Chapter 94: Inspiration

Everybody was crowded around. Crimson Hydra. Star Boy, Hackworth, officers, operators, Fabricators.

Gawping. Gaping. Unable to process what had just happened.

James understood where they were coming from, but impatience was building up within him.

It was time to roll out.

“Colonel Hackworth. How does this change Crimson Hydra’s deployment?” His voice boomed out through the parking garage, reverbed and thunderous.

Hackworth blinked. “Your team is no longer on overwatch. I’m going to place you in the thick of it. We’ll have you cross the Manhattan Bridge, cross through Manhattan, and make your way through the Hudson Tunnel into Jersey to clean out the demons there.”

“Understood.” James swiveled toward the massively reinforced ramp that led up to the first floor and the garage exit. “I’m going to get started. I want to be in position when the Fourth Wave hits.”

“Good.” Hackworth looked around at the crowd. “Everyone else, back to your posts. Move, people! We’ve two hours till the Fourth Wave hits. Show’s over!”

“Man,” said Star Boy as James took his first step, his four-toed foot causing the ground to shudder. “Fuckin’ titan online. Now I can die a happy man.”

“James.” Serenity moved alongside him. “What the fuck, man?”

“Grab your Wing. Double up with Olaf. I’m going to be making my way to the Manhattan Bridge. Fine me en route.”

Despite the Hound’s massive tonnage and size, it moved surprisingly smoothly; each step carried it three or four yards, progress slow and steady. But James wanted to see how fast it could go. What it could do.

He had to get outside.

“You heard the man - the war machine,” barked Serenity to the rest of the crew. “Let’s get on our Wings. Move!”

It felt surreal. There was no James inside the Hound, nobody inside the machine. He was the machine. He kept thinking he should be in there, seated, strapped in, holding joysticks, perhaps, feeling the shake of the Hound in his body, moving from side to side.

But no.

There was a purity to the experience. A singular identification with the mass and bulk of the Hound. He was sixteen feet tall now, weighed 9 tons. And he was starting to feel it.

He marched up the ramp, causing the Fabricator-created sheets of green steel to vibrate, then crossed the first floor to the main car ramp up to the street. Despite Hackworth’s commands people still just stood there, watching, eyes wide.

The ramp cleared before him, and too eager to just walk, James moved into a jog. He powered up the incline, his huge limbs pounding into the cement, his ascent smooth, and emerged a moment later into the avenue.

There he slowed, stopped, and looked around. Swiveled his chassis 360-degrees, growing accustomed to his field of vision, his area of focus. Not bad. How fast could he turn? He swiveled again, as quickly as he could, and the world spun. He stopped, spun some more, stopped again facing his original forward direction.

All right. Time to try running.

He began at a march, each footstep crunching the asphalt, then quickly moved into the same jog with which he’d tackled the ramp. The jog was ungainly; he rocked from side to side as he went, but this disappeared when he moved into a run. At that higher speed his upper body remained poised between the two pumping legs, shifting minutely from side to side as he went.

Speed-wise he had to be going some twenty-miles an hour. He felt ponderous, massive, unstoppable. Strength 155. He could run right through buildings.

Time to try the hard-burn. He tapped a point of Aeviternum and felt his engine thrum to life. If before it had thrummed silently, now it roared; he felt burnt Aeviternum vent out the back and suddenly he was moving; it felt as if a huge hand had descended to push his back, urging him forward, faster and faster.

The War Hound powered down the avenue, doubling in speed, perhaps more. Forty miles an hour? Fifty?

Time to test that Power 90. With a flex of his will, he urged the Hound - himself - to leap. Without breaking stride he crouched and surged upwards.

The War Hound burst into the air as if catapulted. His huge mass flew at least as high as the third story windows, and when he came down, he caused craters to form under each massive foot.

Damn! James let out a whoop. How far’d I fly?

I’d estimate twenty yards, James. A very nice jump.

Twenty yards. Awesome. All right. Now to find a ruined building.

