“We’re good to go, boss,” Christopher said, walking up next to Nick. “You look like you could use one of these.”
Christopher handed Nick a cigarette, which Nick quickly lit.
“So how was it? The box?”
“About seventeen different kinds of horrible.”
“I’m shocked you’re still walking around.” Christopher shook his head as Nick led them all out of the apartment and toward the elevators.
“I’ve got some amphetamines running in my system, apparently. I’ll live.”
“Well, just in case you do slow down, I’ve got a couple of things that might help keep you moving,” Christopher told him. “Amphetamines aren’t really hard to come by in this place. They issue them to you if you’re doing a long guard duty or something. You need ‘em, you let me know.”
“Um…thanks, but I’m fine.”
“Suit yourself.”
The elevator doors opened on the first floor—in the apartment building’s lobby, Nick could see that several other Mechoes had already gathered, including the 2-1, the 2-3, and the 1-8. Bryce, who wore the insignia of the 1-8’s Second in Command, caught Nick’s eye and nodded. Nick smirked back.
Neal was standing with Shaw, the convict from the 2-1 Nick had saved back at Area November. Apart from a minor limp, Shaw seemed to be doing all right. He and two of his Aryan brethren were picking up armloads of M4A1s and passing them out to the rest of the men gathered in the lobby. Shaw saw Nick across the room and shot him a big grin. Nick simply nodded.
“Shit. This is a lot of manpower. What did you say we were doing again?” Michael yawned from behind Nick.
“We’re getting our truck back,” Nick answered.
Chapter 15
Saturday Night Holocaust
Nick and his unit shared the back of a large troop truck with the 1-8 and the 2-1. The truck was old—an M923A1 five-ton from the 1990s—and was tailing a much newer MTVR seven-ton. Nick gathered his men around him and waved over Shaw and Bryce as the truck bounced down the street toward Justice’s West Gate. Shaw had a little difficulty stepping over the other men with his still-healing ankle, but he still made it over to Nick fairly quickly.
“How’s the leg, Shaw?” Nick asked quietly.
“They hadda replace a bit of the bone with steel. Still gettin’ used to it. Better than bein’ dead, though.” Shaw winked at him.
Bryce joined them, his new recruit Daniel trailing a few steps behind.
Nick nodded and addressed the other two SICs. “All right, gentlemen. I’m sure you all remember Area November.” Shaw and Bryce both nodded. “To cover our escape, we left a Razor there firing on some disabled Russian assault vehicles. It was supposed to demo as we took off, but something went wrong. That very Razor is about ten minutes away from the West Gate, claiming to be…well, me and my guys.”
“Fuck that. Probably lousy with fucking Chinks,” Shaw spat.
“I don’t doubt it in the slightest, which is why we’re all here. Command wants us to surround the vehicle and take whoever’s inside into custody. Let me be clear on this: Command wants hostages, not kills.”
Bryce nodded. “Makes sense. We can’t interrogate corpses.”
“What we need is a big show of force. How many of them Chinks you think can cram into a Razor, anyway?” Shaw asked.
“They take out all the seats, maybe twenty,” Nick answered.
“And there’s fifty of us. Should be able to scare ‘em into standing down,” Bryce said.
“That’s the plan. Captain Neal is filling in the 2-3 and the 3-6 as we speak. Now, I’m hoping we don’t have to shoot, but you hear a CO shout ‘weapons free,’ you shoot anyone coming out of that Razor, dig?” Nick said.
“You got that fuckin’ right.” Shaw smiled.
Nick’s helmet radio clicked on.
“CO 4-7 Echo to SIC 4-7 Echo,” Neal’s voice came over the radio.
“Go for SIC 4-7 Echo,” Nick said.
“Nick, we’ve got the Razor coming in ahead of schedule. Looks like they were able to squeeze a little more speed out of it after all. My truck’ll lead it in, yours will follow behind. Deploy your men as soon as we hit the parking garage, clear?”
“Crystal, sir.”
“Good man. Look alive. ETA West Gate in two minutes.”
“Copy that.”
