Winter's Legacy: Future Days (Winter's Saga Book 6) (12 page)

23  Williams’ Contingency Plan

Back on the sand dune, Kerry Braden grimaced at the dislocated shoulder he’
d suffered during the crash.  It wasn’t the first time, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.  He unbuckled his harness and tumbled to the ground, catching himself with his good arm but still biting back the urge to yell.

He looked around to find his teammate.  He didn’t have to look far.  The rifleman’s body slumped in his harness.  From his angle, Braden could see the misshapen side of his head—gray matter glistening in his hair.  His rifleman was dead. 

"Shit," he muttered softly as he reached for the radio.

“Base this is Company Leader, Braden with Chopper 1.  We’re down.  I repeat, we are down.”

“Survivors?” clipped the voice on the other side of the radio.

“Just me.”

“Triangulating coordinates.  A recovery team is en route, sir.”

“Copy,” Braden clipped. 

Not willing to see the Director in such a state, Braden worked his way out of the cockpit and walked around to the chopper’s skids.  He positioned himself against the landing blade and with a silent scream, whacked his shoulder as hard as he could. 

The first two times didn’t work. 

He only had enough strength for one more try before the pain would make him pass out.. 

This time he took a running start.  The lightning strike was so intense, he couldn’t help but cry out, fall to his knees and keel over from the pain.  That’s how the recovery team found him five minutes later.  

The rescue team stretched him across the back seat of the Hummer they drove.  The jostling of a bumpy ride back to the makeshift base woke the Company Leader.  He swung his legs off the bench seat and sat up carefully, holding his shoulder still with his opposite hand as he moved.  He didn’t know how his aggravated shoulder would behave so he braced for the possible stabbing pain.   

He felt nothing except a dull ache once he sat up, so he tried some slight movements as he tested for mobility.

“What do we know of the Winters?” He barked to the two metasoldiers up front.  They hadn’t noticed him awaken so they jumped, startled in their seats.

The driver recovered first.  “Sir, we assume they were headed for a local airport but the impending sandstorm swept away any tracks we could see—grounded all flights, too.  They have to have found a place to wait out the storm.  That’s about as much as we know, sir.”

“You’re Harris, right?” he narrowed his eyes at the rearview mirror and locked eyes with the driver. 

“Yes, sir.  Christopher Harris of 18th Company.”

“And you?” Braden directed his question to the meta in the front passenger seat.

“Dixon.  Brenda Dixon—also 18th Company, sir.”

Braden nodded once to her over-the-shoulder glance.

“When we arrive at base, see about securing all equipment, strapping tarps over the remaining weaponry and reinforcing windows with whatever you can find.  We’ve suffered enough casualties tonight,” the Company Leader ordered.

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“When is the sandstorm due to hit?”

“In approximately sixty-five minutes.”

The Humvee pulled up to the warehouse-looking building just as the wind started to pick up—hinting at the approaching storm.

Braden, deep in thought, shook his head to himself as he flung the car door open and stepped into the blustery night air. 
This whole operation was screwed up,
he thought angrily.  He didn’t care about the metas who died that night, but what he
did
care about was the poorly planned and executed attack. 

He nodded acknowledgement of the salutes from the metahumans who saw him coming. 
Word traveled fast,
he deduced. 
That’s one thing Williams had never given the metasoldiers credit for.  He assumed his soldiers didn’t communicate.  Well, he was about to get a revelation.

He knocked briskly at the closed door flanked by two metasoldiers dressed for battle and waited for a response. 

“Enter!” Williams himself barked.

Kerry Braden walked confidently into the room and stood at attention.

“Report,” Williams ordered though he was only half listening as his attention was drawn to the weather report flickering across his laptop’s screen.

“Sir, the pursuit of the Winter Clan ended approximately sixteen kilometers southeast of here when the group converged at an old billboard.  Former sniper specialist, Farrow
Schone M440 was witnessed taking aim at our helo while the rest of the group escaped in their vehicles.  Her shot was precise and catastrophic causing the chopper to crash.  My gunner was killed on impact.  When last seen, the vehicles were continuing their southeast route on the highway.”

“And what exactly do you suggest is done about this, Company Leader?”  Williams had already been made aware of the situation via radio communication with the rescue team, but he wanted to hear whether Braden had the fortitude to relay the truth to him.  Fortunately for Braden’s sake, he did. 

“Sir, we know the Winter Clan will eventually try to return to their home in Texas.  They have probably already made arrangements to leave Egypt and fly back Stateside once the storm has passed.  We converge at their ranch and take them out.” 

