Shadow Ops 3: Breach Zone (34 page)

‘Enough,’ Harlequin cut in. ‘We do not have time for this crap! We have the same goal here. We all want to stop her. We get that done, then we argue the rest of it later. Congress made that damn law, Oscar. We wear uniforms. We do what we’re told.’
Not always. Not anymore.

‘What are they telling you to do this time?’ Britton asked.

‘To stand and fight. To wait for relief. But if we do that, we’re going to lose. We don’t have the magic to deal with the
Gahe
. Well, we did, before she put the all-call out to every Selfer in the country. They’re starting to check in.’

‘And you need me to help fight them?’ Britton asked. ‘You want me to work for you again? To run down American citizens? Forget it.’

Harlequin was already shaking his head. ‘I know you too well to ask that of you, Oscar. I don’t want your help fighting them. I want your help winning them. You’re the only person in the country Selfers trust more than her. You’re the only one who can convince them to fight for their country instead of against it.’

Therese snorted. ‘You haven’t exactly made them feel like this is their country.’

‘But it still is,’ Harlequin said, ‘and we both know that Scylla’s vision for whatever would replace it is a hell of a lot worse than what’s going on right now.’

Britton shook his head. ‘Bullshit. You offer no proof of that. You can’t just go to the Selfers of this country, whom you have been hounding and jailing and killing since the Great Reawakening, and ask them to help their oppressors because the alternative is worse. Scylla is offering something. She put money on the table. You have to do the same thing.’

‘I don’t have the power to offer . . .’ Harlequin began.

‘Which is what government
always
says, and why nobody ever trusts it. It’s not my job. I don’t have the authority. I can’t. Policy says. I don’t write the laws. It all comes out to the same thing: No. Well, you don’t have time to convene Congress and debate the issue on the floor. You need Selfers to help you now. That means you need to offer them something tangible and real.’ Britton gestured to Bookbinder. ‘Hell, you’ve got a flag officer here.’

‘One star,’ Bookbinder said.

Britton tensed, stabbed a finger at Bookbinder’s chest. ‘That is
exactly
what I’m talking about. You want to duck the hard call, that’s on you, but I will not help you convince Selfers to work against their own interest because you won’t step up to the plate.’

Harlequin sighed. ‘What are your demands?’

Britton exchanged another glance with Therese, then turned back to Harlequin. ‘They’re not
my
demands. They’re the demands of every Latent-American who has felt the SOC’s bootheel on their neck. And you have to be behind them. I mean really behind them. You hedged your bets when we saved the FOB. You plugged right back into the system you bucked as soon as you realized that popular opinion would keep it from punishing you. Now, you have to be ready to break ranks for real. You have to be willing to put Porter in a chicken wing and hold him there. No matter what happens. You have to pick a side.’

‘You want us to side with Selfers,’ Bookbinder said.

‘Selfer is a label the government sticks on Latent people who don’t toe their line. They are Latent, just like you are. Scylla is offering them a community of self-rule. You offer them second-class digs at the feet of people who are terrified of them. You need to show them you are throwing in your lot with them. You need to do it on the air and in public.’

Harlequin’s stomach turned over. He met Bookbinder’s eyes, saw the same doubt there. FOB Frontier had housed tens of thousands of men and women, most of whom had military training.

New York was a city of over eight million civilians.

Bookbinder looked down. ‘We did it once already.’

‘That was different, sir. We saved a military division from being overrun. This is trucking with Selfers. This unwinds the bedrock of the McGauer-Linden Act.’

‘Are Swift and the rest throwing in their lot with her?’

‘He’s no fan of Scylla,’ Britton said, ‘but he’s no fan of yours, either.’

‘What have we got to lose?’ Bookbinder asked. ‘Besides the city, I mean.’

Harlequin sighed. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘let’s check in at the barricades, then we can bring it to Gatanas.’

‘Gatanas?’ Britton’s eyebrows rose. ‘He’s not going to give you permission . . .’

‘I won’t ask for permission. I’ll ask for forgiveness. Let’s grab a helo and head up to Houston.’

‘Helo?’ Britton opened a gate. ‘We don’t need a helo.’

Barricade One was already finished by the time Britton opened the gate from the quiet field in the Source.

