The aurora city
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| Chapter 20
Four thousand feet below, the New York landscape passed ominously by. Cassiopia looked down on the city, this time too concerned to be bothered by the sounds from the jet’s engines. Markman sat across from her, wondering if someday soon spidermen would be running loose down there, turning the city into the gray rubble he had seen in the sensesuit future. As they touched down at LaGuardia, Cassiopia stared anxiously out the round windows as if she expected to see Salantian invaders already running loose. Markman noticed and laughed, though there was a touch of nervousness behind it. The SUV ride to the invasion site was no less awkward. It brought a multitude of memories back to Markman, and just one terrifying memory to Cassiopia. The site was a busy place, located in an evacuated section of run down city. A parking lot next to a partially torn down apartment building was command central. There were four, large semi-tractor trailer trucks parked at odd angles, their oversize trailers nearly touching one another, air- conditioning units on each whining. An array of official cars was parked at points around them. A man in a wrinkled gray suit with an electronic clipboard in one hand watched as they pulled in. He was at the side door before they could open it.
“Cassell and Markman?” he asked as they stepped out. “That’s us,” replied Markman. “If you’ll both come with me…” The man led them across the busy parking lot to one of the trailers next to a run down garage. He pointed to grated metal steps leading up to a door at the back of the trailer. “Ms. Cassell, this unit has a station set up for you. If you’ll go ahead in, Mr. Mandell will set you up and give you additional instructions.” Cassiopia looked nervously at Markman, who nodded to her that it was okay to part. She reached out and squeezed his hand and then climbed the stairs and disappeared inside. “Mr. Markman, Delta team is regrouping inside.” The man pointed to the run down garage. He led Markman
to a vestibule attached to the building. Inside, he pressed the keys on a key code lock, and a door popped open to a large garage area. It was noisy with echoes inside. Men in assault gear were talking and testing the action of their weapons. The smell of gun oil pervaded the room. They paid no attention to Markman as he crossed over to a windowed office where a lone assault team member was leaning over a paper strewn desk. Markman’s guide opened the office door, nodded to Markman as he entered, then closed the door and left. The team member inside stopped and looked up. “Mr. Markman! You’re like a bad penny.” The man stepped forward and held out a hand. He shook Markman’s and leaned against the desk. “You don’t remember me do you?”
“Give me a hint.” “We were all in underwater combat gear last time.” “Okay, I do remember you.” “So you didn’t get enough. You’re back for more.” “It’s a job.” “Well, if its action you’re after, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. The Alpha and Bravo teams are on the line. The cleanup is just about done. We’ll be going down there strictly as security. Standing around with weapons down. Might as well be MP’s.” “I’m just here in case you guys succeed.” “It’s Commander Checqe, by the way. There’s a locker out there, number 12, with combat gear in it that should fit you nicely. You know how to put it on?”
“One leg at a time?” “Cocky! I like that. Go suit up and report back here. I’ll issue you a weapon.”
“With real bullets?” “Don’t push it too far.” Markman grinned and went searching for his locker. Inside was the same black assault gear the others were wearing. He had to cinch up the vest plate, but otherwise the clothing fit well. Back in the office, the Commander was waiting with a very serious-looking assault rifle. “Okay, here we go. You know what this is I’m holding?” “M4A1 with SOPMOD, but you’ve left off the grenade launcher.” The Commander looked perplexed. “Now how the hell would you know that?”
