The Deaths of Tao (33 page)

“Status,” he barked.

“Enemy concentration in the west,” Meyers, the commander of the west flank reported. “Under heavy fire.”

“We’re engaging and pinning them down. The enemy are unable to advance,” Tomlinson, commander of the north flank, reported.

“Dead quiet here,” Rowe, commander of the eastern flank called in. “Moving men west to support Meyers.”

“You stay right there!” Enzo roared. “What’s going on with the south?”

“South is confirmed quiet,” Palos said. “I still have patrols returning into base via the southern gate. No enemy sightings.”

“Cut the lights off the base.” Enzo screamed over the din of the battle. “We’re painting their targets for them. Focus floodlights three meters above the forest line.”

His men quickly complied. The height of the floodlights would temporarily blind the Prophus. It also gave Enzo targets to shoot at. This was his first pitched battle, and two things surprised him. The first was the rush he felt being in the thick of it. His blood boiled, and he had never felt more alive. Every fiber of his being tingled, and he wanted to howl a battle cry as he moved into position, aiming shots at the yellow bursts that lit up the otherwise completely black forest.

The second thing that surprised him was the noise of battle. It was much louder than he could have possibly imagined. So much so that he had trouble communicating orders.

You should be in the war room, not engaged in combat.
 

“I need to feel the pulse of the battle in order to direct it.”

In truth, Enzo reveled in the carnage as he took out several of the Prophus soldiers. He turned to Palos. “Bring your unit. We’ll flank the enemy from the south.”

That is not wise. You should command.
 

“I cannot command men hiding in a room. They need to see me lead.”

You do not require their respect. You only need to demand they follow.
 

Another explosion in the center of the camp nearly knocked Enzo off his feet. He continued with Palos and his men as they crept out of the southern entrance and made the sprint to the tree line. There he spread them three meters apart as they cut their way west. It was quieter here in the forest, the sounds of battle far away.

“We must be outnumbered here three to one on this side,” Meyers’ voice came hurried over the comm.

“Eastern flank is completely dead.” Rowe said. “Pulling my men to assist Meyers.”

“You stay put!” Enzo whispered angrily. However, he wasn’t sure if Commander Rowe heard him. Furious, he tore off his headset. Palos motioned for him to be quiet as they neared the enemy. Something sounded strange up there, as if the sound of the battle was echoing through a pipe.

They found a Prophus soldier firing from an isolated position. He died before he knew what was happening. In the next ten minutes, the team encountered several Prophus fighting in isolated groups. Enzo began to feel uneasy.

“The enemy is scattered here. No nests. How could the attack force be spread so thin?”

They are not. The tree line is three hundred meters long, and the Prophus have been spaced out nearly exactly five meters apiece. That means the attacking force could not be more than sixty men. It is a decoy.
 

Then Enzo’s team encountered a large speaker sitting on a tripod piping in the sounds of battle. Enzo took off in a full sprint following the route he came. The undermanned Prophus had effectively lured the camp’s defenses into committing to the west.

Enzo rushed back into the camp, trying to call up Rowe for an update. However, by that time, it was too late. The enemy was already inside the perimeter, and the base had erupted into heavy close-quarter fighting. Enzo and his team mowed their way across the field to the building, cutting a swathe of death. His ranks grew as more and more of his men joined in to push the enemy back. By the time he reached the building, there were over a hundred fighting alongside him. The enemy thought they had victory in their grasp. He would show them how wrong they were. He felt like Achilles killing Trojans.

Dawn broke as the battle raged on within the confines of the camp. The Prophus had gained a foothold on the perimeter but were unable to take the main building housing the vessels. By the time the sun was fully up, they were forced to pull back. In the end, they had failed to rescue any vessels. They did, however, release two hundred humans, no doubt swelling their ranks. That, Enzo could not care less about.

