Mercury Revolts: (Book Four of the Mercury Series) Read online

  The first plane arced right and the second arced left. Either jet had enough firepower to kill them all a thousand times over, so Suzy desperately hoped that Mercury wasn’t as big of an idiot as he seemed.

  “Eddie, defense!” Mercury yelled over the roar of the jets.

  “Got it,” said Eddie.

  “Don’t move, don’t do anything, understand?” Mercury said. “Just keep purple-head safe.”

  “I’m on it,” said Eddie. “Go!”

  “Go?” squeaked Suzy. “Where the hell is he…”

  But Mercury had already shot into the air, and was soaring directly toward the jet on the right.

  “You guys can fly?” asked Suzy, awed.

  “We’re angels,” said Eddie. “Of course we can fly.”

  The jet continued to roar toward them; Mercury looked like he was going to intercept it in about five seconds.

  “What’s he going to do when he gets there?” Suzy asked, getting to her feet.

  The jet’s machine guns fired again, and Mercury rolled to the right to evade the trails of fire and metal tearing through the sky.

  “I have no idea,” said Eddie. “Stay close. I need to make a protective bubble around us, and the bigger I have to make it, the weaker it is.”

  Suzy remained standing, transfixed by the sight of the tall man soaring through the sky toward the jet, his silvery hair glinting in the sunlight. This Mercury guy might have the mental capacity of a hyperactive teenage boy, but he had balls of steel. He remained on a collision course with the jet, and she felt the muscles tighten in her shoulders as she realized he wasn’t going to be able to get out of the way. The jet was going to hit him.

  Had that been his plan? Take out the jet by flying directly into it? If so, then Mercury’s bravery was outweighed by his stupidity. Even if he managed to take out one jet that way, what about the other? How was Eddie supposed to handle the other F-15 if he was guarding her? For a moment, she considered taking off at a run to free up Eddie to take on the other plane, but in the split second before Mercury collided with the plane, he suddenly pitched sharply, sliding along the F-15’s underside. Suzy exhaled and slumped down next to Eddie on the ground. The plane that Mercury narrowly missed continued on its course toward them, with the second plane close behind.

  “What was the point of that?” Suzy asked. “Is he just playing chicken with fighter jets for fun?”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, from what I’ve heard,” said Eddie. “But I don’t think so. Look!”

  The pilot had ejected from the plane. His chute deployed and he began to drift lazily to the ground, while the plane kept going. It roared overhead and disappeared behind the trees.

  Suzy peered after the plane. “Did he—” she started.

  “Keep your head down!” snapped Eddie. “Here comes the other one.”

  Plumes of dust erupted as the ground in front of them was pelted with bullets. She clamped her eyes shut and clutched tightly to Eddie as the gunfire bore down on them. Suzy had never prayed before, and she had never given much thought to the existence of miracles, but she was praying for one now.

  And then the bullets were hitting the ground on the other side of them. Suzy could hardly believe they hadn’t been hit.

  “You OK?” asked Eddie.

  “I think so,” Suzy replied. “How…”

  “I bent space around us a few inches,” said Eddie. “I can bend time too, but it takes too long.”

  Suzy felt something warm and wet on her thigh. She pulled away from Eddie, thinking she had lost control of her bladder in her terror, but then she saw a dark spot spreading rapidly across Eddie’s shirt.

  “You’re hit!” she cried.

  “Yeah,” he said glumly, as if he’d just scratched off a losing lottery ticket. “Bending space… it’s tricky.”

  “Can you fix it?”

  “Yes, but not… while I’m shielding us from… those bullets.”

  Suzy bit her lip, watching the blood spread across Eddie’s midsection. If angel biology was anything like human biology, he was going to lose consciousness in a matter of seconds. The jet had passed over and was now arcing back toward them. Mercury remained poised directly overhead, contorting his limbs in various strange configurations.

  “Um,” said Suzy, forgetting for a moment about Eddie’s condition. “What is he doing?”

  “Stretching, I think,” said Eddie quietly, staring placidly up at the sky. “It’s important to be… limber when you’re going… head-to-head with an F-15.”

