Chapter 13
Colonel Zack stepped into the communication centre. Hastily set up in the backroom of a baker's shop, a few streets from the city walls, the equipment had been dumped on and around the ovens. Pale faced radio operators sat perched on stools, one hand clasping the receiver to their ear, the other scribbling furiously on notepaper. Even with the door shut, they had to shout to make themselves heard over the booming guns. A fine shower of dust descended on them with every salvo, as the glass rattled in the windowpanes.
Resting his Buster Sword against the door post, Zack attracted the attention of the nearest guard.
"Hey, gimme your water bottle," Zack ordered. The guard handed the bottle over without a word. Zack took a deep draught and handed it back to the guard with a nod of thanks. A prim medic bustled over; horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.
"Colonel, do you require medical attention?" he asked, eyeing Zack's bloodstained uniform.
"Nah, this is someone else's," Zack replied, attempting to brush the worst of it off. The medic nodded sharply and moved away.
"How… how bad is it, sir?" the guard asked. Zack glanced at him. The guard's uniform was still clean and smart; he clearly hadn't been sent to the front.
"I won't lie to you, kid: it's bad," Zack said. He fixed the guard with a firm stare.
"But we went through worse in the war," he said with practised stoicism, "We're still a long way from beat yet"
The guard gave an unsure nod, then asked:
"Is it true, sir, about General Beatrix? They say…"
"Yeah, she's dead," said Zack grimly, "And Colonel Steiner, too. It's true: I saw it happen."
The guard turned pale. Zack could see the man's fingers tightening on his rifle.
"Like I said though, we're a long way from beat yet," Zack repeated, "We're keeping those bastard Heartless at arm's length, at least. They're not getting past our artillery."
Which was true enough, Zack reflected. True for the moment. The retreat had been swiftly executed and with an acceptable number of casualties. As soon as the last unit was close enough, General Caraway had ordered the city guns to open a full-scale bombardment. The relentless gunfire had created an effective no-man's land between the plains and the causeway. Even when the snows had begun to fall, hiding the plains from view, the guns continued firing into the storm. A few Heartless made it to the walls, but they were easily repelled. Not that this stopped them from advancing.
Zack was still running on adrenaline but he knew, in the back of his mind, that this day would haunt him for years to come. War was nothing new to him, but he had never faced such an implacable foe before. They did not seem to feel pain, or remorse, or concern; even for their fellows. They just carried on, moving and attacking with a singular, mindless urge that was not even animal. Perhaps they are truly heartless, Zack thought.
"Sir," a radio operator's voice brought Zack back into the present, "New orders from HQ, sir."
Zack took the proffered note. Decoded, it read:
'Situation critical. Civilians in imminent danger. All non-combatants to be evacuated to castle without delay.'
Zack signalled to one of the runners waiting by the door.
"Take this to Major Laguna," he ordered, handing the note to the runner, "Tell him to pass it on."
The runner saluted and sprinted out into the street.
Deep beneath the castle, Xehanort approached the central computer terminal. Reaching into his lab coat, he produced a disc shimmering with blue light. As the other apprentices looked on, he stepped forward and slotted the disc into the drive. He tapped out a short command sequence on the keyboard. A synthesised voice spoke from the computer:
"Master Control Programme installation complete. All Radiant Garden Operating System functions appropriated."
Xehanort tapped out another command sequence. The computer spoke again:
"Command acknowledged. Deactivating town defences."
Down in the communication centre, everyone froze. Blank, uncomprehending faces turned to the windows. Even the noise of the guns could not mask that heavy rumbling of metal being dragged across stone. Then, suddenly, all was chaos. The radio operators scrabbled for their notebooks as every officer radioed in with the same question:
'Why had the gates opened?'
Zack seized his Buster Sword and rushed into the streets. Up on the walls some of the gunners had stopped firing. Others were running towards the gate to see what had happened. Then Zack heard the screams. Thinking quickly, he seized hold of the nearest lamppost and clambered up. Brushing the snow out of his eyes, he looked south towards the gate. The stone gatehouse seemed to be burning with green fire. Tiny stick-figure men were diving from the ramparts to escape the flames.
The gates had fallen. The enemy was within the walls.
Zack felt the blood pumping in his temple. Something had gone wrong; someone had betrayed them. He leapt down onto the street and seized a passing corporal by the arm.
"You, solider, hold up!" he shouted. He reached up and tore the colonel's insignia from his shoulder.
"Here, take this to Major Laguna. Tell him he's been promoted. His first priority must be to get the civilians into the castle. Got that? Now go!"
The corporal stood open-mouthed.
"But… sir," he began, but Zack was already sprinting down the street.
He knew of only one person in the entire city that had the authority to override the security codes placed on the gates: only one person who could have betrayed them. Zack had to find him and stop him, before everything was lost. He had to stop Ansem.
