“That’s right,” said Orcola. “Last night we had about a hundred Burmese infiltrators make it almost all the way to our command bunker, about half a klick from here. It’s not a great war, but—”
“It’s the only one we’ve got,” Remorro finished. It sounded as if he had spoken the words in his sleep, and Jihoon rubbed his hand through his hair, wiping off the water that had already dripped onto him from the leaking roof.
“How are we supposed to sleep on the top racks?” I asked. “The mattresses are soaked, and this whole place leaks.”
“Ain’t this five star?” Orcola asked, laughing. He finished his pipe and knocked it against the metal bunk, dropping the ashes to the floor where they hissed in a puddle. “Wear your helmets or use a poncho. Two ponchos work better, though: one to rest your head on and the other to cover it so you don’t get wet or gnawed by rats.”
“Rats?” Ji asked.
“Some people call them rats.” Orcola rolled over so we couldn’t see his face and then pulled a dark green plastic sheet over his head. “Others call them dinner. You get used to the taste eventually.”
Jihoon glanced at me once more, and I grinned. “We don’t want to go back to those days.”
Ji shook me awake the next day. By the time I got my helmet off, the room had filled with so much tobacco smoke that it was difficult to breathe let alone see, but I lit up a cigarette anyway to get rid of my last dream—that I’d lain in bed forever, eaten by fungus and mold as warm water dripped over my chest and legs.
Major Remorro turned on a holo map and pointed at it with a clay pipe, identical to the one the captain held. “We’re here,” he said, pointing to a green dot in the middle of a long line of green dots; solid or dashed lines connected each one. “And this is the Thai border defense network, which consists of underground strong points and bunker complexes like this one, connected in some places by trench lines.”
“So the border is completely defended,” said Ji. “How are infiltrators making it through?”
“Don’t kid yourself; it’s a long border, and I said they were only connected in some places. Most of the gaps are filled with cameras, motion sensors, and basically anything electronic we could put in there to detect it when the Mimis try to cross. But there are gaps wide enough for a division to move through.”
“What’s the main Burmese objective?” I asked.
“Up until recently, they wanted this.” He punched at the map controls so another dot appeared to our south and within Thailand, just a few kilometers from the Burmese border. “A minor gold and copper mine with some trace metals. It’s one of the few working mines in southeast Asia with decent reserves.”
“And now?”
Remorro clicked the map off and pulled at his pipe before answering. “Now they’re getting bolder. That ambush you encountered a couple of days ago never would have happened last month, and it looks like they’ve decided to ignore the Thai mine completely. With the arrival of a Chinese expeditionary force, we’re guessing that they’re planning on an eventual invasion.”
I nodded and thought about what I’d seen, realizing that if the Chinese ever concentrated at a single point, the line would be almost useless. With so few underground complexes and so much unprotected border, the Chinese would almost be able to choose their entry and stroll through without having to worry about resistance until reaching the secondary defense line we’d encountered on our way up. But, I thought, has that even been occupied?
“Who’s manning the line? Gra Jaai and Thai Army?”
Both men laughed before the major leaned forward and blew smoke in my face, grinning as he spoke. “Thai Army? Who’s that?”
“Listen,” Orcola explained, “you have to understand something. Not everybody in Bangkok shares the King’s love for satos and the Gra Jaai, especially generals in the Thai Army who used to be the royal favorites—if you catch my drift. In fact, the American advisers to the Royal Army HQ have one job as their primary mission: to try and screw the satos over and find a way to make the King hate them.”
“But the Royal Army is at least supplying you, right?”
“If you call it that.” Major Remorro leaned back in his chair and waved at the space where the holo map used to float. “That map is misleading. The supplies they give us are enough to keep us running, but not enough if we want to push into Burma. It’s the one way they can keep some kind of leash on these girls. Outposts not manned by the Gra Jaai are manned by Karen mountain people, rebels against the Burmese government, and although they’re ruthless as hell, it took us nearly a year to teach them armor and Maxwell carbine fundamentals. They’re not cowards. They’re just a little overwhelmed at the moment.”
