One Breath, One Bullet(The Borders War book 1) by S. A. McAuley Page A
Authors: S. A. McAuley
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lock and then the tumbling of pins as the bolt slid open. We passed through a thick metal door that clanged shut behind us.
I didn’t bother to fill the increasing tension in the air with idle conversation. My passive acceptance had the effect of setting them all on edge. The guard in the lead, a sergeant by the pin affixed to his left shoulder, kept turning around to check on me and ensure I was still there. My footsteps made no noise, despite the heavy work boots I wore. My silence had to be unnerving in this cramped space. Every small noise was amplified because the sounds of normal life and the arena were conspicuously absent, and yet my movement was soundless.
We turned off the main branch into a side tunnel with pipes running the length of the coved ceiling. I had to duck to enter the tunnel and remained hunched as we moved further into the darkness. The tubes vibrated with the sound of the remnants from sonicbullets. When a sonicbullet hit a target, a residual energy continued on past whatever was struck. That double-tap feature was part of the reason they were so effective. One sonicbullet had the capacity to kill a person and then pass through to another, maiming or killing them if the shot landed in a vulnerable enough spot. So a catch device had been set up at the back of the arena to filter the residual energy from the bullets into the pipes. Where the bullets went from there, and how they were eventually dispersed, was a mystery that I didn’t want to know the answer to.
I catalogued each of the guards, noting the way they carried themselves, and which ones appeared stronger than others. The soldier behind me and to the left was the most likely to take the first shot at me. He was significantly bigger than the rest, almost taller than me, with a more senior rank than the other guards and a glower that hadn’t left his face since they’d escorted me out of the arena. He was the one I needed to keep an eye out for. I wasn’t planning on fighting back, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try to position myself for them to do the least amount of damage.
Each of the guards wore the insignia of the States on their upper left arm, but the apparent decoration was function not form. The insignias doubled as personal shields, protecting the wearer from being struck by a sonicbullet. But the personal shields had one inherent weakness—it had been so long since real bullets were last used for protection or combat that the shields weren’t able to deflect them.
It was this fatal flaw that the Olympic Committee, led by and stocked with Opposition leaders, was counting on me to exploit to assassinate the President.
We stopped under a pool of light where the tunnel opened up into an area that was just large enough for me to stand at my full height—just over two metres. Sonicbullets whizzed through the pipes above my head. The competitors in the rifle event were probably running through their final practice before the opening ceremonies.
“I’m sorry, Colonel,” the soldier in front of me said, using my military title as if we were familiar with each other.
Which meant one thing—I’d earned the highest rank possible for a non-commissioned soldier in my time as a Peacemaker and I was about to be beaten by a soldier who knew who I was. I didn’t recognise his face or voice. He would have had to have been an exceptional soldier for me to remember him, and there were few who accomplished that.
“We have no choice. Following orders,” the sergeant said with a twinge of regret in his voice. I would have almost believed him if I couldn’t see his fists clenching and unclenching in anticipation.
Was he really trying to explain his actions to me? Orders, I scoffed in my thoughts and gave an audible noise to illustrate my scepticism. As Peacemakers we were taught to listen and obey without thought. But the best soldiers took in the words of their superiors, kept the end goal in mind and discerned the
I didn’t bother to fill the increasing tension in the air with idle conversation. My passive acceptance had the effect of setting them all on edge. The guard in the lead, a sergeant by the pin affixed to his left shoulder, kept turning around to check on me and ensure I was still there. My footsteps made no noise, despite the heavy work boots I wore. My silence had to be unnerving in this cramped space. Every small noise was amplified because the sounds of normal life and the arena were conspicuously absent, and yet my movement was soundless.
We turned off the main branch into a side tunnel with pipes running the length of the coved ceiling. I had to duck to enter the tunnel and remained hunched as we moved further into the darkness. The tubes vibrated with the sound of the remnants from sonicbullets. When a sonicbullet hit a target, a residual energy continued on past whatever was struck. That double-tap feature was part of the reason they were so effective. One sonicbullet had the capacity to kill a person and then pass through to another, maiming or killing them if the shot landed in a vulnerable enough spot. So a catch device had been set up at the back of the arena to filter the residual energy from the bullets into the pipes. Where the bullets went from there, and how they were eventually dispersed, was a mystery that I didn’t want to know the answer to.
I catalogued each of the guards, noting the way they carried themselves, and which ones appeared stronger than others. The soldier behind me and to the left was the most likely to take the first shot at me. He was significantly bigger than the rest, almost taller than me, with a more senior rank than the other guards and a glower that hadn’t left his face since they’d escorted me out of the arena. He was the one I needed to keep an eye out for. I wasn’t planning on fighting back, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try to position myself for them to do the least amount of damage.
Each of the guards wore the insignia of the States on their upper left arm, but the apparent decoration was function not form. The insignias doubled as personal shields, protecting the wearer from being struck by a sonicbullet. But the personal shields had one inherent weakness—it had been so long since real bullets were last used for protection or combat that the shields weren’t able to deflect them.
It was this fatal flaw that the Olympic Committee, led by and stocked with Opposition leaders, was counting on me to exploit to assassinate the President.
We stopped under a pool of light where the tunnel opened up into an area that was just large enough for me to stand at my full height—just over two metres. Sonicbullets whizzed through the pipes above my head. The competitors in the rifle event were probably running through their final practice before the opening ceremonies.
“I’m sorry, Colonel,” the soldier in front of me said, using my military title as if we were familiar with each other.
Which meant one thing—I’d earned the highest rank possible for a non-commissioned soldier in my time as a Peacemaker and I was about to be beaten by a soldier who knew who I was. I didn’t recognise his face or voice. He would have had to have been an exceptional soldier for me to remember him, and there were few who accomplished that.
“We have no choice. Following orders,” the sergeant said with a twinge of regret in his voice. I would have almost believed him if I couldn’t see his fists clenching and unclenching in anticipation.
Was he really trying to explain his actions to me? Orders, I scoffed in my thoughts and gave an audible noise to illustrate my scepticism. As Peacemakers we were taught to listen and obey without thought. But the best soldiers took in the words of their superiors, kept the end goal in mind and discerned the
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