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Counterstrike: The Separatist Wars Book 2

Page 7

by Thomas Webb


  Smith closed his eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. These things are always a risk. But isn’t that what we do? We follow orders. And we take risks.”

  Shane paused. Something about that statement rang familiar. “What did you say?” she asked.

  “Even if the ending looks bad,” the prisoner intoned, “even if it’s been bad before, it doesn’t matter. This time? We make our own ending.” He grinned, displaying a set of perfect, sparkling-white teeth. There it was. The same words Hale had said back on Mios, just before he, Shane, Kris’nac, Anesu, and X37 made what they thought at the time would be their last stand. Just before their prisoner had taken advantage of the chaos and the fog of war and made his escape.

  “Jordan Ramsey,” Shane spat. The name tasted like Salusian slug bile in her mouth.

  Ramsey laughed and held up his cuffed hands. “Guilty as charged, Shane. Damn—it certainly took you all long enough to get it. I thought you’d never figure it out. The stars know I left you enough clues.” He chuckled, the sound somehow more disturbing now that she was certain of his identity. “Hale and Romero are mostly muscle. I could see the two of them being a little slow on the uptake. But you? I’d have thought you were smarter than that?”

  Shane stared at him for several beats. “Why?” She finally asked. “Why go to all the trouble to change your face, fool the biometrics, and hide your identity? All just to get yourself captured?”

  “Why indeed?” Ramsey leaned back, folding his cuffed hands over the waist of his bright orange jumpsuit. “I know you’re a smart woman Shane—despite how long it took you to figure out my secret identity. It’s not just any dummy who aces the testing to get into the Air & Space Command, makes Captain in less than five years, and then earns her way into the most elite Special Operations squadron the United Nations has. They don’t let just anybody fly their multi-million credit birds. So tell me—why do you think I did what I did?”

  Shane narrowed her eyes, staring at the man. She hated playing his game. As much as she despised admitting it, he was right. They had to know what his motives were. So why would he go to all the trouble to do this? To get captured? To bring them here? Unless. . .

  “Oh shit,” she uttered. The realization hit her like a metric-ton of duracrete. She’d answered her own question.

  “Bingo,” Ramsey said, pointing at her with his finger-gun and pulling the trigger.

  He would never have done any of that, unless it was a trap.

  Shane leapt to her feet, knocking over her chair. She raced to the two-way plexglass and banged on the surface. “Open up!” she shouted. There was no answer.

  “Uh-oh,” Ramsey said in a sing-song voice. He grinned. “Too late.”

  A tremendous boom shook the interrogation cell, causing Shane to stumble. The wooden table Ramsey sat behind rocked. Dust and debris drifted from the ceiling.

  Ramsey seemed unsurprised. “I don’t have my chrono on me,” he said, “but I’d guess whoever was behind that explosion is right on time.” He held up his shackled hands. “You should save yourself the trouble and just uncuff me now.”

  Shane picked herself up and walked over to the Separatist soldier. Anger and rage bubbled to the surface. She answered his request appropriately, grunting with exertion as she delivered a sharp right hook.

  Shane’s punch connected with a pop. She drew back suddenly, horrified at what she’d done.

  Ramsey waggled his jaw. “That’s a decent right you got there, Shane. Looks like Lima taught you well. I’m honestly surprised you had it in you.” He looked her up and down, amusement in his eyes. “Maybe there’s hope for you after all.”

  Shane heard the sound of distant pulse fire. It arrived muffled through the plexglass at first, but was unmistakably moving closer. She had to think fast. Shane walked behind Ramsey.

  “Hey!” he shouted “What are you—…”

  Shane whipped the shemagh from her neck, twisting the scarf into a rope-like shape. She threw it over Ramsey’s head, forcing the checkered cloth into his mouth and forming a makeshift gag. He stared up at her angrily as she pulled his head back and yanked the gag tight. Pulse fire echoed again, this time as loudly as if it were right outside the door. The sounds of a scuffle followed. Shane heard shouting, then another exchange of pulse fire. There was grunting, followed by a muffled cry. Something that sounded ominously like the body of an armored soldier scraped against the door.

