Ghosts of the Last War

The Processing Room

The chair was cold against Xander's back.

He woke to darkness and the hum of machinery. His hands were bound to the armrests, his legs secured to the chair's frame. His head throbbed, his vision swimming as he tried to focus.

The processing room.

He was in the processing room.

The memory came back in fragments. The corridor. The guards. Webb's cold, triumphant face. And then nothing.

Xander tested his restraints. They were tight, reinforced steel. He wasn't going anywhere.

The lights flickered on.

The room was clinical, sterile. White walls, white floor, white ceiling. Machines lined the walls, their screens glowing with data. In the center of the room was the chair where Xander sat, wires and cables trailing from it like snakes.

And standing in front of him was Simon Webb.

"Sergeant Cross. Welcome to the future."

Xander glared at him. "You're going to kill me."

"Kill you?" Webb laughed. "No, Sergeant. Killing you would be a waste. You're too valuable."

"What do you want?"

"To show you the truth." Webb moved to a control panel and pressed a button. A screen flickered to life, showing images of soldiers in training, their faces blank, their movements mechanical. "The Ghost Protocol was never meant to be a weapon. It was meant to be a tool for creating the perfect soldier. Stronger, faster, more loyal. The future of warfare."

"You're insane."

"Am I?" Webb's voice was soft. "Look at the world, Sergeant. Wars fought for oil, for religion, for borders. Millions dead, billions spent. What if there was a better way? What if we could create soldiers who didn't feel pain, didn't question orders, didn't hesitate? Soldiers who would fight for peace, not profit."

"You're not creating soldiers. You're creating slaves."

Webb's face hardened. "Call it what you want. But I'm building a better world. And you, Sergeant Cross, are going to help me."

Xander's blood ran cold. "What are you talking about?"

"The Ghost Protocol isn't just for soldiers. It can be used on anyone. Including you." Webb moved closer, his eyes cold. "You have skills, Sergeant. Combat experience. Tactical knowledge. You'd make an excellent addition to my army."

"I'd rather die."

"That can be arranged. But I'd prefer not to." Webb nodded to a guard standing in the corner. "Prepare the subject."

The guard moved to the machines, typing commands. The hum of electricity grew louder.

Xander struggled against his restraints, but it was useless. The wires were already attaching to his temples, cold and invasive.

"Don't fight it," Webb said. "In a few minutes, you won't remember who you were. You won't remember your men. You won't remember anything. You'll be mine."

The machine whirred to life.

Xander felt a pressure building in his skull, a creeping numbness spreading through his mind. He tried to think of something—anything—to hold onto.

He thought of the photograph of his men. He thought of Reynolds's face, smiling in the Afghan sun. He thought of Davis's laugh, the way he could make anyone smile.

He thought of Anya. The way she'd looked at him on the ship, her eyes filled with hope.

He couldn't let them take that away. He couldn't let them take anything.

With a surge of effort, Xander snapped his head forward, slamming his forehead into Webb's face.

Webb staggered back, blood streaming from his nose. "You son of a—"

Xander's restraints were loosening. The impact had knocked the control panel, and the wires were flickering. He pulled hard, feeling the steel bite into his wrists, but he kept pulling.

The restraints snapped.

Xander was on his feet, moving fast. He drove his fist into the guard's throat, taking him down. Then he grabbed the guard's weapon and aimed it at Webb.

"Don't move."

Webb was still, his face pale. "You can't do this. You can't stop what's coming."

"I can stop you."

"Then do it. Kill me." Webb smiled, blood staining his teeth. "But it won't change anything. The Ghost Protocol is already out there. Thousands of soldiers, reprogrammed and controlled. You can't save them, Sergeant. You can't save anyone."

Xander's finger tightened on the trigger.

But he didn't pull it.

Killing Webb would feel good. It would satisfy something deep and primal inside him. But it wouldn't save his men. It wouldn't bring them back.

"You're not worth it," Xander said.

He fired three times—not at Webb, but at the control panel. The machines exploded, sparks flying. The hum of electricity died.

Webb stared at him, his eyes wide. "You fool. You've just destroyed everything."

"Good." Xander moved to the door, his weapon ready. "Now I'm going to find my friends. And then I'm going to destroy the rest of your operation."

Webb laughed. "You don't even know where to start."

"I know you have copies. Hundreds of them, scattered across the globe." Xander's voice was cold. "And I'm going to find every single one."

He slammed the door behind him and ran.

---

The corridors were empty.

Xander moved through the compound, searching for the others. He'd destroyed the processing room, but the damage was done. Webb's words echoed in his head, cold and inevitable.

Thousands of soldiers, reprogrammed and controlled.

His men were out there somewhere, used as weapons by the people who had destroyed them. And he had no idea how to save them.

He found Hawthorn in a holding cell on the lower level.

His friend was battered, bruised, but alive. His eyes lit up when he saw Xander.

"Cross. You made it."

"Barely." Xander cut his restraints. "Where are the others?"

"Reyes is in the next cell. Anya's in the processing room on the second level. They were going to use her as a test subject."

