Warhead (33 page)

Mongrel’s ECube buzzed. He fished out the small alloy device from his heavy combat clothing and keyed in a code. Then he spoke into the device. ‘Yeah?’

‘It’s Roxi. I got the child.’

Mongrel’s face broke into a beaming, toothless smile. ‘Well done, that girl! You come up against much bad fight in NY? Was it tough-fuck gig?’

‘Yeah, real tough. But nothing I couldn’t handle. The GRID’s down, Mongrel—what happened there?’

‘We got shafted. Severely. From above.’

‘Jesus, the minute a girl turns her back! Tell Carter that I have his boy, and that he’s fine. Just a little shaken up. I assume we’re going to RV at Code3?’

‘Yes.’

‘See you soon, Mongrel.’

‘Be good, Rox. And be careful. Mongrel have big sloppy kiss waiting for you when you get back! And you not want to miss out on
that
treat! Out.’ Mongrel pocketed the ECube, then grinned at Carter. ‘She got him. I knew she would.’

Carter’s smile was wary. ‘I’ll believe it when I see it. No good getting too excited; every time that happens, I end up having to kill somebody who gets in my way. And there’s nothing I hate more than shooting somebody I like in the face.’

‘Not this time, Carter. You trust old Mongrel.’

‘Like we trusted Rogowski?’

Mongrel snorted. ‘That fucker now sausage meat. He get what he deserve; Mongrel think he bluffing about being just messenger. He just playing old mind-o games with our heads.’

‘Who’s to say what motivates somebody to turn against everything they have ever fought for in the past? Everything they have ever loved? One thing is for sure, though—the world today has changed beyond all recognition. I wish I could share your optimism, Mongrel. I really wish I could.’

Mongrel gave Carter a strange smile in the gloom of the stinking underground chamber. Below, two rats were squealing as they fought over a small, bobbing item.

‘When something’s eating you, Carter, when something’s chewing you from inside—then you learn to look at real values in life. Har! I am tick-tocking worse than any bomb now; and it bad because I
know
I not halt the detonation—no matter what I do. I as dead as Simmo, Carter. The cancer, it worming through me like parasite; my death is only matter of time.’

Carter placed his hand on Mongrel’s broad powerful shoulder. ‘You’re a good man, Mongrel. You’re a
strong
man. We’ll find a way for you to fight this thing.’

Mongrel nodded, smiling a sardonic smile. ‘Enough morbid talk. We got places to go, people to meet, ladies to woo. And an old Spiral Comanche to steal.’

‘Ladies to woo?’ Carter stared at the hulking toothless man. ‘God Mongrel, can’t even the guaranteed prospect of death rein in your rabid lust?’

‘The cancer? Ha! Not even fucking HTank on head stop this squaddie with romantic inc— incli— hard-on.’

Carter grinned savagely. ‘Where are we going?’

‘To Code3. In Scotland.’

‘The mountains?’

‘Yes, Carter. We going back to the mountains.’

The Comanche swept down through the falling snow, with Oban and the silver glittering waters of Loch Linnhe to the far west and a huge strung-out vista of mountains appearing through the blizzard. The helicopter banked, engines humming and rotors thumping as they bore east and then flew up through Glen Coe—following the desolate A82 highway with mountains rearing either side of the snowdrift-buried road. Carter peered out from the cockpit as feelings raged through his heart and soul. Below and to either side lay his world.

Carter had finally come home.

It had not been hard to reclaim the abandoned Comanche. The area where Carter had originally landed had been deserted. There had been no Nex, no civilians ... London had seemed almost like a ghost town. With heavy weaponry drawn and ready, Mongrel had muttered something nasty about the Nex being drafted in to hunt down the remains of Spiral.

‘You’re doing well for such an amateur pilot,’ said Carter, glancing over towards the insect-like HIDSS.

Mongrel grunted something unintelligible from his entombment in the black helmet. His gaze was intent on scanners and the awesome view from the cockpit. They dropped towards the Munros, dropping down over sprawls of snow-clad conifer forests to the south of Fort William and flying low to follow the River Nevis before Mongrel brought the combat helicopter around to sweep up and over Sgorr Chalum. Then the massive bulk of Ben Nevis towered ahead. They flew on, over the lower green and white-peppered flanks towards the stone summits of The Ben.

