Gears of War: Jacinto's Remnant Read online

  BY KAREN TRAVISS

  STAR WARS: REPUBLIC COMMANDO

  Hard Contact

  Triple Zero

  True Colors

  Order 66

  STAR WARS: 501ST: AN IMPERIAL COMMANDO NOVEL

  STAR WARS: LEGACY OF THE FORCE

  Bloodlines

  Sacrifice

  Revelation

  STAR WARS: THE CLONE WARS

  The Clone Wars

  No Prisoners

  GEARS OF WAR

  Aspho Fields

  Jacinto’s Remnant

  WESS’HAR WARS

  City of Pearl

  Crossing the Line

  The World Before

  Matriarch

  Ally

  Judge

  For Alasdair Hogg,

  emergency planning chief without equal,

  who would have had Jacinto sorted

  and squared away in no time.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Grateful thanks go to: Mike Capps, Rod Fergusson, Cliff Bleszinski, and everyone at Epic for creating a thing of perfect beauty; editor Tricia Narwani (Del Rey) for providing top cover; super-fixer Sue Moe (Del Rey) for manning the guns; Penny Arcade—Mike “Gabe” Krahulik and Jerry “Tycho” Holkins—for talking me into all this; and Jim Gilmer, for logistics support, above and beyond.

  CONFIDENTIAL

  FROM: HOFFMAN, COLONEL VICTOR S., 26 RTI

  TO: SURVIVING REPRESENTATIVES OF THE COALITION OF

  ORDERED GOVERNMENTS

  RE: DECISION TO DESTROY JACINTO, 2ND DAY OF FROST, 14 A.E.

  I write this in full knowledge that this record may not survive, but if it does, then I wish our command decisions to be understood by any future generations.

  At 1410 today, after the Locust began to mine tunnels beneath Jacinto to sink it, Chairman Richard Prescott authorized a preemptive plan to sink the city ourselves. This was designed not only to flood the Locust tunnels, but also to trap and destroy the Locust army that had infiltrated the center of Jacinto itself. A mass evacuation of citizens via land, air, and sea routes began an hour ago.

  We believe there was no alternative. The Landown assault, in which we engaged the enemy within their own tunnels, resulted in major losses and failed to stop the Locust advance. Members of Delta Squad, under the command of Sergeant M. Fenix, E.S., located the Locust queen, and were made aware that the enemy also planned to create a sinkhole to destroy Jacinto. With insufficient forces to prevent this, we took the view that sinking and flooding the city ourselves, to trap the enemy and drown them within their tunnels, was our only option, and justified the destruction of our last stronghold.

  We were unaware until Delta Squad penetrated the enemy command center that the Locust Horde is engaged on a second front underground with another faction of their species, which they call the Lambent and regard as a plague. The Locust plan to flood Jacinto themselves would have inundated their own positions, and seems to be as much aimed at destroying the Lambent as wiping out humankind. We do not yet fully understand the nature of that conflict, and may never do so.

  We have been left with no option but to try to inflict maximum casualties on Locust forces so that a remnant of humanity can be saved to reconstruct our world. We have some certainty that they will never recover from this blow. Not only do they appear to think flooding will be effective in defeating the Lambent, but records have been found to indicate that the late Professor Adam Fenix believed that flooding would destroy the Locust threat itself.

  At this stage, we do not know the extent of our own losses; evacuation under these circumstances will inevitably result in high civilian casualties. But the alternative is the extinction of the human race.

  Chairman Richard Prescott and I are no strangers to this magnitude of decision. Fourteen years ago, we took the decision to deploy the Hammer of Dawn. I cannot speak for his private views, but as a soldier, I am fully aware of the deaths I have on my conscience, and I grieve for every man, woman, and child who has paid the price for my actions. If there had been any alternative, I would have fought to the end to take it. Sometimes you can save what you love most only by destroying it.

  Again, we ask: please forgive us. It was the only way.