“We converge?” Williams was watching Braden closely.

“Sir, we have lost too many metasoldiers tonight.  We need backup to finish this operation decisively.  Seventeenth Company needs to be ordered to active duty and immediately flown to Texas where we will meet. They are young, but they are formidable.  As a collective, we will pose an insurmountable force against the Winter Clan.”

The excitement and determination in Braden’s voice was engaging.  Williams regarded his soldier with quiet approval before nodding once.  “You have my permission to mobilize 17th Company immediately.  Furthermore, I want a complete strategy plan on my desk by dawn, Braden.  Include what equipment you foresee needing, vehicles and weapons
, and contingency plans for each pivotal point in the implementation of said plan.”

Kerry Braden’s eyes were
lit with equal parts excitement and determination.  “Sir, yes sir!”

“Dismissed.” Williams turned his back on Braden and resumed his study of the sandstorm’s ever
-changing Doppler radar tracking.

“Oh, and Braden,” Williams called after the metasoldier.

Braden spun on his heels, shoulders back, eyes straight ahead, awaiting further instructions.

“Make sure we are ready for this sandstorm.”

“Sir, I anticipated this need and have already set the soldiers to work preparing us for the storm.”

Williams pursed his cracked lips into a tight smile and waved his gloved hand at Braden, “Good.  As you were, soldier.”

24  Choose

To almost anyone watching, Rhett Hays seemed completely engrossed in his weight lifting.  His face was a picture of concentration as he pushed the silver barbell and black weight plates smoothly into the air above his chest.  Chiseled mounds of muscle rolled beneath his tight skin as he worked.  His gray-green eyes were crisp with calculating intelligence.  Rhett’s rise to the top of 17th Company wasn’t a surprise to anyone.  No one even came close to his level of charisma and leadership.  Rhett wielded both effortlessly. 

His spotter, Nate, watched his movements beneath the barbell—ready to step in the moment he was needed. Not that he ever was.  Rhett was as
strong physically as he was mentally.

The gym was nearly empty at oh-one-forty and a conversation would easily go unheard by outsiders, but Nate knew better than to speak unless spoken to—especially when Rhett was deep in thought. 

Nate Townsend and Valen Springer were excellent at reading their leader.  As his seconds in command, they prided themselves in discretion and intuitive obedience.  

They were invaluable in Rhett’s eyes; each with a special skill set. 

The female metasoldier, Valen, was the weapons and battle expert.  She fought efficiently, taking down targets using the fewest strikes necessary—viper fast, and one after the other until no one was left standing. 

Nate was a one-man (meta)
Human Resources specialist.  He handled details and logistics—orchestrating the thirty-three soldiers in 17th Company with tough-as-nails effectiveness, consistency and brilliance. 

Rhett valued both their opinions, appreciating the way they worked like two hemispheres of one brain. 

Two hours before, the entire 17th Company had been ordered into active duty and were to fly out at oh-eight-hundred hours.  Their destination was Texas.  Their objective was to aid in the extermination of the faction known as “The Winters.”  A hastily assembled dossier detailing the target had been compiled by administrative staff left to oversee the Facility in the Director’s absence.  The highest-ranking soldier remaining at the compound hand-delivered the stack of papers to Rhett an hour before.  Nate and Valen read it after him.

Immediately, Rhett ordered an emergency meeting of 17th Company.  They were to meet at the Retribution Pit at oh-two-thirty hours.  He hadn’t shared his considerations with his seconds in command, but he didn’t need to.  Nate and Valen knew his orders would be a balance between daring and cautious—and always in the best interest of those in his charge. 

With thoughts weighing heavily, Rhett had chosen to work out at the gym instead of catching a few hours of sleep before gearing up for departure.  And though he didn’t require them to, Nate and Valen had followed his lead, staying at his side no matter what.

Valen was stretching after her workout nearby.  The female
metasoldier’s athletic physique was both handsome and stunning.  She looked as lethal as she was, her yellow tiger’s eyes watching every corner of the large room, aware of every movement, every voice—measuring them against her senses as she discreetly guarded Rhett.

Valen looked up at the clock and caught Nate’s eye.  Knowing she was warning him of the time, he nodded once. 

As though reading their minds, Rhett carefully moved to replace the barbell onto its rack.  Nate grabbed the bar and helped ease it onto the hooks. 

