The Omega Device (The Ha-Shan Chronicles Book 1) (17 page)

“I don't think so,” he admitted with a look to the floor. “The simple truth is, if we want any hope of going home, the weapon has to be destroyed and the strike-force eliminated.”

“But there's no
way
we can do that,” Maggie said, thinking of their encounter in the alley. “They're too well trained. I've never been through
anything
like this. I can't guarantee I can hit anything
under pressure.”

“We just have to hope we reach Nepal and find the Reverberant before Omega finds us. With or without the Protectorate, we can't let Omega have the weapon, not if it's really as dangerous as She-La believes.”

Maggie suddenly considered, for the first time, the sheer scope of their predicament. The weapon threatened more than they alone, and while Omega was certainly a hurdle, they were less of a threat than their target.

If controlled, anyone could enslave man-kind with the weapon. The Protectorate either didn't understand that, or had no true desire to prevent it. She and Russell were the only two even remotely capable of doing so, however slim their chances. There was no question now what needed to be done, only how they were expected to survive it.

A sharpened knife buried in her chest. She might never see her home or friends again. Sorrow further swallowed her hopes with each breath. She stared in silence, heartbroken that all she had worked for—all that she had been building—now might never see fruition.

She recalled her rush of emotions in the tunnel. Her body slumped but her mind was still. Through sadness, she found the way ahead clearer: survival at all costs to the destruction of the weapon.

She was quiet for a long while, memories playing behind closed eyes. Her mother, father, grandmother. Bristol and Oakton. College. Ashley and Mandy.

Part of her wanted her eyes to run with tears, wash away the memories to block out the pain, but they wouldn't. Another part felt dead, riddled with guilt from future actions that would kill it in time. Something new felt alive beneath the still growing fire though, deep, incubated by fanned flames.

She opened her eyes to see her warrior women's boots beneath a rolled-up shirt-sleeve, “I guess we're choice-less.”

“We are.”

Maggie eased back onto her bunk. Russell listened to her movements, transfixed on the image in his hand. He half-expected to hear her stir, but silenced dominated the air past the engines. A sharp pain emanated from Maggie, incised Russell's chest. His eyes narrowed against it, steeling him for the battle to come.

14.

Nepal

October 3
rd
 

4:00 AM local time.

Somewhere near the Nepalese-Indian border.

“Russell, wake up,” Maggie urged, standing over him. “
Now!”
 

She shoved him sideways. He rose with a start, clasped the pistol strapped to his leg. Maggie stilled him with a hand on his chest. He edged from beneath the bunk, “What's going on?”

Maggie wrung her hands, “I don't know. The pilots are intercepting a lot of radio traffic.”

She pointed to her ear-piece; Russell fumbled, pressed his in. An assortment of foreign syllables came through a tin-can.

“It doesn't sound Nepalese,” Matthews stressed.

“Bengali?” Davis asked.

“Possible. How far are we between the L-Z and the border?”

“Twenty minutes past Bangladesh. Forty-five to the Chinese,” Davis said.

“That's
not
Chinese,” Maggie said, her fingers on her throat. Russell cast her a glance. “I took Mandarin in high-school.”

“It's not Nepalese either,” Matthews added.

“It's a Bangladeshi Air Base,” Brown said with rigid certainty. “It has to be.”

“No,” Davis said, edging nearer to hysteria. “We're too far out. Unless—”

“They're patching through a fighter!” Russell said, his eyes fierce.

The tension mounted in the cockpit. A palpable stream of urgency flowed through the comm-link to Maggie and Russell, the two standing ineffectual in the neck of the C-130. The crew broke into a heated argument. Their voices apexed in Maggie and Russell's ears.

“Stop!” Russell bellowed.

“We have to try and contact them,” Matthews said.

“We can't,” Brown said shortly. “This is an un-ID'd military aircraft. We have have no way to verify anything.”

“You're missing the point,” Davis interjected.

“He's right,” Russell said. “If this is Nepalese airspace that fighter shouldn't be here at all.”

“We have to land before they take us out,” Matthews said with urgency. “Davis, find us a clearing. We'll set down in a damned field if we have to.”

A loud tone screamed through the aircraft, echoed over their radios. Maggie's heart pounded.

“Too late. They've got heat!” Davis shouted.

