Devolution (31 page)

“He was dressed just like me, sir.” The mercenary remained calm, shaking his head. “I had to do it.”

“Soldier, get out of there!” There was no mistaking who he had just killed. “They will come for their dead. Get out
now
!”

“They are coming, Captain. I heard the radio.” His calm disposition was replaced by an extreme fear, coupled with regret. In his mind, he kept replaying the scene: the sight of the rounds impacting the man’s chest; the awful suction sound of the bullet piercing his flesh; the look in his opponent’s eyes when he realized what had happened; the pungent smell of sulfur accompanied by his final words; the desperate cries of his comrades.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” cried the captain. “We have to get him!”

In a dead sprint across the rooftop, he screamed into his radio. “All hands to the Weston!” He flung the door open and charged down the stairs. “I repeat. All hands to the Weston! Proceed with great caution!” Leaping five and six stairs at a time, he left his men with a grave warning. “Be prepared for battle!”

On the ground, just a few blocks away, Warren Wickham stood in horror of what he’d just heard. His worst fears had come true, and it threatened to tear apart his growing empire.

*

“Tully!” screamed the captain. He sprinted out of his building and raced across the vacant street.

His contrite sergeant was now standing in the hallway staring down at the life he had taken. The pool of blood surrounding the commando’s body advanced closer to his boots.

“I am here, sir.”

The captain whipped around the corner of Central Hall and dashed down Matthew Parker Street. The Weston Building, a 25-story square edifice draped in dark reflective glass, stood tall, centered at the end of the street.

“I’m just about at the Weston and—”

BANG!!!

“Ahhhh!” The captain ripped off his headset as the powerful charge reverberated through his ear.

What the hell?

Moments later, the remnants of a rogue gunshot ricocheted off the building walls.

The captain dove behind the corner of a crumbling brick wall. The shot could have come from anywhere. Frantically, he shoved his radio back into his ear.

“What’s going on? Somebody talk to me!”

“Man down!” a voice screamed. “Man down in the Weston! Tully’s hit! He’s not moving!” More gunshots rang out over the airwaves. “Here they come!” The mercenary unleashed a fierce battle cry as he raised his weapon and opened fire on the dark figures at the far end of the hallway. The two bodies that lay motionless in the middle of the melee would be avenged.

Fearing for the safety of his men and the mission, the captain made a rash decision.

“This is Captain Tim Hadduk. We need backup immediately. Send all available forces to the Weston Building. Now!”

Hadduk raced out from his sanctuary and resumed his charge down Matthew Parker Street. The sun glistened off the Weston’s brilliant black exterior.

“Get our people off the streets!” Wickham commanded to whoever was close enough to hear. Hundreds of his screaming followers aimlessly raced past him. No one knew from where the gunfire was coming and they didn’t care to find out.

Wickham grabbed a young lady who was racing past him in. “Darla, call everyone. Tell them to get away from the Weston. Find shelter.” She nodded with certain terror gripping her eyes. “Try to get out of the city, if possible.”

In the middle of the chaos, Wickham spotted Tony Manning directing traffic into one of the nearby buildings on Old Queens Street—a few blocks away from the Weston, but still in plain sight.

“Tony!”

They ran towards one another.

“It’s coming from the Weston!” Wickham fought to catch his breath.

“Between who?”

“Not sure.”

Off to the left, Wickham spotted a few teenagers who had yet to heed his warnings. “Go!” he screamed, pointing to the doors Manning had previously been filing people through. “Now!”

His passion proved more convincing than the barrage of gunfire that loudly reverberated between the buildings. They promptly joined the long line of panicked citizens eager to get inside.

Wickham turned back towards Manning, his eyes scanning the street for more stragglers. “It’s between our guys and someone else.”

“Government?” Manning inquired.

“Don’t know. Where’s Nolan?”

Manning pulled out his phone. “I’ll find him.”

CRACK!!

A stray bullet shattered the fifth story glass of a nearby building. Out of instinct, Wickham and Manning ducked, throwing their bare arms above their heads. The window particles cascaded.

