Crysis: Escalation (17 page)

As they entered the East River, New York was a faint glow to the southwest.

Inside the bridge the silence was only broken by the occasional quietly spoken instruction. The tensest moment came when they passed within two hundred feet of a patrol vessel. The craft’s
searchlights were being played across the dark riverbanks on either side of the river. They were presumably looking for resistance fighters. Lieutenant Chalmers, who ran the weapons section,
glanced up at Harper but the Captain said nothing. He wasn’t even sure what he was going to do if they were discovered. Would he fight or surrender? If he fought would the crew follow his
orders? The searchlight must have shone straight through the
Robin Hood
but the patrol craft did not notice them.

How can they not be aware of something this size so close to them?
Harper wondered.
Can’t they feel us?

‘Helm, bring us to within five hundred feet of the northern shoreline,’ Harper ordered. To the south of them was Rikers Island, the infamous prison now abandoned following the attack
on New York. Information was exchanged rapidly, verbally and electronically, between navigation and the helm. Harper felt the ship change direction. ‘Hold position here. Lieutenant Commander
Swanson, the planning room, if you will.’

The captain stood up and headed to the room adjoining the bridge. Swanson followed him. The room contained a conference table with a holo-projector in the centre and workstations around the
side. Other than a picture of HMS
Hood
the room was bare.

‘Sir?’ the lieutenant commander asked, barely suppressed curiosity written all over her face.

‘I’ll be blunt, are you prepared to follow my orders?’ he asked.

‘Are these in contravention of our orders from CELL?’ she asked, equally bluntly.

‘I will say no, they are not,’ he lied, and he lied obviously.
Understand what I can’t come out and say,
he willed her.
Take the word of your Captain when he lies
to you.
This would be the only protection she would get. It probably wasn’t enough. He saw the understanding on her face.

‘You can trust me, sir,’ she told him. He nodded, believing her.

‘I am going to be leaving the ship,’ he told her.

‘Sir . . .? Why?’ Her surprise was visible.

‘To gather intelligence.’

‘Sir, we have people . . .’

‘I . . . we need to make an informed decision. It needs to be me, I’m afraid.’

Now the young Lieutenant Commander looked less sure.

‘Does that change your decision?’

Swanson gave it some thought.

‘No, sir, I don’t believe it does,’ she told him, resolved.

‘You know, with me gone there will be a lot of pressure . . .’ She just nodded. ‘Very well. My standing orders are to remain here and remain hidden until I return.’

‘And if you don’t, sir?’

They now had eight hours before they were due to fire on Yonkers.

‘Then I am afraid the decision will be down to you,’ he told her. He left out that it would come down to her conscience. He left out that regardless of her decision it would haunt
her for years. He knew Swanson to be twenty-eight years old, young for her rank.
Too young for a decision like this,
he thought.

She swallowed but nodded.

‘Rules of Engagement, sir?’

‘You will only fire if the lives of the members of this crew rely on it. The emphasis is on being sneaky.’

‘The ghoul? I mean Commander Stevens?’

‘He remains confined to quarters. If he gives you any trouble then put him in the brig.’ She nodded. ‘Anything else?’

‘No sir.’ She went to leave but hesitated. She turned back and offered her hand. ‘Sir, it’s been an honour.’

Harper looked down at the hand.

‘I am intending on coming back,’ he told her, smiling. She nodded and went back to the bridge.

Lieutenant Talpur’s cabin-come-office was next to the bunk area for her marines and it was tiny. This wasn’t too much of a problem for the Lieutenant as she was
quite small. It was unpleasantly cramped for the Captain.

The Lieutenant handed the Captain a mug of tea.

‘I’ll be blunt. Can I trust you?’ the Captain asked. Talpur’s presence during Stevens’ insubordination earlier had soured his view of the marine officer. She
sighed.

‘That it has come to this,’ she muttered.

‘Lieutenant, we don’t have a lot of time.’

‘It never occurred to me that I would ever disobey an order from the Captain of a ship that I was stationed on. The problem is, our chain of command has changed.’

‘An officer still has the right to refuse to follow orders for reasons of conscience.’

‘Until the terms and conditions of our contract are changed, and then their career will be over.’

