Queen Persephone rose to her feet, her movements slow and deliberate, like a predator toying with its prey. Her raven-black hair fell over her shoulders, highlighting a pale face. She tapped the wooden table before her with a single, slender finger, and the sound echoed like a judge¡¯s gavel in the dimly lit chamber, attracting the attention of the gathered vampire lords and queens.
¡°I suppose,¡± Persephone began, her voice soft but carrying an unmistakable weight, ¡°We shall get started. I''m sure you all would certainly love to discuss my somewhat recent... loss.¡± Her tone betrayed neither shame nor regret, only a cold indifference that irritated her detractors.
Lord Wentworth was the first to strike, as she expected. ¡°Loss?¡± he spat, leaning forward in his seat. ¡°You mean obliteration. The East India Clan, one of the oldest and most respected, torn asunder by mortal hands. How does a queen who cannot even protect her own deserve to sit among us, much less lead us?¡±
The chamber rumbled with murmurs of agreement, a low growl of discontent that danced through the gathered thralls and vampires alike. Vespera cast a sharp glance at her queen, her confidence visibly shaken. She shifted her weight uncomfortably, but Persephone remained unmoved, her expression serene as if she were humoring a child¡¯s tantrum.
¡°Lord Wentworth,¡± she said, her voice like a blade slicing through the room, ¡°your concern is duly noted. But before you finish composing my obituary, perhaps you¡¯d like to hear why I called this council in the first place.¡±
¡°Enlighten us, clairvoyant,¡± sneered Sangdara, her withered bureaucratic frame somehow exuding menace. ¡°What possible revelation could justify your continued presence here?¡±
Persephone smiled faintly, the kind of smile that could chill blood. She extended her hand, and from the shadows, one of her thralls¡ªa pale man with empty eyes¡ªapproached and placed a weathered envelope in her palm. She held it up for all to see, its surface adorned with the unmistakable seal of Terra Vanguard.
¡°This,¡± she said, ¡°was found on the corpse of one of your operatives in Los Angeles.¡± She tore open the envelope and extracted a simple piece of parchment. With deliberate slowness, she unfolded it and read aloud:
"We are going to kill you.
¡ªTerra Vanguard."
The room erupted into chaos. Wentworth slammed a fist on the table, while Sangdara muttered curses in her native tongue. Even Krate, usually composed and calculating with a cocked eyebrow appeared concerned. Only Cloak remained silent, his form shrouded and his intentions unreadable.
¡°Arrogant fools,¡± Sangdara hissed. ¡°They think they can challenge us? They are but insects.¡±
¡°Are they?¡± Persephone countered, her voice rising above the din. ¡°Did your arrogance not lead to the collapse of your South Asian foothold, Sangdara? And you, Wentworth¡ªhow many of your ¡®Red Wind¡¯ operatives have vanished without a trace, courtesy of these same insects?¡±
Wentworth¡¯s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Persephone continued, her gaze sweeping across the council. ¡°They are not merely mortals. They are a force driven by purpose, by conviction, by unity¡ªtraits we seem to lack as we bicker and squabble like children. If we do not adapt, we will fall, just as the East India Clan did. But unlike my detractors here, I see the board for what it is. I see the moves they are making.¡±
¡°And what moves are those?¡± Krate interjected, his voice oozing skepticism. ¡°Your clairvoyance did not save your clan. All we see is a queen on the brink of irrelevance.¡±
Persephone¡¯s smile widened, her dark eyes glittering with amusement. ¡°You assume that because you cannot see, there is nothing to see. Allow me to correct your ignorance.¡±
She gestured toward the chamber¡¯s entrance, and the air seemed to grow heavier. ¡°Even now, we are being watched. There are mortal spies just outside this complex, transmitting information to their masters. Would you like me to name them?¡±
Vespera stiffened, her confidence further rattled. ¡°You¡¯re saying we¡¯ve been compromised?¡±
¡°I¡¯m proving it,¡± Persephone replied. ¡°And while you all wallow in self-pity or indulge in delusions of grandeur, I am the only one who has maintained a shred of strategic foresight.¡±
"That''s impossible. My company engineered this bunker to be impenetrable and invisible. The only way anyone could know it is here, is if someone, one of you, perhaps? Leaked it."
Ren, ever observant, noted the cracks forming in Vespera¡¯s composure. Her ambitions, so carefully cultivated, seemed at odds with the woman she had chosen to follow. For the first time since pledging his fealty, Ren wondered if he had backed the wrong horse.
Through it all, Persephone remained seated, exuding an aura of unshakable confidence. She allowed the council to devolve into a maelstrom of petty grievances and insults, knowing full well that the seeds of discord would only strengthen her position.
When the shouting reached its peak, she leaned back in her chair, her voice cutting through the cacophony like a dagger:
¡°Perhaps socialism truly is the solution to our woes,¡± she said, her tone dripping with mockery. ¡°After all, isn¡¯t that the answer, Chairman Sangdara? Equality through servitude? No leaders, no clans¡ªjust an immortal proletariat toiling endlessly under your banner?¡±
The room fell silent, all eyes on the ancient communist. Sangdara¡¯s withered lips twisted into a scowl, but she said nothing.
Persephone smirked. ¡°No? Then perhaps you¡¯d like to explain how your utopia will fare against an enemy that does not care for ideology, only results.¡±
As the council members exchanged uneasy glances, Persephone¡¯s gaze shifted to Vespera. Her executor stood rigid, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
¡°Do you see now, Vespera?¡± Persephone asked, her voice softer but no less commanding. ¡°Power is not about who sits on the throne. It is about who controls the board.¡±
Vespera''s jaw clenched, even as she stood by her master, her own mind was reshuffling her own treacherous plans. She expected Persephone to be easily deposed by the council and then she would have her chance to challenge her. But Persephone was playing them like a fiddle. Her only saving grace was the fact that these meetings would go on for days. She had time to adjust her timeline. And when Persephone slipped up, she would make her move.
Salvo Island
Before the information sent off by the Swiss Guardsmen could even make it into a fully briefable format, it was intercepted. An intelligence analyst, sitting at her station amongst a hundred other operatives, held up her hand urgently, getting her supervisor''s attention. "Soup I got a live one." She said while adjusting the settings on her headset.
The supervisor rushed over, datapad in hand. He jacked into her station with his own headset. The operative briefed him, "Active signal intercept. Picked up by an AWACS operating over the Med. Assessed to be a Swiss Guard unit transmitting to their command center. Looks like they found our target before we did."
The supervisor listened intently to his analyst and then to the recording of the transmission. "Alright, I''ll send up a flare. Over-Commander''s gonna wanna know about this."
Chapter 27: Cold Front
Behind a thick cloud of cigarette smoke in a dimly lit office, surrounded by piles of paper, sat the Vanguard''s second most stressed officer. The coffee in his mug was the blackest of black, and the heavy buildup of residue suggested it was the only liquid the cup had ever known. The Quartermaster, head of logistics for the entire force, kept his glasses perfectly straight as he diligently flipped through hundreds of pages of paperwork per hour, occasionally consulting a six-monitor PC setup that would make even an intelligence analyst jealous.
A series of numbers, some arbitrary, some purposeful, but all gravely important, filled every screen, accompanied by detailed charts. Together, they represented every bullet, bean, tank, gallon of gas, uranium fuel rod, and precision-guided munition in the Vanguard''s inventory.
It was a thankless but indispensable job, essential on the most fundamental level to the operation of an army. The Quartermaster did not appreciate interruptions, which was why he was especially perturbed when the bombastic commander of special forces, Striker-Commander Ivan Federov, entered his office.
With a deadly glare, he closed the torso-thick folder he had been going through, hoping this visit would be brief. Federov was ushered in by his assistant, and he took a seat across from the Quartermaster, a big smile upon his hard and leathery Eastern-European face. It was slightly unsettling.
"And what can I do for the special forces this time, Striker-Commander?" the Quartermaster asked apprehensively.
"I have a personal requisition request for you, my dear friend," he said jovially.
"Isn''t it always? You still owe me for the K2 op loadout that I bent over backwards to get for you."
"And I was much appreciative."
"I was almost fired." He grinned sardonically.
Federov threw his hands up in innocence. "Nobody could have predicted that even the forces of heaven would have a hard time sourcing two thousand gallons of monkey grease, three hundred rolls of adhesive tape rated for anti-tank applications, and fifty pairs of night vision goggles for dogs¡ªwho knew?! But you got it done, because you are the best Quartermaster in history."
The Quartermaster licked his lips and rubbed his eyes, bracing for another all-nighter. He relented, "Shoot, what is it this time?"
Federov placed a folded piece of paper on his desk and gently slid it toward him. The Quartermaster picked it up and studied it for a mere second before dropping his jaw, biting his knuckle, and gesturing around him while stuttering, in that order. Federov only seemed amused.
"Do you realize what you are asking of me?!" he said, consulting the note again. "I''d have to recycle half of this equipment from reserve units."
"But you can do it?" Federov asked.
The Quartermaster shot a mean look. "Yes."
"Good. I need it by tomorrow."
The supply officer was once again thrown into a fit.
The Salvo Archipelago¡¯s delta, nestled at the intersection of the three major islands, was home to a sprawling naval complex. Here, ocean-going warships and coastal patrol vessels of every size were built, berthed, and maintained. But the most secretive part of the facility were the submarine pens. The massive concrete structure jutted out from the shoreline like a series of colossal bowling lanes. Its design was deliberate, meant to conceal the Vanguard¡¯s highly classified undersea capabilities.
Of the six berths within the complex, one remained solemnly empty: the berth of the Stormfiend, a submarine lost to a sea monster the previous year. The sub had yet to be replaced, its absence a result of shipyard constraints. The berth sat dormant, its support equipment cannibalized for the rest of the fleet. The only sign of life was a lone pickup truck rumbling onto the wharf deck, parking in a designated spot.
¡°You¡¯re sure this is the place?¡± R1C Milo asked, squinting at the empty expanse around them.
¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± replied JR Schaft, his junior.
¡°¡¯Cause there ain¡¯t shit here,¡± Milo grumbled, gesturing around at the desolate wharf.
Tora and Tetsu leapt from the truck bed. Tetsu studied the calm water filling the basin. ¡°Saltwater is not an optimal combat environment,¡± he remarked, stating the obvious.
The group ignored him, their attention drawn to the cavernous space above¡ªthe high ceiling, the skeletal frames of overhead cranes, the faint echo of their footsteps and the breaking of small waves against the concrete structure.
¡°Let me see those orders again,¡± Milo said, holding out a hand. Kurt handed over a stiff piece of paper. Milo squinted at the text. ¡°This better not be some kind of practical joke. Who the hell writes assignment orders this vague? Feels like I¡¯m reading a note from a serial killer.¡±
Kurt checked his watch. ¡°1600 on the dot. Wharf Six.¡±
Alpha Team exchanged uneasy glances, their confusion mounting. Before anyone could voice their doubts, the wharf came alive. More vehicles rolled in, disgorging squads of Rifles who looked just as lost as Alpha. The air buzzed with muttered questions and uneasy laughter.
Milo approached a group of Rifles, flashing his orders. ¡°You guys know what¡¯s goin¡¯ on?¡±
One of the Rifles gave him a sympathetic look. ¡°Beats me, man. We got orders too, but they don¡¯t look like that.¡± He held up his own¡ªa sheet of paper with letters cut out from newspapers.
