The Fight for Peace (29 page)

Chapter 32

LIEUTENANT DERRICK ELDRIDGE

MEETING OLD ENEMIES

“You don’t look well,” Derrick said to Damir Stovik, ignoring the gun Damir held a few inches in front of his face.

The slight shake in Damir’s hand caused the barrel of the gun to waggle. That would have been sign enough Damir was unwell, but the man also leaned as he stood over Derrick, his face pinched and pale.

“Gut shot?” Derrick guessed.

“You want to find out what it feels like?” Damir asked, lowering the gun to point at Derrick’s stomach.

“Already had one,” Derrick said. “It’s the wound that took me out of the war. That and a broken leg.”

“It can take you out of the war again,” Damir said, smile tight and as lopsided as his stance.

Derrick knelt in the muck of the dairy barn, nervous cattle mooing where they were tied to metal stanchions a few feet away. As much as Derrick had expected some resistance even here on the outskirts of the main city, he hadn’t expected Damir’s elite force to surround him before he had a chance to fire a weapon. Derrick had followed their orders to walk into the barn, relieved of only his obvious weapons. He still had the walkie because in the shooting from the Guard platoon and Derrick’s cooperation, they hadn’t searched him too closely. Yet.

“True.” Derrick answered as easily as he could, but sweat pricked under his arms at the threat.

Damir intended to kill him. Derrick remained alive only because he had information. But alive enough to talk didn’t mean uninjured. As ludicrous of a long shot as it was to escape, Derrick wanted to keep it a possibility. Which meant avoiding injury. There was only one outcome to this meeting. Either he would die, or the six well trained and heavily armed FLF soldiers would. The odds for him weren’t very good.

“Anyone coming?” Damir asked a soldier.

“Net,” he answered. That was when Derrick recognized General Vasiliy Kavorski. With his beard shaved, Derrick hadn’t placed the man who had saved him and Pyotr from freezing on the long ride to Crystal City.

“There will be more. You are important.” Damir tapped Derrick’s cheek with the barrel of the gun. “More than I realized when we had our talks. You are a Lieutenant in the Guard now? Reward for spying on us?”

“No. They’d offered that to me before I came here.”

Derrick didn’t see the blow that sent him face first into the cold concrete of the barn floor. Ears ringing with the pain, he couldn’t make sense of the words being shouted above him. Until he realized with relief Damir and Vasiliy were arguing in Russian. Gingerly, Derrick picked himself off the floor, pausing as momentary nausea swept through him. Hand to his temple, Derrick felt the walkie beneath his jacket. One thought kept him from finding a way to turn it on.

He had to find a way to alert Jared that he wasn’t coming back from a very poor mission. But Captain Vries might be foolish enough to send in a rescue team. Or if Damir found the walkie, it could spiral into a hostage situation. Derrick would not be the reason the siege on Crystal City failed.

That perspective changed the situation. Derrick sat up, ignoring the desire to open a line to Jared. He’d have one chance to communicate and it would be as things resolved here. At that point it wouldn’t matter if Damir found out Derrick could communicate with the Guard. One of them would be dying.

Damir hauled Derrick upright again, leaving him positioned for execution. But he didn’t fire, not yet. Vasiliy growled under his breath, turning away. The three FLF soldiers he could see glanced at each other. If he had more time, Derrick could have played the tension between the two men.

Damir squeezed the trigger slowly, stopping as the hammer raised to midpoint. “I knew it was yo
u–
that you would be the one to sneak into Crystal City.”

Tensed for a bullet, it took Derrick a moment to process the statement. “Yeah, but why would you set up an ambush here out of all of Crystal City? We could have gone after the hydro or the data centers.”

“Could have, yes,” Damir said. “But you didn’t do that when you first came. The Guard didn’t destroy anything. Spasibo for that, by the way. I hate rebuilding.”

Vasiliy snorted, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. “Worker revolutions ... we are an expert at that. Obvious tactic if you didn’t choose to simply destroy us.” Vasiliy looked at Damir. “Our orders are to take him back to be questioned by Andrews, not you.” Vasiliy kicked at a cow licking for hay at his feet. It jumped back, banging the metal stanchions as it bellowed.

