Epic: Book 03 - Hero (9 page)

That part made it a challenge, because hostages were not the Nightmen’s forte. Their specialty came in outright brutality. Strike hard and violently. That kind of recklessness didn’t work well with civilian lives. Already Scott was considering the tools he had to work with.

Egor Goronok. The freak. A tower of muscles so grotesque, the sight of him was enough to cause psychological dread. He was Scott’s human wrecking ball. Had he been with EDEN, he would have been a model demolitionist.

Auric Broll. The competent. Unlike Egor, the German slayer wasn’t a brute. He was consistent; he could do any job well. Scott only had to tell Auric something once.

Nicolai Romanov. The supplementary. He was their jack of all trades, masterful at nothing but adept at everything. No one made a better complement. No one made more of a creep.

Viktor Ryvkin. The cunning. The slayer-medic wielded his intelligence like a sword. That tenacity made him one of Scott’s most able slayers. It also made him the most dangerous.

Then Yuri Dostoevsky. Their commander. But EDEN rank aside, both he and Scott were fulcrum elites. In the eyes of the slayers, both men were equal. But were they equally adhered to? Not even close. Scott was more intelligent—more gifted. Every slayer in the Fourteenth knew it. There was a time when Dostoevsky’s physical prowess had been enough to make his authority unchallengeable. But whatever edge the commander still had, it wasn’t nearly as much as it had once been. If given a choice, Scott knew whom the slayers would follow. Dostoevsky wasn’t even in the running.

Clarke spoke from the front of the
Pariah
. “By this point, you should be aware of our mission. We shall be undergoing a cooperative defense of Krasnoyarsk with the Eighth, Thirty-fifth, and Thirty-ninth.”

Becan leaned close to Jayden. “Yeh know wha’ I miss abou’ Chicago? I could pronounce it.”

“
We shall divide into three teams for three distinct operations. The first team to drop will be Commander Dostoevsky’s.”

Behind the captain, the display screen showed their targeted structure. Scott had seen the image up close already. It wasn’t as detailed as would have preferred—it never was. Multiple stories, and some kind of tower. For a military city, this wasn’t surprising. There were probably lots of buildings with towers. But he was fully prepared for whatever it was.

“
A Russian orthodox church has been captured as a stronghold…”

Scott’s heart stopped. The captain’s remaining words turned to static. Scott spoke without even a thought. “Did you say a church?”

Clarke stopped in mid-explanation. “That’s correct.”

That was the one thing Scott hadn’t expected. His stomach started to ache.

“
You
will
go into a church, won’t you, Mr. Remington?”

For a moment, he couldn’t find any words. When he finally did, his voice was grave. “Of course, captain.”

Clarke eyed him before going on.

The rest of the captain’s words were completely lost to Scott. His focus fell away from the view screen, and he stared blankly at the floor.

“
Lieutenant?” The hushed word came from Auric. The blond-haired German sat at his side. “Are you okay?”

Scott had no explanation for his despondency—at least none he was willing to share. “Yes, I’m fine.” Forcing himself into combat mode, he resumed listening to the captain.

Clarke would lead a team consisting of David, Esther, Jayden, and Svetlana into a warehouse. Resistance was expected to be manageable. The warehouse was a tall building, in view of several streets that the Thirty-fifth would be traversing in the distance. It was the perfect opportunity for Jayden to snipe. All the others had to do was secure the warehouse itself.

Max’s operation was slightly more difficult. He would be leading Becan, Oleg, Maksim, and Varvara into a federal building with known hostages. It was a coordinated effort with a team from the Thirty-ninth. Enemy presence was expected to be high.

Scott and the Nightmen would tackle the church.

Across the troop bay, Esther aggressively checked her sidearm.

“
You all righ’, Esty?” Becan asked.

“
Of course I’m all right—why wouldn’t I be all right?” She tried to slam in a clip, but misjudged her aim. She jarred it in place a second time.