  —Victor Hoffman, E.S.,

  Colonel, Chief of Defense Staff

  of the Coalition of Ordered Governments

  PROLOGUE

  KING RAVEN KR-471, JACINTO AIRSPACE, MASS

  EVACUATION OF THE CITY, WINTER, 14 A.E.

  We’re fucked now. That’s for sure.

  Just take a look down there. Boats, bodies, sea rushing in. Jacinto’s history, baby.

  I mean, this is sick. I’m standing here looking out the Raven’s door while it’s circling around like I’m on some weird sightseeing trip. That’s the Octus Tower going under—what’s left of it. All that water, but the place is still burning, stinking of smoke and fuel. Shit, it’s sinking. It’s just sinking. The whole goddamn city is gone.

  And we sunk it. Fifteen years fighting to save it, and we have to trash it ourselves in the end. But at least the grubs are drowning with it. They’re history, too. That’s justice.

  Shit… I hate flying. I’m going to puke. But I can’t look away from the water.

  I can just about hear Lieutenant Stroud over the noise of the chopper. “Hey, Cole?”

  Look at all the bodies in the water—humans, not grubs. Rescue boats didn’t get to everybody, then. How many folks in Jacinto? A few million. Even if we had a proper navy, we can’t ship out everyone. Glad I wasn’t the one deciding who got to live and who didn’t. Must be shitty for those navy guys. And look at that—a goddamn yacht heading out. Who the hell’s kept a big-ass yacht going since E-Day? Well, you better pick up some citizens on the way out, rich boy.

  “Cole …” Anya Stroud’s been sitting behind me with a comms set on her lap. She has to yell to make herself heard. We got pretty well all that’s left of Command on board—Chairman Prescott, Colonel Hoffman, and Anya. She can’t raise anyone on the radio, and she’s sweating over it. So am I. “Cole, you think they made it?”

  “Say again?”

  “Marcus. Dom. Baird.”

  “Ma’am, they ain’t the dying kind.” Sometimes I believe that. I want to believe it now, and so does Anya. And I want to believe Bernie made it—damn, Boomer Lady hates water. She’ll be real pissed off now. “They’re on another bird. Count on it.”

  Anya nods like she heard me okay. Yeah, it’s all bullshit. I’ve lost so many buddies that I can’t sleep some nights for seeing their faces. But I’ve got to believe. If I stop believing, it’ll start catching. Soon everyone else stops believing, too. Team morale. That’s what counts, same in war as in thrashball.

  “They’ll make it, Lieutenant,” Colonel Hoffman yells. He looks like he’s searching for someone, leaning from the safety rail, watching the city go down the crapper. “They’ll make it.”

  Prescott’s sitting in one of the transverse bulkhead seats, head bent like he’s praying—too late for that, man. He looks like he hasn’t got a clue how to get us out of this shit, and Hoffman’s looking at him like he knows he don’t know.

  Anya’s still going on about Marcus. I don’t catch everything she says. Ravens are real noisy bastards. “I didn’t even … chance … talk about… with Sergeant Fenix,” she says, all formal, like I haven’t guessed about him and her. “Not… properly.”

  I can fill in the gaps. Hell, what does it matter now if you say it? Most of the world’s dead. Whoever’s left is hurting and mourning. And you and Marcus been edging around each other for sixteen, seventeen years. Is that what sane folks do?

  “Okay, make a list of a
ll the things you gonna tell him, ma’am,” I shout. “’Cause you gonna forget again.”

  “Say again?”

  “Make a list.”

  She forces a smile and nods.

  I can’t stand staring at the shit below me anymore. So I look up instead. The sky’s full of smoke and King Ravens, every last airframe we can get off the ground, heading for nowhere, just like the boats and whatever got out of Jacinto by road. Funny, it almost looks like we still got an air force when you cram all them Ravens into the same patch of sky.

  But this is all we got left. The whole fucking Coalition.

  The pilot’s in a hurry. We’re cutting through the other Ravens, and I’m looking into every open bay that we pass, searching. And you know what? I swear this believing shit works. Most Gears got the sense to wear a helmet, except crazies like Delta and me, of course—and man, can you see Baird’s blond hair a long way off. There he is. He’s seen us. We draw level.

