Brigends (The Final War Series Book 1) (27 page)

“You’re a mucking idiot.”

Kroll willed Max’s body to rise. “You are skeptical? Then tell me, why do you not stop me, right here, right now? Place your hands on my throat and choke the life out of me. Do it. Will your body to commit the act. Take my life. Raise your hands and strike me down.”

Max fought the invisible hold, but couldn’t overpower it no matter how much he struggled. Kroll, satisfied he had taught the kid a lesson, returned him to a kneeling position.

“Where was your free will? I felt the hatred in you, but you could not bid your hands to destroy me.”

Even as he held Max in a submissive position, he could feel a dormant power within him. He placed his hand on the boy’s forehead, hoping to trace the source of the latent strength buried within. He labored to open the shield protecting deep secrets.

Max’s mind was the toughest he had ever encountered. Not only was it more resilient than most human’s, but it was also arranged more ably than a Zolarian’s brain. Kroll wondered if he could be conditioned to resist psychic manipulations. If he could, then he would theoretically pose a threat to his authority.

Why are you scared of me
?

The assassin severed his link and gawked dumbfounded. Did the human read his thoughts? If he had, how did he do it? Two-way transference was impossible between a transhuman and a human, yet somehow Max reached across the neural connection and picked up the outer thoughts floating on Kroll’s mind.

An unforeseen ripple in the ether interrupted the mystery. Besieged by the disturbance, he lost mental focus, loosening his grasp on the captive.

The projection showed the Leviathan entering the city’s skyline and tearing asunder obstacles in its way. Serov’s contingency plan was in play and the great ship was beyond retrieval. Max’s meddling had made him unaware of the betrayal transpiring until that moment.

Unable to stop the insubordination, Kroll could only watch as his plan unraveled. “Damn human!”

Max wanted to move, but his body could only twitch. He laughed at the cruel farce; he came to be a hero, and in the end, he accomplished nothing. The monster was there in front of him and he couldn’t lift a finger to stop him.

The Leviathan plowed through the city. Dislodged Hi-8 towers collided with one another, scattering debris in large blossoms of jagged metal and glass shards. The sheared off tops of the tallest Lo-5 skyscrapers crumbled to the streets. Thousands of Lo-enders ran. Many were not fortunate to find shelter from the lethal confetti.

Cob piloted the Bandit inside a tight fissure. Considering the beating they had suffered, Emil was grateful the ship wasn’t trailing smoke, giving away their concealment.

“Steady as she goes,” he needlessly reminded his skilled helmsman. “Chief, report.”

Minsk examined the readouts. “Hull breaches forward and mid-starboard sections. Missile tubes three to five offline. Engines down to seventy-three percent in the green.”

“How many —"

The Chief already knew what he was going to ask. “Four dead.”

His stomach twisted. The ship was a tough old girl and could take the abuse, but the loss of four of his kids hurt the most. If by some divine purpose he survived this battle, he vowed to honor their sacrifices. But, with Serov still on their tail, he had to save the memorials for later.

Lidar scans showed the other ship closing the gap in a methodical grid search pattern. With each sweep completed, the enemy came closer to finding them. Cob compensated with every pass the other ship made, but he was running out of places to hide the Bandit.

A proximity alarm blared; the Leviathan was on top of them.

Minsk yelled, “Missile lock! Missiles in the air!”

“Cob, get us out of here!” Emil ordered.

The Bandit’s engines burned and she soared for open skies as a dozen projectiles chased after her. The Akula and Pantera flanked on opposing sides, augmenting threefold the Leviathan’s barrage with firepower from their batteries. The detonations assailed the smaller vessel, throwing it into a flat spin.

Cob held on to the controls, cursing until the ship’s yaw stabilized. The explosions continued one every microsecond without yield.

Electrical systems erupted in sparks and flames. More hull breaches ruptured, either ripping unlucky crewmembers apart or blowing them out to their deaths.

Minsk’s console lit up with red lights. More than half of the ship was on fire. “Direct hit aft quarter,” he reported. “We lost propulsion.”

“Engine room,” Emil radioed. “Report.”

“The coolant system is out,” Tullia responded. “I have to take the reactor offline until I can repair it.”

“How long?”

“Ten minutes.”

