by S. T. Moon
“We don’t have to stop it, we just have to stop the people herding it,” Renee said.
“Blow the bridge, the Red-6 forces can’t follow it,” Abel said. “You have your own explosive experts and materials?”
Renee nodded. She chewed gum with the slowness of a habitual user who kept the same piece going forever. “I need people for security and CQB if necessary. Someone to carry wounded when that happens.”
“You’re expecting a fight and casualties?” Victoria asked.
“I’m a realist,” Renee said. “Make a decision. We’re on the clock. Keep in mind we already have reports of civilian casualties, including children, needing medical care. If we can’t divert the DAP we might have time to render some aid.”
“We’ll help,” Victoria said.
Joseph and Randall fist bumped. “All right, all right, all right,” they said in unison.
Renee offered Victoria a stick of gum.
“No thanks.”
She put it away. “The thing about decisions is, once you commit, you have to start taking action.” She grinned. “Let’s put the brothers on the left flank, range out twenty-five meters and move parallel to our formation,” Renee said. “Victoria and Abel, same thing on the right flank. The emphasis is on early reporting and avoidance of contact. We can fight, we expect to fight, but we don’t want to fight.”
Victoria followed orders. She discovered she liked working for Renee. It was a nice change of pace. She wondered what it would be like to operate without political intrigue and constant subterfuge.
The buildings in this part of town were old but well cared for. The streets had been patched and repaired many times and it was clean and well lit.
“That’s the bridge. Can you see the corporate troops? They’re definitely gearing up for a big push. That means they’ll be driving the Death Angel straight into the middle of our flock. We’re the guardians. If we don’t do this, a lot of people will die,” Renee said over the squad radio link.
Victoria checked with Abel. They communicated agreement without words and moved to their new positions. She was relieved the off-grid commandos weren’t requiring her to blow up the bridge. She experienced a second of vertigo as she realized how far she’d stepped away from her past life in such a short time.
Time crawled. She focused on the reasons for her decisions, thought about the time she’d spent off-grid, weighed it against the training and education she’d put into her career. She thought about Breaker and wondered what he would think.
Would he be proud of her? Somehow she couldn’t imagine excitement. Their last meeting had ended with his angry exit because she hadn’t pulled strings to bring him onto her mission. What would he think when he learned what she was doing now?
A flicker caught her attention, drawing it away from the bridge. “Abel, I’m seeing movement on the bridge.”
“Red-6 troops?”
“I doubt it, unless they’re recruiting them younger and smaller than I remember,” she said. She keyed her radio mic. “Right flank to team leader, I see children playing on the bridge.”
“Team leader to right flank, can you confirm? Time is mission critical,” Renee asked.
Abel broke in. “Definitely children. I see them now. Three boys and two girls, ten to twelve years old.”
“Team leader to demolitions, leave the charges in place in case we get a chance to use them. All other teams prepare to fall back. If the kids are in the line of fire, get them out if you can, but leave them if they can avoid the DA on their own,” Renee said.
“Three DA, stepping onto the bridge,” the radio reported. “Possible fourth DA in the shadows of the bridge supports. Cannot confirm fourth.”
“Understood. All team members, ready defensive positions. We can’t stop them at the bridge so we have to fight them in the streets.” Renee said.
CHAPTER NINE
Irene’s Second Test
Irene Vail sprinted up the mountain trail, selecting a route that would give her the advantage. Breaker was a strong runner over short and medium distances. He also outweighed her by seventy pounds. She’d come this way often. He was finding his footing for the first time.
“Pay attention to your surroundings and tell me where you would set up sniper hides,” she said.
“I won’t be able to make a decent analysis at this pace. If you want good intel, I need to stop and do this right,” he said. “I don’t see why we’re doing this. The SAC North America called us to D.C. for a reason.”
“Do you need to stop?” Vail asked.
“Yes.”
“Tired?” She attempted to provoke an argument, which would serve two purposes—distract him mentally and interfere with his breathing during the run.
“Exhausted. Can we quit?” He didn’t quit. He didn’t slow down and she could tell by his quick side to side glances and his concentration he was making an excellent assessment of the terrain.
She sprinted, leaving him on the steepest section of the incline. The result was a thirty second lead to set up the next part of the test. That was all it took to string the tripwires.
He crested the trail as she was dropping the last reel. The corner of his mouth broke in a smile. She knew she hadn’t been fast enough, but even if she had, this test was easy for someone of his skill and experience.
“You have thirty seconds to set up a nine-hundred meter shot,” she said. “Maintain camouflage concealment. And to answer your question, Oden isn’t my boss. Will never be my boss. D.C. Is going to hell no matter what we do or don’t do there. Someday you’ll thank me for getting you clear of the drama.”
Breaker scanned the ledge and unslung his backpack. He lowered the bundle and crept forward. “There’re two trip wires, the one you just set and the real one. Is this an EOD test or a sniper mission?”
