reach. Northfield needed to close the gap.

He stepped in. Arkland stepped back.

Arkland abruptly lunged forward, and he unleashed a volley of attacks. Northfield stepped back, dipped, and dodged.

They circled each other once more, each man breathing heavily. Arkland less so than Northfield. He hadn’t had to fight through an army to reach this room; he was fresher than Northfield. It was another advantage.

Arkland, perhaps better than anything else, knew how to push an advantage.

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He charged forward, unleashing another volley of attacks.

This time, he didn’t relent. He swung and swung, forcing Northfield onto his back foot.

His fists were like giant mallets, sailing through the air in blurs. Northfield dodged the frenetic blows, using every ounce of his concentration.

Until he didn’t.

Arkland switched it up with a low blow, and Northfield couldn’t dodge it in time. Arkland’s fist sank into his stomach, and the force sent him backward.

Northfield gasped. Something was bruised, maybe broken.

His RAID armor had just barely prevented Arkland’s fist from outright impaling him.

He brought himself to his knees. Arkland was already on top of him.

Arkland brought his foot up, and he slammed it down.

Northfield rolled out of the way. The ground cracked under Arkland’s boot.

Northfield wheezed, unable to pull in enough air. The roll had stolen the little breath he still had, and he gasped, his body drained.

He didn’t have enough left in him. He just didn’t have enough.

I’m sorry, he thought. I’m sorry.

Rayne. Geralt. Andy. Were they still alive? Kaminski and General Taylor? Aubrey and Helen and all the others?

He reached ahead. He didn’t know for what, exactly. He just needed to keep moving. He needed to keep moving. He wouldn’t die lying still. He wouldn’t die without trying.

His hand trembled in front of his eyes. His body, wrought with exhaustion, rebelled. He gasped. He gasped.

Arkland’s thundering footsteps approached from behind.

“All of this, just to die like a dog,” Arkland muttered.

Ahead sat a black couch, charred from the flames but not entirely burned. One last idea occurred to Northfield.

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I need enough strength for one more push, he said. Just one more. Please.

Arkland raised his foot again, this time over Northfield’s back.

Northfield took one last breath, the deepest his damaged chest would allow.

Arkland’s foot came down.

He rolled, putting so much violence and force into the movement that he caught Arkland off-guard.

Arkland’s foot missed, slamming into the ground.

Northfield pulled himself to his feet. He reached the couch and stumbled over, falling to the backside.

Arkland approached. He wasn’t the type of man to go around the couch. He was the type of man to go through.

With the power of the exo suit, Arkland picked up the couch effortlessly. He held it over his head and gave Northfield a hard look filled with bile and spite. But no mercy. Not a hint of mercy.

“No, not like a dog,” Arkland muttered. “Like a damned bug instead.”

Arkland lifted the couch even higher; he intended to slam it down on Northfield.

Now. Northfield propelled himself off the ground, using the last bits of his speed and strength, moving with pure ferocity. His fist surged upward.

Arkland’s eyes rose. But his hands were over his head, holding up the couch. He couldn’t move to block Northfield’s incoming attack.

Northfield’s fist slammed into Arkland’s jaw, delivering the most devastating uppercut he could muster.

Arkland’s head recoiled backward. He let go of the couch.

Northfield sidestepped the furniture, which slammed into the ground with a heavy crack.

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Arkland stumbled back. But he wasn’t down for the count. If Northfield had been at full strength, a blow to the chin like that would have given Arkland one hell of a concussion, maybe even knocked him out.

Despite the exhaustion, deep enough to consume the very marrow in his bones, and despite the pain in his chest, Arkland’s stumble invigorated him.

Now or never. His body rallied.

Arkland raised his hands in defense, but Northfield didn’t stop. He faked a cross, and once Arkland fell for the bait, he threw the hardest left hook within him.

His knuckles buried into Arkland’s hard, angular cheek. The general’s head whipped to the side. His fists lowered.