“My father was a Lieutenant Commander. I’ve fired almost every weapon the military uses. The M4’s been around a long time.” “You are just full of surprises, aren’t you, Markman.” The Commander held out the weapon for him to take. “But let me tell you, if any of my people get injured by that weapon, I’ll shoot you myself.” Markman slung the strap over his shoulder and let the rifle hang against his chest barrel down. “Vest wouldn’t help much, would it?” The commander broke into a smile. “Let’s go. As a favorite movie star of mine once said, we’re on the expressway to hell, goin’ down.” In the garage area, the team had grouped together. As Markman and the Commander approached, there were
some quiet jokes being made. Standing in front of the pack, one of them called out to Markman, “Hey, non-qual, you know that pointy thing is the end that shoots, right?” Laughter erupted around him. “5.56 millimeter EPRs, probably 900 rounds per minute, I’d guess,” replied Markman. The jokester’s expression turned to one of disappointment. He looked left and right to be sure none of his colleagues were laughing. The group became silent. “Okay, you sewer guards. It’s pretty much all over down there. Let’s go stand around and listen to tall tales from Alpha and Bravo.” Grumbling broke out. Someone yelled out, “This sucks, Checqe.” The Commander headed for an
adjoining room where a winding metal stairway had been installed in the center of the floor. He looked back for a last check of his men, and headed down. When Markman’s turn came, he found the descent brought him down into the cool, shadowy sewer system of underground New York. Planking had been set in place to avoid traversing the wet canals in the center of the tunnel. Weeds hung down from cracks in the seams of the walls. Temporary lighting, strung along the way gave an eerie effect. There was a musty, unpleasant smell about the place. Memories of the last time Markman had visited here dared him to be fearful. He dismissed them. There were noises beside that of the team moving forward. Ghost voices from far ahead echoed in garbled drone. Occasionally,
there came distant pops of small arms fire. The dingy, rotten smell of the place made Markman glad for his long sleeves and gloves. He flipped down his infrared goggles, but the temporary lighting gave them an uncomfortable view of the underworld. He turned them up in time to see a large hole in the sidewall of the sewer, where a Salantian tunnel intersected. Other combat personnel were there at a temporary way-station. It was the hold line, the line which no Salantian invaders were supposed to get by. The Commander held up one hand and spoke with the two Charlie team members stationed there. “There’s almost no more coming out the vortport, Commander. One or two, just now and then. Our orders are that two of your team will relieve us
here so that we can rejoin Charlie. You and the rest of your team are to take a position 100 meters ahead to close in the area of operations. Set up your DFP where you see the red flags.” “Will do. You guys can move out.“ The Commander turned back to the team. “Rakin and Paulsen, you guys are their relief.” Rakin objected. “Aw Checqe, can’t rear-with-the-gear take that job?” “He’s here as an observer, Rakin. He can’t observe from back here.” “Aw, shit then.” “The rest of you, let’s move out.” The smooth, dirty walls of the sewer system were left behind. The passageway ahead was rough hewn stone and dirt, newer tunnels carved by the original Salantian invaders. For Markman, recollections of the past
were becoming a stark reality now. The dangers he had faced back then had been manageable, but the memory of the abduction of Cassiopia still carried an eddy of anger simmering within. The last time he had been in these tunnels, he had found her here, an unexpected captive waiting to be sacrificed. As the team moved forward, a strange smell began to creep into the air. It could almost have been the smell of blood except too caustic for that. The Commander looked back and checked his team but did not signal for breathing apparatus. He grabbed his boom mike, pressed it close to his mouth and made a private call no one could hear, then continued on to the DFP point. Red flags were set up where the cavern suddenly widened. Using his
headset, the Commander ordered, “Standard dispersement. Take your positions. Hold the chatter.” Markman watched as the team set up around the cavern, positioning to fire on anything that might break through from the operations end of the tunnel. Despite the earlier joking, they were all now dead serious. The sounds of lock and load clicked around the cavern. One man pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pack and lit up. Markman found a shallow ledge to the rear where he could sit with his weapon in his lap. He leaned back against the dirt wall expecting a long wait. The Commander’s low voice came back over the intercom. “Hunker down boys. A few of ‘em are still coming through. That’s the popping.” Markman looked up to see the
Commander heading his way. He came up alongside, looked over his troop deployment again and then down at Markman. “My orders are to bring you forward to the operations area as soon as it’s been secured. Somebody high up wants you to get a good look. So as soon as we get the word, you and I will head up there. From what I hear, we’ll be wading through bug shit and climbing over bodies. There are hundreds of ‘em. I’m guessing you’ve got the stomach for it. But, it sounds like it may be a while, so kick back.” “Something I don’t get, Commander.” “What’s that?” “Why only a few still coming through?” “Cause we’ve kicked their asses and they know it.”