  Yeah, there they are, standing in the crew bay opposite now—Baird, Dom, Marcus. Baird’s got a dumb-ass smirk on his face, closest he’s ever come to looking pleased to see me, so I tap my chest plate in respect, ’cause he can’t hear me. Marcus and Dom, though—they nod back at me, but they ain’t smiling. They look like shit.

  But they’re alive. And that’s all that matters, right?

  “Ma’am, port side. Look.”

  Anya’s going to shake the guts out of that comms set if someone don’t answer soon. “What?”

  “Just look.”

  She gets up and stands next to me, and suddenly she looks like she don’t know what to do next. But she does a little wave at Marcus, like she’s embarrassed, and hangs on, staring across at him until the chopper banks away. And he stares back until he’s just a distant blur.

  “Okay,” she says to herself, sort of smiling without looking happy. I can lip-read it this time. “See you in Port Farrall.” Then she sits down and begins cycling through the comms frequencies again. We’ll be at the RV point in maybe thirty minutes.

  Hoffman’s still looking down at Prescott like he’s a big steaming pile of something real nasty. You never know what goes on between those two, but it ain’t brotherly love, that’s for sure. Hoffman looks like he’s still mad as hell about not being told shit. I catch a few words.

  “Any other classified information … share … sir?” Hoffman’s got his fuck-you voice on. I can tell from his face even if I can’t hear it all. “Because right now … any … surprises.”

  Prescott pokes around inside his jacket—still wearing all his medals, however the hell he earned ’em—and takes out a small notepad or something. “… going to take days to process the refugees,” he shouts back.

  Hoffman’s got his jaw clamped tight shut now. He’s pissed off, all right. Just as I think he’s going to dropkick Prescott out the Raven to see if the asshole flies or floats, Anya jumps up.

  “Sir, sir—comms are back online again.” She’s got one hand pressed to her ear. Something clicks and my earpiece is working again. No more yelling. “The emergency relay on Sovereign is operational. Very limited range. Hundred klicks, max.”

  “Good enough,” says Hoffman. “Everyone knows the RV procedure if they lose contact again.”

  I just got to listen in to the voice traffic now. I need to know who’s out there, who else made it. I want to hear Bernie cussing out someone. She’s been missing since the Landown assault.

  What the hell. Let’s see where Baird’s bird is.

  “Hey, Delta. You receivin’?”

  “Yeah, Cole Train,” says Marcus’s voice.

  I just want to know they’re all okay. “So, still no sign of Dom’s lady? False lead?”

  I don’t get a response. Maybe I’ve lost the damn signal again. But then I realize I can hear Marcus breathing like he can’t get the next word out.

  “I found her … yeah. I found her.”

  But that’s Dom talking now. It’s Dom. He’s been looking for Maria for ten years, going crazy, but he don’t sound happy he found her. I’m waiting. I don’t know what the hell to ask next, because I can guess what’s coming, but I can’t stop now.

  “Dom, she okay? What happened?”

  Yeah, I bet I know what’s coming next. Aww, shit…

  “She’s dead,” Dom says, all quiet and steady and normal. “I did it. I helped her go. She’s okay now.”

  No. That ain’t what I was expecting.

  I think I heard wrong. I know I didn’t. There’s a million things in my head right then, and none of ’em look good. What the hell do I say to Dom now?

  You think it’s finally over, that the pain’s all stopped, and then you find that the hurt’s just moved on somewhere new.

  Aww, shit.

  CHAPTER 1

  If you want to flood the city, we can handle it. The evacuations already under way by road, we’ve got ships on standby, and this is a population that’s used to emergency drills. They move when we say move. But that’s the easy part. It’s winter, and somehow we’ve got to carry enough equipment and supplies to create a giant refugee camp from scratch in the middle of nowhere, then sustain it for maybe a year. We’re going to lose a lot of people, whatever happens. So let’s start by accepting that.

  (ROYSTON SHARLE, HEAD OF EMERGENCY MANAGEMENT, JACINTO.)