Captain Orcola nodded. “We’re barely holding on. It’s like the Stone Age out here, and something is up because last week a sato patrol came back with combatant prisoners.”
“So?” asked Jihoon. “Why’s that so odd?”
“Because the Gra Jaai don’t take prisoners,” he said, “unless they’re civilians. If these satos weren’t on the line, Bangkok would have been speaking Burmese years ago, and holding them back has taken a level of violence that you guys haven’t even begun to imagine. Hell. These chicks and their human units are so badass that their atrocities have atrocities.”
My helmet had been off for a few minutes, and already the hair on my head had soaked through with the damp but it felt good in the bunker’s heat, which had been born from radiation and a geothermal gradient that made everything warmer with each meter downward you went. Drops ran the length of my neck. They slid into my undersuit and along my back so that I fought the urge to peel the ceramic off and scratch at them, the sensation of water making me want a shower more than anything. But at least in our bunker, the jungle had lost its hold. The kilometer of overhead rock separated me from the banyans and strangle vines, from the snakes and insects—spies and sappers the bush used to wage constant psyops on my brain, making it crawl with uncertainty. It took all my strength to keep my thoughts on target and on the conversation because they just wanted to turn back to Phillip or to Wheezer. To anything except this place.
“What’s the good news?” I asked.
The major shook his head. “We thought you were bringing some. You want to tell us why you’re here?”
“The US is putting the Germline program back online—pulling production ateliers out of mothball and starting construction of new ones. They’re going to try and get back onto a war footing so they can stop the Chinese advance into Thailand using new genetic units.”
Both men stared at me. The air in the room had become still, and I sucked on my cigarette, hoping it would prevent the onset of a bad headache, then drank a mouthful of water while I waited for them to respond.
“There isn’t time,” Remorro said. “That’ll take years, and there’s no way they’d get here in time.”
“I know. That’s why we’re here. We need to talk with Margaret because SOCOM needs her help, and they want her to ally with us—stop the Chinese invasion if she can.”
“Jesus Christ.” Remorro stood and leaned against the wall, pressing his forehead against it. “They don’t understand shit.”
“What’s the problem?” Jihoon asked.
“The Gra Jaai aren’t just here for a tour or rotation, and this isn’t some military op for them. It’s a home. Nu Poe is holy ground, the headquarters for their freakin’ religion, and they have everything here—families, children, underground schools for the kids, and training tanks for potential converts. Everything. So of course they’re going to try and stop the Chinese. But it doesn’t matter how well they fight or how dedicated they are, and the last thing they’ll do is negotiate some kind of deal to work with us or US forces. There isn’t any way to stop the freakin’ Chinese whether you talk to Margaret or not; don’t they get that?”
Orcola nodded and pointed at me with his pipe. “And you better not tell these chicks about production ateliers. I have no idea h
ow that will sit with them because they’re all freakin’ crazy.”
“I still need to talk with her,” I said. “Can you arrange it?”
Major Remorro sat back down and relit his pipe. “They think you’re here to kill Margaret.”
“I’m not here to kill her; I just want to talk. I mean, what the hell are you guys doing up here anyway? The Gra Jaai are in charge, and there’s no Thai Army, and from what you say it sounds like the satos won’t accept US help anyway. So who the hell are you advising in this place?”
“Nobody. And other than radioing in occasional sit-reps and being the eyes and ears of the Royal Thai Army and SOCOM, I have no idea why we’re here,” the major said. “No fucking clue. So yeah, smart guy. We’ll take you to see Margaret, and you can see for yourself how crazy this place is. And then maybe you can give these chicks some goddamned advice.” He and Captain Orcola stood, slipping into their vision hoods and helmets. “Do exactly what we do, and don’t say a damn word until I tell you to. Follow us.”
Orcola knocked his pipe clean and slipped it into a loop of webbing on his chest. “This oughta be fun.”