  Shane bent down and placed her mouth close to Ramsey’s ear. “Stay,” she hissed.

  Shane slipped across the room, shifting out of the plexglass window’s line of sight. She heard something heavy being dragged. Shane side-stepped fast, positioning herself behind the cell door. It creaked open. The barrel of a pulse rifle peaked through.

  Amateur mistake, Shane thought.

  She’d learned a thing or two since joining up with Advanced Solutions Incorporated. Before joining Lima’s team, Shane’s comfort zones were the sky and space. The rest of the team was much more at home in the mud with pulse rifles in hand. It was Shane’s good luck that Hale, Gina, Kris, and Lash were all excellent tactical instructors who were willing to teach. When entering a room, Shane had learned that the door needed to hit the wall. This was done in order to ensure that no one was behind it. Whoever had attacked the UNIA black site—whoever was in the corridor—should have banged the door, hard, upon making entry. In their haste, they’d missed a critical room-clearing step. Shane capitalized on that mistake. She grabbed the rifle barrel tight and yanked.

  A surprised Separatist face came stumbling in. Shane breathed a sigh of relief. The dirt-covered terrorist wasn’t wearing full armor—only a modular chest rig. She executed an elbow strike to the man’s face, the blow landing with sufficient force that the cartilage in his nose snapped, sending blood and dirt flying from the impact.

  Dirt? Somewhere in Shane’s mind, she registered the fact that they must have used a sonic drilling rig to tunnel in.

  To his credit, the Separatist recovered quickly. He grabbed the smaller-framed Shane, thinking that he, a fully-grown man, held the advantage. He grinned. In his mind, he had her.

  Shane grinned back.

  She loved it when they underestimated her.

  Shane stepped into the man’s hold, spinning and landing a second elbow strike to his solar plexus. His body armor took the brunt of the blow, but that was fine by Shane. The initial strike was merely a distraction, intended to take his attention from what Shane really wanted to do. . .she needed that rifle in his hands. Shane tried to rip the pulse rifle away, but instead sent it clattering across the room.

  Oh well, she thought. Better for no one to have it than an enemy.

  The Separatist wasted no time in going for his sidearm. Shane stuffed the pistol before he could draw, delivering a lightning-fast Muay Thai knee strike. She struck just below the man’s body armor, doubling him over. She followed up immediately with a downward hammer fist.

  The blow landed solid, but the Separatist still had plenty of fight left. He came up swinging, giving it all back with a punch to the jaw that sent Shane sprawling. She landed on her back, smacking her skull against the floor. A constellation’s worth of stars danced behind her eyes. She was still reeling, shaking her head to clear it when he went for his sidearm a second time. She watched the look of surprise cross the Separatist’s face when his hand closed on empty air. He looked down, his eyes widening in horror when he realized where his pistol had gone.

  Shane grinned. When she’d taken that punch, she’d taken something else along with it. The weight of the pulse weapon felt good in her hand. It felt right, somehow.

  Shane sat up, her recent training taking over. It was just like the drills that Hale, Gina, and Kris had put her through back on the flat holo range. She elevated her torso, her knees bent, feet spread wide. She sighted in. From her sitting position on the floor of the cell, she lit the invader up. Two rounds to the chest plate sent him falling back. One more to the head sealed the de
al.

  Shane kept her gun trained on the downed tango. With one hand on her weapon and one on the deck, she executed a tactical move to standing. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. She spat, and a gob of crimson spattered to the floor. Her head swam, and her jaw felt like it had been hit with a sonic jackhammer. But those were the least of her worries.

  Shane tucked the pistol in tight to her chest and stalked to the door. She eased the cell open, checking the hallway to the right and left. Spotting the downed guard, she rushed to his side. Shane popped his helmet latch and checked his pulse. He was gone. She compartmentalized the fact that she’d just killed one man and that another lay dead in front of her. Instead she pulled the guard’s cuff keys from his armor. Shane hustled back into the interrogation room, where she stripped the body armor from the Separatist she’d just eliminated. Holding it high above her head, Shane shimmied into it. It was two sizes too big, but oversized armor was better than no armor. She used the guard’s key to unlock Ramsey from the table, wisely choosing to leave him cuffed and gagged.

