The Deaths of Tao (45 page)

“I thought you were in battle shock,” Paula yelled over the din of battle.

“I’m going through a rocket-blew-up-near-my-face shock, not battle shock,” Jill screamed back.

Paula shrugged. “I did it for Roen once. I thought it was like husband, like wife.” She offered her hand.

Jill took Paula’s hand and stood up. “Roen froze in battle?”

“Just once when he was green,” Paula said. “You’re taking it much better than he did. Now, if you’ll excuse me?” Paula was gone again, running toward the remnants of the barricade.

Jill got back to work as well. She sent more noncombatants out in groups of twos and threes, making sure the injured or old were accompanied by at least one able-bodied person. She knew that many of them would not make it to a Prophus evacuation site, but at least they had a chance now. The ones fighting wouldn’t make it. They knew this silo was going to be their graveyard.

It is not over yet. We are still alive.
 

“For how long?”

You are starting to sound like your husband.
 

“If only I had listened to him then.”

You would have probably ended up here as well.
 

Jill paused and considered the possibilities. “That is true. Now I’m depressed.”

By 4am, Jill could barely stay on her feet. The Prophus had lost the main silo and all the rooms adjacent to it. All they had left was the last two silos on the far end. The Genjix had tried to blitzkrieg through the tunnels and had nearly succeeded in taking the ammo dump. If that had happened, the fight would have been over. Luckily, Marco had led a charge that pushed them back. The casualties were heavy on both sides.

Could they hold out? Jill’s left arm was bandaged pretty tightly with a wrap of her own making, and she limped from a ricocheting bullet that had grazed her leg. Still, she was better off than most of the others. Standing next to her in the tunnel leading to the ammo locker, Marco kept watch over her. Blood dripped down the left side of his face as they continued to hold their position. If they lost access to ammunition, the fight would be over very quickly.

Paula suddenly scampered to their hiding spot. Throughout the entire night, she had somehow kept the defenders from panicking, seeming to appear everywhere at once.

When Marco had overextended his counterattack, it was Paula who had covered his retreat, most likely saving his life. When there was a lull in the fight, it was Paula who had led them into the fray. When one of her men lost his leg to a close-quarter shotgun blast, it was she who had dived into the melee and pulled him back.

If we had a few more of her fighting alongside us, the war could be a different story.
 

“It’s too bad we’re stuck with me, huh?”

I have no idea what you are talking about. The work you do is just as important. Sonya would have been proud.
 

“Yeah?”

Yes. I am proud of you.
 

“I’m sorry. What did you just say?”

Well, Sonya would have cleaned house and probably had breakfast cooked by now.
 

“What’s our situation?” Marco said to Paula.

Paula leaned heavily against the filing cabinet they were hiding behind, a look of exhaustion briefly clouding her otherwise stoic face. “Twenty-two left, none at full fighting strength. Seventy percent of my team is dead. Six injured and still alive in silo four. Estimated enemy strength is at sixty percent with approximately a hundred casualties.”

“We got thirty-three out,” Jill added. “Including all the hosts except for us and Valkner. He won’t leave.”

“At least we bloodied their nose,” Marco grumbled.

Jill did a quick calculation in her head and then checked her watch again, and then she sat there stunned, her brain telling her something she just couldn’t accept. She looked up. “We’re not going to be able to hold out until dawn. It’s time to get the rest of our people out.”

Marco had the audacity to smirk. “Jill, ever the optimist. But then I forget that this is your first time in one of these stickies.”

“No, I’m serious–” she began.

He exchanged a smile with Paula who put a hand on Jill’s shoulder. “Not all of us are leaving. We knew that, love, when they first breached the door. Someone has to stay and keep the dance going. The only one left to leave is you.”

“You’re staying?” Jill gasped. “You’ll die!”

Paula shrugged in the way only a professional soldier facing death could. “We bloodied their nose. Now let’s break it.”

Jill, I have an idea. Ask Paula how many she needs to hold this position for fifteen minutes. I want you to take a few men through the back tunnel.
 

“Baji, I won’t leave all these people just to save myself.”

I am not asking you to.
 