We squirmed through the entrance tunnel and back into the main one, which took us farther into the complex, and it wasn’t long before I got lost; the place was like a small city. Remorro led us through underground villages where children of the Gra Jaai squealed at seeing four Americans and then ran to hide. Nobody trusted us. The kids, even the girls, were bald and all dressed in white pajamas, and at first something bothered me, but it took a few minutes to figure out what was wrong, and when I did it chilled me to think what the Gra Jaai might be doing; the kids all looked under the age of ten. None of them was even close to their teens, and there were even fewer old people—a gap that underscored the sensation something was off. The two or three aging men and women we did see sat in front of automated looms and sewing machines, putting together uniforms or repairing ripped undersuits, and none of them paid us any attention. So there was just one conclusion to draw: everyone between ten and fifty was either dead, on the line to fight, or in the training tanks.
The major led us to a bank of mining elevators where three men stood guard, their hair clipped into short Mohawks and faces scarred from more wounds than I could count. One of them pointed his carbine at us.
“Go back.”
The major pointed at the elevators and bowed his head while speaking in Japanese. “With respect. We need to see the sisters.”
“Access to the command bunker is sealed. Go back.”
“It’s an emergency,” Remorro insisted, “and it can’t wait. Please contact them and ask; the new ones”—he then pointed to me and Jihoon—“have important information about Chinese and American forces.”
The man looked at us and took forever to make a decision, finally slinging his carbine over a shoulder and disappearing into one of the mining elevators—small steel cages that ran on cables into a narrow shaft overhead. I looked at Remorro while we waited. Even through the armor you saw him shiver, the plates of his carapace vibrating against the ceramic carbine, and he stooped over so that at first I thought he was continuing to show respect to the remaining Gra Jaai, until Remorro burst into a fit of coughing and almost fell over. Orcola wasn’t much better off.
“Are you two OK?” I asked.
Remorro tried to straighten but amazingly wound up more stooped than before. “Dysentery.”
“Or,” said Orcola, “malaria. Or dengue. Pretty much any cruddy tropical disease you can imagine is on the list.”
Even over the helmet speakers, Jihoon sounded scared. “Biological warfare?”
“Yeah,” said Remorro, “if you call Mother Nature biological warfare. That’s the thing. You don’t need the man-made stuff to have a real good disease out here because in reality the bush is already one big stinking petri dish, with all the warmth and nutrients you need to get a good epidemic going. The smoking helps, though. And we have some drugs.”
“Christ,” said Ji, “all you’d need are the right antibiotics and antivirals, and haven’t you been vaccinated anyway?”
Orcola shook his head. “Kid, you don’t get it. We’ve been vaccinated. But there are things up here that nobody’s heard of, and all our medical supplies get intercepted anyway for the Gra Jaai and their war effort.”
The thought of it made me cringe. Both men seemed so weakened with disease that I wondered if it would be a good idea to stay suited for our entire trip to the front, to keep at bay an entire universe of invisible biothreats that hovered all around us. Nobody said anything, and what was there to say? In Bangkok, whatever the two had contracted was probably treatable, but out here you managed on your own, and in our silence the remaining Gra Jaai guard watched us, grinning. I hated the guy; I stared back at him, fingering the stock of my carbine, and figured he knew what we were saying and that his grin resulted from hatred returned, a wish that disease would take all four of his non– Gra Jaai visitors sooner rather than later. If we’d had to wait much longer it wasn’t clear what would have happened, but a moment later the elevator returned.
Remorro bowed his head again to the guard who stepped out. “Will they see us?” When the man didn’t answer, he motioned us forward. “OK, this is it. We’ll go up first. Leave your carbines here, and after our car goes, you two get in the second one and wait a few seconds before hitting the button. When you get there, bow to the girl speaking to us and don’t say a word until I give a signal.”
I nodded, and they disappeared. A few seconds later Jihoon and I had dropped our carbines to the floor and stepped into a metal cage that rattled into the darkness overhead, and I closed my eyes, not wanting to see rock a few feet from my face, the streamers of water looking like white strings that would encase us in a spiderweb of heat. The cage screeched. In places it scraped against the rock and promised to become stuck, trapping us there forever, but I consoled myself that even if the Gra Jaai wouldn’t want to waste time to rescue us, they’d have to if they wanted to recover their elevator. Finally, it dumped us into another bunker somewhere above, where monitor screens covered every wall, and holo stations blinked and shifted to portray different aspects of the defensive line.