Carter peered out at the daunting lump of rock. He smiled, a smile of understanding. The mountain had treated him well all these years, had pushed him to his limits during the seven winter runs which had forced him to the limit of his physical abilities—but, ultimately, despite the pain, she had never once sought vengeance. The Ben was unforgiving. The Ben was merciless. But she and Carter, well, they had an understanding.

The Comanche howled up past steep slopes of scattered grey stone, pitted and hollowed like the surface of the moon, and rimed with a crust of frozen ice. They skimmed over the summit plateau, the old crumbling observatory flashing past as the awesome views spread out ahead of them.

‘Nice place,’ muttered Mongrel.

‘Nice?
Nice?
You are the fucking master of understatement, Mongrel, you stinking old goat. Did you see Devil’s Ridge down there? Or the Observatory, or the Tower Gap? No, of course you didn’t because your eyes are jaded—you are a fucking city heathen. A pub-whore piss-artist.’

‘Ha, I agree, this old soldier prefer kebab house to nasty fresh air of such places. But I concede: this has desolate feeling to it, feeling of freedom which growing in Mongrel’s crusty old soul. I have had enough of city, I spit on city. Durell has cursed my playground with Nex and death. No more one-legged whores for Mongrel!’

‘One-legged ... let me guess. It’s a long story, right?’

‘Aye, Carter, you catch on quick, lad. Is long, long story. I tell you some time ... before I die.’

Carter watched the terrain flashing below them, and within minutes Mongrel slammed the Comanche into a vertical landing. Its engines roared as the combat helicopter fell between steep-sloping walls of ice-jewelled stone and touched down, suspension groaning, cooling engines clicking. Carter jumped out as the rotors thumped above him. Cold air slammed his face, snow tried to settle on his eyelashes, and he grinned a wide boyish grin.

He breathed deep.

The cold mountain air smelled
good.
Like no other air on Earth.

Gathered on this mountain plateau, in a carved scoop hidden neatly between the rearing savage peaks from which flurries of snow drifted and swirled, there were perhaps twenty aircraft. All piloted by Spiral operatives; all hijacked by the remnants of the DemolSquads,

Mongrel dropped the HIDSS, scrambled out and stood on the rocky plateau, sniffing, face twisted into a frown. He glanced around at the other choppers and three Manta fighters, and then put his huge shovel hands on his bulging hips.

‘What’s the matter?’ said Carter.

‘This place smell funny.’

‘It’s called
fresh air,
Mongrel.’

‘Ahh? Ahh! That what it is. I not used to breathing something without the old biological or chemical pollution. Look, there Simmo’s Manta!’ But then the smile dropped from his face. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Shit. It take the Mongrel a long time get used to the Big Man being gone.’ He sighed, eyes distant and nostalgic. ‘You know, he used to have big green Land Rover, huge hulking piece of battered garbage, ergonomic as brick, heavy as tank, blowing and honking its stinking burnt-fish-oil fumes all over damned airfield like worst of torque-raped engines. We used to call it his Land
Reaper
—witty play on
Grim
Reaper.’

‘Yeah, Mongrel, I get it.’

‘Well, Simmo fucking
obsessed
with his big green anvil on wheels. We used to mock him without stop, used to say his Lanny was like sitting in your armchair and driving your house! Oh! how we roared with laughter, mocking his 4x4 caravan, but the old Sarge, no, he not think this one bit funny. Oh no, lost his sense of humour over the lads’ quips about his battered fish-stinking Lanny. Used to get old beardy scowl on his jowls and wander off to the NAAFI muttering about SU carburettors and rotational pistons and the ease of draining gearbox oil. He a proper Lanny freak. But I ...
I
—’ He beamed proudly. ‘
I
was privileged to share cups of Horlicks with Sarge. We swap old war stories, tales of adventure, told around roaring log fires with our B&S spoons raised in salute ... as the squaddies let down the tyres on his cheese-stinking machine.
Ahhhh!
Those was the days. Happy, happy days.’

‘Now he’s gone,’ said Carter softly. ‘Killed by the Nex.’

