Phoenix Rising (Book Two of The Icarus Trilogy) (52 page)

“This is right, Hector.  This is how it’s supposed to be,” the apparition said without moving his mouth.  Hector shook his head at the statement.

“We’re supposed to die on the floor in a clinic, Sam?” he asked while looking at the three men huddled at the entrance of the complex.  Cortes didn’t notice the confusion coming from Jenkins as he overheard the one-sided conversation.

“If that’s his plan would you go against it?” Hector heard in his mind.  He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed out in dismay.

“Well…”

“The entire reason you’re here is to atone, right, brother?”  Cortes had to think on that.  That had been the initial reason, yes, and he had told himself that very reasoning countless times.  But Cortes knew the truth; he was a coward.  Hector realized, however, that he didn’t want to be that anymore.  He didn’t want to live through every day with his eternal guilt.

“Yes,” he said, finally realizing what that meant.  It didn’t matter how many times he heard his father’s voice saying the family’s credo.

“The Coward lives on,” Sam said at his side.  “That’s what he always used to say.”

“I’m the coward, Sam.  No matter how much I want to atone,” Cortes said as he watched the first soldier step through the doorway and began to walk towards the Spaniard’s position.

“You don’t have to be, Hector.  Maybe that was the problem the whole time.  I forgive you.  Even though you put that bullet in me, I never wanted you to feel this.  But did you ever think to forgive yourself?”

Cortes looked at his brother in that same orange shirt.  The boy was smiling grimly at him, but Hector tried to think back to that day.  While Hector held his brother’s head in his hands there wasn’t anger; there wasn’t a trace of resentment towards his older brother.  In fact, when Hector remembered the incident, he only remembered fear in the boy’s eyes.

“How could I?” Hector asked to the delusion beside him.  He didn’t notice Jenkins motioning at him to look to the doorway.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Hector.  What matters is now.  If you want to atone, if you want to make your actions count, you just have to believe.”

“Believe in what?”

“In what you can see.  In what you want to believe.  You don’t have to be a coward,” Sam said before Hector looked back towards his messiah.  Jenkins was obviously mad at him and it brought Cortes back to the present.  He snapped his gaze back to the other end of the hallway, passing over where his brother used to be, and noticed that one of the Hammerheads was far too close for comfort.  Hector Cortes brought his automatic weapon to bear and watched as the other two soldiers held back a few meters as the scout continued.

He wasn’t going to be a coward.  Not this time.

The Spaniard centered his aim on the Hammerhead and pulled the trigger.  He watched as the poor slave soldier shuddered under the impacts of the shells and started to fall towards the ground.  It was the first man he had killed in seven years.  The first man since that day he had held his brother as he died.  The action didn’t feel good, but Cortes knew that it was right.  He was playing his part.

“Fucking bastards!” one of the Hammerheads shouted from the end of the hallway.  Cortes didn’t care.  He was going to help out this time; he wasn’t going to just aim around his opponents.  He watched as the two soldiers dove for each side of the hallway and sprayed the walls nearby.

“Cortes, get back here!  Time to retreat!” Jenkins shouted from the cover of the desk.  The artificial soldier hadn’t intended for this.  He had wanted the Spaniard to retreat back and they would find a better position, but the fool had stayed there in that corner of exposed hallway.  The man was lucky that the Hammerhead had fallen so easily, but now it was time to run.

“I’m not running, Ryan.  You retreat.  I’ll hold them as long as I can.  Maybe I’ll take out another,” Cortes said gravely.  He didn’t bother to look at his friend or the doctor he was protecting.  That was
his
role.  He had to save everyone, after all.

“That’s fucking stupid, Cortes.  Get ou-“ Jenkins yelled before bullets started to pelt the desk from the other end of the hallway.  One of the Hammerheads was extremely accurate with that pistol, but Cortes put an end to the attack by spraying a few bursts into the wall beside him.

“Now, Ryan!  Get into a better position!” Cortes yelled as he watched the two sides of the hallway.  He wasn’t going to let either soldier shoot his hero; not while he still held bullets in his gun.

“You better fucking live, Cortes!”

The Spaniard heard their footsteps as they retreated to the Control Room, but he didn’t dare pry his eyes from his opponents.  The soldier on the right tried to peek out during the escape, but Cortes wouldn’t have that.  He sent a few rounds his way and luckily was able to sink a bullet into the man’s leg from that distance.

