Ghost Squadron: A Jericho Johnson Story
J.A. Stowell
Copyright 2012 by J.A. Stowell
All rights reserved. No part of this e-book may be used or reproduced
in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations in articles/reviews. This book is a work of, not only
fiction, but science-fiction and all characters therein are portrayed
thusly. Any resemblance to persons either living or deceased is
strictly coincidental.
Whether any scientific statements made within this work of science-
fiction are correct and/or viable is quite unlikely.
Just saying.
Prologue
December 25th, 2345, Flagstaff, AZ
I’m not sure why Beck is making me do this.
It’s been too long, in my opinion, to try and look back into the past that I’ve had to make myself forget and attempt to make sense of it. But since it’s most likely because of Beck that I’m even still alive to talk right now, I suppose I should oblige her.
Just this once.
My name is Piper and I’m—or at least I was—a Viking of
Svalbard. I had seen nineteen winters when I left my home with Jericho Johnson to aid him in the quest to save his world. They tell me that I’m twenty-two now although at times I feel ancient and that I’m barely hanging on to my sanity in this place that the old gods seem to have forgotten.
I’ve been stranded here in this frozen wasteland for over three years, swept away from everything normal in my life and dropped into what seems to be the remains of a war-torn world covered in snow and ice.
This day, the one Jericho had told me about a lifetime ago on a fishing trip, means nothing to me or my kinsmen. I remember him telling me that people from his time exchanged gifts and shared in food, drink and song to celebrate this thing he called Christmas.
I hadn’t listened too intently because on that day my thoughts kept being thrown into the wind whenever I looked into his face and watched his wonderful mouth move as he spoke.
I took him for granted then.
Now he’s gone.
I would die a thousand deaths in the fires of helheim to see him again. To hold his hand, touch his face or kiss his lips. All of the moments I was with him now seem distant to me and the notion of losing Jericho in my thoughts has been weighing on me a lot lately.
Sometimes I try to recall certain features about him only to discover, to my horror, that I can’t remember them. Somehow the idea of that, at times, feels worse than the day I actually lost him.
It’s this place. It has to be. Where I come from brave warriors like Jericho were honored after dying in battle and talked about for years to come.
Here no one talks about death or even contemplates it because death is everywhere. There is no laughter here, no joy, no mead halls bustling with life and tales of brave men like Jericho.
But here? Here there be nothing but frozen landscape and frozen hearts barely beating inside what is left of humanity. None of the many wars going on even seem to make sense to me. Most wars are fought with the idea of finally obtaining peace and joy afterward—something worth fighting for.
War, here, is a different demon altogether. It seems that the people of this time live just to fight and fight just to live.
It seems a very harsh and unforgiving cycle to me and it didn’t take me a month of being here before I too became a slave to this snow-covered place, fighting to survive without any ray of hope in sight.
“I’ll be back in a jiff, Pipe.” Jericho had told me before kissing my forehead and squeezing my shoulders. Then he turned to Beck and said, “Take care of her.”
“It would be my pleasure—considering she seems to be the only person with any sense out here.” Beck told him.
We had taken out most of Klaus’s men with the helicopter beforehand and Beck and I were supposed to guard the entrance while Jericho and Chloe went into the tall building Klaus had escaped into.
“I want to go with you.” I had tried to say.
“And I want you to stay.” He said, pulling me into a hug before releasing me and turning on his heel, the long coat he was wearing whirling around him when he did so. “C’mon, Chloe. The world ain’t saving itself.”
It wasn’t until after I watched the enormous building explode and collapse, almost burying Beck, her squad and I in the rubble, that I realized his last hug had felt different than all his others. “No!” I’d screamed, crumbling to my knees, my hands reaching for the black smoke billowing into the white sky.
“We have to move.” Beck’s voice crackled in my ear but I didn’t hear her as I made a mad dash toward the falling building.
“Jericho!”
Beck, who, as she has told me on several occasions, isn’t your average girl, ran and tried to grab me. “Piper, he’s gone. We have to get out of here.”
I could barely hear her over the sound of metal on metal when the iron foundation shattered in front of us. Then I felt Beck grab me around the waist and I was going backwards, slung over her shoulder as she leaped and dashed through the icy streets to get us clear of the aftershock.
The next thing I knew we were inside an abandoned building on the second floor and I could still make out the dust kicking up into the air through the shattered window.