Milo blinked. ¡°They cut your orders from newspapers? Is this some kind of prank?¡±
The Rifle shrugged. ¡°Some psychopath shit. But the order number checks out. We ran it by our yeoman and everything.¡±
Milo rubbed his chin, scanning the growing crowd. Then he spotted a familiar face and pushed his way through the throng.
¡°You son of a bitch!¡± Milo exclaimed, his face splitting into a grin as he reached Perelli. The newly minted officer moved in for a fist bump but was pulled into a bear hug instead, drawing a few raised eyebrows. ¡°How you been? When I heard the Los Angeles op went tits up, I thought you¡¯d finally bought it.¡±
Perelli, though not one for physical affection, endured the hug. ¡°Eh, it was touch and go for a minute,¡± he said, slightly evasive of the subject, once Milo released him. A few nearby officers shot disapproving looks. ¡°I heard you guys had a rough go here.¡±
¡°Dude, you wouldn¡¯t believe it.¡± Milo pointed to a vanity patch on his shoulder¡ªa skull with a bullet hole through it. ¡°Skeleton invasion.¡± Then he noticed the officers lingering nearby. ¡°What¡¯s with the brass nuts?¡±The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Perelli glanced down at his rank insignia. Milo followed his gaze, his eyes widening as he slowly registered the single brass bar.
¡°Oh shit¡ Oh shit!¡± Milo exclaimed, waving over the rest of Alpha. ¡°Get over here!¡± The troopers hurried over, their confusion turning to grins as they spotted the officer¡¯s bar. They clapped Perelli on the back, offering congratulations.
¡°Our boy¡¯s an officer,¡± Milo said, then with mock indignation: ¡°Hey, you fuckin¡¯ sellout!¡± His tone carried more pride than malice. Then, suddenly serious, he snapped a sharp salute. The rest of Alpha followed. ¡°Congratulations, sir.¡±
Perelli returned the salute, his expression softening. ¡°Thanks, R1C.¡±
¡°So, do you know what¡¯s goin¡¯ on, uh, sir?¡± Kurt asked.
Perelli shook his head, holding up a mess hall napkin scrawled with hastily written words. ¡°I¡¯m in the dark. This is the weirdest way I¡¯ve ever received written orders.¡±
A deep Slavic voice spoke from behind him. ¡°It seems you all get along well.¡±
Perelli turned, coming face-to-face with the big boss himself¡ªStriker-Commander Federov. His eyes went wide.
¡°Uh, yes, sir,¡± he answered quickly, snapping the sharpest salute he could. Federov returned it casually.
¡°Good,¡± the big man said with a smile. ¡°You¡¯re their officer, then.¡±
Perelli hesitated. ¡°Ah¡ isn¡¯t that against protocol, sir? They¡¯re my former squad.¡±
Federov raised an eyebrow. ¡°You can separate your post from your past, can¡¯t you, Ensign?¡± His tone wasn¡¯t harsh, but it carried weight. Federov didn¡¯t inspire his Rifles to greater heights¡ªhe challenged them to.
Perelli glanced at his former squad. To refuse would be to deny his place here. ¡°Of course I can, sir.¡± His answer was firm.
Federov nodded, pleased. ¡°Good. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll get you a good NCO.¡±
A pickup truck backed in, and Federov climbed onto the bed, using it as a podium. ¡°Let us get down to business,¡± his voice boomed. All eyes locked onto him. ¡°You¡¯re all wondering why you¡¯re here. I apologize for the cloak-and-dagger methods.¡± His gaze swept over the gathered soldiers, tankers, airmen, special operators, truck drivers, and engineers. ¡°In short, I personally selected each of you.¡±
He let that sink in before continuing. ¡°I am creating a new special unit. We will not operate conventionally. We will fight in hostile environments, cut off from the wider Vanguard. Our job will be to take the fight to the enemy¡ªto seize their land, to take their lives, and to break their stuff.¡± His voice was like a hammer striking steel.
¡°This will be a combined-arms unit where every Rifle pulls his weight¡ªand the weight of the man next to him.¡± The energy of the formation went from inquisitive to more motivated. ¡°The vampires have sown the wind. Now, they will reap the Whirlwind.¡±
He extended a hand toward the bay doors. ¡°If anyone has doubts, now¡¯s the time. I will not hold it against you.¡±
A pause. Seconds passed. There was some murmuring, a few exchanged glances¡ªbut no one moved.
Not a single boot left the line.
The Chief Rifle snapped a sharp salute, clicking the heels of his perfectly shined boots together as he did so. "Chief Rifle Klaus Weber, 1st Airborne, Stormriders, reporting."
Perelli returned the salute stiffly, still getting used to the action. Then he shook the German¡¯s hand. That felt strange too, but for different reasons. "Good to meet you, Chief. I''m Ensign Perelli. Your orders?"
They stood in the cavernous hangar that had been set aside for Whirlwind. The building had once been an assembly facility for a prototype orbital launch vehicle, back in the early days. But after the Vanguard space program pivoted to using the Standoff Array for lobbing things into orbit, the facility had sat abandoned, maintained but unused, on the East side of Azure. Now, with Whirlwind moving in, it had been completely renovated. Multi-level spaces supported everything the unit needed, albeit in a more compact, efficient layout. The facility housed everything from a machine shop to a shooting range, and even a fully outfitted motor pool.
Weber handed over a roll of toilet paper with neatly written paragraphs scrawled across it, resembling a formal letter. Perelli studied it for a moment, located the order number for validation, then passed it to Milo, who examined it with mock seriousness, even pretending to scan it with a black light. This was one of the weirder ones.
Clearing his throat, Perelli said, "Welcome to Whirlwind, Chief. I''ll be your element officer. Our division officer hasn¡¯t been named yet." He gestured to Milo. "This is Rifle First-Class Ralph Milovovich, one of our squad leaders."
Milo made a show of looking offended at having his investigation interrupted but still shook Weber¡¯s hand cordially. Perelli frowned and shot him a look, silently discouraging the antics.
Weber quickly got down to business. "I understand our element is going to have a nonstandard organization?"
"Yeah. We''re earmarked for special tasking. I don¡¯t know what that will be yet, and I don¡¯t know who our other squads will be, either. But I intend to have R1C Milo act as squad leader for the one we already have. Second squad will be yours."
"Four teams in total." Weber scratched his chin. "How many men so far?"
"Seven. Three plus a Kilo-class frame for our Alpha and Bravo teams. R1C Milo will lead Alpha. His team has Junior Rifle Kurt Schaft and R3C Takahashi Daiki¡ªbut we call him Tora. Their frame is ''Tetsu.'' They come from a recon background."
"What about Bravo?"
"Three assault troopers¡ªR3C Wilhelm, Waters and Marcus. Their frame is ''Hessian.''¡±
Weber nodded. "Three assault, two frames, three recon... and I understand you¡¯re Freikorps." His brow furrowed slightly. "I suppose that leaves me the odd man out. The only standard Rifle."
"Indeed," Perelli agreed. "But everything about Whirlwind is nonstandard. You were chosen for a reason."
Perelli felt out of place and in way over his head standing in his commanding officer''s office. While Whirlwind was under Federov''s direct control, the unit¡¯s operational CO was Commander Waller¡ªa scarred and grizzled veteran, and probably the only one in the Vanguard who still smoked cigars; the bigger, the better. He was thin but sharp as a whip¡ªequal parts intelligent and intimidating.
Federov was also present, lounging in a chair and feigning interest in a field manual, flipping through the pages.
Perelli hesitated before speaking, carefully choosing his words. "I''m not sure I understand the... doctrinal reasoning behind this decision."
That seemed to amuse Federov, who smirked but said nothing.
Waller took a slow drag from his cigar before responding. "The U.N. team has to be here. At the request of the American president, they must be integrated into our battle line. That''s was part of the deal to manage the fallout from the Battle of Los Angeles. So, they¡¯re going to make up your second squad. This way, they can observe us from as close as possible."
Perelli stiffened. "Sir, that¡¯s a terrible idea. They aren¡¯t trained to our standard. They aren¡¯t even equipped to our standard. My element is going to be significantly hampered by their presence¡ªat best. At worst, they¡¯ll get slaughtered."
Federov finally put the manual down, locking eyes with him. "We know. That¡¯s why we chose you and built your team the way we did. This will be equal parts political maneuvering and combat operations."
Perelli exhaled sharply. "Sir, I¡¯m not politically savvy."
"You don¡¯t need to be." Federov waved a hand dismissively. "I know your record. You¡¯re an overachieving R1C who skipped right over an NCO role, and now you¡¯re an incredibly green junior officer. You don''t have an axe to grind and you don''t have any bad habits to unlearn. Putting a freshly minted ensign in charge of a team made up of, ostensibly, the best operators the world has to offer? That¡¯s a deliberate move, and they''ll know it. It''ll be humiliating for them, and we want them to feel that."
Perelli nodded, beginning to understand. He supposed he should feel flattered by the vote of confidence, though the reality of it still felt daunting.
Federov leaned forward. "You¡¯re going to lead them like any other unit. Your word is final, understood? They follow your orders as if they were mine."
"Understood."
"Additionally, you¡¯re to keep them alive. That¡¯s why your unit is composed as such. You make sure they don¡¯t die, but more importantly, you make sure they see firsthand what it takes to fight vampires."
Perelli frowned. "So my squads will be filling a backline role?"
Federov¡¯s smile widened. "Far from it. We¡¯ve got another mission coming up. You¡¯ll be in the spearhead."
Perelli had been given a briefing packet on the U.N. team. They were under INTERPOL''s operational control but were not career INTERPOL agents. It appeared that an effort had been made to forge one for them. The eight operators assigned to him were sourced from various U.N. nations. Very conveniently, all were from NATO countries as well. He knew that was no coincidence. These soldiers would be wearing U.N. white, but in reality, this was a NATO operation.
Naturally, ISR didn¡¯t take any of the information given to the Vanguard at face value and conducted their own investigation. The packet acknowledged as much.
Four of the operators were from the United States, with backgrounds ranging from SEALs to Delta Force. Two were British; both Royal Marines, one was German GSG-9, and one was Polish GROM. In addition, there were two actual INTERPOL agents. One was the mission leader, an American political appointee from the current administration: Special Agent Olivia Alvarez. The other was a German Security Council advisor, Amelie Wagner.
It raised an eyebrow when Perelli read that the security advisor was, in fact, a spy. One the Vanguard had caught, and for reasons above his paygrade, had been requested by the Vanguard to return. He had no idea how he was supposed to handle that.
Chapter 28: Storm Warning
"Inconsequential." Persephone talked down to her former executor. "That''s all this is." A clawed hand gripped the side of Vespera''s head, digging into her skin and drawing blood. She tried to pull away, but Persephone held her in place, on her knees with her arms bound behind her back with chains. The chains were etched with holy symbols that inhibited her teleportation powers. They were put in place by mortals, lest any vampires that touch them suffer the same weakened fate. Muffled gunshots echoed down the passageways of the underground bunker as vampiric forces engaged in an all-out civil war.
Sadly for Vespera, it was drawing to a close. And she had lost. Ren lay dead behind Persephone, who had forced Vespera to watch as she eviscerated him into a pile of organs. Vespera refused to meet her eyes, clenching her teeth. The bodies of more of her rebel faction littered the ground outside and inside the room.
The sadistic Queen continued, "You have served your purpose. Far better than any executor I have ever encountered. I should thank you. You have amassed far greater strength than I had predicted."
Vespera finally stared back, eyes full of pain and hate.
Persephone snapped her fingers. "Executor," she prompted, and Svetlana stepped forward. "But your ambition has been your downfall, dear Vespera."
