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Reasoning
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“It is not safe for us to meet like this, you should not have come.”
The distorted voice seemed to come from all around — distant, and yet at the same time, menacingly close.
“When I heard the news, I had to come and warn you — they will find out soon — they will be hunting you.”
The man shifted nervously in his chair, staring about the dank cellar. Its brick walls were bare, and the forbidding space was illuminated by only a single dim lightbulb hanging down in the centre of the room. Apart from the rough wooden chair, the cellar was empty.
The man looked about in agitation. He was thin and pale-faced, in his mid-forties, with shoulder-length greasy hair, balding on top. His gaunt cheeks were covered in stubble and he wore a shabby tracksuit with a leather jacket over the top. He held a battered holdall across his knees, and his leg bounced rhythmically as though to illustrate his disquiet.
“Did you hear me, General? They will be hunting you,” he repeated to the empty room.
“They are always hunting us.”
The voice had that ominously familiar quality — the distortion instantly recognisable to any who had heard it before: it was the sound from a Wraith’s death-mask, designed purposely to strike fear into those who heard it while keeping the speaker’s identity a closely-guarded secret.
The voice was up so close behind the man that he froze, not daring to look around.
“Why did you come here, Vassily?”
He was about to turn when a shower of sparks suddenly burst out of the air in front of him. He shrank back in his chair as a gloved hand seemed to reach out of nowhere and the air buckled. In an instant, the armoured figure of a second Wraith was standing directly before him. The metal plates of his suit smoked and crackled as they cooled, and for a moment, a flicker of electricity played across their surface. The Wraith stood motionless in front of the fearful man, appraising him silently through the pale lamps of his helmet’s optics.
“I, I had come to warn you,” started Vassily again, lowering his gaze to the ground. To his horror, he made out ominous stains upon the bare floor at his feet.
“I was in basetown, making a drop-off — like I do, ferrying what they give me to take — I don’t know what it was, I don’t ask — and I never look — I just drive, you know that, General.”
“Vassily. Focus, say what you need to say.”
The distorted voice at his back was closer still, and he jumped, staring up at the Wraith in front of him and then gazing quickly back to the floor.
“It was the fortress, General,” stuttered Vassily, clasping his holdall tighter to his chest as though it might offer him some protection. His pale face glistened with a sheen of sweat in the harsh light. “The whole of basetown was full of talk. And the rumours are spreading. They said that the fortress is destroyed — that everybody in the Holy Land is lost.”
Vassily looked up, wide-eyed. He gave a nervous grin to reveal a row of crooked yellow teeth.
“Even Dr. Henschel,” he stuttered, attempting desperately to fill the silence. “They say that some of those like yourselves — Wraiths and such — that they managed to shift in briefly. They were trying to escape, screaming that the fortress was overrun with the Cold-Ones. Of course, the Holy Land pulled them back soon enough, and they were lost as well. The Holy Land always reclaims those that try to leave, so they say.”
The man’s nervous chatter came to a stumbling end, and the silence in the cellar was overwhelming.
But eventually, the general spoke once more, this time addressing the other Wraith:
“If the fortress has fallen, then Basetown will soon follow and our enemies will hear of it. The remaining Exile cells must ensure that they are isolated from anything that could be traced back here. Notify the Founders that they must sever all ties with Basetown and proceed to our designated targets.”
Vassily looked up in fear as he saw the Wraith in front of him nod curtly to the general. Then he reached up to a control on the chest-plate of his suit and melted away to nothingness right before Vassily’s eyes.
“You did well to warn us, Vassily,” came the general’s emotionless voice. “You have served our cause well. But there can be no remaining links to Basetown. The Holy Land is more important than any individual — you or I. You understand that, don’t you, Vassily?”
“Please, General,” stuttered the man, still not daring to look around. He rocked back and forth in his chair, clutching the bag to his chest. “Please, I came to you, General. I can help you further. You need people in the real world. I, I have a family —”
He stopped abruptly as he felt a heavy gloved hand upon his shoulder.
“I am sorry, Vassily. I promise that it will be quick and painless.”
“Please, General.”
Vassily bowed his head as he sobbed, but he could already see the tracery of sparks forming in the air around him.
He made a move — attempting to get to his feet and run, but it was as though the world was suddenly falling away from him, and his body felt too heavy to move.
There was a brief moment where the most brilliant light engulfed him, and then everything was plunged into blackness.
* * *
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“Sit down, Captain,” said Boynes quietly, closing the hatch behind them with a muffled thud.
“I’d prefer to stand, sir,” began Blake.
“I said sit down!” cursed Boynes, making his way around the cramped desk. He motioned to Boris, who stooped awkwardly and self-consciously at the far end of the cramped cabin. “You too! Whatever-your-name is.”
The big man glanced down at Captain Blake, who sighed quietly and nodded, pulling back one of the chairs. Its legs screeched across the metal floor. Boris squeezed on to the other, shifting uncomfortably, his eyes downcast.
Colonel Boynes gazed at them in silence across his cluttered desk. The only illumination came from a weak lamp, casting a pale green glow and dark shadows across the old man’s features. He let his hands run over the objects upon his desk, his eyes never leaving the two men. There were reports, photographs, medals, unit-insignia badges and, Captain Blake noted, a pistol half-hidden beneath a mound of paper. Boynes’ hand paused for a while over a bundle of soldiers’ dog-tags. He looked down, shaken from his thoughts.
“These belonged to General Vladic,” he said morosely, pulling a chain from the bundle and holding it up in the dim light. The metal tags were barely recognisable, covered in a thick layer of red corrosion. Boynes looked up at Boris; the big man’s face was impassive in the shadows.
“He was a good soldier,” murmured Boynes. “It was an honour to fight alongside him. I know that he was your commanding officer in the Field. I thought you might want to have them.” He held them out over the table. Boris remained motionless and silent.