“Report,” Beck said, touching her earpiece as she dropped me on the floor in a heap. “Robin? Gauge?” she tried. After no one answered her she sighed, glancing out the window toward the large fire engulfing the remains of the building Jericho had been in. “Looks like we’re all that’s left, pal.”
I sobbed, lurching forward and trying to get to my feet. “Don’t cry, Piper.” Beck said, pulling my face into her stomach to try and shield it from the wind. “Your tears will freeze and you’re face will get frostbite.”
It was true. I could already feel the skin underneath my eyes burning.
But there was no stopping the crying at the moment. Cursing, Beck removed her long coat and wrapped it completely around my head and I felt her lift my shaking frame onto her shoulders again.
“Hang tight, Pipe. We’ll be underground in a minute.” Beck told me and then she jumped out of the window, landing hard into a pile of snow built up at the door of the building.
Then she took me back to the Rebel base.
Days later, after I had ran out of tears, I knew then that he’d been saying goodbye with his final hug. Somehow he must have known the great, invincible Jericho Johnson had finally reached the end of his journey.
I was thankful at first that he had not let me come so that I could live but my thankfulness toward living grows weaker each day now.
I may still be breathing—but I truly died that day and I don’t think anything short of the gods sending Jericho back to me will ever make me truly feel alive. This isn’t a comforting thought because I had abandoned all prayers to the Norse gods over a year ago, anyway, after deciding that if they hadn’t helped me yet then they probably weren’t about to start.
Not a word escaped my lips for almost a month after Jericho’s death and I ended up in the Rebel med-bay toward the end of it. I most likely would have died in there had not Beck stopped by for a talk one day.
“What’s your deal, chic?” Beck asked me, leaning against the bed I was in and looking me up and down. “I see all your limbs are still attached. So why’re you in bed?”
“Leave.” That was the first word I had spoken in over a month.
“I’m not going to let a perfectly capable warrior die in bed of a broken heart,” she said. “Death will come to us all, Piper, but you have a lot more to d
o before you die.” “Such as?” I asked coldly.
“Jericho and my sister both died trying to save the world.
I personally don’t give a flip about this world and so I didn’t give a flip about their mission and I still don’t. But since they were, in a roundabout way, mind you, killed by the Reds—I got enough of those guys on my hands to last us both a lifetime if you want to exact a little revenge by killing a few.”
Beck watched me once she’d finished talking and I thought about her offer. After a few minutes I sat up. “You people fight different than I.”
“Weapons change, people change, goals change but war,” she shook her head slightly. “War never changes. I only had one mission with you and that was enough to show me that you could take anything thrown, shot or kicked at you, chew it up and spit it back out.”
I swung my feet off the bed and glanced around the room so I didn’t have to look at her. “I don’t want to fight anyone.
Sorry.”
Beck was silent for a minute. Then, “Piper, I hate to bring everything you might find painful back up—but you’re stuck here. So since I’m about to throw you out of my med-bay because, you know, I need it for people who have actually lost a limb or two, I’m going to lay out your options: You can either commit suicide or actually use all those awesome battle-smarts I know you have in your brain, stay alive, and, who knows, maybe even take out a few pesky Reds along the way.”
I told her to leave that day and the day after that when she tried yet again to get me to join her war. I ended up staying in my quarters most of the time, feeling more horrible every day when I remembered kissing Jericho the first time in the same room.
Most days I ended up pacing the small room trying not to think about Jericho being dead and being stuck, as Beck put it, in this frozen helheim of a place.
Then everything changed.
“Piper, is it?” I heard a man’s voice say one day and I gave a start, whirling around to see who was at my door.
“Who are you?” I asked curtly to the black-haired man entering my quarters.
“Archimedes,” he said. “Everyone calls me Arc due to Archimedes being a mouthful, though,” he added with a quick smile.
He spoke like Jericho, his accent not at all thick like everyone else at the Rebel base. “What is it you want, Archimedes?”
“Please, ma’am, call me Arc,” he said again, extending a hand to me, which I shook quickly before dropping it. Gods, but his hands were cold. “I’m a traveler of sorts. I don’t come this way often except to drop in on Beck from time to time and see how she’s doing. Since she knows that I spend most of my days combing what’s left of America looking for knowledge and remains of the past, Beck told me that I’d get a charge out of meeting you.”
“She told you everything?” I asked.
Nodding, his smile widened, “I’ve read your people hunted polar bears. Were you any good?”
I looked at him, not really knowing what to say to that. He was maybe a few years older than Jericho had been, his face unshaven and his black hair reaching his shoulders. He seemed kind enough.
