by Greig Beck
Franks rolled away, coming to a stop on her stomach at the corner of the building. Thompson landed beside her, and both of them fired off several rounds. They pulled back as stone chips blew away from the building.
‘I got three bad guys, all in tight,’ Franks said. ‘They’re good. I’m betting our Russian friends have joined the party.’
‘Use the laser on wide pulse – blow the shit outta them,’ Sam ordered.
He put his palm over Alex’s wound, causing Alex to convulse. Sam pressed hard to keep him down. One of Alex’s hands reached up and gripped Sam’s wrist. Sam felt the pressure and was thankful for the MECH’s armor plating. Alex roared, a sound of pain and anger, and his body shook. Against his hand, Sam felt an unnatural heat emanating from Alex’s skin. The wound’s edges seemed to sizzle as the flesh knitted itself together.
Franks had pulled her KBELT pistol and ramped it up to a single ball of energy. She picked her objective and let the pulse go. It traveled almost at the speed of light to its target, and blew the front off the entire building. A figure darted behind the next building, firing back at her. Franks re-aimed, fired, and blew that house to rubble as well. The figure moved again. A grenade went off a dozen feet in front of her, and she pulled back just before she was obliterated.
‘Damn,’ Thompson said.
‘Like I said, they’re good.’ She leaned back against the wall.
‘We’re better,’ Alex said, using Sam’s arm to pull himself to a sitting position. Blood dripped from his head onto his legs. He groaned. ‘That hurt.’
‘Easy, boss.’ Sam held up a hand in front of Alex’s face. ‘How many fingers?’
‘There are fingers?’ Alex winced and put a hand to his temple.
Matt gave Alex a thumbs-up. ‘Try not to look wounded.’
Alex nodded and wiped at the wound. It had already stopped bleeding and Sam could see the skin at the edges was pink.
Alex grabbed Sam’s shoulder and dragged himself to his feet. ‘How many are they?’
Sam nodded to Franks, who gave the report. ‘We’re pinned down. Three guns. Borshov’s probably one of them.’
Alex looked at his watch. ‘We need to get out of here.’
‘I got someone coming out,’ Franks said. She lay flat, aiming her rifle instead of the pistol. ‘Gotta hostage situation.’
‘Alex Hunter, you come out.’ The deep voice with the thick Russian accent was unmistakable.
‘Ah, crap.’ Alex shook his head, trying to clear his vision. ‘We have to do this now?’
‘The big bastard’s got hold of the Greek,’ Franks said.
Sam snorted. ‘So what?’
‘They’ve got us pinned down,’ Alex said. ‘We need to get out of here, and this might be the only way to do it.’ He grabbed Sam’s arm. ‘I can finish this, right now, but I need cover – don’t want another head shot. Be ready to make a run for it.’
‘Are you kidding?’ Sam said. ‘Even if your body repairs itself, that pain you’re feeling is probably due to your brain just taking a freaking hammer blow. Boss, you can’t take on Borshov right now. Even at your sharpest, it’d be a risk. Sure as my grandmother’s Irish, that big bastard will have something up his sleeve.’ Sam stepped in closer and nodded toward Matt and Rebecca. ‘One more thing: you go down, they’re dead. We’re all fucking dead.’
Alex’s eyes looked lifeless. ‘There are no absolutes in our job, Lieutenant.’
Sam recognized the use of rank. He let go of Alex and hoisted his weapon.
Alex motioned over his shoulder to where the Russians were taking cover. ‘Borshov can keep us pinned down until the roof caves in on us. Or he can pick us off one by one while we’re trying to protect the civilians. Either way, we all die.’ He looked straight at Sam. ‘We’ll give him what he wants. I’m the diversion. While I’m out there, get ready to move.’
*
Borshov grinned at Alex as he stepped out from the cover of the building. He was holding the struggling Greek up in front of him, a knife at his cheek. Alex could hear the man whimpering. He knew the Greek was as good as dead. He’d played this game with Borshov before; no one ever got away.
‘Tell your men to put their weapons down,’ he said. ‘They shoot, you all die.’
‘I tell my men no shoot you. You do the same, da?’
Alex kept his eyes on Borshov’s. ‘Already did. It’s just you and me now.’
‘Good.’ Borshov grinned. ‘We are men of honor.’
