Jill nodded.
Then Paula leaned in close. “Listen, if it looks like the plan’s going to fail, your job is to run with Marco. My boys will cover your escape. Is that understood?” Jill was about to tell Paula to kiss her ass when Paula grabbed both shoulders and shook her. “That’s an order. Go back to your baby, and for God’s sake, make up with Roen. That daft boy loves you more than life itself.”
Jill suddenly reached out and hugged Paula, squeezing her as tightly as she could. “It’ll work,” she whispered. “You just make sure you’re on the right side.”
The sound of a man screaming tore them away from their moment. Valkner’s aide carried him into the back room. He had been shot in the chest, and blood was gushing out of his mouth. The aide gently laid him down and hovered over him.
“Get your arse back to the front,” Paula ordered, pushing him away. She then leaned in close. “George, can you hear me? George!”
Eighty-two year-old George Valkner, representative of the great state of the Idaho Third District, decorated soldier and grandfather of seventeen, reached up and grabbed Paula’s Kevlar vest. “Do it! Save Eymi,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Give him a chance.”
Paula nodded solemnly, gestured toward Emerson, one of the two handpicked men she had assigned to Jill, and then pulled out her pistol. Emerson knelt down next to Valkner and whispered something to his ear.
Valkner nodded and looked up at Paula. “Thank you.”
“To the Eternal Sea, my friend,” Paula nodded grimly, holding the barrel over Valkner’s heart and pulling the trigger. There were a few moments of silence as everyone watched Eymi, glittering and beautiful, hover above Valkner’s body before sinking into Emerson. While Emerson writhed on the floor, Paula left the room and came back moments later carrying a duffel bag filled with a Cold War era RPG launcher, three grenades, and Roen’s smelly workout clothes. She dragged Emerson unceremoniously to his feet and handed the bag to Jill.
“Get going,” she ordered. “I’ll see you on the other side or in the Eternal Sea, whatever comes first.”
FORTY-ONE
FINAL FIGHT
Now, Quasiform begins and soon, once the catalyst is deployed, Earth will begin its final cycle toward an Eternal Sea. Once the transformation to a new Quasing home world is finished, the human prophecy of their heaven on Earth will have come true.
Zoras
“Sir,” Kowal, staring through a pair of binoculars, called out. “You’d better see this.”
Stephen looked up from reviewing their supply lines at the makeshift command tent. He walked up to Kowal and took the binoculars. The elevated platform the Genjix had been building for the past few hours was now complete. It reminded Stephen of a medieval gallows used for hangings. The camp was a mess of activity as the Genjix soldiers moved to defensive positions. Then he saw several guards push a crowd of prisoners to the center of the camp. He recognized Stein, Bedford, Singh, Howlzer, and Fromme, among others.
“Joe is still alive?” he muttered. He thought Director Joseph Fromme of the German Bundesnachrichtendienst intelligence agency had died in Tunisia two years ago. During his younger days, when Stephen had been stationed in France, he and old Joe used to bike up to the Pyrenees every year to spectate the Tour De France. They had lost touch over the past fifteen years when Stephen transferred to the States and began to climb the Prophus ranks, but those were some of his fondest memories.
“What’s that little psycho doing now?” Kowal asked.
Then Stephen’s worst fears were realized. The Enzo boy walked in front of the group of prisoners and gestured for a prisoner to be brought to the platform. She was a communications lieutenant by the name of Ginny. Stephen had met her once or twice on the Atlantis. Pretty face, tiny body, and a blow horn voice that would have made Charlemagne take notice. The guards forced her to her knees in front of the boy.
“No,” Stephen whispered.
In one smooth motion, Enzo pulled out his pistol and shot her in the head. As her body crumpled to the ground, her Quasing, Bizoo, rose into the air. Then another guard stepped forward and a jet of flame engulfed Bizoo.
“Damn him!” Stephen swore.
Enzo motioned for another prisoner to be brought forward. The horror show repeated itself. They were executing all the prisoners one by one. There could only mean one thing. The prisoners were no longer needed, which meant ProGenesis had succeeded. The Prophus had run out of time.
Stephen scanned the guards around the perimeter, goading him to attack. There was another loud bang of a pistol followed by the whooshing sound of the flamethrower and another Prophus died. Stephen handed the binoculars back to Kowal, his mind racing for a solution. Sending his people through no-man’s-land toward the teeth of their defense during the daytime would be suicide, but he had to do something.
“Form up. All sides!” he instructed. The command post came to life as his lieutenants coordinated all their forces. The sound of the pistol and flamethrower continued. Five deaths already, but how many more if he sent them in? It would be a massacre. Still, this horrifying transgression couldn’t be overlooked. A few minutes later, Kowal signaled that all units were a go. Another bang and whoosh punctured the air.
Then, suddenly, incredible courage saved Stephen from deploying his men into a suicide mission. The prisoners, knowing their fate, turned on the guards. With nothing more than their bare hands, they chose to die fighting than be slaughtered one by one. The camp fell into chaos as the guards surrounding the prisoners were taken by surprise and temporarily overwhelmed.
Stephen saw a surge of them attack Enzo, forcing his bodyguards to pull him back. The soldiers at the camp perimeter had to turn their attention inward. There was the sound of automatic fire and the sparking lights of Quasing leaving their hosts’ bodies. Then Stephen saw Joe, as if clairvoyant, jump on top of a bunker and looked straight at him, waving both hands desperately. There was another loud crack in the air and then Stephen saw his old friend’s body go limp and fall forward. Meina rose from Fromme’s body into the air and flitted toward the forest. Stephen hoped Meina could reach one of the friendlies in time. It was now or never!
“Artillery on the perimeter!” he yelled. “This is the day, men! We win this, get our boys out, and we go home. All units, charge!”
The entire Prophus force, one thousand five hundred soldiers plus the six hundred freed prisoners, charged in unison. The last day of their battle in Tibet had begun. Normally, Stephen ridiculed Starfleet’s landing party command structure with the captain going on every off-ship mission. Out of all the fantastic suspension of realities he had had to endure with that show, that one was the worst. Sending the senior staff to the front line was the equivalent of Roosevelt and Churchill parachuting with the 101st Airborne during Normandy. It was completely asinine.
Now he took it all back. Normally, he stayed well behind friendly lines and planned his tactics in a safe zone. Not this time. The only tactic now was a full-on charge, and Stephen intended to be right there at the front. He owed it to old Joe Fromme.
To their credit, Stephen’s surprised staff was alongside him without hesitation. McDaniels, his quartermaster, hadn’t seen live combat in two decades. Yet, the sixty-five year old was keeping pace, wielding a pistol that probably hadn’t been fired since Reagan was in office. Stephen couldn’t be more proud of his people than he was right then as they rushed across no-man’s-land. The carefully placed artillery he had ordered began to fire down the perimeter, blowing apart the makeshift fences. It also provided a little cover as the defending forces covered up.