Then, without a word, he leaned forwards and took them. He deftly gathered up the chain in his heavy hand and placed the tags carefully into his breast pocket. He went back to silently surveying the colonel.
“He was a good soldier,” repeated Boynes almost inaudibly, sitting back in his chair with a sigh.
“You have repeatedly broken my direct orders, Captain Blake,” he began suddenly, his tone official and terse. “All Exiles were to be detained by the British authorities, in an attempt to ease some of the political screw-up that Colonel Speers got us into.”
At the mention of Speers’ name, Captain Blake looked up as though he had been struck.
“You could have jeopardised our situation with Britain.”
“I’m not a politician, sir,” began Blake quietly. “But, like I said back in the barracks — we’re going to have a lot more to worry about than countries and politicians soon enough. We need Boris here if we’re to have any chance of fighting what the Field can throw at us.”
“I told you, Captain,” replied Boynes, his voice slow and cautious, as though he didn’t quite believe his own words. “I told you, the Heavenfield is put to an end. We closed the British entry-point and destroyed that — that army of spooks. What makes you so sure that we will ever set foot in —”
“Sir, with all due respect,” cut in Blake. “We got our asses well and truly kicked back in the Field. We don’t know what closed down the British EP, but it sure as hell wasn’t us. And from everything that I heard, it was that Thomas Sullivan kid that saved the day; him and a horde of ten-foot-tall angels. Sir, we got owned, and I don’t intend for that to happen to my men next time.”
“Yes, thank you!” cut in Boynes angrily. “Thomas Sullivan,” he continued after a brief, uneasy silence. “Perhaps you shouldn’t listen to rumours, Captain. I have spoken to my superiors, and they are all of a like mind that the Heavenfield is too volatile a place to return to. We have to believe that these events are behind us now.”
“Well, if that’s true, sir,” muttered Blake quietly, “then why in hell are we in the middle of the Atlantic under complete radio blackout?”
“What do you mean?” asked Boynes defensively.
“Sir, can we speak freely?” asked Blake with a grin.
“Cut the crap, Adam,” muttered Boynes, and Blake’s smile broadened. “Perhaps you should wait outside,” said Boynes, glancing up at Boris. But, to his surprise, the big man began to speak:
“You are returning to your base at Fort Caulder, one of America’s last functional accelerator array sites, in utmost secrecy,” he began in his deep voice, heavy with an East European accent. “Fort Caulder is the largest site, and has an array capable of transporting vehicles and even fieldships to and from the Heavenfield.”
Boynes went to interject, a look of incredulity upon his face.
“I told him,” muttered Blake matter-of-factly. “And anyway, he was also part of the Exile force defending the Fort Caulder EP against us.”
Boynes let out an exclamation, holding his hands up in disbelief.
“After the Battle of Maunsworth Field, this company, the 306th Infantry, was moved by night from Maunsworth,” continued Boris. “We boarded this ship, logged as transporting medical equipment, and then once out at sea broke off all radio contact and headed at full speed across the Atlantic, yes? You, Colonel, you are trying to believe the lies your superiors gave you, that all this is about politics — having US soldiers disappear for a while. But you know, Colonel, this is not the truth.”
Boynes held Boris’ unwavering gaze, a look of deep suspicion set across his features.
“There were air transports for your men back to Fort Caulder, Colonel,” continued Boris. “They took on one hundred and seventy-two troops, the very same number as your company here, and they took off the night that your men were transported to the docks. But they were not troops out of the Heavenfield aboard those planes. They were a decoy.”
“And just how the hell did you discover all this?” blurted out Boynes incredulously.
“We asked around,” cut in the captain with a grin.
“I can’t believe this, Adam,” retorted Boynes. “I haven’t been informed of any of this. I don’t know if any of this is true.”
“It is true, Colonel,” muttered Blake.
“So, if we’re not out here to hide away from public view, then what, pray tell is the real reason for us being stuck out here in the middle of the goddamn ocean?” scoffed Boynes.
“That I do not know,” muttered Boris. “I suspect we are here to keep us out of danger. But, anyway, I have no doubt that any reasons are soon becoming clear. The question is whether you will be ready for it.”
“I’m starting to doubt my sanity, letting you talk me into all this, Blake,” sighed Boynes with a shake of his head. “I think this has all gone far enough. I want this Exile detained until we get back to Fort —”
“Sir!” cut in Blake angrily. “You know Boris is right.”
“It doesn’t matter, Adam!” erupted Boynes in exasperation. “We have our orders — I have my orders. We can’t harbour this man indefinitely —”
“We lost so much to the Field, Colonel, and I think —”
“I know a lot of your men were never recovered from the Field, Adam, and I know that —”
“I’m not talking about my men, sir!” interjected Blake. His eyes had taken on a feverish quality in the dim light. “They don’t mean a thing to the politicians and people in power. I’m talking about the Herald and the Divinity.”
“The Divinity was lost,” muttered Boynes morosely. “And Speers, who knows what in hell happened to Speers. He can take the Herald and rot in the Heavenfield for all I care.”
“There were two hundred and fifty crew aboard that ship, sir,” whispered Blake.
“I know, I didn’t mean it like that. You don’t need to remind me of the men,” sighed Boynes.
“And the Divinity isn’t lost either, sir, you know that too.”
“We had to abandon it,” croaked Boynes, his eyes downcast. “That was my decision. And I’ll stand by it.”
“Those ships are worth hundreds of millions of dollars, and more to the research companies alone. Do you think that the politicians will give all that up, let alone all the rest that the Heavenfield has to offer?”
Boris looked up as the conversation died away to an uneasy silence.
“They’re going to want it all back,” Blake muttered with a grim smile.