“Both.”
He lowered himself to the ground, then adjusted his camouflage. His movements were slow and deliberate, unlikely to draw attention if there were counter-snipers looking for him. He worked quickly but carefully and soon discovered none of the wires led to anything.
“Very good, continue,” she said.
Breaker set aside the patrol rifle he had been carrying during the run, fully loaded with a round in the chamber and the safety on. He unpacked his sniper rifle which was protected by a weatherproof, shock-resistant wrap of camouflage material.
In under a second he was behind the rifle checking his range. “Eyes on target.”
“Report,” Irene said.
“Female. Age thirty. Civilian clothing. No weapons. Range, nine hundred eighty-one meters,” he said, then reported windage and barometric pressure readings.
“You have a green light. Take out the target,” Irene said.
“You want me to shoot a hologram?” he asked.
“You can tell it’s a hologram from this distance?”
“There are several clues, not the least of which is the improbability of you having me commit murder for your test,” he said. “The image flickers periodically and this woman you want me to shoot doesn’t seem to act with purpose. An obvious hologram.”
“Take the shot.”
Breaker fired. The hologram ended.
Irene gave him two more targets, one angry military type and one child strapped to an IED. He didn’t enjoy the executions. Neither did he hesitate.
Afterward, he packed up and they hiked to base camp. They heated meals-ready-to-eat and sat by a campfire.
“How much more of this do you need to evaluate me?” Breaker asked.
“I’m going by the book on this one. Neither of us need extra attention right now. The merger has created new power conduits,” she said.
“I suspect you knew about the merger before most people,” Breaker said. “I also suspect this entire evaluation sequence is more about your plausible deniability then my ability to perform.”
Irene ate beef stew from her MRE, without bothering to respond.
“The D.C.
incident was just picking up steam when we headed out here into the wilderness. Doesn’t it bother you?” he asked.
“Why would it bother me?”
“Doesn’t it bother you not to know what’s going on? Or do you get news I don’t?” Breaker asked.
“You’re distracted. Focus on your job.”
“How am I distracted?”
“You’re worried about Victoria Mayer.”
“She was leading a half-trained team of misfits against multiple Death Angels last time I had contact with her,” Breaker said.
“It’s not the monsters that’ll undo her,” Irene said.
“My point exactly. She’s fighting for survival when she should be looking at the big picture.”
“You don’t trust her.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She needs to make her own decisions. That won’t happen if you’re looking over her shoulder and second-guessing her.”
“I never second-guess her.”
Irene rolled her eyes. “Second-guess her, argue with her, your mere proximity changes her priorities. If you care about her, let her stand on her own.”
“You don’t know her or me half as well as you think you do,” Breaker said.
* * *
The next morning Irene allowed Breaker to run alone. Her presence was wearing him out. And not in a good way.
He looked stronger, having put on possibly ten pounds of muscle since the training started. All his spare time was spent working off excess energy. The man was tortured by where he was versus where he wanted to be.
He came back with all his gear and Irene knew she was in trouble.
“I talked my father on the broadband radio this morning,” he said.
“Really? I hope all is well the Breaker village.” She crossed the deck to where she’d staged a shotgun. The cabin wasn’t as well-equipped as his love nest, but she was ready—even if the man she was about to fight was one she’d rather jump in the sack with than kill.
“Keep your hands where I can see them, Irene. You know what he told me,” Breaker said.
She faced him, leaning on the rail behind her. “I could’ve just abandoned them, you know. Instead, I reached out to you and your father’s people so they would have a chance at survival.”
“You haven’t asked how many survived,” Breaker said.
“I don’t want to know.”
With two quick strides, Breaker was looming over her. “Sparing the children doesn’t make it right to murder their parents and burn down an entire compound. My father’s trackers rounded up the survivors but they can’t bring charred corpses back to life.”
CHAPTER TEN
Inner Turmoil
“The adults in that compound weren’t their parents. Those children were sex slaves and torture victims. What would you have done?” Irene asked.
The menace in his stare frightened her, which hadn’t happened since she was a child like the ones she liberated from the mountain brothel. She’d known for a long time she was no match for Breaker in a straight fight. Surprising him would be nearly impossible. Betraying him would have severe consequences. For the first time since meeting the man—hell, the first time in years—she wondered if she’d miscalculated.
* * *
I don’t know what I’d have done, Breaker thought.
He heard Irene’s words but struggled to accept her cold logic. If not for his training and brutal self-discipline, he’d scream at her and smash things. What was this woman up to? Why had she saved him? Why had she saved Victoria’s career when the women were destined to be rivals professionally and personally?
He needed to think.
“I’m going out overnight, maybe two nights. I’ll check the perimeter and radio back any malfunctioning sensors. Don’t follow me,” he said.
Irene crossed her arms. “I’ll be here, Jonathan Breaker.”
