Team Omega (45 page)

Jackson saw a skyscraper in the distance shake and then start to collapse as Hope smashed through it, just as Hope flashed back to lash out at the White House again. 

Damn it
, he thought, as the White House shuddered once again.  The end could not be long delayed.  The floor was shaking madly as the supports gave way, just before it collapsed completely.  Jackson grabbed Ron and held on for dear life as the armour plate under the carpeted floor settled down on top of a pile of rubble, praying that no one had been trapped under the floor when it collapsed. 
How do we fight something like that
?

There was nothing from his earpiece.  Team Omega had either been wiped out, or forced to abandon their positions and pull back.  There was a terrifying crash of thunder as Hope stopped dead, right over the White House, his face twisted with madness and rage.  He was hovering right over the hole he’d made in the roof.  Jackson, desperately, reached for the grappling hook launcher and pointed it at the hovering superhuman.  Hope didn't even seem to
see
him as he hooked the jangler to the hook and fired, latching it on to Hope’s head.  A moment later, the jangler activated.

Hope’s ears were extra-sensitive, Polly had pointed out; it should be possible to overwhelm them with so much noise that the superhuman couldn't think.  Jackson could
hear
some of the noise as Hope struggled with it, trying desperately to cover his ears and flying haphazardly towards the ground, crashing into it hard enough to smash the jangler.  A second later, Hope flew out of the newly-created hole in the ground and came right towards Jackson. 

“Get back,” Ron grunted, as he opened fire with his rifle.  They’d loaded up with penetrator rounds, intended to punch through invulnerable skin, but they just bounced off Hope as he lashed out at Ron and punched him with his full strength.  The ground shook like an earthquake, the force of the blow picking Jackson up and throwing him several meters into another pile of rubble.  He grunted as the impact stunned him, long enough for Hope to resume his mad campaign of destruction.  Ron had simply disintegrated under the blow.

Somehow, Jackson managed to stagger to his feet as Hope howled in the sky overhead, his rage shattering windows and echoing out over the city.  Some people would probably have been permanently deafened by his anger.  But there was no way to stop him...he looked around, desperately, and saw a body just outside one of the fallen pillars.  Lane had been trying to get into firing position, but he'd been caught by a piece of debris instead.  He'd been killed instantly.  But there was no time to mourn.

Jackson was the only member of Team Omega left to try to stop Hope.

The device Polly had produced, the device that had scared her so much, lay beside him, still intact.  Jackson staggered over to where his Captain had fallen and picked up the device, running through the arming sequence.  No one had been clear as to what would happen if the device functioned as designed, but Polly had admitted that the blast was likely to cause terrific damage.  And yet, Hope already seemed hell-bent on destroying Washington...it couldn't get any worse.  What would happen if he decided to destroy the entire planet?

Lifting his revolver, Jackson took aim at Hope and fired all five shots at him.  At that distance, hitting someone with a handgun was a matter of luck rather than skill, but it got Hope’s attention.  The superhuman twisted in the air, his face still mad with rage, and swooped towards Jackson. 

Jackson grabbed the X-22 and braced himself.  He forced himself to wait for a clear shot; once he had one, he fired.  A single bullet stuck Hope’s head.

Got you, you bastard
, Jackson thought.

The superhuman screamed as a white glow seemed to permeate his skull, and he slammed into the ground.  A moment later, the entire area shook violently, shockwaves rolling over Washington and shattering buildings.

Then an unearthly silence fell. 

Jackson had only a moment to realise that he’d succeeded, that Hope was dead, before the darkness overwhelmed him.  He collapsed into unconsciousness. 

C
hapter Forty-Five

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” a voice said.  “How are you feeling?”

Jackson slowly managed to form words as he opened his eyes.  “Basil?”

“None other,” Basil said.  “You’re in a military hospital somewhere in Virginia.  How are you feeling?”

“Dizzy,” Jackson said, as he started to sit up.  “What happened?”

“Emergency medical teams found you in the rubble of the White House, alarmingly close to the blast zone,” Basil said.  He still walked with a limp, Jackson noted.  “You and the snipers were the only survivors from the deployed team.”

Jackson stared at him.  He’d known that Ron and Chris and Captain Lane were dead, but the others?  Some of them should have been hidden from Hope’s rampage—but then, it was quite possible that Hope had shattered the buildings they were using for shelter.  God alone knew how many people had been killed in the final moments of absolute chaos. 

A thought struck him.  “And the President?”

“Dead,” Basil said, grimly.  “Most of the captives in the White House died when Hope brought the building down on their heads.  A couple survived, including Mr. Harrison—I believe he wants to debrief you when you’re feeling better.  The Vice President came out of hiding and was sworn in by a local judge—the entire Supreme Court is dead, too.  It’ll take us years to recover from the damage Hope inflicted.”