  “Get your ass up!” she said, grabbing him by the scruff of his jumpsuit. Shane spit another mouthful of blood onto the floor, sparing a quick glance at the pulse pistol’s charge level in the process. She took one last, longing look at the rifle lying on the floor. She’d love to have the extra firepower the pulse rifle would bring, but no way could she keep a hold on Ramsey and the rifle at the same time. The pulse pistol in her hand would have to do.

  She pushed Ramsey ahead. Shane gestured toward the door with her pistol. “Walk,” she said through gritted teeth as she shoved the barrel into his back. Her finger lay dangerously close to the trigger.

  He glared back in her direction, disdain evident on his face, before doing as she ordered and walking out of the interrogation room.

  “That’s a good boy,” she muttered.

  Shouts emanated from the other cells, as if they could sense the proximity of freedom. Shane spotted two more bodies as they traversed the corridor. One she recognized as the armored soldier from earlier. The second was another Separatist. Like the first Separatist, this one wore modular armor and was covered in dirt. Shane checked the woman for a pulse before moving on to the downed soldier. She popped the soldier’s helmet and did a quick check of his pulse, never taking her eyes from Ramsey or the corridor ahead. Just like the others, he was dead. Ramsey turned and frowned in mock sympathy, earning another pistol shove in the back for his trouble.

  Ramsey was taller, heavier, and better trained than Shane. All that was true. But he was also cuffed, and Shane held the pulse pistol. Not to mention Shane Mallory was tough as peristeel nails.

  They followed the rock walls of the corridor, back the way she’d come earlier. Suddenly pulse fire erupted, energy rounds skipping off the hewn stone walls. Shane dropped, taking Ramsey with her. She scrambled against the wall, using an outcropping of rock for cover. Out of instinct, she shoved Ramsey behind her.

  “Son of a bitch!” Shane growled.

  Shane got up and steadied her pistol, ready to fight. She stumbled, thanks to a surprise shove from behind. The next thing she knew Ramsey was rushing past, still cuffed and gagged, hunched low and racing in the direction of the pulse fire. He was banking on the fact that his buddies wouldn’t kill him before recognizing who he was.

  “Shit,” Shane hissed, breathing heavily. Seeing red, she lunged after him.

  The yank came out of nowhere, pulling on the collar of her oversized, commandeered body armor and putting her on the ground. She landed on her back, hard, before pulse rounds ripped into the rock above, blasting through the space she’d occupied only a nanosecond before. Under the cover of the rifle fire, Ramsey sprinted around the corner and disappeared. A ail of rounds blazes from behind her in answer. Shane grunted and struggled to rise as someone drug her back behind the outcropping.

  “Easy babe,” she heard a familiar voice say.

  Shane leaned back and looked up. A pair of chocolate-brown eyes met hers. Gina held a still-hot SAW, or Squad Assault pulse Weapon, in the crook of her right arm. She had the collar of Shane’s commandeered armor firmly in her left hand.

  Gina’s eyes flew open when she saw the blood caked around Shane’s mouth, and her bruised and swollen jaw. “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  Under different circumstances, Shane might have laughed at the worried look on Gina’s face. “Nah,” Shane said. She got to her feet and wiped her nose on her arm. The sound of pulse fire could be heard somewhere distant, maybe above ground. Inside the corridor, the sharp tang of ozone hung in the air. “Nothing’s hurt. ‘Cept maybe my pride.”

  “I was on with Hale when comms went out a few minutes ago,” Gina said. “Figured I’d better get my Italian ass over here and check on you.”

  All that was going on and Gina thought of her first. She shouldn’t have been surprised. That meant something. “What about Lash and Kris?”

  “We split back at the admin building. Alarms were going off all over the place. They were gearing up as I left.”

  “And Hale and Anesu?”

  “Haven’t seen them.” Gina looked confused. “What the hell happened down here?” she asked. The sounds of battle raged aboveground.