“Gah!  You fucking asshole!  Fight like a man!” the Hammerhead shouted, but Cortes didn’t give into the taunt.  He held his ground, crouched against his cover and watched for any attack.  He had to maintain his vigil.

But he had to blink.

As he opened his eyes, Cortes saw the grenade flying towards him.  He cursed as he realized that there was nowhere to go; no way to avoid the thing.  The Hammerhead had unintentionally timed it perfectly.  Cortes could only watch as the deadly object soared within meters of his crouched body.  He turned slightly, instinctively trying to avoid the blast, but the force of the concussion grenade was impossible to avoid.  The Spaniard was flung sideways into the very wall that had served as his cover and he knew that he was broken.  Pain raged rampant through his body and he wondered how soon it would be before he died.

Cortes couldn’t believe that he was still alive.  Broken, but alive.  He was leaning up against the wall and wondered if there was anything more that he could do for his hero.  Cortes looked up at the ceiling and prayed, hoping for guidance.

“Just a little longer, Hector.”

The Spaniard looked back down and saw his brother standing across the hallway.  The hallucination was offering his brother a sad smile and Cortes felt at ease.  He might have failed, but at least his subconscious wasn’t mad at him anymore.

“I couldn…” Hector began, but the image of his brother shook his head.

“You’re fine, Hector.  Just a little longer.  You’ll know what to do,” Sam said, his mouth actually moving with the words.  Cortes didn’t understand, but he believed in what the boy said.  He had to; he had no choice.  The Spaniard gave himself over to his faith and waited.  He hoped he would actually know what to do.

It wasn’t long before the pair of Hammerheads were standing above him.  Cortes looked at the two and gulped, feeling the pain from his broken ribs.  He wasn’t going to be able to shoot either one; he didn’t know what Sam was talking about.  Just then, one of the Hammerheads released the clasps from his helmet and raised the thing over his head.  Cortes couldn’t believe what he was seeing; he knew this man in front of him.

“God, Cortes, you gave us some trouble.  You killed Forrest no problems.  I don’t remember you killing anybody when I was here,” the Hammerhead said with a frown on his face.  Cortes squinted at the man and took a moment to understand.

“R…. Roth?  Is that you?” Hector asked, wondering how the man had become so skilled at his profession.  The Hammerhead shrugged as his teammate turned to look at him.

“You know this guy?” Jackson asked, pain seeping through the tone of his voice.

“Yeah.  I know all these guys,” Roth said, the annoyance plain on his face.  Cortes looked at the two of them and wondered how they could be so cavalier when he was dying on the ground.  That’s when he realized that the two slave soldiers didn’t know.

“Fucking asshole hit me in the leg.  I’m gonna have to be resurrected because of that shit,” Jackson said, obviously resenting the exchange of bullets.  Cortes fought through the haze of pain and coughed, tasting blood in his mouth.

“Roth….” He said, hoping that the former Crow would understand.  The Hammerhead looked back from his partner and crouched down next to the Spaniard.

“We’ll end it soon, Cortes.  I know it probably hurts.”

“No, Roth… listen.  No more resurrections…. no more games…. revo-revolution…  You’re….you’re killing……don’t….” Cortes tried to say, but the pain was getting to be too much.  He knew from the man’s reaction that Roth was paying attention to his words, but Hector couldn’t get them out right.  Cortes cursed the situation and wished he could just shout it all out.  He knew that Roth wouldn’t stand for it if he knew, but before he could make it further in his explanation Jackson cursed from his standing position.

“Fuck this, I’m ending it,” the Hammerhead said as he raised his firearm.  Cortes felt like he had failed, but as he looked at the former Crow he noticed Samuel Cortes across the hallway.  The ghost of his brother was smiling at him.

“You did well, brother.  You’re coming home,” he said, his mouth shut the entire time.  Cortes was confused, still, but he felt like he had accomplished something.  He looked back at Roth and could see the concern on the man’s face.  Cortes didn’t realize he was smiling as Jackson pulled the trigger and ended the Spaniard’s life.

“Wha… what the fuck, Jackson?!” Roth shouted as he rose from his crouching position.  He had been right next to the man as the Hammerhead’s deadly rounds made their way into the Spaniard’s head.  He turned to face his comrade with fury in his eyes.