“Yeah, but why keep sacrificing a few at a time? Why not pull back and cut their losses?” “Probably cause they’re freakin’ bugs and don’t know any better. That’d be my guess.” “Something doesn’t feel right. I don’t like it.” “Well you’re part of Delta team now. It isn’t our job to like it or not like it. We’re locked and loaded, as ordered. That’s what we do.” The Commander stepped back and walked over to another of his men and began talking. Markman sat back, but for some reason just could not relax.
Cassiopia sat at her new monitoring station looking left and right at the impressive array of colorful computer positions to the left and right
of her. An odd assortment of individuals were seated at them. Mr. Owens, the unit supervisor, had begrudgingly talked her through her controls. This particular console was no less impressive than the others. Three very sophisticated paper-thin monitors in a row. Above them, a good-sized main video screen, bordered by no less than twelve smaller monitors. Six additional monitors down both sides of the station. An image selection panel directly in front of her, along with numerous computer controls. Bringing up any image on her screens could be done instantly with the touch of a switch. Most of the monitors were set to Alpha and Bravo team helmet cams. After again overcoming the shock of the violence on those displays, she had set the overhead to Markman’s helmet
cam. She also had communications access and could call to any of the men on any of the cams, but had been tersely warned not to do so. One monitor in particular kept stealing her attention. It showed moving lines of seismic sensor output for their area. The explosive sounds of combat were interrupting the hum of seismic readouts. Every time there was a brief pause between exchanges, a fraction of clean seismograph printout would scroll onto the screen. The information at first seemed useless. The interruptions from combat were too continuous to allow seismology. Every few moments of clean seismograph waveforms were followed by harsh signatures from weapons fire. Still, something about the readouts kept drawing Cassiopia back. She watched the twelve channels
of lines scroll from left to right, eyeing the few pieces of clean waveform as they appeared. She rested her chin in her hand and tapped at her lips in thought. Above the main screen was a display of what a Salantian vortport signature looked like when a new vortport was opening, but there was no way to recognize one while weapons fire was distorting the readouts. Instinct kept prodding Cassiopia. It was very annoying. As her concentration intensified, the voices and sounds of her associates faded into nothingness. Abruptly, a spike of concern possessed her. She sat up straight and dragged her mouse to show a repeat of the previous waveforms. She froze the computer screen and tapped her fingers nervously on the desktop. She scrolled the waveforms backwards hurriedly,
freezing them at some points, hurrying them along at others. Probability formulas filled her mind. As the mental totals began to come in, she clasped her hands together in alarm, and sat back.
“Mr. Owens!” The distracted supervisor looked up from his position over an operator. He glanced over at Cassiopia with an annoyed expression. “Not now, Ms. Cassell. There is another wave starting to come through.” “Mr. Owens, it’s very important. I need to speak to you!” “The rest rooms are in the far back. You don’t need my permission.” Cassiopia stood at her station. “Mr. Owens, please!” But the man had turned back to his associate, mesmerized by the
images of a new flood of Salantian soldiers bursting through the vortport. The clamor of resurgent war filled the small speakers around the trailer. Cassiopia’s stare became furious. She fumbled in her suit coat for her cell phone and hit the speed dial for John Paul. John Paul answered on the second ring. “Yes, Cassiopia?” “John Paul, I think something terrible is happening and no one will listen to me.” “I’m listening,” replied John Paul. “They are opening another vortport not far from the first one. You can’t see it on the seismographs because of all the noise. The computers probably won’t pick it up. They’ll send in more soldiers from a different spot and our men won’t expect it!” “Hold on,” said John Paul with
appropriate urgency in his voice.
Markman sat with his weapon in his lap, tapping out a tune that was playing in his head. Something suddenly stopped him. There were goose bumps on his arm. An instant later, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Fear flushed through him. He jumped to his feet, brought up his weapon, and looked around but there was nothing. The danger instinct remained. He focused in the direction danger should be coming, but felt nothing. He turned and looked back the way his team had come in. Alarm bells went off in his head. “Hey!” he yelled, and the rest of the team recognized the tone in his voice. They climbed to their feet and began scanning in every direction. “You got something Markman, or you just bitched out?” asked the Commander. Markman did not need to answer. At that moment, a black wave of spider-men came charging down the tunnel directly at the team, their beam weapons blazing. Markman’s M4 was the first to fire. The madness of all-out war instantly filled the tunnel. In that split second, every weapon was firing non-stop. The combined blast was deafening. The view of the tunnel became filled by black, charging spidermen crawling over each other. For a few seconds it seemed that the team would be overrun, but as the onslaught continued, the exploding bodies of attackers was so intense, it hindered the advance of the others.