Svetlana regarded Vespera with a smug glance. Vespera glared back with an even more intense and burning hatred. She opened her mouth to speak, but Persephone slashed her claws across the former executor''s face, leaving deep and lasting scars.
The Russian vampire handed a rolled-up piece of paper with a tight wax seal to the Queen.
Through labored breaths, Vespera finally spoke. "You are the traitor here. You have murdered the Council of Equals. Our kin will hang you for this!"
Persephone allowed herself a self-satisfied smile. "I have no equals." She held up the scroll. "And this, a document of your own forging, will ensure their compliance."
The scroll contained written confirmation from the four other members of the Council of Equals, declaring their support for Vespera to usurp Persephone. The document, signed in secret, paved the way so that all Vespera had to do was challenge Persephone, and the various council heads would back her. Instead, it had now been adjusted. As loyalists to Queen Persephone scoured the remaining forces of the other factions, the only word that would leave this bunker was that scroll, which now read that the Council had bestowed absolute authority upon Persephone. When she left this place, she would control the combined forces of every single vampire clan on Earth.
"Really, this was a trivial event to predict. Lesson number two, executor: absolute power does not lie with the crown. It lies with the hands that carry it." She shared a glance with Svetlana.
"Just kill me and be done with it," Vespera spat.
Two large explosions violently rocked the facility, causing the lights to dim and debris to float down from above. Persephone looked up with a smile.
"No... no, you will not have that honor. The pawns of the light are here. I will leave the indignity of your death to them." She looked to Svetlana. "It is time to leave."
In the dead of night, a stealth cruise missile screamed through the Italian mountains at relatively low speeds. Despite its wide, telephone pole-length body, it maneuvered nimbly. It hugged the ground, evading Italian air-search radar and carefully keeping itself just under this upper limit. Even if it strayed above its programmed parameters, its angular stealth body would give it no greater a return than a hawk.
The missile exited a valley and lined up on its final approach to the target. In doing so, it dropped to mere feet off the ground. Its engine, running at low power, kicked into high gear. On terminal approach, it ignited afterburners and blasted through its first barrier¡ªthe sound barrier. A second and a half later, it blasted through its second barrier.
The underground facility was defended by two sets of thick blast doors, strong enough to repulse a low-yield nuclear detonation. The door-knocker missile slammed into the first door faster than the guards outside could even comprehend its presence. The 500-pound thermobaric shaped charge bored through the door. A searing jet of molten plasma, guided by its precision liner, punched forward at hypersonic velocity, liquefying steel and composite plating in an instant. The metal bloomed outward like a fiery flower.
Then came the thermobaric detonation. The charge dispersed a superheated aerosol, saturating the space beyond the breach before the secondary ignition ripped the oxygen from the air. A pressure wave, hotter than the surface of the sun, flashed through the corridor, vaporizing anything unfortunate enough to be standing near the blast. The shockwave didn¡¯t just kill¡ªit pulverized, turning flesh to mist and reducing hardened concrete defenses to molten slag. The second door was blown inward, off its rails.
As the guards outside just began to recover from the explosion, a second missile exploded overhead in an airburst detonation fifty feet above them. Its altimeter fuse triggered at the precise moment to maximize devastation.
For a fraction of a second, there was nothing¡ªjust a sharp, concussive crack as the casing fragmented. Then, the fireball erupted outward in a furious sphere, igniting the air itself as a superheated shockwave expanded at supersonic speed. A scalding overpressure surge slammed downward, collapsing lungs, rupturing eardrums, and hurling bodies like ragdolls across the shattered ground. Armored vehicles were tossed aside like toys. The entire mountain range shuddered under the sheer force.
The explosion wasn¡¯t just heat and pressure¡ªit was lethal fragmentation. A storm of high-velocity steel and tungsten shards rained death across a hundred-meter radius, shredding anything in their path. Shrapnel scythed through flesh and armor alike, punching through vehicles, walls, and anything that offered the illusion of cover. The guards, caught in the open, had no time to react¡ªtheir bodies were torn apart mid-motion, their last actions frozen in time as silhouettes against the blinding fireball.
In the aftermath, smoke and dust choked the air, the ground littered with the charred, motionless remains of what had been a defensive force mere moments ago. Fires flickered across destroyed concrete emplacements, the few standing structures scarred by the blast, their surfaces blackened and pockmarked with burning shrapnel impacts.
The Papal Guard spies watched the explosions in stunned amazement from their vantage point. They didn¡¯t know what was going on. As the leader hesitated to key his radio, trying to find the words to describe what he had just witnessed, two aircraft came in fast and low.
Two Vanguard Kestrels came in so fast that their belly-mounted sentry guns didn¡¯t even deploy. Their ramps were already down. They came in so fast that when their sturdy bellies hit the ground, they scraped along it for several dozen feet. From the open ramps, two trucks were launched forward by the inertia of the sudden stop. The two remotely controlled 5-ton supply trucks flew through the air for several yards before slamming down on their wheels. They were equipped with tactical rams mounted to the front of their frames. Their engines raced as they proceeded at breakneck speeds through the debris, slamming concrete chunks, vehicle hulks, and any other obstructions aside. They crashed through the wreckage of the doors and disappeared into the cavernous opening made by the missile strike.
Then, down the ramps of the Kestrels came the infantry. A whole company slid¡ªrather than ran¡ªdown the ramps, hitting the ground at a run. A few Rifles split off to secure the LZ, but most proceeded towards the entrance.
Four squads amassing 36 Rifles between them, formed up outside the wreckage of the doors that had been pushed aside by the 5-ton truck rams. One moved notably slower than the others.
Eight soldiers¡ªan entire squad¡ªwere attached to an element under Ensign Perelli. They were quick, but not as quick as his other squad. They wore the same standard Rifle Adaptive Tactical Armor, but their armor panels were freshly painted white with bold black "INTERPOL" lettering on the chest piece. Their helmets and ballistic masks were blue with white U.N. stenciling.
It had been a feat for the newly minted officer to bring the eight soldiers up to speed and properly equipped in the 48 hours between when he was informed they''d be attached to his element and when Whirlwind received the frag order to hit the vampire nest. Perelli, Weber, and Milo worked through the night over the past two days to get to know them and understand their skills¡ªonly to then tell them to forget all of it and train them to the Vanguard''s standard. Despite their admirable effort, they hadn¡¯t fully met that standard. The INTERPOL-but-actually-NATO troopers were the best their nations'' militaries had to offer, and they certainly picked things up fast. But there was only so much that could be accomplished in the time they had. Perelli''s hope was that at the very least, they understood his orders, the Vanguard¡¯s way of war, and knew enough not to get in the way.
It also didn¡¯t help that Striker-Commander Federov insisted on using unconventional tactics, evidenced by Perelli''s shock when he was informed that two 5-ton flatbed trucks would be specially modified with plows and dead weight to be used as literal battering rams.
Thankfully, the Vanguard''s way of war was simple and easy to understand: maintain economy of action through sheer force of violence.
Perelli shared a nod with his counterpart commanding the other element, Lieutenant Junior-Grade Olson.
"Mr. Wilhelm, let them know we''re here!" Perelli ordered.
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"Aye, sir!" The Prussian-born Rifle aimed his rotary-fed grenade launcher at the darkness and emptied the cylinder. Six flash grenades disappeared into the opening. After counting six detonations, Perelli gave a simple signal: two fingers pointed forward.
Of the four squads, they had six combat frames between them. The frames led the way, carrying large ballistic shields in one hand and submachine guns in the other. Behind them came the assault troopers armed with automatic shotguns, followed by the rest of the infantry. Perelli kept the U.N. team at the rear. They moved with discipline and speed, rifles raised, sweeping corners and overheads.
The Rifle squads moved through the doors and into a vast concrete parking garage. Numerous vehicles were parked in the surprisingly well-lit space. A field of debris radiated away from the doors in a circular pattern. The vehicles nearest the door were heavily damaged, some stacked on top of one another. A stretched limousine was halved, its rear end completely missing.
Beyond the initial wreckage was a more defined path of destruction. The two battering rams had proceeded through the garage, smashing everything in their path, leaving a trail of overturned and crushed vehicles behind¡ªsome worth more than a WWII aircraft carrier.
Both rams continued until they plowed headlong into the concrete wall at the end of the garage. One sat still and motionless, its ram firmly embedded in the wall. Its frame had cracked where the cab met the bed. Transmission fluid and engine oil flowed freely from shattered components. The second was still running, its diesel engine in a runaway status. Its driveshaft was torn in two, leaving no power to the wheels. Yet, the engine continued to race and would keep doing so until it ran out of fuel or the engine block exploded.
The Rifles and U.N. team were completely uncontested. There were two exits from the garage, both leading deeper into the mountain. They decided to split up. LTJG Olson took his element, designated "Prost" for this mission, to secure a tunnel veering right. Perelli led his squad and the U.N. team, designated "Bagger" to the left.
The left tunnel was sealed by steel double doors. "Prepare to breach. Krakowski," Perelli ordered, calling on the Polish GROM operator.
The Rifles and U.N. team stacked up on either side of the doors. Krakowski set a thermite breaching charge along the center seam. He peeled back the adhesive backing and pressed the charge firmly against the metal. Weber moved to assist, but the GROM operator silently, yet firmly, rebuked him, pushing him away. Perelli noted the incident.
Weber and Krakowski were professionals, but they were still human. Like all Rifles, Weber had renounced his national ties¡ªhis past no longer mattered. But that sentiment wasn¡¯t shared by Krakowski, who remained ill at ease around the German whose nation had once invaded and plundered his own.
The small disruption didn¡¯t escalate, so Perelli chose not to address it.
The thermite compound was arranged in a shaped configuration, concentrating the molten jet on a narrow path to maximize penetration. Thin copper rods embedded in the explosive compound would act as linear guides, directing the white-hot plasma directly into the composite doors.
Krakowski then connected the ignition system¡ªinsulated wires leading to a remote detonator. The system used an electric primer to initiate a violent exothermic reaction in the thermite mix. Unlike conventional explosives, there would be no shockwave¡ªjust intense, focused heat reaching temperatures in excess of 4,500 degrees Fahrenheit, ideal for breaching in an underground complex.
With the charge in place, Krakowski signaled the team, his voice low and steady over the comms, ¡°Thermite set. Breaching in thirty seconds.¡±
Cry Havoc
Aboard the sky-carrier, the progress of the ground team was tracked in real time. The carrier flew low over the Tyrrhenian Sea in the midst of a thick fog bank, just a few hundred feet off the water. The sky-carriers could never be stealth and never be undetectable. It was virtually impossible to hide such a large city of flying steel. So instead, protocol was to simply hide the real mission behind a fake one.
The Havoc flew low and slow in a predictable pattern and she broadcast her position on AIS like any other vessel on the high seas. Meanwhile, she launched Screechers and Foxhounds as part of a CSAR and gunnery exercise. Said exercise was well-broadcasted, with the Vanguard even publishing several notice-to-mariners messages which were available to the entire world, denoting areas of the ocean where the exercising aircraft would be dropping ordnance.
All the assets tracking her saw, from the NATO AWACS aircraft from Spain to the Russian submarines from the Bospuros, were these operations. They did not see the launch of two long-range stealth cruise missiles or the kestrels drop from her belly in the dead of night.
In Havoc''s CIC, Federov, Commander Waller and the U.N. "Guests" watched a large screen as the two elements penetrated the facility. Sky-Captain Kilmer remained on the bridge, she coldly thought of the INTERPOL team more as dead ballast and made her aversion to them clear to the Striker-Commander.
