Fear and Anger (The 47 Echo Series) (27 page)

The small, wooden bridge was completely blocked by a ZTZ-99A tank. The massive vehicle could barely squeeze on to the small regional bridge, and there was maybe six inches of clearance on either side.

Nick slammed on the brakes, the tires screaming as he forced them from 155 miles an hour to a dead stop in the space of about 300 feet. Feng had put good brakes on the car, but Nick was traveling so fast he barely missed slamming into the huge tank. His front wheels were on the bridge already, and the car had slid slightly to the right during the braking maneuver, which meant Nick could see the wooden guard rail through his windshield. He’d have to back up – going forward would just wedge him in tighter.

Checking the rearview, he saw that backing up was a no-go. The choppers were landing in formation, blocking off the road and the level ground on either side. It wouldn’t be long before troops started pouring out, wouldn’t be long before he was bound, gagged, and thrown into one of those choppers for a long flight back to a Chinese prison. It was time to give up. Ghost had played their hand and played it well. Nick had to give it to them. They’d won.

At least he’d finally be able to get some sleep now.

When he opened the driver’s door, he thought he was going to get out, throw his M4 into the Amur River, and surrender. The logical part of his brain had convinced him that this was, now, his only option. At some point over the last few days, though, the logical part of his brain had been shoved in the backseat, and whatever psychotic, angry monster that had been lurking in the darker corners had come into the light and taken the wheel.

Nick did get out of the car. He held his M4 at arm’s length with one hand, holding it by the barrel so everyone could see he didn’t plan to fire.

But he didn’t throw the gun into the river. That’s what he
thought
he was going to do, but he was as surprised as Unit Ghost must have been when he started running straight at the tank. In three steps, he took a leap, scrambling up onto the left side of the vehicle just above the treads. The hatch at the top popped open, and a soldier appeared to grab the machine gun mounted in front of the hatch. Nick was still holding his M4 by the barrel in his left hand; still running, he grabbed it with his right, as well, and swung it as hard as he could at the soldier, connecting with the guy’s chin just below his helmet. He didn’t even look to see if he’d knocked the man out, but by the lack of gunfire, he must have.

Nick just kept running, hopping off the back of the tank and pounding across the bridge. He heard shouts behind him, but they were distorted, fuzzy. He put them out of his mind and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Faster.
Faster
.

He felt the wood under his feet shift to concrete, and he turned left, heading for an outcropping of trees. The concrete turned to soil. Ducking under branches and hopping over rocks, Nick put everything he had into his legs.

If they wanted him, they were going to have to chase him.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Gunned Down

First hide spot was a no-go – nothing but trees and more trees, and an abandoned factory that contained a single, wooden table in the middle of a huge, open building. Someone had gotten to it and gutted it long ago.

Christopher had gotten about an hour’s sleep off and on between hide spots one and two, and he was feeling slightly more himself. It turned out Bryce was right about Carson – the kid was sketchy on the first sweep. When Christopher spoke to him, the Ranger jumped noticeably, like he’d gotten a low-level electric shock. That kind of anxiety could get him or one of Christopher’s people killed, and he couldn’t have that. Time to build the kid back up.

“Approaching location two,” Bryce told him, stifling a yawn. Christopher realized he didn’t know when his driver had slept last.

“Carson –” Christopher said. The kid jumped again. Christopher pretended not to notice. “This one’s yours. Pick your team and sweep the area. Sing out if you see anything.”

“Uh. Right. Copy that, Gunny. Peter, Mike, Martin. You’re with me.”

Wrong. Take Daniel to cover you on long guns. Leave Mike or Peter here to cover you on the fifties
, Christopher thought, but he didn’t say it. He had to let Carson make the call.

Peter shot a glance at Christopher as Carson turned away to gear up, and Christopher gave him a little nod. He hoped his message was clear –
let the kid do his thing
. Peter nodded back and grabbed his SAW.

“Anthony, put their comms on speakers,” Christopher said after the team jumped out. “Daniel –”

“I’m on it, Chris,” the sniper said, climbing up into the right-hand .50 turret.

“Gabe, take over at cameras. Try to keep an eye on them.”

