Gears of War: Anvil Gate (9 page)

Marcus gestured to Baird to cross to the other bank and move forward. Bernie was sure she could hear the sporadic revving of a bike. Sound carried for a long way out here. There was a moment of absolute quiet broken only by everyone’s breathing, and then Sorotki’s voice came on the radio.

“Got a visual,” he said. “Yeah, in the river. Actually
in
the river. Whoa, there they go. Three adult males, moving up the south bank—your
left
, Delta—and armed. I’m coming around again to drop Cole and Dom.”

Byrne cut in. “I’m on it, Two-Three-Nine.”

“I see you, Byrne. Head green thirty.”

The Raven looped and came straight back down the line of the river at full throttle. There was a loud crack, and Mitchell reacted: “Hey, did that bastard fire at us?”

“Confirmed, they’ve got rifles. Lost them now. They’ve gone under some trees. Okay, stand by—turning again. Then I’m dropping off.”

Bernie’s focus was cut to an instant, narrow intensity. She’d never done anything like this with the cattle dogs on the farm back home. Whatever they chased didn’t pack a rifle. As Baird splashed across the stream to follow Marcus, Mac scrabbled up the bank and almost pulled her off her feet.

“Okay, dog
loose,
” she said. “Delta, Two-Three-Nine, Byrne—I’m letting him go, so watch for him.” She fumbled for the clip on his collar, rehearsing the commands Will Berenz had given her. “Fix ’em, Mac. Go on.
Fix.
”

The dog was gone in a second. He was a big animal with a long stride, and he went off like a rocket. There was no way anything on two legs—not even Cole—was going to keep up with him. She simply jogged along, exhausted, trying to keep Marcus and Baird in sight, and knew she should have stuck to being a sniper. Her adrenaline was already ebbing, replaced by a shaky tearfulness that she’d never finish that card game with Andresen now, and a few mental flash-frames of her husband griping about her never being home on leave when he really needed her help on the farm. She hadn’t thought about the bastard in a long time.

“I’m bettin’ on that puppy.” Cole’s voice boomed in her earpiece. “He’s a natural born racin’ hound.”

Cole always managed to snap her out of it, whether he planned to or not. “Where are you, Cole Train?”

“On your right, Boomer Lady, comin’ through the trees.”

Bernie was a long way behind now. The Raven was circling high over the open ground between the patches of woodland, with Mitchell calling directions.

“They’ve split,” he said. “One’s heading back to the river and two are making for the woods.”

The rest of the noise in Bernie’s earpiece was ragged breathing and disjointed words. “Cole, Dom—take north.” That was Marcus. “Baird—you take the guy in the brown coat.”

Now the ground dipped away a little, and Bernie caught sight of the dog pelting through knee-high grass on an intercept line with the other two Stranded. Then they parted in opposite directions. If they thought splitting up would confuse Mac, it didn’t work. The dog was set on his prey—the guy in brown—and he jinked left like he was closing in on a rabbit. Baird was about fifty meters behind him. Then Mac put on a sudden spurt. Bernie found her second wind and started running again.

It was almost impossible for Bernie to take in the sequence, and not just because she felt her eyes were being shaken out of their sockets with every stride. The Stranded guy slowed, turned, and tried to level his rifle to aim. But the dog was racing at fifty kilometers an hour and simply launched himself into the air about four meters out. It was like watching a missile hit a ship broadside. Mac smashed into the man at chest height and knocked him flat. The rifle didn’t matter a damn to a dog.

Bernie couldn’t tell where Mac had sunk his teeth, but now that he’d pinned his prey down he was getting stuck in. The man was screaming, curled up in a ball. This wasn’t a police dog carefully trained to seize a specific limb and hang on. Mac didn’t know what an arrest meant.

The other Stranded guy stopped, took a few paces backward—he had a handgun—and seemed to realize he couldn’t get a clear shot at the dog. Was he going to abandon his buddy? He lost crucial seconds. He hesitated, then aimed as Marcus ran at him yelling at him to drop the weapon. Marcus really was going to try to take the guy alive, the crazy bastard. He was going to get killed. No Stranded was worth that.

“Drop him!” Bernie yelled. “For fuck’s sake—”

She stopped to aim her Lancer but in the second it took, she saw a blur of blackened metal shoot out of the trees behind the guy and cannon into him so hard that he lifted bodily into the air. The thud was sickening. The noise of the bike seemed to follow later. Sam Byrne skidded out of control, tearing up grass and soil, but righted herself and circled the bike to a halt by the man’s body. She was on him in a second with her chainsaw to his throat.

“
Shit,
” Marcus said. “Did you have to?”

“Yes, I
did
. He had a clear shot at you, and you were going to
tackle
him like some thrashball game.” Sam felt for a pulse, then looked up, indignant. “See? He’s not dead.”

Marcus checked for himself. “Let’s get him on the Raven.”

But the screaming went on. For a moment Bernie thought it was the man Sam had run down. But it was the one Mac was still busy savaging. Baird hovered uncertainly, trying to break it up.

“Shit, Bernie, how do I call off this thing?” Baird panted. It surprised her that he wasn’t just standing there applauding the dog’s technique. “He’s
killing
this asshole.”

“Say
out.
” She tried to yell a command that Mac would hear, but her lungs could only handle so much at once. “
Out
. It’s
out.
”

This is how I’m going to die. Trying to keep up with men half my frigging age. And a bloody dog
.

By the time she reached Mac, she could see the blood. Baird was yelling “Out!” and the dog had stopped shaking and tearing, but his jaws were now clamped tight on the man’s shoulder.
That was nearly me. Wasn’t it?
She’d once been exactly where this man was. Only armor and fellow Gears with chainsaw bayonets had saved her.

