by Michael Todd
“We could always drop a couple of nukes on the place,” someone else suggested as he removed his glasses to rub at sore eyes. “We could level that place and turn it into a desert again and have us all home before dinnertime.”
“Yes, because we all know that to nuke the place is the epitome of subtle, especially when it’s on foreign soil,” the second man said and now looked annoyed. “Of course, that will have no repercussions, either environmental or diplomatic.” He snorted disdain and ignored the hostile stares of some of his colleagues.
“It sounds like all you’re doing here is using sarcasm to shoot down other people’s ideas instead of coming up with any of your own,” the first man said, his tone angry.
“Can you really call those ideas?” scientist number two asked with a snort. “I’ve been around here the longest because I haven’t come up with any new and cool ideas and have only nitpicked at and destroyed everybody else’s ideas. It’s about job security, man. That and being able to say I told you so as much as possible.”
“You’re an asshole,” the first man said with a groan.
“Realistically, there aren’t many options that we haven’t tried already,” a fourth man interjected, one in a suit instead of a lab coat which indicated that he was the one in charge. “Which is why we need a think-tank to come up with something new and exciting to present to the new budgetary hearing in the Senate next week.”
“What about the plans for the mech suits?” another scientist asked. “Will those be ready at any time in the foreseeable future?”
“The technology is all there and is already being tested in the Zoo environment, albeit at a lower capacity,” someone else replied. “We’re essentially waiting on the big bucks to flow in.”
“Why do you ask, Brian?” the leader asked.
“Well…” the younger man began and gave Dr. Sarcasm a hard look before he continued. “The Mechs look like they’re the only things we have available that might be able to handle the ever-changing environment of the Zoo with any degree of reliability. If we send them in larger numbers, it could be exactly what would be needed to curb the jungle’s growth.”
“The only problem is, they aren’t exactly available yet,” Sarcasm said with a chuckle. “Although that is the closest thing to a good idea as I’ve heard all day. And it’s only been…five hours.” He took a moment to check his watch to be sure of the timeline.
“The only terrain we can trust is anything not taken over by the Zoo,” the leader said and shook his head. “And the priority should be to keep that area clear and untainted by the goop. We need to find a way to detect its spread across the ground.”
Sarcasm rolled his eyes and leaned back as another barrage of so-called creative ideas surged. He must have done something terrible in his last life to have been cursed to deal with this many idiots on a daily basis.
Gregor rubbed his eyes and returned his attention to the newest shipment of supplies that had arrived from the home front. Well, no, he doubted that they had been flown in all the way from Russia. India was the most likely origin of all this food, ironic as that sounded in his head. He wasn’t sure how the people managed that deal, considering the problems the country had faced over the past couple of years, but damned if he would complain about it. He had been with one of the first companies to arrive to start the base, and memories of half rations in the early days were enough to still his beating heart.
He moved away from the crates the teams unloaded from the massive plane, worried that they might call him in to help if he looked too idle, when his gaze identified Commandant Solaratov, the base commander, making his rounds. To Gregor’s surprise, another man he didn’t recognize and who sported a horde of medals on his chest berated the man.
It merited a closer look if nothing else, he mused, and sidled casually forward.
“While our technology research into vehicles outstrips the American competition, our other research sadly lags behind,” the new man growled. He seemed to have some difficulty with moving at the same pace as his fitter companion.
“If the Kremlin wishes for research to be more of a focus, they must send us more researchers,” the commandant said. He seemed calm despite the reprimands delivered by the man whom Gregor could now see was, in fact, his superior. “Scientists, specialists—someone who could actually make heads or tails of what we encounter out there. We have beasts with venomous fangs, trees that use vines to trap and eat our troops… We simply don’t have the time to test weapons as well as deliver a competitive amount of intel back to Moscow. If they would send us some proper researchers—”
“That will certainly not happen,” the superior said with a chuckle. “Too many children of high-ranking officials work for the government-funded labs for them to be spared in this decade.”
“Could we not bring in third-party contractors?” the commandant asked. “It’s what the Americans do with great success. So much so that the UN now wants a piece of the action.”
“There are talks underway, but you know how the government is back home.” The man sounded calmer than he had been before. “They are bidding on the projects, so that could mean anytime this year—or maybe not at all. We have to wait and see.”
“And knowing all this…” Solaratov said. He stopped and turned to face the other man. “How do you expect us to bring in research that is worth anything?”
“I only relay the orders that sent me here, Commandant Solaratov.”
Gregor couldn’t help a smile of his own. The base commander had dealt with bureaucracy back in Russia for decades longer than anyone else and knew how to work men like this one effectively. He had all the right excuses and all the right lines and knew exactly when to deliver them to make people defensive around him. It was a good trick to learn, and Gregor himself had put it into practice as much as possible. Which was why he was there, still out of the Zoo even though it had been almost a week since his last run and he had long since recovered from his ordeal. Most of the others were already scheduled into the rotation with the other teams.