The medic nodded and moved up to the camera station, raising the chair a bit before sitting down. His legs still splayed out on the floor, but the chair only went so high, and Gabriel was a big dude.

“Pete, go ahead and take Martin and check that structure on the left,” Carson’s voice said over the comms. “Mike, get my back. We’re going for that small hill. See it?”

“Hard to miss, Sergeant,” Mike’s voice said.

For a few minutes, there was nothing over the comm lines. Christopher got up and paced the length of the Razor, walking all the way back to Mary’s station by the back door. She gave him a small smile, which he tried to return. He wasn’t sure he was successful – he felt like he was grimacing. As he headed back up to the front of the vehicle, he glanced over Gabriel’s shoulder – he had thermals on Peter and Martin, who were inside what looked like a large, metal building – a warehouse or hangar. There was no one else on thermals with them. Another camera had a view of the hill Carson had spoken of, but there were no thermals.

“Went behind the hill,” Gabriel explained, tapping the screen with his sausage-like index finger. “White boy moves pretty fast, though. Looked like Mike was jogging to keep up.”

“Yeah, Mike needs to cut down on the cigarettes,” Christopher said.

“Which of us doesn’t?”

“Fair point. You know, I used to smuggle those things up from Haiti and Cuba all the time. Never started smoking ‘em until I got here. How’s that for –”

A burst of static cut him off. Then, over the comms, gunfire.

“Hostiles! Hostiles!” Michael shouted.

“Bryce, get us to them. Anthony, tell Martin and Pete –”

“On it, Chief,” Anthony called.

Christopher jumped into his seat and brought up the targeting matrix for the Razor’s missile pods. The gunfire continued over the speakers, and Michael tried to say something, but the weapons drowned him out. Bryce manhandled the Razor around the long curve of the hill at a steady 60 miles an hour, and thermal images finally popped up on Christopher’s targeting screen. There was one vehicle – the Razor’s computer identified it as a BTR-80 Armored Personnel Carrier – flanked on both sides by soldiers with guns. The computer helpfully auto-targeted the weak spot, a lightly-armored side door, so all Christopher had to do was double-tap to fire. He sent two rockets flying. At the same time, he heard Daniel open up with the Razor’s top-mounted .50.

The thermal glowed white when the BTR-80 went up. Christopher could hear the explosion, but they were still too far out to feel anything. His screen cleared, and he could see one soldier up and running away. That soldier quickly pitched face-down, and Daniel’s .50 cut off a second later.

“They’re down. You got ‘em all,” Michael radioed. He sounded out of breath. “I’m at the back door. Let me the fuck in.”

Mary opened the back door, and Michael struggled in, Carson slung over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Without Christopher having to say a word, Gabriel was on his feet, rushing to the center of the Razor and dropping the lowest fold-down rack on the truck’s left side. Michael lowered Carson onto the bunk, then shook out his arms.

“Fuck, he’s heavy.”

“Where’s he hurt?” Gabriel asked, grabbing the medical kit and dumping the contents on the floor in front of him.

“Shoulder and right leg, at least. NoKo caught him with a spray as I shot the fucker, ripped diagonally. His armor took a couple, but he’s bleeding a bunch,” Michael told him.

“Grab your flashlight and point it where I tell you,” Gabriel said, grabbing a pair of scissors in his right hand and a squeeze bottle of saline in his left.

“Need an extra pair of hands?” Christopher asked, getting up from his seat and heading back to the center of the truck.

“Just need room, Chief. Mike’s got my back.”

“Shout if you need me.”

“Will do.”

Martin and Peter came aboard a moment later while Gabriel was still working. Peter took one look at the Ranger sprawled on the rack and looked over to Christopher, shaking his head. Christopher got the message. He’d fucked up by letting the kid call the shots. He knew it, Peter definitely knew it.

“Mike?” Christopher asked.

“NoKo encampment on the other side of the hill. Not too many guys – small unit like ours. Carson reached for his gun, and I guess they got a glint off his scope or something. They laid into us. I hit the ground and opened up, but Carson wasn’t fast enough.”

“We get them all?”

“You killed ‘em so hard they probably skipped purgatory and went straight to Hell,” Mike said.