“We’ll be in the Harry Building!” yelled Wickham to Manning as they separated. “Find Nolan!”

“What’s the status?” Levanetz rushed up to a few of his men staked out in an alley opposite the Weston. The commander was broad but short. What he lacked in height he made up for with his desire to fight.

“There are a few guys with pretty heavy weaponry across the street behind the plumbing store,” replied one of his soldiers. “With them there, we can’t get inside.”

“This ain’t no weekend warrior, either,” the other soldier added. He leaned beyond the building’s corner, eyes fixed on the target. “These guys are trained.”

“Mercenaries!” The colonel’s brow bent inward. “They hired damned mercenaries.”

CRACK! ZOOM!

Three rounds in rapid succession forced the men back against the wall. The bullets shattered the brick, flinging pieces in all directions.

The front man whipped his rifle around the corner and indiscriminately fired four shots.

Levanetz brushed debris off his shoulder. “How many are there?”

“I’d say a few dozen. Maybe more. They have the exits.”

“How many do
we
have inside?”

“Counting Ryan, three. Peters and Gregg were stationed on this street. They arrived soon after the call.”

“They killed the bastard who shot Ryan.” The front man turned around for the first time. “We can’t leave them stranded in there, sir. We have to get them out.”

“Are they still alive?”

“They’re alive.” The man had already returned his focus around the corner. “They’re too good to die.”

The commander fell against the frayed brick wall and looked up to the clear blue sky pondering his next move.

“Sir?” the near soldier asked in anticipation of a strategy.

The commander raised his radio. “This is Colonel Levanetz. Send all available city forces to the Weston Building, immediately.”

Before the colonel released the button on his radio he uttered, “Kill ‘em all.”

*

Bent down low, slowly advancing, Captain Hadduk entered the Weston Building from the rear, below the first level. He carefully lowered each foot, avoiding the slew of particle board, copper wires, and old tools that covered the cracks in the concrete floor. Few windows and no electricity made for a damp, dark dungeon of unfinished construction.

Nerves on alert, he cautiously approached every doorway. Leading with his rifle, he peeked into the room.

For the moment, the intense volley of gunshots had ceased. Radio communication had also been temporarily suspended as each side gauged the opponents and sought a tactic.

SNAP!

Hadduk’s head whipped around. He was not alone. And his company was not as careful as he.

The captain carefully approached the noise, leaning his back against the wall. Following a deep breath and controlled exhale, he positioned himself next to the door and leaned towards the opening. His eyes cleared the wooden frame to see an armed man dressed not of his squad. He stood by the far wall, peering through a foggy window.

“Don’t move.” Hadduk stood in the center of the doorway with his rifle fixed on the commando.

The man dropped his weapon on the concrete and discreetly placed his hands on his head.

Hadduk stepped across the threshold. “No sudden moves.”

The brief stretches of ominous silence were separated by the steady drip of a nearby water pipe.

“Turn around.”

The commando followed orders. The man who surfaced before the captain was tall and thick. His black uniform complemented his imposing figure. His hazel eyes showed no concern.

“Who are you with?”

Silence.

“This is not the time!” Hadduk violently thrust his rifle in the man’s direction.

CRACK!

The sudden resumption of gunfire from the street blew out the window behind the commando. Hadduk dove to the left, sliding behind a thick steel beam. The commando grabbed his weapon and sprinted towards the door, indiscriminately firing in Hadduk’s direction.

From his back, the captain raised his weapon and shot. The commando fell hard.

With the gunfire raging outside, the captain crawled to his victim, pushing through the clutter. He checked for a pulse. None
.
He then checked the body. In the commando’s back pocket were two government-issued ID cards, one for Sergeant Ray Peters, the other for Special Agent Edward Gregg.

“Government,” he uttered in contempt.

He switched on his headset.

“This is Captain Hadduk.” With the echo of gunfire ricocheting off the concrete walls he could barely hear himself. “The enemy has been identified.”

Wickham, who had secured his followers in a nearby building, had a direct view of the Weston. Behind him, hundreds of scared men
and women embraced in solidarity, their words drowned out by the loud chatter of small arms.

