The Eternal War

Wainwright nodded. Smiled. ‘Then it seems just you and I will face the firing squad.’

‘That’s better than we’d expected.’ He nodded, accepting that gratefully.

‘But …’ She looked at both men, from one to the other. ‘But that’ll take days … weeks? Right? A hearing? A court martial? That stuff takes time to organize. Look, the new reality is coming, I promise you. It could come at any time — now. In five minutes, five hours …’

The soldiers in the small machine-gun nest looked on in confusion at the exchange.

‘Or, perhaps, never?’ Devereau shrugged. ‘That is a possibility, isn’t it?’

She shook her head. ‘No … I promise you, this will all change!’

‘Come along, gentlemen!’ called the officer. ‘I’ll offer these terms one last time!’

‘Surrender!’ she pleaded. ‘Please … just do it. Surrender! It’s OK now, things will be fixed, I promise you!’

‘Let me ask you something, Miss Carter.’

‘What?’

‘If I had died in this fight, would this new reality still create a new me?’

‘Yes, of course!’

Devereau glanced at Wainwright; both men shared a smile, a silent agreement. He turned back to the firing slit, cupping his hands again.

‘All right. You have it. My men are coming out. We are surrendering!’

CHAPTER 90

2001, New York

Dammit!

Maddy glanced back over her shoulder at the hump of the archway.

I need to be there! I need to be back inside!

She trudged along the bottom of the muddy trench along with the other soldiers, her arms on her head as instructed. British soldiers stood on top of the sandbags either side, looking down at the defeated defenders. She kept her eyes on the back of the man in front of her, not daring to look up at them, not daring to meet any soldier’s eyes. She did, though, glance once more over her shoulder.

I need to be inside when it comes!

If and when the time wave came, standing out here beyond the protective reach of the archway’s forcefield she was almost certainly going to find herself … merged with the re-formed ground or welded in a ghastly and fatal way with a brick wall or a trash can or something.

Thirty yards along the trench, where some sandbags had collapsed into a small mound at the bottom, was an easy step up out. Physicians and orderlies from the British regiment offered a helping hand to the wounded and Maddy accepted a hand that pulled her up over the lip of the trench. She muttered a muted ‘thank you’.

Above her the sky was filled with the giant airships she’d seen earlier today offloading troops over Manhattan. Their spotlights flickered across the wasteland, bathing it in dancing pools of brilliant white.

She could hear the rhythmic chugging of that old rust-bucket tank still going, reliable old thing, faintly coughing and spluttering across the deathly-still battlefield.

The cratered wasteland was littered with bodies, many of them stirring ever so slightly. The orderlies were moving among them, looking for triage cases to treat. Every now and then a solitary shot rang out. Battlefield mercy for those too far gone to save.

She’d not seen Becks for a while. Not since the density probe had picked up on Liam and the others. How long ago was that? Ten minutes? Half an hour? She realized her mind was dulled with shock, perception rendered unreliable. As if she was stepping sluggishly through a dream.

‘Becks,’ she whispered to herself. Saying her name aloud triggered something she never thought she’d actually feel for a support unit. Concern. She always laughed at Liam’s fondness for both Bob and Becks … and now here she was. Actually worried she might just come across her corpse on the ground.

Captain McManus regarded both American officers, slumped beside each other against the earth works and sandbags inside their bunker. He squatted just outside their low entrance.

He nodded slowly. ‘All right, then,’ he said finally. ‘If that’s what you gentlemen want.’

The Northern colonel offered him a grim smile. ‘It is, Captain.’

McManus pursed his lips, nodded once more and stood up. They were quite right, of course. Neither of these two gentlemen were going to escape a firing squad for this act of rebellion. Examples would need to be made of them. This way, the way they wanted it, would save them the misery of a few hours of waiting, agonizing, and the dishonour of being stripped of their rank insignia before being marched out into a courtyard at daybreak.

He saluted them both, then stepped away from the entrance to give them a little privacy. He turned to look at the soft, pale-blue light leaking out from beneath a half-lowered metal shutter to his right. He wandered over towards the shutter door and ducked down to look under it.

He could see a cracked and uneven concrete floor littered with badly wounded men. Many of them, it was obvious, weren’t going to survive their injuries long. A lot of them were already dead. He decided he should get an orderly in here as soon as there was one spare.

He sighed at the appalling mess and ruin battle made of such frail things as human bodies. Particularly the damage done by those experimentals. The injuries spread out in front of him were quite horrific. He was actually quite relieved the entire test batch of twelve had been killed. They’d looked like they were out of control. His own men would most probably have had to gun them down.

His eyes drifted up to the curious source of the soft glow of blue light. A row of rectangular screens that flickered blurred images and bright colours.

He squinted curiously.

Now what the devil is all this?

‘So — ’ Devereau flipped open his holster and pulled out his revolver — ‘that went well, I thought.’

Wainwright chuckled, burbling blood from his mouth. ‘Indeed.’

He watched Devereau absently stroke the handle of his gun. ‘Tell me, William, do you really believe there are other might have been worlds out there? Or have we been led a merry dance by this girl?’

‘I can’t say … You saw as much as I. All those pictures …’ He smiled. ‘I think I do believe her.’

Wainwright nodded. ‘It would be quite something if it is true.’

‘Maybe you and I will wake up in that world?’

‘After we leave this? Perhaps.’ Wainwright reached for his own sidearm, groaning with the effort of moving. He laughed.

‘What’s so amusing?’

‘Five years ago … I think it was … one of my sharpshooters called in to say he had a clear shot on you. Had a clear head-shot and wanted to take it.’

‘And what did you tell him?’

‘I said no … obviously.’

‘Why?’

Wainwright wheezed a sigh. ‘Wish I could remember. I … don’t know. It felt unsporting.’

Devereau shook his head. ‘Unsporting?’ He laughed at that.

Wainwright joined him, groaning with pain as his body shook. ‘You know, Bill, I have a feeling our broadcast signal, our call-to-arms to the other regiments, was blocked somehow.’ He winced, took a deep breath. ‘I do believe our mutiny would have spread if only word had got out. I can’t believe it is only us — only our two regiments — that wanted an end to this ridiculous war.’

‘Nor I.’ Devereau buttoned his collar up carefully. Straightened the peak of his forage cap. ‘Ah, well … we gave it a darned good try, did we not, Colonel Wainwright?’

‘That we most certainly did.’