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Taken
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“You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Ah yes, Captain, come in. Close the door, would you?”
Captain Blake stooped as he entered Boynes’ quarters through the low hatch and waited impassively beside an empty chair.
“Please, sit,” muttered the colonel without looking up from his work. A large sea chart was spread out upon the desk before him.
“Care for a drink?” sighed Boynes finally, pushing himself back in his chair and appraising the captain. Blake gave a slight shake of his head, the distant look in his eyes never leaving him.
“How are your men coping, Adam?” asked Boynes eventually. He tried to keep his tone light, but his voice cracked as the words came out. Blake’s vacant stare remained unchanged.
“Coping, sir?”
The words were a quiet monotone.
“Yes, Captain, how are they coping?”
“We’re short of equipment, sir,” muttered Blake distantly. “We had to grab what we could before we boarded, but that wasn’t much. There’s a shortage of small arms and ammo, and a number of squads don’t have any body armour. The —”
“You know what I meant, Adam,” Boynes interrupted quietly, his eyes downcast.
“They’re... coping, sir,” replied Blake, his voice barely a whisper.
“And the wounded? They tell me that Private Carparso is over the worst.”
“The worst of his injuries, sir.”
“He’s having... episodes, they tell me.”
Blake didn’t reply for a moment, and the silence hung heavily over the cabin.
“He’s a good soldier, sir,” replied Blake at last.
“We can rely on him?”
The captain didn’t seem to hear; his eyes stared off into distant thoughts.
“And you?” asked Boynes, looking up. A moment of anger flashed across Blake’s features, quickly replaced by his familiar deadpan.
“Sir?”
“Are you coping well, Adam?”
“I’ll be glad to get home,” whispered Blake at last. “My family.”
“Yes, we’ll all be glad to get home,” sighed Boynes. “Your wife, Sofie, isn’t it? And a daughter?”
“Bella.”
The word fell dead upon the silent room. Again, a fleeting wave of hurt flashed across Blake’s features.
“Bella,” echoed Boynes softly. “I’m so sorry that you are unable to contact them, Adam — it’s been too long a time. But you must understand our orders for the utmost secrecy surrounding all of this. If it was up to me, I’d —”
“I understand, sir,” cut in Blake. There was a long and awkward silence. “Any news on General Oak, sir? There was talk that he had regained consciousness.”
Boynes looked up in relief at the change of subject.
“Yes, yes, that’s correct. I managed to talk with him a little while ago. He’s still weak, but they say he’s stable now. That’s the reason I asked you here, Captain.” He paused momentarily, then took a deep breath.
“It seems that, that the Heavenfield isn’t over.”
He glanced away, thinking about his run-in only a few days before, when Captain Blake had used the same words. He sighed and continued.
“Since the time that the 306th were in the Field, we have come under a coordinated attack from unknown forces.”
“We, sir?” Blake’s eyes seemed to clear as he listened to the colonel, becoming alert and focused.
“America — the military, or more precisely, the key groups in our infrastructure concerned with the Heavenfield. We are under a concerted attack from the Field, Adam.” Boynes shook his head slowly in disbelief as he spoke. “General Oak has spoken of kill-squads appearing all across the US. All the arrays, apart from Fort Caulder, have been totally destroyed. Our production plants have been sabotaged — even a Joint Chief of Staff has been assassinated. General Oak was on his way here from the old array at Williams’ Airbase. As they were taking off they came under attack themselves. They were lucky to get out at all. But it was the only way he could get a message to us without giving away our location.”
“The general took a big risk flying out to meet us,” muttered Blake quietly. “He knows we’re running black — we must have come close to shooting that helicopter out of the sky before it got within five miles of us. Are we so badly infiltrated?”
“Our attackers know everything that we’re doing almost before we do it,” cursed Boynes quietly. “Since we entered the Heavenfield every aspect of operations back home has been ruthlessly targeted.”
“So the general wants someone outside of their sphere of operation?”
“We’ve been gone since before this started,” sighed Boynes bleakly. “The general feels we’re the only ones he can trust.”
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There was a long silence as Blake pondered the import of Boynes’ words. There would be no return to normality, no respite. His wife and child would still be left with no word of hope.
“You said that Fort Caulder hasn’t been targeted, sir?” he asked at last. For all his moment of sadness, there was now a purpose in his voice; any doubts or regrets had been instantly buried.
“I said they were still functional,” replied Boynes, himself finding solace in purpose. “The base has been under repeated attack for weeks now, small groups attempting to infiltrate the inner core of the array.”
“Infiltrate from the Heavenfield, sir?”
“Correct. Fortunately, as you know, Fort Caulder has a major military presence. They managed to repel the attackers and have locked down the area as best they can. But the troops lack experience in the Field. The kill-squads are taking a frightening toll.” The colonel’s hands clenched involuntarily. “That’s our one remaining link with the Heavenfield, Adam. Our enemies understand its importance as well as we do.”
“And just who are our enemies, sir?” asked Blake quietly. “At the helipad, I overheard General Oak speak of Exiles. I understood that particular problem to have been eradicated.”
“I know, Captain, I know,” muttered Boynes gravely. “That has been troubling me, too. I think we need to gather some more information before we can be sure. General Oak has arranged for a helicopter squad to rendezvous with us off the coast. He seemed adamant that we would be a target if we docked as originally planned. We should reach the rendezvous point in twenty-four hours, then we’ll be flying straight to Fort Caulder. I want everyone ready to move by zero-three-hundred hours. Are your wounded fit for an airlift, Captain?”