Northfield punched with every fiber of his being, putting everything into each fist that crashed into Arkland’s face.

Pain racked his bruised ribs. Pain racked his shoulders, his legs, his knuckles, everything. His body felt like it was unraveling with every blow, but he didn’t let up.

The rage returned in a wild flash, and he couldn’t suppress it.

He didn’t try to.

The massacre at Hyde Plaza. The massacre at Stormrise headquarters.

The cries of anguish and the suffering and widows and orphans.

He punched and punched and punched, his blows thundering along with the clouds, moving with the speed of raindrops.

Arkland went limp. His thundering frame tilted backward, and he crashed onto the floor with a resounding thump.

Northfield dove on top of him, and he kept punching.

Helen, along with so many others, kidnapped and enslaved.

Forced into unbearable work with their families lacking closure.

The Interiors. Sick experiments conducted at Arkland’s behest.

Meaningless, Arkland had said.

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Fatigue hit Northfield, and he stopped to breathe.

His hands were bloody. Red pools formed under his knuckles.

Arkland’s face was in ruins. A cut-up, burnt, and swollen mess.

Northfield beheld a man who was broken and very much beaten.

But Arkland was still alive.

End it. Just grab his damned neck and throttle him. We came to take him down. That means dead or alive.

You’ve killed so many already. Hell, there’s a woman you just killed five feet away. You were prepared to throw Arkland out of the window only moments ago.

What’s it matter that he’s no longer a threat? Who cares if he’s defenseless?

Did his victims get an ounce of that consideration?

Do it.

Jess, you understand. I’ve held to not killing the defenseless, but this is an exception. He needs to go down. The rest doesn’t matter, not in light of him.

He regarded his enemy. Arkland hadn’t stirred. His breathing was labored, almost peaceful.

Meaningless…

The general’s angry laugh echoed in his mind.

Northfield unclenched his fists.

It’s not meaningless to me, Arkland. And I refuse to let it be.

The silhouettes of attack helicopters blackened the sky, shocking Northfield out of his contemplation. The Network had amassed enough reinforcements, and it planned on bulldozing through Stormrise’s defenses with sheer strength in numbers. The Stormrise gunners could only shoot down so many helicopters at once. Enough helicopters would get through and wreak havoc.

Stormrise wouldn’t win this fight.

Not unless Northfield stopped it.

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He remembered Dimitri saying that control wires converged in the exo armor’s neck. With Arkland’s helmet off, Northfield could reach behind the blast padding that covered his neck. He dislodged the interior padding, which was thinner, and he tore out the wires. Arkland couldn’t move around now if he woke up.

He searched Arkland for a comms system or radio. He found one on his waist, but it had been destroyed by the napalm explosion.

Northfield’s hands grew sweaty. No good. He needed to find a radio.

He searched Sloan next. Her armor, too, had been damaged severely by the explosion. However, her helmet remained intact.

Fortunately, he only needed the radio within. He started to remove the helmet from her body before he remembered the RAID suit’s lockdown mechanism. He couldn’t use her helmet.

He searched desperately. He moved to Arkland’s desk, which had been nestled away from the fighting. It was undamaged, save for a few scorch marks and bullet holes.

C’mon, he thought. Please. Please.

There, on top of the desk, he found a radio system. The system could transmit messages directly through the building’s speakers, as well as communicate with private channels. The system was locked down, though. He needed a keycard.

He returned to Arkland, figuring it would be on his person.

He was right. The keycard was wrapped around Arkland’s neck, underneath his suit. Northfield retrieved it and unlocked the comms system.

He selected a channel on the system’s touchscreen interface.

“Lieutenant General Gladwell,” he said, wasting no time.

“This is Stormrise. We’ve taken the tower. Do you hear me? We have taken Arkland as our prisoner.”

A few moments of tense static followed. Northfield tapped his foot restlessly. The enemy helicopters drew closer.