Bundeswehr analyst, Amelie Wagner was undisturbed by their hosts cold attitude towards them and watched the screens intently. She lived for this kind of analysis. But what she saw didn''t make sense. None of what she had seen over the past year did. The Terra Vanguard was, for her, an easy organization to understand once Helsing was revealed to her. They fought relatively conventionally, but their level of technology meant they operated on a completely different wavelength and level from any other armed force on the planet. They were simply enabled in ways nobody else was.
The vampires on the other hand were quite an enigma. They were the underdog, forced to fight from the shadows, but they evidently had immense equipment reserves. But they weren''t fighting like it. As Amelie saw it, the vampires could easily inflict significant pain on the Vanguard. All they had to do was fight asymmetrically, like a guerilla force. They could engage the Vanguard on their terms and with their surprising, and also highly frightening, ability to fill their ranks they could certainly afford a high attrition rate.
But that wasn''t happening. The vampires were fighting like a conventional force that had gone to ground, playing a game of whack-a-mole with the Vanguard; with themselves as the mole. It was devoid of any doctrinal thinking. Every time Amelie thought she had them figured out, they went and did something surprising; mostly in a way that thought was stupid. For example: Kotlin. The vampires engaged the Vanguard openly on the battlefield with stolen Russian equipment. By all means, they had assembled a very well-kitted fighting force. With effective leadership, the battle would and even should have been extremely painful for humanities proclaimed defenders. Instead, the cultists and their vampire handlers had been steamrolled.
Waller tracked the situation closely. He looked to a crewman operating a sensor station. "Give me an update on the VIP."
"Aye," the crewman responded. "No change. Gamma scope hasn''t logged her exiting the facility. She''s still in there."
Waller shared a look with Federov, who nodded calmly. Their men knew to proceed with caution.
A radio transmission, marred by static because the transmitter was underground, was received by the CIC.
"Home Plate, Bagger Element, You seeing this?" It said.
After breaching the tunnel system, Bagger element was met with a grim sight. Weapons raised, they advanced into the remains of a battlefield. The hallways were strewn with dead bodies and destruction. Bodies in various states of brutal disassembly littered the floor and walls¡ªsome even hung from the ceiling, or at least, what was left of them. The battle had clearly been fought to the last man. Discarded weapons were scattered across the ground, the walls were pockmarked with shrapnel and bullet holes, and the lights flickered sporadically from the damage.
Perelli signaled his team to proceed cautiously. As his spearhead advanced, he documented the devastation with his helmet cam. He approached a body sprawled across a table, a knife embedded in its skull. He kept his HR-15 trained on it as he pried its lips apart, revealing a set of wickedly sharp fangs.
"Home Plate, we¡¯ve got vampires intermixed with the dead. Split¡¯s about fifty-five percent human, twenty-five percent thralls, and twenty-five percent vamps," he reported.
"Looks like they tore each other apart," a Royal Marine observed.
A SEAL asked, "Is it normal for them to fight amongst themselves like this?"
Milo shook his head. "Not from what we know. Certainly not like this."
Perelli pointed to the fallen. "These are from different factions. I''m seeing different races, different attire. This was an inter-factional war. Stay sharp. If you¡¯re not sure they¡¯re dead, make sure. Last thing we need is a live vampire inside our formation. Forward."
They moved deeper into the tunnel system, eventually entering a cavernous chamber filled with even more bodies. Five podiums stood on an elevated platform at the center, overlooking the lower echelons, which were similarly strewn with corpses. Two figures lay motionless at their podiums, indicating they had been among the first to fall, likely dying quickly.
The Rifles were in awe and the INTERPOL troopers were visibly shaken. The chamber was lavishly decorated with gleaming metal arranged in brutal, imposing angles. It was clear that the beings at the podiums were meant to be feared and revered by their followers. Most of the bodies were full-blooded vampires, distinguished by their elegant, high-status clothing. A few thralls were scattered among them, their attire marking them as guards or attendants.
Milo snorted and tapped an INTERPOL trooper on the shoulder as he approached a body that had fallen headfirst, its back bent at an impossible angle, legs curled backward over itself. Grabbing the skull and jaw, he manipulated the corpse like a puppet. In a mocking, high-pitched voice, he said, "I¡¯m an undead loser, and I died like an undead loser! But at least I had the courtesy to die without wasting your ammo."
Milo grinned, but the INTERPOL trooper looked horrified. Weber shot him a glare. "Knock it off."
Perelli¡¯s voice cut through the tension. "Secure the area. Hutchinson, get over here."
"Moving," the Royal Marine responded.
Perelli was examining a body slumped at one of the podiums. The vampire wore an exquisitely tailored suit and a solid-gold watch, both marred by the blood that coated them. His chest cavity had been ripped open, organs spilling across the fine fabric. Perelli¡¯s HUD ran facial recognition, and the ID came back: Lord Charles Wentworth of the British royal family.
Perelli looked to Hutchinson. "Look familiar?"
The Marine¡¯s eyes widened. "Yeah... that¡¯s Lord Wentworth. Third in line for the throne."
Across the room, Weber called out, "I have ID on zis one. Preston Krate. CEO of Nyx Dynamics."
"The tech magnate?" someone muttered.
"Seems so."
Perelli keyed his radio. "Home Plate, I¡¯ve got two high-profile casualties. Did we know either of these guys were vampires?"
"Negative," came the response.
"What¡¯s the chance our target¡¯s already dead?"
There was a brief pause. "Dead or alive, you still have to find them. They¡¯re down there somewhere."
"Copy." He turned to Tetsu. "You got anything?"
The massive robot glanced up from the corridor he was covering alongside a Roman assault trooper. "Yes. Traces of Cobalt-60. The target was in this room, but the source is no longer present. Additionally, I am detecting traces of Uranium-235."
Perelli¡¯s jaw clenched. "How much? Is it weaponized?"
"Unknown," Tetsu replied. "Trace amounts, slightly above background levels. I cannot determine if it was weaponized."
The atmosphere in the chamber grew tense. Perelli¡¯s grip tightened on his HR-15. He keyed his radio again. "Home Plate, you getting this? Request guidance."
"Bagger, we have no intel suggesting nuclear material is in play. Assume Frame sensors are accurate. Proceed at your discretion."
Perelli exhaled slowly. "Copy. Moving forward."
Just as he switched channels, his gaze returned to the podiums. He had a sinking feeling they were walking into something far more complex than a mere battlefield.
Chapter 29: Hurricane
The stomp of Bagger Element¡¯s boots echoed loudly through the confined concrete corridors of the subterranean complex. The deeper they went, the fewer light fixtures they found. It was clear the lower levels were meant exclusively for vampires. It was so dark they couldn''t rely on ambient light to feed their night vision scopes. Instead, they had to activate the IR lamps mounted on their helmets and weapons. Though the lamps cast a heavy green taint over their vision, they allowed them to see clearly.
The violence remained unchanged as they cleared the facility¡ªfinding neither the living nor the undead. The IR lamps would have given away their position to vampires, who, unlike humans, could see that spectrum of light. But Perelli didn¡¯t care. His element had gone so unchallenged that paranoia was beginning to set in. He wanted the enemy to come for them. He hoped the light and the sound of their armored boots telegraphed their position, drawing the enemy down upon them. Knowing where the enemy was¡ªeven if it meant walking into an ambush¡ªwas better than the terrifying prospect of not knowing anything at all.
"Tetsu? Hessian?" A nervous Perelli prompted the robots.
They reported, "Elevated activity levels on the Cobalt-60 tracker. Uranium detected. We are getting close."
Perelli pondered the implications of the uranium more than anything else. It worried him more. The prospect of nuclear weapons was almost as grim as the existence of vampires. He used to think mustard gas was the most terrifying thing he would ever face on the battlefield. The horrors humanity wrought in war were not beyond comprehension. In fact, they were entirely comprehensible. And that was worse.
With every step deeper, an invisible force pressed against him, urging him to turn back. Get out of here. If not for yourself, then for the sake of the men you''re leading.
It began to distract him. Instead of sharply clearing rooms, an insidious fear crept into his mind. Bagger Element will meet the same fate as your comrades on the Able¡ and in Los Angeles.
He found himself falling back on his most basic level of training. Not the training of the Terra Vanguard, but that of the U.S. Army circa 1918.
Left, left, left, right, left.
His legs carried him forward in tune with the familiar cadence. His movements became robotic, marching to the rhythm. When all else failed, instinct took over. His mind drifted.
Suddenly, a hand clamped onto his shoulder. He gasped.
"Boss, you good?" Weber asked in his Germanic accent, concern evident in his voice. "You''re stiff as a board."
"I''m fine. Don¡¯t worry about me," Perelli insisted, forcing himself to loosen up. They had fallen behind the rest of the element.
Weber frowned, unconvinced. "I''m German, sir. I know stiff. What''s going on?"
Perelli refused to show weakness. He was expected to lead¡ªto be the anchor around which his men oriented themselves. Now was not the time. This was not the place.
"I''m fine," he repeated, his tone firm. "Get back to Bravo."
Weber hesitated, frowning behind his ballistic mask. For a long second, they locked eyes¡ªor as close as they could, given the opacity of their visors. Weber¡¯s standard blue and Perelli¡¯s custom shark¡¯s maw.
Finally, Weber departed.
"Loud noise," Milo called out, warning everyone. Right after doing so, he ran his free hand along a shelf containing a row of extremely expensive-looking bottles of alcohol. Like a petty child or a bored cat, he knocked them off one by one. They shattered in quick succession upon impact with the floor.
"Must you be so petulant?" Tora complained, brushing glass shards off his armor.
Milo chortled at him. "This place is fuckin'' empty."
The two stood in a spacious and lavishly decorated living quarters. It was surprisingly well-appointed. Milo had expected chains, cages, and bodies hanging from the ceiling, but instead, it was fairly normal. Its furnishings were far beyond his tax bracket, but normal.
"Oh shit, I haven''t seen one of these in forever!" he remarked, carefully picking up a revolver from its place above a fake fireplace.
The weapon was a Colt Army Model 1860. It was fantastically preserved, its blued steel and polished brass shining perfectly. The revolver felt heavy in his hand¡ªbalanced yet formidable¡ªits walnut grip worn smooth from a century and a half of handling but not marred. Six chambers sat in the cylinder, each waiting for a .44 caliber ball to be seated and fired. The barrel was long, just under eight inches, lending accuracy to its shots¡ªback when men dueled face-to-face.
Ornate engravings adorned the frame, swirling patterns that spoke of a storied history. The hammer clicked satisfyingly as Milo pulled it back, the action smooth and solid. "Single-action." He peered down the sights¡ªprimitive by modern standards but deadly enough in practiced hands.
He lowered the weapon so it was parallel to his own holstered sidearm. Then, quick as a whip, he drew it with expert precision. He worked the hammer and pulled the trigger with a single hand, firing through the entire cylinder in two seconds. Then, he let the grip go, and the weapon tilted forward under the weight of the barrel, his finger still in the trigger guard. With practiced movements, he expertly spun the revolver around his forefinger, as if he''d done this a thousand times before.
Milo ran his thumb along the cold metal, a grin forming on his lips. "They don¡¯t make ''em like this anymore," he said, almost sentimentally.
One of the SEALs had entered the room just as he found the weapon, watching curiously. "You some kind of cowboy?"
Milo took a breath. "In another life."
The SEAL hesitated before asking the next question but did so anyway. "So it''s true. You guys are from... not here. Not now?"
"Un," Tora answered. "Yes."
"So you''re from the Wild West?" the SEAL asked, incredulous.
