Into the Storms: A Hell Divers Prequel, page 3
And when Tyron had a look at Dan’s evidence, he really started to wonder if this story was true. Tyron watched an infusion of the leaf’s vascular fluid under a microscope, killing off introduced bacteria in the same way it had attacked the cancer.
“It’s like nothing we’ve ever seen,” Dan had said. “Imagine what this could mean for medicine—for humanity.”
Tyron, ever the scientist, couldn’t ignore the empirical evidence. The sample’s cellular structure was unlike that of any plant he had studied. “This could change everything,” he had admitted, feeling a spark of the ambition he had thought long extinguished.
Two months later, he and Dan were now closing in on the area detailed on Mick’s map. Two armed guides—Venezuelans hired for their knowledge of the area’s flora, fauna, and native cultures—moved quietly through the dense foliage with machetes, eyes darting nervously at shadows cast by monkeys in the towering trees. Manuel, a tall, wiry man with a tattoo of a crouched jaguar on his upper arm, broke his customary silence after his blade sliced through a net of aerial roots, revealing a wall of moss-covered stones.
“Senor Córdova, come look.”
Dan moved ahead, then gazed back at Tyron with a grin.
“This is it!” he whispered eagerly.
Tyron noticed intricate hieroglyphics carved into the stones, eerily similar to those in Mick’s journal. Just to be sure, he pulled out the photocopy. “The glyphs match,” he said in his light Southern drawl.
“Of course they do,” Dan replied.
Tyron stepped closer to examine symbols of plants entwined with human warriors holding spears. The sun, moon, and stars were chiseled above the figures in the forgotten lore. “Unbelievable,” he said.
“Senor Red and Senor Córdova,” Manuel said, his voice trembling as he stepped back, “these stones are cursed. Spirits guard this place.”
“He’s right,” the other guide, Javier, added, his dark eyes wide with fear. “We should not disturb this sacred ground.”
But Dan was too engrossed to heed their warnings. With his knife, he carefully removed moss and lichens to reveal more carvings. The stones stood like ancient sentinels guarding secrets long buried.
Not even the guides’ apprehension gave him pause; the lure of discovery was too strong.
“Wait until we present this to the world,” Dan said, eyes gleaming. “We’ll rewrite medical history.”
“Manuel, Javier, we respect your beliefs, but we have to see this through,” Tyron said, trying to reassure them.
“We cannot go further,” Manuel insisted, stepping back.
Javier also backed away.
“Please, wait for us here,” Dan requested.
Tyron hesitated. “Maybe we should consider—”
“Tyron, we’ve come too far to turn back now,” Dan interrupted. “Think about what this means—not just for us but for everyone! Cures for diseases, advances in biology—we can’t just walk away.”
Taking a deep breath, Tyron nodded. He couldn’t return empty-handed.
They stepped through the newly revealed entrance, a tunnel carved into the rock. The air inside was cooler, carrying the scent of earth and something else—a faint metallic tang.
Their footsteps echoed softly as they moved deeper, the light from their headlamps dancing on damp walls adorned with yet more cryptic symbols.
“Look at this craftsmanship!” Dan whispered, running his fingers over the carvings. “It’s as if this place was built to last.”
A few yards in, the tunnel opened into a cavern bathed in an ethereal glow. Bioluminescent fungi clung to the walls and ceiling, casting a soft light on a subterranean garden. In the center stood a half dozen radial clusters of leaves identical to the drawing in the journal. The vibrant red veins glowed and pulsated.
“Extraordinary,” Tyron breathed.
Dan approached the plants reverently, falling to his knees as if he had discovered a holy relic or the grave of an ancient god.
As he began gently lifting a plant from the thin, clay-rich soil, Tyron’s attention was drawn to a series of murals on the cavern walls. They depicted figures offering the plants to the sky, followed by scenes of chaos—storms, fires, floods.
“Dan, I think these are meant to be warnings,” Tyron said. He felt the unease creeping in.
