Phoenix Rising (Book Two of The Icarus Trilogy) (49 page)

Suddenly the man was weightless.  He had not expected that.  The Englishman had been thrown up into the air and past the interior walls of the battlements.  He soared over the edge in a daze; his thoughts scattered by the well-placed grenade.

Whoever threw that needs a raise
, he thought as he tumbled through the air.  He could see the sand of the training yard below him.  It was too great a fall to hope for anything good; at the very best something would be broken.  But then again, it did seem much closer, now.  As the Crow twisted through the air he felt his ear still burning and wondered why that was.  He had enough time to raise his arm to the side of head and realized that the top half of his ear was gone.

He wore a sad smile all the way to the ground.

Ten, my friends.  I hope that’s enough
.

-

It was pure luck that the grenade had landed so perfectly.  They had time to breathe, now, so Roth motioned for the rest of the Hammerheads to come nearer.  He stood there as they rushed over, lost in thought.  When the rest of his teammates arrived Percival took a quick count.  He groaned as he realized how well Norris and the other three men had performed against them.

There were only fourteen Hammerheads left, including him.  This game was already off to a rough start.  Roth looked at his teammates, who were all looking back at him.  Suddenly Roth felt like he knew what it was like to be in Carver’s shoes.  He decided that he just needed to get used to it; he wouldn’t stand alone.

“Alright, guys, we need to play this smart.  The Crows really hurt us right off the bat.  According to the briefing we have to secure every point of interest.  The facility is almost exactly like ours; I know, I used to live here.  We need to take the clinic,” Roth said as he pointed at the standalone facility.  He didn’t know
why
they had to take the building, but the Commission had been clear.  He turned back to his teammates and then pointed towards the barracks.  “And we also need to take the entrances.  We’re probably going to get resistance at every point.”

“So what’s the plan, hero?” Jackson asked with a laugh.  Roth looked at the man and wished that the blond, arrogant bastard could see his disdain.  Percival would have much preferred Norris in this huddle.  Roth sighed and shifted his weight from leg to leg before clearing his throat.  This would have to do.

“Alright, I say we hit them fast and hard from all sides.  Best we can do is two teams of three and two teams of four.  I say four men to the main entrance over there,” Percival said before pointing to his left before continuing, “and four to the entrance by the shooting gallery on the North side.  Three to the west auxiliary entrance right there,” Roth explained before pointing at the nearest entrance, “and then three to the clinic.  When those guys are done they can help out whichever entrance needs the most help.”

“Sounds good, I guess.  Hit ‘em hard and see if they make a mistake,” Jackson said before nodding.  Then he audibly sniffed and cocked his hip out to the right.  “So which team you on, chief?”  Roth looked at the man and wondered the exact same question.  He looked over to the clinic and suddenly felt like there was no other possible choice.

“I think I’ll go to the clinic.  When we’re done there I can back up whichever team with my grenades.  Should be easier to sweep that way,” Roth said before looking back to his teammates.

“Awesome,” Jackson said before lifting his automatic to his shoulder and coughing loudly.  He started to walk over to the clinic and looked over at Roth as he passed.  “Well, I… am going with you.  Best odds of survival, am I right?” he asked with a laugh.  Percival couldn’t help but feel disappointed with this chain of events.  He turned back to the Hammerheads and judged the men silently.  He needed a third man.

“Forrest, you’re with us,” Roth said to one of the soldiers to his left.  The mid-sized man nodded slowly and then turned to follow Jackson.  He wasn’t the best soldier, but Jackson was partially right.  Those with Roth would have a better chance at survival.  The would-be hero looked over the rest of his teammates and felt good about this plan.

The best of us can stand alone, the worst of us choose to do so,
he thought before turning towards the clinic and following his teammates.  He didn’t have to sacrifice the ideals just for his rivalry, anymore.  There was no point to that.  He could have both.  Percival could let these men depend on him.  He could stand for them, as well.  Roth would not just focus on his pride.

I won’t be alone anymore, Father.  I’ll stand for them, too.