“Get ready to jump!” Brown ordered.

“We can't jump from this altitude,” Matthews ridiculed. “We'll never make it without O-2.”

Maggie's eyes were glazed in confusion at the chaos, “Russell?”  

His mind snapped into action, “Ready the counter-measures. Set the plane into a shallow dive. We'll jump before it takes too much damage or stalls out.”

“Right, right,” Brown said, calming himself. “Get your gear. Meet us in the bay, A-SAP.”

“Two bogies on-screen,” Davis cracked.

“Move!” Russell grabbed his duffel bag, threw it over his shoulder.

He grabbed Maggie and passed over her pack, then drug her toward the stairs before she regained her muscles. She sprinted down to the side of the Humvee.

“Chutes?” Russell radioed.

“Back of the truck,” Davis yelled.

He slid down the staircase's railings and into the cargo-hold. He reached the bottom and an explosion rocked the plane. It threw him back onto the steps. Russell caught himself on the edge of the Humvee, grabbed Maggie before she could topple. He forced her up, drug a heavy parachute from the Humvee. He shoved it into Maggie's arms, grabbed for another.

“Put it on. Put your bag in front. Keep it tight.”

He affixed a harness over himself, the parachute at its rear. Maggie followed suit, her shaking hands fumbling with latches. Russell adjusted a few straps, secured a set of plastic goggles over his eyes. A second explosion sent the plane sideways, threw Maggie into the truck. Russell checked her straps, righted her.

“Last of the flares,” Davis said, hurrying past with his chute on. “The next will hit.”

He sprint-hobbled to the rear of the plane, slammed a panel beside the cargo-door with a heavy palm. Hydraulics sounded over rushing wind that whipped through the cargo bay, threatened to pull them out. The pressure equalized with a forceful intrusion of engines that drowned all but the loudest shouts.

The door fell open; distant smoke-trails formed an angelic visage, visible beneath bright moon-light. They drifted through nothingness above a forest surrounded by high-ridged cliffs crawling forward into mountains.

“C'mon!” Russell shouted to Maggie.

Davis urged them to the door. Brown reached it first, hurled himself out. Something impacted its side. The plane gave a terrible metallic shutter. A second wind jerked them backward. Flaming debris fluttered past outside. Maggie squeaked.

“Hull breach!” Matthews yelled.

Davis swore, clinging to a heavy strap beside the door. Two more impacts slammed the plane's side, deafened by a sonic boom from overhead. The debris intensified.

The plane's nose angled steeply toward the ground with a jolt. Matthews was thrown from the door. Terrified, Maggie looked to Russell. He slipped a set of goggles over her eyes, patted her on the shoulder. Davis sprinted past against the rising tail, leapt out.

She hesitated. Russell yelled, “Go!”

On instinct, she took a running leap, immediately overcome by free-fall. Adrenaline flooded her. Wind whipped her body. Strands of hair stabbed her face and neck as honed pins. A sonic boom and heat from an after-burner rippled through her over metallic tearing.

She shuddered in the freezing air, cheeks beaten red from the wind. Russell's Lash crackled, “The gauge… orange and black… needles!”

Her eyes watered beneath the goggles, hands fought for a gauge on her harness. She caught sight of the ground clenched her eyes shut. She took a deep breath, opened them enough to check the gauge.

“I can't see it,” she panted in panic, fighting to press the Lash.

“There's… a light.”

Maggie forced her arm against wind to feel for the switch. She threw it, tried to focus on the gauge. A black needle fell fast, already near a stationary, orange one. She waited for the two to meet. Her tense hands ached from her fingers' grip.

Black slipped over orange. She clenched her eyes shut, yanked a handle near her waist. The chute jerked her body as it whipped open and unfurled.

“Maggie?” Russell radioed, the crackling gone.

“What do I do now?” She squeaked.

“Look down.”

Maggie opened her eyes on the darkness beneath her dangling legs. A massive forest was perched beside a high, mountainous ridge. It spread like a giant horse-shoe to encompass a rear grove and a small clearing. The moonlight, suspended just over the mountain's right peak, reflected off stone and snow glimmering in the distance.

Maggie drifted nearer the ground and Russell radioed, “You see the silhouette?”

She spied a frenzy of movement below, “Is it you?”