“Or myths,” Dan replied, sealing a specimen bag. “We’ve got what we need. Let’s head back.”
Just then a distant drumbeat resonated through the cavern, followed by the faint echo of voices chanting in an unknown language.
“Did you hear that?” Tyron asked, his pulse revving.
Before Dan could respond, the cavern was flooded with torchlight as figures emerged from hidden passages—warriors adorned with tribal paint, with wooden disks distending their lower lips.
“Yanomami,” Tyron whispered.
He knew that these natives were dangerous, and not just because they were wielding bows and spears. Their eyes glinted with anger, but also with fear. They seemed disturbed by what Tyron and his friend had taken from the ground.
“Dan, move slowly,” Tyron whispered. He raised his hands to the Yanomami warriors. “We mean you no harm.”
An arrow zipped past Tyron’s ear, clattering off the wall behind him.
“Run!” he shouted.
They sprinted back toward the tunnel, but more hostile warriors blocked the way, raising bows and blowpipes. Arrows whipped through the foliage.
“This way!” Dan shouted. He grabbed Tyron’s arm, yanking him onto a narrow path that veered off to the side. They dashed down the unfamiliar route, the jungle walls seeming to tighten around them. The chanting shouts behind them grew louder, echoing through the ruins. Ahead, a sliver of light hinted at an exit.
“We’re almost—oof!” Dan cried out in pain.
An arrow struck him in the back with an audible thud, causing him to stumble forward.
“Dan!” Tyron shouted. Reaching out to his friend, he saw the growing red bloom on his chest where the arrowhead had ripped all the way through.
Dan’s own eyes widened with the realization that there would be no surviving such a wound this far out in the jungle.
Tyron reached out to his friend. “Come on, we can make it!”
Gasping, Dan shuffled forward until another arrow hit him in the back. He collapsed onto Tyron, who caught his friend in his arms. Their eyes met, and Dan choked out, “Go . . .”
“I’m not leaving you,” Tyron said.
Dan wheezed, tears streaking from his eyes as he pressed the specimen bag into Tyron’s hand. He tried to speak more, but only blood bubbled from his mouth.
“Hold on,” Tyron said. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
He tried to help his friend up, but Dan began to convulse. His eyes rolled up in his head. It was then Tyron realized that the arrows were laced with poison. With a heavy heart, he gently set his friend down on the ground and took the bag.
“I’m sorry—” Tyron started to say when an arrow whizzed past his head.
With an effort of will, he turned and bolted toward the light. The tunnel spat him out onto a steep slope leading down to the river. His prosthetic foot slipped on the loose earth, but he caught himself, adrenaline overriding fatigue.
Arrows rained down as he zigzagged down the incline, the warriors’ cries not far behind him. Reaching the riverbank, he spotted the boat tied to a gnarled snag rising from the shallows. He leaped in, frantically untying the rope.
“Come on, come on!” he muttered, pulling the starter cord. The engine sputtered but didn’t catch. Warriors broke through the tree line, bows drawn.
“Start, damn you!” Tyron yelled, yanking the cord again. A spear whistled past him. He leaned to the side just in time, the blade grazing his shoulder, pain searing through him.
On the third pull, the little outboard rattled to life. He slammed the throttle forward, the boat lurching as it sped away from the shore. Arrows splashed into the water around him. Tyron hunched low, his breath ragged, heart pounding like a war drum.
As he gained distance, the shouts faded, but the weight of loss pressed heavily on him. He glanced back to see the figures receding into the dense green, dragging the body of his best friend with them.
Clutching the specimen bag, Tyron clenched his jaw. Dan’s sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain. He would unlock the secrets of this new plant, not just to prove himself but also to honor his friend and possibly change the course of medicine forever.
He could not know, as the jungle faded behind him and the river carried him toward an uncertain future, that his father was dead and the war in Korea was about to escalate into a global catastrophe.
TWO
Allied Air Base Megami
Operation Dark Skies
Nagasaki, Japan
March 3, 2038
“Dodge this, goat-roper!” Santiago Rodriguez shouted, throwing a fake-out punch, then a right hook to his opponent’s face.