“Flashlight down here, Mikey,” Gabriel said, pointing to Carson’s upper thigh.

“How is he?”

“Lucky as fuck, so far. Some ugly shit near the subclavian, but I managed to shut that down. His leg... missed the femoral, I think. Not enough blood. Looks like the bullet’s still in the muscle. I’ll plug it up like the through-and-through to the shoulder, but it’s safer to leave the bullet in until we can get his ass to a hospital.”

“He gonna live?” Michael asked.

“Live, probably. Depends on how soon we get him to a surgeon if he’s gonna be able to use the arm or the leg again, though.”

“Do what you can for him. Daniel, get on the cameras and make a sweep. Make sure we got everyone. Give Bryce the OK when we’re good to proceed,” Christopher ordered.

“Look at the bright side,” Bryce said in a low voice as Christopher took his seat. “At least he won’t be questioning your orders again.”

Christopher glared at his driver, who for a second
almost
grinned.

“What? Like you weren’t thinking the same thing?”

“Shut up, Bryce.”

“Shutting up, Gunnery Sergeant. Sir.”

Christopher knew his driver was just trying to lighten the mood, but he really, really wanted to slap the guy. It wasn’t because of the sarcasm or the attempt at black humor – that happened all the time. It was because Bryce was right. Christopher had thought the exact same thing. At least Carson would shut up for a while now. It was a horrible thing to think, but seeing someone shot just didn’t move the needle much anymore. He’d seen it too many times to get upset by it, and truth be told, he didn’t like the young Ranger much. He didn’t want him dead, despite the empty threat he’d made earlier... but having him laid up
did
make things easier on Christopher. Carson was the one unstable element on his team, the one person he hadn’t developed a working relationship with over the past eighteen months. Taking him out of the equation meant the team could function as it
should
.

Well, except I shouldn’t be in charge. But there’s no way around that. Not unless Jason Black was able to pull off a miracle.

Christopher wanted to pull out the antique cell phone and try to get a hold of Jason Black, to get a progress report. But there wasn’t time, and Black said he’d call with any updates. He hadn’t yet, and Christopher tried not to take that as a bad sign. He tried telling himself that Black had found Nick, and was currently busy trying to evade Chinese patrols as he got them back into friendlier territory. Better yet, he hoped the two of them were emptying out Jason Black’s mini-fridge back at Camp Justice, and Black had just gotten too hammered to remember to call with an update.

It was a nice fantasy, but Christopher refused to think of any other alternative. He’d already lost friends in the war, but Nick was more than a friend. Nick was closer to him than anyone in his own biological family. Nick had to survive. Nick had to come back and lead the team, because, in his own humble opinion, Christopher certainly was doing a piss-poor job of it. The team wasn’t falling apart – not yet – but 47 Echo needed its leader. It needed the Man with the Plan, not the Man Who Was Barely Holding His Shit Together.

All clear,” Daniel reported.

“You,” Christopher said, pointing at Bryce as he stood, “go get some sleep. You’re tired, and it’s affecting your already dubious sense of humor. I’ll take the wheel.”

Bryce nodded and unstrapped himself from the driver’s seat.

“Coordinates for hide three are all programmed into the nav. It’ll take two hours or so. Wake me up when we get there?”

“Yeah.”

“Good thing homeboy’s unconscious,” Bryce said, heading for the center of the Razor. “I hate it when I get woken up by screaming.”

“Sad thing is, we’ve all had it happen,” Daniel said.

Christopher took the vacant driver’s seat and checked the nav screen. Seventy miles to the next hide site, which was their second-least likely place to find the stolen Razor. The search wasn’t going well, and if the other Razor was moving again –

No. Shut that shit down right now. You’ll find them, because it’s your goddamn job to find them. Nick doesn’t give up on shit before it’s over, and neither will you
, Christopher told himself.

“Everybody hold on. We’re moving,” Christopher shouted, then shifted the Razor into gear and hit the accelerator.

“You know what?” Peter said, sliding into the passenger seat as the Razor charged forward. “When we find this child-touching motherfucker, I’m just going to beat him to death. Shooting’s too painless for him.”

“You know what?” Christopher said back. “I’ll let you.”