  The jet was now bearing down on Mercury, a blaze of automatic weapon fire tearing through the air toward him. This time, though, Mercury didn’t remain in place. He shot upward into the clouds, disappearing from view. After a moment, the jet altered its course, dipping lower toward the ground. Its guns were now trained on Eddie and Suzy.

  “Where did he go?” asked Suzy urgently.

  But Eddie was beyond responding. His eyelids were fluttering, and his eyes had begun rolling back in his head.

  “DEFENSE!” shouted Suzy, slapping Eddie on the cheek.

  Eddie jerked awake, blinking in the sunlight.

  Gunfire tore up the ground, showering Eddie and Suzy with dirt and gravel, but once again Suzy was miraculously spared. The jet shot into the distance.

  Suzy regarded Eddie. His eyes were closed, and his head slumped to his chest. Blood was everywhere. Her understanding was that angels were immortal, so presumably he would somehow recover from this, but he wasn’t going to be much help in the near future. She was torn between her desire to help Eddie in any way she could and her instinct to get as far away from him as possible. Finally deciding that Eddie was beyond her help and that tactically it made more sense for them to split up, she got to her feet and started running. Maybe she could draw the F-15’s fire long enough for Eddie to recover. She’d probably get herself killed in the process, but there was no helping that.

  The plane was arcing back around once again, and she realized with mixed emotions that her plan was working: she’d successfully drawn the pilot away from Eddie; the plane was bearing down on her directly. She was running as fast as she could, but she might as well have been sitting still as far as the F-15 was concerned. Still, she wasn’t going down without a fight.

  Then she tripped on a root and fell sprawling to the ground. Dazed and panting, she rolled onto her back and watched as the jagged silvery shape of the plane grew steadily larger. At any moment those guns would open up, and she’d be done for.

  But as she watched, something shot down from the clouds past the plane, clipping its right wing and sending it into a spin. As it passed overhead, the spin slowed but the plane developed a bad wobble.

  Suzy jumped as something crashed through the foliage behind her, and she whipped around in time to see Mercury land on his back with a thud.

  “Oooowww,” He groaned. He turned his head to look at Suzy. “Hey, how’s it going?” he asked.

  “Um, OK,” she replied.

  “Where’s Eddie?”

  “Back that way. He got shot.”

  “But you’re OK?”

  “I think so.”

  “Cool.”

  The plane pitched upward, trying to gain some altitude, but the wobble was growing worse. Black smoke was pouring from its tail. It was pretty clear the plane was going to crash, but the pilot hadn’t ejected.

  “Ugh,” said Mercury, getting slowly to his feet. “Be right back.”

  He shot into the sky again, heading after the F-15. Soon they both disappeared behind the trees.

  After some time, Suzy became aware of a figure shambling toward her through the woods.

  “Eddie!” she cried. “You’re alive!”

  “Yeah,” he said, with his hand clamped over his belly. “I don’t seem to have much choice in the matter. Where’s Mercury?”

  “He’s…”

  But just then, Mercury appeared overhead, with a flight-suited figure slumped over his
shoulder. He touched down and lay the man out on the ground.

  “Is he alright?” Suzy asked.

  “Yeah, just unconscious. Took a knock when I winged him.” Mercury unstrapped the man’s helmet and face mask. “Earth to Maverick,” Mercury said, slapping the man lightly on the cheek. The pilot groaned and opened his eyes.

  “You OK?” asked Mercury.

  “Mmmm,” groaned the man.

  “Are you sure?” asked Mercury.

  “Yeah,” said the pilot. “I’m fine. Head hurts, but I’m fine.”

  “OK, good,” said Mercury, and slapped the man hard across the face. “That’s for firing on civilians, you ass-brained fucktard.” Mercury got to his feet. “Alright,” he said to Eddie and Suzy, “we should probably go before they send in the big guns.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Vermont; May 1775

  If the political situation in Revolutionary America was complicated by the intriguing of angels and demons, it was even more so by the bickering and rivalries going on in the colonies themselves. Lucifer, short-sighted as always, had done his best to inflame local prejudices, not realizing that this interference would make it difficult to unite the colonies in an all-out war against the British.

