Killzone, Ascendancy Read online

  Around me the jungle burps and chatters.

  Nothing makes sense any more.

  PART ONE

  Six months earlier

  Chapter One

  I ought to have put a bullet in Rico Velasquez there and then.

  He was my commander, my buddy and a war hero, but none of that mattered. Not set against the death of Garza, which had been his fault. And now him killing Scolar Visari.

  The whole of Operation Archangel, a chance to put an end to the war; Jan Templar, Evelyn Batton both dead; The Red Dust – a nuclear warhead, for crying out loud – detonated over Pyrrhus City, annihilating our forces, millions dead. All for what? For Rico’s fuse to blow, again? For one guy to fuck it all up in a moment of …

  Madness.

  That’s what Visari had said when he died: ‘The madness begins.’ Said a whole bunch of other stuff too. Like how his death would make him a martyr. That killing him was the worst thing we could do. Fine by me, I was there to place him under arrest anyway. I hadn’t fought my way through Visari Palace, through wave after wave of Helghast shock troopers and Colonel Radec just to go screwing things up. Call me Mr By-the-Book if you want, but I wanted to see Visari rot in a cell. I wanted justice – for my family and for the people of Vekta. Visari was right. For the war to end we’d needed him alive.

  And he was right about the madness beginning too. As Narville and Hooper rushed past me into the chambers where Visari lay dying, I walked out onto the steps of Visari Palace that overlooked Pyrrhus, capital city of Helghan. Once it had been a maze of rundown housing and seedy factories with the only well-kept structures the military academies and statues of Visari Square. Now all was devastation. A city reduced to ruin. The Helghast didn’t deserve this, I thought, looking at the horizon where a grey mushroom cloud blossomed in a roofless sky. Nobody did.

  Suddenly from above was a deafening propulsion roar, the sound of ships arriving overhead, and I looked up. The sky had been cast in grey marble by the nuke blast, but now it darkened, the light blotted out by Helghast ships, hundreds of them it looked like: cruisers, dropships and fighters, lights twinkling like distant stars. Our own cruisers were hanging there, as surprised by the sudden appearance of the fleet as we were, no defences deployed, sitting ducks as the Helghast began to open fire. Right now they were going after our cruisers. How long before they came after us?

  I watched balls of flame burst on the hulls of our ships, saw them billow brilliantly then fade. Heard explosions like distant thunder. One of our cruisers, miles away, cracked open and flaming sections began to descend lazily to the ground. All of it happening so far away it was like watching a movie. Like it wasn’t real somehow.

  But it was. And as I watched our fleet destroyed one thought ran round and round my head: that we were combat ineffective. That we were finished.

  ‘Sev,’ bellowed Rico, after a while, ‘are you okay?’

  ‘No.’ I rounded on Rico. ‘No. I am not okay, Rico. What the hell were you thinking? We had the guy. And you killed him. You killed Visari.’

  ‘Look,’ he growled, ‘you haven’t been in this war as long as I have. I don’t expect you to understand …’

  Below us, medics moved among the troops administering Gudkov shots to protect against the radiation. Doc Hanley approached me and Rico and beckoned us to offer up our forearms as we glared at one another. His eyes went over our shoulders to where his colleague worked to save Visari.

  ‘I’m calling it,’ I heard from behind me. ‘Time of death is 21:20 hours.’

  If there was any hope that Visari might have been alive, it was snuffed out at that moment. Beside me Rico was giving me sorry-assed excuses that I only half heard above the howl of the ships, the white noise in my head and Captain Narville barking orders – ‘We are mobile in five, so pack up your shit …’ – barely acknowledging us as he descended the vast stone steps. I’d never seen him look so beat up, but as he turned to face us the reasons why were all there in the sky behind him. On the ground the convoy was already in motion. The last of our troops were piling into Intruders, APCs, HAMRs, buggies and tanks. We were oscar mike, Narville in survival mode now.

  ‘Command’s pulling the plug,’ he yelled over the roar of the enemy ships overhead. ‘They want us to execute an emergency exit scenario. We’re pulling every soldier off this planet.’

  ‘We’re retreating?’ I could hardly believe it, but that was nothing compared to Rico’s reaction.

  ‘I ain’t leaving,’ he bellowed. ‘This fight isn’t even half done. What is this bullshit?’