Baji quickly told Jill the plan, and in turn she relayed the instructions to Paula. Paula ordered her two healthiest men to accompany Jill.

“You should be the one going,” Jill said.

Paula shook her head. “Miss, I can barely stand. Besides, I’m the captain of this ship. I’m not abandoning her. We can hold out for twenty, maybe thirty minutes tops. If we hear your signal, we’ll blow ours. Understood?”

Jill nodded.

Then Paula leaned in close. “Listen, if it looks like the plan’s going to fail, your job is to run with Marco. My boys will cover your escape. Is that understood?” Jill was about to tell Paula to kiss her ass when Paula grabbed both shoulders and shook her. “That’s an order. Go back to your baby, and for God’s sake, make up with Roen. That daft boy loves you more than life itself.”

Jill suddenly reached out and hugged Paula, squeezing her as tightly as she could. “It’ll work,” she whispered. “You just make sure you’re on the right side.”

The sound of a man screaming tore them away from their moment. Valkner’s aide carried him into the back room. He had been shot in the chest, and blood was gushing out of his mouth. The aide gently laid him down and hovered over him.

“Get your arse back to the front,” Paula ordered, pushing him away. She then leaned in close. “George, can you hear me? George!”

Eighty-two year-old George Valkner, representative of the great state of the Idaho Third District, decorated soldier and grandfather of seventeen, reached up and grabbed Paula’s Kevlar vest. “Do it! Save Eymi,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Give him a chance.”

Paula nodded solemnly, gestured toward Emerson, one of the two handpicked men she had assigned to Jill, and then pulled out her pistol. Emerson knelt down next to Valkner and whispered something to his ear.

Valkner nodded and looked up at Paula. “Thank you.”

“To the Eternal Sea, my friend,” Paula nodded grimly, holding the barrel over Valkner’s heart and pulling the trigger. There were a few moments of silence as everyone watched Eymi, glittering and beautiful, hover above Valkner’s body before sinking into Emerson. While Emerson writhed on the floor, Paula left the room and came back moments later carrying a duffel bag filled with a Cold War era RPG launcher, three grenades, and Roen’s smelly workout clothes. She dragged Emerson unceremoniously to his feet and handed the bag to Jill.

“Get going,” she ordered. “I’ll see you on the other side or in the Eternal Sea, whatever comes first.”

 

FORTY-ONE

FINAL FIGHT

Now, Quasiform begins and soon, once the catalyst is deployed, Earth will begin its final cycle toward an Eternal Sea. Once the transformation to a new Quasing home world is finished, the human prophecy of their heaven on Earth will have come true.
 

Zoras

 

“Sir,” Kowal, staring through a pair of binoculars, called out. “You’d better see this.”

Stephen looked up from reviewing their supply lines at the makeshift command tent. He walked up to Kowal and took the binoculars. The elevated platform the Genjix had been building for the past few hours was now complete. It reminded Stephen of a medieval gallows used for hangings. The camp was a mess of activity as the Genjix soldiers moved to defensive positions. Then he saw several guards push a crowd of prisoners to the center of the camp. He recognized Stein, Bedford, Singh, Howlzer, and Fromme, among others.

“Joe is still alive?” he muttered. He thought Director Joseph Fromme of the German
Bundesnachrichtendienst
intelligence agency had died in Tunisia two years ago. During his younger days, when Stephen had been stationed in France, he and old Joe used to bike up to the Pyrenees every year to spectate the Tour De France. They had lost touch over the past fifteen years when Stephen transferred to the States and began to climb the Prophus ranks, but those were some of his fondest memories.

“What’s that little psycho doing now?” Kowal asked.

Then Stephen’s worst fears were realized. The Enzo boy walked in front of the group of prisoners and gestured for a prisoner to be brought to the platform. She was a communications lieutenant by the name of Ginny. Stephen had met her once or twice on the
Atlantis
. Pretty face, tiny body, and a blow horn voice that would have made Charlemagne take notice. The guards forced her to her knees in front of the boy.

“No,” Stephen whispered.

In one smooth motion, Enzo pulled out his pistol and shot her in the head. As her body crumpled to the ground, her Quasing, Bizoo, rose into the air. Then another guard stepped forward and a jet of flame engulfed Bizoo.