He smiled.  “Fireman survived, although Hope did manage to stun him in the battle,” he added.  “He rounded up a few dozen superhumans to help with clearing the wreckage and pulling survivors out before they died.”

“I wondered what had happened to him,” Jackson said, shaking his head.  Carefully, he stood up, feeling a twinge of dizziness.  “What’s going to happen now?”

“God knows,” Basil said.  “Team Omega has been effectively annihilated.  All four Captains are dead—along with the Sergeants.  I don’t know if the team can be effectively rebuilt...”

“It will have to be rebuilt,” Jackson said.  “What happens if the
next
mad superhuman is an out-and-out bastard?”

Basil nodded.  “Where were you the day Kennedy was shot?”

“I was an egg in my mother’s tummy,” Jackson said, dryly.  “I wasn't even
born
when Kennedy was shot.”

“I suppose not,” Basil said.  “Was your mother born when Pearl Harbour was bombed?”

Jackson glared at him.  “Is there a point to this?”

“Yes,” Basil said.  “Everyone thinks of those events as ones that changed the world.  We have people dating their lives from before and after Pearl Harbour was bombed, or President Kennedy was shot.  Even if we weren't directly involved, we knew that the world had changed.  Right now, the world changed after Hope attacked Washington DC—things are never going to be the same again.”

“I see,” Jackson said, slowly.

“Superhumans changed the world, but we were slow to realise just how
much
they changed the world,” Basil said.  “I don't think that we
wanted
to think about it.  The first set of superhumans were either heroes or outright villains; Fireman and Slaughter, for example.  After that, things became more complex, and we worked out ways to control and neutralise most of the superhumans—the Young Stars might have been drug addicts, but they weren’t a threat to society.  Even the ones like Dreamy Girl weren't a real danger.

“But now, the self-delusion has been torn away and we’re left to admit that with superhumans like Hope, we’re reduced to
praying
that they’re good guys.  And even the good guys might have their own ideas about how to save the world, save the human race...and so now everything is changed, once again.  What happens if we
can’t
find a certain method of taking out those superhumans when they pose a problem?”

“We die,” Jackson said, finally.

“Rule of the strong,” Basil said.  “Back in the days of knights and castles, a strong man with a strong castle and a force of loyal henchmen could control vast swathes of territory and be damn near impossible to dislodge.  The poor, suffering peasants couldn't do anything but obey; even if they wanted to fight back, they didn't have any real weapons.  It wasn't until gunpowder and cannons made castles vulnerable that that era came to an end, yet even Sam Colt couldn't equalise the entire world.  Places like Libya existed and inside revolt seemed impossible.  And now we’re back to the days of knights and castles...

“In hindsight, maybe we should have panicked more when Fireman and the others first appeared.”

He shook his head.  “Most of the government being dead means that there will have to be emergency elections.  And most of the people who are standing up and running are doing so on anti-superhuman platforms.  I don’t think we’re going to like the way they’ll take the country, or the world.”

Jackson frowned.  “But we do have technology,” he pointed out.  “Maybe we’ll find a technological answer.”

“Maybe,” Basil said.  “But right now, technology isn’t providing a complete answer.  What happens to the world if we never find a solution?”

***

Chester had been luckier than he cared to admit.  Hope, for whatever reason, had ordered him held in a sealed room in the White House.  That room had been knocked down along with the building, but it had protected Chester long enough for him to crawl out.  After he’d been recovered by one of the emergency teams, he’d been flown to meet with the Vice President and assist him in regaining control over the country.  It wouldn't be an easy task.

“I want you to take control of what remains of the SDI,” the Vice President had said.  It would be easier said than done, now that General Kratman was in a coma.  The overt team was dead, and much of the covert team had gone underground.  Some of them might take the opportunity to vanish completely.  “We need to develop new superhuman defences as quickly as possible.”

New York had shown a remarkable outpouring of sympathy for the dead superhumans of the SDI, now that Hope and the Saviours had been destroyed.  The remains of the SDI building were surrounded by citizens maintaining a silent vigil, while those who had worshipped superhumans right from the start were claiming that the SDI had merely been pushed into another universe and would one day return to Earth.  Chester would have liked to believe that that was true, but that was a comic book answer.  The real world didn't have superhumans, no matter how powerful, coming back from the dead.  Only one superhuman could make anything like that claim and he was, technically, a zombie animated by his own will. 

The rest of the world had offered what help they could, although Chester knew it wouldn't be anything like enough to make a big difference.  Reports from Russia and China suggested that they had been on the verge of launching a joint nuclear strike on Washington when Team Omega had fought its final battle against Hope and the Saviours.  A few more days and Washington would have been destroyed, if Hope hadn't intercepted the nukes in flight.  Who knew what would have happened then?  The only thing that had forced them to hesitate was the fear of what Hope would do.  Perhaps they would have suffered the same fate as Libya—but then, they had tactical nukes too.  It would have devastated part of the world.