Finally, a response.

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“What? That’s not possible.”

“It’s happened. This is Mark Northfield speaking. I’m sure you recognize the name.”

“No,” the lieutenant general gasped. “It can’t… It can’t be.”

“This fight is over, Gladwell,” he replied. “Surrender now.”

Another long pause followed. Northfield didn’t have time for this.

“Gladwell!” he shouted.

The lieutenant general said, “General Arkland gave firm orders. We keep on fighting. We don’t surrender, no matter what.”

Northfield grew crestfallen. He hoped, with General Arkland down, the rest would fold.

However, he detected uncertainty in Gladwell’s words; Arkland’s fall had indeed shaken him. Northfield sensed an opportunity to play the only card that he had left.

Bluffing.

“Fighting for what, General. To lose?” Northfield said.

Gladwell’s voice grew firmer. “We have the numbers and firepower. You can’t win tonight.”

“At Memory Tower? Maybe, maybe not,” he said. “But we have planned operations to hit other Network strongholds in the city. Are you prepared to defend all of them?”

“No, that’s not true,” Gladwell said. “I’ve read the assessment reports. Stormrise doesn’t have the capacity to carry out such operations.”

“How sure are you about that?” Northfield said. “Did those reports also say that Stormrise would be able to take this tower?”

Gladwell didn’t respond. Clearly, they hadn’t.

Northfield pressed on. “Whatever happens here tonight, Gladwell, we’ve won. New Medea is a boiling pot. Arkland held the lid down with his iron fist. The only reason more people haven’t risen up is because they think the Network is impossible to defeat. But what will tonight tell them, huh? We’ve brought 343

The Northfield Saga: Storm Break

Arkland down. We’ve taken this tower. We’ve shown it can be done.”

Northfield didn’t relent. “What’s coming, Gladwell, will be far bigger than what’s happened tonight. Arkland is down. Jane Sloan is down. The Head of Resources is nowhere to be found. I don’t see any other generals around. By the looks of it, this fight falls onto you.

“Forget Arkland’s orders because he isn’t in charge anymore.

Is this a war you’re ready to wage? Are you really ready for this?”

Gladwell thought for a long while. He finally said, with a small tremble in his voice, “It’s better than surrender. What waits for us, then? War tribunals? Prisons?”

“Stormrise wants a fresh start,” Northfield said. Although his prior words were bluster, now they rang true. “We want to give people a say. A vote. Something they haven’t gotten since the apocalypse. We have to move forward, and putting every member of the Network under the guillotine isn’t the way.”

“You’re just saying that now,” Gladwell said. “When you put your hand on the lever, all these promises are going to go away.”

“That could happen,” Northfield admitted. “But it could also be true that Stormrise is sincere. That it actually wants what it says. Think about everything you’ve seen and heard about Stormrise. Not the crap on the news, but the real stuff. Do you bet on defeating the uprising? Or do you bet on Stormrise being sincere? The ball is in your court, General. But you have to decide—and now.”

The next handful of moments were the slowest and tensest of any he had ever experienced. He waited and prayed and felt the drum of his heartbeat against his chest.

Finally, General Gladwell said, “I’m going to order my men to surrender. Then we’ll discuss terms.”

Northfield tried to keep calm and authoritative. But the euphoria threatened to leap out of his throat.

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“Of course,” he said. “Spread the word to your men. I’ll spread the word to mine.”

There wasn’t time to celebrate. Not yet.

He swapped the comms system to the speaker system throughout the building.

“Stormrise has won. The Network has surrendered,” he declared. “It is over. Stormrise and Network forces must stand down. I repeat, stand down.” He lowered his head and said once more, hardly believing himself, “It is over.”

A wave of emotion hit him. It was a strong and potent mix, almost indescribable, save for the fact that the force of it almost buckled him. Relief but mourning. Joy but sorrow.

Even then, the relief couldn’t hit him fully. Not until he knew how his friends were doing.