“Mac, out! Leave! Drop him!” Bernie went through every command she’d used with her cattle dogs in the hope that something would trigger him to stand down. “Leave it! Down!
Off!
”

Mac lifted his head and backed away, clearly reluctant. But he did it. He even came to heel. The Stranded bomber was moaning and trying to curl up in a ball.

Marcus moved in to check him over. He let out a long breath. “Sorotki? Mitchell? We’ve got
two
casevacs now.”

“That’s … the … idea.” Bernie gasped for breath, bent over with her hands braced on her hips. Her legs were shaking with the effort. “Deterrent.”

Mac looked as if he was deciding between going back in to finish the job and waiting for praise. He even wagged his tail and looked up into her face:
Am I a good boy? This is what you wanted, right?
It was sobering to see that wonderful, adoring, anything-to-please-you expression with blood around the muzzle.

“Yeah, good boy.” She managed to suck in some more air. Tomorrow was going to hurt. “You got him.”

Sporadic fire rattled in the near distance. Dom and Cole must have pinned down the third man. Mitchell jogged toward Marcus clutching a small red plastic case and knelt down to examine the Stranded. The guy who’d been run down was unconscious. The one Mac had caught was awake and making that thin, animal wailing sound of someone in shock.

“Shit. What’s your name, buddy? Can you hear me?” Mitchell didn’t get an answer. “That thing nearly ripped his scalp off.”

“You bastards,” the man said suddenly. “You
bastards
. You’re worse than the fucking grubs.”

That seemed to hit a nerve with Marcus. Bernie could feel his distaste again—the gradual turn of the head like a slow-motion shake, the long blink as he shut his eyes for a moment. It never felt like it was aimed directly at her. It seemed more like his general disgust at human excess seeped out of him some days.

“Our doctor’s going to treat you right alongside the Gears you blew up,” Marcus said. “So shut it.”

He turned his back and stood with his eyes closed, talking quietly to Control. He didn’t seem happy with the answers he was getting, and looked over his shoulder at Bernie.

“What?” she said.

“These guys are a special delivery for Trescu. I don’t think he’s planning to bake them a cake.”

“Ah.” Bernie had a pretty good idea of Gorasnaya’s old reputation. “Whose idea was that?”

“Not Hoffman’s, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“Come on, Sam.” Mitchell straightened up, first aid finished. “Give me a hand. Let’s get this chew toy back to Doc Hayman and make her day.”

Dom and Cole reappeared, dragging the third man between them. Actually, he wasn’t a man. Up close, he looked about fifteen, if that. Bernie had stopped seeing kids as noncombatants a long time ago, but it still brought her up short.

“Get your fucking hands off me,” he spat, all terrified bravado. “Where’s my dad? I want my dad. What have you done to him?”

Everyone has a dad. Even monsters. It doesn’t change a thing. His dad is blowing up my mates. And so is he
.

It still wasn’t easy to ignore. But seeing the enemy’s point of view didn’t end a war any faster than reducing them to monsters. It just made it harder for her to get the job done.

Bernie hung back with Marcus while the others loaded to the Raven. Only the dog would hear what she said to him now. And Mac was too busy licking himself.

“Look,” she said. “A dog tearing you apart isn’t any more immoral than a land mine shredding you. It’s all dirty either way. They didn’t stop to worry if Andresen had a family.”

Marcus was expressionless. “You think it’s okay to hand them over to Trescu?”

“These bastards have moral choices too.” Bernie didn’t know. She didn’t even want to think about it right then. “It’s not our sole responsibility.”

“But you’d feel better if it was an honest firefight.”

“I feel better if I’m not frigging
dead,
” Bernie said. “And so would Jonty, if they hadn’t cut his throat. One-sided rules of engagement are for lawyers.”

Marcus gave her that here-we-go-again look. Yes, they’d had this argument before, about what actually survived if you were prepared to do anything to stay alive. It had to be a constant and
painful dilemma for a man whose father helped incinerate most of Sera to save it.

“Got to envy that dog,” Marcus said, walking away.

Mac trotted after them, a nice friendly dog again. Bernie tapped her leg to bring him to heel. “Yes. He lives in the moment.”

“I meant that he sees everything in black and white,” Marcus said, and jogged off.

CHAPTER 4

Sam looked up at the heavily patched Gorasni patrol boat from the jetty. “You a good swimmer, Baird? ’Cos I’m not.”

“Hey, they’ve only lost
one
warship under completely inexplicable conditions,” Baird said. “It’s just a day trip. Enjoy the bracing air. Learn the strange ways of the sea from these colorful old salts.”

The old salts—a bunch of Gorasni seamen—were leaning on the ship’s gunwale, staring down, surly and silent. One of them was munching something with slow deliberation like a cow chewing the cud. He paused and spat over the side into the water.

Byrne strode up the brow. “What’s the Gorasni for
up yours?
”

“Just smile. These guys haven’t seen a woman in years. They’ll never know the difference.”

“I just want you to know that Bernie gave me orders to punch you out if you asked me to go find the golden rivet.”

Baird wondered if Sam just mouthed off out of embarrassment. It bothered him more than it should have, because sometimes he caught himself doing the same thing.

“Just maternal affection,” he said. “I’m the wayward, maladjusted son she always wanted to nag to death.”

Baird followed Sam up the brow. He had to admit the bike stunt was a pretty good move, and he didn’t blame her for using the first weapon that came to hand, even if it did have two wheels. But if he told her so, he’d never hear the end of it. And it sounded a bit too close to approving of female Gears. He kept his praise to himself.

Dom came up behind him. “Don’t start any fights you can’t finish,” he said. “Cole Train’s not here to rescue you.”