  JACINTO, ONE HOUR INTO THE FLOOD.

  Dying really did bring its own moments of clarity, just like they said.

  Bernie Mataki didn’t see her life flash before her. Instead, she found herself weirdly detached, reflecting on the shitty irony of sailing halfway around the world only to drown in Jacinto.

  Water. I bloody hate it. No bastard should have to drown in the middle of a city.

  She could see a patch of whirling sea ten meters away, like a sink emptying down a plughole. Debris rushed toward it. Chunks of wood, vegetation, plastic, and even a dead dog—a little brown terrier thing with a red collar—raced past her on the surface to vanish into the maelstrom. A chunk of metal pipe bobbed along in its wake, clanging against her shoulder-plate and nearly taking her eye out before it spun away with the rest of the flotsam.

  I’m next. Sink. Get it over with. Nowhere to swim to. Drown here now or there later … no, screw that, I’m a survival specialist, aren’t I? Get a grip. Do something. I’m not dead yet.

  “Sorrens? Sorrens?” All she could see was columns of black smoke and the occasional flash of sunlight on a distant rotor blade. The last Ravens were heading away from the stricken city. Saltwater slopped into her mouth. “Sorrens, you still there?”

  There was no answer. He was the last man left of her squad; they’d fought their way to the surface, radios dead, staying a few desperate meters ahead of the flood. But the Ravens had already gone, and the sea engulfed the city. It pissed her off that Sorrens had survived the battle but that she’d lost him because the frigging COG itself pulled the plug. That felt worse than losing him to the grubs somehow.

  But they thought we were dead. We can’t have been the only ones who missed the RV point. How many got out alive?

  Jacinto, which had always seemed so ancient and eternal, was vanishing a landmark at a time. The sea didn’t give a shit about humanity’s little nest-building efforts. Buildings were subsiding into the caverns beneath the city, creating whirlpools that dragged in everything on the surface. She’d be next. Her hands were aching with cold as she struggled to hang on to a roof gutter that was now at sea level. The roof itself was gone, and only the end gable jutted at a sharp angle above the water. She looked for some refuge, but there were no surfaces she could balance on, just a finial, a twin-headed heraldic eagle that loomed over her and offered nothing to settle on.

  Two minutes, they said. Two minutes in icy water before hypothermia killed you. She’d been here longer than that, she was sure. And then there was the fuel floating everywhere. That wasn’t going to do her a lot of good, either.

  Can’t let go. Bloody radio …

  Bernie stead
ied herself, timing the moment to take one hand off the gutter and try her radio again. The current tugged impatiently. Once she lost her grip on her last fragile link to solid ground, the weight of her armor would drag her under. It was the modern stuff, heavier, a two-handed job to remove, not designed for long immersion. She needed both hands free to jettison any plates, and once she let go she was dead. She couldn’t tread water: too exhausted, too heavy, too far from dry land.

  All she could hear was the roar and crash of the sea filling the sunken city, creaks of buckling metal that sounded like screams, and a fading chakka-chakka-chakka as the last Ravens shrank to dots on the amber horizon. There was a stench of unidentifiable chemicals and sulfur, as if some kind of gas was pooling on the surface.

  Shit, don’t let that catch fire. I can’t handle burning to death in water as well. That’s one fucking irony too many.

  She had to get on with it.

  One … two … three.

  Bernie took one hand off the gutter and waved her arm. But it was a waste of time, and she knew it; the choppers were too far away. Even the ships and small vessels were out of range. She was just one more tiny speck in a chaotic soup of debris. But now that her hand was free and she hadn’t been snatched from her refuge by the force of the water, she risked turning around, trying to scan the choppy surface for signs of other survivors.

  There were bodies. She could see how fast the current was running by the speed at which they shot past her.

  Did they get left behind? Or did they decide to die here rather than keep running?

  People did the damnedest things in disasters. Wanting to stay put was common. Bernie always prided herself on getting the hell out.

  She pressed her finger hard against her earpiece, rocking it slightly to make sure the switch made contact. There was an encouraging hiss of static. It was still working despite being soaked.