“Clean up and meet me downstairs in five,” he nodded to both soldiers as he sat up from the bench and swung his legs over. 

“Yes, sir,” the soldiers clipped respectfully. 

Four minutes later, Nate and Valen were standing at the ready as Rhett came bounding down the stairs.  All three were still damp from showers, but they were wide-eyed, alert and revved up.

“Let’s do this,” Rhett nodded and walked with confidence out the doors.  Ever cautious, Rhett didn’t risk taking the Jeep waiting for him in the parking lot.  Instead, he took off in a long-legged sprint, feet barely making a sound as he navigated by starlight the path to the Retribution Pit.  Valen and Nate took up their positions behind and to either side of their leader.  

Within minutes
, they were rounding the stadium-like seating.  The murmurs died down immediately as thirty-three sets of eyes followed Rhett.  He took his place in front of the watchful group and acknowledged each of his soldiers before looking around the Retribution Pit thoughtfully.

“We’ve all been here before.  We’ve seen the
matches, weeding out the weak.  Kill or be killed.  We’ve been taught to believe this is a good and honorable way to live—and to die.”  The seventeen-year-olds seemed to collectively lock their jaws—evidence of the self-aware undercurrent that set 17th Company apart from the rest.  Rhett nodded with approval at the reaction, knowing full well he taught them to think for themselves.

“Our Metahuman way of life is all any of us has ever known—until now.  As you have been informed, our Company has been ordered to mobilize.   We are being shipped out to The States to take down a group of formidable metahumans who have been characterized as a threat to our way of life.  I’ve read the files detailing the talents this group posse
sses.  Their numbers are few, but their abilities reach beyond anything we’ve ever encountered.  The group is led by The Original Three.” A low murmur swept through the rapt audience. 

“I know we’ve all heard rumors of the advanced ‘gifts’ of the Originals.  If the dossier is accurate, it confirm
s those rumors.”  Eyes were wide with the implications as whispers rose.

Rhett raised his hands and the anxious group quieted.

“However, I believe the dossier is only telling part of the truth.  Before I risk the lives of my Company, it is my duty to uncover all the facts and only then make an informed decision about The Winter Clan.” 

“‘If,’ sir?”
A female meta was brave enough to question Rhett’s reasoning.  All eyes were wide and staring at their leader in both fear and awe, awaiting his response.

Rhett took a slow, deep breath and parked his hands on his slender hips before responding.  “Are we so indoctrinated to believe Dr. Williams that we can’t think for ourselves?  Life at the Facility is all we’ve ever known, but who’s to say it is the
right
way to live?  If the dossier is to be believed, why would four of our finest have defected to join The Original Three?  Why?  If they are such a threat to our way of life, why would Creed and Gavil Young, Farrow Schone and Dr. Sloan Mor give up everything they’d ever known, risk their lives and fight alongside the Winters?”  Rhett paused, thinking.

“
On the other hand, your judgment may be biased toward the Winters’ elimination based on a sense of vengeance for friends lost in the research hospital that day.”  He scanned the faces of his soldiers knowing they were weighing their decision carefully.

“Do we really have a choice, sir?” Another soldier asked over the worried whispers of the crowd.

“Always, in everything you think and do.  I have tried to teach you this over the years.”  Rhett nodded solemnly as he addressed the crowd sounding more like a teacher than a soldier.  “How you live your life is simply a matter of choice, but you must decide who is doing the choosing.  Will it be you or will you give that power to someone outside you?”   His gray eyes flashed with fervor. 

“After a thorough reconnaissance of
the Winter Clan, I will report back to you.  All final decisions are left to each of you.  I can only advise you to choose carefully—there will be consequences for your actions.  In the end, only you can decide for yourself what is a good and honorable way to live—and die.”

The crowd stayed hushed as they absorbed the gravity of Rhett’s words.

Rhett glanced to Nate and wordlessly passed him center stage.  Nate nodded and stepped forward to speak.  “We will assemble at-the-ready promptly at oh-seven-thirty hours.  Leave your quarters void of all personal effects.  Despite personal feelings on the matter, our 17th Company’s clandestine meetings have always been both voluntary and guarded.  Leave nothing behind that could jeopardize the absolute confidentiality of the group, and refrain from expressing questions or concerns until they can be addressed discreetly while en route to our directive.  That is all.” 

Rhett nodded once to the silent crowd and walked confidently away, Valen and Nate falling into line behind him. 

Members of 17th Company peeled away from the bleachers in small groups of two and three slipping quietly into the night.