A significant portion of Enzo’s training at the Hatchery since he was old enough to walk was war, be it hand-to-hand combat, planning a coastal invasion, or organizing an underground resistance. He had begun studying historical battles as soon as he finished his alphabets. By the age of four, he had read Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. By six, he had memorized it. By twelve, he had an equivalent to a PhD on the history of war, from Assyrian chariot tactics to Lieutenant Napoleon’s first artillery formations to Captain Winter’s assault on German fortifications at Brécourt Manor. Enzo knew his calling and dreamed that if given the opportunity, he would shine at his first command. So far, it hadn’t worked out the way he had thought it would. For one thing, this Prophus commander wasn’t playing fair.
The enemy continually probed the camp’s defenses, even with the prisoners lined along the fence, seemingly willing to risk friendly fire. They would hit a part of the perimeter at its weakest, just as shifts ended or if there was a gap in the coverage. Somehow, they had a way of signaling the prisoners. The guard on duty would be taken out, the gate blown, and then a quick raid would nab a dozen men. And it would all happen before any of Enzo’s people could react.
In the first two days, there must have been at least twenty attacks. It finally stopped on the third day, when Enzo’s men finished burning the forest back a hundred meters. He had cursed that delay. It should have been the first thing he ordered when he got here. However, the constant Prophus attacks forced him into a reactionary role, and he had not had time to assess the situation. He now had a healthy respect for this Prophus commander. Whoever led them was good.
After the no man’s land was burned on the fourth day, the enemy did not have a single successful incursion. By the fifth, the attacks had stopped altogether. This gave Enzo the reprieve he needed to strengthen their defenses. On the eve of his sixth day there, Chow sent Enzo a message begging for more subjects, saying they were desperately close to a solution but had no more prisoners. Enzo was tempted to tell him to use Genjix vessels instead.
Out of the question! I do not care how close we are to our goal. Is that understood?
“Of course, Holy One. It was just a thought.”
Enzo walked out of the war room and signaled to Palos. “Prep the transport. I want a full security team on board. Get a line to the Chinese military and have two more helicopters delivered. Larger ones this time. We’ll never finish this project if we shuttle prisoners ten at a time.”
After a slight pause, Palos nodded and left without a word. Enzo watched him disappear around the corner. He was starting to believe he had made an error giving Zauw to Palos. His first was loyal, but would he remain so after being blessed with a Holy One whose loyalty lay elsewhere? Zauw must be incensed with Newgard’s death. Who would Palos follow if their orders contradict?
Your decision was not wrong. Palos was best qualified to become a vessel. The vessel follows the Quasing. If Zauw chooses to continue with Vinnick, you must let him go.
Enzo grimaced. He had come to rely on the older commander. To let that valuable resource go to his opposition felt like defeat. But if it was the will of the Holy Ones, he would not question their way.
That night, under cover of darkness, the Mi-171, laden with an equal number of prisoners and guards, took off and headed north toward Lhasa Gonggar Airport. Enzo watched it take off and hover just above the tree line, and then thought no more of it. After all, Genjix controlled the airspace in this region. Fifteen minutes later, however, the base received a distress call.
Enzo was shocked to discover that the Prophus had shot down a transport filled with their own people. He didn’t think the Prophus had it in them. They found the wreckage fifty klicks from the camp. All fifteen Genjix operatives were accounted for: nine bodies inside the helicopter and six outside, the furthest nearly a hundred meters away. He was shot through the head.
None of the prisoners’ bodies was present, so he could not tell how many had died. This complicated matters. It was clear now that the commander of the enemy would rather kill his own people than let the Genjix experiment on them. Enzo was impressed. He did not think the soft Prophus had the fortitude to make these hard choices. It was what he would have done in their place.
This delay is unacceptable. Send another shipment by morning. Two if necessary.
“Your will, Zoras.”
Enzo spent the rest of the night devising an alternative. This camp was so remote that there were few options available to him. Helicopter transport was easiest, but that idea was off the table now. Land convoys proved too vulnerable. The next option was a plane. However, the airport in Lhasa was five hundred kilometers away, and the Prophus controlled too much of the land between the camp and the city. The alternative was to build a landing strip in the camp. Materials and engineers would have to be flown in, and it would take time.
There is another option. Cross the border and use the Langtang Airport in Nepal. It is a scant fifty kilometers from the camp.
“We have no jurisdiction in Nepal.”
The Genjix have jurisdiction everywhere. If we order the Chinese government to speak with their government, we will not be refused.
Enzo’s eyes traced the route heading south to the airport from the camp. It was a much shorter journey but would be over mountainous terrain. It was doable, though dangerous. The important thing was to get the convoy out into open space. It was a risk they had to take.
Enzo sent off a quick email to Amanda to arrange the clearance with the Nepalese government. For now, he had to sit tight until reinforcements came. The logistics of sending two thousand men to a remote region of the world was a task the Genjix rarely undertook. The Quasing war did not usually resort to these types of engagements. He was pulling in men from as far away as Europe. That was the only way he could fortify the camp and adequately guard a convoy.
A loud explosion suddenly rocked the camp. Dust and debris rained down from the ceiling. While such things happened regularly, this explosion seemed larger than usual. After the dust had settled, Enzo dusted off his shoulders and studied the map again. Then a series of bigger explosions erupted from every direction, and perimeter alarms began to howl.
“Father,” an officer ran in and bowed. “It’s a full coordinated attack. All sides.”
Get the vessels into the main building. None must escape.
Enzo began giving commands, setting up the defenses for an all-out attack. There was another explosion: west side again. He left the building and waved his personal guards forward as they rushed out into battle. The floodlights on the towers had been taken out, and the northwest corner tower groaned as it lit up the night. It would collapse any minute. The no-man’s-land between the camp and the forest was ablaze with bursts of muzzle fire.
“Status,” he barked.
“Enemy concentration in the west,” Meyers, the commander of the west flank reported. “Under heavy fire.”
“We’re engaging and pinning them down. The enemy are unable to advance,” Tomlinson, commander of the north flank, reported.
“Dead quiet here,” Rowe, commander of the eastern flank called in. “Moving men west to support Meyers.”
“You stay right there!” Enzo roared. “What’s going on with the south?”
“South is confirmed quiet,” Palos said. “I still have patrols returning into base via the southern gate. No enemy sightings.”
“Cut the lights off the base.” Enzo screamed over the din of the battle. “We’re painting their targets for them. Focus floodlights three meters above the forest line.”