He looked up as Michael Lee entered the secure room, looking somewhat the worse for wear.  Las Vegas had been devastated by the battle between Fireman and Hope, a battle that hadn't even been fought to a bloody conclusion.  Level 5 superhumans could inflict terrifying amounts of damage on the surrounding area when they fought.  Hope had managed to stun Fireman, knocking him out of the fight.  What would have happened if he’d managed to
kill
Fireman didn't bear thinking about.

“I’m glad you survived,” Fireman said.  “Your wife?”

“Alive and well,” Chester said.  He waved a hand at the stack of paperwork.  “I may even get to see her in a year or two.”

Fireman chuckled.  Chester motioned him to a seat.

“I understand that you’re going to the Congo,” he said, as Fireman took a seat.  “Are you sure you want to go there?”

“Someone has to ride herd on what remains of the Saviours—and the mutants—there,” Fireman said.  “Besides, without a strong American presence in the Congo, someone else is going to undo all of Hope’s good work.”

There was another reason to send Fireman out there, with the kind of support that should—perhaps—have been offered to Hope when he first invaded the Congo.  The American public had been badly shocked by the superhuman attack; they’d believed, not without reason, that most superhumans were nothing more than celebrities.  Hope had shown that they were really godlike beings with few restraints—and the Redeemer had shown that even the most decent of them could be manipulated by telepaths.  At least
that
little detail hadn't leaked out, and if Chester had his way it never would.  There was enough anti-telepath hysteria already. 

But keeping Fireman in the Congo might—might—prevent the anti-superhuman candidates from opening a new Pandora’s Box.  The United States had inherited most of Dr. Death’s records after the collapse of South Africa, and some of them had suggested ways to inhibit or destroy superhuman powers.  And yet Chester knew enough to be sickened by what the racist bastard had done to develop his treatments.  One incident had led to the indirect sterilisation of over fifteen
thousand
black women in South Africa, while another had committed  genocide on every black superhuman born in the country.  Chester was one of the very few people who knew what had happened to Dr. Death after his capture by American Special Forces—and
that
was something he never wanted to address.  What would happen, in the future, if that particular box was opened again?

“I hope you’re right,” Chester said.  In the end, the Congo was expendable.  All that mattered was keeping a lid on the next crisis before it blew up in their faces.  The
next
superhuman who wanted to take world power might be more careful.  “Good luck.”

***

Jackson knocked at the door, opening it when he heard the instruction from inside.  Mr. Harrison was seated at a desk, working his way through a stack of paperwork and looking harassed.  His normal support staff had been killed or scattered when Hope had invaded Washington, and most of the ones who had reported in weren't cleared for the Greenbrier Bunker.  Jackson himself had been surprised to discover that the bunker existed; from what he’d heard, it had been created as a fall back in the event of Russian nuclear attack.  It had kept the Vice President safe, if disconnected from the grid...

“Captain McDonald,” Harrison said.  “Take a seat, please.”

Jackson blinked in surprise.  “Captain?  I’m a Corporal.”

“You’ve been promoted,” Harrison said, gruffly.  “We’ll go over the pay and benefits later.”

“What's on your mind, sir?”

“Would you be willing to stay with Omega?”

“We're rebuilding the teams?”

“We are,” Harrison confirmed.  “The federal mandate I've been given allows for the rebuilding, plus creation of two more platoons.”

Jackson frowned.  “That’s nice.”

“Captain,” Harrison said. “You’re the last reasonably healthy survivor of Team Omega. I need you to take command of rebuilding the team.”

Jackson couldn't fault his logic.  Almost all of the active team was dead, apart from Basil and himself—and Basil would never return to full operator status.  None of the support staff were qualified to lead the team, even though they had survived almost completely intact.  And the other SOF operators in the United States had no experience of working with Team Omega or fighting superhumans, although
some
of them had fought Hope’s forces during the brief period when he’d ruled the country.  Maybe there would be a healthy pool of potential recruits for him to draw on. 

But they would all be older and more experienced than himself ... except in taking on superhumans.  And that was the point, wasn't it?

“There are other issues,” Harrison continued.  “Our funding has been increased—the President wants us to proceed with the Cybermen program
and
the Borg program.  DARPA has a whole list of possible ways to augment a soldier and upgrade him into something that might be able to stand against a superhuman in open combat, but some of them have a very high fatality rate.  Every time they tried to strengthen a person’s bones for combat, the test subject died.  I need someone in that seat who
knows
that superhumans can be beaten,
without
enhancing soldiers and risking their lives in the process.  We don’t need a program that effectively wipes out our entire cadre for Team Omega.”