Prometheus and the Dragon (Atlas and the Winds Book 2) (29 page)

Colonel Yao and Prefect Czao met them at the airlock. “We will need an excavator to dig the rover out of the pile,” the officer said, standing at attention.

His crewmate held a baggie out to the Colonel. “This is what we found,” he said, handing her the sample. She looked at it curiously, and passed it to the Prefect.

He opened the bag and sniffed at the contents before he pulled out one of the pieces and popped it in his mouth, crunching down on the shell. “My father was a farmer,” he explained in response to the curious stares. “It’s red wheat.”

***

Syrian Border Checkpoint Twelve, Israel:

The Russians left some of their hardware behind and had, to the man, refused to engage the Israeli troops that bit at their heels. Once they’d left, the Israelis had to regroup and rethink their situation. They’d faced Russian occupation for five months, and the losses to their infrastructure weighed heavy on their desire for retribution, but ultimately not heavy enough.

The cries for vengeance outweighed their tears of anguish. They knew the Pan-Arab Alliance was behind the invasion, even if it had been the Russians that had been the hand wielding the weapons.

So, when they could, they began massing for a counter-strike. First into Syria, then into Lebanon.

During the occupation they’d managed to keep their larger weapons safe. Their secret nuclear arsenal had been held out at sea, beyond the reach of the ground forces, and near enough to the American fleet to make the Russian Navy cautious about striking at them. Of course, the Knesset had refused to contemplate using these weapons within their own home lands, but once their battles were to be held in someone else’s backyard, they’d have no qualms about pulling out their big guns. Everyone knew it. The balance would shift again in their favor, and this time Israel intended to drive home their resolve to never let this happen again, with everything they had at their disposal.

Gahdrel Onan squatted in a low depression about four hundred yards from the Syrian guard post, watching as Ivan the Terrible, the last Russian soldier to leave Israel, passed the Syrian infantryman stationed at the checkpoint. He saw the Syrian make an obscene gesture toward the Russian, who was riding on the top of a huge APC. His orders were to keep the Russians in sight, but not to attack unless they stopped their withdrawal. Altogether it had taken weeks for the Russians to pull out, and it was only for the first week they’d been attacked. Once the Russians had officially announced their desire to remove themselves from the battlefield, Israel had decided not to waste ammo on making sure they hurried home.

Now the Israelis, waiting to start their own offensive, were counting the seconds until the Russians were out of the line-of-fire. Behind him, Sergeant Onan knew the American made, self-propelled 105 Howitzers had already set up, and were waiting to open fire.

“The Russians are clear,” he said, almost standing up to watch the shells rain down. The first explosion shattered the guard post. The next one obliterated their armored carrier. Gunfire erupted from the Syrians, who were scattering like leaves away from the bonfire that their vehicles and buildings had become.

“Now it’s our turn,” whispered Gahdrel. “You will pay for what you have done.” He unslung his rifle and stood, walking straight toward the flames, picking targets as they stuck their heads up.

He marched over the border, standing tall and knowing this time they would take what they wanted from these Arab bastards. He had no fear, confident in his faith they were getting what they deserved.

The first bullet that hit him almost tore his arm from his shoulder. He noticed the pain, but didn’t react. His rifle was in his other hand. The second one shattered his helmet and his fragile skull beneath it. This time he noticed nothing. He was dead as he hit the ground an instant later. Exactly twelve inches inside Syria.

***

Lunagrad Base, Boscovich Crater, Luna:

It had gone from bad to worse. There had been no pretense. When Yuri Romanov called Sergei Titov out in a rover to the landing zone, he expected the worst and wasn’t surprised. The Commander’s voice sounded strained to near the breaking point, and when the doctor arrived, he understood. Pieces of rover were scattered for almost a thousand yards. Somewhere in the debris were two Russian cosmonauts. Or, at least what was left of them.

“I want you to do forensic investigation,” Romanov said. “We must categorically prove it was bomb, and not some absurd mistake.”

“There is nothing on rover that would explode like that. It does not even carry pressurized tanks of oxygen,” Sergei said.

“I know that,” the Commander said. “That is why I want formal investigation. I am assigning two engineers. One Russian and one Arab. That way your findings cannot be disputed.”

“Commander Romanov,” the Communications Officer interrupted.

“Da, what is it?” he asked.

“Sir, you need to return to Command Center immediately,” she said.

“What is it? I am busy.”

“This may have some bearing on your investigation,” she said. “We have found note claiming credit for rover explosion. Man who posted, is being held in your office.”

“Claiming credit?” Sergei said, realizing the ominous implications of someone having no fear of reprisal. Especially in a colony of under 2,000.

“Yes,” she said. “We have posted guards to keep him safe for now.”

“To keep him safe?” Yuri asked.

“There are several dozen people standing here demanding vengeance,” she said. “They are threatening to kill him outright. If you do not return immediately, is likely they will overpower guards and do so. I thought you would like to have chance to talk to him.”

“I am on my way,” he said. “Have Faruq al Hassien meet me at my office.”

“He is already here,” she said. “He is one of men guarding prisoner.”

He turned to face Sergei, signaling with his fingers to turn to a private channel. “If I delay, do you think they will have solved my problem without me?”

“Probably,” the Doctor said. “But if you execute him, you will only inflame hostilities.”

“If I do not, it will have same effect on our people,” he said. “I am trapped between demon and deep, black void.”