“
Well, judgin’ from the fact tha’ yeh can’t seem to properly load your handgun…”

“
She did it on purpose.”

The Irishman eyed her strangely. “Wha’?”

“
I haven’t gone by Molly in
years
. Not for applications, not for Academy registration, not for anything.”

“
Wait, are you still goin’ on abou’
tha’
?”

“
If your name was Molly Esther, would you want anyone to know?”

“
If my name was Molly Esther, I’d have serious testosterone problems.”

She turned away. “You’re an idiot.”

“
Esty, they’re
medical records
. O’ course they’ll have your full name. I mean, wha’ did yeh expect?”

“
Then why didn’t Galina or Varvara call me Molly? Why didn’t the captain? I filled my forms out with Esther, I introduced myself as Esther. I specifically marked Esther as my
preferred name
. That is what I wanted to be called—it was perfectly clear.”

“
Well, you an’ Svetlana were never introduced, so congratulations! Now yeh are.”

“
I could punch you in the face.”

Scott was examining the mission map when Viktor Ryvkin broke away from the Nightmen. He walked straight to the captain, prompting Scott and the other Nightmen to observe curiously.

“
Captain, may I make a request?”

Clarke looked surprisingly at the slayer. “You may, Ryvkin.”

“
I would like to accompany your team to the warehouse.”

The moment Viktor said it, the other Nightmen froze. Dostoevsky rose, and Scott abandoned his map scrutiny.

Viktor continued. “You may need more firepower than you expect, captain. We have enough firepower among the Nightmen. As you know, I am as much a medic as I am a soldier. I would gladly assist you.”

Dostoevsky approached them. “Viktor, what are you doing?”

Clarke looked at Dostoevsky, then settled on Viktor. “If you come with us, your fellow Nightmen won’t have a medic.”

“
They could take Voronova.”

At the mention of Svetlana’s name, the EDEN operatives in the vicinity whipped around. Esther was particularly entranced. Scott was plain floored. But no one looked more surprised than Svetlana herself.

“
So you wish to
trade yourself
with Trooper Voronova?” Clarke asked. “You’ll excuse me if I’m somewhat confused.”

“
This unit has gone through enough turmoil,” Viktor said. “It is time for us to start working together. Then we
all
will be strong. You do not need to worry about Voronova’s safety. She will be more safe with them than anywhere else.”

Svetlana drew near. “What is going on here? What are you talking about?”

Clarke continued to look at Viktor as he answered her question. “Mr. Ryvkin wishes to take your place on our team and put you with the commander in his stead.” Before Svetlana could speak, Clarke turned to Dostoevsky. “Do you oppose this?”

“
Wait, wait,” Scott said. “Hold on one second.”

“
Commander Dostoevsky?” Clarke asked again.

Caught between everyone, Dostoevsky had no counter-argument. “I…do not suppose I would oppose it…”

“
Very well,” Clarke said. “Ryvkin will accompany us, Svetlana will accompany you.”

“
Captain!” Scott protested. But Clarke just walked away.

Scott was apoplectic. The Nightmen behind him were almost equally upset.

Svetlana frantically reached for Scott’s arm. “I have nothing to do with this, Scott, I promise! I do not understand this.”

It was the first time they had made physical contact since her arrival, and Scott felt his heart churning. He was confused, angry. Helpless to avoid the situation. Each emotion was warring against the others and in their own way, each of them won.

“
Please believe me, Scott,
please
. I would never try to do this!”

Scott had to look away. He knew what she was saying was true. But that didn’t make it easier to understand. “I know.”

She didn’t look relieved.

Helmet in his hands, he pushed his hair back. This was as much a shock to her as it was to the Nightmen.
Viktor, what in the world are you thinking?
Steeling his jaw in surrender, Scott touched her arm. “Okay. You’re going to be fine.”