Mongrel’s eyes had filled with tears. Now they glistened with a harsher light. ‘Yes,’ he growled, nodding. ‘Gone. Dead. I wish I could bring him back, Carter, I really do. Now the Nex, they will suffer, I think. They will pay the price—I send them bill from muzzle of my machine gun.’

Thus Mongrel lamented the passing of his great friend.

‘Come on,’ said Carter eventually, turning up the collar on his jacket as the wind fought to get next to his skin. ‘Lead the way. We’ve some tough decisions to make.’

Mongrel’s boots thumped across the plateau rock and the two men jumped down into a narrow gully that was ankle-deep in crushed ice. With crackling footsteps, slipping and sliding, they made their way to the small arched entrance, to the tunnel that led into the depths of the mountains.

As Carter stooped to enter the dark, ice-glittering passageway, he glanced back at the rocky trail leading up over to the distant summit of Ben Nevis. Then, flicking on the narrow beam of his powerful Maglite, he shouldered his pack and followed Mongrel into the waiting darkness beyond.

It was an hour later, and the underground cavern was crowded. The Priest sat by a roaring fire and across from him squatted Carter, oiling his Browning and checking its magazines. Mongrel was stirring a huge pan of B&S over the flames, and around the room many Spiral ops had got their heads down in bivvy bags, or were sitting talking in small groups and holding steaming mugs of tea. Carter looked around as he worked slowly and carefully; it was a wise man who took the time for precision care of his gun.

AnnaMarie, Kavanagh and Remic were all there, looking older and more grizzled than he remembered them. His gaze passed over the weary faces of Rekalavich, Haggis, Fegs, Russian, Dublin, Legs, 9mm, Gemmell, Kinnane, Oz, Ian ‘Elton’ Pickles, Root Beer, Mrs Sheep and Samasuwo, who looked more like a sumo wrestler with every passing day.

Mongrel suddenly frowned and fished out his ECube. It was rattling in his huge hand and he keyed a control on its alloy surface. He read the text.

‘What is it?’

‘Roxi will be here soon. With your boy.’

‘Brilliant.’

‘And there’s more.’

‘More?’

‘We’ve got visitors. Roxi says the REBS are coming, Carter. They’re coming here and they’re coming to pay their respects.’

‘Dad!’

Joe sprinted across the rocky floor and fell into Carter’s arms. Carter nuzzled the boy, and his tears fell into Joe’s short hair. Suddenly, everything was right in the world.

‘You OK?’

‘Yes dad.’ Joe looked up then and Carter could see Natasha in his son’s face. He felt his heart skip a beat.

‘They didn’t hurt you?’

‘No, dad. The nice lady, Alexis, she looked after me. I was scared. She brought me things. Toys. She spent time with me. She was kind.’

Carter frowned. ‘She was? I didn’t realise the Nex could be so ... caring.’

Carter’s gaze shifted from his son to the lithe figure standing close behind. She carried an H&K sub-machine gun balanced on her hip. Her green eyes twinkled.

‘Thank you, Rox. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you.’

‘It was my pleasure, Carter.’ Her voice was low and thick with emotion.

Mongrel ambled over, waving his huge wooden spoon. ‘You two lovebirds need some scram?’

‘B&S?’ moaned Carter. ‘Couldn’t you have been a bit more adventurous?’

Mongrel shrugged. ‘Don’t like that foreign muck. All sea grass and peppers and herbs and shit. Mongrel like real food for real man! I have hard-on for damned B&S!’ His huge head turned suddenly to Roxi. ‘You say REBS coming here? Why so? Our paths have not often crossed; our goals have never been the same, I thinking.’

‘Our objectives
have
been the same,’ said Roxi, her hand dropping to rest against the small of Carter’s back. ‘Only the top dogs in Spiral never chose to amalgamate. Well, now the REBS are broken—and
we
are broken. I think the only way we have a chance is to combine our forces. The only way to win is to merge. To blend—like the Nex.’

‘Win?’ Carter laughed then. ‘That is a word I haven’t heard for a long time. I think
survival
is more the order of the day now. We are not in a position to win. We have neither the manpower, the technology nor the weaponry. To overthrow Durell—well, we would need a miracle.’

‘Let’s see what the REBS have to say,’ Mongrel rumbled. ‘Now come and get some B&S down you. You’ll need your strength.’