Endgame (37 page)

Two days later, there are a couple of dicey moments as
we sneak out of Jineba, but good timing and March’s reflexes drive us into hiding until we find a path around the checkpoints. Occasionally it means backtracking or circling around the long way, but eventually, we clear the last obstacle and emerge into the countryside. It’s not as peaceful as one might hope, though.

I hear detonations in the distance, and it’s not our forces since Loras hasn’t given the order to strike the cities yet. We’re entrenched in the provinces, building troops and supplies, before we commit to the final phase. Which means the Nicuan are responsible. My stomach feels leaden as I fall in behind March. The rendezvous point is a day’s hike, and we’ll be crossing dangerous terrain alone. Drones do low buzzes overhead, scanning for hostiles, and some of them carry ordnance. If Sasha were with us, he could take them out, but that would also report our position. So long as we don’t assault their tech, the drones won’t register us. We’re not carrying any weapons it would detect, nothing with a power source. That leaves us with primitive methods of self-defense, however, until we rejoin our squad.

Over the next rise, I learn the source of the noise, and I freeze with shock. Then, instinctively, I start forward, as if I can save them. March catches me, draws me back against him. I want to fight him, but there’s no point. I can only watch, helpless with pain and rage, as Nicuan bombards a civilian target. The town is full of elderly La’hengrin who have been retired from public service. Their protectors don’t want them anymore because they’ve committed the ultimate sin; they’ve aged and are no longer beautiful. So they’re banished to this village to live out their remaining days in loneliness and squalor.

“We don’t have any forces there,” I protest.

“Doesn’t matter. This is supposed to break our will to carry on.”

No screams are audible, but I imagine them. March and I crouch, unable to pass, until the Nicuan drones cease the onslaught. The machines gun down survivors below; anyone who runs, dies, and I can’t look away from the carnage. I don’t know when I’ve felt more helpless or more horrified.

This is the longest hour of my life.

Eventually, the drones complete their programming and veer away, off to another target, probably to rain more destruction on innocents. I’ve never hated like this before, but as I run down to the hillside to check for survivors, it boils in me like lava. March follows me, more cautious in his approach, but I have to know.

Bodies are everywhere. One old couple died wrapped in each other’s arms. His face is lined; so is hers, and they cling to love even in death. His legs are gone. As I stumble through the wreckage, I see more and more death. Nobody’s breathing. I stagger away from the broken buildings and lose my field rations. This is worse than Venice Minor—and I thought nothing could ever be so bad. But I didn’t see Doc and Evie’s corpses, afterward. The Morgut missiles burned everything to ash. This ordnance is different, leaving carnage calculated to dishearten the most determined foe.

“We have to move, Jax. We can’t save them.”

“All right.” I pull myself together with some effort, but I can’t compartmentalize. Not this. It’s too big. I have no secret spaces in my head large enough to hold it. So the horror sits in the front of my mind as I walk, replaying constantly.

“Don’t,” March says softly. “It’ll drive you crazy.”

“You must’ve seen that before. How do you stand it?”

“Similar atrocities. War is never clean.” He doesn’t stop, even to comfort me.

I understand why. That hour cost us; if we don’t reach the rendezvous point in time, we’ll be alone behind enemy lines. And we can’t get the job done that way. It has become more critical than ever to remove Nicuan from this world. The crimes they’ve perpetrated against the La’hengrin will cease—and they will be punished. I’ll see to it. Now I understand what March meant when he said Loras had changed; I feel like I have ice in my veins. What do the Nicuan care about some old people? Maybe it’ll teach the slaves their place.

Six hours later, we arrive at the agreed location. It appears to be deserted. At first, I think they’ve gone without us, and my heart drops. Then I spot movement; Loras, Vel, Zeeka, and the others are wearing armor with camo paint, perfected when Constance was head of R&D. I can’t believe she’s gone. Never got to thank her…or say good-bye.

“Glad you could make it,” Z says cheerfully.

Vel greets me with a particularly eloquent
wa
.
Now white wave can rest. The tides were restless while brown bird flew.
His way of telling me he was worried about me.