That punch caught Rodeo in the left jaw, knocking his head back. When it rocked back into position, he looked dazed and a little fearful.
Santiago had already cocked his next punch: an uppercut right under Rodeo’s chin. Down he went, hitting the mat with a thud.
For a moment, inside the dimly lit hangar filled with fifty excited soldiers of Hyperion Company, the world around Santiago seemed to slow. Chest heaving, he blinked through the burning sweat, still expecting his opponent to get back up. But Rodeo was out cold, to the surprise of all those gathered, including Santiago.
The bell rang, and a small section of the audience erupted into wild cheering. These were the men from Hell Squad. Most of the other troopers surrounding the cage spewed angry hoots and curses.
“I told ya, never bet against the Bull!” shouted Nodin Tatanka.
“Nice one, Sarge!” said Corporal Alistair Smith, standing on his two new prosthetic legs.
Sergeant David Moody flashed a proud grin of perfectly straight teeth. “Hell yeah, Bull!” he yelled.
With a grin, Corporal Cecil Pepper, the newest member of their squad, held up the box of cigars they had been saving. Almost three years had passed since Hell Squad rescued him from the rubble of Seoul. He had been a valuable member of their squad ever since.
But not everyone from their squad was thrilled at his victory. Across the room, Santiago spotted their leader, Lieutenant Yosef Stern, rushing over. Major Hutton, the husky company commander, was right on his heels.
“What in holy hell are you dumb bastards doing?” Hutton shouted in his thick Brooklyn accent.
The room quieted down.
Rodeo sat up, holding his jaw and groaning.
“Drop your cocks and pull up your socks!” Hutton barked. “We’re deploying!”
“Deploying? Now?” asked Cecil.
“Did I stutter? It means move your asses!”
The troopers hurried out of the hangar with Hutton as Santiago reached down to help Rodeo to his feet.
“You got a hell of a punch, brother,” Rodeo grumbled, taking Santiago’s hand.
“Get cleaned up, and gear up,” Yosef said from outside the cage. “We got a briefing; then it’s into the skies.”
Rodeo was first out of the cage, but as Santiago followed, Yosef stopped him.
“Let me see that eye,” he said.
Santiago turned, showing his face. “I’m good.”
“You better be, because I need you. Hell Squad is leading the dive. Tonight we have a final shot at ending this war.”
Yosef hurried off, leaving Santiago nonplussed. The machine war had dragged on almost six years, with each side releasing new generations of killer robots onto the battlefield, which had become a graveyard of humanoid metal bodies. But with more advanced machines came more advanced technology to destroy them. Electronic warfare via electromagnetic pulses had brought the battles to stalemates. Fighter jets, helicopters, and even tanks were removed from the equation. In an ironic twist, men were sent back out to fight.
With each passing day, the likelihood of World War III ticked closer as both sides rattled their nuclear sabers. But maybe it was finally coming to an end. Santiago could head home to his wife, infant daughter, and three-year-old son waiting for him back in Mexico City. Then they would start a new life, maybe in his dream location of San Diego.
An hour after besting Rodeo, Santiago was standing on the tarmac wearing his combat exoskeleton and holding his assault rifle.
On the air base’s tarmac, thousands of troopers had gathered in their armored rigs. All of them were ready for this long war to end, and tonight, if all went to plan, it would.
A soft whirring above drew his gaze to the hull of a giant airship. Part helium blimp, part gunship, and powered by an advanced nuclear reactor, this was one of a hundred ships built by ITC that now controlled the skies. EMP-proof, these massive aircraft had all but replaced the obsolete airplanes that electronic warfare had rendered obsolete during the war.
The airship Valkyrie hove into view out of the low cloud cover. It was the same vessel that had saved Hell Squad three years ago when they rescued Cecil. Giant legs extended from eight undersections, setting down with a thud that vibrated across the tarmac. A ramp extended down. On it stood the JMF commander, General Francis Vucci, wearing a titanium exoskeleton over his chest and limbs.