He watched as the Prophus retreated and disappeared back into the foliage. Without missing a beat, he summoned all the officers and had Rowe put in cuffs. The idiot had disobeyed and deserted his position in an attempt to improve his standing. His foolishness had allowed the Prophus to infiltrate the base and almost steal victory. The Genjix commander begged forgiveness up to the moment Enzo shot him.

“From now on,” he declared, “all orders come through me. Follow without fail. Is that understood?”

Enzo then ordered Palos to see to the wounded and begin repairs on the fence. He rushed back to the war room and ordered a convoy of prisoners prepped to leave within minutes. They had just waged a large battle, so both sides were exhausted. Enzo now gambled that the enemy was not prepared to enforce their blockade.

That is clever. You have done the Genjix proud.
 

He was right. The next day, Chow received a shipment of twenty Prophus prisoners to continue his testing.

 

TWENTY-NINE

A DEAL WILKS CAN'T REFUSE

In the Quasing’s defense, neither the Prophus nor the Genjix were involved in the rise of the Third Reich. In fact, both factions considered the Nazi party an oddball group of madmen. After all, one of Hitler’s inner circle was a butcher’s apprentice. We thought they were a political party of clowns. Both the Prophus and the Genjix were badly mistaken.
 

All the Quasing with hosts in Germany during this time were swept into the service of the Reich. We had little choice but to make the best of the situation. My host nobleman, Rolf Hindler, became a young officer of the SS. It was ironic that Yol, never a warrior, was in a decorated general by the name of Erwin Rommel, the Desert Fox.
 

Baji

 

“You’re not pulling my leg are you, Ms Tan?”

Jill batted her lashes at the sun-baked raisin sitting across the table. Senator Garritano must be the tannest man in his home state of Washington. Having been on numerous trips to Seattle, she didn’t think there was enough sun to cook Garritano to that golden crispy hue. He must either spend all his time in Florida or have a tanning booth at home.

Senator Garritano was the number six man in his party and one of the most popular in Congress. He was also so old that he might have been alive when the Roman Senate was in session. And one thing about those who were permanent fixtures on the Hill, they all had their kooky pet projects that everyone else thought were insane.

In Garritano’s case, his passion was an earmark for a high-speed rail from Northern California to Alaska. Never mind that the route passed through a sovereign country or that the business logistics of it were unsustainable. He believed that connecting the country together was of paramount importance and fulfilled manifest destiny, Canada’s objection be damned.

“Of course not, Senator,” she smiled.

Garritano sat back and scratched his cheeks in a way only geriatrics were comfortable doing in public. “Wilks and I have never seen eye to eye, him being a heretic of American exceptionalism. Why would he support me now?”

“I’ll take care of Wilks.” Jill gave him a reassuring pat on his wrinkled arm. Inside, Jill cringed. Wilks was going to wring her neck when he heard about this, but Garritano’s vote was cheap.

“Well, little lady,” Garritano winked. “You bought yourself a vote.” He squeezed her hand in a way that made Jill want to dig out her sanitizer. Excusing herself as politely as possible, she left the senator’s office and hurried to her next appointment.

That is five. One more and we have the filibuster.
 

Jill ticked off names in her head. She couldn’t believe it, but things were falling into place. The past few days had come down to the wire. She had worked the phones frantically, wheeling and dealing, and calling in favors from her entire Rolodex.

At this rate, she owed a quarter of the Senate favors in one form or another to be cashed in at some future time. But in doing so, she had assembled a package of earmarks, bills, and amendments that were not only favorable to Wilks, but to the Prophus as well. The big losers in all this were the Genjix. She just needed a few more pieces to push them over the edge.

Jill left the Hart Senate building and walked across the street to a small Mexican restaurant nestled between an ice cream shop and a shoe shine store. Sitting in the far back, she met the last sweetener that should seal the deal.

“Jill,” Senator Karn beckoned to her. He was in a tight primary race trending in the wrong direction. A true independent, none of his constituents liked him very much, but then that was what usually happened when you walked on the line instead of to the side of it. New polls showed him losing badly. His funding was pathetic, and pundits projected that he might not even have enough cash on hand to make it to primary day. This was where Jill came in. While Karn was a weathervane when it came to issues, he was still just one of a hundred votes that controlled legislation in the Senate. And now, she was going to buy him out.