I don’t have the patience for pleasantries, however. This time I don’t return the
wa
. Once he hears, Vel will understand. Immediately, I corner Loras and give him the intel on the devastation; his jaw clenches as he listens to my report.

Then he circles his hands in the air, signaling Farah. “Get our gear packed. We need to clear the area.”

“That’s all?” I demand.

“We don’t want to be here when they come back for round two,” he tells me. “It serves no one if we die before we’re through. I’ll send a comm out, advising civilians to get to one of our fortifications if at all possible. That’s all I can do right now.”

“But…” It seems wrong to walk away from this, yet I know he’s right.

We have to bide our time until our forces are ready. The guerilla war will continue in the provinces. We’ll keep stealing supplies and shipments while holding the ground we’ve taken.
If we could get some defense towers up, drones would have no way to assault us. But at the moment, our resources are insufficient to protect civilian targets. There are strongholds in the north and west, where Nicuan hasn’t been able to penetrate our airspace in a while, but those safe zones are few and far between.

Over the next six months, I learn that the hard way. We run missions constantly, high-risk scenarios on various targets: raiding, stealing, and harrying the enemy. This particular day, I’m riding high, as the factory burns in the distance—Zeeka’s handiwork—and the squad is cheerful. We just cost the Nicuan nobility a billion credits in ruined drones. Ceepak is cracking wise, promising even more destruction, and we echo his cockiness with an approving rumble. These days, there’s no base, but Tarn is coordinating strikes. When we lost the ops center, he stepped up, offering his experience during the Morgut War to keep each individual cell harassing the Nicuan giant.

But then everyone falls quiet. Because…there’s a smell in the air, one I’ve grown too familiar with over the turns. Death. Death on a grand scale. I’ve seen some terrible things, and the bombing of that village was among the worst, but this? I have no words.

There’s a gaping hole in the earth, purposefully dug, but the enemy didn’t have the decency to bury the dead. And the madness has method. The sign posted near the pit reads:
DEATH TO THE CHILDREN OF INSURGENTS. THE FAMILIES OF ALL TRAITORS TO THE EMPIRE WILL BE EXECUTED
.

This mass grave is full of children. I can tell that by their size though they’ve been dead for days. So many of them, I lose count in those first ghastly seconds, but each small face imprints in my head. I squeeze my eyes shut, but I can’t stop seeing this. Shakes overtake me, and I drop into a squat, breathing too fast through my nose.

Someone’s hands are on me, soothing, and I slap them away. There’s no solace for this. Sasha, who isn’t much older than the kids in the hole, is here. He shouldn’t be exposed to this. Part of me wishes he and March had never come to La’heng, despite what they’ve given to the cause. I wish
I
weren’t here; I long for the fierce colors and the scintillant beauty found only in grimspace.

“It doesn’t matter what their families did or didn’t do. They were
children
. How do you fight an enemy who will do this?” I ask of nobody in particular.

“You become the sort of person who will do worse,” Loras answers coolly.

“I can’t.”

The leader of the LLA stares down into the mass grave, as if memorizing each face. “I can. I will. I must.”

I see the steel hardening in him, tempered by multiple Nicuan atrocities. Each time they raise the bar for what’s too horrible to contemplate…and Loras’s retaliation will be devastating. He’s been saving it up for turns, witnessing horror after horror.

When Farah unleashes him, the Nicuan will burn.

The months roll on with inexorable sameness. We don’t
get downtime. Push, push, push. That’s all Loras says. But he’s not wrong. The resistance is gathering momentum; in the city, there’s a youth movement dedicated to making the centurions’ lives miserable. They don’t wear uniforms, so it’s impossible for the Nicuan to tell who belongs to the resistance without a wholesale execution of slaves. It’s not that I think the nobles wouldn’t do it; but they’re fundamentally selfish beasts. If they kill all their slaves, they’ll have to work.

The next op will be a joint effort between my squad and Deven’s cell. Our target is the munitions supply depot that’s arming centurions to take the war to more helpless villages in the provinces. We can’t let that happen.