“The men will be ready, sir,” replied Blake, getting stiffly to his feet as Boynes showed him to the door of his cabin. “I’ll make the necessary preparations.”
“Good, good. Thank you, Adam,” said Boynes quietly. “Tell the men only what they need to know. They won’t be happy to miss out on their R&R, but I know you will impress upon them the seriousness of the situation.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, and, Captain. About the Exile question.” He spoke softly, his eyes glistening in the half-light of the cabin.
“Private Lynch, sir?” asked Blake with a wry smile.
“Private Lynch,” nodded Boynes after a long pause. “Can he be trusted?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Blake without pause.
“Do you have anything to back that up, Captain?”
“A feeling, sir,” he said, holding the colonel’s gaze.
“Talk to him, would you?” asked Boynes at last, and the locks thumped as he pulled open the hatch. Crisp, early morning sun streamed into the cabin accompanied by the sounds of calm seas. “Find out what you can.”
“Should I mention the attacks, sir?” asked Blake quietly. Boynes opened his mouth to speak, then felt a familiar wave of energy in his stomach. For a second, his senses seemed heightened, and he was captivated by the pale golden glow of the sun reflecting upon the waves. He felt the cold touch of the metal hatchway with an almost overwhelming intensity. And then the sun seemed to fade back to normal, and the moment was over.
“Tell him what you need to,” whispered Boynes in a distracted voice. “Trust, your instincts.”
Blake nodded and ducked through the open hatchway, out into the sun. He headed off down the gangway, walking with his familiar gait, cat-like and aware — seeming to almost glide along. Boynes shook his head to clear his thoughts; a deeply troubled look had fallen across his face.
“Trust your instincts,” repeated the colonel quietly to himself, then turned and disappeared back into the shadows of his cabin.
* * *
Detective O’Connell lay upon the floor, gasping as the pain threatened to swamp him. He looked around in disbelief and saw a wide expanse of red rock with low hills in the distance. He tried to breathe, but his throat felt as though it was on fire. As he looked up, he saw the suited figure that had first grabbed him, reaching out towards him.
There was a roaring in his ears, getting louder and louder, and the world suddenly came crashing back around him, and he heard his own cries echoing out.
He rolled on to his side and felt a pain in his body as though every nerve were on fire. Dimly, he made out Marko staring down at him; the boy still hadn’t moved from his seat.
He made out two of the suited figures standing on either side of the boy, and then felt hands rolling him over as the third figure took his keys. They quickly unlocked Marko’s handcuffs, but the agony in O’Connell’s body was too much for him to respond. The boy got slowly to his feet, rubbing his wrists as he gazed down at the detective. One of the figures spoke, the voice distorted through their face-mask:
“Quickly, Marko — we must hurry.”
As O’Connell drifted towards unconsciousness, he caught sight of the strangest scene. He couldn’t be sure if it was real or just some delirium caused by the pain, but he saw Marko look down towards an object on the floor beside him. O’Connell made out a long metal box, almost like a coffin.
The boy was about to step into it when there was a sudden noise in the corridor beyond the door. The figures reached for the weapons hanging at their sides, but they weren’t quick enough.
The door burst open, and O’Connell saw a group of soldiers dressed in full tactical gear. They were masked, with no identifying insignia. The instant they saw the figures, they opened fire.
As the detective looked on helplessly through his pain, it was almost as though time slowed down. He saw the suited figures raise their weapons just as the retorts of the soldiers’ rifles lit up the room. And at the same time, he saw the young boy step in front of them, holding up his arms as though to ward off the hail of bullets.
For an instant, O’Connell thought he saw a shape — some glowing figure, rise up in front of the boy.
After a brief moment of chaos, the soldiers’ firing ceased, as though none of them could quite believe what they were witnessing.
The boy and the three figures stood there, unharmed.
And then, the boy swung his arms forward, as though hurling something unseen towards the group.
O’Connell thought that he saw some other shape — some dark insect-like creature composed of spines and barbs, shoot forward, crashing into the soldiers.
He heard their screams as they were flung aside like rag dolls. Some men crashed against the walls, while others slammed up into the ceiling or were torn apart by the force of the impact.
In an instant, every soldier was dead.
O’Connell stared at Marko in disbelief. The young boy swayed as though he was utterly spent, and then fell back in a faint, just as one of the suited figures stepped forward to catch him.
“Get him into the shift-container,” said another, and they lowered him down into the metal box.
“That one’s still alive — finish him off.”
The detective looked on helplessly as the third figure turned towards him, the pale glow of his optics seeming to bore right into him.
The figure raised a weapon, aiming it straight towards him; there was a faint whine as it charged.
A sudden volley of gunfire rang out from the corridor beyond, and the figure staggered, sparks flashing over the metal plates of his armoured suit. He fell to his knees, injured, but as he went down, O’Connell saw him reach up to a control panel upon his chest-plate. There was a brief flash of light, and he instantly disappeared, leaving just a faint haze of red dust hanging in the air.
“Get him out of here!” called the first suited figure, crouching down to return fire, while the other one pushed the lid of the metal container closed, locking the boy inside. He glanced up, staring straight into O’Connell’s eyes. But then more shots rang out all around them, and with a curse, the figure nodded, and the two of them reached up to the controls on their suits.
As the detective drifted out of consciousness, he saw the figures begin to fade.
They held the metal box between them, and it shimmered a moment, as though it hung upon the edge of reality. And then, with a brief flash of sparks, both the figures and the container were gone.