-

Warner was sick and tired of waiting.  He and Corrigan had been sitting in the West Hallway for about an hour, now, and it was starting to get on his nerves.  When he had heard Templeton over Comms saying that it would be only ten more minutes before the Hammerheads would arrive, he became giddy in anticipation.  When Norris let them know that the slave soldiers were at their doorstep, Warner almost couldn’t contain himself.  He would finally get to indulge in some good ole-fashioned bloodshed; the real kind where people would actually die.

He didn’t appreciate waiting in this hallway, though.  It was a bit of a ruse, presenting a possible pathway and then destroying it with plastic explosives before their enemy could escape.  The Hammerheads would be crushed under the rubble.  While the image was pleasing to Warner’s sense of violence, he didn’t really like being on watch.  The convict wouldn’t be able to really get into the action until the hallway was collapsed.  He would just have to wait until the Hammerheads knocked on the door.

As he shifted in his position against the barricade, Warner could feel the scratchy paper underneath his armor.  He smiled when he felt the writing materials making him slightly uncomfortable.  There was no telling what would happen in the next few hours, his room might be destroyed in the fighting, so Warner had shoved the most recent entries of his journal and a dozen sheets of blank paper in between the layers of armor.

He recalled how it had felt to pour out those last few feelings into the assorted papers.  After the Crows had finished building their barricades and other preparations, Warner had stolen away and put ink to the last of his scratch paper.  The words had flowed swiftly out of his mind and Warner felt like every letter held significance.  He was pouring his life blood onto those sheets of paper; it would be his record of existence.  No one was going to read it, of course, and it was very possible that he might die in the next few hours, but the experience itself was worth so much to the convict.

It had confused the gladiator when he saw the ink start to run together and watched the paper underneath him darken like the sands of the training yard.  It was only after a few moments of writing and flipping the pages of his very life that he had realized that he was crying.  The convict could not remember the last time he had cried and he reveled in the rare experience.  If nothing else, he would always have this day for the words.  He would never have thought to leave them; they were precious.  So inside his armor they stayed.

“It’s time,” Corrigan said across the hallway.  Warner looked up and then towards the entrance of the barracks.  He could see the Hammerheads’ silhouettes behind the door and out of nowhere the convict was afraid.  He hadn’t realized how much Eris had affected him; the fear of death had been completely replaced with his greed and desire to overcome his debts.  Now that death was back on the table, he had a moment of crisis as he saw those three men beyond the door.

As the three slaves walked through the entrance, Warner was able to shake the fear from his nerves.  He had never known fear before Eris, or at least had ignored it; this little revolution of Templeton’s was no time to start.  He and Corrigan held their position amongst the scattered beds and desks, doing what they could to watch and not be seen in return.  They wanted the Hammerheads to get as close as possible before Warner pressed the detonator.  The two of them were not supposed to fire a shot.

But Warner realized very quickly that this would not be possible.  One of the Hammerheads noticed Corrigan behind the desk and pointed him out to his teammates.  Warner cursed before rising slightly out of cover to send a few shells towards the three men.  Corrigan tried, as well, but neither soldier hit anything.  That was the plan, after all.  The oncoming fire forced the Hammerheads into using the cover of the beds and desks as well.  Warner wondered how long it would be before they advanced far enough so that they would be trapped.  He wanted to blow the detonator and get out of there; this was no place for him.

The Crows traded bullets with the three men for a few minutes, but it didn’t seem like the Hammerheads wanted to advance and abandon their position.  Warner tried to tempt them, exposing himself more often than not, but they continued to fall back behind the desks at the end of the hallway.

“Fucking cowards!  You’re fucking cowards, you know that?!” Warner yelled over the gunfire.  He only half-meant it.  He just wanted this to be over so he could get to the real fighting at the other entrances.  This was just guard duty.

That was when he felt the first shell enter his chest.  Warner hadn’t realized that he had left himself exposed during the taunt and fell to the ground.  He looked down and noticed that the bullet had entered just below his left shoulder.  It seemed to be more painful than usual, even though he had taken worse before.  Maybe it just seemed that way because this was going to be permanent.  There were no resurrections after this.