  Narville rounded on Rico, eyes blazing. ‘Oh no,’ he roared, ‘this is not how this is going to go down. I need you to listen and keep your trap shut. Not a single sound. Not even a “yes, sir”. Is that understood?’

  Rico opened his mouth to reply and was stopped by an angry upraised finger from Narville.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘listen up. Intel has an advanced Helghast cruiser fleet zeroing in on our position. The general wants us en route before they show their faces. The best chance we have is to cut through the Visari District and cross the Corinth River. From there it’s due east to the extraction point, which is a crater the size of Kansas somewhere underneath that giant mushroom cloud. We got one shot at this. So we’re doing this strictly by the numbers. It’s the only place we’re getting out of this hell hole.’

  He gestured at a HAMR that was sitting nearby with its engine idling, looking dirty and dustblown, but low, keen and mean. Just the way we liked them. HAMRs were mobile reconnaissance vehicles. Very fast, very manoeuvrable, a favourite with all grunts. Trouble was they were in short supply.

  ‘We don’t have a lot of these babies,’ confirmed Narville, ‘but they’re our best bet against whatever the Higs are gonna put in our way,’ he said.

  I’d be driving, Rico manning the turret configured with cannons, and I was just about to clamber aboard when suddenly the shriek of engines from overhead grew even louder and I jerked my head up to see a vast enemy arc cruiser breaking formation and losing altitude.

  Somebody said shit, and it might have been me, as a massive petrusite coil on the cruiser’s hull seemed to shiver malevolently then spin, strands of blue light dancing it as it charged, cannon turrets revolving, finding their target.

  This was bad. This was very bad.

  The cannon seemed to glow blue, then fizzed, discharging a blue bolt into a knot of troops below and those closest to impact were incinerated, but they were the lucky ones. The electrical discharge rippled outwards, burning all it touched. For a moment all we could hear was the popping of ammo cooking off and the shrieking of men being burned to death. We could smell the burning flesh and I watched as a man dropped to his knees desperately trying to beat out the flames on his legs, unaware that fire was licking at his back. In seconds he was engulfed, a human torch. He looked up at us on the steps and I swear our eyes met as the skin melted from his face and for a second he was grinning as his lips were burned away. Then, mercifully, he fell backwards, dead.

  In an instant what had been a squad of soldiers was nothing but blackened corpses. The arc cruiser hovered implacably as though wanting to admire its handiwork, then it tilted slowly, the petrusite coil began to spin once more and the cannon turrets were revolving again to find another target. Fresh ISA meat to cook.

  The men had been moving out quickly. Now they moved even faster, scrambling aboard APCs and buggies, engines revving.

  ‘We need to evac now,’ yelled Narville, ‘Sev, Rico, I need you to carve us a safe corridor. Move. Move. Move.’

  Neither of us needed telling a fourth time. Moments later we were clambering into the HAMR, Rico hating it – hating the fact that we were retreating. I was flicking switches, firing up the systems, feeling the HAMR vibrate around me.

  Ahead of us stretched the convoy, a ragtag line of vehicles already moving off. The last of the men were rushing to join it, grabbing infantry handles to cling on to the outside of the vehicle
s while above them Intruders bobbed and dipped like metallic birds of prey. We looked like an army at least. An exhausted, depleted, retreating army – but an army all the same.

  Then Narville was signalling, whirling his hand above his head and leaping into his own HAMR as the convoy moved off, great clouds of disturbed dust and ash billowing around it. We moved onto a roadway, staying close to the cliff face of Visari Palace Hill, as far away as possible from the arc cruiser’s cannons and a safe distance from the sheer drop on the other side of the road.

  Clear a corridor, Narville had said. Better get a move on.

  ‘All right,’ I said, ‘let’s do this.’

  I let a buggy go by then hit the gas. Tyres spinning on the loose road, the HAMR’s tail drifted out and I wrestled the wheel to bring it back in line as we came up behind the rear of the convoy.

  ‘Hey,’ warned Rico, ‘don’t get too close to the …’

  The buggy ahead pulled out to overtake and I followed suit, dropping a gear, gunning the engine and wrenching the wheel to the left.