There was one sato; she spoke with Remorro while about thirty Gra Jaai women jabbered into radios or worked at their computers in a dance of strategy that neither Jihoon nor I had time to grasp.
“Drugs and therapeutics are reserved for those who have seen the tanks,” she said, “and aren’t for the nonbred who killed so many of my sisters. Catherine’s blood is on your hands. And don’t forget that there’s another way to get drugs, Major.”
Remorro had removed his helmet and shook his head. “I’m in no shape for joining the Gra Jaai.”
“The Karen don’t require medicine for disease,” she said, sounding disgusted. “Why should you?”
“Because the Karen are natives. They have their own remedies and immunity to the local stuff. If you can’t spare any medicine, then tell the Thai Army to relieve me, have them send a replacement.”
She laughed, and the sound sent a chill up my spine; it was empty of joy, and hearing it reminded me they were pseudohuman things—almost people, but not quite.
“We can’t do that either,” she said.
“But why? You know the agreement, that I can’t be relieved without your or Margaret’s endorsement. And your people are stealing the medicine that’s supposed to be reserved for us.”
“Why keep you here? Because we like you and think you can be so much more, if only given the right motivation.” The girl looked at me, and I froze, embarrassed for having almost stepped back. “You are the two from Bangkok,” she said, “the ones with news from America.”
“Take your helmet off,” said Remorro. “This is Lucy, Margaret’s second-in-command.”
I did, then peeled my vision hood away, staring at the girl without blinking and annoyed with the thought of having to show respect. “What’s your serial number?” I aske
d.
The entire room went silent. Other women stopped talking into their radios and looked up, and if anyone had asked me why I’d done it—why I’d said something that was sure to piss her off—there wasn’t any answer other than it felt right. This was a sato. I was goddamned if I’d treat one with deference after I’d hunted them for so long and seen them rotting in terror, and the way she’d treated Remorro and the way he’d just taken it… I’d never thought a Special Forces operator could sink so far. But what really got me was that I couldn’t stop seeing Wheezer as she spoke, couldn’t get the image of him out of my head.
“It’s OK,” Lucy said, smiling as she waved the Gra Jaai women back to work. “I like this one, Remorro. Maybe I’ll let him replace you.”
“Where’s Margaret?” I asked.
“Jesus, Lieutenant,” Remorro pleaded, “shut your damn mouth.”
“I said it was OK!” The girl moved so quickly that her hand disappeared one second, then reappeared the next to hold a knife against Remorro’s neck. “And to answer the lieutenant’s question, I can’t remember my serial number. Before I let you see Margaret, I’ll have to know why you want her.”
“The last of your sisters I killed were in Australia. Before that, I got one in Turkmenistan. She begged me not to take her life and died just like a scared little girl. A coward.”
“You like killing us?” she asked.
“I really like killing you.”
The girl leaped without another word, diving toward my right leg in a roll, but I’d been ready for it and my adrenaline kicked in, ridding me of the aches that had racked me a minute before. I spun on my left foot, bringing my right around in a kick that landed against her temple. She rose and shook her head from the blow as I drew my own knife.
Neither of us spoke as we circled. It was the first time I got a close look at her and saw that Lucy’s face had been pockmarked with thermal gel burns and that her armor was patched in multiple spots with quick paste—a kind of epoxy that sealed suit breaches in seconds. It didn’t faze me that this one wasn’t wasting away, and although she was fluid in her movements, suggesting a level of comfort in combat that I hadn’t seen in rotting satos, a sense of stillness settled in my gut. She’d win. But maybe I’d get in a lucky shot or two, and what mattered now was that the girl understood I wasn’t afraid; I was calm because something told me this was the right thing to do.
Chimera (The Subterrene War) Page 17