circle amid the green, a low, brick structure rising out of it.
‘Castle Clinton,’ Cormack answered in his earbud. ‘Old harbor fort from back in the day. It’s a national park monument now. The Statue of Liberty ticket counter is in there.’
Harlequin let his eyes sweep the park and surrounding buildings once more. For all the chaos of the refugee stream, there was no smoke, no explosions, no sign of any enemy.
So far.
He gestured at the old fort beneath them. ‘That’ll be HQ. Set down and get it cleared. The rest of you, stay with me. I want to get a look at the fight.’
He put on speed and flew out over the park as Cormack’s Blackhawk peeled off and began to descend toward the castle. The other Blackhawk stayed with him, the door gunners watching warily as the wall of smoke rose to meet them.
They pushed out over the edge of the park and into stark reality.
Lower Manhattan had been sliced off by hastily erected cordons. Harlequin could just make out distant haphazard barricades assembled from parked police cruisers, National Guard Humvees, even stacks of tires and spare coils of razor wire. He put on speed, the blocks blurring beneath him. Closer up, he could see that police manned the barricades at each intersection, augmented by the sliver of national guardsmen who were in the city when the breach opened, choking off the major arteries north. An M1 Abrams tank had either fought its way through or been at one of the armories. It was drawn lengthwise across Broadway, flipped on its side and burning brightly.
The roofs of the buildings all along the Bowery were clustered with snipers. Harlequin could see gun barrels pointing out of apartment windows where spotters and shooters had taken up position. Two Apache helicopter gunships circled impotently, holding fire as the civilians continued to stream beneath them, making toward the bridges and tunnels and the promise of a way off the island.
The ground just south of the barricades was invisible beneath a seething mass. Goblins surged over abandoned cars, threw themselves against the locked doors of apartment buildings. Many of the towering structures were on fire, and Harlequin could see a squadron of wolfriders come pouring out of a storefront, shaking shattered glass from their shoulders. One of the riders whooped, waving a spear, a dozen diamond tennis bracelets and wristwatches ringing the shaft. His mount had a dress in its mouth.
Not all the goblins were intent on raiding. A few were taking cover behind building corners, shooting arrows or throwing javelins at the barricades. Harlequin heard gunfire, saw muzzle flashes from a building window. There was fighting in the higher stories as the goblins sought to take the high ground overlooking the barricades.
It wasn’t just goblins. Huge, snarling giants roamed the streets. They’d already pillaged the historic remnants of the old Dutch colony, waving black, hand-wrought streetlamps as clubs. A pack of the demon horses that roamed the Source stood outside an electronics shop, crooning crude imitations of the voices of the actors on the televisions in the store window. Small, ground-bound scaled creatures, looking like flightless wyverns, wandered the streets. A few of their flying cousins were in the air already, along with the giant eaglelike rocs he’d faced before. As he flew past, a spider as big as a sedan scurried up the side of a building, three people mummified in the silk dangling from its abdomen. Harlequin could feel the air thrumming with goblin sorcery.
He circled once, dipping lower, trying to get a count of the enemy. The goblins numbered in the thousands. There were at least a few hundred of the giants that he’d fought at FOB Frontier.
He flew south, then east. The Blackhawk trailed him as he lit out over New Street. Here, the numbers thickened. A few goblins pointed skyward and a shot or two from a stolen carbine cracked in his direction, their aim atrocious as usual. He
‘Castle Clinton,’ Cormack answered in his earbud. ‘Old harbor fort from back in the day. It’s a national park monument now. The Statue of Liberty ticket counter is in there.’
Harlequin let his eyes sweep the park and surrounding buildings once more. For all the chaos of the refugee stream, there was no smoke, no explosions, no sign of any enemy.
So far.
He gestured at the old fort beneath them. ‘That’ll be HQ. Set down and get it cleared. The rest of you, stay with me. I want to get a look at the fight.’
He put on speed and flew out over the park as Cormack’s Blackhawk peeled off and began to descend toward the castle. The other Blackhawk stayed with him, the door gunners watching warily as the wall of smoke rose to meet them.
They pushed out over the edge of the park and into stark reality.
Lower Manhattan had been sliced off by hastily erected cordons. Harlequin could just make out distant haphazard barricades assembled from parked police cruisers, National Guard Humvees, even stacks of tires and spare coils of razor wire. He put on speed, the blocks blurring beneath him. Closer up, he could see that police manned the barricades at each intersection, augmented by the sliver of national guardsmen who were in the city when the breach opened, choking off the major arteries north. An M1 Abrams tank had either fought its way through or been at one of the armories. It was drawn lengthwise across Broadway, flipped on its side and burning brightly.
The roofs of the buildings all along the Bowery were clustered with snipers. Harlequin could see gun barrels pointing out of apartment windows where spotters and shooters had taken up position. Two Apache helicopter gunships circled impotently, holding fire as the civilians continued to stream beneath them, making toward the bridges and tunnels and the promise of a way off the island.
The ground just south of the barricades was invisible beneath a seething mass. Goblins surged over abandoned cars, threw themselves against the locked doors of apartment buildings. Many of the towering structures were on fire, and Harlequin could see a squadron of wolfriders come pouring out of a storefront, shaking shattered glass from their shoulders. One of the riders whooped, waving a spear, a dozen diamond tennis bracelets and wristwatches ringing the shaft. His mount had a dress in its mouth.
Not all the goblins were intent on raiding. A few were taking cover behind building corners, shooting arrows or throwing javelins at the barricades. Harlequin heard gunfire, saw muzzle flashes from a building window. There was fighting in the higher stories as the goblins sought to take the high ground overlooking the barricades.
It wasn’t just goblins. Huge, snarling giants roamed the streets. They’d already pillaged the historic remnants of the old Dutch colony, waving black, hand-wrought streetlamps as clubs. A pack of the demon horses that roamed the Source stood outside an electronics shop, crooning crude imitations of the voices of the actors on the televisions in the store window. Small, ground-bound scaled creatures, looking like flightless wyverns, wandered the streets. A few of their flying cousins were in the air already, along with the giant eaglelike rocs he’d faced before. As he flew past, a spider as big as a sedan scurried up the side of a building, three people mummified in the silk dangling from its abdomen. Harlequin could feel the air thrumming with goblin sorcery.
He circled once, dipping lower, trying to get a count of the enemy. The goblins numbered in the thousands. There were at least a few hundred of the giants that he’d fought at FOB Frontier.
He flew south, then east. The Blackhawk trailed him as he lit out over New Street. Here, the numbers thickened. A few goblins pointed skyward and a shot or two from a stolen carbine cracked in his direction, their aim atrocious as usual. He
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