He left the cabin without looking back, wanting calm but all too aware of his racing heart. What he thought about was this; Irene Vale should be an ally. Gritting his teeth in frustration he wanted to shout at her but understood an argument could easily become make-up sex. Which would really screw everything up. He’d lose both women and hate himself.
Thoughts of the gorgeous blonde filled his mind when he wanted to be thinking about Victoria. They overwhelmed him, heart and soul. He needed something to clear his head, put everything and everyone aside and just be in the moment for a while.
Hard, physical exertion did the trick and he started to calm after he’d aggressively hiked several miles. He wasn’t looking for anything or any place in particular but he was attentive to everything he saw. The natural order of the forest reminded him of his childhood. Breathing felt good. The hugeness of the landscape calmed him.
He was sitting on a ledge drinking from a water skin when he saw the Death Angel. His first reaction was to wonder why it was motionless and then realized it had nothing to hunt. No humans remained in this part of the valley.
He followed it at a distance as it wandered aimlessly. The creature was the strangest of cyborgs and would barely hunt enough to feed itself. As the initial prototype, it been designed with a single purpose in mind, depopulating human settlements.
Jonathan Breaker couldn’t help but wonder if he was just another type of Death Angel, a human model that was more versatile but trickier to manage and maintain.
* * *
Irene Vale left him alone the first day. When she eventually trained her sniper scope on him she knew he was unhappy, his worldview altered somehow. She didn’t like his close proximity to the Death Angel. And it wandered as though it was having a nervous breakdown.
Perhaps whatever ailed the bio-machine was contagious.
She admired Breaker’s tracking skill—his obvious inner turmoil didn’t affect him at all. Any other operator in this valley would have been detected by the bio-machine. But he moved with the self-assurance of a fixer and the skill of a military sniper. An assassin wouldn’t have the endurance of a true soldier. A true military operator would be bound by conventions and the chain of command.
Breaker was apart from those things.
She invaded his camp by moonlight, sliding into his tent like a teenage fantasy. She pulled the bell and dropped her survival jumpsuit.
“What are you doing, Irene?”
“It’s cold. I saved your life using this tactic. Don’t you remember?”
“That was after I’d been wounded by the Death Angel. I don’t plan on getting as close this time,” he said.
She slid into his sleeping bag, mildly disappointed he wasn’t naked. He’d asked her what she was doing. She honestly didn’t know.
It could be a test. It could be following her instincts. It could be something more primal.
He took her firmly by the wrists and pushed her hands away from him. He shifted his weight so she slipped to one side.
“You’re not married to her,” she said.
“Please, Irene.”
His body shivered, betraying his desire. She worked her hands free and wrapped her arms around his body. There was no good place for him to push her away without touching her bare body.
“This isn’t like you,” he said. His husky voice begged her for something, mercy or indulgence or something else he didn’t want to say.
“I’ve been watching you. Something’s wrong. I have to know what it is,” she said.
“I’m a killing machine. You’re a killing machine,” he said. “How do you live with it?”
“One day at a time.” She pulled away from him and slipped out of the sleeping bag. She kneeled near the door, naked, unable to stand upright in the small tent.
“Are you going to put your jumpsuit back on?” he asked.
“It’s not fashionable,” she said.
“It’s warm enough to keep you alive.”
“So is sharing a sleeping bag, but I’m not going to get rejected twice.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
> Irene and Jonathan
Irene left Breaker’s tent and sought out a nearby natural waterfall. The pool it fed was barely above freezing. She stripped out of her survival jumpsuit for the second time to swim in the moonlight.
The temperature of the water made her bones ache. She couldn’t breathe after she jumped in. In less than a minute, her survival instincts drove her onto the shore and had her scrambling into her clothing.
The impulse was stupid and dangerous. But then she’d always had a death wish, even after she understood why. Letting nature take its course was harder than it sounded.
She was crying in misery by the time she reached the cabin. She wanted to forget everything and sleep through half of the next day.
* * *
Breaker didn’t return to the cabin. Her job was to evaluate him, so she watched his every move, stalking him from a distance. He took his own midnight swim on the third night which made her wonder if he’d been watching her misadventure as some kind of punishment. He didn’t last any longer than she did. It was hard to tell if he cried afterward.
Watching him struggle with guilt pissed her off. She knew the things he’d done, the details of every mission, and he had a long way to go to be in her league of damnation. He was at least as good, she thought, but new to the game.
Fixers never lasted very long. This might be the end for him. Her own success was an anomaly.
After nine days, he came around. His movements were steady and confident; his patrol route more aggressive. He headed for the cabin, their base. She broke off surveillance and went back to the cabin to wait for him.
They ate dinner in silence. She watched him and marveled at the lack of awkwardness. There were few people who could withstand silence like this. In a perfect world, that alone was enough reason to claim him as her own. They could grow old together in happy solitude, and when he forgot about Victoria they could fornicate like jackrabbits every night.