They stepped out onto the building’s roof and into the swirling chaos of the defenders’ last gasp. Harlequin could feel the eddying of dozens of magical currents pulsing around him. Most rose from the street below, but a few reached him from above, flitting about the building. The snipers on the roof had scattered, some directing fire down into the street, most taking cover and firing panicked shots into the air.

He glanced skyward long enough to see two figures streak past, lightning blazing from their hands. They were moving too quickly, but he caught streaming long hair, jeans, and thick jackets. Definitely humans.

Below, the rock and gravel that packed the shipping containers flowed out of them, swirling and rising until a huge automaton stood, a hulking mass of asphalt, trash, and dirt. It lifted one of the now-empty shipping containers, tossing it aside like a toy. It smashed against the steps of the church, crashing through the dug-in positions of sandbags and piled tires, crushing the defenders behind them.

A hoarse cheer rose up from Scylla’s army.

The
Gahe
surged, making for the gap in the barricade. The Terramancer who’d conjured the automaton appeared behind them, arms raised, two more men at this side, both pouring gouts of flame into the ranks of the defenders, pulling back as the
Gahe
pushed through.

The flames swept over the remains of the barricade, then suddenly swirled, sputtered, and re-formed as man-shaped things that settled among the
Gahe
, swinging and tackling. Harlequin spotted Downer, kneeling at the building’s edge, brow furrowed in concentration.

But for every
Gahe
who stopped to fight the elementals, another sprinted past it, racing through the gap and up Broadway. Screams reached Harlequin as the civilians behind the police lines splintered and fled, too slow by far. Horns sounded from the goblin ranks, and they followed the mountain gods through.

One of Downer’s air elementals had carried her to the church’s steeple, where she directed the flame-men below. The mortar positions went silent as the defenders mixed with the attackers and the hand-to-hand fighting began. Downer’s elementals leapt among them, reducing them to howling smoke at the touch of their flaming fists, but they were extinguished by the
Gahe
’s freezing death throes, and more of them pushed past and into the city beyond.

The Terramancer’s automaton reared above them, pounding with huge rock fists. It gripped a police mobile command center, lifted it two-handed, slammed it down into a knot of policemen and soldiers.

It was enough. The defenders turned and fled along Houston Street, firing blindly over their shoulders, leaving the way open.

‘Jesus,’ Britton said. ‘I’ll be back.’ He flashed open a gate and disappeared through it. A moment later, it reopened, and beaten police and soldiers came stumbling through, following as Britton pointed them to positions at the building’s edge.

The defense coiled in upon itself, retracted, suddenly exposed at the flanks. Harlequin heard screams as the NYPD cops and National Guard soldiers suddenly found the enemy at their rear, in among them.

The rest went quickly. Harlequin watched in slack-jawed horror as the line of defense retracted east and west, a rubber band severed down the middle. Scylla’s army pursued them, taking them down with spears and arrows in their backs, shouting insults and shaking fists.

In moments, Harlequin couldn’t see a single uniform in the midst of the seething mass of enemy below.

To the last bullet and the last man, sir,
the captain at Barricade Three had said,
they won’t get through while we draw breath.

True enough. There were precious few left breathing down there now.

Scylla’s army took a moment to survey the field of victory, then followed the
Gahe
north, where New York lay before them like a sacrificial offering, defenseless.

Downer alighted on the roof beside Britton, stared frankly. She jerked her chin at Harlequin. ‘He promise you a pardon, too? I’m getting one once this is over.’

She looked out over the ruin of the barricades. ‘Which I’m thinking might be sooner rather than later. Guess maybe he’ll go back on his word now.’

‘I wouldn’t worry about that,’ Britton said. ‘If there’s any problem, I’ll get us out of here.’

‘Enough,’ Harlequin said. ‘Let’s get back to Battery Park.’

‘For what?’ Bookbinder said. ‘They’re through.’

‘Which means we have to find another way to stop them. It’s time for us to get our own message out.’

The reporter looked about twenty years old, with a scrubby beard and oversized eyeglasses. He bustled about, setting up a tiny camera on a tripod, hands trembling. He probably thought this scoop would make his career. Hell, it probably would.

