Epic: Book 03 - Hero (20 page)

Clarke almost sounded smarmy. Scott knew it wasn’t intentional, but nonetheless the captain’s tone seemed less than compassionate. He wondered if anyone else had heard it that way.

“
As much as it pains me to say, we have to move on. The Fourteenth has never been without a sniper, and Ms. Brooking was sent here specifically to supplement—”

“
Hang on,” Max interrupted, “back up the short bus. Don’t tell me we’re about to start talkin’ about replacements…”

“
That’s precisely what we’re talking about.”

The technician threw up his hands. “You said ‘barring a miracle!’ For God’s sake, let’s wait for the miracle!”

Scott sighed. This was where it would begin—the downward spiral that would ultimately doom the meeting. It was already happening.

“
Lieutenant Axen, please understand that Timmons’ career with EDEN is effectively over. That he’s alive is a blessing in itself.”

“
Who says it’s over?”

“
That would be the man we call
surgeon
.”

“
To hell with surgeons—give the guy a freakin’ chance to improve!”

Scott, Dostoevsky, and Svetlana simply watched. It didn’t feel right to try and force a word in.

“
Understand the word that I’m saying,” explained Clarke. “
Blind
. This is the word that describes Jayden Timmons.”

Max shook his head. “He ain’t totally blind yet, he’s still got one good eye.”

“
And one eye is a problem!”

Max threw the unlit sprig to the floor. “Is this really how fast it ends? Can we give the guy a day of respect before we throw his career in the trash? Can we not give it
one more day
to see if somehow this thing turns around?”

“
Will the Bakma give us a day of respect? Will the Ceratopians?”

“
Captain, that’s not the point.”

Clarke’s nostrils flared for the first time.
“The point is that I am captain of this unit! If I say we move on, we bloody move on!”

Even Scott jumped. He’d never heard the captain’s voice like that. Not even in his worst moments.

Max stood up from his chair.

“
Where are you going?”

Max’s frustrated glare did not waver. He swiped his sprig from the tiles below. “To hell with this unit.” He stormed out of the lounge, slamming the door. The others looked on blankly.

“
What is it with you Americans?” Clarke asked, glaring at the door Max had slammed. “The irony of this is that he didn’t even give me a chance to bloody finish.”

To finish what? What irony? Scott looked at Svetlana and Dostoevsky. They looked as confused as he was.

“
By now, you’re aware of our situation with the Eighth,” Clarke said. “You know about Ulrich. What I had
intended
to explain to Mr. Axen is that we require additional operatives to fill now-empty roles. In the aftermath of Ulrich’s demise, Commander Plotnikov has control of the Eighth. His first executive decision was to ‘remove’ William Harbinger and Derrick Cole.”

Scott sat up straighter.

“
I am giving you the option. We can attempt to replace Frolov and Timmons with a demolitionist and a sniper from somewhere else, or we can ‘adopt’ our friends from the Eighth. Due to the personal nature of this rubbish, I was going to let you decide.”

Scott was surprised. Clarke was actually giving them the power to choose. Granted, it was a choice with a blatantly stacked answer, but it was a choice nonetheless. It was democracy at its most British.

Svetlana seemed uncertain. She looked uncomfortable to be included.

“
Personally,” Clarke said, “I’ll be properly shocked if this vote isn’t unanimous. Does anyone
not
prefer Harbinger and Cole over two altogether new people? I’m accustomed to having a sniper, but Cole will suffice. And Harbinger would fill our demolitionist role well.”

No one opposed.

“
Then the matter is resolved. Remington, would you kindly inform your acquaintances from the Eighth?”

“
Yes sir.” William and Derrick, in the Fourteenth? That was the best news he’d heard since Svetlana had come back. Once again he looked at her.

“
Thank you.” Clarke motioned to some papers on the table. “These are their medical papers, Svetlana. I anticipated this result.” He pushed up from his seat.

“
Now…hard as it may be to believe, I miss my wife terribly at the moment. I had planned for this to be a constructive conversation, but apparently that was a foolish idea. Shame on me. Dostoevsky, the unit is yours.”

The commander uttered a quiet affirmation, at which point Clarke stepped from the room. He offered no goodbyes.

It was the quickest exit Scott had ever seen from Clarke, and he had a feeling he understood why. The captain was frustrated to new heights—he had been met with resistance even while trying to do favors.

“
I need to read Harbinger and Cole’s medical papers,” said Svetlana, pushing back her chair. “I do not know them like you.”

Dostoevsky reached out to pick up the papers himself, but before he could grab them, Svetlana snatched them away.

“
I will read them,” she said. “Not you.”

“
Sveta…”

She glared at him. “Nothing has changed, Yuri. Do you think I have words for you? I do not.” Turning away from the table, she walked out of the room with the papers in hand.

Scott and Dostoevsky—the two lone fulcrums—stood awkwardly in her wake. For several moments, neither man spoke. Dostoevsky finally broke the silence.

“
I was going to hand them to her so she didn’t have to reach.”

Turning to the commander, Scott found himself caught in the sudden realization: he was sitting with Dostoevsky as though they were comrades. As though they were friends. He felt nauseated. Like Svetlana, he had nothing to say to the man who’d arranged his fiancee’s murder. Dostoevsky might as well have been dead. Scott stood and walked out of the room.

Dostoevsky was left alone once again.

“
Sveta,” Scott said, hurrying to catch her in the hallway. Svetlana stopped and turned around.

Something had been hovering over Scott’s conscience since the mission. Something Svetlana had told him about righteous men. “I want to tell you something.”

“
Well?” she said when he didn’t elaborate.

“
A church is a building. That’s it.”

She pressed her hand to her forehead and looked down. Strands of hair fell through her fingers.