“Zakt’nis
,
” Damir hissed. “I will question him if I choose to. How many soldiers did you lead here?”

“Only a platoon and they were green. You probably killed them all.”

Damir stared hard at him, breaking eye contact as another flurry of Russian was exchanged. Damir shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye, Derrick saw a soldier slip out the narrowly open doorway. Damir paced, tapping his gun against his thigh with each limped stride.

That they were nervous about the Guard being a threat was a relief. Even if Derrick meant what he’d said. Pyotr and his platoon were most likely dead. Derrick had heard the loud retorts of the Guard weapons cut off abruptly. Pyotr was a good soldier and platoon leader, but this situation against hardened FLF soldiers was not something surviving the Wasteland and basic could have prepared him for.

Damir stopped in front of Derrick. “What are you generating around Crystal City?”

“An electrical shield. You are trapped in here.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Derrick gave Damir a half smile at that. “You can go touch it if you like. I’ll take you.”

“Net!” Vasiliy barked as Damir raised the gun again. “He is my prisoner! Orders are to bring him in for questioning, not beat him to death.” Vasiliy’s bulk forced Damir back a step.

“Orders ...,” Derrick whispered. He sat back on his heels. “The fight at the peace negotiations was like Kiev. Sergi Novikovich was given the order to spring the trap to capture Captain Vries and Arinna, but you didn’t expect it.”

Neither man answered, but the truth was in their eyes. Vasiliy looked like a soldier, a good General who would do as told. Damir’s glare was hostile and the anger wasn’t solely for Derrick or the Guard. He looked like a man who felt his Commanders had betrayed him, bargaining his life for a goal they held dear, and Damir hated it.

“Who are the leaders of the FLF in Crystal City?” Derrick asked.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Vasiliy answered. He motioned for the soldiers in the room to prepare to move out. During the confrontation, those scouting must have returned. There were more in the barn than earlier. One shook his head at a question Vasiliy asked. “It is clear. We go.”

Damir hesitated before pulling Derrick to his feet. Despite the gut wound, the man still had strength.

“Even you listen to them when they risked your life,” Derrick said. Damir didn’t answer. “They must be powerful.”

“They are dangerous. You shut up,” Damir said as he walked Derrick forward, the gun pressed into the small of his back.

The small group paused at a wooden half wall that separated the cows from hay bales. Vasiliy and his soldiers eased to either side of the doorway. The sliding wooden door was open wide enough for a single person to slip through. Only barely, Derrick noted as one of the FLF soldiers shimmied through, keeping a rifle at his side. Vasiliy stared at the gap and grunted, wedging himself into the opening. The door squeaked open another inch to accommodate the general, his holster banging on the handle so that Vasiliy cursed.

There was no reason not to keep pushing Damir. Derrick’s luck had already run out. The door offered the potential to turn on the walkie, as well as make a run for it. There was no way Derrick wanted to meet the leaders of the FLF, at least when he no longer held a gun.

“Byran told me Sergi shot first. You followed his orders when I was in Crystal City. Did he even tell you he’d been told to kill the European delegates that day? Or hadn’t he thought you important enough?”

“Mu’dak!” Damir growled, pushing Derrick forward.

The space granted Derrick enough room to swing. He hit Damir low on the same side he limped, connecting with the tight wrapping of bandages. Damir dropped to his knees with a huff.

“Ty che, blyad?” Vasiliy, halfway through the door, turned back, slamming the door open another foot despite the noise.

The creaking sliders nearly drowned the sound of a gunshot. Derrick saw blood on Vasiliy’s face as he slumped to the floor. He dove for the far side of bales, scrambling around the low wooden wall. Despite the pain of his injury, Damir met Derrick on the other side, standing ready with gun pointed at Derrick’s head.

“Screw their questions,” Damir said, squeezing the trigger as Derrick grabbed the walkie.

He didn’t have the chance to flip it on. Damir rocked sideways by a headshot, his gun falling from lifeless fingers. Braced for death a second time that night, Derrick’s first reaction was disbelief. Then he went for Damir’s gun.

