“Smoking is weakness,” Kenneth growled, sitting on the bench at the back of the tent.
“He’s just a barrel of laughs, isn’t he?” Christopher mumbled to Nick, who nodded subtly.
Convicts started trickling into the Echo tent faster and faster. Nick noticed all of the convicts sent over to the two were white with shaved heads. Aryans. It probably made sense to keep them together, rather than throwing them into mixed units where they could get into trouble, he reasoned.
Apart from Kenneth, four more convicts showed up coded for 47 Echo. Unlike the recent additions to the 2-1, there didn’t seem to be any similarities evident in the makeup of these new recruits. Still, as the 4-7’s roster was now completely filled out, Christopher and Nick led them off to the next station to be tagged and, in Kenneth’s case, to have his hair cut.
Kenneth gave them no problems, but he didn’t say another word to them, even as they loaded everyone into the Humvee and drove back to the bunkhouse, a huge, sprawling apartment building swarming with uniformed convicts and armed MPs.
“Shit. Looks like they finally got him, huh?” Michael whispered to Nick as the new 47s got settled in to their large room. He nodded toward Kenneth.
“What do you mean?” Nick asked.
“You don’t know who that is? That’s Kenneth Alan Booth. He was on trial when I got arrested. Serial murders? Fifteen people in the greater Boston area?”
Nick groaned. “Oh, fuck. That’s…that’s just fucking great.”
“Sir?” one of the new recruits, Anthony Rice (47 Echo 1495) asked, walking up to Nick.
“Don’t have to sir me, Anthony. I’m a convict, same as you.”
“But you’re kinda my boss, right?”
Nick thought for a second and shrugged. “Guess I am. Still, though. Call me Nick.”
“Right, Nick. I’m, uh, just wondering…what do we eat? I haven’t had anything since I got on the plane.”
“Oh, sure. We kinda eat when we get the chance. You a big fan of food?” Nick asked.
“Love it. Used to be a chef.”
“Then you’re gonna hate these.” Christopher grinned. He opened a trunk at the far side of their room and pulled out a small, brown wrapped package.
“That’s…food?”
“In a way. FSRs—First Strike Rations. High nutritional value with a cardboard taste you’re likely to remember in your nightmares.”
Christopher tossed the package to Anthony, who grimaced as he opened it. Christopher threw packages to the rest of the unit then handed one to Nick.
“Oh, come on. What did I do?” Nick chuckled.
“Don’t worry. I’m already working the feed point in this place. We won’t be eating this crap for much longer.”
“Glad to hear it.”
As Nick’s Echo unit polished off their rations, the door to the apartment opened. Neal stepped through the door, and Nick could see two uniformed guards out in the hall.
“Morrow,” Neal said. “You’re with me. The rest of you, suit up. We may have a job sooner rather than later.” Nick followed Neal out to the hall, and the two uniformed guards trailed behind as they walked down the stairs and out the front door into the August sunshine. “We’re heading to C2,” Neal continued. “That’s Command and Control. Remember that—they’re going to expect you to know what they’re saying, and the military’s built on acronyms. You’re going to be meeting with Major Richard Harrison, CO of the Echo units. My boss, incidentally. He’s not a big fan of the convict units, so the less you say around him, the better off we both are. Clear?”
“Clear, sir.”
“Good man.”
Neal and Nick hopped into the back of a waiting Humvee, and the driver tore off down the road, making a series of twists and turns so sharp that Nick quickly found himself lost. The Humvee pulled into an underground parking garage, and the driver and a guard herded the two Echoes into an elevator.
Four more floors down, the elevator stopped, and the doors opened on a long, dark hallway. The guard led them to a huge steel door, punched in a six-digit code on the keypad next to the door, and motioned the two of them inside as the door opened.
The scene that Nick saw wasn’t unlike a normal civilian office, except that all of the men in front of the computers were in convict fatigues. One man, mid-forties and muscular, stood in the center of the room, smoking a cigarette. He had Major’s leaves on his shoulders.
“This is the guy, Captain? The one from Area November?” the Major asked.
