D. MacHale - The Soldiers of Halla

“Such brave souls,” Kasha whispered.

They were heroes. I had no doubt that their spirits would find themselves on Solara.

More taxicabs were targeted. Rockets slammed the ground around them, but the gars didn’t flinch. They moved their radio cannons in concert with the movements of the choppers, keeping them in their sights. The last wave of Ravinian copters had reached the river. It had all happened so fast that none of them thought to peel off and avoid the barrage. It wasn’t something they anticipated, and they weren’t prepared to react. For that, they all went down. The final wave of choppers twisted out of control. Their rockets fired aimlessly. Harmlessly. The last four helicopters splashed down in the river to either side of the rickety bridge. It had only taken a few minutes, but every last Ravinian helicopter had been shot out of the sky.

The remaining gars on the far bank stood and cheered. Mark gave me a smile, then barked into his walkie. “Stay tight, there might be more.”

The celebration on the ground ended quickly. We could see that the gars, with the help of the rebels and exiles, were repositioning themselves in case another wave of helicopters arrived.

My mind was already on to the next phase of the plan. Much of what we were about to do had already been planned by the rebels. They had spent years living in the shadows, doing what they could to give the Ravinians trouble. They hijacked the helicopters. They stole weapons and defense shields. They confounded the Ravinians-who were constantly trying to smoke them out and eliminate them-by sinking safely back into the city like ghosts. What the rebels lacked was manpower. They didn’t have the numbers to be anything more than a nuisance to Ravinia. They always had big plans, but were never able to carry them out. Until now.

Mark changed the frequency on his walkie and called out, “Float ‘em in.”

The reply came back, “On the way.”

I looked beyond the sea of burning helicopter wrecks to the Conclave of Ravinia. The wall looked more imposing than ever. The giant steel doors were shut tight. A line of people appeared along the top. Defenders. Though the sight of them paled in comparison to the image of the massive army of dados, or the attack helicopters, I knew that the defenders now lining the wall of the conclave would cause us the most trouble. That is, if the next phase of the plan was successful.

I said to Mark, “Please, tell me we caught the express.”

Mark changed the walkie frequency again and called, “Give me good news.”

The reply came back, “Say the word.”

Mark looked to me and winked. “All aboard.”

I took one more look at the conclave wall. In spite of the carnage that surrounded us, there was a strange calm. At least I thought so, because I knew what was going to happen. The battle was about to escalate far beyond the downing of a few helicopters.

“Do it,” I said.

Mark immediately hit the send button. “Bring it,” he ordered.

The reply: “We’re on the move. You might want to stand back.”

The ground in front of us began to shake. The sound of machinery could be heard above the crackle of the fires that were consuming the helicopters. Just as I had seen it happen before, a crack appeared that led from the river’s edge right up to the large, red rectangular door of the conclave. The ground parted, revealing the single train track beneath. At the same time, the water of the river boiled, followed by the large, long tube of a tunnel that rose up from beneath and connected with the rail.

Mark shook his head in awe. “We’ve been planning this forever. Never thought we’d actually do it.”

I said, “Nothing like a good old-fashioned train hijack, pardner.”

A whistle shrieked from inside the tunnel. Once, twice. It issued a harsh warning. Get out of the way. Looking up at the track that led to the conclave, I saw that it ran beneath one of the burning helicopters. Mark saw it too.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he said. “So long as there’s no unexploded rockets in that wreck.”

It was too late to worry about it. A second later the golden train engine blasted out of the tunnel. It charged out at full speed, far faster than the train Patrick and I had hitched a ride on. They must have started back far enough to get up a full head of steam. That was wise. They were going to need it.

As soon as the train cleared the tunnel, three men jumped off. Actually, two jumped. One was pushed. Two were Mark’s guys, the third was the engineer. The plan was to hijack the train at Penn Station and force the engineer to drive it here. There was no reason to leave him on board for this unscheduled, one-way trip, so they pushed him off. They all rolled away from the accelerating train, hopefully unhurt.

There was only an engine. No other cars. They were cut loose because they would have slowed the engine down. I felt Courtney tense next to me, as the engine bore down on the burning wreck of the helicopter. The golden engine slammed into the fiery mass, knocking the hulk away as easily as if it were batting away a fly. The chopper carcass bounced and rolled as the train engine charged on, headed for the giant red door that protected the conclave.

“Here we go,” Mark said.

I winced. It was going to be a spectacular crash. The engine hit the door at full speed. The sound was horrifying. Metal clashed with metal. The engine roared angrily as it slammed full-speed into the solid mass. The door gave way from the bottom. The train forced the immense hunk of metal inward, which broke the top loose. The engine paid for the mayhem it caused. The golden train jumped the tracks, but kept moving forward. There was too much inertia. Too much hurtling weight. Part of the stone frame around the door crumbled. The giant red door slammed the ground where the train had just been.

I only caught glimpses through the smoke and dust, but that was enough. Through the destroyed doorway I saw that the train had flipped and rolled. It may have been huge, but it was spinning like a toy. When it finally came to rest, it was at least thirty yards inside the conclave.

I hoped it had missed the statue of David.

Courtney said, “Well, I guess that worked.”

The wreck had blasted a massive wound into the wall that protected the Conclave of Ravinia.

“Now comes the hard part,” Mark said, dead serious.

We had blazed the path. The Conclave of Ravinia was wide open. There was nothing clever or surprising about what was to happen next. When the exiles and the gars arrived, we would storm the walls. Nothing fancy. Nothing crafty. We would use our numbers to overpower whatever force was left behind to protect the conclave. People would die. The strength of the remaining dado force would determine how many. The exiles knew it. The gars knew it. The rebels knew it. And of course, the Travelers knew it. But we were all willing to risk our lives for what we believed in.

“It will be a while before they arrive,” Kasha said.

“That’s okay,” Mark replied. “We need time to get ready.”

Mark led us to the edge of the river, where down below on the water we saw two massive barges headed our way. We had been able to move thousands of people across time and space, but if they couldn’t get across this narrow river, it would all have been for nothing. Mark’s solution was for the rebels to come in with two barges, creating a makeshift bridge. Side by side they would span the width of the river. The trick was to secure them. Rebel barge pilots were in command of the vessels. They carefully maneuvered the two crafts into position so that they could be wedged together, forming a solid surface. It was an arduous process that made me crazy. I didn’t know how much time we had before the dado army returned. Or the Ravinians threw something unexpected at us. I kept glancing south, wondering when the Travelers would arrive with our army. Standing by the river, waiting, wishing it would all happen faster, was torture.