It was cold when Vincent Valentine woke. He was lying, naked, on bare stone. His flesh burned to touch it. Slowly, he raised his head and tried to look around. He was in total darkness.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, he pressed his hands against the floor and lifted his body up. He screamed and collapsed back. It had happened almost too quickly to be aware of it. As he had raised his head, something seemed to take control of his body, only to retreat a heartbeat later. He could feel it now, sitting in his chest. It was very cold, colder than the stone he lay upon, and unsettling. It was like another mind: alien and jealous.
Carefully, wary of the strange presence in his chest, Vincent tried to raise his head again. The thing moved but this time Vincent was ready for it. He fought it, willing with all his might to keep that horrible controlling influence out of his mind. His chest tightened with the effort. His breath came only in gasps. The thing fought back, so cold that it seemed to burn inside him. Then, all of a sudden, the presence fell back. Vincent could still feel it lurking inside him, somewhere in his breast, but for now he was master.
Looking around, Vincent was surprised how well he could see. His night vision has always been good but at that moment it seemed phenomenal. There was no light that Vincent could see, and yet he was convinced he could make out the contours of a rocky wall ahead of him. Half-walking, half-crawling, he approached the apparition. He reached out with a tentative hand. His vision was true: it was indeed a rock wall.
Vincent cast his eye over his surroundings. He appeared to be on a wide ledge. To his right was a sheer drop that descended out of sight. Ahead and on his left was a path of rough steps, so steep as to be more like a ladder than a stairway. On all other side there was void.
Seeing no other alternative, Vincent began to climb. To his surprise, he found his body to be strong and agile. He climbed swiftly, despite the cold and the steep ascent. At the top was a long tunnel that led Vincent into a warren of dark rock. As he advanced, Vincent realised that he was beneath the castle. He had explored some of these caves before.
'They must have left me here after they had finished with me,' Vincent thought.
He tried to remember what had happened in Ansem's laboratory. He remembered being struck on the head. After that, everything was vague. There was pain: a great deal of pain, the like of which he had never experienced. If they had been torturing him, he could not remember being asked any questions. Only pale faces, hidden in shadow, and white hands wielding strange metal instruments.
Vincent paused. The tunnel to his right had been worked with tools, and quite recently too. He could see where the lasers had cut to make it wider and higher. Turning round, he followed it. The tunnel began to climb gently, leading him higher and higher. At length, after many twists and turns, Vincent found himself at the foot of a spiral staircase, half-concealed behind a giant stalagmite. The steps were dusty; they had not been used for some time.
It was a long climb but to his surprise, Vincent still did not feel either hungry or fatigued. After maybe half an hour, he came up against a blank wall. It was a bare, featureless slab of stone but it did not take long for Vincent's trained eye to discover the release switch.
As the wall slid aside, light poured into the stairwell. For a moment, Vincent thought he had been shot, so great was the pain to his eyes. His legs shook. He swayed back, almost plunging headfirst down the stairs. Throwing himself forward, he stumbled into the room beyond. He struck something hard and metal and fell onto the floor with an almighty crash.
When his eyes had readjusted to the daylight, Vincent discovered that he was not, as he had expected, in the laboratory. This stairway had taken him into a bedroom of white marble, richly and tastefully decorated in dark red hangings. The furniture and king sized bed were of oak. Standing up, Vincent could see that he had accidentally toppled a suit of armour that had stood in front of the secret passage. It was an old design, made in brightly polished brass.
Vincent, using his detective's eye, quickly realised that someone (presumably the room's occupant) had left it in a great hurry. The wardrobe was wide open. The chest at the foot of the bed was likewise open. Lying on the bed was a long case of polished wood. Inside was a long, three-barrelled pistol. Although it was clearly one of a pair, its twin was missing. Cartridges of ammunition lay strewn across the bed.
Vincent now turned to the high, narrow window. From the view outside, Vincent deduced he was somewhere low down in the castle, possibly near the gate. Snow was falling on the city below. It was heavy but not so heavy to hide the flashes of gunfire, nor the streaming lines of soldiers on the city walls. It seemed to Vincent that the night sky had traded places with the land, and that the vastness of the heavens surrounded the city on all sides, twinkling with countless yellow stars.
Vincent stepped back from the window. The people had to be warned. They had to know what was going on in the castle: what sat beneath their very refuge. For a moment he thought of taking the pistol that lay upon the bed and descending to the laboratory again. After a moment's hesitation, he decided against it. He would need help.
His basic plan formed, Vincent equipped himself as best as he was able. From the wardrobe he took a suit of plain black leathers, and a blood red cloak against the cold. On his feet he placed the pointed boots from the suit of armour. He tried to wear the clawed gauntlets too, but found that they could not hold the pistol, so took only the left handed one. Thrusting the three-barrelled pistol into his belt, and pocketing as many cartridges as he could, he advanced cautiously out of the door and into the castle.
Hey, sorry there wasn't much action. This is a bit of a bridging chapter to get the characters where I need them for later. Reviews, as ever, are very welcome.