“Yes, sir. Four-seven Echo 1153.”
“Fuck that. You got a real name, convict?”
“Nick Morrow, sir.”
“You look like a Chink, Morrow.”
“Half-Chink, sir.”
Harrison consulted the screen on his sleeve.
“Says here you speak Chink, too. Fluent?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That might come in handy. Captain Neal here assures me you can handle yourself under pressure.”
There wasn’t a question there, so Nick didn’t answer. Harrison looked up from his sleeve and continued.
“Just over an hour ago, an Aero II hybrid UAV went down approximately thirty miles north of Area November. UAVs going down isn’t anything new—the Chinese shoot those things down with a ninety-nine point nine percent success rate. Still haven’t figured out how they do it, but usually they completely destroy anything we put up without a human pilot. We’re getting an emergency locator from the Aero.”
Nick nodded, but decided against saying anything.
“If the Aero wasn’t completely destroyed, it might have valuable intel. We need a squad to go out and retrieve what they can, and we’ve got no idea what that squad may come up against in the process. You think the 4-7 can handle it?”
“We’re solid, sir.”
“Good. Captain Neal will sort you out with transport. You leave in twenty minutes. Get your men ready.”
“Roger that, sir.”
Harrison turned back to face the large screen at the end of the room.
“You’re dismissed, gentlemen,” Harrison said over his shoulder. The guard led the two of them back down the long hallway and into the elevator.
When Nick returned to the apartment, Christopher had everyone in full uniform, ready to go.
“So, boss. We got a job?” Christopher asked.
“And then some,” Nick confirmed. “Transport is meeting us out front in ninety seconds. Let’s shake a leg, folks.”
The Echoes filed out of the room, Kenneth and Nick taking up the rear.
“How ya doin’, big man?” Nick smirked at the huge convict.
Kenneth said nothing, nor did he even look at Nick. He just followed the others out to the waiting Cougar HE six-by-six idling outside. It was the first time he’d had seen one close-up, and he was actually kind of impressed by the size—it looked like a small tractor-trailer with an enclosed, long body and an M240B machine-gun turret on the top. There were sensors and cameras mounted just above the driver’s cabin—forward-looking infrared systems and night vision, Nick knew. Its six wheels were designed for chewing up off-road topography, but he guessed they’d be taking the paved roads most of the way.
“You know how to drive one of these?” Christopher asked.
“Sure. It was in the manual Gabe dropped by. All right, gentlemen. Load up. We’ll hash out a plan on the drive.”
As Christopher and Nick herded their team into the Cougar, Christopher shook his head. “I don’t love the look of this truck, I gotta tell you. One gun turret, no rockets?”
“Yeah, but it’s pretty much bomb-proof.”
“Oh. Well, that’s nice. Wait, we’re not expecting bombs, are we?”
“Tell you the truth, I’ve got no idea.”
Chapter 8
Communist Eyes
Though the Cougar was designed to roll on broken terrain, it was a hell of a lot of fun to drive on the roads. Nick’s enjoyment of the huge truck’s power wa
s short-lived though, at least for the moment, as he only had to drive it to the airport to be picked up for the next leg of 47 Echo’s journey.
Irkutsk—formerly Area November—was several days’ drive away across the vast unknown of Siberia, and the bosses wanted the Aero found fast. Nick and his crew would be hitching a ride on an old CH-47 Chinook helicopter, which would wing them a couple hundred miles to the Southeast at an impressive one hundred ninety-five miles an hour. Then, fifty miles north of the city they’d recently escaped, the Chinook would drop them off. If 47 Echo found anything worth saving, the Chinook would be back to pick them up. If not…well, Nick figured, he’d have plenty of time to get to know his unit on the long drive back.
“Raise the chopper on the radio, Chris. Let ‘em know we’re on the way,” Nick said to Christopher, who was riding shotgun.
“Right on. Phantom 1-1, this is Cougar 4-7 Echo.”
“We copy, 4-7 Echo. You fellas need a lift?”
Nick saw the rotors on the huge chopper spinning up as the Cougar crested a small hill. “If you’re going our way, 1-1 Phantom.”