Nick’s helmet radio clicked off, and he quickly relayed the information to Shaw and Bryce. They headed back to their units to brief their men, and Nick turned to his own crew.
“You heard all that, right, guys? Don’t have to repeat myself?”
“Yeah, Nick. We got it. They confirmed that really is our Razor?” Christopher asked.
“Hull markings match. It’s ours.”
“I still have the control codes memorized. We need to, we can pop it open from a Command screen,” Christopher said.
“Good to know. All right, look alive, brothers. We’ve got about ninety seconds before we find out who jacked our ride.”
Nick slung his M4 and raised the Chinese assault rifle to his shoulder. The thing still wasn’t up to full functionality, but the distance scope seemed to work all right. He flicked on the scope and targeted on the West Gate—about a half-mile out, he caught sight of the Razor lumbering along the highway toward the gate. The blast shields were still down, so there was no way to see who was driving.
The Razor looked to be riding low. Nick guessed they had packed the inside with armored soldiers. He brought the rifle down and readied his M4, then clicked his helmet radio over to the Command frequency.
“Razor 4-7 Echo, this is Justice Patrol Three,” Nick heard Neal’s voice. “We have you on visual. Proceed through the West Gate and follow our escort truck to the main repair center.”
“This is Razor 4-7 Echo, we copy,” the same voice Nick had heard in Command and Control replied.
Nick’s truck idled as the Razor rattled through the West Gate. Nick could hear that the Razor’s hydraulics were pretty much shot by the way it creaked as it rolled over the gate’s threshold. The Razor fell in formation behind Neal’s truck, and Nick’s truck followed close behind.
For a half-mile, the Razor followed Neal’s truck toward the center of the camp. They were about four minutes away from the main repair garage, but when the lead truck took a right, the Razor continued straight on, picking up speed.
“SIC 4-7 Echo to CO 4-7 Echo,” Nick radioed on Echo’s main frequency.
“Go for CO 4-7 Echo,” Neal radioed back.
“The Razor’s gone off the reservation, Captain. It’s picking up speed, heading for the center of the camp,” Nick radioed.
“Fuck,” Neal spat. Nick heard shuffling on the other end of the line. “We’ll cut around and try to head ‘em off.”
“CO 4-7, this is 311,” Christopher radioed. “Sir, transmit code five-zero-seven-zero-six-eight-zero-seven-three-dash-four-two-one Roger Bravo Sierra via your command screen. That’ll slow ‘em up a bit.”
“Roger that, 311.”
A few seconds later, the Razor’s rear hatch popped open and hit the street, dragging sparks along with it. Nick saw only two Chinese soldiers inside, huddled over a large, metallic object. The soldiers looked up, shocked, then crouched over the huge silver tube and started pressing buttons.
“Nuke!” someone yelled. “They’ve got a fucking nuke in the Razor!”
Nick reached for his M4, though he knew he didn’t have much of a chance of hitting anything at better than forty miles an hour on bumpy roads. As he climbed toward the roof of the truck, he heard two quick pops of gunfire.
“Hostiles down,” he heard someone say through his helmet radio.
As Nick made it to the truck’s roof, he saw Daniel, the young kid from Bryce’s unit, lying flat on the roof of the truck, his M4 pointed toward the back of the still-speeding Razor. The two Chinese soldiers Nick had last seen busying themselves over the device were now splayed across it, both shot through the head. Daniel looked over at Nick and winked.<
br />
“Jesus Christ, kid,” Nick said, giving an appreciative whistle. “That was some damn impressive shooting.”
“Name’s Daniel. Not kid. And thanks. Want me to take out the driver, too? Betcha a hundred I could do it in one shot.”
“No, that’s all right. They probably want him alive for questioning. ‘Sides, I think Captain Neal’s got him handled.”
Nick and Daniel grabbed onto the windowsills as their truck slammed on the brakes. Ahead, Neal’s seven-ton shot out of a side street, ramming full-on into the Razor’s passenger door. Though the seven-ton was technically a lighter vehicle, it was travelling at more than twice the Razor’s speed.