"Sort of," Milo answered. "Confederate Army. Cognovich Company. 1st Slovenian Rifles," he said with pride.
The INTERPOL trooper nodded in amazement. "And you?" he asked Tora.
Tora''s expression grew somber as he began to speak, his voice weighted by memories long past.
"I was born into the samurai class of the Satsuma Domain, in what you now call Kagoshima Prefecture. The government sought to modernize Japan, adopting Western ways and, in the process, dismantling the very fabric of our samurai existence. I followed Saig¨ Takamori into battle at Mount Shiroyama."
Tora''s hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his weapon, a gesture that spoke of both pride and sorrow.
"We fought valiantly, but our swords were no match for the government''s modern artillery and firearms. We failed." He looked up, meeting the SEAL''s eyes with a resolute gaze. "Though our rebellion was quelled, the spirit of the samurai endures. We sought to protect our traditions, even in the face of insurmountable odds. Now, in this time not our own, I carry forward the legacy of my ancestors, honoring their memory with every step I take."
The room fell silent, the weight of Tora''s words hanging heavily in the air. His explanation was earth-shattering to the SEAL because it meant the Japanese man standing before him was impossibly ancient. Milo was also in awe, but only because it was the most words he''d ever heard Tora say at one time.
A shout came from outside. "Got something here!"
R3C Marcus, the Roman assault trooper, and the two Kilo frames had their weapons leveled at a blank concrete wall. It was the only section of the wide passageway left untouched. Another assault trooper, Waters, had his shotgun slung across his back while he felt around the blank section.
"What do you got?" Perelli asked.
Hessian pointed over his shield. "Radioactive trail ends here. We suspect this is a false wall and there is something beyond it," he explained. "Both the tracking device and something else."
"Okay, everybody stack up," Weber ordered.
Behind the assault troopers, Alpha, Bravo and the INTERPOL teams lined up in rows on either side of the passageway. They all kept their guns leveled at the alleged secret door.
Waters banged against various surfaces with a wrench, listening carefully to how the surface echoed and vibrated. Every few inches, he moved, eventually creating the outline of a square door. He came to a stop after several minutes and took out a thick permanent marker, drawing Xs on the wall.
"Steel construction. Locking mechanism here," he pointed. "And hinges here, here, and here. Opens inward. It''s not a vault. I can breach with an explosive shell."
"Set it up," Perelli ordered.
Tetsu and Hessian planted their shields and took cover behind them. The rest of the element pressed themselves against the walls, preparing for the loud noise and pressure wave. Waters ejected the shell he had in the breech and replaced it with one colored bright orange.
Waters braced himself, shouldering his shotgun in fluid movements. The bright orange shell seated in the chamber was a purpose-built breaching round¡ªa hardened slug filled with a high-explosive compound designed to punch through steel and disrupt locking mechanisms in a single violent detonation.
He took a half-step forward, angling the muzzle toward the X-marked section of the door. His faceplate polarized automatically in anticipation of the flash.
"Firing!" he barked.
The shotgun roared like a cannon, a concussive blast hammering through the tight space. The slug struck dead center on the lock with a metallic crack, then erupted with a brutal detonation. A bloom of orange fire and shrapnel fanned outward, the steel around the impact point warping and buckling as the explosive force ruptured the internal mechanisms.
The door groaned under its own weight, hinges shearing with an ear-splitting screech. Then, with a final metallic clang, it crumpled inward, smoke and acrid dust billowing from the wreckage.
Waters barely flinched, his armor absorbing the worst of the overpressure, but the rest of the team took the hit like a physical blow. Hessian''s sensor pod bounced behind his shield, while Tetsu let out a sharp warble from his transmitter. The others, flattened against the walls, blinked through the ringing in their ears.
"Clear," Waters said, racking a fresh round into the chamber as the dust settled.
As the dust settled, it became clear there wasn''t much inside¡ªexcept for two important things.
"Uh, Boss, you might wanna take a look at this," Waters waved him forward.
Tentatively, Perelli approached the opening. The space beyond was little bigger than a one-car garage. A large crate sat in the center, a mess of wires and finely machined components arrayed around a central cylinder the size of an engine block. And there was a woman in chains on the ground in front of it.
Tetsu''s dosimeter went wild. The frame stepped forward quickly. "Ensign. That''s the source of the tracker and the uranium."
"What the hell?" Perelli couldn''t help but exclaim aloud.
He and Weber approached with HR-15s raised.
When the beaten figure looked up at Perelli, his blood turned white-hot. Her eyes met his ballistic mask.
"You." The Freikorpsman and the vampire executor both said at the same time.
Vespera started to say, "We meet aga¡ª" but was cut short. Perelli surged across the space between them with murderous intent. He picked the vampire up off the ground by her neck. She could do nothing to stop him with her arms bound in chains. His gloved hand squeezed tightly around the vampire¡¯s throat.
His HUD displayed the green tinge of his night vision, but all the junior officer saw was red. He slammed her down on top of the device. With his free hand, he leveled the muzzle of his rifle against the bottom of her chin. She struggled weakly against his grip.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
"I wish I could make you suffer for your crimes, but you will know only oblivion."
Just as his finger crossed into the trigger guard, a hand seized the barrel of his HR-15. Perelli wheeled on whoever it was, ready to knock their teeth out, but was surprised to find it was Milo.
"Boss..." The R1C spoke slowly and carefully. "We need her alive." He gestured at the device. "She can probably tell us what happened here and what this is."
It took Perelli several seconds to calm down enough to respond. Finally, he took a slow breath. He didn¡¯t lower his rifle, but he did take his finger off the trigger. He also lessened his grip so that Vespera could speak.
"What is this?" He nodded towards the device.
"It¡¯s a fucking nuke. What does it look like?" she said coldly. "You''ve walked right into a trap, you idiots."
Tetsu crossed behind the bomb and began scanning it. "Sir, this bomb is on a timer. It also has a remote detonator."
Weber reacted coolly, but Milo took a cautious step back from the bomb.
"Can you defuse it?" Weber asked.
Tetsu analyzed. "This device appears homemade. I do not have the necessary procedures downloaded."
"I can," came a voice from the doorway. They all turned to see one of the SEALs, BMC Noble. "I have EOD certification for nuclear weapons. Long story. May I?"
They all moved to let him through. He unrolled a tool pouch and began looking over the device. He muttered, "Never thought I''d have to use this." He turned to Tetsu. "Tell me what kind of radiation patterns you''re picking up and where." Then he looked at Perelli. "Do you mind?" He pointed at Vespera.
The junior officer picked Vespera up again and forced her to the ground, where he put his boot on her neck, pressing her face into the floor.
The vampire seethed and bared her fangs, but there was nothing she could do. Except...
"Tell me, slave..."
Perelli increased his boot pressure on her, forcing her to talk between gasps.
"How did it feel to have your soul ripped from your body?" She smirked venomously.
A chill ran up Perelli''s spine as he recalled. A phantom pain coursed through his chest as he remembered their first encounter, where she had crushed his ribs. He had to forcibly calm himself.
He looked down at her. "What happened here?" he said through clenched teeth.
Vespera laughed weakly. "Politics."
"I am in no mood for games. Elaborate."
"Hah! What do I give a shit? My life is forfeit. You might as well just kill me," she said, greatly tempting the rifle.
Perelli''s thumb rubbed against the safety of his weapon, but he resisted. A realization dawned.
"You finally tried to execute your coup, didn¡¯t you?" he said, probing.
That elicited another weak laugh. "You remember. Impressive. Most mortals don¡¯t survive being that close to a cascade with their minds intact. Tell me, have you experienced any auditory or visual hallucinations?"
Weber looked at his officer. He knew Perelli¡¯s role in the botched Los Angeles op, but Perelli had chosen not to tell him that part. Weber had come just as close to the same fate.
Perelli pressed harder with his boot. "Answer the question."
"Fine... Yes, I did."
"And you lost?" he said with a smirk.
She nodded.
"Well, then I suppose I should thank you. For making this mission easy for me."
"Oh, you¡¯re not out of the woods yet," she said mischievously.
Before he could comprehend her meaning, a voice shouted from the hallway.
"Contact, rear!"
Perelli looked through the door to see a black shape filling the entire width and height of the hall. It accelerated towards them quickly, absorbing light, causing his night vision to glitch at the sight of it. The only identifiable features were two white eyes in its center.
The INTERPOL team, professionals that they were, didn¡¯t need an order to fire. They opened up on the incoming mass with disciplined semi-automatic fire. The cacophony filled the tight concrete quarters with an immense racket.
The mass writhed and dodged faster than it could be targeted. It shrank and grew, avoiding their fire. Until finally, it was close enough to lash out. It did so with long tentacles.
Hessian moved up with its shield, planting itself firmly between the Rifles and the creature. A barrage of blows landed against the great shield, but the Frame planted its feet and held fast. But it couldn''t stop all of them.
A tentacle slithered past. It latched onto the closest operators leg, the German GSG-9 operator. He screamed as he was dragged across the floor. But before he could be endangered by the mass, a long blade cam down on the tentacle severing it. Tora stood over the severed limb as the detached section vaporized.
The mindflayer recoiled, the severed tentacle disintegrating into dark mist. It was unconcerned about the missing limb and began gathering mass before striking again. The INTERPOL operators didn''t hesitate, pouring more fire into the shifting darkness, their rounds chewing into the void-like flesh with uncertain effect.
Hessian pushed forward, its shield raised high, absorbing a renewed barrage of blows from the creature¡¯s writhing appendages. The Frame¡¯s submachine gun chattered, spitting high-velocity rounds into the thing¡¯s core, but the mindflayer¡¯s amorphous body twisted unnaturally, dodging in ways no living being should.
One of the Vanguard assault troopers stepped up, shotgun braced against his armored shoulder. "Frag out!" he barked, lobbing a grenade toward the creature¡¯s center of mass. It exploded in a fiery burst, momentarily staggering the entity.
That was when Perelli¡¯s made a mistake.
Distracted by the fight, he instinctively lifted his boot from Vespera¡¯s neck, his attention snapping toward the writhing darkness. It was all the opportunity she needed.
In one smooth motion, she lunged, her hand snapping out like a viper. BMC Noble had been crouched over the nuclear device, working quickly to disable it. He barely had time to react before her clawed fingers swiped a metal pick from his laid out tools. With expert precision and inhuman speed, she angled the tool upward into the lock that bound her hands. In only a few swift turns the chains fell slack.
A surge of raw energy rippled through her body as her vampiric essence returned in full force. The weight of the holy chains had suppressed her abilities, but now she was free.
Vespera¡¯s eyes glowed an unholy crimson as she turned toward Perelli, a murderous glint.
¡°Big mistake,¡± she whispered.
Perelli barely had time to raise his weapon before she moved. One moment she was on the ground, the next she was upon him, gripping his throat in a vice-like grip, her claws digging through the neoprene liner and into his skin. Enough to draw blood.
"Sir!" Weber shouted, raising his rifle¡ªtoo late.
Dark energy surged around them as Vespera''s teleportation took hold.
The last thing Perelli saw before the world twisted and blurred into an incomprehensible void was the mindflayer surging forward, tentacles coiling around the operators, Hessian struggling to hold the line, and the nuke still lying exposed on the floor.
Then, with a disorienting blur, the world snapped away.
When the world returned, Perelli was weightless. Wind snapped against his armor as he struggled to gain any sense of orientation. He didn''t realize where he was until the ground rushed up to meet him. He bounced indignantly, tumbling across a rocky surface. "Agh!" He cried out in pain as his armor failed to soften the impact sufficiently.
