Fear and Anger (The 47 Echo Series) (11 page)

“Gunnery Sergeant Lee. Congratulations on the pardon,” Neal said, returning the salute. “At ease. Wish we were seeing each other under better circumstances.”

“We’re Mecho, sir. Are there any circumstances we see other than bad ones?” Christopher asked.

“When you’re right, you’re right. Come along, folks. You’re safe to walk around now. Time for the bad news,” Neal said with a sigh, turning and waving for the group to follow him.

“I wondered whatever happened to that guy,” Gabriel whispered as he fell into step beside Christopher.

“Technically, he’s still our boss, I think. I don’t know. It’s confusing,” Christopher said, shrugging.

“They’re not pulling us off special forces, are they?” Martin asked.

“No, convict. And learn how to whisper,” Neal said from in front of them. He led them past the cargo nets to a freestanding box with a door on it. Inside, there was a makeshift situation room, a table with fifteen chairs around it. He waved for the unit to take a seat.

“Broad strokes – you’ll get the specifics uploaded to your command screen before we land,” Neal started. He activated the screen at the head of the table, and a picture of a middle-aged white man, slightly doughy, with dark hair and an unconvincing comb-over appeared.

“This is Gilbert Harlan, Army convict, 88 Juliet. Convicted of all sorts of horrible shit, mostly dealing with pederasty and child pornography.”

“Charmer,” Carson mumbled under his breath.

“I’d appreciate not being interrupted, Ranger,” Neal said, glaring at Carson. “I’ll let you know when it’s time for questions.”

“Roger that, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“Moving on. Harlan was assigned to Firebase Lakota, about 150 miles from the North Korean lines. While he was there, a Razor came back from a mission into North Korea to refuel and repair. Harlan and as many as four as-yet-unidentified accomplices stole it.”

The image on the screen changed – it was a schematic of a Razor Heavy Assault Vehicle. Christopher and his crew spent a fair amount of time in the vehicles, but he saw immediately that this one was different. At first glance, he noticed it was longer, with ten wheels rather than eight. The surface-to-surface rocket pods on the sides looked different, more angular.

“This is the Razor in question. It’s a prototype, the Razor ELR. It’s a recon vehicle, improved stealth, improved armor, and most importantly, vastly improved range. It’s the only one of its kind, and it represents a quantum leap forward in the adaptive camouflage technology... which you may remember is our only technological advantage over our enemies.”

Neal turned off the screen and sat at the head of the table.

“All of this shit is in your mission briefing, but you’re going to have to get it back. And that won’t be easy, as we have no way to track it.”

“Sir?” Christopher asked, hoping his old commanding officer wouldn’t yell at him for interrupting.

Neale simply nodded at him.

“Do we have anything to go on?”

“A little. The data leak you uncovered? A separate team at Lakota discovered it about ten hours before you did. Still no idea who did it or how, but Harlan was using it to communicate with someone in the North Korean Army. We don’t know the route he’ll take, but we know his ultimate destination – Pyongyang.”

“And we’re heading to?”

“Carbon-4. We have an important asset waiting there. The designer of the prototype, an engineer with Umbra Dynamics, is currently stationed there.”

“Carbon-4?” Peter asked. “That’s not a U.S. base name.”

Neal didn’t yell at Peter, either. Across the table, Nick saw Carson’s mouth tighten into a scowl.

“Correct. It’s an outpost held by Carbon Consulting. PMCs hired to protect the Umbra Dynamics research station.”

“I wasn’t aware we had PMCs that far in, sir,” Christopher said.

“I wasn’t aware we had Americans that far in, Gunny. So it came as a surprise to me, too. The engineer has been apprised of the situation, and will be working on a way for you to hopefully find the Razor ELR before Harlan can make it to Pyongyang and royally fuck us over. Questions?”

“Sir?” Carson finally spoke up.

“Yes, Ranger?”

“What is my role here, sir?”

“Staff Sergeant Carson Richmond, correct?”

“Affirmative, sir.”

“Your file says you just completed your DLPTs for Korean.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re the closest translator we had on short notice. Make no mistake, folks – I’d love it if you could catch Harlan and his friends while they’re still in Allied territory, but that’s unlikely to happen. You’re going into North Korea.”