Ten minutes was ten minutes they didn’t have to spare. He was calm. “Do your best.” He turned to Minsk. “Chief, take charge of the damage control team.”

“Aye, sir.” Minsk steadied his way to the hatch while the ship continued to take artillery shells from the Alliance fleet.

“Helm, get us out of here.”

“I can’t, Haiduc. Maneuvering thrusters aren’t responding. We’re dead in the air.”

“Not good enough, Cob. Think, son.”

He was being tough, but his helmsman was the best in the world and he needed him to live up to the reputation.

With a flash of ingenuity, Cob worked the controls. “I’ve got an idea. Hold on tight.”

A few switches were flipped and without warning, the Bandit dropped nose first toward the bay. Inertia pressed the crew to their seat-backs. The water came up fast outside the view-port. Cob counted down from five before reactivating the levitation drive at the last possible nanosecond. Pulling back on the wheel as the antigravity kicked over, he curved the Bandit’s vertical velocity into horizontal momentum, skimming the ship across the sky.

In one reckless move, he had put several kilometers between them and the Alliance. If they were lucky, it would buy the minutes they needed to get the old bird running again.

Emil pried his backside from the seat’s cushion and propped tripod style on his knees. His stomach was in his throat. “Good going... but don’t ever do that again.”

They shared a laugh.

The truth revealed

The mob rioted in the streets. Without weapons, they inflicted horrors using bare hands and teeth on innocent Lo-enders caught out in the open. Packs of brave resisters fought to stave off the human wave of destruction, but the rabid man-beasts devoured them.

The mayhem sparked fires, consuming untold square kilometers. Conflagrant humans streaked to unaffected territories, igniting new hotspots upon contact with fresh fuel. Fireballs and smoke plumes stifled the air, making breathing nearly impossible.

A man and his wife carried their two sons as they ran for their lives, crying for someone to save them. The beasts were hungry for blood. Salvation seemed unlikely.

The blast of a mega-horn rang out, rattling the streets with an earthquake’s might. The tranced throng came to an abrupt halt.

The man guarded his family, not knowing what to expect. The smoke cleared, revealing an army of brigends forming a battle line on the far end of the street. Leading the ragtag group was a man of gigantic proportions and a tall bearded ruffian. Although they were lesser in number, the veterans looked ready to wage war with the devil himself.

Tank waved the civilians over. The family, along with dozens of other frightened and battered people, hurried behind the veteran formation.

Colonel Jessup called out to his soldiers, “Try not to kill these muckers!”

Tank laughed. “It’s not like we got a choice. We ain’t got much weapons.”

“How about spitballs? Do we have those?”

“Ain’t got that, either.”

“Well, damn. I thought this was going to be hard.”

The big guy respected Jessup. The Archangels of the 205th had been legendary during the war for their airborne insertions into some of the worst battles of Europe. They were in Bucharest the day the world fell to the mire. If that was true, then Col. Jessup survived not only having a city tactically nuked to ash around him, but an entire country as well. This made Jessup, in his opinion,
one tough ‘ess ‘oh ‘bee
.

That legendary toughness was about to be put to the test. Only half of the brigends had guns. Another quarter carried melee weapons — boards, chunks of concrete, chains, and whatever else they could scrounge on the fly. The rest had only their fists. The chances weren’t looking good for them.

The Colonel called out to the left flank, “Hey!” He called to the right. “Hey, listen up! If we’re dying today, then die like soldiers!”

The brigends howled in cadence. The tranced accepted the invitation and thundered furiously into the fray.

Tank raised his rifle. “What’s wrong with you bastards? Do you want to live forever?”

The veterans charged the field and somewhere in the middle, the two forces became one in a brutal detonation. Sporadic gunfire rang out. The tranced shrieked. Flesh was tore apart and bones crushed.

Jessup divided his people into sections and tasked each division with holding the perimeter at different intervals. From every mad sortie that hammered the barricades, the fallen tranced collected on the ground, providing the subsequent attackers a ramp for penetrating the brigend ranks. One by one, the battlements collapsed and the mindless infiltrated the lines.