When he finally came to a stop, he quickly began to recover. His mouth was bleeding from a split lip. Blood spattered on the inside of his faceplate while the outside was thoroughly scraped. His night vision turned off to reveal he was in the open air of the mountain range.
Weakly, he straightened. Just as he grasped for his rifle, a hand reached out and seized him by his neck again. The vampire Vespera lifted him off the ground. She bashed his head against a rock with fury.
"Finally." she said between blows. "If I can''t have power. If I can''t have favor. At the very least, I will have my revenge!" She forced him to look at her. "I could drop you a thousand feet and be done with it. But I can''t do that. Not after how you humiliated me." An enraged sneer crossed her face. "With you''re continued existence!" She screamed.
She threw him across the ground. "This will be personal and it will be painful." She approached his unmoving prone form.
The vampire picked him up by the back of his tactical vest. When she did, Perelli struck. Like a viper, he swung his holy dagger into her shoulder, firmly planting the blade in her flesh. She cried out in pain.
He grabbed her close and refused to let go. He twisted the blade, causing her powers to unexpectedly activate against her will.
Once again, he was sent flying through the air. But this time, he landed on a flat surface. Though, still hard and course. Just as he began to recover, a loud roar sounded next to him and a rush of hot air from a jet engine hit his chest, causing him to be blown back another dozen feet. When he looked around, he realized he was on the flight deck of the Cry Havoc.
Perelli barely had time to react before Vespera materialized a few yards away, already in motion. She was a blur, closing the distance with unnatural speed, her fangs bared in a feral grin. He barely got his rifle up before she was on him, swiping the weapon aside and hammering a knee into his gut. His armor absorbed some of the impact, but not enough. He staggered back, gasping for breath. A few months ago, that would have crushed his ribs. The new ones held up nicely.
On the bridge, Sky-Captain Kilmer watched the flight deck camera swivel to focus on the fight. A disgusted frown formed. Without taking time to ponder how they got there, she barked orders. "Officer of the Deck, get that trash off my flight deck." Then she snapped to the helm, "Hard to starboard, roll the deck."
Before he could recover, she twisted into a spinning kick that sent him sprawling across the deck. He tumbled, barely managing to keep hold of his knife as his rifle skidded out of reach. A warning klaxon blared over the carrier¡¯s intercom, and the deck lights flashed as the crew scrambled for cover¡ªthough ¡°cover¡± was a generous term. Many had hastily restrained themselves with cargo straps, tied to the landing gear of fighter jets, or huddled behind tool carts, forced to watch the brutal fight unfold.
Perelli barely got his feet under him before she was on him again. This time, she drove him back with a relentless flurry of blows. He blocked one, dodged another, but she was too fast. A hammering right hook snapped his head to the side, followed by an elbow to his ribs. His vision blurred, his head ringing.
With a snarl, he lashed out, slashing his dagger in a wide arc. The holy blade left a sizzling cut across her cheek, making her recoil with a hiss. Perelli seized the moment, lunging forward and driving a brutal knee into her stomach. She grunted, but instead of staggering back, she grinned.
¡°Good,¡± she breathed, licking the blood from her lip. ¡°Keep fighting. Makes it more fun.¡±
Then she was behind him. He had no idea how she moved so fast after he had cut her so deeply, but he barely had time to register the shift before her arms locked around his throat in a crushing grip. Perelli struggled, prying at her vice-like arms, his lungs burning for air.
His vision started to darken when instinct took over. He threw his weight backward, slamming her upwards into the fuselage of a parked Screecher with all his strength. The impact forced her to loosen her grip just enough for him to drive an elbow into her ribs and roll free.
Both scrambled to their feet at the same time, facing each other in the flashing red deck lights. Perelli was panting, his face streaked with blood, his body screaming in protest. Vespera, though bloodied, looked almost amused.
But her moment of arrogance cost her.
Perelli surged forward, catching her off guard with a brutal shoulder check that sent her stumbling. He followed up with a strike to her jaw, then a savage slash of his knife across her chest. She screamed as the holy blade burned her flesh, staggering back.
He didn¡¯t let up. He tackled her to the ground, straddling her and driving punch after punch into her face. She clawed at him, screeching, but he didn''t stop.
A final, crushing blow sent her head snapping back against the deck, dazing her. Before she could recover, he planted his boot on her throat, forcing her down with all his weight.
Vespera gasped, her fingers clawing at his boot, but she was spent. Beaten.
Perelli popped open his faceplate and sneered down at her. ¡°You should¡¯ve dropped me when you had the chance.¡±
He pressed down harder.
Her body writhed, her fangs bared in desperation. The crew watched in stunned silence, some barely daring to breathe as the scene unfolded before them. The deck lights flashed, casting jagged shadows across Perelli¡¯s bruised and battered form.
He leaned in slightly, his voice a low, venomous growl. ¡°No more escapes. No more second chances. I¡¯m ending this.¡±
Just as he was about to crush her windpipe, a firm hand clamped onto his shoulder.
¡°Stand down, Ensign.¡± The voice was sharp, commanding.
Perelli¡¯s head snapped up, eyes wild. The massive form of Striker-Commander Federov stood across from him, gaze steady. ¡°She''s more useful alive.¡±
For a long moment, Perelli didn¡¯t move. His grip on his knife was tight, his boot unmoving. The thought of ending her, right then and there, was tempting¡ªdeserved, even.
For the first time ever, he seriously contemplated disobeying orders. A simple pivot of the heel and he could snap her neck. He grit his teeth.
With a final glare down at the defeated vampire, he removed his boot from her neck. Assault troopers quickly moved in to restrain her.
He leaned down and gabbed her face, forcing her to look at him. ¡°One day, I will slaughter you.¡± he muttered.
Vespera gasped, coughing violently as she clutched her throat, her crimson eyes still burning with hatred¡ªbut behind it, just for a moment, was something else.
Fear.
Cry Havoc''s Interrogation Room
Vespera sat in a flimsy plastic chair, heavy chains binding her feet to the deck and her hands to her neck, allowing only minimal movement. A clay ball was stuffed in her mouth, neutralizing her fangs. The chains bore religious markings, nullifying her powers. The room was brightly lit¡ªan intentional effort to keep her as uncomfortable as possible. Despite this, she remained stoic, sitting straight-backed and staring ahead, showing no sign of discomfort.
The other side of the one-way glass was rather crowded. The towering Federov stood next to Commander Waller, stroking his chin with a grin, admiring the fine prize his troopers had captured. Also present were the two U.N. representatives: Special Agent Alvarez, who seemed unsure of what to do with herself, and Amelie Wagner, who furiously took notes while keenly observing the vampire. Lastly, there was Sky-Captain Victoria Kilmer and Ensign Perelli¡ªboth noticeably more irate than the rest. Kilmer didn¡¯t want vampire trash aboard her ship; she would have preferred to execute the creature on the spot. And Perelli was more than willing to be the executioner.
An ISR agent entered the room with a guard. The guard carefully used a thick-gloved hand to remove the clay ball from Vespera¡¯s mouth before retreating to a corner.
The agent took his time setting up a notepad, recorder, and a folder containing relevant files. Once finished, he spent several seconds straightening the materials to his liking¡ªa deliberate interrogation tactic. He clicked his pen.
"Please state your name¡ª" he began, but Vespera cut him off with a fast-spoken, thorough tirade.
"My name is Vespera. That is the name given to me by my former master, Queen Selene Sanguis. My mortal name was Tiffany Bellerose. I was an accountant in my previous life until I was attacked by a wild cougar while hiking in the Cascades. I would have died if not for Queen Selene. She saved me by turning me into a vampire. For that, I owed her my life and became her executor.
As executor, I carried out her will. I have murdered over 271 humans and drank the blood of far more. I have also killed many of my own kind in pursuit of my master''s wishes. I recommend looking into the crime databases of California and Washington, the Canadian province of British Columbia, and Russia¡¯s St. Petersburg to verify my claims. I was the mastermind behind the attack on Kotlin Island, the cascade that nearly destroyed Los Angeles, and the attack on the USNS Able."
The observers were stunned into silence, but the interrogator was not. He quickly asked, "Elaborate on the Able."
"The vampiric forces under Queen Selene¡ªand now Queen Persephone¡ªhave the ability to awaken and control sea monsters from the unexplored depths of the ocean. The attack on the Able was a test run. That creature could not be controlled. The one that attacked Los Angeles could. We call them Vorrkoths. They are controlled from a commandeered Russian vessel we took from Kotlin¡ªthe Kommuna. She has been extensively modified to disguise her original purpose. She now broadcasts on AIS as the MV Crimson Shamrock and is formally registered to Panama. She¡¯s skippered by a traitorous bitch named Svetlana¡ªRussian. She and her brother, Dmitry, are former FSB agents. They work for Persephone. There will likely be another attack soon."
The interrogator nodded throughout, recording the scorned vampire¡¯s very thorough betrayal of her own kind. "Where are they now?"
"I do not know. Persephone now has many undetectable black sites she could flee to."
"Now?"
"Yes. She controls all vampiric forces across the world. She has usurped her peers in the Council of Equals¡ªa council that once settled disputes between clans. I assume you found their bodies in the underground complex near Monte Cassino? Anyway, I can draw you a map. It won¡¯t have everything, but it will cover roughly 90% of all vampire strongholds, cells, and clans."
"What''s the plan for the Black Sun?"
Vespera let out a single humorless laugh. "Terraform."
Chapter 29.5: 28 Seconds to Midnight
"Scheisse, not again!" Weber said when Perelli disappeared. "Noble, status on that bomb!"
Noble traced wires along the casing of the bomb. There were many false ends. His determination was that the device was expertly crafted, and whoever had designed it was crafty.
Tetsu reported, "Timer: 2 minutes, 36 seconds."
"I''m going after the remote first," Noble said coolly. He picked up a precision tool and carefully began cutting wires.
Weber focused back on the mindflayer just in time to watch Hessian fall. Black tentacles wormed their way up underneath the shield and around its legs. Before the frame could do anything, they coiled up around the armored joints and quickly engulfed the robot like roots sprouting upwards. They penetrated every gap and, in one blow, crushed the frame like a tin can. Parts, oil, and panels went flying as the valiant frame was crushed from the inside. Its dead body fell to the floor unceremoniously.
The other operators weren''t keen to just stand by. All the while, they unloaded on the creature in a loud cacophony of gunfire.
Tora did his best to fight the limbs back with his blade, but he couldn''t be everywhere at once. Finally, one grabbed hold of a Royal Marine. As the appendage dragged him toward the creature, he fought viciously with his own knife, trying to free himself. Tora tried to intervene but was forced back when three more came after him, forcing him to defend himself.
The creature seemed to eat everything they sent at it. Bullets were either absorbed into its mass or simply dodged by its otherworldly speed.
The Royal Marine screamed as it took hold of each of his limbs, held him up, and quartered him, ripping him apart limb from limb in full view of his comrades.
"Fucker!" one of the assault troopers shouted, lobbing a grenade down the hall. It detonated against the creature¡¯s face, causing it to flinch but not doing any visible damage.
Noble now had a pile of stripped wires at his feet. "Okay, remote¡¯s done. Time check?"
"2 minutes," Tetsu reported.
It couldn''t be seen behind his visor, but Noble was sweating bullets. "Timer is likely to be booby-trapped," he muttered, tracing yet more wires. "Fissile material is here," he pointed with a pair of pliers, "so the accelerant is here." He thought for a mere second. "So, timer assembly is... aha! Here!" He got to work.