My whole body aches with exhaustion, accumulated through months of little sleep, constant movement, and battle readiness. For the first time, I’m glad of the Rejuvenex treatment because I might not have been able to keep up. I don’t know how March is doing it, as he’s still got his same body, already battered from prior turns on Nicu Tertius. Yet he doesn’t complain; he’s coordinating with Deven at the moment.

Then it’s deployment time.

After a series of successful strikes, the Nicuan are on high alert. They’ve stationed a ton of centurions here, guarding the munitions. Our manpower is on the low end for this objective, but we’ve got La’hengrin determination and SpecForce. I hope it’s enough to carry the day.

The camo paint on our armor doesn’t work as we move, but when we settle into position on the rise above, it helps. Gazing through binocs, I scope out the scene below. Multiple guard towers, heavy hardware. If we intended a frontal ground assault here, we’d be doomed. Fortunately, we have other options.

Loras orders, “Ceepak and Shelby, you’re on watch. Look after Sasha and Hammond while they do their thing. Z, I want you ready to roll with Beta Squad.” That’s Deven’s team. “How fast can you wire the place to blow?”

“Depends,” Zeeka answers. “On a lot of factors. But I’ll work as quick as I can.”

The LLA commander nods. “Good enough, it’s all I can ask. The rest of you will bunker down over there.” He points across to the other side of the hill. “Lay down enough fire to make the centurions think there are more of you. Vel, you’re in charge of scrambling their hardware, so they can’t get an accurate scan of life signs in the area. That means you’re with Beta Squad as well.”

We’ll draw them away from SpecForce, so they can complete their mission. So much weight rests on Sasha’s young shoulders. Talk about getting your Psi training in a crucible.

“There’s no margin for error here, people. This is the last objective before we can begin the final offensive and take the battle to the last Nicuan stronghold, the cities.”

I get the importance. We have to pull some teeth out of the beast’s mouth before we dare stick our hand in, but it doesn’t lessen how scared I am. This war has taken so much already. When Vel leaves my sight without looking back, nausea roils in my gut. Thank Mary March is geared up and bunkered down beside me.

What’s left of our team moves along the hillside slowly, getting in position to open fire on Loras’s signal. Which will be low-tech, as well. We’ve fought under incredible disadvantages, limited by lack of communications since the base went
down and dwindling resources. The Nicuan destroy things rather than let our people use them. They’re mining farmland, so the La’hengrin are starving while the nobles get fatter in Jineba and Kayro. I’ve come across so many fields with the bodies of helpless farmers littered across them, blown to bits when they tended their crops.

This nightmare feels endless. Turns ago, when I agreed to this, I didn’t realize what it would mean. I was naïve. I’ve been so many women in my past, played various roles, but it will be a different Jax entirely who leaves La’heng.

If I do.

Right now, I feel none too sure.

As one, our unit waits until Loras sends up the flare from across the way, where he’s guarding SpecForce. Farah is here with me, and she raises her weapon. We open fire as one, scattering the centurions crossing down below. March is beside me, raining death, as SpecForce goes to work. Sasha takes out two piles of crates himself; those are weapons that will never be used against us. Hammond is starting fires all over the place. There’s some risk as we have Beta Squad, along with Vel and Zeeka, down there, but I trust they can look after themselves. They’ll avoid the towering infernos Hammond lays down and do the rest of the job while the centurions deal with our distractions.

That’s exactly what they are, too: sound and fury, covering the real target—the warehouses. Zeeka will slip inside them, one by one, while we keep the enemy busy. Mary grant they don’t catch on and turn their attention inward. Vel screwing with their comms will help; if they can’t readily compare notes or issue orders, they’ll be crippled, as centurions aren’t known for being quick thinkers—too many turns of blindly following orders.

Sometimes I get lucky and kill a centurion. Secretly, this thrills me. In my head, they all wear Cato’s face. That’s probably wrong; some might be more like Gaius, but it permits me to unload without mercy, until my rifle beeps a warning. Then I drop down and let March cover the gap in the pattern.

“How’s it look down there?” I ask him.

He peers through the scope. “Burning. Explosions. Men dying.”

“Their men?”

“I think so. It’s pretty hard to tell. We won’t get word from Beta Squad until the mission’s complete.”

“We’ll know if Z succeeded when he detonates.”