He reconfigured the radio system so Stormrise comms could hook into the channel.

A notification popped up on the comms system: a new message incoming from an anonymous channel. He entered the channel, and Anne Kaminski’s voice graced his ears.

“Mark,” she said. He recognized the same euphoric relief in her voice. “We couldn’t establish comms with you. I thought we’d lost you.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “My helmet broke.”

“Still, you found a way,” she said.

“We found a way,” he replied. “Every single one of us. Rayne just sent me ahead.”

“I know,” she said. “He chose well. So did I.” His next question scared him, and he didn’t want to ask.

“Widow Team… did they make it?”

“Yes,” Kaminski said. “Yes, they did.”

Northfield fell to his rear, overwhelmed by his sheer relief.

He didn’t dare to hope…

He leaned against the desk, and he watched the helicopters recede.

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“How?” he asked.

“One of the exo soldiers fired his napalm launcher at Rayne and the others, who were still on top of the other exo soldier.

The napalm blast ruptured the exo soldier’s napalm canister, causing a secondary explosion. Our guys managed to move away in time, and the secondary explosion caused enough chaos and confusion for them to retreat.”

Northfield nodded, still not quite believing it. He supposed that he had already started to accept their deaths, and he hadn’t realized it until now.

Despite everything, he felt dread stubbornly resting in the pit of his stomach.

Dammit, Mark. Why are you so scared, even now? Even when we’ve won?

The friendly mortars ceased firing. The constant cadence of their fire had felt like a drumbeat, one that now left a void.

Likewise, the steady drone of enemy helicopters faded as the vehicles retreated. Thunder still roared, and rain still poured, but the sky was otherwise still. There was a softness to it.

He closed his eyes. “I have Arkland up here with me. He’s alive.”

“Arkland isn’t dead?” Kaminski said. “I never thought he’d surrender.”

“Well, he didn’t surrender. Not exactly,” Northfield said. He explained what had happened.

Kaminski mulled it over before she said, “I’m an advocate for doing things the right way. You know that. But this time…” She sighed. “There are a lot of bodies. Friends, Mark. The fact that monster is still breathing, out of all people, doesn’t sit right with me.”

“I know,” he said. “The right way has a cost, Anne, but we pay it.”

“The right way,” she repeated. “I hope we’re not wrong, Mark.

But we have to try, don’t we?”

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“Yeah,” he said. “We do.”

“I’ll send some men up to help you with Arkland,” she said.

Joy returned to her voice. “We did it, Mark.”

With that, she dropped the call. At the moment, she had a thousand other needs to attend to.

Dust and smoke drifted through the air.

He wished he was half as sure as he sounded.

Did I choose wrong? Is that why I’m so scared?

He had offered the Network some measure of leniency for their surrender. Time would tell how generous that leniency ended up being. Would victims be denied justice?

Arkland being in captivity, even temporarily, could make matters worse.

His knife was somewhere in the room. He could find it.

Before he could move, he heard a sharp, gravelly voice. “What are those idiots doing?”

Arkland had woken up. Northfield approached the fallen general.

Arkland hardly paid him any mind. He stared at the open sky and growled, “They had explicit orders. Fight until the last man.”

“That’s the problem with building yourself up as invincible,” Northfield said. “As soon as the illusion goes away, your men lose confidence. If someone as big as you falls, then so will they.”

Arkland shook his head. Despite the swelling of his face, his scowl was acidic enough to eat away metal. One of his eyes was swollen shut, but the other met Northfield’s eyes. It was harsh and unfathomably cold.

A chill went through him. Monster…

“You should’ve killed me,” Arkland said. “Justice, huh? That’s what you’re waiting on?”

Northfield didn’t answer.

Arkland said, “It won’t come.”

When Northfield didn’t answer again, Arkland grew angry.

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“After a decade in this hellscape, how do you still not understand?” The veins in Arkland’s neck popped out.