All except Solaratov’s son, of course. He had been sent back to Moscow, apparently for further treatment.
“I brought a couple of new Spetsnatz-trained teams with me to make sure that you have the people necessary to handle your new responsibilities.” The new man seemed to suddenly remember that he was the superior in this conversation, not the other way around. “Men who have been trained in jungle warfare in the worst conditions around the globe and should be ready to deal with some wild animals.”
“If you think all they will face is wild animals, I am afraid you are the one who has not done his research.” Solaratov chuckled. “The videos that have been shared with us by our American friends, as well as their reports on what they currently face inside, are more than enough to convince you that standard training, no matter how advanced, can in no way prepare any man for what he will encounter in there.”
The commandant nodded his head toward the jungle. The eavesdropper narrowed his eyes. Solaratov’s fears of the place were well-founded, and yet Gregor had never seen the man enter himself. He must have spent a great deal of time studying the reports they were able to acquire.
That or the man had enough sense to know that he wasn’t cut out for missions into a place like that.
“Their reports have clearly been altered and their videos exaggerated.” The other man gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “The Americans have grown very skilled at spreading the fake news and would obviously rather profit from our lack of presence in the place instead of having our help. The new teams will be entered into the rotation immediately, and I want all reports about what they encounter inside to be sent to my office first. I will then share what I have found with you if I deem it something that you need to know.”
Solaratov now clearly fumed at being talked down to like that—like he hadn’t read the reports by his own teams and had a fairly decent idea of what they would face in there.
&nbs
p; But, again, he was the consummate bureaucrat. He knew when fights could be won and when the time was to step away. Now was the latter. The new man needed to prove his superiority to his troops, no matter how many were killed in the process, and would only afterward consider listening to any ideas that had the potential to save lives.
Careers were more important, always, Gregor thought with disgust.
Solaratov saluted quickly as his new superior marched away but his stern look changed to one of scorn and disgust as he watched the man’s movements across the tarmac.
“Send in these idiots with more muscles than sense and think that they’ll survive one trip into that fucking jungle,” he growled. Gregor wondered if the man had seen him but quickly realized that the commandant was simply talking to himself.
Gregor pulled away from the conversation and headed back to the plane, and from there, to the mess hall. He wasn’t crazy enough to volunteer for any of the missions inside until it was absolutely necessary, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t warn the friends he’d made there—who numbered more than a few—that the new boss on base would increase the number of rotations. Maybe the information would come in time for them to fake some kind of injury or sickness to get themselves out of the few first trips that would have the most casualties—and maybe for long enough that the new man would gain some sense and change his rigid stance.
Not everyone would make it, but if he could save a few lives, he would consider it worth it.
Chapter Fifteen
A JLTV pulled up near the tarmac as Sal and Kennedy clambered out of the loading bay of the Hercules. He could tell it was one of theirs. Not only because it wasn’t standard military issue and therefore slightly more expensive, but also because he could see more than a few modifications made to the bodywork of the vehicle.
He confirmed what he already knew when his gaze settled on a blonde with short hair and a pair of aviator sunglasses who eased it over to where they now stood.
“Hey there, strangers,” Gutierrez said with a smirk. She lowered the sunglasses dramatically. “Do you ladies need a lift?”
“Only if I drive,” Kennedy said with a broad grin.
Amanda shook her head. “If you think I’ll let you drive my baby when I’ve barely finished repairs on her from the tear-up you caused, you’re crazier than I am, Sergeant.”
“Shotgun,” Sal called and sprinted quickly around the vehicle to scramble into the copilot seat. He grinned when Kennedy scowled and flipped him off as she took her place in the back.
“I hate riding bitch,” she said with a scowl and shook her head as their driver accelerated away from the massive plane. “Hey, wait, how come this is your baby? As I recall, you weren’t around while we bought these or the compound. As far as I’m concerned, this is my baby.”
Gutierrez looked at Sal, who shrugged.
“Don’t mind her,” he said. “She didn’t get much sleep on the whole flight over here.”
The woman cackled. “Heh. Very nice work there, stud. I wouldn’t have thought that you could get it up while that high in the air. Pressure and all that.”
“It’s nothing like that,” he retorted, a little uncomfortable. “We simply had a lot of reading material.”
“And like that, you lost my interest,” Amanda said with a grin. She glanced into the rearview mirror at Kennedy. “By the by, you made this one my baby after you drunk-drove her and smashed the shocks, the transmission, and ruined not one but all six of the wheels. I put in a lot of work and trouble to get her back into working order—I’ll bill you guys for the parts later—which for all intents and purposes, makes her my baby, and the rule on my baby is that you don’t drive until you take some lessons that involve teaching you not to drink and drive.”
“Ugh. Fine, Mom,” Kennedy muttered, leaned back in her seat, and closed her eyes to nap during the hour-long ride to the compound.
“So, how have you settled into your new surroundings?” Sal asked after they’d traveled for a couple of minutes in silence.