Jill sat down opposite of him and spoke quickly. “Your approval rating is thirty-six percent. Your campaign war chest won’t last another two months. You’re down six points to an admiral, an American hero no less. You’re dropping like a rock. How clear is this picture I’m painting?”

“You said I’d want to meet with you,” he grumbled. “If I wanted a recap of how I’m getting my ass kicked, I’d just watch the news.”

Jill leaned back and smiled. “Do you still want to win?”

“Do I want to go back to selling tractors in Wisconsin?” he spat.

“Good.” She took a piece of paper and slid it across the table. “Here’s a list of bills coming up for a vote in the next four weeks. We value your support on every matter. In return, Senator Wilks will campaign on your behalf during the upcoming holiday weekend. His political action committee will also make a sizable donation to your campaign.”

Karn palmed the paper and slid it off the table. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the list. Then he tore the paper into pieces. “That’s a long list. How large a contribution?”

“Mid five figures. Half up front, half after the holidays.”

He shook his head. “Not for that many votes. Low six. Up front.”

Squeeze him.
 

“The nerve!”

He was always a greedy one.
 

Jill leaned forward. He smelled like tobacco and road kill with a dash of Old Spice.

“Sir,” she said in a low voice, “You know Wilks used to live in Wisconsin, don’t you? He was the CEO who pulled that pipeline in from the badlands and created what, fifty thousand jobs? He’s a hero there.”

Karn snorted. “That was twenty years ago. My constituents have the memory of puppies. If you have to dig that far back, maybe Wilks’ support isn’t worth that much after all.”

She stood up to leave. “Think it over. The offer is good until I walk out of the door.” She turned and paused. “By the way, Admiral Back went to Annapolis, graduated ’82? Interesting, so did Wilks. Perhaps the good admiral would like his old friend to make an appearance and regale the good people of cheese country with some of their old adventures together at the Academy. But then, the last thing Wilks did for them was twenty years ago. I’m sure it wouldn’t mean much anymore.” She began walking toward the door.

She was halfway across the room when she heard the “wait”. She kept looking forward, a small smile escaping her lips. There was a pause, and then Karn said, “I think Wilks makes a convincing argument. I will consider supporting his positions.” Jill continued walking out the door as calmly as she could. She had him!

I thought Wilks went to MIT.
 

“Annapolis, MIT, what’s the difference?”

Think he will play?
 

“We’ll find out. The first bill on the list is the energy renewal bill. If Karn votes for it, we’re golden then.”

Jill headed back to the Hart building and met with four other appointments. By evening, she believed she had built the political firewall she needed for Wilks not to have to meet with Hogan. The deals were rough, and details still had to be hammered out, but she was now in the driver’s seat.

She went back to her office to prepare her notes to present to Wilks. When she finished, she gave herself a virtual pat on the back. It had taken an enormous amount of work but she had pulled it off.

Now to sell it to Wilks, which is far from assured.
 

“After all the work I did, I’ll kill him if he says no.”

No need to get your hands dirty. We can send a cleaning team in.
 

“I’m just kidding.”

I am not.
 

A few minutes later, after weeks of cobbling support from every corner of Congress, she put all her cards down on the table and laid out the entire plan to Wilks. Some of her concessions made her feel downright dirty, and others would infuriate him, but her plate of offerings more than compensated for them. At least she hoped it would.

As expected, Wilks threw a fit at some of the deals made. He ranted about putting his name on the F-112 military plane allocation, slammed his fist on his desk when told he was taking the prescription pill plan amendment off Medicare, and literally screamed when told he had to increase corn subsidies for corporate farms in Iowa. And when he heard about campaigning for Karn, she swore he almost took a swing at her. Three very draining hours later, Jill thought the game was lost when he threw her out of his office and slammed the door in her face.