***

Rural Tennessee:

Nathaniel Sommerset stayed out of the city. It wasn’t safe for him to be there anymore. Not because of the rioting, he was in fact one of the few people in the world who had nothing to fear from the insanity. It was God’s way of tilling the fields of the faithless so he could plant seeds of salvation. He knew it was his mission to harvest those restored souls. So he walked among those people driven wild by their fears, sure in his confidence the Lord was protecting him, and those who were acting without thought were simply lost along the path of salvation.

The only thing he feared was that the government might seize him, as they had his studio sanctuary in Atlanta. That Satan’s minions, in their current incarnation as the United States Government, would silence the word of God by arresting him. Or killing him. He wasn’t ready for martyrdom. Not yet. He had to stand and be
The Light
until the end.

Because of divine revelation he’d managed to stay ahead of them. He’d purchased a satellite uplink truck from a small television studio outside of Nashville with cash, and had acquired a set of digital cameras from a specialty pawn shop near Knoxville. He was not about to be silenced in his sacred mission to restore the word of God’s coming rapture.

Yet, he understood the anger of those who were misguided in their belief that they knew the means to their survival. He knew the call of the flesh stood at odds with their salvation. That their desire to save the skin suit, left the eternal soul without the love of the Lord. Surely his crusade would not be stopped by their insistence that he be silenced.

He was not guilty of the things that were said about him. They twisted his words as only the True Deceiver could. He had not planned the attacks on any of the facilities that his people had carried out in God’s name. He was not a military man. He was a man of the cloth, above the mundane world, and its flesh and bone considerations. He was the Light of the New Word.

Still, there had been so much violence in His name. So it was his mission to keep himself on the air, as a true voice of faith in everlasting life. If he could only be heard often enough, and by those with open hearts, he knew he had the power to convert, without the need for bloodshed.

Standing in the small blue room that served as his virtual pulpit, he prepared once more to send the word out to the people. Hidden in a small meadow, a hundred miles from nowhere, he was once again in his church. Through the miracle of digital technology, he stood in a room that was indistinguishable from his Atlanta sanctuary. It was his fifty-fifth broadcast from the road, and so far none of his followers knew he wasn’t at home.

The government-controlled media had claimed his church was no longer operating, and they had captured his studio. They’d announced he was a fugitive, and on the list of most wanted, but every day he appeared from the digital pulpit, calm and confident.

Faith could change the world, but all too often faith was blind. The believers knew without question he was still there, and the government had become the enemy of truth.

“Two minutes,” the voice of Erik Michaels, his broadcast director said in his ear.

He bowed his head and started into his prayer. A loud crack startled him and he looked up. “What was that?” he said into his mic.

“We’re in trouble out here,” Erik said. “It sounds like gunfire.” Several more loud reports confirmed what he’d been told. A louder bang rang through the semi-trailer studio, and a small pinhole of sunlight glinted through the wall beside him.

“We’re under attack,” the director said, sounding calm. “I’ve just been told there are several Humvees out there, and at least one chopper.”

“What about our security?” Nathaniel asked, squatting down behind the small podium.

“We’re starting to respond, but it looks like the government’s fighting on two fronts,” he said. “Most of our people are holding fire, but there’s a lot of activity in the trees—“ A loud roaring thunder drowned out the last of his words.

“The chopper’s going down,” Erik reported. A demonic howling scream ended in a second boom that shook the trailer violently, toppling the lectern onto him. In the next instant, the lights went out and he was plunged into total darkness.

He huddled under the podium while he listened to what appeared to be a war outside. The only illumination in the small studio came from the beam of light that shone through the bullet hole. As his eyes adjusted, he could see the remote controlled cameras had fallen over in the shaking. He stood and carefully put them back on their stands, feeling a strange sense of detachment wash over him. The gunfire appeared to be moving away, each crack sounding more muffled and distant. Then there was silence.

The back door of the trailer swung open, and he expected to be facing armed US agents. Squinting against the brightness, he was surprised to see Erik smiling up at him. He had some dirt on his face, but otherwise he looked uninjured, and oddly enough, happy.

He held out a hand and helped the preacher to the ground. Outside, smoke billowed from the ruined chopper and nearly a dozen military vehicles lay in pieces scattered across the field. Several of them had obviously been shredded from explosions.

“What happened?” he asked, shocked at the degree of carnage.

“Seems like you’ve got a lot of followers among the locals,” he said. “We don’t know where they came from, but as soon as the government attacked, the forest opened up and there must have been a thousand people out there. The Feds didn’t stand a chance.”

Nathaniel felt the world shift under him, and he wobbled uncertainly. Erik steadied him, and looked for a place to sit down. A tree stump stuck out of the ground nearby and he led the preacher over to it, concern showing on his face. After several seconds he asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” he said. “Can we get through to the satellite?”

“We lost the generator for the studio but we’re still on line,” he said.

“Put up an announcement that we’ll be postponing today’s broadcast,” the minister said. “I’ve had a revelation, and I want to make a statement as soon as I get it sorted out.”

“Sure thing,” Erik said, hesitating to let go of Nathaniel’s arm until he was sure he was stable enough to sit on his own.

“Sometimes the Lord’s words come to us in strange ways,” he whispered.

This time, they came to him from the barrel of a gun.

***

Chapter Nineteen:

Facing the Winter

Stormhaven:

Colton sat on a rock watching the brook bubbling from the east spring. His mind was empty for a change, an odd, unsettling thing for him. He stared at the gurgling water, not thinking, just being. He’d been there for hours trying to accept the vacuum in his mind, when the sound of footsteps caught his attention.