A black limb slammed into Tora, throwing him hard against the wall. With the samurai out of the way, it surged forth to grab another trooper, this time grabbing Krakowski. The Polish operator swore as he was dragged across the floor, clawing at anything he could get his hands on to escape imminent death.
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Weber came to his rescue, grabbing him by the back of his vest and tugging hard. It wasn''t enough. The two SEALs came to his aid, pulling on Weber. A struggle ensued with Krakowski in the middle; one the Rifles were slowly losing as they played tug-of-war with the black mass.
"Let go of him, bastard!" Kurt shouted, tossing a flashbang underhanded in between them, trying not to hurt the Pole but do something to lessen the grip on him. It worked.
The mindflayer recoiled violently from the detonation and dropped Krakowski, his comrades quickly pulling him to safety. The blast also fried everyone''s night vision for a short period. Weber made an observation.
"Wilhelm!" he shouted at the assault trooper.
"I saw it, I saw it!" he said, frantically reloading his rotary grenade launcher. Six empty 40mm casings hit the deck, and he began shoving new ones in as fast as possible.
He slammed the magazine shut. "Stand back!" He fired. The bright light and loud concussive blast sent the creature reeling once again. Wilhelm aimed for the glowing eyes. Everyone was disoriented but also began to pour fire into the creature as best they could. Wilhelm fired a new grenade every few seconds, making maximum use of the time the creature spent disoriented. The mindflayer''s black writhing mass was forced back down the hallway.
Weber received a radio transmission. "Bagger, this is Prost Actual. Keep it up. Get him to the T at the end of the halls. We have mines ready to go."
"Copy," Weber replied tersely. He ordered his men, "Light ''em up!" He ignited the bright flashlight on his rifle. Quickly, the others did the same, shining thousands of lumens at the creature. The staccato of rapid fire didn''t cease.
Finally, having had enough, the creature retreated, rapidly extricating itself down the hall.
"Coming to you!" Weber radioed.
When the monster reached the T where three halls met, there was a massive explosion. The shockwave rippled down the passage, rocking everyone''s senses once again. Some rubble fell from the overhead, causing soldiers to dodge chunks of debris.
When the blast cleared and the dust settled, there was nothing left but scorch marks and thick, black, syrupy liquid.
"Where is it?" someone asked.
Soldiers from Prost entered the T. "Friendlies! Comin'' out!"
Weber waved them forward. Concrete powder now covered everyone''s armor.
"SITREP?" Lieutenant Olsen asked him.
"One MIA, one dead, two wounded¡ªincluding my officer," Weber reported, then snapped his fingers, remembering. "The nuke!" He turned on his heel and ran back to the room where they found the device.
He found Noble and Tetsu standing over a pile of disassembled parts. Tetsu was holding a large cylindrical hunk of metal. The kilo-class was stoic as ever, but Noble had taken his helmet off, and his fatigue was apparent. There was a slight tremble in his hands.
"How much time was left?" Weber asked.
"28 seconds," Noble said, then held up a pair of burnt wires. "Somebody tried to manually detonate at 30."
Weber breathed a sigh of relief.
Tetsu chimed in. "I am happy to report there has been no radioactive leakage."
LTJG Olsen rounded the corner and let out a low whistle when he saw the nuke. "Good work, Chief," he said to Noble, who bowed half-sarcastically. Adrenaline was still flowing, and he was breathing heavily.
"Thank the U.S. Navy. That was surprisingly similar to our simulations."
Olsen turned to Weber. "By the way, Perelli''s alive. Havoc just informed me. They have him."
Weber met his gaze, confused. "H-how?"
Olsen shrugged. "Vampire bullshit."
Chapter 30: More Beginnings Than Endings (End of Volume I)
Inquisitor Aurelian strode to the front of the expansive conference room. Every chair was filled and the walls were lined with personnel standing. Every member of the extended High Command was present, alongside every unit commanding officer within the Terra Vanguard that wasn''t in the field.
The large monitors that lined the walls illuminated to show a map of the globe, punctuated with red dots across its entirety.
The usually stoic inquisitor cleared his throat, an unusually upbeat energy about him. "With the completion of a special operation in Europe, we have come into new intelligence. It is an understatement to call it a coup." He gestured to the screens. "Ladies and gentlemen... we have everything."
There were some confused looks.
"This has been the culmination of months of work on the part of ISR, ground reconnaissance and more luck than I am willing to admit. Regardless,"
The maps shifted. Points of interest expanded, revealing installations, factory complexes, airfields, and command centers hidden under corporate facades, social concerns and even charities. "These are not mindless predators hunting in the dark. Under Queen Persephone¡¯s rule, they have consolidated into a singular war machine. Her clairvoyance makes her a threat beyond reckoning¡ªevery movement we make, she may already anticipate. But knowledge, ladies and gentlemen, is a double-edged sword. We have taken their secrets. We know where they are strong, where they are vulnerable, and where we will strike. It will, however, not be easy. We have learned that they control Nyx Dynamics, yes, that Nyx Dynamics; that controls 75% of digital infrastructure."
He pivoted, his gaze raking across the assembled leaders. "Vampiric forces operate with terrifying speed. Their thralls move with inhuman agility, their shock troops can overrun entire defensive lines before conventional forces can react. We have now learned that they hold a significant reserve of unfielded advanced autonomous war machines, experimental combat platforms, and cybernetic enhancements beyond anything even Nyx Dynamics previously disclosed. But they are not invincible. They have weaknesses¡ªsunlight, fire, and the disruption of their intricate command networks. Isolate them, deny them their reinforcements, and they wither like dying embers. In that way, they are like any other conventional army on Earth."
He gestured, and the monitors erupted with coordinated battle plans. "This is how we will break them. Keep in kind, this is a framework for a plan. As always, we don''t expect our plans to survive contact with the enemy."
"Phase One: Decapitation. Covert units will execute strikes against key Nyx Dynamics executives and strategic personnel within their wider network. Which contains an east-Asian communist guerilla network by the way, if you find that funny. We will sever their command chain before their counteroffensive even begins."
"Phase Two: Total disruption. Airstrikes will cripple their manufacturing hubs, data centers, and communication relays. The sky-carriers will provide forward airbases, launching relentless assaults into as many strongholds at once. Airborne landings will deal with the hardest targets."
"Phase Three: Siege and annihilation. Once the plan unravels, so too does the enemy, they will collapse around their most important assets. We will corral and consolidate around them like a noose. No half-measures. No diplomacy. We will take the fight to the seat of their power and crush them beneath our treads."
He turned away from the monitors and let his gaze sweep the room, meeting the eyes of every officer present. Aurelian was not normally one for theatrics, but he had learned a few things from the Coliseum. "We face an enemy that sees itself as the next step in evolution. They believe humanity is obsolete. They think they have already won. They are wrong." He straightened, voice ringing with conviction.
"We do not yield, we do not bend, we do not break, and we cannot afford to lose. We will shatter their empire, burn their fortresses, and drive them from this world like the parasites they are. We will turn their arrogance to dust. And when the last of them falls, it will be by our hands."
Silence hung for a moment, thick with anticipation. Then, one by one, the officers stood¡ªfirst a few, then all¡ªuntil the entire room was on its feet.
Aurelian let the energy swell before delivering the final words with absolute certainty.
"This war ends with their extinction. Nothing less."
Undisclosed Location
"My contact has checked in. They say the traitor Vespera is still alive." The spymaster said, head bowed before his Queen.
Svetlana frowned. "That will be a problem."
Persephone smiled coldly. "Hardly. The Vanguard is predictable. They went violence, they will get violence."
She stopped to select a mortal she intended to feast on.
Her fangs elongated as she prepared to feed.
"Go on the offensive."
Cry Havoc
It had been hours since the operation had ended and Whirlwind carefully extricated itself from Italy. Despite his element making it back to the carrier, Ensign Perelli had not dressed down. He remained in Freikorps armor, sans helmet.
A gloved hand gripped the monitor that displayed the vampire in her holding cell. The mass murderer sat perfectly content. She was fully restrained in a specialized block that practically encased her entire body, preventing anything more than a few inches of movement. It looked like a torture device, how uncomfortable it had to be. A metal collar came up to her nose and hid half of her face. Her eyes were blindfolded.
But she did not tense against her restraints, or even try to challenge them. She had even allowed herself to be put into the device without trouble to her captors. She occasionally used what freedom of movement she had to tap her fingernails on the smooth, solid-cast metal.
It was a sickening sight for the junior officer. An extreme amount of effort had gone into restraining an enemy that could teleport, when they could have far more easily killed her.
Eyes sharp and a soul filled with hate, he watched.
But he could not do so forever. Finally, as his left leg went numb from standing for so long, he turned away from the screen.
In the passageway, on his way back to officer''s country, he was approached by CR Klaus Weber. The German held a datapad and looked freshly washed. His uniform was crisp and straightened to perfection. He offered a sharp salute. Perelli returned it slightly weak, almost half-heartedly. If the German was displeased with his officer he did not show it.
Weber reported, "Squads are fully dressed down, sir. I''ve taken the liberty of writing up my own report on the operation to accompany yours... considering our diverged paths. We have two men with injuries, but they''re walking and will join us for the debrief. I''ve also passed along a separate report on the death of Warrant Officer 2nd Class George Trombly, the Royal Marine who was killed. It awaits your review. Element debrief is in 35 minutes. Commander Waller has scheduled an all hands for the entire unit tomorrow morning."
Perelli took in a breath, suddenly feeling tired. "Very well. I''ll go over the reports later. Let me get cleaned up I''ll join you in the debrief."
"Aye, sir." The German snapped to attention and turned to leave, but turned on his heel to face Perelli again before he did.
"Sir... vengeance is the sharpest of steel, and the mind that carries it, the greatest of battle implements,
one must be careful not to point it inward."
Langley, Virginia
Gunshots rang out in the formerly immaculate hallway on what was formerly the most secure level of the Central Intelligence Agency''s Langley HQ. Three agents, two in suits and one in tactical kit took turns rapidly expending rounds into a dead corpse. Finally, they stopped when a suited man approached them from behind. His badge read: "Deputy Director".
"Alright, he''s dead, stop. Jesus, you can stop now." He told them, exasperated. A few more shots rang out even after he gave them the command. There was the final jingle of brass casings hitting the tile floor.
"Can''t be too sure. It took a belt of 5.56 to the chest and still tore through my team." U.S Army 1st Sergeant (retired) Mack Elroy said as he glanced at the carnage behind him. The dead bodies of the rest of his rapid response team, responsible for the building''s security, painted the walls. The dead man on the ground had to seen to their rapid dismemberment, as well as that of other agents across three other floors of the clandestine building.
"What the hell is this thing?" A female agent said, her trembling hands still keeping her weapon pointed at the corpse.
"Whatever it is -was- it killed the director." The last one said, changing mags. "Made a bee line for him the moment he walked out the elevator."
The suited man regarded their assailants remains coldly. "This is a mess. This is the head of accounting."
"We have an accounting department?" the females eyes flicked up at him.
"Someone has to track all the black market cocaine." The suited man told her, as if the answer was obvious. "Secure the floor... and give me some space. I have to brief the Executive on this."
Ukraine
The two groups of soldiers stood in uneasy silence, their breath visible in the frigid air. Though their weapons remained in hand, barrels pointed downward apprehensively, their eyes flickered warily between one another. The muddy squelched beneath their boots.
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At the center of their gathering was a T-90, its diesel idling with a low, guttural hum. The tank commander sat half-exposed through the open hatch, his helmeted head framed by the crude lattice and sandbag works of a cope cage¡ªa desperate defense against drones. His fingers drummed nervously against the rim of the hatch, eyes locked on the grotesque spectacle before him.
