Jack Campbell - Perilous Shield

“Good.” She was taking deep breaths, trying to control her heartbeat, which had begun racing.

“Hundreds of messages, alerts, and bulletins in news channels and other media about the fighting are being held up by the censoring software.”

“Keep doing that until we find out what’s going on,” Iceni ordered.

The officer looked to one side, his expression going from concerned to horrified. “Dozens of unconfirmed media reports saying that General Drakon is dead are coming in and being blocked from further transmission, Madam President.”

Dead? No. Impossible. Not him. She inhaled slowly again. “Hold those as well. I want to know everything as fast as we learn it.”

“But if General Drakon is—”

“He’s not dead!”

The officer stared, then nodded. “I understand, Madam President. I will send a constant data feed to your desk.”

“Get it going,” Iceni said, her voice under control again. As the officer’s image vanished, her hand went to her comm unit, then hesitated. If he’s alive, and people are shooting at him, he doesn’t need distractions.

Where the hell is Togo?

The female bodyguard died before she could get off a shot, as did two other guards, but her warning had given Drakon the extra instant he needed to dive for cover and avoid subsequent shots aimed at him. Not that there was much cover in this open area, by order of the Syndicate bureaucracy.

Drakon sprawled behind the body of one of his guards, his weapon in his hand, trying to spot some of the locations where the shots were coming from as solid projectiles and energy bursts tore holes in the very-carefully-maintained turf near him. Even under these circumstances, a small part of his mind couldn’t help recalling certain bosses he had suffered under who would have been far more upset about the damage to the grass than the deaths of the bodyguards.

Two meters away, Morgan, her face a mask of rage, was lying near another dead guard, her weapon out, one hand supporting her weapon hand as she fired with steady, careful accuracy. Other defensive fire was going out, the surviving bodyguards and the sentries at the entrance to the headquarters hurling shots at the places among the low buildings surrounding the plaza from which the attackers were firing.

Spotting the location of one attacker, Drakon aimed and squeezed off three carefully spaced shots. It’s been about fifteen seconds since they opened fire, another part of his mind calculated with cold precision. The reaction security force inside headquarters will be out here within another forty-five seconds.

The attackers had ceased aiming at the guards and now were concentrating their fire on Drakon. He wondered if forty-five seconds would be too long. Bad enough to be the target of so many attackers when in battle armor, but right now all he had were the defenses in his uniform, which while sufficient for some protection would not stop the sort of barrage that was directed at him.

Morgan glanced back at him, sizing up his situation and his peril in an instant, her eyes dark and wide.

She bolted to her feet, instantly becoming the most prominent target on the plaza.

“Morgan!” Drakon shouted, firing rapidly at a couple of spots from which shots were coming. “Get down!”

She ignored his command, not just charging furiously ahead but also screaming defiance and firing as she ran to generate the maximum amount of attention. Morgan could move like a ghost when she wanted to. Right now, she was doing all that she could to attract the fire of the attackers to her, and away from Drakon. Morgan was dodging as she moved to make shots aimed at her more difficult, but was still hideously exposed. In full battle armor, such a maneuver would be very risky. With Morgan wearing no armor at all, her charge was insane.

Unable to stop her, Drakon took advantage of the distraction Morgan had provided to rise to one knee and aim, ignoring the shots still aimed at him that tore into the turf or zipped past his head. His next shot caused a figure to fall. He shifted targets, firing several more times.

Soldiers were spilling out of the headquarters entrance and secondary exits, menacing in armor, carrying combat weapons, and searching for targets.

The remaining fire aimed at Drakon dropped off so rapidly that he knew the attackers must be bolting for safety.

Morgan had reached her objective, miraculously not having been hit. She leaped over a railing, one hand staying locked on the top rail to help her pivot in midair and come down on those sheltered behind the ankle-high wall topped by the open fence. Drakon saw her weapon firing and Morgan’s free hand rising to strike down viciously.

“General!” The captain in charge of the response force and a dozen of his soldiers raced into place around Drakon, forming an armored perimeter.

Drakon pointed, speaking coolly and clearly. “Shots came from there, there, there, and there. Colonel Morgan has taken out whoever fired from that location.”

“We’ve got troops in full pursuit, sir.”

Drakon heard the sirens from headquarters cut off but heard other sirens approaching. “There will be police responding to this gunfire. Make sure our troops don’t engage them by accident.”

“Yes, sir!”

Drakon looked around, realizing that firing had completely ceased. The soldiers forming an armored wall about him moved outward as they were reinforced, leaving him standing in a small, circular, open area where the grass smoked in dozens of places that marked the impacts of shots.

Two of the soldiers moved slightly, opening a temporary gap between them. Morgan came strolling through that gap. She was dragging a limp body with her by one leg, the body’s torso and head thumping along over the ground. Reaching Drakon, Morgan dropped the leg and stood by her trophy, grinning wolfishly.

“Roh,” Drakon said, “if you ever—”

“You’re all right, General?” Morgan interrupted, her chest still heaving from exertion, her eyes alight with something more feral than adrenaline-fueled energy.

“I’m fine. That was insane.”

She grinned wider. “I got a medical waiver saying I’m good enough for government work, General. I had to draw their fire.”

“No, you didn’t,” Drakon snapped.

“Yes, sir, I did,” Morgan said with an intensity that surprised him. “Nobody’s going to kill you if I can stop it. And I got us a prisoner.”

“How many did you see?” Drakon asked, deciding not to further berate Morgan in public, not that his words seemed to be having any impact on her. He also knew that she was very likely right. If she hadn’t drawn some of the fire aimed at him, he wouldn’t have made it until the soldiers had arrived.

“Two,” Morgan said nonchalantly. “The other one at that spot is dead.”

Shaking his head, Drakon knelt to examine the man. “He’s not military.”

“Nah. Civilian. He had a suicide belt on, but I left that with his buddy. I can’t wait to see what this guy says under interrogation.”

“Me, too.” Drakon jerked back as the limp body suddenly jolted, then went slack in a different manner than before. In the near distance, two explosions resounded at nearly the same moment, the crashes so close together that they nearly merged into one blast that echoed from nearby walls.

Morgan scowled. “Someone set off those suicide belts.” She knelt as well, peeling back one eyelid on her former prisoner. “Looks like brain-bake nanos. The same someone who triggered the belts figured out we had this guy and activated a backup method of keeping him quiet.”

“Damn. We’ve still got two bodies.”

“One body, boss,” Morgan pointed out. “And parts of another.”