  Take, for example, the New England militia known as the Green Mountain Boys, which was founded by a farmer/philosopher/land speculator named Ethan Allen. When they weren’t at their day jobs, the Green Mountain Boys spent their time harassing and occasionally beating up land surveyors from New York. This was due to the British Crown granting New York authority over land that locals considered part of New Hampshire (now Vermont). New York’s governor insisted that the Vermonters pay for land that they had already purchased from New Hampshire, and the Vermonters were understandably resistant.

  It was only when news of the British firing on Americans at Lexington and Concord that the Green Mountain Boys realized they had a bigger problem than the New Yorkers. And even then, Ethan Allen took some convincing.

  “Don’t you see?” asked Mercury, sitting on Ethan Allen’s front porch. “It’s the British who are the problem here. Get rid of the British and you can settle your quarrel with New York on your own terms.”

  “I’ve got a few dozen men, all volunteers.” said Allen. “Stout men, who could undo a Redcoat’s buttons from 300 yards, but still, a small group. You want me to take on the British Empire with a few dozen men?”

  “Not the whole empire,” said Mercury. “I was thinking Ticonderoga.”

  “A fort in New York,” said Allen, grinning. “I like the way you think, Mr. Mercier.” Mercury had dropped the Lord Squigglebottom act in favor of posing as a Frenchman who had come to America to support the independence movement and seek adventure. He didn’t bother with affecting an accent; he figured he looked odd enough to pass for French in these parts without going overboard. He’d made some vague statements indicating that he had powerful friends back in France who would be sympathetic to the American cause.

  “It makes good strategic sense,” said Mercury. “If you hold Ticonderoga, you cut off communications between the northern and southern units of the British army. Also, it would be a good staging ground for an invasion of Quebec.” These were talking points he’d received from Uzziel, who presumably got them from somebody in Michelle’s organization. These days the Heavenly Army seemed to spend most of its time keeping track of troop movements in Europe and America; there was a lot going on. Mercury didn’t pay much attention to it; he just hoped he wasn’t spouting utter nonsense to Ethan Allen. “Just think,” he went on, “if you attack the fort now, the Brits will be taken completely by surprise. Ethan Allen would be forever known as the first great hero of the American Revolution.” This part Mercury had come up with on his own.

  Allen threw his head back and laughed. “Very good, Mr. Mercier. All right, let’s storm Ticonderoga. It’ll take a couple of days to get the guys ready. Maybe you can send word to your friends in France.”

  “Certainly,” replied Mercury. “They’ll be very excited to hear of your plans.”

  The two shook hands and Mercury left on another reconnaissance mission. He spent the next two days mostly in North Carolina and Virginia. Although war had not been declared, the scent of gunpowder was in the air after Lexington and Concord. Everywhere Mercury went, the inevitability of war seemed to be sinking in. The atmosphere was infused with a sort of melancholy excitement, like the lull before a storm. Everybody—Lucifer, Tiamat, and the powers-that-be in Heaven—were going to get what they wanted. That was good news, Mercury supposed, although he wasn’t particularly excited about having to go through another war. Having been around almost since the beginning of human civilization, he’d seen more than enough wars. The good news was that once war officially broke out, this assignment would be over and he could finally take some time off. He had nearly eighty years of vacation time saved up, and he planned to take it as soon as he could away from this backwater continent.

  By the time he returned to Vermont, the Green Mountain Boys had assembled and were nearly ready to march on Ticonderoga.

  “Mr. Mercier!” cried Ethan Allen, upon seeing him. “You almost missed the excitement! You are coming along, aren’t you?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” said Mercury, trying his best to express enthusiasm. “I love killing people over real estate.”

  The next morning they were trudging through the woods toward the mouth of Lake Champlain, and a week later they were in the town of Castleton, awaiting supplies and reinforcements. Ethan Allen had just called a war council of his officers in the town square when several men came galloping up horses. Mercury and the other men jumped to their feet, ready to square off against the newcomers, but it was clear from their clothing the men weren’t Brits.