Of course we are
, Christopher thought.

“For now, you’ve got four and a half hours. I’d suggest grabbing whatever rest you can, familiarizing yourself with the mission data. And grab some ECW gear – current temperature at Carbon-4 is minus 10.”

One of the Galaxy’s loadmasters showed Christopher where to find the Extended Cold Weather gear for his crew – thicker uniforms, heavy parkas with fur-lined hoods. It was all Air Force issue, and rated to -60 degrees. For all ten people in the unit, it made for a huge pile of gear.

“Jesus. Are we riding around in a convertible or something? That’s a lot of shit,” Daniel asked.

“Negative, convict,” the loadmaster said, dropping another pair of thick, white boots onto the pile. “That’s your ride under the netting. Razor Mark II. But if you get caught outside for whatever reason, you’ll be glad you have this stuff.”

After he had his people cram the 220 pieces of cold weather equipment into the Razor, Christopher told them all to get some rest. He returned to the situation room and began studying the mission information. Almost two hours into his prep, Neal came back into the room and sat down across from him.

“Heard Lieutenant Morrow got left behind in Shanghai,” Neal said without preamble.

“That’s correct, Captain. He stayed behind so the rest of us could get away.”

“Sounds like the guy. Heard anything from him?”

“No, sir.”

“I got myself into a bit of trouble back at Camp Justice lobbying for a mission to go in and get him. I was a little... too vocal, I suppose,” Neale said, winking.

“And the response?”

“Exactly fuck all. But Justice is a busy place right now. Processing all the new recruits.”

“More convicts?” Christopher asked.

“No. I mean, yes, there are always plenty of those. But now we’re dealing with a massive flood of real military. New recruits. Volunteers after the New York attacks.”

“How are we going to equip them all? I mean, we’re sending convict units out with sticks and harsh language,” Christopher said, closing the file on his command screen.

“No idea. Russians are helping out as much as they can. Germans and French are sending guns through back channels. We’re still laughably outmatched, but we’re getting some numbers, finally.”

Christopher nodded, unsure of where this conversation was going.

“Reason I bring this up, Mr. Lee, is because I need to impress on you just how important this prototype Razor is. We’re getting to the point where we
just might
stop getting our asses kicked on the regular, and if the Chinese and North Koreans get a hold of our stealth tech... all for nothing. Imagine a CDM with adaptive camouflage.”

“Rather not, sir.”

“Good. Get that fucking Razor back, and put bullets in the heads of every one of those traitors. Get me?”

“I get you.”

* * *

“Everybody strap in! We’re landing in 0-2 minutes, and it isn’t going to be fun!” the loadmaster yelled from the other side of the plane.

Christopher looked out the window and saw only a lake, a huge, jagged scar in the ground that had to be 40 miles long. The Galaxy was headed right towards it, and for a moment, Christopher thought Major Griffin meant to land the seven-story tall plane right on the water. As they descended, though, Christopher made out a tiny airstrip on a bit of land jutting out into the water.

“No way are we landing on that,” Bryce said, shaking his head.

“Uh... I think that’s an airstrip,” Martin said, pointing out the window. “Either that, or someone left a Band-Aid out.”

The huge Galaxy lurched violently, and it suddenly felt like they were going into a spin. Christopher screwed his eyes shut and tried not to vomit, but the vertigo just wouldn’t let up. Even when he heard Mary say they’d landed, he still felt like they were in the air, spinning.

“That was... unpleasant,” Christopher said, unstrapping himself and standing shakily.

“I think we’ll have to get used to that feeling,” Carson said, unhooking his gear from under the seat as the back cargo door opened. A blast of freezing air hit them. “Unpleasant will probably be the buzzword for this whole assignment.”

Carson hefted his gear bag on his shoulder and walked around to the Razor’s rear hatch. Outside, all Christopher could see at first was snow and water. They’d landed pretty close to the edge of the lake, but at a narrow point – with the enhanced mode on his TotalVis goggles, he could see a bridge running across, and land on the other side. Christopher pushed the goggles up onto his forehead and grabbed his own gear bag.