Fuck, I gotta be…. more careful
, he thought before he grabbed his automatic and looked at Corrigan.  The drone was doing what he could by himself, but Warner knew he had to get back up there.  He made sure to keep the detonator close by, in case he needed it quickly.  Just before Warner was about to muster the energy to pop back up out of cover he saw it happen.  One second Corrigan was fine, firing at the three men at the end of the hallway, and then in the next his shoulder whipped behind him.  Warner watched as the man spun around and then was hit by two more bullets in the back.  Corrigan staggered for a moment, still standing, but as he turned to look at Warner another shell hit the back of his helmet and passed through Corrigan’s brainstem.

Warner was in shock for a moment as he realized that Corrigan was gone forever.  The brutalized soldier would never again lazily chew the food from the mess hall; the quiet man would never again sullenly sit at the end of the transport.  This was the last corpse that Corrigan would leave behind.  It made Warner angry.  These Hammerheads would have to pay for that.

The convict rose to his feet and looked towards the end of the hallway.  The three men had advanced to the next round of beds and desks, but still not close enough to be hit by the debris of the explosion.  Warner knew that he had to do something.  He wasn’t going to be able to shoot all of them.

“Come and get me, you fucking cowards!” he shouted as he started spraying ammunition in their direction.  He just needed them to come forward to try and kill him and he could blow them all to Hell.  He could avenge Corrigan and then get back to the real fight. 
Just a little further-

Warner felt the bullet rip into his sternum and knew it was over.  It hadn’t hit his heart, it was too low and to his right, but he wasn’t going to survive it.  The pain was already starting to disappear as he looked at the three men still firing at him.  The other bullets passed by harmlessly as he fell, but the damage was done.  The convict sank to the ground behind one of the desks and rolled onto his side.  He didn’t imagine it would end like this.

The Crow did what he could to roll over and push his back up against the wall of the hallway.  He didn’t know how long it had taken him to do so, but he guessed that the three men were still in their position at the other end of the barricades.  They were cowards, after all.  Warner’s right hand closed around the detonator and he chuckled to himself.  He wasn’t even good enough for guard duty; he was going to die right here and right now.  He thought about his bravado and knew that it had been misplaced all these years.  As he hovered his thumb over the button, he realized he could at least do this right.

When the convict pressed down on the button, the reaction was instantaneous.  There was a massive explosion and the walls came crumbling down.  Warner had fully expected to die in the avalanche of concrete and steel, but as the dust cleared, he realized he was still alive.  He looked past the dirt and particles in the air to see that the overhead lighting was still working.  He laughed weakly and tasted blood with it.  The convict realized that the last bullet had passed through his lung.

It seemed like such a rotten way to go.  He had finally started to feel good about himself and his writing; he had something to say after all this time.  As he thought about his lost future, he detached the breastplate of his armor, knowing that it would do him no good for the rest of his short life.  The Crow grabbed at the pieces of paper that he had stowed away and brought them out for inspection.  The words were his life, all of it, and he would record the last of it on these few pages.

In his misery and pain he hadn’t realized the futility of it.  As he brought out the pages he noticed the bullet hole on one side of the stack, but more importantly his blood had soaked the paper through.  He sank into despair as he realized that he would not be able to record his last moments.  The paper had his life’s words and life’s blood on it, but no one would ever get to read it.  The words he had laid down before were illegible, now.  There was nothing to see.

Warner let his head fall back against the wall of the hallway and felt the soft thump of the helmet against concrete.  The air was stifling and he realized that he didn’t want to die with his helmet on.  The convict released the clasps at his neck and lifted the piece of plastic and metal off of his head.  It took quite a bit of effort, he had become so weak in these last moments, but soon enough the helmet was rolling away from his feet.  Warner let his gaze fall to his dead comrade on the other side of the hallway.  He had never felt so lonely in his life.