“Damn him!” Stephen swore.

Enzo motioned for another prisoner to be brought forward. The horror show repeated itself. They were executing all the prisoners one by one. There could only mean one thing. The prisoners were no longer needed, which meant ProGenesis had succeeded. The Prophus had run out of time.

Stephen scanned the guards around the perimeter, goading him to attack. There was another loud bang of a pistol followed by the whooshing sound of the flamethrower and another Prophus died. Stephen handed the binoculars back to Kowal, his mind racing for a solution. Sending his people through no-man’s-land toward the teeth of their defense during the daytime would be suicide, but he had to do something.

“Form up. All sides!” he instructed. The command post came to life as his lieutenants coordinated all their forces. The sound of the pistol and flamethrower continued. Five deaths already, but how many more if he sent them in? It would be a massacre. Still, this horrifying transgression couldn’t be overlooked. A few minutes later, Kowal signaled that all units were a go. Another bang and whoosh punctured the air.

Then, suddenly, incredible courage saved Stephen from deploying his men into a suicide mission. The prisoners, knowing their fate, turned on the guards. With nothing more than their bare hands, they chose to die fighting than be slaughtered one by one. The camp fell into chaos as the guards surrounding the prisoners were taken by surprise and temporarily overwhelmed.

Stephen saw a surge of them attack Enzo, forcing his bodyguards to pull him back. The soldiers at the camp perimeter had to turn their attention inward. There was the sound of automatic fire and the sparking lights of Quasing leaving their hosts’ bodies. Then Stephen saw Joe, as if clairvoyant, jump on top of a bunker and looked straight at him, waving both hands desperately. There was another loud crack in the air and then Stephen saw his old friend’s body go limp and fall forward. Meina rose from Fromme’s body into the air and flitted toward the forest. Stephen hoped Meina could reach one of the friendlies in time. It was now or never!

“Artillery on the perimeter!” he yelled. “This is the day, men! We win this, get our boys out, and we go home. All units, charge!”

The entire Prophus force, one thousand five hundred soldiers plus the six hundred freed prisoners, charged in unison. The last day of their battle in Tibet had begun. Normally, Stephen ridiculed Starfleet’s landing party command structure with the captain going on every off-ship mission. Out of all the fantastic suspension of realities he had had to endure with that show, that one was the worst. Sending the senior staff to the front line was the equivalent of Roosevelt and Churchill parachuting with the 101st Airborne during Normandy. It was completely asinine.

Now he took it all back. Normally, he stayed well behind friendly lines and planned his tactics in a safe zone. Not this time. The only tactic now was a full-on charge, and Stephen intended to be right there at the front. He owed it to old Joe Fromme.

To their credit, Stephen’s surprised staff was alongside him without hesitation. McDaniels, his quartermaster, hadn’t seen live combat in two decades. Yet, the sixty-five year old was keeping pace, wielding a pistol that probably hadn’t been fired since Reagan was in office. Stephen couldn’t be more proud of his people than he was right then as they rushed across no-man’s-land. The carefully placed artillery he had ordered began to fire down the perimeter, blowing apart the makeshift fences. It also provided a little cover as the defending forces covered up.

By now, the riot inside the camp had spread. Only a few of the machine guns were spitting out death to Stephen’s men. Most of the guards were locked in close combat with the prisoners. The prisoners wouldn’t last much longer without backup, though. Already, Stephen counted at least ten Quasing floating in the air.

To his left, Smitty, his second division commander, fell to a spray of bullets. Stephen veered to the right as a stream of small eruptions on the ground zinged at him. He dove to the side and huddled behind an upturned patch of earth. He peered over the top, shot two Genjix, and continued on. Before he knew it, he had reached the splintered fence and was climbing over the mound into the camp.

Stephen was nearly impaled by a destroyed section of fencing as he jumped down into the makeshift trench and killed an enemy with a point-blank shot to the face. Then he dove to the side as a line of bullets sprayed just over his head. He pressed on, the image of Fromme’s face etched into his head. He was going to save all his people today or die trying. The melee continued as small groups of Prophus and Genjix collided.