  ‘… edge,’ finished Rico, by now staring from the window of the HAMR and into the chasm at his side. On the other side of the gorge were buildings built into the hillside, broken windows regarding us, mocking the retreating army. Gantries overhead were a blur as they zipped past.

  Dust and grit lashed the windshield. I held her steady, keeping an eye on the convoy vehicles to my right – clip one at this speed and we’d be spinning off into the void – as well as the Intruders overhead. ‘Battlefield taxis’ the grunts called them. They were small and the pilots were making best use of their manoeuvrability, keeping close to the convoy to use the cover of the rockface.

  It meant they were close, though. Too close for comfort. And just as I had that thought there was a streak of white, a ripple of disrupted space, and a missile was hurtling towards us. Towards an Intruder, to be precise.

  For a second I was the pilot and I knew exactly what was going through his head. He was going automatic. Some flip-switch in his head went to training mode and he executed an evasive move, the Intruder lurching dangerously close to the speeding convoy. The missile slammed into the cliff face on the other side of the road, drivers swerving to avoid falling rock so that I was suddenly inches away from a speeding Archer with no room on the other side either. For a second I was looking into the terrified eyes of a marine hanging from an infantry handle, then we were speeding past, the column falling back into place.

  ‘Fire back,’ I snapped at Rico.

  ‘At what?’

  ‘Everything.’

  Electrics whined as the HAMR’s cannon pivoted gracefully, its targeting systems scanning the buildings. Rico opened fire and the stench of cordite filled the cab, burning my lungs as he strafed the buildings with stutter fire, reducing masonry to dust. I looked fruitlessly for ear protection, the cannon deafening in the HAMR.

  Now the buggy ahead of us reached the front of the column and pulled in front of it. Doing the same, I was grateful to find the shelter of the rockface at last. For cover.

  Fat lot of good it did. There was a second missile strike, only this one found its mark. A fizz, then an explosion, and suddenly the buggy ahead of us was hoisted in the air as though yanked by an invisible rope. Spinning, it rolled over us and for a split second I heard the screams of its crew and saw mangled bodies tossed around in the shell. Then it was behind us, leaving a red smear across the hull of the HAMR, and it crashed to the road, still rolling. The buggy at our twelve swerved to avoid it, a hair’s breadth from sailing over the edge, and I watched it right itself when suddenly something else appeared behind it.

  God knows where it had come from, a Helghast AAPC – a Bull: big and fast, its engine roaring, it came up behind the buggy, which had only just righted itself, its crew swivelling in their seats at the sudden roar from behind them. The implacable heavy armour of the Bull was the last thing they saw and they threw up their arms, screaming as it drove over the buggy and crushed them to death.

  Systems hummed. The cannon swung about, our targeting systems reconfiguring. Then the ear-splitting hammer strike as Rico opened fire.

  Metal clanged and … nothing. It did nothing. If enemy AAPCs could sneer, then …

  And whoever was inside had decided to get their yuks with us, because instead of hitting us with the artillery rockets, or even opening fire with the LMG up top, the AAPC activated its sawblades, which roared to life with a shriek. Usually they functioned as minesweepers or were used for clearing obstacles – today they had a new objective.

  Rico did a double-take, looking like he wasn’t sure whether he should be impressed or petrified.

  There was a firework of sparks as the Bull nudged our rear. I wrestled with the wheel. The Bull dropped back then rammed us again, the impact almost throwing me from my seat. The convoy was way behind us now. Buildings and rockface were a blur, and we were pelted with grit. I power-drifted round a corner, gaining us space, and Rico fired again – for all the good it did us. Now the AAPC had made up the ground and came up on us with a roar, nudging us, and once more I was straining to prevent the HAMR’s end sliding out, the muscles in my arms screaming. There was the tortured squeal of metal on metal as the Bull’s sawblades whipped at our hull. The sound of its engine was getting louder and I knew it had more to give. It was bigger than us, more powerful. We were at its mercy.

  It pushed on inexorably, mashing the rear of the HAMR, forcing us into metal crash barriers at the side of the road. The barriers tore, twisting and mangling with a shriek of metal and a torrent of sparks. Rico fired again, this time taking out a section of the AAPC, which erupted into flame.

  We would have cheered about that, me and Rico, if we hadn’t been screaming. The shockwave from the AAPC explosion had sent the HAMR over the edge and suddenly we were careering down the hillside, tossed around inside like dice in a shaker, ahead of us a sheer drop. Below that the city.