The Razor skidded to the side and slammed into the corner of a brick building, taking down the entire side of the structure. Nick motioned for his men to fall out of the five-ton and surround the crashed Razor. He and Daniel slid down the front windshield of the truck and hopped off the hood, bringing their weapons to bear on the immobile vehicle half-buried in brick.
As the thirty Mechoes from the five-ton hit the street, they were joined by the other twenty from the back of the seven-ton. Nick took point, Daniel on his left.
“Right behind you, boss,” Nick heard Christopher whisper as they slowly advanced on the vehicle.
“Alive. We need the driver alive,” Neal radioed.
“Anyone got eyes on the driver?” Nick radioed softly on the main Echo frequency.
“This is 2-3 Echo 6-1-7,” someone said back. “I’m on top of the seven-ton. I’ve got movement on thermals in the driver compartment. Looks like he’s trying to dig his way to the nuke.”
“Shit. Daniel, Chris, let’s move.”
Nick broke into a run, and Daniel, Christopher and a few others Nick couldn’t see followed suit. Nick dashed through the hole the Razor had left in the building, quickly going around the front of the vehicle and yanking open the driver’s door. He could see other Mechoes pouring in through the back hatch, but as he climbed into the Razor, Nick was closest to the driver—a young Chinese man just pulling the body of one of his comrades off of the nuke.
“Chuò!” Nick yelled.
The young Chinese looked over at Nick, who had his M4 aimed directly at the man’s forehead, and considered for a second. He slowly raised his hands.
“Daniel, Chris, get this guy out of here,” Nick ordered, not taking his aim off the driver.
Daniel and Christopher grabbed the driver by his raised arms and dragged him from the Razor. Nick toggled his helmet radio.
“Hostile secure, Captain,” he radioed.
“Good work, Nick,” Neal’s voice sounded in his helmet.
Nick pushed the corpse the rest of the way off of the device and noticed two characters blinking in red on a small screen where the young Chinese soldier had met his end.
“Fuck. Captain, you’re gonna want to call someone,” Nick said.
“What’s the situation in there, Nick?”
“This thing’s armed, sir.”
“Goddammit. Is it counting down?”
“No, sir. Just armed.”
“Well, that’s better, but not much. Can you disarm it?”
“I wouldn’t even know where to start, sir.” Nick was sweating and his hands were shaking. He tried to focus his mind on keeping his hands still rather than on the huge bomb right in front of him.
“Hold your position. I’ll radio for EOD, but you’re going to need to stay and help them translate.”
Nick placed his hand, steadier now, over his helmet mic. “’Course I will.” He sighed under his breath.
“Did not read your last transmission,” Neal’s voice buzzed in his ear.
Nick pulled his hand away from the mic. “Roger that, sir.”
***
The 415th Explosives Ordinance Detachment rolled up in a brand-new black Cougar 4x4. There were three of them in the vehicle, all dressed in real Army uniforms. The driver of the Cougar got out and walked over to Nick, who was sitting on the Razor’s hood smoking a cigarette. The rest of his unit had already pulled back and were helping evacuate the camp in case the bomb disposal failed.
“What do we have here?” the driver asked Nick.
“Nuclear.”
“Outstanding. Russian?”
“Chinese.”
“Great. I don’t think we’ve got anyone who speaks Chink.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Nick shrugged, hopping off the Razor’s hood and flicking his cigarette into the wrecked building.
The driver turned back to the Cougar, where one of his crew was shrugging into a bulky bomb-disposal suit with the help of the other.
“Rico! Don’t worry about the suit, man. Nuke,” the driver yelled.
Rico nodded and started peeling off the suit. A few minutes later, all three of the bomb-disposal techs were standing next to Nick inside the wrecked Razor, looking over the device in question.
Rico let out a low whistle. “Hey, Mecho. You remember the bomb in L.A.?” he asked.
“I was there when it went off.”
“That was a one-kiloton bomb, and you saw what that did. This one’s twenty times that size. It goes off, and this whole fuckin’ installation’s not even a memory.”
“That’s comforting.” Nick’s hands started to shake again, but he crammed them in his pockets. “Can you guys disarm this thing?”
Rico shrugged and made a noise that sounded vaguely like “I don’t know.”