The veterans aimed for legs and other non-vital parts, hoping to disable their opponents, but mercy was useless against a soulless adversary. The injured didn’t stay down and attacked with whatever remaining limbs they had left. When the tide shifted from their favor, Jessup ordered the use of lethal force to prevent the worse of the bombardments.

The giant ran out of ammunition early and switched to using his rifle as a club. He soon discarded the busted weapon and fought bare fisted. His match came when an Amazon rivaling his size attacked with such wildness, he had to withdraw to avoid her lethal claws. Their fight kept him on the defensive. It was only after she sunk her sharp teeth into the meatiest part of his real arm, was he able to gain the upper hand. He crushed her skull using a downward blow of his mechanized fist, taking her permanently out of the fight.

The swarm grew and the brigends drowned under layers of gruesome bodies. Tank fought on, jumping higher and higher atop the growing mound. Using all his strength, he snatched two of the fighters by their ankles and hurled them about, taking out many more with each swing. In the end, the swarm prevailed, burying him alive.

The Bandit’s motion slowed to a crawl. The enemy ships hovered within striking distance, but didn’t fire. Serov was getting as close as possible so he could savor Pavel’s defeat.

On the Bandit’s bridge, smoke lingered in drifting wisps.

“Tactical, do we still have weapons?”

“Da,” the officer answered. “Ten Hellfire, five Sabots, and seven photonics.”

Emil scratched his chin, devising the next maneuver. Hellfire rockets were good for starting fires, but little else. Against the Leviathan’s Inconel alloy hull, they wouldn’t burn for long.

Photonics weren’t much better. Their primary function was for disabling sensors with concentrated bursts of photons.

The Sabot shells were better, but not by much. The multi-staged projectiles could punch holes through the thick armor of tanks and troop carriers, but not large capital ships.

Despite the disadvantages, he had a plan. “Tactical, load the cannons with everything we have. Sabots first. Hellfire and Photonics to follow. Prime and wait for my signal. Make sure you program that exact sequence into the targeting computer.”

“Aye, sir.”

Minsk returned, a little worse for wear. “Fires contained. Hull breaches stabilized.”

“Good.” Emil keyed in the engine room on his tel-link. “Tullia, what’s the good news?”

“Hold, General.” She sounded upset.

With the cannons loaded and primed, he waited as the lead vessel slowed and banked to circle them. When the Akula bared her vulnerable mid-shaft junction, he signaled to the tactical officer.

“Fire!”

The Bandit’s tubes erupted, delivering every piece of artillery left in her arsenal. The Sabots ripped into the predator's hull dead center, paving the way for secondary and tertiary rounds of Hellfire and Photonics to deliver the fatal blow.

The Akula limped off course, disabled by the string of explosions. The last detonation tore her asunder. The smoldering wreck dropped from the sky and splashed into the water.

The bridge crew cheered. Minsk pumped his large fist. “Da!”

Pavel didn’t celebrate. There wasn’t a reason for it. They only defeated one of the Alliance ships. The other two were still flying. Depleted of munitions, the Bandit was now a limping, dry target.

Minsk smacked a big hand down on his commander’s shoulder. There were no words, just exchanges of supportive recognitions.

Inside the ascension chamber, Kroll watched the Akula disintegrate in the harbor. His temper burned. In the past, he had exploited Serov’s greed to keep him loyal. As a result, the partnership had been lucrative. Now, because of this deplorable stunt, he showed indifference to any past worth the Russian may have had, convicting the man of any further value.

He plunged his ora deep inside the stream and bonded with the coursing energy. There was an outside risk he could lose his influence to Marta, but if the gamble worked, he would stop the damage that damnable Russian was causing.

His body stiffened from the surge traveling through his nerve endings. He held fast and resisted the compulsion to surrender his identity to her consciousness. Her pre-eminence may have flowed with the greatness of God’s might, but his malice was stronger and it gave him the stamina needed to break his spirit through and link with the stream.

On the Leviathan’s bridge, Kroll’s disembodied essence floated in search of a host. He found one in the form of a sentry. Through its digitized eyes, he spotted the tantrum throwing Russian near the conn. Willing the half-machine’s hands to remove its sidearm from the hip holster, he walked toward the man.

With his mind immersed elsewhere, Kroll couldn’t sense Max recovering rapidly on the deck.