Clearly she was not understanding what he was trying to say. It completely escaped her. “I’m trying to be respectful,” he said. “It’s not the brick and mortar that makes it holy or not holy. It’s what happens inside.” He wanted to justify himself. That was it. He didn’t want to be blamed for something that really wasn’t his fault.

For several moments she stared at him, saying nothing, distanced in thought. “Do you really believe that, Scott Remington?”

Of course he believed it. He wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t. “Yes, I do.”

“
Then apply it to yourself.”

Scott blinked. Her statement took him aback.

Svetlana offered no other words. She simply turned and walked away.

Then apply it to yourself.
The words resounded in his mind.
Then apply it to yourself.
He tried to pretend he didn’t know what she meant, but he did. He could not help staring down at his uniform—his black Nightman exterior. His own brick and mortar.

He looked up again. Far ahead, she rounded a corner and disappeared.
That’s not fair, Sveta.
That was a low blow. A sucker-punch to the gut of his soul. That one would linger.

He made no more attempts to catch up to her, nor attempts to reconcile his emotions. In the aftermath of the soft-yet-stinging confrontation, Scott forced her words to the back of his mind. He could wait to deal with them when he felt like tearing out his own heart.

At least that was something he was good at.

11

Monday, November 7
^th
, 0011 NE

1157 hours

William’s eyes opened wide. “Are you serious?”

“
Yes, I’m serious.”

“
That’s
freakin’
sweet!”

Scott had gone to the cafeteria directly after his exchange with Svetlana. The task was a welcomed escape. He knew William and Derrick wouldn’t be in Room 8; the Eighth would already have kicked them out. Of all the places in
Novosibirsk
they might have been, the cafeteria was the most likely. He had been right.

It was a pleasant surprise to see William up and moving. His leg was bandaged, but he looked otherwise unhindered. He would be ready for action in a matter of days.

“
Shoot,” said Derrick, chewing on some beans. “That’s gonna be awesome. Being with the Eighth flat-out sucked.”

“
Yeah,” William said. “We were like, the only people who spoke English. You guys have the unit to be in if you’re an American.”

It always struck Scott how normally William and Derrick treated him, even after he’d gone to the Nightmen. The fact that he wore a crimson triangle didn’t seem to faze them. He leaned back in his chair. “You know not everyone in the Fourteenth is American?”

“
I know,” answered William. “But everyone there speaks English. We tried to learn Russian, but that language sucks.”

Scott considered whether he was offended. He’d felt more Russian than American lately. He liked the language, especially since he’d become fluent.

“
I heard about Jayden, man. Is he really gonna be blind?”

Scott’s face fell slightly. “We’re holding out for the slim chance he’ll still see out of one eye. Supposedly it doesn’t look good, but it also didn’t look good when he fell. We’ll just have to wait.”

“
If he can see out of one eye, he can stay, right?”

“
It’d be tough,” said Derrick. “He’s a sniper, man. He needs to have two eyes.”

“
Man, whatever,” William made a stupid face. “A sniper doesn’t need two eyes. It’d just be like he’s aiming all the time.”

Scott was barely listening to the exchange. His mind was still fixed on the Texan. He had to wait two days before he’d be allowed to visit. Two days seemed like an eternity.

“
So when can we move in?” Derrick asked.

Scott refocused on the chat. “You can move in right now. Where’s all your stuff?”

“
We hid it in the snow.”

Scott actually caught himself in a chuckle. The statement was an odd brand of humor. It was unmistakably William and Derrick’s. That was the part of camaraderie that he truly missed. But when he realized Derrick wasn’t smiling, he stopped. “You were kidding, right?”

“
No, I’m serious. It was this moron’s idea.”

“
There was nowhere else to put it, man,” said William. “You know they woulda stole it.”

Scott’s mouth fell. “So you hid it in the
snow
?”

“
Don’t worry, we taped garbage bags around it. It’ll be fine.”

Garbage bags. That was hilarious. Though he never doubted the two would get along fine in Fourteenth, it was conversations like this that made the decision seem golden. The unit needed people like them to lighten the mood. He couldn’t recall the last time anyone in the Fourteenth had looked like they were enjoying themselves.

But Scott was enjoying himself now. The moment he realized that, the question rose in his mind. Why didn’t he feel guilty about enjoying himself? Guilt constantly nipped at his heels—after every inadvertent smile or laugh. After every moment of anything other than darkness and depravity, guilt and bitterness were always right there. He couldn’t even be happy that an old friend like Svetlana had returned, or that he’d just saved the lives of two priests. Every white cloud had a miserable lining.

He decided to ask the question that had been lingering in his mind since finding William and Derrick in the cafeteria. In truth, it had lingered much longer. “Why are you both so comfortable around me?”

Both other men stopped eating.

Scott felt the urge to continue. “I really want to know. Why?” He knew they both had strong feelings about the Nightmen. A Nightman had murdered one of their own. That was how Joe Janson had died—by the Silent Fever. They must have felt something.

Derrick hesitated before answering, his voice deadly serious. “Scott, man…you got this all wrong. You killed someone. Yeah, you murdered someone, and it sucked. But it’d be totally different if you’d wanted to do it.”

I did want to do it
, Scott thought.
Just to a different person.

“
I mean, shoot, someone killed your fiancee,” Derrick went on. “And
why
did they kill your fiancee? To get to you, ‘cause they knew there was no other way you’d do it.”

“
If I was in love,” William cut in, “and someone killed her? Man, I’d kill every Nightman in sight.”

“
We talk about this all the time,” said Derrick. “We talk about it with Becan and Jayden and Max. There ain’t a guy in our group who wouldn’t have done the same thing.” He hesitated for a moment. “If I’m bein’ honest, man…I
still
hope you catch the guy who did it. He deserves to be killed.”