“Everybody worth a damn is already dead. The bombs did most of the work, and we finished the job.”

Sorrow filled Northfield’s heart.

“What happened to you, Arkland?”

“What happened? None of your business.” Arkland muttered, “Dime a damned dozen, anyway.”

Northfield closed his eyes. He said, “Back in the first few months of the apocalypse, my wife and I scavenged to survive, like everybody else. She was worse off than most. She was fighting cancer. We managed to get in with a community, a decent one.

We had enough food and water.”

Arkland didn’t respond. He looked down, drawn into himself.

Northfield said, “One day, a band of survivors came. We offered for them to join our camp. We had enough to spare.

But they didn’t trust us. They opened fire and started killing.

I remember screaming, ‘You don’t have to do this.’” He leaned against Arkland’s desk and stared out into the sky. “And they truly didn’t. But they did anyway.”

He said, “Jess and I got out. But not before she caught a bullet to her abdomen. Somebody else might have pulled through. She was too weak.

“So needless. So pointless. I hated those men. I hated everyone for a while. But she made me promise her not to lose myself. That was the only thing that brought me back.”

He met Arkland’s eye. “Dime a dozen. I get it. At that point in my life, I could’ve been you. I understand, and I’m sorry. I really am. But you can come back. You can always come back.”

“Is that right?” Arkland lashed out. “Platitudes and bullshit.

You’ll still swing me from the gallows.”

Northfield said, “That’s not for me to decide. You’ll go through a trial, hopefully. With a jury.”

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“A trial by jury,” Arkland said. “What a joke. You know what justice we all deserve?” He tilted his head back toward the world.

“My camps. My Interiors. That’s the justice you’re looking for.”

Arkland continued, “And that’s why your little experiment will fail.” He laughed spitefully. “Thieves, murderers, and their accomplices on every jury. We’ll see how far you get.”

Northfield blinked. Arkland’s words struck him.

They could fail. It was true.

But the thought didn’t scare him.

If I can face the prospect of us failing and everything falling apart head-on without wincing, then what am I so scared of the future for?

What am I afraid of?

Northfield tried to hide his unease. “We can’t give up, Arkland. We just can’t.”

“Things won’t ever be as good as before,” Arkland said. “And you know it. I hear it in your voice. We’re just not capable of it.

But continue lying to yourself.”

Then it hit Northfield. His eyes widened.

I… I see now. I finally see it clearly. Is this what you’ve been trying to show me all along?

Arkland seethed, and he said, “I’m done talking to someone so deluded. Watch how quickly you all screw it up. Then you can find me in my prison cell or the pit of hell and let me know if you’ve changed your mind.”

“There’s good left, Arkland,” Northfield said. “I pray that you see it one day.”

Arkland scoffed, and he turned away.

Stormrise fighters arrived, and they carted Arkland away.

Northfield remained in the penthouse for a little while longer, staring out at the city. The neon lights, the towering skyscrapers, the red and blackened sky washed over him. The wind changed direction, blowing the rain directly into the window he gazed out of.

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He put his hand against it, and he felt the rain beating against the glass.

When the lightning struck, his reflection glowed clearly. He saw a tired, haggard man who had fought hard. He had done that, hadn’t he? Fought hard.

The last time I was in a Network high rise, staring out of the window like this, I was in Cumulus. I had been shot halfway to hell.

I had been focused on death. I had been focused on the end.

I’ve been doing that ever since you passed, Jess. Focused on the end. Preparing for the end.

The hope you had, Jess. The optimism for the world. Even in your last days. I’ve just been trying to emulate it. But I haven’t, really. Mine’s just been a pale imitation.

All these dreams. All these nightmares. I see why it’s been building so much these past few months, my love.

At first, I thought it was a fear of failure. Of adding more regret to my list. Am I afraid of regret? Yeah, absolutely. But that’s just because I focus so much on looking backward. Looking back and looking to the end. Never at what’s right in front of me.