“Not too bad, actually,” Amanda said with a bright smile. “I have a room all to myself. I got your message and moved all Dr. Monroe’s stuff into storage. Do you really think that she won’t come back?”
“She just inherited a damn fortune,” Madigan said and didn’t bother to open her eyes. “Do you really think someone who made that much money will come back to poke at animals that are more than likely to poke back?”
Sal’s face fell, although he said nothing. Amanda noticed, though, and raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, that’s a good point,” she conceded. “Anyway, the former owners left us a lot of stuff to work with. I appreciate you leaving all of it in the garage for me. I’ve organized everything to my specs, worked everything out, and now, you have a fully functional workshop at your disposal.”
“That’s worth every penny,” Sal said with a smile. “It sounds great. Quick question, though. How mobile do you think that workshop could be in a pinch?”
Amanda narrowed her eyes. “Are you joking? There are literally tons of stuff to move. If you want me to look into getting a truck to put it all into, I could, but that wouldn’t really help with mobility. It would be more a way to get it from here to one of the other bases.”
“That’s not what I mean,” he replied and shook his head. “I’m more interested in…well, what would you need to carry so that you could make repairs on suits out in the field?”
“Oh.” She frowned as she considered this. “Well, that’s more complicated, obviously. I’ve tinkered with this one’s suit over the past couple of days, got it back into working order, and made some improvements too. But I’d have to look over the inventory to see what I’d need to bring into the Zoo for repairs. I’ll get back to you on that ASAP.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime, boss.”
“You don’t have to call me boss. You know that, right?” Sal asked.
Amanda shrugged. “If you really mind it, I can stop, but it’s easier than calling you Jacobs, and I don’t think we’re close enough for me to call you Sal yet. And I most definitely won’t call you Salinger. That’s a lot of mispronunciation simply waiting to happen.”
“Fair enough. Boss it is until you feel comfortable enough to call me Sal.”
She nodded and silence prevailed through the rest of the drive to the compound. None of them were great at small talk. Well, Sal was, but he wasn’t really in the mood to carry the conversation by himself. Madigan snored softly in the back and Gutierrez seemed more than happy to fiddle with various buttons and gizmos on her new baby. Sal leaned back in his seat. He hadn’t had much sleep on the long flight either, and yet he had something of a wired sensation in his body that kept the weariness at bay. He would feel it soon, he knew, but that obviously wouldn’t happen until later.
They entered the compound and the garage, which was an opportunity for her to show off what she’d done with the place in their absence.
“By the way, boss,” she said as they walked into the residential part of the compound. “A guy approached me who wanted a job or something. A Corporal Brandon. Ever heard of him?”
“Yeah, he’s the guy I drank under the table, right?” Sal asked Kennedy, who yawned and stretched after her nap.
“Yeah,” she replied, still on the tail-end of the yawn. “The guy who I then beat up after he tried to steal my food while you were getting checked out at the hospital. Fucking jet lag. Why can’t it be nighttime already?”
“I think we’re stocked with some melatonin,” he said with a smile and patted her on the shoulder. “Take one and sleep until tomorrow.”
She shook her head. “That’s fine. I’ll last for a while after that nap.”
He nodded and turned back to Amanda, who had averted her eyes at the scene of oddly intimate affection.
“Anyway,” the armorer-mechanic continued, “he asked about work, and I told him that I’d pass the word along—although, if you want my opinion
, hard pass. The guy is a serious asshole who worked very hard to cover it, which didn’t make it any better. I could still smell the bullshit the guy tried to sell, no matter how much he spray-painted it gold.”
Sal laughed. “I’ll steal that description, and I hope you don’t mind. And yeah, from what I saw of the guy, he’s a real piece of work—and not in a good way.”
“I agree that he’s an asshole.” Kennedy raised her hand as she moved to the kitchen to make coffee.
“It would seem we have a consensus,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Motion passes. The good Corporal Brandon will have to find employment elsewhere.”
“Do you want some coffee, Sal?” Madigan asked as the aroma drifted to fill the common room.
“I’ll pass,” he said. “I think I’ll take one of those melatonin myself and be dead to the world until tomorrow. Unless you need me for something?” He aimed the question at Amanda.
“Not really.” She made a face and shrugged. “Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.”
“Cool,” he replied with a grin. “I’ll see you delightful ladies later.”
Once he had gone, Kennedy brought an extra mug of hot coffee over and handed it to Amanda.
“Will he be okay?” the other woman asked and took a small sip.
“Yeah, but he’s a little heartbroken.” Madigan fixed her attention on her mug. “Our last talk with Courtney before we left didn’t exactly go great. Everyone was civil, of course, but she practically insisted that we head back while she stayed behind and worked out whatever family affairs she still needs to resolve. Sal tried to cover it up, but I know him well enough to know what hurts and what doesn’t. And that hurt.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Amanda said as the two of them moved to the couches.
“Well, it’s not the first time he’s lost people,” Kennedy said and shook her head. “Considering our line of work, it probably won’t be the last. At least Courtney walked away from here alive. Not many people can say the same.”