Markman braced a foot against the cave wall and suddenly realized he was firing his weapon with one hand and blocking beams with Qi from the other. Because he had been held back for safety, he was now point man for Delta team. Beam weapon shots were sizzling by so close one caught the fabric of his sleeve, ruffling it and set it on fire, forcing him to wipe it out as he continued to pump out rounds. As the desperate battle continued, the flow of attackers did not let up. It became clear that Delta team was only marginally able to hold them back. The noise was too intense for communications. Markman wondered how long before the gun barrels began to overheat. He could not stop firing long enough to fall back. How many clips were left in his vest? He had
already spent two. Suddenly, he felt like a man alone. His present clip was nearly empty. Finding just a second to eject it was now a problem. Out of the corner of his eye, something stunned Markman. Commander Checqe had somehow blasted his way forward and alongside, and next to Checqe another team member had joined him. At that very instant, Markman’s M4 died. He popped the clip and slammed in a new, firing as the first round chambered. The three men stood in a line facing down an endless corridor of attackers. Commander Checqe had an M4 in each hand, firing continuously, dropping one or the other as necessary to slap in new clips. The team settled into an arcane rhythm, a formula that was just barely holding back the onslaught.
After what seemed like an eternity, something changed. A disorder in the wave of Salantians became apparent. It took another period of M4 clips to realize the invaders were suddenly being attacked from behind. Another unit had shown up to join in. How could they have arrived so quickly? The carnage slowly tapered off to half of what it had been. Commander Checqe managed to get in a few words on the com, “Command, Delta running low. Fall back in five.” A gargled response from command came through. “Delta team fall back, cleared for incendiaries. Charlie team has engaged.” “Delta team, fall back slow. Keep your lines. Martin and Praz drop a few in overhead.” One step at a time, the team
began backing away. As they moved, Markman watched two red balls fly overhead and land in the pile of exploded spidermen. Fireballs erupted in the tunnel. A wave of heat blew past Markman’s face. The fires cut back the flow of invaders considerably though a few charged through the flames only to be knocked down by gunfire. As the exchange continued, more red balls flew into the pack, bursting into red fire, setting those near in clinging flame. The Commander’s voice squelched in over the intercom. “We will rearm in rotation when we reach Bravo station. Saunders, take point, call out when we’re there.” As the team pulled back, the incendiary grenades continued to reduce the amount of fire power
needed to hold the enemy off. Markman found himself grouped more closely within the men. The battle became a cautious backward walk across uneven tunnel floor. His ears were ringing from the frequent, multiple bursts of gunfire and exploding grenades. When the first sight of the supply station set up for Bravo team came into view, two Bravo team members stood over their cache with alarmed looks on their faces as though they feared overrun from the opposite direction. At the station, little exchange was necessary. Ammunition packs were furiously stuffed into team member vests by the supply men as Delta team continued to hold off the few spidermen breaking through. With the team fully restocked, Delta team began a very slow push back the way
they had come, regaining ground lost. To Markman’s relief, Commander Checqe caught him by the arm and pulled him to the rear of the team. Others took his place. The stand lasted for two hours. Just about the time both Charlie and Delta members began to worry about re-supply, the invasion suddenly stopped. The Salantians had finally abandoned the portals and moved on to other sites. Markman and his wounded team waded through the mass of spidermen body parts and spent munitions. Halfway to the sewer system, a fresh team met them and took over. At the intersection, where the newly formed Salantian vortport stood near the New York sewer, a special team of advisors was waiting with bad news. Rakin and Paulsen, the
two Delta members stationed there had been killed. To make matters worse, an unknown number of Salantians had escaped into the sewer system before Charlie team had arrived to engage them. Special agents were now scouring the sewer maps trying to blockade the Salantians before they emerged up into the city. Markman marched alongside Commander Checqe on the tired climb back to the world above. “You did alright, Markman. You were in the groove.” “It was close there for a few seconds.” “Oh hell, yes. Too close for Rakin and Paulsen. That’ll burn us for a long time to come.” “And could we have backed off without the incendiaries?”