A ruined building?

I’m not done testing.

James resumed jogging north toward the bridge. Pedestrians fell back with cries and shouts, only to step forward once more and marvel. He was clearly no demon. They didn’t know what the fuck he was, but on some level he guessed they intuited he was on their side.

“Gonna kick some demon ass,” he boomed, voice echoing off the building walls, and the sparse crowd let out a cheer.

There. A burnt-out hulk of a building. The facade was crumpled in as if a garbage truck had rammed it, glass glinting across the sidewalk. James paused at a distance of some fifteen yards away, considering.

James?

Let’s see what the Vault Cannon can do.

His left arm rose, and while he didn’t see a targeting display appear, he could sense, could feel what it was aimed at. He panned the gun over the facade, testing how minutely he could aim it, then took a spiritual deep breath.

Here we go. Let’s start with limited.

His Double-barreled Vault Cannon came to life. Divine power flowed into the weapon, waterfalling into its heart as the barrels came to life, unleashing a staccato roar as each barrel alternated firing in such quick succession it was nearly indistinguishable.

1,000 30mm caliber bullets a minute. Almost 17 shots a second. The Gloria-enhanced Smite bullets flooded forth and splashed against the ruined building, doing no damage.

What? Oh. Shit. Right.

Your ammunition only does damage to demons, James. You can’t damage structures nor humans with these weapons.

Why didn’t you tell me?

I thought you needed to see it to really internalize the lesson.

James wanted to grouse, but Jelly was probably right. Seeing the barrage of bullets splash harmlessly against the bricks slammed the lesson home.

There was no such thing as friendly fire. Giving the crowds they’d be working with, that was a huge blessing.

Then let’s get to the bridge.

James marched north. Brooklyn’s downtown skyscrapers towered about them, paltry compared to Manhattan, huge compared to most other cities. He made his way down the center of the avenues, and oncoming traffic stopped, the driver’s eyes widening in panic. They quickly reversed or pulled out to the sides, opening a way for James to keep moving north.

He experimented with the Hound as he went. Stopped and tried for a vertical leap. Tried moving and aiming both arms at once - tricky but doable. Tried walking and swiveling his chassis as he kept something targeted. Lowered himself into a crouch - no walking forward when down like that. Tried hopping to the side. Doable, but awkward. The Hound wasn’t built for sidestepping.

The crowds rapidly thickened. Soon the street was flooded, people with backpacks, with suitcases, parents holding their children, people looking panicked, scared, unsure.

James was forced to slow down, but the sheer massiveness of his bulk caused people to press back and open a way for him.

“Don’t be afraid,” he boomed out. “I am a War Hound, created by the Blue Light Fabricators and here to destroy the demons. Welcome to New York. Please remain calm and step aside. Don’t be afraid.”

He repeated a variation of this message every minute or so, his hugely thunderous voice rolling over the crowd and bringing them some measure of comfort.

Still, the situation was a clusterfuck. Thousands were gathered before him, and this was just a block or two. Star Boy had floated plans early on which involved sequestering Fourth Wave people in staggered groups of 90, allowing the Wings to complete the required hundred on a set schedule, triggering demon summonings and allowing the Nem3’s to be systematically dispatched.

But such fine-tuned plans were completely implausible. The panic, the press, the sheer number of people made it unfeasible to attempt such careful crowd control. Folks barely had the presence of mind to step aside for a War Hound, much less gather in orderly groups of 90 at distinct distances from each other.

The Wings flew in at last from behind, coming into view and matching his speed, arrayed like a halo about him.

“How’s it going in there, sir?” Jason called.

“Doing fine, Jason. This machine is a beast. I wish we had a hundred of them.”

“It’s not fair,” said Serenity. “I’m the gunbunny. How did you end up with those huge cannons?”

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“You can take it out for a spin soon as you get an Anima,” chuckled James. “You’ll have fun with them. The Empyreal Gun shoots something like Aeviternum plasma, while the Vault Cannon fires 30mm Smite bullets. I’m going to put a real dent in our enemies.”

