“That’s good news, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, how about you? We heard you encountered some Cazador vessels.”
“We discovered something terrible on board,” Katrina said. “These cannibalistic bastards were returning from a trip where they found a bunker of survivors.”
More survivors? Michael thought. After all the years in the sky, never finding anyone on the surface, it had seemed almost unthinkable that the Cazadores were out there. And now there were even more people?
“The Cazadores are worse than I thought,” Katrina said, speaking faster, clearly more agitated. “They have been eating these people, piece by piece.”
Layla put a hand to her mouth, covering her lips to hold back a gasp.
The rest of the crew remained silent, taking in the gruesome news better than Michael had expected.
“We did find supplies on this ship to help nurse the survivors back to health,” Katrina said. “Some are even in good enough shape to help us.”
“Help us do what, exactly?” Les asked.
“Fight.” Katrina paused. “I’ve made a decision.”
Michael braced himself for the rest.
“After seeing what I have here, I’ve decided we aren’t going to give el Pulpo a chance to surrender. We will attack him and end his miserable, murdering existence.”
Layla looked over at Michael, clearly concerned. But he actually liked the idea. If they attacked the Cazadores without warning, it could give them a chance to save lives.
“Cut the head off the snake, and the body will die,” he said.
“I’m also changing the rendezvous point,” Katrina said. “I want the Hive and Deliverance to come to our location. It’s a green zone.”
“What’s your plan once we get there?” Les asked.
“We’ll transfer all noncritical personnel to the container ship. Then we will fly the Hive and Deliverance to the Metal Islands. Militia soldiers, dressed in Cazador armor, will sail on a fishing trawler we have captured, and I will attack in the USS Zion.”
Michael liked that idea, too. It gave them more options and the element of surprise.
“We don’t have the defectors,” Katrina said, “but we have more ships and more people than before. I’ll send the coordinates over shortly. Until I see you all again, good luck and Godspeed.”
“You, too, Captain,” Les said.
“Ensign White, plot a new course,” Michael said. “And make sure you’ve got the radar searching the ocean for any other ships—just in case we stumble upon the defectors.”
“You got it, Commander.”
Michael watched the team go to work and then drew in a breath, preparing himself for what came next.
“If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the medical bay,” he said. “Timothy, I’ll need your help. You, too, Layla.”
“Hold up,” Les said.
Michael walked with the lieutenant to the front of the bridge. Layla joined them near the main monitor, which still showed a view of Red Sphere below.
“There’s something I think we should do before leaving,” Les said.
“And what’s that?” Michael asked.
Les jerked his head at the screen. “I think we should take it out.”
“Take it out?” Layla asked.
“Nuke it from above,” Les replied. “There’s nothing left down there that is not evil.”
“I’m good with that,” Michael said.
Layla thought on it and then nodded. “Me, too.”
Michael walked off the bridge, contemplating the orders. He had never liked having the nukes on board and hated what they represented. But dropping one on Red Sphere seemed the right thing to do.
He grabbed Layla’s hand as they walked down the passage toward the medical ward, leaving the officers to carry out the task.
The battle for the Metal Islands was quickly approaching, and without question there would be blood. He needed to be ready to fight.
Magnolia hadn’t slept since arriving back at the capitol tower. She waited at her window, breathing the salty breeze, searching the sky for airships, and whispering something she had never thought she would say.
“Please, don’t come.”
She could barely believe she was saying this, but life in the sky was better than life in cages, and there was no telling what el Pulpo would do to her people.
Myriad lights flickered across the surface of the ocean, like the reflection of the star-filled sky. Only these weren’t stars. They were boats. More of them on the open water than usual. Some looked like fishing vessels; others were larger yachts. All of them seemed to be heading toward an armada forming in the distance.
A horn pierced the quiet, and bells chimed in the distance, shattering the stillness and waking people below and above her in the tower. Lights in the rooms flicked on, and residents opened their windows to see what was happening.
One by one, torches flickered to life on the docks below. There were people down there. More than normal. In the glow of the flames, she saw that these weren’t just servants and dockhands. There were soldiers—dozens of them, wearing armor and carrying weapons.
Something was afoot.
She tried to get a better view by leaning out of the window. The Sea Wolf was docked below, right where they had moored it after her journey earlier in the evening. But it wasn’t alone.
The entrance to the underwater marina had opened to release a black boat with a long, narrow platform and planing hull. A spike the length of a man jutted like a spear off the pointed bow.
The long, sleek hull was unlike that of any other vessel she had seen in her captivity. Even from above, she could see the gleaming surface and the image of a purple octopus painted on the bow. Some sort of machine gun was mounted just over the image.
Aft of the bow was an enclosed turret with two gun barrels pointed skyward. Amidships, a glass windscreen surrounded the single cabin and several seats.
Two men stood at the helm, carefully guiding the craft out of the marina. Equipped with three powerful engines and a row of exhaust mufflers on the back, the boat looked as if it were heading out to a race.
But Magnolia knew better. This was no race boat; it was a war boat.
She looked closer, not wanting to believe what she was seeing. From each side of the bow hung nets filled with human bones, and two skulls rode proudly atop the windshield posts.
It was obvious this vessel belonged to Lord Pulpo. The sick bastard was parading the remains of his enemies, for all to see.
Smoke coughed from the twin stacks as the boat maneuvered alongside the torch-lit dock. The soldiers standing there cheered and beat their chests.
Three more black vessels left the storage marina, and the warriors threw up their fists, chanting “¡El Pulpo!” over and over.
Each of the new boats was also fitted with a machine-gun turret and had a sharp ram jutting from the prow. But unlike the first vessel, these didn’t have fancy paint jobs. Rusted armor covered the hulls, and the gunwales were festooned with razor wire.
All across the tower, people opened their windows or came out on their balconies. Unlike the soldiers, these Cazadores weren’t cheering. They watched the ships in silence.
The dockhands worked quickly to fill the vessels with supplies. The light from the torches captured several scribes waiting with their hands clasped behind their robes. They brought their hands out and formed a pyramid as a group of soldiers knelt before them, their armored helmets bowed. Were they praying?
These men were preparing for battle, and it wasn’t hard to guess who the enemy was. Her friends were coming.