  Every sinew in my arm pleading for mercy, I tore the wheel to the right, leaning into the skid, Rico doing the same as the HAMR skidded sideways and came to a stop, a cloud of dust billowing around us. With a final clunk the HAMR settled at an angle, the two wheels on my side hanging over the cliff edge.

  There was a moment of silence as we digested the fact that we hadn’t plummeted the final ten metres.

  I grinned at Rico. He grinned at me.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ I said.

  ‘Hell yeah,’ said Rico, and leaned to grab me by the shoulders, oblivious to the weight suddenly shifting in the HAMR.

  Too late I tried to stop him and it tipped, for a second hanging as though we might – just might – not fall. Then did, rolling over and over as we tumbled to the buildings below. I’m going to die, I knew, as the building roof rushed to meet us, and I thought of my mother, my father, my sister Amy. A summer’s day on Vekta …

  Then it went black.

  And there was the sound of the breeze in the trees.

  Amy blowing a bubble gum bubble. Other sounds: the electronic swish of the page from my father’s reader, the soft crunch of my mother’s camera as she took shots of the landscape.

  Flat on my back, with my ACU twisted round me, I lay there as a world of war-damaged buildings and wounded masonry adjusted to our sudden, rude entrance. The HAMR lay on its back, mortally wounded, metal ticking as it cooled. Around us floated the debris of the nuclear strike and from somewhere far away came the rattle and pop of gunfire, of explosions, and I thought I heard screams. Standing above me was Rico, holding out a hand to pull me to my feet, and I took it gratefully, grinning at him as we stood together, staring around at the wreckage of the HAMR and both wondering how we’d escaped with our lives.

  ‘You see anyone else?’ I adjusted my webbing and checked my gear: M32 combat knife, three M194 fragmentation grenades, M4 revolver, M82 assault rifle and – I checked mags, slammed one into the rifle and cocked it – 256 rounds of ammunition.

  Rico was doing the same. He pointed to
wards the sound of the gunfire. ‘Maybe that way.’

  I nodded, frowning. The sound was of ISA under attack. Hardly begun and already the retreat was SNAFU. We were going to have to fight our way to Corinth River.

  Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, I thought, as we crept forward to within sight of a square where a group of ISA were under attack. Wouldn’t be the last.

  I got a Hig in my sights, eased off the safety, took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger …

  Much later, we stood on a hill overlooking the city, both exhausted. Around us rained debris still – like a tickertape parade in hell.

  ‘Who nukes their own city?’ said a bewildered Rico.

  I shrugged and scanned the horizon for signs of the captain.

  ‘I don’t see Narville,’ I said at last. How did it get to this? What a mess.

  ‘River’s that way,’ said Rico. ‘That’s where he said we gotta cross.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied, voice dripping with sarcasm, ‘let’s hope everybody makes it.’

  ‘Listen, Sev,’ said Rico, big bear-like shoulders dropping as he struggled to find the words, ‘about Visari … I …’

  ‘Forget it,’ I said. I didn’t want to hear this. I didn’t want excuses. I wanted Garza back. I wanted to be able to trust Rico.

  ‘I wanted to shoot him too,’ I said, more for something to say than anything else.

  ‘But you didn’t.’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘but that’s ’cause I’m not a jackass.’

  Chapter Two

  To understand just how big a jackass Rico was to kill Visari, you need to know the history of this whole shitstorm. And to do that we’ve got to go back – way back to young Tomas Sevchenko sitting in his Modern History lessons, a spotty teenage kid with two things on his mind: Girls and … whatever the heck the other thing was.

  I didn’t pay enough attention in class, of course. I liked Modern History right enough, don’t get me wrong, but English was always my subject. I enjoyed reading, still do, and, anyway, Modern History came with a major distraction in the shape of Elisabetta Purrslip who used to sit across the aisle from me and a few rows forward. Right in my field of vision, in other words. So on the rare occasion I wasn’t staring dreamily at Elisabetta’s legs I was trying to goof off so she’d turn round and I could catch her eye. Either way, I wasn’t paying enough attention to Mr Tovar who was telling us all about the nuclear war on Earth three hundred years ago. The near destruction of all humanity had nothing on Elisabetta Purrslip.