While Scott waited by the bay door to be dropped off, he looked at the operatives around him—the four Nightmen and the woman from EDEN. Svetlana clung to him like glue. He couldn’t blame her. For the first time since her arrival, he pitied her. She had
gone
there for him. The consequences of that were too large to escape, and he wondered if she realized it now.

Beside them, Nicolai kissed his blood-encrusted dog tag—the one belonging to the man he’d presumably murdered. Scott would have been disgusted if he hadn’t grown used to it long ago. That he was used to it at all made him sick. He looked sidelong at Svetlana. She would never have experienced anything like this before. This was a different situation than the one she’d been in previously with the Fourteenth. Now there were twice as many Nightmen in the unit, and they were ten times more radical than the Nightmen before them, Anatoly and Baranov. This new crew took totalitarianism to the extreme.

At that moment, Scott did something that surprised even himself—he gently squeezed the back of Svetlana’s neck. Unspoken reassurance. For a moment, he felt her tension release.

“
Prepare to drop!” Travis yelled from the cockpit.

Scott latched on his faceless helmet. It attached to the clamps of his armor. He stared through its interior view screen, where a transparent map of the church appeared. Maps were available only about half the time; thankfully, this was one of those times. He took a moment to study it, as the Nightmen around him got ready.

He watched as Svetlana removed her helmet briefly to pull an insulated layer of rubber over her head. The blond tips of her hair disappeared. She slipped her helmet back on.

The
Pariah
‘s inertia shifted. They were about to drop.

Dostoevsky readied his assault rifle. He assigned everyone a shadow. “Remington—Romanov. Goronok—Voronova. Broll—myself.”

Scott turned to Egor. The slayer stuck out like a pillar. “Keep her safe.”

“
I will, lieutenant.” The slayer was strapping on a single-barreled 40mm slug launcher, nicknamed a
hand cannon
. It was capable of firing anything from armor piercing to incendiary rounds. The one-handed weapon walked a strange line between grenade launcher and pistol—exclusively a demolitionist’s toy.

The bay door whined open. There was no time to be leery of church now. The Bakma didn’t care how Scott felt. If he allowed the church to affect him, he’d only be more vulnerable and easier to kill.

There was a thick layer of snow on the ground, and fresh snow was still falling heavily. What the starlight didn’t illuminate, his True Color Vision did. tcv was one of the numerous technologies EDEN shared with the Russian military sect.

The church was grand. Red bricks formed its walls, and reaching to the heavens was a massive bell tower—the same tower Scott could see from the map. For a moment, even through the warmth of his internal heating system, the fulcrum from America felt cold.

Then it began.

Dostoevsky burst from the door. He dove straight from the security of the troop bay and rolled to the church’s closed entrance. Plasma blasts exploded at his feet from above. Auric charged behind, followed by Scott and the others. Their dash lasted barely a few seconds—enough time to avoid plasma themselves.

Scott knew where the blasts were coming from—an alien inside the bell tower. It might have been a sniper. The blasts weren’t inaccurate, they were just a split second behind. Plasma was a deadly brand of weapon, but its rate of fire was slower than projectile. That was one edge humanity had.

The Nightmen and Svetlana slammed against the front of the church, right beside a set of polished doors. The
Pariah
lurched into the air and turned to depart.

Suddenly, a small metal orb fell to the ground. It stuck in the snow meters in front of the Nightmen. A plasma grenade.

Time slowed.

Nicolai jerked the church door open. Egor pulled Svetlana to his chest. Dostoevsky and Auric tensed. The moment the doors were fully open, all six of them dove.

The boom that erupted behind them propelled them into the sanctuary. Immediately Scott felt a loss of control, then a searing heat against his back and the hail of shrapnel hitting his armor. He saw the ground pass beneath him as he soared facedown into the building, his arms flailing. Then instinct and experience kicked in.

Bend knees. Lower shoulders. Turn head.

He hit the ground in an awkward roll, one that nonetheless brought him upright to his knee. The slayers around him did the same. Svetlana remained cradled in Egor’s arms as if he were carrying a child.