There was no shortage of journalists risking their lives to document the story. Harlequin had plucked this guy off a tiny boat bobbing off the ferry terminal, taking advantage of the fact that all of the NYPD harbor and Coast Guard units had long since gone ashore to lend their guns at the barricades, or had their boats in either the Hudson or East River to harass the enemy from the water.

‘So . . .’ Harlequin said.

‘Ben,’ the reporter said to Britton. ‘It’s an honor to finally meet you, sir. I’m so incredibly psyched for this. I did a lot of the production for the second Gate-Gate coverage. Been a big fan of yours for a while.’

‘You said major networks,’ Harlequin said.

Ben rolled his eyes. ‘You’re living in the Dark Ages. Nobody watches that crap anymore.’

Harlequin felt his fists bunch. ‘The whole reason I gave you this story was because I need distribution. Now if you can’t . . .’

The kid wasn’t interested. ‘You want to reach the largest possible audience as quickly as possible? Or did you want to have the cachet of a major network and only be seen by a handful of geriatrics who are watching with one eye as they run off to work or put the kids to bed?’

Harlequin considered that.

‘Have you ever heard of viral media?’ Ben asked. ‘I just tweeted a link to my live feed,’ Ben went on. ‘I have over fifty thousand followers . . . no, wait. Make that over one hundred and fifty thousand. Go figure, folks like to see shots of your headquarters here. That link has been retweeted to a total of . . . uh . . . looks like almost two million nodes so far. That doesn’t count online shares on other social-media sites. You’ve got to trust me on this. People are getting it. This is too big not to draw attention.’

Harlequin and Bookbinder had donned fresh uniforms, cleaned themselves up as best they could. Clean-shaven, hair combed, they looked bizarre amid the bedraggled, filthy soldiers outside the ready room. Harlequin had stationed two guards to keep the room clear. The troops under his command would see the broadcast soon enough, and there would be a reckoning when they did. Therese had remained at the barricade with Downer. Her magic was needed everywhere, but there most of all.

‘You ready?’ he asked Bookbinder. ‘Once we do this, there’s no turning back.’

‘We’ve already done it,’ Bookbinder said. Gatanas had cradled his head in his hands and nodded when Harlequin had given him the news.
You’re relieved of command, Lieutenant Colonel. General Bookbinder has the ICP now.

Very well, sir,
Bookbinder had said.
My first command is to put Oscar Britton on the air. We’re going to lose if we don’t turn this tide. Barricade One broke less than an hour ago. There are enemy in the city north of the line. The Breach Zone is . . . breached. We need something, or it all comes apart.

Gatanas had watched them for a long time, eyes tired. At last he shook his head.
Sounds like you’ve made your call.
He’d severed the connection.

Harlequin guessed that, secretly, Gatanas hoped they’d do it. He knew circumstances were desperate in New York and that this move had as much of a chance as any to halt Scylla’s momentum. If it worked, Gatanas would take full credit for it. If it didn’t, his hands were clean.

Harlequin looked over at Britton, dressed in a clean casual shirt and jeans. Clean was good, but the informality bothered him. ‘I can’t convince you to put on a tie?’ Harlequin asked. ‘We’re surrounded by every store in the world. I’m sure we could . . . borrow you something Scylla’s army hasn’t managed to burn or shred yet.’

‘You’re appealing to people who have been hounded by politicians for years,’ Britton said. ‘You want me to dress up like one?’

‘Everyone is going to see this,’ Harlequin said. ‘Not just Selfers. We have to convince the whole country. The whole world.’

Britton shook his head. ‘You’re still trying to play their game. That’s done.’ He nodded to Ben. ‘Let’s go.’

Ben nodded back, his voice trembling with excitement. ‘Live in five, four . . .’ He mouthed the remaining countdown, flashing fingers until he reached zero. A red light shone from the camera’s top as he started recording.

Harlequin’s TV instincts kicked in and he straightened, put on the face he’d used on dozens of news shows since he’d been appointed Special Advisor to the Reawakening Commission: authoritative, serious. He was used to working in a professional studio, and the dirty, cluttered digs left much to be desired, but he knew from experience it would come across as authentic, and that would curry favor with the audience. As Britton began to speak, there was an explosion outside, and the building shook. He restrained the urge to rush out and see what had happened. This was too important. He had good people out there. They would hold.