‘Do you want a career in this service?’

The Lieutenant looked at the Captain, holding his eyes for a long time, measuring him, trying to decide what to say. She rubbed her face tiredly. ‘No.’ The Captain started to say
something. ‘But I want to put food on the table for my family. I’m not sure that I have the luxury of your principles, sir.’

Neither do I
, Harper thought as his heart sank. Although small in number, the marines would be crucial in maintaining control of the ship.

‘So I can’t rely on you, Lieutenant?’

‘No, sir, I’m sorry.’

She slid a piece of paper across the table. Harper picked it up and read the list of six names on it. Lieutenant Talpur’s was at the top.

‘Lieutenant?’

‘You need to relieve me of command and confine these men to quarters, as they all have dependents and quite frankly too much to lose. Sergeant Martin is unmarried with no children that he
is aware of. He is also an outspoken critic of CELL . You can rely on Sergeant Martin, sir.’

‘The men won’t like that.’

‘And women. It’s been discussed, sir.’

Harper looked at the list and then back to the Lieutenant.

‘Thank you, Lieutenant.’ Talpur just nodded. ‘There is one other thing, Lieutenant. Do any of your men . . . people . . . have criminal records?’

Talpur looked pained.

‘Sir, a number of my people are in due to the Offenders Conscription Act. What do you need?’

‘A car thief, ideally.’

‘A Liverpudlian, then? I have just the man.’

It had been incredible, Harper thought. The inflatable raiding craft had been lowered between two of the trimaran hulls. Looking up and around him he could see the composite
carbon-fibre of the ship’s structure. As the coxswain had taken the boat out from under the
Robin Hood
’s superstructure Harper had felt a moment of ionisation as they had gone
through the lensing field. He glanced behind him and the
Robin Hood
was nowhere to be seen.

The other three people didn’t seem to be enjoying his moment of wonder as they made their way slowly and quietly towards the dark Bronx shoreline. The coxswain was intent on piloting the
boat. Private Fry, more frequently known as Scouse, was manning the MMG at the prow of the small craft. Corporal Fenn, a tough young woman from rural north Yorkshire, had her SCAR assault rifle at
the ready and was scanning the surface of the river as they headed towards the Bronx shoreline.

Harper knew that the Bronx borough of New York used to have a fearsome reputation for crime, particularly the South Bronx. Now all they would have to worry about was the occasional groups of
homeless, even more occasional CELL patrols, and wandering dog packs. Though there were rumours of leftover Ceph bioforms. Despite having seen the whole thing on the news and acting as part of the
rapid response force formed as a result of the alien incursion, Harper still had problems crediting the whole thing. Aliens on the streets of Manhattan still seemed too much like science fiction to
him.

With a navigator’s eye Harper had used landmarks on the surrounding riverbanks to triangulate the position of the
Robin Hood
for his return journey. He was carrying a GPS device
and had memorised the co-ordinates of the ship but he would not input them until the last minute in case someone got hold of the device.

They had come in under a rotting pier. Harper had told the coxswain to wait there for eight hours or until they returned. They had found a ladder that didn’t look too
rotten and headed up into the eerily quiet borough.

A four-wheel drive vehicle would have been more useful, but the only thing that Private Fry had managed to find and get working was a compact. They had siphoned as much fuel as they could find
whilst Corporal Fenn watched over them. In the distance they could hear the howls of a hunting dog pack. Further afield they could see lights in the sky. A CELL helicopter, heading towards
Manhattan and whatever it was that CELL was doing there.

The sound of the compact’s engine starting up seemed incredibly loud amongst the dark, empty streets.

With two big marines and their weapons, the interior of the compact was quite cramped. Both the marines, like Harper, were out of uniform, wearing what dark-coloured civilian clothing they had
found. They were still wearing their webbing, however.

‘I think it only fair to warn you that if we’re caught in civvies we may be executed as spies. If either of you want to back out, I’d understand,’ Harper told them. Fenn
said nothing.

‘I hope we see one of these Ceph,’ Fry said in his strong Scouse accent as he flipped the night vision goggles down over his eyes. ‘I’ve never seen an alien
before.’