Tapping into a reserve of passion, the boy broke free of the depression and got to his feet. It wouldn’t take a lot to bring Kroll down — only the strength necessary to choke that long pale throat.

Max lunged with his hands out in front of him and fingers spread wide to grab the flesh. The attempt failed. The Zolarian had the foresight to leave a miniscule portion of his awareness behind to safeguard his body. Kroll detached his essence from the Vityaz puppet and returned to his own form. Raising his free hand, he brought Max again to his knees.

“This game bores me. Goodbye, Mr. Zander.”

As he massed the energy for the deathblow, the door to the chamber opened and Zoe rushed in, using Orock as a shield. She fired, hitting Kroll in the shoulder. The impact forced him to not only release Max, but break his connection with the beam.

“Run, Max!” she screamed.

He obeyed and dropped to the catwalk below. She aimed again, but Kroll disarmed her with a blast, snapping her right arm below the elbow. Free of the crazy woman’s armlock, Orock crawled out of the chamber before the door sealed shut.

She reached for the pistol with her good arm. Kroll detained her body and pushed hot needles into every fiber. The spasms were unbearable, but she refused to scream.

Blood from the gunshot wound ran down the Zolarian’s chest, soaking his tunic. His ora easily mended the damaged tissues.

Laughing, he brought Zoe to him. “You and he are cut from the same cloth, brave but stupid.” He increased the pressure. “Cry out so he can hear. Draw him to you.”

“No.”

He twitched the muscles in her arm, rubbing splintered bone fragments together. She bore down, struggling to not yield to the pain.

“I know what you have hidden from him. With Patti’s last thoughts, I extracted the truth from her. Call to him or I will expose your lie.”

“Go... to Hell...”

“How heroic.”

He didn’t let up. She fought for as long as she could, but an irrepressible yelp slipped past her lips, then another and another.

Max listened to her screams from the concealed shelter below the platform.

“Mr. Zander,” the creature announced. “Are you willing to stand idly by while this woman suffers in your place? Will you allow this to continue?”

Her suffering unnerved him. He didn’t know how to help her. If he surrendered, the monster would kill them both. How could he save Marta if he were dead? How would he save Zoe?

“Mr. Zander, listen to her. Listen to the anguish tears of the very woman who brought you crying into this world!”

Max heard him, but couldn’t believe it. The revelation was a metric ton striking him, numbing his comprehension. Was it true? The obviousness seemed undeniable. The whole time, there were clues. How did he miss them? How? Did he already know?

“Yes! This woman kneeling before me, suffering in your stead, is your mother,” Kroll waited. “When you were an infant, your father died protecting both of you. Fearing for your safety, she gave you to Patti. The old woman tried to hide this fact from me even as I took her life, but in the end her mind revealed the truth.”

Evil swelled in Max. So, it was Kroll who killed Patti. His imagination toyed with the thought of murdering the pale man in black. The more he craved revenge, the more malevolence consumed him.

I hate him
!
I will kill him
!

I hate myself
.

“Where are you? Will you let another die?”

“God damn you!” Zoe cursed.

Kroll predicted the boy would show himself, but the seconds turned to minutes without a response.

“How tragically ironic. Your son has abandoned you.”

“Good. Then I die knowing he’s alive.”

Her arm contracted and she freed another scream.

“When I finish with you, I will find him. I promise, you will hear his torture even in death.”

She knew he would never yield until he could rip Max’s body to pieces. Shifting her legs, she attempted to stand, but he clenched his fist tighter, driving her back down.

“You are of no use to me.” He raised the crystal.

“Let her go!” Max demanded.

Kroll turned to see him standing near the entrance.

“I’m here. Let her go.”

Zoe’s stomach knotted.
Why did he come back
?
Why didn’t he leave me
?
Run, Max
!

John Zander’s son walked tall and without fear.

Kroll froze the would-be hero and made him kneel. “I did not expect you to surrender so eagerly.”

“You got me. Let her go.”

“I gave no such promise. You assumed by surrendering I would admire your sacrifice and pay tribute by freeing her. Perhaps I would have under different circumstances, but not today. You and your mother are examples of what Malus feared — American insolence. If so much as one of your kind draws breath, there will always be a threat to the natural order of things.”