  The leader, wearing the insignia of a colonel of the Continental Army, pulled up short. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with an angular nose and small, piercing eyes. Mercury felt his gut tighten when he saw him. He’d seen this young colonel before, dressed in civilian clothes and drinking beer in an upper room in Boston.

  “Greetings, gentlemen,” said the man, handing the reins of his horse to an underling and stepping toward the assembly. “I am Benedict Arnold of the Continental Army. I’ve been empowered by the Massachusetts Committee of Safety to seize Fort Ticonderoga from the British.”

  Mercury edged backwards, trying his best to look inconspicuous.

  “What, you and a dozen men?” cried Ethan Allen, regarding the small group on horseback.

  “The rest of my contingent is back at the Massachusetts border,” said Arnold. “We received word that your little band was planning an assault on Ticonderoga, and I came as quickly as I could. I’m afraid that I must insist that you delay your attack until my men arrive.”

  The entire assembly of Ethan Allen’s men broke into laughter, Allen included. When he recovered, he clapped his hand on Arnold’s shoulder and said, “I’m sorry, Colonel. You’re completely right. As an officer of the Continental Army, you outrank me.” He turned toward his officers. “Men, you heard Colonel Arnold. He’s in charge now. Do whatever he tells you to do, alright? If he tells you to sit on your asses for a week so that his sorry collection of Massachusetts shopkeepers can catch up, you do that. Understood?”

  “Understood, sir!” shouted several of the men in near-unison.

  Allen sunk to one knee, removing his hat. “Kind sir,” he said with mock pathos, “I would be honored if you would retain me as a member of your staff, perhaps as your official boot washer. But far be it from me to presume to usurp the judgment of a colonel of the Continental Army!” He drew a massive hunting knife from a sheath at his belt, and several of Arnold’s men gasped in surprise or terror. But he then proceeded to hold the blade against his own neck. “Say the word, my colonel, and I shall slice my own head clear off and serve it to you on a platter. Although, now that I think about it, I should probably prepare the platter first, as I may not be in a position to garnish i
t properly after I’ve severed my own head. Men, find Colonel Arnold a platter!”

  Hoots and catcalls rose from the group. “Tell him to get his own fucking platter!” shouted one of the men.

  Ethan Allen sheathed the knife and got to his feet, putting his fists on his hips in feigned indignation. “Gentlemen, perhaps you didn’t hear me,” he growled. “I said that Colonel Benedict Arnold is now in charge of the Green Mountain Boys. Now say it back to me. Who is your leader?”

  “ETHAN ALLEN!” howled the men without a moment’s hesitation.

  A smirk creeping across his face, Allen turned to Benedict Arnold, who was turning red with anger. “Sorry,” Allen said, holding up his hands. “Nothing I can do. They won’t submit to anyone else’s authority. So,” he said, his voice hardening, “I’m afraid I must insist you butt out of our business. Once we’ve taken Ticonderoga, you can try to take it from us, if you like—assuming your men ever show up.”

  “All right,” said Arnold, who was fighting to remain calm. “We’re all on the same side here. If you insist—that is, if you choose to press forward before the rest of my contingent arrives, then I certainly won’t try to stop you. All that I would ask”—this clearly pained him to say—“is that you allow me and my men to accompany you in a support capacity.”

  Ethan Allen grinned broadly. “The more, the merrier,” he said. Then, more quietly, “Just stay out of our way.” He then turned back to his officers and launched into his tactical plan for the attack. Arnold and his men tied up their horses and joined the meeting. Mercury managed to slip away without Arnold getting a good look at him—or so he thought.

  He observed the meeting from a distance, and it appeared that after their initial rocky start, Allen and Arnold were at least going to be able to cooperate on the assault without killing each other in the process. It was hard to say whether the small band of men—they now had just under a hundred, including Arnold’s—would actually be able to take the fort from the British, but if not, the remainder of Arnold’s contingent could probably finish the job in a few days. Mercury figured he’d done as much as he could to stoke the fires of war, and decided to slip away before Allen noticed he was gone.