“Dude,” called Denzel. “You think you can take one of those black fire hives in that thing?”

James considered. “You know, I think I can. Let’s get through today and see how things stand. But yeah. I think we’ll be revisiting Philly after this.”

“By the way,” called Serenity. “James, meet Miriam Lawson.”

It was weird, being able to focus on the new team member without having to turn the Hound’s head; as long as she was within the 180-degree visual frame, he could simply focus on her and keep walking.

“Hi, ah, James,” said Miriam, waving a hand. She sat on the back of Kimmie’s Wing. Dark haired with a large winesplash of a birthmark around her left eye and temple, she looked at once freaked out and determined not to show it. “Thank you for this opportunity,” she called out to him. “Really. I’m going to do my best to help.”

“She’s so earnest,” laughed Serenity. “It’s adorable.”

Miriam stared wide-eyed at Serenity. “I’m - it’s just that -”

“See?” Serenity pivoted around. “Honey, relax. So a swear word or something. For real. Go ahead, break the ice.”

“Hi Miriam,” rumbled James. “Good to meet you. Feel free to ignore Serenity.”

“I mean, do you even know any cuss words?” asked Serenity. “Other than ‘poopy’?”

Miriam scowled at Serenity. “Of course I know swear words.”

“Say one.”

“I, uh…” Miriam glanced nervously around at everyone else.

Kerim flew his Wing down between the pair of them. “There is no need to swear, Miriam. Profanity is a weak mind attempting to express itself forcefully.”

“Hey, fuck you, Kerim!” laughed Serenity.

James was forced to move even slower. Cars blocked the street now, the crowd flooding around them, most of the vehicles abandoned.

“Should have stuck with the Wings,” said Serenity. “Now whatcha gonna do, mech-boy?”

“This,” said James. The last of the crowd parted to show him a BMW sedan. It had been abandoned and was the first of what looked like an endless row of vehicles filling all five lanes that lead to the bridge. James raised his foot and placed it on the BMW’s trunk. Eased his weight onto it and the trunk crumpled. The front of the car reared up at a forty-five-degree angle.

James paused then retracted his foot. Considered. He could shove his way along the pavement, but that was absolutely packed with people and he’d still have to shove cars aside.

Instead, he crouched and leaped.

He soared up and landed on the BMW’s hood. The engine block crunched beneath his huge weight, the car bucking up behind him, but without waiting James leaped again. There was no sense of effort to it; he simply jumped forward, pistons and magic doing the work, to land on the hood of the next car, a station wagon.

“Fuck,” said Serenity. “That thing can get air.”

“Out of the cars,” boomed James. “If you’re in a vehicle, get out. War Hound coming through.”

Denzel lowered his Wing so that he was flying just above the crowd and skimmed ahead, peering into each vehicle as he went. James leaped and leaped again. It was disorienting; he intuited that this kind of activity should make him out of breath. He felt the amount of mass being hurled into the air each time, and instinctively expected some kind of resultant exhaustion.

But there was none.

On and on he leaped, booming his warning until Flatbush Ave reached a huge intersection. Eight lanes crossed another eight with a large green park taking up the NW corner. The result was a huge open space, abandoned cars surrounded by an ocean of humanity, with thousands crammed into the park alone.

James paused, parked atop a black sedan, slowly swiveling from one side to the other. There had to be at least twenty-thousand people crammed in here, the crowd filling every avenue, covering the sidewalks, some people having even climbed up the traffic lights, with groups sitting atop the abandoned vans and trucks.

“This is a good place to start,” said James. “Crowd this big, we’ll get a couple of hundred Nem3’s.”

“What a clusterfuck,” said Jason. “How do you want us to deploy?”

“Stay tight and inside Olaf’s circle,” said James. “Everyone gets Deadeye. Yadriel, don’t leave formation unless I give the word. Jason, help Olaf maintain his circle by clearing away demons that get too close. Everyone else just lay down fire until we start drawing fire. Olaf, soon as too many harpoons are coming our way, distribute Shields.”