Alex moved sideways, looking briefly to where he knew the two Spetsnaz had concealed themselves. He could see the barrels of their guns pointed at his HAWCs. They obviously thought Borshov didn’t need their support. The Russian looked bigger and bulkier than ever. He wore a lumberjack shirt with red and black checks; combined with the thick beard it made him look like Paul Bunyan. All he needed was a big blue ox. His face was red; the heat must be stifling for him in the heavy clothing.
Alex pointed back to the orb. ‘I’ve set charges. We need to get out of here, or we’re all dead.’
Borshov shrugged. ‘Not your problem any more.’
‘I’m here. Let the others –’ Alex stopped, remembering how Borshov had killed a HAWC in Chechnya, right in front of him, tormenting her, then hanging her by the neck so she slowly strangled – all for his own amusement. The man had no compassion, no soul. He was the embodiment of ruthless brutality. Never had Alex wanted to kill someone so badly.
‘I’m here,’ Alex said again. He crushed his hands into fists, feeling the armored biological material pop from the strain. His shoulders hunched and a rush of chemicals flooded his system. The fury welled up, and with it a demand for blood – Borshov’s. Alex’s jaws clenched as he strained against the beast within him, waking now. He was determined to maintain his self-control until his team was free. Also, he knew the big Russian was up to something. His word was meaningless. There would be an secondary ambush somewhere – of that Alex was sure.
‘No guns,’ Borshov said, shaking the Greek man. He whimpered again, his eyes on Alex, imploring. ‘Just fists, da?’
Alex shook his head slowly. ‘No guns. Just you and me.’
Borshov made a deep-chested rumbling sound that could have been a laugh. He grabbed the Greek’s head and jerked upwards violently, tearing it from its shoulders in a fountain of blood. Borshov flung the head away, and it made a soft sound as it landed in the center of the street. Alex heard Rebecca vomit behind him.
Borshov tossed the limp body aside, grinning. He was splattered with blood, streaks of it running down his bristling beard. He half-turned to say something in Russian to his men, laughed, and then tore away the lumber shirt to expose the hyper-alloy technology attached to his body. It was a MECH suit, like Sam’s, except just the upper-body framework. Borshov rolled his huge shoulders and the bars and strapping moved smoothly, meaning the nerve implants were also in place.
He grinned and shrugged. ‘You stronger, now I stronger too. So now we see, da?’ He held up his fists in a boxer’s stance and planted his legs. ‘Come, come.’
‘No time for this, boss,’ Sam called. ‘Just say the word.’
‘Ah, shit.’ Alex looked at his watch, then back at Borshov. ‘Let everyone else go, then you and I can settle this.’
Borshov shook his head. ‘Won’t take long. Everyone must see.’ He nodded toward Tony’s head, the eyes wide, a rictus of pain still deforming the features. ‘I want your head. I take it home.’ He tapped his face, just next to his ruined eye. ‘I remember who did this.’
The first time Alex and Borshov had fought, Alex had been soundly beaten, then shot and left for dead. The second time, it was his turn – he had beaten the shit out of the big Russian, and left the man buried below tons of rock under the Antarctic ice. This time will be the decider, he thought. One of us will die. He hoped it wasn’t going to be him.
Borshov started to circle him, slowly. The MECH was only attached to his upper body; his legs were under his own power.
Even though the massive trunk-like limbs were like columns ending in size eighteen boots, they wouldn’t be as fast or as powerful as the rest of him. Alex also noted his head was exposed – he now had two points of attack. Time to end this.
He charged, moving so fast that Borshov looked frozen in time. But the MECH suit, operated by microprocessors, acted at an even greater speed, reacting to Borshov’s nerve impulses, fired off by the brain at over 100 miles per second. As Alex leaped at him like a missile, Borshov’s massive fist smashed downwards to bat him away like an annoying fly.
Alex got to his feet, and shook his head. His ears rang from the pile-driver that he’d just collided with. Borshov was a big man, even bigger than Sam, and with the suit’s capabilities added in, it was like fighting a lightning-fast bulldozer.
Borshov made a fist in the air, his hand sheathed in hyper-alloy plating. ‘Pretty good, huh? Gift from your scientists.’