  “Ramsey happened.” Shane’s eyes narrowed. “It was him. And we played right into his hands.”

  Gina swore a string of curses. “What now,” she asked when her tirade was done.

  Shane checked her weapon one last time. “We better get going,” she answered, already itching to move. “In case you hadn’t noticed, this prison is under attack.”

  -9-

  20 Minutes Earlier

  Hale walked side by side with Anesu. With her lithe frame and his larger one, there was precious little space in the cramped corridor. For the merest of seconds, their shoulders brushed. The microsecond of contact sent a delicious electric shock through Hale’s entire body. He tried his best to shake it off. With everything that was happening, he needed to focus.

  They followed Sanders down the hallway that more closely resembled a tunnel, all the way back to the cut stone steps leading up to ground level. A moment later they emerged into the compound, now plunged deep into twilight.

  Hale could just make out the darkened silhouette of the mountain range in the distance. The stars peeked out above them, innumerable diamond pinpricks against the velvet black of night sky.

  “This is a beautiful country,” Hale said.

  “I am sorry you must see it under these circumstances,” Anesu replied. Her skin shone and her eyes danced in the starlight. “Perhaps when this is all done, you can take in some of the sights while you are here?”

  “You spoke the truth of it Hale,” Sanders said, apparently ignorant of the energy between Anesu and Hale. “This place is right beautiful.”

  Two possibilities existed; either Sanders wasn’t picking up on the thing happening between Hale and their Kingdom liaison, or Sanders was getting the hint and he was simply screwing with them.

  Sanders shot them a grin. “The tours of this place are out of sight, man. Y’all should definitely take one while you’re out here.”

  Hale rolled his eyes, hoping no one noticed in the low light. “I’ll be sure to do that,” he answered. The recon Marine-turned military contractor surveyed the base around him—people milled about, locking the place down for the evening and setting up watches for the night. Out of pure habit, Hale assessed the compound’s defenses. A thick sandstone wall surrounded the prison. Four immense guard towers loomed above, one at each corner. The open desert lay beyond, providing no discernible cover for possible attacking forces. All in all, it wasn’t a bad setup. Probably the reason why the place had made it through so many centuries of war and strife.

  Anesu and Sanders walked ahead, beginning a conversation separate of him. Hale followed and let his mind wander, eventually wondering how the rest of the ASI team was doing. He couldn’t think of a good reason not to check in with them.

 
Hale stepped off to stand near a munitions shed. “Two this is One,” he said, keying his comm unit and reaching out to Zombie. “What’s your status, Two? Over.”

  Zombie came back immediately. “We’re all good boss,” she said. “Just over here goin’ through some files.” He didn’t miss the sarcastic note in her voice. “I got Razor Three and Razor Four, AKA ‘the Tauranian Nightmare,’ over here with me. Damned if she hasn’t already figured out a better way to categorize these files. We knew she was a real pipe-hitter, but who would have thought she’s book-smart, too? Man, if I wasn’t already attached? I just might go alien.”

  Hale grinned. “You find anything yet?”

  “Negative,” Zombie said. “Speaking of being attached, how’s my girl doing down there? And did the mystery guy turn out to be who we thought he was?”

  “Ummm,” Hale stammered. He hadn’t expected Zombie to ask about Shane so soon. He’d actually planned to let Shane herself be the one to tell Zombie she had been alone with the suspect during the interrogation. Hale had hoped to stay well clear of that particular conversation, but like the ancient earth saying went, the best laid plans of mice and men. . .

  “She was doing okay,” he decided to say. It wasn’t an outright lie. “And we’re still not sure if it’s Ramsey or not.”

  “What do you mean ‘was?’?” Zombie asked. Dammit. Zombie didn’t miss anything. “And what do you mean by ‘not sure?’”

  While Hale was defending himself, Anesu had come over to wait with him. She laughed at what she could hear of his conversation. Hale let out a heavy sigh and swore to himself. He’d warned Shane that Zombie wasn’t going to like this. Now he would have to be the one to deal with the fallout.

 

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