“Only with great earnestness, Mr. Markman. Great earnestness.” “Aren’t incendiaries against the Geneva convention?” “Yeah, but the spider bastards didn’t sign off on it.” “Will you be setting up for another assault now?” “Yeah, but you won’t be coming along. You’ve seen enough. At least those are John Paul’s orders.” “Really?” “Yeah, but you’re one of us now. You’ve fought and died with us. Don’t be surprised if we don’t request you for a special ops sometime in the future.” “It would be an honor, Commander.” “By the way, you ain’t shy, are you?”
“Why do you ask?” “Group showers set up in the garage. We strip down, wash off the death, and then reset. You’re coming, right?”
“Are you kidding? This spider blood is like black tar. I can’t wait to lose it.” Commander Checqe laughed a shallow laugh and went back to thoughts of Rakin and Paulsen. On the surface, the parking lot around the command trailer was even busier than it had been. People were coming and going, many hurrying along in a slow trot. On his way to the showers, looking like death warmed over, Markman spotted Cassiopia speaking with John Paul. He begged off for a minute and went to them. Cassiopia turned to find him next to her and lunged at him with a bear hug. “Are you alright?” she asked
solemnly. “Not a scratch.” John Paul looked him over and shook his head. “Oh my soul. I go to such great lengths to guard you and somehow trouble still finds you. Honestly, Scott. You are a magnet for disaster.” Cassiopia backed away and held his arms. “Are you sure? Are you certain you’re alright?” “My ears are ringing so bad I’m not hearing too good, but I’m not bleeding anywhere.” “Thank God,” said Cassiopia and she stepped back when she noticed spider blood on her hand. John Paul offered her a handkerchief. “Cassiopia, finish telling me how you knew another vortport was being opened behind our teams.”
Cassiopia winced at her hand and began wiping it on her clothes. She spoke without looking up. “The signature for a vortport opening is very precise. My display was showing the parameters of the waveform that the computers are programmed to watch for. When the noise from the fighting began, a vortport seismographic signature could no longer be detected. But, as I studied the data scrolling by on my screen I began to see collections of points that matched those of a vortport forming. Most of the signatures were hidden by the noise from the battle, but fragments were there. When I ran one of those sections of graph over and over, I realized that where some of the lower amplitude vortport signatures should have been, the pulse width of the signature along
with the peak were always just enough to mask a vortport waveform. The third thing was that every point in which a low amplitude vortport peak should have existed, the battle noise signature was always high enough to conceal it, creating a probability curve that the vortport footprint could very well be there. All of those coincidental points added up to an extremely high probability that we were seeing the signature of a new vortport forming even though much of the pattern was concealed by noise.” John Paul rubbed his neck and shook his head. “Cassiopia, that is amazing. That will be programmed into the entire network. I’m very sorry, Supervisor Cummings did not listen to you.”
Cassiopia and John Paul looked over at Cummings seated in the back of a black sedan, waiting. “Why is he waiting, John Paul? You’re not going to fire him are you?” John Paul would have laughed except for the graveness of the situation. “We don’t fire anyone, Cassiopia. We don’t have to. Mr. Cummings will need counseling and consoling. Two team members lost their lives down there, and there are now a number of Salantians running around the sewer system threatening the city. If he had listened to you, we might have been able to redirect Charlie team down there in time to save those men and prevent the enemy from escaping. He has more than enough burden to bear.” Cassiopia stared back at the man seated in the car. “I hadn’t thought about that…” “So, when the two of you are ready, your driver will take you to the airport and we’ll meet back at the lab in the war room. It shouldn’t take too long to check on the global situation, then I would guess the two of you can get back to Florida. You still haven’t had any real down time. Does that all sound okay?” Markman nodded. “Now if you two will excuse me, I’d like to get rid of this smell.” Cassiopia looked up at him lovingly. “I’ll wait for you outside the garage.”
“Trust me, I’ll be quick about it.”
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