“I killed everything I set out to.”
Laughing, he said, “I’m sure you did. Look, the only polar bears left are up around the Yukon—which isn’t where they were years ago—and they’re a lot bigger now. But has Beck at least taken you ice-spider hunting yet?”
The way he looked at me with hopeful eyes hanging on my every answer to his many questions was strange and I realized that Beck couldn’t have told him everything. If she had maybe this Arc would have left me alone.
“Listen, Archimedes-“ “Arc,” he corrected.
“Fine. Listen, Arc, I’m not really up to entertain you with stories about my past hunts. It was a pleasure.” I turned away then, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.
“I’ve lost someone, too,” Arc said suddenly, his voice quiet, and I froze.
“It never gets better,” he said. “You can be sorry as long as you want to and try to think what you could've done differently, but I've found the best way to cope is to do something you’re good at. Since I’m only good at digging through ruined cities that’s what I do and have been doing for the last eight years.”
I kept my eyes on the wall in front of me, my arms crossed tight. “And… it worked? You forgot about the person you loved?”
Arc was silent for a few seconds before admitting, “No. You’ll never forget. But I promise you’ll be able to do something with the rest of your life should you choose.”
After mulling the idea over in my head I made a decision.
“I’ll try it.”
“Good,” Arc said and I could positively hear the smile on his face. “Now, what are you good at, Piper?”
I turned, took one last look at my room, then walked past him to the door.
“Killing things.”
That same day Arc took me topside for my first ice-spider hunt which turned out to be quite a challenge—something I needed right about then. The weapons here are barbaric to me and after a month of fumbling with rifles and pistols in spider hunts and Rebel raids alongside Beck, Arc decided I needed weapons I was comfortable with.
“You two are insane,” Beck said, leaning against a concrete pillar while she watched Arc and I work the makeshift forge we had thrown together in one of the work areas below the base. “A guy with a gun beats half a chic with a sword any day of the week.”
“Says the liar,” I said, this being something Jericho had said a lot and I had adopted. Pulling the glowing sword out of the hot coals, I laid the blade on an iron desk and commenced to pounding on it with a hammer.
“It's not going to be your average sword, Beck,” I heard Arc try and explain to the frowning woman. “The blade is made from the armor of a Raptor-6 I scrapped-”
“So she'll die with a red bladed sword. What a consolation.
Thanks, Arc, I feel ever so much better now.”
“Lay off,” he said with a smile. “Once we're done it'll cut through any battle-armor out there so I'd show some respect.”
Beck snorted at that. “She still has to get close enough to use it—something that not a lot of assault-rifle toting men are keen on.”
I smiled to myself and kept pounding, stopping after a few swings to retie my blond hair that had managed to work itself out of the braid I'd put in it and obstruct my line of sight. “I'm way ahead of you,” Arc told her, crossing the large basement to the only other table in the spacious room that was covered with a black tarp. Beck followed him and when she was standing looking unimpressed beside him, he pulled the tarp off, revealing the armor beneath it.
Beck was suddenly impressed.
“Where did you find this in such amazing condition?” she asked, getting on her knees immediately for a closer inspection of the snow-white battle-armor. “The Ghost armor hasn't been manufactured in close to a-hundred years.”
Shrugging, Arc said, “Found it in D.C. last year.”
“Don't let his modesty fool you. He's crazy about that thing,” I said, sliding the red blade into the barrel of water on my left with a resounding hiss.
“Understandable,” Beck said. “Has he even told you what this thing can do?”
I shook my head while pulling the semi-hot sword out of the water and placing it on the iron table. “Anyone got a good whetstone?”
Beck stopped ogling the white battle-armor long enough to look at me like I'd just asked if she were a girl. “Really? A whetstone? Oh, for the love of-” she stood. “I'll help but don't think this is my stamp of approval because sharpening your toothpick isn't.”
“So you do have a whetstone?” I asked again.
“Oh, Piper,” Beck sighed when she picked up my red broadsword and turned it over in her hands. “You're so cute with your medieval talk.” Then she headed for the stairs. “You kids behave while mama's gone.”
When I pressed Arc about how she was going to sharpen my new sword he explained that
Beck would most likely use the laser-etch system that sharpens the blades on street mechs used to cut away ice. “She'll have to raise the settings some but I'm sure she'll do a good job. She doesn't want you to die, obviously,” he joked.