“Roger that, 4-7 Echo. Give us one minute, and we’ll be happy to let you tag along.”
“We copy,” Christopher said as he terminated the connection.
Through the front windshield of the Cougar, Christopher and Nick saw the Chinook take off.
“Wait. Weren’t they supposed to take us with them?” Peter asked from his position behind Christopher’s chair.
As 47 Echo watched, some heavy-duty straps fell from the bottom of the chopper. From a small shed, four convict-uniformed Army soldiers walked out under the hovering chopper. One of them waved the Cougar forward.
“Um…I don’t think we’re riding in the chopper, guys,” Nick said as he put the Cougar back into gear and drove where the ground crew directed him. Nick stopped the Cougar when indicated and turned off the engine.
“You don’t mean…” Peter stammered.
“Yeah, I think they do mean exactly that,” Nick nodded as the four-man ground crew started crawling all over the exterior of the Cougar. A few minutes later, one of them pounded on the hood of the truck and gave Nick the thumbs-up. Nick returned the gesture.
“Everybody, I suggest you sit down and hold on to something,” Nick warned.
He could hear his crew scrambling behind him, quickly grabbing onto anything that looked solid. A couple of seconds later, the men of 47 Echo felt the Cougar’s wheels slowly leave the ground. Out the window, they saw the ground start to fall away as the Chinook lifted them into the air.
Nick quickly adjusted to the slight bobbing and swaying of the tow-hitched Cougar, but a couple members of his team weren’t so lucky. One of the new guys, a thin, pale guy named Reggie, was already turning green. Nick really hoped none of them puked—they’d be in the Cougar for a while, and it wasn’t as if they could just crack a window.
“Anthony!” Nick called, turning around in his seat.
“Yeah, boss?”
“Check around, see if we have any water in the truck. Sixteen fifty-nine’s looking a little pale.”
“Sure thing.”
“Reggie? You gonna be all right, newbie? You gonna throw up?” Christopher asked.
Reggie waved his hand. “I’m alright,” he croaked.
“Found some water, boss!” Anthony yelled from the back of the truck.
“Pass it around. Small sips, everyone. We could be living in this truck for days, so let’s conserve as much as possible,” Nick told them.
“Tell you straight, Nick, I’m not loving the hell out of this flight, either,” Christopher said in a low voice. “You sure this is safe?”
“Safe enough for Mecho, I suppose,” Nick said, biting his lower lip. “And at least safe enough for the pilots, who I’m guessing are ‘real’ Army. Unless they’re training convicts that get assigned to Army units a whole lot better than they’re training us.”
Christopher chuckled. “Um…they are. The lower you get on the food chain, the less they train you, and the more dangerous your missions. Guys in the chopper are probably whatever Army’s version of Alpha is.”
“That’s depressing. I think we’ll be fine, though. They’ve done lifts like this thousands of times, and these Chinooks have been around in one form or another since Vietnam.”
“Great. So we’re strapped to a fifty-year-old chopper staffed by convicts. I feel better already.”
Nick tried to ignore the thoughts Christopher had just put into his head as he turned around and addressed his men. “We’ll hit the landing zone in about three hours. If any of you can get some sleep with the noise and the motion, I’d suggest that now’s the time to do so.”
Then Nick himself put his head back against his seat and closed his eyes. In three short breaths, he was out—but he made sure before he fell asleep that the radio in his helmet was switched on.
***
“But I don’t understand why Daddy won’t be home for six months.” Nick pouted. He was four years old, and his mother had just told him that his father, Alex, wouldn’t be able to take him to his first day of school like he’d promised.
“Daddy has a very important job, Nick,” his mother told him. “He’s in the Navy. He’s a SEAL.”
“Daddy’s not a seal. He’s a person.”
He saw the confusion on his mother’s face, saw her holding in laughter while trying to figure out how to explain what his father did for a living.
“Your daddy travels all over the world to help people, Nick. He doesn’t get to choose when he goes, but he always comes back home to us.”
“Okay. But he’s not a seal.”
“All right, honey.”