Borshov circled one way, and Alex circled the other. The Russian had his hands up, fists clenched in an old-style boxer’s stance. He nodded. ‘Try again, Mr. Arcadian.’
Alex did, coming fast, jinking one way, and then leaping the other, pulling back one arm as he rocketed toward the Russian’s exposed face. He knew one blow with all his strength would end it. Even a glancing punch should stun Borshov long enough to give Alex time to wrench free the suit’s implants, turning it into an anchor dragging him to the ground. Not even Borshov could fight for long while supporting all that extra deadweight.
Once again, the MECH suit reacted faster than Alex could move. Borshov caught Alex in midair, his long arms holding the HAWC at a distance. One armored glove compressed around Alex’s throat, while the other made a huge fist. Alex braced for the impact, knowing a sledgehammer would have been more merciful.
Borshov held the fist back, grinning behind his black beard, savoring the moment. He squeezed harder, cutting off Alex’s air supply. Alex gripped at the Russian’s forearm, feeling the bars and titanium plating shielding it. He raked at the metal, pounded at it, his frustration fueling his anger.
Alex felt like his body was on fire. He roared his fury, and grabbed at the armored forearm, squeezing with all his strength. One of the support struts began to bend, and there was a ping as rivets separated.
But before Alex could finish the task, Borshov rocketed his fist forward. It connected just above Alex’s eye. The world spun, and stars exploded across his vision. The bullet wound that had just knitted closed burst open, spraying blood over Borshov’s chest.
Alex wanted to slip into unconsciousness, but another part of him was never going to let that happen. Weak, it hissed at him. Get out of the way. The voice was full of scorn. It didn’t care if Alex’s team was safe, or whether he was mortally wounded. All it cared about was sating its desire for blood and revenge.
Alex ground his teeth, not just fighting against Borshov’s grip now, but against the demon rising in his mind. He needed to maintain control. If his team was to escape, he had to keep Borshov occupied, and draw the attention of the Spetsnaz. He couldn’t afford to forget strategy and tactics and brawl like an animal.
Borshov brought his fist back again, his arm having completed its arc from the punch, ready to deliver a backhand as it returned in the opposite direction. Alex’s legs drew back and he kicked out hard into Borshov’s gut. There was plating over his torso, but the impact was enough to rock the big man backward and loosen his grip on Alex’s throat.
Alex felt part of his biological armor suit rip away as he dropped, rolled, and then staggered to his feet. He heard Rebecca and Matt screaming their support, and his fellow HAWCs calling advice and tactics. The words were garbled, meaningless, drowned out by the Other One’s voice in his head.
Borshov looked over toward Rebecca and grinned. ‘Another woman. Maybe you like to watch her die as well?’ He raised his fists. ‘Come on. Stop running. Fight.’
Alex circled, looking for an opening. Borshov was growing impatient, obviously thinking he had the HAWC’s measure, with victory only minutes away. The big Russian lunged and Alex backed up. He lunged again, and Alex danced back out of his reach. Too late, he realized the Russian had herded him into a small lane between two buildings, a dead end. Alex felt his back strike the wall – no further to go. He glanced down to see more broken swords, bones, and skulls – evidence of another last stand by a group of Constantine’s soldiers.
The trap was what Borshov had been waiting for – he charged. Alex used the wall to spring at the huge man, flying at him like a human spear. Borshov lunged, incredibly fast, but Alex expected it and twisted away, striking out at the Russian’s head as he moved. Borshov’s shoulder jerked up in defense, but Alex’s blow, delivered with all his extraordinary strength and the extra weight of the biological armor-plated gloves, exploded titanium tubing and the hyper-alloy plating from the Russian’s upper arm.
Borshov’s other arm flicked out, its hammer-like fist thumping into Alex’s back. Alex went down, but got back to his feet and turned, smiling. Pain didn’t matter any more.
Borshov rolled his shoulder. The movement was slower, and some fluid spurted from a severed tube. He pointed a finger at Alex. ‘You still fast, huh?’ He reached down to pick up a broken sword, hefted it, and spun it in his hands. The iron was green-coated, and only about a foot of the blade remained. He grunted his approval, and waved the sword back and forth. ‘Soon I be like you. We have your scientist – the smart man who made you. By now he has told us everything.’ He shrugged. ‘No more Arcadian secrets. Soon be hundreds like you, maybe thousands.’