“Yes. Take the handles. Steer toward me. Circle if you have to, but stay nearby. When you get close to the ground, pull as far forward as you can and be ready to catch yourself.”

Maggie clenched the handles painfully. She eased herself around, put the mountain and the moon at her left, Russell directly below. The tree-line drew closer.

Russell radioed in, “If you get caught, don't panic. Stay calm and cut yourself from the harness. There's a knife in a sheath at the side.”

Maggie felt for the knife. The ground approached. Her trajectory was aimed at the tree-line. She angled around, came about. Then, with a tight grip, she strained her muscles to pull as far forward as possible.

Her feet hit dirt with the full force of her weight and her ankles buckled. She yelped, fell to her knees, the chute cascading over her. She groaned, uninjured, but fighting to crawl out.

“I'm on the ground,” Maggie radioed.

She emerged from the chute, struggled to stand and remove the harness. With an irritated growl, she pulled her knife and sawed through the harness. It fell free with a thud and clanging metal. She knelt to remove the knife's sheath, affix it to her vest. With a furious motion, she re-secured her pack and pressed at her throat.

“Russell?”

“Behind you,” he said without the comm.

Maggie turned with a start. He chuckled.

She shoved him backward, “Ass.”

He smiled, “Have fun?” She glared. He offered her a rifle, “Just thought I'd ask.”

Maggie jerked the rifle from his hands, hung it from a shoulder, “Most men want to
remain
in a woman's good graces. You seem to be doing everything to piss me off.”

He gave a dissenting look, “But it
was
fun.”
 

Maggie readied to scold him, but Matthews intoned in their ears, “Davis, you nearby?”

There was a pause before he replied, “Just hit the ground. Everyone accounted for?”

Maggie and Russell acknowledged with a word.

Another pause, this one slightly longer, then Matthews replied, “Brown's dead. Got tangled and couldn't cut himself free fast enough.”

“Shit!”

Maggie looked to Russell with shock. He placed a hand on his throat, “He must have panicked when the chute got caught.”

“Looks like it wrapped around his throat, hanged him,” Matthews said bitterly. “Poor bastard.”

“Where are you?” Davis asked.

“South, I think. Past the clearing. Check the tracker.”

“Everyone stay near your chutes. I'll collect you.”

“Aye,” Matthews said.

“They don't seem to be grieving,” Maggie said with fleeting sympathy.

“No time for it,” Russell admitted. “We've got to stay focused. If Omega attacked, they'll know we bailed. Bangladesh wouldn't risk an international incident without their protection. They'll be looking for us, which means we need to move as fast as possible to get to the Reverberant before Omega finds us.”

“How the hell'd they find us anyway?” Maggie asked, facing the open tree-line.

“Satellite. They tracked us to Apra and out again. The easiest place to hit us was in the air. The jet probably only made contact to confirm it wasn't I-D'd before firing.”

Maggie sighed frustration, her sympathy for Brown and the Protectorate waning. She put a hand at her hip, placed the other at her forehead and thumbed her temple.

“This is fucking
mental,
Russell.” She flicked her lip ring as her accent emerged, “What the
hell
am I doing 'ere?”

“What can we do otherwise?”

“We were just
blown out of the fucking sky!
” She yelled, throwing
up her hands.
 

“Maggie, I know you're upset, but we need to stay calm, and
quiet
.”

Maggie growled. Grass crunched. They swiveled, rifles raised. Davis threw up his hands, holding what appeared to be a small cell-phone.

“Thank God,” Maggie said, lowering her rifle.

Davis stepped between them for the far-edge of the clearing, “Come on. We need to find Matthews and get the hell out of here.”

“How far are we from the crash site?” Russell asked in-step.

“Two or three miles.” His eyes repeatedly darted between the screen and the trees ahead, “It went down somewhere in the mountains, but I doubt they'll check it.”

“Why'd they shoot us down anyhow?” Maggie asked Davis.

“Isn't it obvious?” He derided.

“How can they have that kind of connection?” Russell asked.

Davis shook his head, planted heavy steps through tall grass. He spoke over swishing foliage, “It wouldn't have happened on a full crew. They wanted to take advantage of that; take out a transport we heavily rely on. Normally, we'd have been loaded for bear with counter-measures and an escort.”