It’s easier, isn’t it? I started to see that once we started to win.

Because the fear remained. Somehow, it even grew.

These past few months, as the conflict neared its end, I started seeing it. I started to see a future—a future where I have to move on.

I’ve been afraid. Afraid of moving on because I just…

I wanted to save you, Jess. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

But I know you forgive me. God forgives me. I’ve begged him so many times for it. Yet I can’t let it go. I just can’t let it go. I don’t want to forgive myself.

The lightning ceased, and the fiery sky stilled. Deep thunder continued to roll, originating from somewhere beyond the horizon.

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The past has caused me so much pain. But it’s kept me together this past decade. My entire identity, my entire world, has been the past.

If I let go… if I really do, what will I be left with?

I’m afraid of that. I just am.

But it’s time I tried. God, it’s time I tried.

It’s the only way, Jess. You’ve wanted it since day one. It’s the only way I can be the man you see me as. I haven’t been strong enough. But maybe I can still try.

He looked through his reflection at the grand, sweeping city.

So many buildings. So many people.

He could meet them. He could help them. He could make their lives better.

He could love them. Oh, he could love them.

My life isn’t over, he thought. The thought filled him with a profound joy. The feeling was so pure; he hadn’t experienced it in a decade. It’s time I realized it. Lord. Help me live the rest of my days well. For all those I’ve lost. For her and for you.

He left the penthouse to celebrate with his friends.

Tomorrow was coming, and it would be a new day. No matter what good or ill the world threw at him, he had the opportunity to make the best of it.

351

The Northfield Saga: Apocalypse Bounty

For a decade, Earth has known nothing but suffocation, with sweeping clouds of neon death covering the surface. The pressure of self-preservation forces survivors to harden their hearts. Apocalypse Bounty, a captivating sci-fi book about a post-apocalyptic world plagued with a gas that is fatal to humans, is author Calvin B. Fisher’s first novel.

The Northfield Saga 2: Stormrise

Mark Northfield, imprisoned by the Network, struggles as time blurs in his dark cell. After the detonation of Zeus’s Mercy freed the city from toxic gas, the chaos lingers. When former ally Geralt Salb, leader of the Yellowbacks, is captured, it signals their rebellion’s end and the start of the Network’s sinister plans.

The Northfield Saga 3: Storm Warning

After escaping New Medea, Mark Northfield and a severely wounded Geralt Salb struggle to survive. General Arkland, bent on destroying Stormrise, uses both weapons and psychological warfare. As he tries to push the people into apathy, Mark battles against despair, fighting for hope and the city’s uncertain future.

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4

“A rousing SF tale that stars a warrior hero with a strong moral center.”

—KIRKUS REVIEWS

CALVIN B. FISHER

As a native of Minnesota, CALVIN B. FISHER learned to spend long winters tearing through pages and pages of novels.

Storm Break is fourth in his award-winning Northfield Saga series.

The first three national award-winning novels in the Northfield Saga, Apocalypse Bounty, Stormrise, and Storm Warning, are riveting reads that continue to captivate his fans with each new book. His desire to write for an audience bloomed early; as a child, he sold stacks of homemade comic books to family and neighbors.

In the years since, his passion has refined and matured, but ultimately remains the same. His desire to bring characters to life is the engine that powers each work. He currently resides in Aurora, Colorado.

STORM BREAK

The Network’s war is ruthless—every life Stormrise saves is met with twice the loss. Mark Northfield struggles to protect his friends in a bleak, post-apocalyptic world, fighting a losing battle against relentless despair. His enemy, General Arkland, thrives on this hopelessness and will stop at nothing to destroy Stormrise. With superior manpower, advanced technology, and a new weapon codenamed V2, Arkland is poised to crush all resistance forever.

But even with the odds stacked against him, Mark refuses to give up—not when his friends and the future of New Medea are on the line.