Winter had set in a few weeks after Arc had first shown up and he had decided to wait the eighty foot snow drifts out with the Rebels for the upcoming months. But just because he was waiting didn't mean he wasn't busy. Most all platoons that went topside over the course of that winter were accompanied by Arc, who could wield a rifle as good as any man. I was also part of the platoon and that's when Arc had came up with the idea of making my weapons.
“So what is so special about your suit?” I asked crossing to him and looking down at it.
“It's yours now. It was made for lightweight pilots, anyway,” he said, pointing to the chest piece. “Battle-armor has generally always bulky from the beginning but was also very good at keeping men alive due to the thickness. It was never really an issue for years because both sides that happened to be fighting also happened to be using thick, heavy battle-armor. It wasn't until the Ghost was created that things started changing in the industry.”
I laid a hand on the shock white armor. “Change how?” I asked whilst inspecting it.
“Ghosts were engineered to be light but just as strong as any armor out there. It took a while but the men working on it finally succeeded and made the model you're touching now. They're capable of withstanding whatever the big armors can and they're a lot faster, too. And check this out,” he said, lifting the right arm of the armor and hitting a few buttons on the small screen occupying the wrist.
Then the white armor vanished. “These were used in recon more than anything.”
“I've seen a Drago- uh...” I attempted.
“Dragonov,” Arc said, nodding. “Beck's father was without a doubt one of the greatest minds of the past century. His cloak design lasts longer than this older suit but you can still get a good two minutes or so out of it—maybe enough time to hide if you need to.”
“Or plan a good attack.”
“Or that,” he said, laughing. “Want to give it a try?”
“What, now?” Still laughing, he said shoved me softly, “No, yesterday.
Of course now.”
“Let's do this,” I said, stealing yet another thing I'd heard my precious Jericho say countless times.
Jericho.
There he was again.
It seemed no matter what I did or said he was always there.
But that's what I wanted or else I might forget him altogether.
That is what I wanted, was it not?
I was shaken from the thoughts of a dead love by the very much alive man who'd thrown himself into my life. “You okay?”
He must have seen my face. “I am, thanks.” “Piper,” he said, shocking me when he took my hand in his. “I'm not trying to butt into your life in the least. I confess that if you weren't here I would have left months ago—but I'm drawn to you because I know how you feel and I wish someone had been there for me when I was going through it.”
His hands weren't cold this time. “I understand,” was all I said and he let go of my hand and turned back to the Ghost.
“This isn't as user friendly as other armor where putting it on yourself is concerned. Here,” he punched more buttons and the chest, arms, legs and helmet opened on what looked like hinges with a small hiss. “It's a little more snug than the bigger ones but it'll feel about like real armor—which is what I'm hoping for you.”
I laid down in the open suit, wriggling around a little and making a face. “It smells odd.”
“You'll get used to that,” Arc said while starting on my legs. “It works in a sort of auto-tumble fashion and the legs and arms will close themselves if you push them in the right directions.”
I felt the suit legs and feet closed around my human ones.
“How's that feel?”
“Fine,” I said, holding up a leg and moving my armored foot around a little. “Feels real good, actually.”
In less than another minute, I was swinging my steel-clad feet to the concrete floor and standing. I was shocked when I saw that Arc was still taller than me. When I mentioned it he laughed and said, “Yeah, you only get a couple of inches out of this thing, sorry. But some of the most dangerous enemies are the ones we underestimate. Ready for the helmet?”
I took a deep breath and nodded before the mask lowered over my face. Since I come from what Beck had dubbed a medieval time I wasn't ready to see Arc standing right in front of me with no distorted vision on my part. Reaching up, I saw my gauntleted hands as I felt the mask piece. It was a smooth, white surface without any mouth or eye holes.
I saw Arc smile at me. “Do you want me to explain how you can see and breathe?”
“Maybe later,” I said, walking around and looking at my hands and feet while I did. After pacing around for a few minutes while rolling my shoulders, neck and flexing my hands I said, “Now what?”
“You've seen other suits before,” Arc said, leaning against the now empty table. “How about touching the ceiling for starters.”
I peered upward at the said ceiling—which was almost fifteen feet above us. I took yet another deep breath before crouching low and springing into the air and crashing hard into the stone ceiling, falling, and landing hard on my back.
Only it felt like someone had given me a friendly pat on the back instead of falling fifteen feet onto a hard floor. “Careful, Piper,” Arc chuckled, squatting beside me while I laid on my back. “That thing's more powerful than you think. Maybe next time with a little less oomph in your jump.”
So that's when Arc began my battle-suit training.