Fry had studied the map, and many of the old street signs were still present. The Scouse marine had adeptly navigated through the abandoned city. They’d had to detour
around rubble, push burnt wrecks of cars out of the way and, with an eye on the deadline, their journey had seemed horribly slow.

Harper had visited New York on a number of occasions. The place had always seemed teeming with life. This ghost husk of city he found impossibly eerie.

They had caught sight of Manhattan on several occasions. It was lit up, but lit up like a construction site. Much of the most famous skyline in the world was dark and broken-looking from damage
received during the Ceph invasion. Harper could see new structures going up but struggled to make out what they were from this distance.

They saw nothing on their journey, not even wild dogs, the only movement the lights in the sky from the helicopters over Manhattan.

They crossed over the Bronx River and into Southeast Yonkers. The city was built on a number of hills rising from the Hudson River in the west. Like everywhere else, it seemed
deserted. They were travelling along a wide road lined with empty apartment buildings and deserted businesses.

‘Sir?’ Fry asked.

Harper knew that the Resistance had spread out across the city in a bid to avoid making themselves one big target. Harper knew that this was one of the areas where CELL’s Archangel orbital
weapons platform had found heat readings.

‘I would imagine they should find . . .’

Headlights dazzled them. The glare momentarily blinded Fry, and he cried out as he simultaneously tried to push the NVGs up and bring the car to a halt. Harper was thrown forwards but was aware
of Fenn bringing her SCAR up to bear. Fry was reaching for his weapon.

‘Wait! Stand down!’ Harper shouted. Some kind of aging armoured vehicle had been pulled across the road in front of them. There were dark figures running towards the car. The car
doors were yanked open and Harper found himself face down on the tarmac, his hands being cable tied behind his back.

Harper felt that his explanation, that he was the captain of a stealth missile destroyer well within firing range of them and that he needed to speak with their commanding
officer, lost something of its import when delivered through a black hood.

They had been searched, searched again, searched one more time in a way that bordered on violation, and marched to a number of different places before finally being tied to chairs.
Harper’s hood was removed and he found himself sat on a chair in a basement that had several inches of water covering the floor. Fenn and Fry were on either side of him, still hooded.

There were three people in here, all male. The first was a stern looking Caucasian man in his early sixties wearing urban pattern combat fatigues that looked very worn but still serviceable. He
was in excellent physical condition for his age. His arms were crossed and he looked less than pleased to see Harper and the marines.

The second man was Hispanic. His hair was closely cropped, and he looked to be in his early thirties. He wore sleeveless jungle pattern fatigues under body armour and had an enormous Majestic
revolver holstered at his hip.

The third man was sat opposite Harper. He had no hair and was thin, verging on the gaunt. He looked to be in his eighties but in very good shape for it. His eyes seemed younger, somehow. They
were very much alive. He looked familiar to Harper, like someone he had seen on television.

‘Do you know who I am?’ the man asked. He had a strong German accent. Harper finally placed the man.

‘You’re Karl Ernst Rasch, the ousted head of Hargreave-Rasch BioChemical,’ Harper said warily. He glanced at Fenn and Fry.

‘And Cry-Net Systems, who own CELL , who in turn now own the Royal Navy. Or should that be the CELL navy?’

‘My name is . . .’ Harper started.

‘We know who you are. We have had your identity confirmed.’

Harper didn’t even ask how.

‘And these gentlemen?’ Harper asked.

‘Don’t particularly want their names known,’ the stern-looking man said. He was clearly used to command. Something about him made Harper think special forces. He wore no
insignia on his uniform, just a small stars and stripes patch on one shoulder.

‘You are the Captain of the
Robin Hood
?’ Rasch said. Harper nodded.

‘They know where you are,’ Harper told them.

‘That was to be expected. Whilst I was CEO at Hargreave-Rasch I was aware of the contract to provide the
Robin Hood
. I am aware of its rather frightening capabilities. CELL have
chosen not to deploy what used to be the US marines in New York due to fear of mutiny. Provably loyal CELL military contractors defend the city. In many ways, the
Robin Hood
is our biggest
threat.’ He paused as if considering something. ‘Some would say it is an odd thing for its Captain to be riding around South East Yonkers at this time of night.’