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The memory comes back to me in sharp focus. The design of the Colonies jets looks different, with their strange, forward-swept wings, but at the end of the day they’re still just machines. And this time, I’m not working alone. I’ve got the Republic’s support. Most importantly, I’ve got their explosives.
“Ready to make your move?” I whisper to Pascao. “Got your bombs?”
“You think I’d forget to bring bombs? You should know me better than that.” Pascao’s voice turns taunting. “Day—no bull this time. Got it, pretty boy? If you suddenly think you wanna go rogue, you sure as hell better tell me first. Then at least I’ll have time to sock you in the face.”
I smile a little at the jab. “Yes, sir.”
Our outfits blend us into the shadows. We creep forward without a sound, until we’re past the short distance where the Armor’s guns could protect us from the ground. Now we’re out of range, and the Colonies’ makeshift airfield looks within reach. Their soldiers stand guard along the edges of the field. Not far away are a couple rows of tanks. Their airships might not be here, but there sure as hell are enough war machines to start up another battle.
Pascao and I crouch behind a pile of rubble near the airfield. All I can see in this light is his silhouette. He nods his head once before whispering something into his mike.
We wait for a few tense seconds. Then the JumboTrons that line the outer edges of the Armor light up in unison. Displayed across the screens is a Republic flag, and over the city’s loudspeakers, the pledge blares out across the night. The whole thing looks exactly like one of the Republic’s typical propaganda reels—the JumboTrons start displaying generic videos of patriotic soldiers and civilians, war victories and prosperous streets. At the airfield, the soldiers’ attention shifts to the JumboTrons’ feed. At first they look alert and wary, but as the reel continues for a few seconds longer, the Colonies soldiers relax.
Good. They think the Republic’s just broadcasting morale-boosting video. Nothing weird enough to put the Colonies on high alert, but something entertaining enough to hold their interest. I pick out an area where the soldiers are all watching the JumboTrons, then nod at Pascao. He motions at me. My turn to head out.
I squint harder to see where I can squeeze onto the airfield. There are four Colonies soldiers here, all of them focused on the broadcast; a soldier dressed like a pilot is the farthest away and has his back to me, and from here it looks like he’s making fun of the broadcast with a pal of his. I wait until all of the guards are looking away from where I am. Then I scamper over the edge without a sound and hide behind the closest jet’s back landing wheel. I tuck myself into a tight ball, letting my black outfit blend me in with the shadows.
One of the guards looks casually over his shoulder toward the jet. When he doesn’t see anything interesting, though, he returns to surveying the Armor.
I wait for a few more seconds. Then I adjust my backpack and climb up inside the jet’s exhaust nozzle. My heart pounds with anticipation at the déjà vu this gives me. I waste no time now—I pull a small metal cube out of my pack and attach it firmly to the inside of the nozzle. Its display panel gives off a very faint red glow, so dim I can barely see it. I make sure it’s secure, and then shift to the edge of the nozzle. We won’t have much longer before the guards lose interest in our little propaganda distraction. When the coast’s clear, I hop out of the nozzle. My cushioned boots land without a sound. I melt back into the shadows cast by the jet’s landing gear, watch for guards, and move to the next row of jets. Pascao should be doing the exact same work on the other side of the field. If this all goes down as planned, then one explosive per row should do plenty of damage.
By the time I make my way to the third row of jets and finish my work there, I’m soaked in sweat. Off in the distance, the JumboTrons’ propaganda keeps running, but I can tell that some of the guards have already lost interest. Time to get out of here. I lower myself silently toward the ground again, dangle there in the shadows, and then pick the right moment to drop and rush toward the darkness.
Except it wasn’t really the right moment. One of my hands slips and the metal edge of the exhaust nozzle slices my palm open. My weakened body doesn’t land perfectly—I let out a grunt of pain and move too slowly into the landing gear’s shadows. A guard spots me. Before I can stop him, his eyes widen and he lifts his gun at me.
He hasn’t even had a chance to shout out when a shining knife comes flying out of the darkness and sinks itself in the soldier’s neck. I watch for an instant, horrified. Pascao. I know it was him, saving my ass while drawing attention to himself. Already a couple of shouts have gone up on the other side of the airfield. He’s pulling their focus away from me. I seize the opportunity, racing into the relative safety of the land outside the airfield.
I click my mike on and call Pascao. “Are you safe?” I whisper urgently.
“Safe as you, pretty boy,” he hisses back, the sounds of heavy breathing and footsteps loud in my earpiece. “Just got out of the airfield’s range. Give Frankie the okay—I gotta shake two more off my tail.” He hangs up.
I contact Frankie. “We’re ready,” I tell her. “Let ’em go.”
“You got it,” Frankie answers. The JumboTrons suddenly stop their reel and go dark—the sound blasting across the city cuts short, plunging us all into an eerie silence. Colonies soldiers who’d probably been pursuing Pascao now look up at the blank JumboTrons in bewilderment, along with the others.