***
“Phantom 1-1 to Cougar 4-7 Echo,” the radio crackled in his ear.
“Go for 4-7 Echo,” Nick said, waking from his dream instantly but coughing slightly.
“We are now zero-five minutes from the landing zone.”
“Okay.”
“Say again?”
“Sorry. I, uh, copy.”
“Callback for retrieval will be at 0530 local. That gives you four hours, 4-7 Echo.”
“Right. Thanks for the ride, gents.”
“Our pleasure.”
A few moments later, the Cougar’s wheels hit the ground. Nick sent Michael and Peter outside to release the straps and told them to remember what they’d done in case they needed to hook it back up again. It took them less than two minutes to clear the straps, and the Chinook lifted back into the air and vanished into the night.
“All right, guys. Time for a quick drive. Chris, you got the locator on the Aero?” Nick asked as Michael and Peter got back into the truck.
“Yep. Still transmitting. Coordinates are in the nav system.”
“Look alive, folks. I have no idea what we might run into out here, but I’d like not to get killed by it.”
A series of mumbled and grunted affirmatives came from the back of the truck, and Nick started up the engine and headed where the navigation system told him to.
“Hey. You read the manual on this thing, right?” Christopher asked after a few minutes.
“Yeah.”
“I’m not going to blow anything up if I smoke in here, am I?”
“Nah, you’re fine. Light me one while you’re at it.”
Christopher lit two cigarettes and handed one over to Nick. Nick pushed the Cougar up to fifty miles an hour—just shy of the vehicle’s maximum operational speed, but he knew the thing could take it. It could probably hammer up to sixty-five in a pinch, but Nick hoped he didn’t have to test that out. The road was smooth and clear under the Cougar’s wheels, and just for a moment, Nick imagined he was driving a nice, new hydrogen-powered SUV down the Santa Monica Freeway, rather than an armored vehicle full of convicts to God-knew-what.
It only took twenty minutes to reach the Aero’s coordinates. Nick stopped the truck when the nav system told him to. He could see the white UAV about two hundred
feet ahead, nose dug into the ground and missing a wing.
“All right, kids. We’re here. I want everyone to load up. I’m assuming most of you know how to shoot a gun. If you don’t, speak up now.”
No one said a word.
“Right, then. Let’s get out there, pull the recorders from the Aero, and get the fuck out of here.”
Gabriel opened up the back doors, and 47 Echo poured out of the truck. Nick opened his door, as well, taking the M4 that Christopher handed down to him.
“You stay here on the radio. Watch the screens for anything that could be, you know, coming to kill us,” Nick said.
Christopher nodded.
“Good luck out there, boss.”
It was seconds after Christopher said those words that automatic gunfire ripped through the air.
“Get down! Cover! Cover!” Nick yelled into his helmet radio. In front of him, he saw his men scatter toward the side of the road, ducking down behind a broken-down Lada Kalina. The eight Mechoes crowded behind the small sedan, which was quickly getting torn up by gunfire. “Chris! Can you see who’s shooting at us?”
“They’re half a klik to the south. I have ‘em on screens now. Six men on foot.”
“Half a kilometer? How the hell are they hitting from that far away?” Nick fired a spray of bullets to the south as he ran to join his men behind the Lada.
“Chinks have some damn good tech. Computer-aided telescopic sights, I think. I’m pulling the Cougar around in front of the UAV—should cover you long enough to yank the memory and the optics.”
The huge armored truck shot past the Lada, spinning to a stop so that its passenger side was facing south. Bullets started pinging off the side of the Cougar.
Nick motioned his men forward. “Quick as you can, guys. I think we have about a minute until they get here.”
Reggie pulled the bottom hatch off the Aero, and Nick saw the inside—jammed with 10-terrabyte hard drives and 500-gigabyte flash memory modules.
“Those, those, and those. Yank ‘em straight out. Don’t worry about ripping any wires loose,” Nick said, pointing to the drives and the flash memory. “Anthony, you’re with me. We’re pulling the optics out of the tail. Ones in the nose were probably smashed when the thing crashed.”
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