“Don’t listen to him.” The driver smirked. “If your Chinese is any good, we shouldn’t have a problem.”
Rico pulled a small screwdriver from a case on his belt and removed the panel just to the left of the blinking screen, revealing a mess of wires.
“Jesus. It’s like a little kid built this thing. It’s a fucking mess in here. Hey, Mecho, what’s your name, man?”
“Nick.”
“Nick…I need you to tell me what the fuck this says right here, yeah?”
Nick leaned over the panel, and he and the three EOD techs went to work.
Chapter 16
What We Do Is Secret
Nick quickly learned the names of the guys in the EOD—apart from Rico, there was Spence (the driver) and Scott. The three members of the team moved quickly, assuredly, as if they had done this a thousand times before. Curious, Nick asked them how many times they had disarmed a nuclear bomb. Soon after, he wished he hadn’t.
“Never. But we’ve done a simulated one,” Scott told him.
It didn’t take long for Nick to feel like the fourth wheel on a tricycle. Aside from the occasional symbol the guys needed translated, he kept very much to the back of the Razor, becoming one with the wall. He watched them work, and listened to their short, clipped communications.
“Rico—”
“Got it.”
“Hand me the—thanks.”
“See the—?”
“Yep.”
“You got—”
“Right here.”
As fascinating as it was to watch them work, Nick still couldn’t help being jumpy. One wrong move, he knew, and he’d be dead before he knew anything had even happened. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from twitching every time one of the EOD techs moved a wire or made an adjustment.
“Hey, Nick. You all right over there, buddy?” Rico asked, looking up from his work and wiping sweat from his brow.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You look like you’re just waitin’ for this thing to go boom, man.” Scott smiled at him.
“Kinda, yeah.”
“Well, hate to disappoint you, but we’re done,” Rico said. “This baby’s only dangerous now if you drop it on your foot. So, you know, you can breathe now.”
Rico motioned for Nick to follow him out of the Razor, and the four of them walked back out to the EOD Cougar. Rico opened the driver’s door and grabbed a radio extender off the dashboard. “Four-fifteen EOD to Command and Control,” he said.
“Command and Control, copy
.”
“Nuke disarmed. Recommend you dispose of the entire Razor—nuke’s welded to the floor plating.”
“We copy. Come on home, 415.”
“Roger that.” Rico tossed the extender back on the Cougar’s dashboard.
“Can we give you a lift, man?” Spence asked, climbing behind the Cougar’s wheel.
“Sure. Don’t know where I’m headed, though—pretty sure my unit’s been evacuated with everyone else.”
“Hey, just ride with us, man. We’re heading back to C2—well, eventually. Sure someone’ll be there to tell you where to go.” Rico smiled.
Nick shrugged and climbed into the back seat next to Scott. As Spence started the engine, Scott reached into a large ammo box and pulled out four huge bottles of Klinskoe beer. He opened one and held it out to Nick.
“Thanks. Thought we were heading back to Command and Control?” Nick smirked as he took a drink.
“We are. Eventually.” Scott winked, handing beers to Spence and Rico. “But for right now, we’ve got an empty city, a bunch of beer and a fast truck. If you’ve got a couple more of those cigarettes, I’d say we’ve got the makings of a party.”
Nick pulled three packs of Russian smokes from his cargo pockets and handed them out to the EOD crew. Spence slammed on the gas, and Rico flipped on the in-dash radio, to which he’d hooked up an MP3 player.
The black Cougar tore down the empty streets, blaring loud thrashcore and knocking over street signs. Nick surprised himself by bursting into a long, loud whoop, his first laugh since his arrest.
It took an hour to make it the three miles to Command and Control, mainly because they sped through every other street in Novosibirsk first. Nick was three beers up and feeling slightly drunk—even before his arrest, he wasn’t much of a drinker. The three EOD techs, however, acted stone sober as they led him to the elevator. There were no guards around this time as they walked down the long hallway to the blast doors outside of Command and Control.
“Nick, man. Don’t say anything unless they ask you a direct question, yeah? You’re a little tipsy, bro,” Rico whispered as the doors opened.
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