Beyond Hades: The Prometheus Wars (10 page)

Chuck grabbed an M67 fragmentation grenade from his belt and pulled the pin, throwing it in the direction of the strange horde. It exploded in the midst of the crab men, and several were flung high, only to rise unperturbed and charge forward again.

"Oh shit," muttered Chuck, seeing their deaths approaching in those mindless black orbs, clicking beaks slavering in anticipation.

Suddenly, like an angel answering their prayers, a Harrier Jump-Jet shot overhead, from the cliff behind them. As it passed, something cylindrical dropped from its underside.

"Hit the deck!" yelled Chuck, grabbing Doctor Harrison and hurling him against the rocky ground, protecting the doctor with his body. He had no time to wonder if the Russians had understood his warning.

The Mark 77 bomb, successor to napalm, erupted.

The scent of roasted crab wafted across the beach.

And Captain Benedict was engulfed in flames.

CHAPTER 5

Talbot gazed down at the charred features of Captain Benedict before covering his body once more and securing the black body bag. He shook his head sadly.

He'd only known the captain for a little over twenty four hours, but the man had died to protect him. Who did something like that? How could a man he hardly knew sacrifice everything just to ensure he lived?

Colonel Sam Wilson approached him, glancing quickly at the body bag and grimacing. The colonel had arrived with the rest of the troops who'd escaped the carnage of Base Alpha, and appeared ready to tear the pilot of the Harrier to pieces on glimpsing the destruction the Mark 77 bomb had wreaked, especially the remains of Captain Benedict.

"Doctor Harrison," he began, his tone stiff, "I apologize for your treatment thus far. Exposure to the events you have witnessed was never part of our plan."

Talbot shrugged, his mind blank, his heart uncertain, his gaze once more drawn to the body bag. Such a waste.

His hands began to shake heavily, nausea rising swiftly from his stomach. Talbot bent over swiftly, retching across the sand. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes drawn back inextricably to the black plastic coffin containing the bravest man he had ever met in his life.

Talbot wasn't special; not the sort of person heroes sacrificed themselves protecting. He was just a guy - pretty boring by most standards - and nobody should be dying to preserve his life, especially not a man like Chuck Benedict.

The body bag lay there, in silent accusation.

"Why?" croaked Talbot, unaware he'd said it out loud. "Why would he do such a thing?"

"Captain Benedict did his duty," Colonel Wilson stated, his tone cold. "You have nothing to feel guilty for."

"He was screaming," murmured Talbot. "He suffered in agony right up until he died, but he never stopped shielding me." Talbot raised his eyes, appraising the colonel in a blank, empty kind of way. Colonel Wilson was a large man, bigger even than Captain Benedict. He appeared around forty years old, but still extremely fit and muscular beneath his combat fatigues. Gray hair peeked around the edges of his Kevlar helmet and his returning gaze grew hard.

"He died to protect you,
sir
," snarled the colonel, "in order to save our country. He did his duty. He was a marine. Your approval isn't necessary, nor is your understanding. The only thing that really matters is that you don't make his death count for nothing. Look at that bag and know the man now lying in it was a better one than you, but he died to protect you in order to give you a chance to save the rest of this God-forsaken planet."

Talbot dropped his gaze once more, shame filling him to the point of breaking his spirit, but he forced it away. Such fanatical patriotism terrified him. If they thought for an instant Talbot was an enemy instead of an asset, would they hesitate in destroying him? He doubted it.

"It's time to go," growled the colonel. "The media will soon catch wind of this, and our clean-up crews need to begin getting things in order for the cover story."

"Cover story?" asked Talbot.

The colonel glared hard at him, his anger still evident but controlled under the brutal discipline of the military. "Every single incident which might come under scrutiny has to be covered up from the media; if not, the ensuing panic would threaten to tear our society apart. There's an entire team of political bullshit artists assigned to this incident along with every other incident which might come to the notice of the public.

"For instance," continued Colonel Wilson, "the gryphon which attacked us on the way to Quantico - along with the subsequent deployment of Harrier Jump-Jets which fired missiles over US soil - was explained as a training exercise involving advanced, top-secret weaponry designed to combat terrorism. As such, any footage of the incident - including still-photography taken by civilians - comes under the Patriot Act. Anyone posting US Government secrets faces potential prosecution to the fullest extent in a court of law. Even online video sites will be forced to remove anything their pimple-faced uber-nerds post on the internet. It's a very effective way of controlling information leaks."

"So the government basically lies to the people."

"Would you rather the public know the truth?" countered Colonel Wilson. "Think back to the riots in Los Angeles, Doctor, or those in Vancouver and the ones in London. People need very little excuse to fall into chaos. The threat of monsters from another dimension coming here and devouring their family might be enough to tip society over the edge. Why shouldn't they succumb to anarchy if the world's going to end anyway?"

"I had no idea things like this even happened in our country," mused Talbot softly.

"They're in place to protect people from themselves, Doctor Harrison. The human race just isn't prepared to deal with a lot of what's actually out there. Remember the old adage, 'Ignorance is bliss'? Well it's never been so appropriate as during the current phase of events. For now, however, we really need to go." His fury seemed to have subsided, and Talbot found he couldn't blame the colonel for it. He felt more sadness than anger as he glanced at the body bag once more, shaking his head sadly one last time.