He brought it up as a young female soldier trained hers on him. “Shit. Lieutenant Eldridge are you all right?” Without waiting for an answer, Cadet Heylor looked toward the door. “Pyotr, he’s in here.”

“I’m fine,” Derrick answered. Though his legs felt unsteady as he pulled himself to his feet. “How the heck?”

“Fucking farm boy heard the cows mooing and said they sounded upset,” Cadet Caprotti answered. “That is how we knew where you were, sir.”

“The rest was just luck,” Pyotr said. “They had good weapons, but must not have been too many. They didn’t chase us when we ran.”

“Through pig shit. Can’t imagine why,” Cadet Heylor said.

Derrick chuckled with relief as much as humor at the young woman’s answer. “I owe you,” Derrick said to Pyotr.

“You got me through the Wasteland. I’ve owed you for quite a while,” Pyotr answered, clasping Derrick’s shoulder. “I’m just glad you are in one piece.”

“We need to get moving. The houses here are empty so there is no point in staying,” Cadet Hussef said.

“They guessed we’d try to get the workers to join,” Derrick said. “Moving them must have been what they were doing during the initial lull. These soldiers might have been finishing the roundup as much as waiting for us.”

“So there might be more. Let’s get going. If you are ready, sir?” Pyotr asked.

Derrick didn’t need to hear the suggestion again. Captain Vries, much less Arinna, would be livid when they heard of this. He’d have to give Jared an update as soon as he could confidently report they’d made it back.

They moved along the barn to the far door. Pyotr’s platoon looked to be down two people from this mission. Derrick imagined the loss stung, especially since it had been for nothing. But Pyotr stayed focused, pausing at the door. Gunfire snapped in the distance, but beyond it a glow diminished the night. The shield still held. The absence from contacting Jared, as well as his dactyl, itched under his skin. Derrick thought he’d just had his fill of ground fighting.

“We’re gonna have quite the walk back,” Pyotr said, his gaze on the flashes of fire. He stepped forward, signaling his team, and crumbled to his knees at the sound of a gunshot.

“You fucking traitor!”

Derrick recognized Assandra, dressed in FLF military black, as he squeezed the trigger to take her out. He flinched, causing his bullet to hit her in the lung. She stumbled, falling in quiet gasps.

“Look for more soldiers,” Derrick ordered, kneeling next to Pyotr. Pyotr groaned as Derrick put a hand on his chest. Blood spread quickly from the young man as it saturated his jacket. “Leave me a med kit.”

The platoon spread out, two keeping guard over Derrick and Pyotr as the rest scouted. “Shit,” Pyotr hissed, kicking himself back so he could rest his head against the barn wall.

“Lie still,” Derrick told him, as all clears sounded. Pulling away clothing sticky with blood revealed a piercing wound, serious but not fatal, at least not instantly. “This is going to hurt.” Derrick pressed a self sealing pad against the wound in Pyotr’s side.

Pyotr grunted. When he could breathe again, he glanced at the FLF soldier lying unmoving a few feet away. “Assandra?”

Derrick swore, having hoped Pyotr wouldn’t recognize the Novikovich daughter. “I’ll check.”

As Derrick slipped over to Assandra, the Cadet who’d shot Damir dropped to Pyotr’s side. “Don’t talk,” she said, taking his hand. The remainder of the platoon gathered near, staying on alert as they glanced between each other and the dark barnyard around them. The fighting in the distance emitted continuous flashes of light.

“You,” Assandra rasped, staring at Derrick. “We should have killed both of you when you first came.” Blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth.

“Frankly I’m surprised you took time away from your parties enough to know how to shoot a gun,” Derrick told her, putting a hand against her neck. She flinched, wincing with the pain. Blood raced from the wound with the movement.

“My father was a fighter. We might have been rebelling against their rules when you were here, but did you think that bringing the war to our city would make us tear down our families? Did you think killing my father at the peace talks would make me not want to fight? We will fight you until every last one of us is dead ... or you are.”