In a little over an hour I was confident with my new suit. In a little over a month I was flawlessly executing missions as well as enemies without so much as a scratch to my white armor. The only problem, or “kink”, as Arc called it, we ran into was that the first sword we had made broke after a few missions.
After going back to the drawing board Arc was finally able to construct an unbreakable blade for me to carry.
Except the final product turned out being over six feet long and weighed close to three-hundred pounds. “There's no way I can lift that thing,” I said, shaking my head while crossing my arms as I looked down at the large weapon Arc had just unveiled.
“It'll be a cinch in the suit to use,” he assured me.
“It's at least six inches wide at the base of the blade.”
“I know it's big, Piper, but after all the folds I had to do with the Raptor-6 alloy this is the best I could do. The sharpening job is of my own invention and, in theory, it shouldn’t ever get dull.”
“How?” I asked.
“Don’t ask,” he said with a small laugh. “Suffice it to say that it should actually sharpen itself the more its used as long as you’re cutting through the same or different versions of the alloy—theoretically.”
“You mean other suits,” I said.
“Exactly.”
It looked wonderful, really, even though the enormous broadsword looked befitting for a giant. The blade was now a dark red and had been honed to a very dangerous sharpness. “Where will it be if I'm not using it on a mission?” I asked, sliding my hand along the wide blade.
Arc pointed to my white armor that was being held up by two iron hooks in the middle of the basement workshop so he could tinker with it. “I'll show you.”
I crossed the room with him and he pointed to the new gadget he'd attached to the back. Since I wasn't sure what it looked like, I waited for him to explain it. “This is the granddaddy of all magnets,” he said. “I fashioned it so the blade of the broadsword would stick to this when not in use. Demagnetizing it is as simple as the touch of a button.”
“And you've tried it?”
Smiling, he said, “Not yet. Needed an extra hand to move the sword over here.”
With a great deal of effort, the two of u
s somehow managed to sort of drag the red broadsword to the suit and get it close enough to the magnet. I was shocked when we released it and the red blade instantly stuck to the eight by six inch piece on the back of the suit. The edges of the magnet were raised a good inch to keep the blade in place at a diagonal slant, allowing for me to get at the handle easily with my right hand and also helping me not to drag the blade due to it being so long. We had a few seconds to exchange triumphant smiles before one of the chains holding the battle-armor broke and the suit and sword ended up in a tangled mess on the floor.
I now remember the moment with a fondness somehow although I'm not sure Arc would share the same feeling. Eventually, though, after a few weeks of testing and retesting, Arc said that my armor and weapons were ready for combat.
“Weapons?” I said, frowning at him. “I thought there was only one.”
Smiling at me, he walked around from behind my once again hanging armor with a small pipe in his hands that was about a foot long. “I had this before the sword. Just wanted it to be a surprise.”
He held it out to me and I accepted the pipe. “What does it do?” I asked, turning it around in my hands. I found only one button in the center of it. Arc took a step back and told me to try the button.
Touching the small red dot with a thumb, I gasped when the small cylinder extended from both ends into...
“A spear?” I asked while glancing at both ends.
“Sort of,” Arc said, taking it back from me and pointing to one end. “Not only are both ends sharp and good for spearing but they also can emit massive amounts of electricity which are activated by a command key from the screen on your right wrist of the Ghost.”
He demonstrated. “Gods...” I mumbled while I watched him twirl the now crackling spear expertly around, blue and white shock tails following the spearheads through the air. Hitting the button in the center again, the spear snapped closed quickly and Arc held it back out to me. “Merry Christmas, Piper.”
That was two years ago.
I’ve changed since the day I lost Jericho. I’ll never be the same, that much is certain—but nowadays my new life has started to make more sense to me and I wonder now if I’m not here for a purpose.
Jericho once told me that by every natural law we shouldn’t have even met each—let alone fall in love—because we were from two different times. But after three years now I look back at all I’ve accomplished since I was stranded here and I’m beginning to think that this is truly where I belong.
I don’t know what’s in store for me on this frozen planet but I do know that I’ve come to love these people that call themselves the Rebels and as long as there is breath in my lungs and a beating heart in my chest I will use up the last of both to protect and defend them.
I could keep going and mention how I am now second in command of the Rebels and about how I’ve somehow been able to forget my past long enough to love again—something that I never thought possible.
But I think I’ve explained myself enough for now.
Beck will just have to take what she gets where this requested log is concerned.
BesidesI have a date.
This is Commander Piper of Ghost Squadron wishing you a merry Christmas.