Xander's blood ran cold. "How long ago?"

"Twenty minutes. Maybe less."

Xander didn't wait. He ran, his leg screaming, his body exhausted. He had to get to her. He had to save her.

The processing room on the second level was dark, the machines silent. Anya was in the chair, her eyes closed, her body limp.

Xander moved to her, his heart pounding. "Anya. Anya, can you hear me?"

Her eyes fluttered open. "Xander?"

"I'm here. I'm going to get you out of here."

"I can't move. They drugged me."

Xander cut her restraints and lifted her into his arms. She was light, fragile, her body trembling with fear.

"I've got you," he said. "I've got you."

---

They regrouped in the main corridor.

Reyes was leaning against the wall, her shoulder bandaged, her face pale. Hawthorn was at her side, his weapon ready. Anya was sitting on the floor, her eyes closed, trying to recover.

"We need to get out of here," Xander said. "Now."

"The main entrance is swarming with guards," Hawthorn said. "We'll never make it."

"Then we go another way." Xander's voice was hard. "Service tunnels. Ventilation shafts. Anything."

Reyes looked up. "There's a tunnel on the lower level. It leads to the research station. But it's flooded."

"Can we get through it?"

"Maybe. But it's a risk."

"Everything's a risk." Xander moved to Anya, helping her to her feet. "We don't have a choice. It's that or die here."

They moved through the compound, silent and quick. The guards were regrouping, their voices echoing through the corridors. But Xander knew this place now. He knew its secrets.

The service tunnel was dark, narrow, filled with cold water. Xander waded in, his teeth chattering. The water was freezing, numbing his legs, making it hard to move.

Anya was behind him, her hand gripping his jacket. Reyes was next, then Hawthorn, watching their backs.

The tunnel seemed endless. Xander's body was screaming for rest, but he couldn't stop. He had to keep moving.

The water rose to his chest, then his shoulders. He could barely see in the darkness, his breath coming in short, painful gasps.

And then he saw the light.

The exit was ahead, a shaft of pale light cutting through the darkness. Xander pushed forward, his heart pounding.

They emerged into the Arctic night, the wind howling around them. The research station was in the distance, a cluster of buildings on the ice.

"Run," Xander said. "Don't stop."

---

They reached the research station just as the first of the guards emerged from the compound.

Xander turned and fired, covering their retreat. The guards were pouring out of the facility, their weapons blazing. But Xander had the advantage—he knew this ground, knew the layout of the ice and snow.

"Get inside!" he shouted. "Now!"

They barreled through the research station's doors, slamming them shut. Xander fired at the lock, sealing them in.

The silence was deafening.

Xander leaned against the door, his chest heaving. His leg was on fire, his body a network of pain and exhaustion. But he was alive. They were all alive.

Hawthorn was at the window, watching the compound. "They're not following. They're pulling back."

"Webb's regrouping," Reyes said. "He knows we destroyed his facility. He's going to come after us."

"Then we need to be ready." Xander pushed himself upright. "We need to find out where the copies are. We need to destroy them all."

Anya was sitting on the floor, her face pale. "I can help. I know the system. I can find the copies."

"How?"

"The data stick. The one Thorne gave you. It wasn't just a fail-safe. It was a tracker. It can locate every copy of the Ghost Protocol in existence."

Xander pulled out the data stick, staring at it. "He didn't tell me that."

"He didn't have time. But I know how to use it." Anya's voice was weak, but determined. "Give me a computer. I'll show you."

---

They found a computer in the research station's communications room. Anya connected the data stick and started typing, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

Xander watched, his heart pounding. This was it. The moment he'd been waiting for.

A map appeared on the screen, dotted with red markers. Hundreds of them, scattered across the globe.

"What are those?" Hawthorn asked.

"The copies. Every single one of them." Anya's voice was awe-struck. "There are hundreds. Maybe thousands. They're everywhere."

Xander stared at the map. It was impossible. They couldn't destroy all of them. They couldn't even get to most of them.

But then Anya zoomed in on one of the markers. "Wait. This one's different."

"What do you mean?"

"It's not a copy. It's a source. The original data base, the one Thorne was trying to protect." Anya's face was pale. "It's in the United States. At a military base in Virginia."

Xander's blood ran cold. "Virginia? That's where Colonel Webb's based."

"Then we know where to go." Anya's voice was hard. "We go to Virginia. We find the original data base. And we destroy it."

Xander nodded. "Then that's what we'll do."

He turned to the others. "We need to get out of the Arctic. We need to get to Virginia. And we need to stop Simon Webb before he uses the Ghost Protocol again."

Hawthorn looked at him. "You really think we can do this? Stop a man with thousands of soldiers at his command?"

"I don't think we can." Xander's voice was cold, determined. "I know we can."

---

They stood in the ruins of the research station, the wind howling around them, the compound burning in the distance.

The war was just beginning.

And Xander Cross was ready for it.

He pulled out the photograph of his men and stared at it. Nine faces, frozen in time. Nine men he'd loved like brothers.

He was going to save them.

No matter what it took.