“Yes,” said Olaf. “Very good.”

Serenity had mounted her M2 between her handlebars on a swivel. She twisted around to look at the others. “We’ve a long day ahead of us, yeah? So pick your shots. You lot need to make your ammo last.”

Every Wing had saddlebags, James saw, large black duffel-bags on each side that bulged with rectangular objects. Magazines.

Even so, Serenity was right. Given the numbers they’d be facing, even that much ammo would go fast.

Word had spread across the crowd and everyone, even those at the farthest reaches of the avenues, were craning their necks to look his way.

“Listen up, everyone.” James could pitch his voice even louder. His words crashed across the intersections like a tsunami, causing the closest to flinch and cover their ears. “We are Crimson Hydra from Blue Light. We’re here to protect you. When the Nem3’s appear, the best you can do is crouch down and stay low. There’s no room to run and there’s nowhere to go. Do not panic. Do not try to escape. This is it. This is where we stand and fight. We will protect you. We will kill the demons. Just crouch, cover your heads, and let us do what we do best.”

The crowd wavered. He saw people glance at each other, their nerves still on edge.

Kimmie pulled out a megaphone. “Hello everyone! I’m Kimmie. I just want to say a couple of things real quick. You guys inspire me. You came out to stand together when you could have tried to hide alone. You’re here because you’re brave. Because you are willing to work together. You care about your neighbor, and that’s awesome. If we work together, we’ll get through this. So stay calm, keep it together, and we’ll make it through. Yeah?”

People stood taller. Shoulders squared. James saw countless people inhale deeply, and a good number let out ragged yells.

Kimmie raised the megaphone again. “I can’t hear you! We’re the best of humanity, we’re braver than we knew, we’re going to face the devil and kick his ass. We can do this. We can do this together. Yeah?”

This time the cheer was more of a roar. Some people pumped their fists.

Kimmie stood up on her Wing. “You guys can do this! You’re unstoppable! Nothing can defeat humanity! We’re going to stand up to these demons and send them back to hell. You are brave, you’re beautiful, you’re fearless! Together we’ll end this apocalypse and heal the planet!”

This time the roar came from twenty-thousand throats. Everybody had stood up, from the folks atop the vans to those crammed into the park. People screamed their agreement, and it sounded like nothing so much as a battle cry.

“Hell yeah!” Kimmie grinned. “That’s the spirit! When the fight starts, stay cool, stay calm, pop a squat and let us waste ‘em. Got it?”

Again the cheer came, solid and determined. Kimmie waved, lowered her megaphone and sat back down. “There.” She exhaled sharply and grinned at her companions. “I think they’re ready.”

“Holy shit girl,” said Denzel. “What the hell was that? Your yoga classes must have been off the hook.”

“Look at them, yo,” said Yadriel. “They’re like hi-fiving and shit. You’d think they were gonna do the fighting.”

“Damn, Kimmie.” Serenity gave a grudging nod. “I’m really starting to appreciate what you can do.”

Kimmie shrugged happily. “Just trying to help, you know?”

“Outstanding,” said James, thinking of Hackworth. “Let’s hit them with that one more time before the Nems appear.”

“Yes sir,” said Kimmie.

“All right.” James adjusted his footing on the crumpled sedan. It gave him an excellent vantage point over the intersection. The Manhattan bridge was less than a mile away.

There was no need to breathe, but James wanted to blow out his cheeks, settle his shoulders. Instead he amped up the Empyreal Gun, filling its heart chamber with Aeviternum so that its barrel glowed golden. The Hound’s Aeviternum Pool was at 721/729. Just barely tapped.

The Wings arrayed themselves in the optimal position. Olaf and Miriam just above and behind James, the others facing outward, M4’s on their laps.

The crowd began to chant We Will Rock You.

Time was ticking down.

Time for the Fourth Wave.

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