He strode over in front of the troops, removing his helmet to show off a freshly shaved head and manicured mustache.
“For over five years now, we have fought the Triton Legion, losing brothers and sisters to the evil regime of North Korea, Iran, and their allies,” he said. “Tonight we have a plan to defeat them for good so they can never threaten the world again.”
He raised his scarred chin in a brief pause. Seeing it, Santiago recalled the horrific day when North Korea sent thousands of war machines across the demilitarized zone in a blitzkrieg surprise attack on South Korea, kicking off the war almost six years ago. All because of robots and AI that had sent every country on earth into an economic dark age. Men without jobs had been given an option: fight. Because what better way to come out of an economic downturn than by mobilizing the military?
“We’ve pushed those bastards north to Paektu Mountain, where intel has pinpointed the location of a secret cave on the eastern ridge of the stratovolcano,” Vucci said. “We believe that it leads to an abandoned machine factory that doubles as a command center. While our families sleep back home, Hyperion Company will dive in, locate this entrance, and deliver a cybervirus that ITC has developed using Orion.”
Santiago had spent the past few years hoping, like all the troopers, that the AI created by ITC would find a way to defeat the enemy AI, CrioX. But instead, the two intelligences had battled to a stalemate with each generation of their new killer machines.
Until now.
It seemed that a machine would finally end this war, with men being merely the delivery vehicle for the virus. Fear gripped Santiago at the thought of what they would face in the enemy tunnels they must get through to deploy the virus. He had been inside plenty throughout this war, but this time the Tritons would be desperate to protect their final stronghold from this new weapon.
“The rest of you will jump to locations across the mountain, where we have identified defensive Triton units, thereby distracting them to give Hyperion Company time to deliver the kill shot that each trooper will be equipped with,” Vucci continued. “Five more airships will drop thousands of JMF troopers to targets around the mountain to support the mission, so our loved ones will awake to a new, peaceful world.”
He paused.
“I know you all are tired of the fighting, but if we succeed tonight, it will all end,” he said. “Picture your loved ones as you gear up. I, for one, will picture spending time with my grandkids. Yes, I am a grandpa!”
Laughter broke out.
“I’ll be right there with you all tonight,” Vucci said, “kicking Triton ass one last time!”
Two thousand armored fists went up.
“Let’s end this war!” he yelled.
Shouts and whistles rang out from the energized troopers. Santiago felt the electricity among them as Vucci walked back up the ramp into the ship, his job complete.
They were ready to fight.
“Move out, Hyperion Company!” shouted Major Hutton.
The fifty troopers led the thousand-strong force onto the airship. Three years ago, Valkyrie had dropped Defectors into battle. But with electronic warfare and EMPs rendering them almost useless, Operation Dark Skies would depend on men.
Inside the hold, troopers popped open crates of the individual kill switches, which looked like insulin pins but with five needles at the end. Each trooper took one before heading to his rack.
Moments later, the ship rose off the tarmac. The hum of the nuclear engines was not much louder than the troopers’ breathing. For the first half hour of the flight, they stood with their exoskeletons securely clamped against the hull, reviewing the satellite footage on their HUDs. The fresh images had been provided by the brave human pilot of an F-25 fighter, who almost made it out before he was shot down. His sacrifice would save a lot of lives tonight.
“The enemy doesn’t know we’re coming,” Hutton said. “Tonight we have the advantage of being the first to dive.”
“I guess being in the first wave’s supposed to be a bloody honor, right?” Alistair asked.
“We’ve all trained for this, and we’ve all waited for this day,” Yosef said. “Let’s get it done so we can finally go home.”
“All of us!” Santiago chimed in.
Cecil nodded. “Can’t wait to get back to North Carolina and find me a nice girl.”
“Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves,” Nodin said.
Laughter broke out but quickly faded below the purr of the engines.
Cecil pulled out the cigars, handing them out to each member of Hell Squad. “Glad we saved these to celebrate,” he said.