“I was just ending it for the fucker, all right?  Jeez, what’s your problem?  It was only right.  He’s making me get resurrected so I should get the credit for his kill, all right, glory hound?” Jackson asked, standing up to his full height to oppose the hero soldier.  Roth was only just able to stop himself from attacking the slave soldier.

“Jackson!  He was trying to tell me something.  Are you that fucking dense?  It was important!”

“What are you talking about, Percy?  It’s just a game.  He was probably fucking with you,” he said before turning and walking to the other side of the hallway.  The Hammerhead set his back against the wall and sneered behind the visor of his helmet.

“He… he wouldn’t do that,” Roth said, his voice dropping off at the end of the statement.  Cortes never joked around; never misled people.  The Spaniard was too serious for that.  He was talking about a revolution; he was talking about no more resurrections.  None of this was right; this whole game wasn’t right.  This was the first time Roth had heard of attacking any bases.  He looked up at his compatriot and wondered what was going on.

“Look, I’m sorry, I know he was your buddy.  But he’s getting back up in a couple hours.  You can talk to him then, ok?  Let’s go finish off those two that ran away and then get back to the rest of the team.  You can pull your hero shit there, Percy.  We’ll get this game done as fast as possible,” Jackson said, annoyance tainting his voice.  He turned and walked down the hallway.  Roth couldn’t shake his apprehension, but he followed his antagonistic comrade.

It was just a game.  He would just play the game.

-

Jenkins tried to catch his breath, but he knew that there wasn’t much point to it.  He was going to die here in this clinic, and so was the woman he was supposed to be protecting.  The artificial soldier just couldn’t believe this.  It was entirely unfair.  There was no entertainment here and these men didn’t know they were fighting on the wrong side of the war.  It just seemed so meaningless.

The two revolutionaries were in the Control Room when they heard the concussion grenade go off in the hallway.  Jenkins' heart sank at that.  He had really started to like Cortes, and his last stand had pulled on the artificial man’s heartstrings.  Ryan had to laugh at that.  He might have been fake, constructed in a lab, but he still held onto these useless emotions.  The Crow looked over at the woman he was going to die for.  Charlotte looked back at him and sniffed.

“I guess this is it,” she said before grabbing her knees and pulling them to her chest.  She had caused this.  Her foolish mission to bring back Haywick was the reason that these two men were going to die.  Cortes and this Jenkins could have lived to see the rest of the revolution, but she had gotten in the way.  She sniffed again as she looked back at the artificial man.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice faltering during the apology.  The Crow looked back at her in confusion.  The artificial soldier released the clasps of his helmet knowing that it wouldn’t do him any good in this situation.  The least he could do was look the woman in the eye.

“What are you talking about, doc?  You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jenkins said, trying to console the beautiful woman in front of him.  Charlotte laughed at that before making eye contact with the man she had helped replaced.

“This is my fault, Ryan.  Cortes is dead because of me.  You’re about to be dead because of me.  All because of my guilt.  All becau-“ she started, but Jenkins didn’t let her finish.

“Shut up, doc.  Seriously.  We’re not here, we’re not
dying
, because of you.  That’s not your fault,” he said, secretly agreeing with her, but she didn’t have to know that.  She didn’t have to die with
that
guilt.  “It’s not even the fault of those two guys out there.  This is all the Commission and the Trade Union.  We chose to be on this side, even if it might lose.  You can’t blame yourself,” he said with a half-smile.   “Hell, I’m pretty dumb.  I totally signed up for this.”

Charlotte seemed to be recovering from her despair but was interrupted by noises coming down the hall.  The programming in Jenkins’ head took over and he sidled up to the entrance of the Control Room.  He looked down the hallway to see the two Hammerheads warily approaching.  He was about to bring his gun to bear when he noticed one of the soldiers sling around an RPG launcher from his back.  Jenkins’ eyes widened as he realized what was happening, but he only had enough time to fall back behind the doorframe before the slave soldier launched the grenade.

Jenkins was slammed back against the other side of the room.  In his disorientation, he didn’t know if he was wounded, but soon enough his vision stopped swimming in front of him.  Nothing was broken, but he knew that he wasn’t going to recover in time.