“Jesus. That guy’s depressing,” Mary muttered as she grabbed her gear.

“Yeah,” Christopher said, heading for the Razor’s passenger door. “But he’s not wrong.”

Chapter Fourteen

Anarchy For Sale

Nick didn’t remember closing his eyes, but when he opened them, he saw daylight. It took him a moment to realize that he was on a couch, staring up at a cheap drop ceiling. He sat up and looked around – concrete floors, tiny windows high up on the walls. Hansen was sprawled out on a couch across the room, out cold. There were four laptops on a table to his right, up against the concrete wall.
Basement somewhere
, he thought, trying to piece together the events of the night before.

He remembered following Feng’s compact car across the railroad tracks, winding through some industrial buildings before coming to a stop. It was a garage, an auto shop of some sort. He and Feng carried Hansen...

Here. Put him on the couch. Then, nothing.

He didn’t know how long he’d slept, what time it was now, or what time he’d arrived at the garage. That was largely thanks to the stimulants messing with his head. He checked his pockets – the pills were still there. He let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and stood up.

There was a single metal door to his left, and Nick walked over and tried the handle. Locked. For his protection, or to keep him in?

Feng – or whoever – had left the bags of food and water, as well as the medical kit and his TotalVis goggles. But conspicuously absent were his assault rifle, his sidearm, and even the knife he kept in his boot.

Definitely keeping us in
, Nick thought, kicking himself for trusting the guy do easily. There were probably PLA soldiers on the way to capture him and Hansen, to interrogate them. The night before, Nick would have probably just accepted the situation. But a solid few hours’ sleep had changed that, and he started looking around the room for something to use either as a weapon or a way to open the door.

Apart from the table, the four computers, and the two couches, there wasn’t a hell of a lot in the room. The windows were small – he wasn’t getting out that way – and the door was steel. Escape wasn’t an option. It would have to be fighting his way out.

That would be a problem, too. No weapons. Even breaking a leg off the table wouldn’t get him far, as it was just a cheap, aluminum-legged folding table. If he had time, he might be able to file down one of the broken legs into a stabbing implement, but Nick guessed time wasn’t going to be abundant.

Hand-to-hand it is, then.

In terms of a plan, this made everything simple. Wait for someone to come through the door, break his face, get his weapon, and go down fighting. If by some miracle he made it out, and Hansen wasn’t killed in the crossfire – he couldn’t count on the injured pilot to help – he’d pick up his burden and start running. Again. Nick rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles, ready to explode into violence.

His plan was shot to shit when the door opened minutes later and a child walked in. She was maybe four or five years old, and carrying a small tray with two cups of hot green tea on it. She walked past Nick as if he wasn’t even there, boosted the tray up to the table, and walked out. The door clicked and locked behind her.

“That coffee?” Hansen asked groggily from the couch.

“Tea.”

“Of course it is. God forbid this country makes some fucking coffee,” Hansen bitched, swinging his legs off the couch. He yelped as his left foot hit he concrete floor.

“Careful,” Nick said, his voice flat.

“Where are the goddamn painkillers?”

Nick dug in his pocket and fished out the Hydrocodone. He tossed the bottle to Hansen, who missed the catch. The bottle bounced off the back of the couch and landed next to him. He opened it, shook out two pills, and swallowed them. Nick picked up both cups of tea, and Hansen held his own hand out, so Nick gave him one.

“So what’s our situation? We captured? The little kid kick the shit out of you and lock us in here?”

“Not sure yet. You remember much about last night?”

“Don’t know if you know this, but you’re only supposed to take one of these at a time,” Hansen said, holding up the pill bottle. “My second double-dose was kicking in when we hit the gas station. I don’t remember shit.”

“If it comes to shooting, just do your best to take cover,” Nick said, but he was quickly starting to doubt that would happen. Normally, five-year-old girls weren’t harbingers of firefights, at least in his experience.

Still, he was ready to start brawling when the door opened again a few minutes later. It turned out to be unnecessary again. There were no soldiers, no police, no guns. Just Feng, dressed in a set of dirty blue coveralls.

“Oh, good. You’re up. How’s the tea?”