‘You’re not home yet,’ Alex said.
He moved sideways, his eyes never leaving Borshov’s. The big man slashed the blade back and forth, his eyes darting down to the ground momentarily, then he grinned and leaped at Alex.
Alex stepped back to brace himself, preparing to take the charge head-on. But instead of stable ground, his foot stumbled on a skull at his feet. Borshov had positioned him right over it. Alex fell backward as the big man leaped, coming down with the broken sword held in both hands. Alex reached to the side and grabbed a bronze shield, lifting over his face. The clang of metal on metal was loud in the huge cavern.
Alex batted Borshov off him and rolled away, bringing the shield up. He looked across to see Sam’s gun up and pointed at Borshov. But Alex knew Sam wouldn’t fire until the outcome was clear. Come hell or high water, Sam would stand his ground or die.
‘Thirty minutes,’ the big HAWC yelled.
Alex had two options – spend his last few minutes fighting the huge Russian, or be buried alive and condemn his team to the same fate. Fight or die, the voice in his head whispered. ‘Fight or die,’ Alex whispered back. He turned, bracing himself as Borshov rushed at him.
Alex held the shield up again, and Borshov’s blow created a fist-shaped dent in the thick iron. The next moment, Borshov had ripped it from his hands. Grinning, he brought both hands together and the ancient steel crumpled like a soda can.
‘No more flying away, little HAWC,’ Borshov said, and charged like a bull.
Alex saw the Russian had a long machete tucked into his belt. So much for no weapons, he thought. He was outweighed almost two to one, which meant no matter how strong he was, he was on the wrong side of any mass times velocity equation. He needed other tactics, he needed something else. If he couldn’t increase his mass, he needed to increase his speed, his strength and ferocity. He knew he had another weapon, but one locked away in its mental prison. Perhaps that something else he sought was there all the time, just waiting to be released… from within.
Borshov arrived. At the last moment of impact, Alex turned sideways, moving in past the Russian’s outstretched hands by a hair’s breadth. Automatically, Borshov’s arms closed around him, the machine sensors allowing him to move faster than he could ever have hoped to by himself. Alex knew he was no match for the suit’s super-assisted weight and power, but he now had what he wanted – he was in close.
&
nbsp; Now, the voice in his head screamed, and Alex felt the familiar sensation of being wrenched in two. The ancient village, the heat, the darkness, his HAWCs, Matt and Rebecca – all went away, leaving just Borshov, the enemy.
A grin of triumph split the Russian’s face as he began to compress Alex within his grip. Alex grinned back, then swung his head forward, smashing it into the bridge of Borshov’s nose, breaking the already battle-scarred snout.
The Russian snorted blood and squeezed harder, and Alex felt the titanic pressure begin to bear upon his spine. Instead of slowing him, it made him more furious. He swung his head into Borshov’s face again and again, hammering the squashed nose into a mess of cartilage and bloody pulp. In so close, he couldn’t swing his arms for a long punch, but he could use close-quarters combat techniques – his thumbs, the tips of his elbows, his teeth. Though Borshov’s upper body was like an armored bulldozer, his face was just flesh and bone. Alex swung at it again, gritting his teeth as his biological armor and also his spine began to crack. One of the Russian’s brows split, running blood into his good eye.
Before we die, we’ll make him pay. The voice didn’t care about victory or death, just about the brutality of the battle. Alex head-butted again, and again, ripping his elbows back and forth, over and over, until Borshov flung him away.
The big Russian wiped at his face, trying to clear blood and gore from his eye.
Alex got slowly to his feet, his teeth bared, choosing the next point of attack. He was about to charge in again, when a sensation like a wall of ice smashed up against his spine. He crouched and spun, his senses on high alert to a new and more terrifying danger.
CHAPTER 37
‘I got a shot,’ Franks breathed as she sighted along the barrel.
‘Negative on the shot,’ Sam said quickly. ‘Boss ordered us to sit tight.’
Sam kept an eye on the two Spetsnaz, who were undoubtedly doing the same to him. But that wasn’t what transfixed him, instead it had been the two bloodied titans coming together in all their savage brutality. It reminded him of a ferocious dogfight, but with fists, boots, steel, and strength many times above those of mortal men.