A thick oak stood fractured in the clearing, its trunk shattered where the tank¡¯s 125mm cannon had pierced it. But it was not just wood that it had pierced. Impaled upon the tree was something that had once been human.
Its head had split down the center, peeling apart like a grotesque flower, revealing jagged, inward-facing teeth that framed what remained of a skull. Its limbs had elongated and divided at the elbows into writhing, sinewy appendages tipped with black talons. Its chest, now a gaping ruin where the tank had struck, was broader than any man¡¯s, the ribcage expanded as if forced to contain something unnatural within. Whatever it had once been, it was no longer bound by human proportions.
A Russian officer, his fatigues torn and bloodied, exhaled sharply as he studied the creature. The Ukrainian officer beside him, his uniform caked in mud, crossed his arms and muttered something in his native tongue before speaking aloud.
¡°What is it?¡±
The Russian huffed. ¡°I thought you would know. It came from your trench.¡±
The Ukrainian¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°Da. After slaughtering twenty of my men.¡±
A ripple of unease passed through both groups. A soldier fidgeted, shifting his grip on his rifle. Another muttered a quiet prayer under his breath.
The Russian officer turned his gaze back to the corpse, his lips pressing into a thin line behind his titanium Altyn helmet. ¡°Well, whatever it is, it killed my commanding officer.¡±
The Ukrainian gave a humorless chuckle. ¡°What a way to initiate a ceasefire.¡±
For a moment, there was no reply. Just the distant rumble of artillery in the background as a human war still carried on, oblivious to the horror that had forced these foes into an uneasy pause.
Alcatraz Island
In the heart of the decrepit prison-turned-tourist attraction, not all was as it seemed. The U.S military maintained a secret and still-active level of the facility, far from the tourist routes. This small, specialized and classified section had been reactivated very recently. Within thick concrete walls was held the only vampire ever captured alive by the United States.
Sirens wailed and yellow lights flashed as the prison struggled to maintain a tight lockdown. Two individuals walked unopposed through the halls lit only by the flashing warning lights.
"Dmirty." The female prompted, pointing at the last obstacle in their way.
The quiet male vampire, fists covered in coagulating blood from the security guards he had killed on their way here, punched the thick metal door standing between him and Svetlana, and their quarry. The door bowed inward.
He gripped the now-exposed sides of the frame and with one final guttural grunt, he ripped it from its hinges and tossed it aside. He stood aside and Vespera strode in.
On the other side was an emaciated and pale man with disheveled long white hair that fell over his face; advanced in his years. He was strung up on a wall and held in place by titanium-composite shackles thicker than a tank shell. He didn''t acknowledge his visitors.
"Oh, come now. I think a little gratitude is in order." Svetlana said coyly. "Today, you are granted freedom."
He didn''t acknowledge her.
"Yes, yes, it is quite humiliating, I know, being captured by mortals. But my master has use of you, Old One." she said, trying to probe for a reaction only to receive none.
She rolled her eyes. "Queen Persephone promises vengeance on the ones who put you here." Still nothing.
"She promises, you''ll get to eat the President himself."
That got a reaction.
He spoke, his voice gravelly and deep. "What would your Queen ask of the first born vampire?"
FL450, 70 Nautical Miles East of Cape Canaveral
Twin F/A-39 Screechers, the fighter variant of the ubiquitous Vanguard aircraft, sliced through the night sky, their formation tight and disciplined. Captain James Bush, call sign Magic 2-1, led the flight with Lieutenant Olivia Reyes, Magic 2-2, off his right wing. Their aircraft, sleek and predatory, carried a full loadout of long-range radar-guided air-to-air missiles, heatseekers and a belly tank for endurance.
"Magic Flight, check weapons and fuel state," Bush called over the encrypted frequency.
"Magic Two-one, full loadout, 8,600 pounds internal, plus external tanks. No malfunctions," Reyes responded crisply.
"Copy, Two-one. We¡¯re fencing in. Master Arm safe, but be ready to go hot if this thing gets hostile."
Their target¡ªan unidentified radar contact¡ªhad been pacing eastward over the Atlantic at an altitude of 50,000 feet, well beyond the performance of conventional aircraft. Yet, no transponder, no IFF handshake, no comms, and almost no radar return. It was being tracked purely by a Vanguard AWACS directing all of their radar transmission capability over the object, and even then it provided a weak blip on their screens.
"Magic two-one to AWACS Sky Eye, request latest bogey position."
"Sky Eye copies. Target now bearing zero-six-five, seventy-two nautical miles from Canaveral, angels five-zero. Speed fluctuating between zero and Mach two¡ªnon-ballistic."
Bush tightened his grip on the stick. "Sky Eye, confirm¡ªbogey is executing subsonic to supersonic jumps without acceleration profile?"
"Affirm, Two-one. It¡¯s skipping like a damn stone across a pond."
Reyes let out a low whistle. "This just turned into a wild night."
Bush keyed his mic. "Two-two tighten on me. We¡¯re approaching merge range. Radar is painting it, but returns are inconsistent. Switching to TWS."
He flicked the mode selector, locking the target in Track While Scan, but the contact shimmered on his display, as if it was phasing in and out of detection.
"Two-one, confirm visual."
"Negative. Still just a phantom on scope."
"Sky Eye, we¡¯re moving to VID."
"Copy, Two-One. Maintain ROE¡ªno engagement unless fired upon."
Bush adjusted his throttle, keeping the Screecher just shy of Mach 2 as they entered the final ten-mile intercept. Suddenly, his HUD flickered. The bogey¡ªnow five miles ahead¡ªexecuted a hard break straight upward, pulling what had to be a hundred Gs in a perfect ninety-degree climb.
"Break, break! Contact just went vertical! Angels six-five and climbing fast! Son of a bitch is making for the thermosphere!"
"Two-two, tally! That was instant¡ªno turn, no bleed. Just gone!"
"Magic Flight, this is AWACS. Contact is now off scope. Will advise intent."
Bush exhaled, scanning the empty sky ahead. "Two, anything on IRST?"
"Negative, One. No heat sig, no contrails. It''s like it was never there."
Silence hung between them before Reyes finally muttered, "That was no drone."
Bush adjusted course back toward the coast. "AWACS, Magic Flight is going to stick around. I wanna see if it comes back. We''ve either got something very wrong with our understanding of physics or we''re chasing a phantom."
As they turned west into a holding pattern, Bush eyed his radar display. For a fraction of a second, a faint blip reappeared, just behind their six o¡¯clock¡ªthen vanished again. His fingers over the selector switch for his heatseekers and counterneasures simultaneously, unsure which he would need.
Eniwetok Atoll - Undisclosed Location
Leader-Commander Tambor took his place at the center of a the decrepit concrete bunker, originally built by the IJA in World War II, in front of a large gathering of individuals. The remote location had been chosen for its ease of anti-espionage preparation.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for responding to the Vanguard''s call for help. I am not a politician. When I asked you here it''s because I knew, strategically, that you understand the situation humanity faces. I have either noticed you or you have been brought to my attention by my subordinates because of your awareness of this situation and your willingness to do something about it. I will admit to being wrong and more than a little bit naive in thinking I could make deals with heads of state. The Black Sun looms at the threshold of our solar system, an eldritch malignancy that bends minds and corrupts flesh. We do not know what it is, only that it is an existential threat."
"For too long, the nations of Earth have ignored the warning signs, shackled by their own arrogance or paralyzed by the grip of those who drink from this corruption. The cults of the Black Sun have embedded themselves in the highest offices of power."
A board illuminated behind him with very high-profile names and faces illustrated and an attached rap sheet of crimes. Some of those gathered seemed surprised. Most did not.
"They whisper into the ears of prime ministers, they sit in your war rooms, and dictate policy from behind veils of bureaucracy. They are not men anymore. They are something else. Something that should not be."
"But they are not untouchable. The Terra Vanguard believes in removing this threat by force of violence and if it bleeds, then it can be killed." He said with hint of a smile, but quickly returned to a more serious demeanor.
"We have obtained high-confidence intelligence that maps the arteries of their infection. We now know where they hide. Ninety percent of their lairs, their strongholds, their places of worship¡ªwe have them all. This is not a moment for hesitation. This is a moment for action. Most of you in the intelligence community already know that Vanguard does not take kindly to idleness "
"You are here because you understand that the fate of humankind depends on what we do next. Every asset, every operative, every sympathetic hand in a position of power must move in concert. Disrupt their networks, sabotage their supply chains, expose them where possible and eradicate them where possible. The old way of war will not win this fight, but neither will timidity. We strike hard, we strike fast, and we do not allow them to regroup. We are on the offensive."
"The price of failure is unthinkable. But success? Success means a world where men are free to look upon the stars without fearing what lurks beyond them. It means a world where our children are not born into servitude to horrors beyond our comprehension."
"We are the Terra Vanguard, but I need your help. We do not flinch. We do not falter. We carry the torch in the dark, not for glory, not for recognition, but because there is no one else who can. You have already made your choice by being here. Now, we act."
"The Black Sun will not rise."
Citadel City. Terra Vanguard Nuclear Laboratory.
The two researchers carefully went about their work in a sterile laboratory in heavy lead suits that offered great protection against radiological components. Inside a thick glass tube, they manipulated robotic arms as they fully disassembled the nuclear device recovered in Italy.
The casing was carefully peeled back and the Urnaium-235 was exposed. The various redundant geiger counters went wild. Samples of the isotope were swabbed for and placed in their own containers for further chemical analysis. While one researcher went about this careful work, another typed away on a ruggedized laptop.
The plasma mass spectrometer finished its analysis and both researchers examined the results, becoming more confused as they did so.
"This is impossible," The female researcher finally muttered, scrolling through the readout again, as if sheer disbelief could force the numbers to change. Her accomplice frantically began combing a shelf full of binders, selecting one that contained a database that tracked all radioactive material manufactured in the past decade. "This isn¡¯t just highly enriched It¡¯s... perfect."
"There''s no decay products. No trace isotopes. No contaminants. No neptunium-237, no plutonium, no americium. Even the best Soviet and American fissile material¡ªhell, even weapons-grade uranium¡ªhas traces of unwanted isotopes. Reprocessing, enrichment, even the best gaseous diffusion leaves a fingerprint." She exhaled sharply. "This has none."
The other researcher compared the results with what was in the binder, containing sample readouts from every reactor and laboratory on Earth. "No oxygen, no carbon, no metallic impurities. No tungsten, no molybdenum, nothing from diffusion membranes or centrifuge seals. This uranium hasn¡¯t just been purified¡ªit was never impure to begin with. It¡¯s as if it was formed this way."
The thought hung in the air like radiation, unseen but undeniable. Human refinement techniques always left signatures¡ªresidual thorium in Soviet warheads, telltale signs of fluorination in American uranium feeds. But this? There was nothing.
"Ma''am," The assistant researcher pointed at a matching result in the binder. There was one readout logged months ago that matched what they were seeing now. It was not accompanied by a Russian flag, an American flag, or Chinese or Indian or any other. It was accompanied by a seal depicting a shield with crossed cartridges, the seal of the Terra Vanguard.
Both researchers were in shock.
A voice came over the intercomm, a question from an observer behind a thick glass viewing port. "What is the problem, doctor?" it asked.
"Sir,... this is our Uranium."
Behind the glass, Over-Commander Tycho''s expression instantly darkened as the implications flooded in. His hands clenched into fists.