Wickham stood alone by a window with his radio tightly pressed to his ear. The glass of the basement garage barely rose about street level.

Tony Manning and John Nolan emerged from around a corner. “What do we know?” Manning said.

“Government.” Wickham’s voice bled with disdain.

“Everyone’s safe,” Manning said, knowing his words were untrue.

John and Tony stood by Wickham, watching their aspirations fade. Their disappointment was only overshadowed by what was happening on the 200 block of Matthew Parker Street.

*

The roar of engines rolling through the city signaled the arrival of additional government soldiers. The heavily armored convoy rolled to a stop one block south of the Weston, and hundreds of camouflaged soldiers exited. The young man driving the final truck was stumpy, and half as wide as he was tall. If not for his intense demeanor, two cavernous dimples would have quartered his full cheeks. His sparkling clear blue eyes matched the color of his civilian name tag which read: C. Blaire.

“Colonel Levanetz.” The lead officer immediately reported to his superior, who was hunched over a makeshift table studying the architectural design of the Weston. The echo of gunfire had calmed.

Levanetz greeted his first influx of support with wide eyes. “Share this with the envoys when they arrive. We expect four more.”

The lieutenant nodded.

“Mercenaries have taken the Weston. We have one confirmed dead, two trapped. They’re entering from the north. We have the south and west secured. They have the north and east.”

The sudden succession of random gunfire jolted the lieutenant.

Undeterred, the colonel continued. “In our first attempts to take the building we sustained seven causalities, five fatalities. We took out just as many. But they are well supplied.”

“Lieutenant!” Levanetz called as the second envoy arrived. “This is it.”

*

Two blocks northeast of where Colonel Levanetz plotted his attack, Captain Hadduk greeted his own assemblage of support troops. The former veteran army officer already had fifty men stationed throughout the Weston and on surrounding rooftops. He stood on a rickety medical table. The vaulted ceilings and windowless plaster walls created a powerful atmosphere. The mercenaries jammed into the room completed the vision.

“Men!” Hadduk cried out, hoisting his rifle above his head. The mercenaries erupted in cheers and raised their own weapons. The exchange of nearby gunfire added to their excitement.

“Who’d have thought this many hate the Crown?” Hadduk proclaimed in jest as a familiar South American accent formed his words.

The men howled at their leader’s rhetorical scoff.

“They’ve sent their best. They want us dead.” The warriors felt the rage fester. “But this is
our
battle now!”

The captain reached into his pocket and pulled out the government issued cards of Gregg and Peters. “And, we’re off to a good start.” He threw the cards onto the ground and spat in their direction.

A firefight erupted on Matthew Parker Street.

“We will hold this building at all costs!” Hadduk screamed over the gunfire. “
This
is where we claim victory!”

*

It was a wonderful day in which to end a terrible year. The kind of day people dream about during the unrelenting surge of winter. Still high in the sky, the sun cast warm rays onto the London metropolis. To the west, ominous dark clouds crept ever closer.

“All the reinforcements are here, sir.” The announcement by one of his corporals soothed the colonel’s nerves. “The next wave will arrive early tomorrow.”

“What are our numbers?”

The young infantryman handed him the report. “Five hundred.”

“Five hundred?”

“We can’t get more without the prime minister’s approval.”

The colonel nodded. “Those are my men who are dead.
I
will finish this.” Hell bent on revenge, the officer grabbed a bulletproof vest off a supply table. “This treason must not be allowed.” He secured the Velcro around his chest plate. “Make sure communication with the prime minister remains blocked.”

*

Commander Hadduk now stood in front of hundreds of wildly exited mercenaries. With the cathedral ceiling as his witness, he imparted on them the rationalization for what they were about to do.

“We weren’t good enough. We didn’t meet their standards.” Hadduk was no longer able to suppress his rage. “We were good enough to work
with
them? But not
for
them. They will pay for their disobedience. Their blood will flow through the streets of this city. Make your country proud!” Hadduk proclaimed.