Talbot followed Colonel Wilson across the rock to a CH-53D Sea Stallion surrounded by troops. The CH-53D was the smaller brother of the Super Stallion, and as such had little difficulty landing on the rough platform of rock so close to the cliff. Talbot clambered on board, still numb from the encounter with the crab-like creatures.

He'd never heard anything about such creatures in Greek mythology, but he supposed stories so old would not be all-encompassing. There might be a multitude of beasts never documented by the Greeks. Anything was possible.

The thought made him sick with dread.

The Sea Stallion powered up and lifted swiftly into the air, flying out over the ocean toward a distant aircraft carrier.

***

Control.

Colonel Sam Wilson thrived on it.

Since this entire episode had begun, he'd felt his command of the situation gradually slipping. Things were spiraling beyond his control.

Chuck Benedict was one of his closest friends - had been since they went through Hell Week in their marine training so many years ago.

Now he was gone.

He couldn't believe the Harrier pilot had dumped the Mark 77 bomb so close to their own people, especially the principal necessary for their mission to have any hope of success. If the man had used one ounce of common sense this entire situation could have been averted.

And Chuck would still be alive.

Colonel Wilson couldn't show any sort of weakness in front of his troops. He held a reputation as one of the coldest marines in the corps, but the sight of Chuck cooked in his own skin -

He savagely shook the image from his mind.

The colonel had been a part of the Marine Corps since his twenties. Twenty-one years of his life dedicated to one war or another, and Chuck had been with him almost every step of the way. Even in the face of everything currently going on, Chuck had been the first to raise his hand and volunteer to fight at his side.

Tours in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Israel hadn't come between them. Now a fucking moronic pilot had torn away the best friend he had ever known.

Snapping back to the present, Colonel Wilson glanced across the cabin of the Sea Stallion to where Talbot Harrison sat frozen, shock evident in his features. When they got through this thing, that guy would need some serious therapy.

If
they survived.

The odds were definitely against them, and their hands were at least partially tied. The troops they could call upon were limited to those with Level 4 clearance and above, such was the delicacy of the issue. If word escaped to the media or general public, the ensuing panic would double the risk of catastrophe and stretch their already limited resources to the absolute brink.

The helicopter's blades chopped the air, drawing them steadily toward the colossal USS Ronald Reagan, a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier. He hoped it would have better luck in ferrying Doctor Harrison to his destination than the Arkhangelsk had, though considering the power of the hydra, he wasn't confident of their chances should it choose to return.

Colonel Wilson still couldn't believe what was going on.
Damn General Sharpe!
It had been his call to activate the machinery they'd located within the mysterious underwater city. But who could have predicted what would emerge?

Thomas Harrison, Talbot's brother, had strongly argued against the decision. He'd claimed to have discovered writings which bespoke the horrors to be released if the rift were to reopen, but the general had dismissed him, calling him a coward. General Sharpe wanted something from this entire episode, but Colonel Wilson couldn't ascertain whether it was power, glory... or perhaps a combination of both.

Something drove the general onwards when another, more cautious man might be compelled to stop. Colonel Wilson suspected he wanted his name attached to other military greats. The man's megalomania had made him a fool, and the planet would end up paying for it.

The USS Ronald Reagan loomed closer. Within moments the CH-53D Sea Stallion touched down and they disembarked. Debriefing with Lieutenant-General Walsh would not be painless - the entire mission thus far had been a disaster - but it was something he couldn't avoid.

Directing Doctor Harrison to follow him, they marched down various sets of steep metal stairs and through a veritable labyrinth of narrow corridors toward the lieutenant-general's quarters. Arriving at the door, he swiftly knocked and opened it at a barked command from the other side.

***

Talbot sat through the entire helicopter journey with his mind shrouded in a gray haze. Nobody had ever sacrificed anything for him, and now a man, a good man, had sacrificed his life to ensure Talbot's safety. He didn't know what to feel.

Strangely, anger seemed the closest emotion he could summon. Why was he being made to feel guilty over another man's demise? He'd never asked for it, and he certainly hadn't wanted it, even though it had saved his own life.

Guilt followed closely on the heels of Talbot's self-righteous anger. The screams of Captain Benedict had been truly horrific. They still rang in his ears. And yet the man had held on, protecting him beyond his last breath. Luckily they had been on the absolute edge of the conflagration; otherwise Talbot would have been torched as well, dying as horribly as Chuck Benedict.

His clothes still carried the scent of burning flesh.

Talbot thought his life couldn't possibly be so important as to cause another to sacrifice himself, but Chuck had, and now Talbot had to live up to that debt. He
had
to fulfill the purpose which the marine had died to safeguard.

As they descended a set of stairs on the aircraft carrier, a new sensation consumed Talbot:
determination
. He was determined not to fail the man who had died to protect him. He'd see this thing out to its bitter end, and stop whining about how unfair the entire situation was. He needed to focus on how to stop it from getting any worse.