The Collapse Trilogy (Book 1): Free Fire Zone

by Rod Carstens

  Steiger turned his intercom on and roared, “Get me Lieutenant Muller here right away!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  #

  A few minutes later Steiger’s intercom toned softly.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Lieutenant Muller is here.”

  “Good, send her in.”

  Muller made Steiger feel uneasy. Her beauty always surprised him; at first glance she did not look like a Special Action lieutenant. But one look in those coal-black eyes told you that she was more than capable of doing what was required of her. She strode into his office. In her black, figure-hugging jumpsuit and her regulation-short jet-black hair combed back from her face, she looked like the stylish rich women he saw in the Megas. She looked cool, rested, and well fed, like all of the corporate military types.

  “Lieutenant Muller reporting as ordered, sir.”

  “There has been a change in your orders.” She did not change her expression. “You will have an additional target before the primary. There is an RST team that is to be taken out at their extraction point.”

  It was the first time Steiger had seen any change in her expression. “An RST team?”

  “Yes. They will be at point Reinhardt at 1745 hours.”

  “I am to use extreme measures.”

  Extreme measures were corporate for killing someone.

  “Yes, you are authorized to use extreme measures. In fact that is your mission. The team will be eliminated.”

  She smiled and reached across his desk and took one of his last cigarettes of this ration. She lit it with his lighter. Damn it, she knew how precious they were, but Steiger didn’t say anything.

  She blew a thick stream of smoke toward the ceiling before she said anything. “I’ve never taken out an RST team before. This could prove interesting. Who did these guys piss off?”

  “That isn’t any of your concern. Just do the job. You had better get moving. You don’t have much time to plan.”

  “There’s no problem. I’ll run the scenario through Rule’s combat sim. It should give me a solution in plenty of time.”

  “Lieutenant,” Steiger called as she turned to leave. “These are not your usual targets. Their behaviors won’t be the normal behaviors the sim is used to. You had better be careful.”

  She stopped at the door and turned. A cold smile crossed her face. “Don’t underestimate me. This could be fun.”

  It always amazed Steiger what some people would do for corporations. He could never be one of those corporate military types. The things they did…

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Resource Security Force

  Team Sixteen

  Patrol Area Bravo

  1727 hours

  Tanner double-checked the sound and movement sensors in the hallway outside his room; they would set off the booby traps on the stairs if anyone tried to sneak up on the observation post. He would leave them to discourage any curious gangs. It was a perfect OP for this side of the zone. He might be his last mission, but once he reported the post in debriefing, other teams could use the room. He would diagram the booby-trap locations.

  He slipped into his pack and adjusted the waist strap. He pulled on his black night mask that only left his eyes uncovered, adjusted his radio mic, and put on his helmet. He picked up his weapon. Then he made one last quick sweep of the room to make sure he left nothing. Satisfied, he slipped out the window.

  The street was absolutely still. It was raining harder now as dark clouds began to roll into the city. Tanner didn’t like to move before dark. There was too much risk, but he didn’t have a choice if he was going to make the extraction point in time. He had to leave now. He knew the homesteaders’ lookouts would be watching the ground approaches since the gangs didn’t use the roofs. With any luck he would go undetected.

  He made sure his rifle’s safety was on, then folded the stock and clipped it into the harness on his MOLLE. He made sure of his footing on the wet window ledge, then quickly moved to the edge of the building. Again he paused and made sure of his footing. He jumped the short distance to the roof of the next building. He landed lightly and quickly moved off the roof and onto the next building. And so it went, rooftop to rooftop, always staying high, out of the vision of the lookouts and scouts but providing him with excellent vantage points.

  Tanner was able to move a number of blocks with no problems before he had reached the most dangerous part of his journey. It was Washington Boulevard. Years ago it had been one of the city’s main arteries. Now it was an empty, barren tract of concrete over a hundred yards wide whose only purpose was to mark the boundary between two rival gang territories. Weeds and bushes were growing high in the cracks of the concrete of the road and sidewalks. Small trees had taken hold on the roofs of several of the buildings. They would provide cover once he was on the other side. The only sound was the wind blowing some trash down the street. It was deceptively quiet as Tanner took his first look from a rooftop along the boulevard's southern side. At any moment a foraging group could appear. He was going to have to risk a wire traverse in daylight if he was going to make the extraction.

  He had carried the wire launcher for years and never thought he would have to use it. Tanner searched the vacant, crumbling buildings across the boulevard. There was a row of three- and four-story buildings. An old restaurant with windows broken out and the door torn off. Next door what looked like it had once been a clothing store. He needed to be careful which building he chose; it had to be lower than the five-story building he was on but not too low or he would pick up too much speed during the crossing.

  He settled on the old clothing store with the half-off sign hanging from its front. It was four stories high and had several bushes growing on the roof to provide cover. He pulled the wire launcher from his pack, took aim, and fired. The anchor landed next to one of the bushes. He pressed the drill button on the wire launcher and watched as the motorized anchor bored itself into the roof. Next he used the launchers reel to tighten the line. He wrapped the wire from the launcher around a steel leg on an old heating unit. With his protection set he began to get ready for the slide. Tanner pulled a carabiner from the harness built into his uniform, hooked it to the wire, and set the drag. He unfastened his rifle from his chest and flipped off the safety. He was finally ready. He stepped up on the parapet and took one last look around. Nothing moved. He launched himself off the roof.

  The whirring of the wire through his brake as he hurtled across the deserted street fifty feet above the ground was only sound he heard. He continually glanced both ways as he slid, watching for the unexpected. He could see up and down Washington for close to a quarter of a mile. It was deserted. Come on, he said to himself. Just a few seconds more and he would be home free.

  He was almost halfway across when a gang car slowly cruised around the corner from 97th Street, just two blocks away. Seeing him, it immediately sped up until it was close enough for the passengers to get a good shot. Tanner felt like one of those targets at the practice range. The car screeched to a halt and the occupants piled out. Two of the gang members raised their weapons. One looked like he had a decent rifle.

  Tanner fired a quick burst. Explosions covered the car and the area around it. Both shooters dropped. The others broke and ran. Tanner fired another burst in their general direction just to keep them running. He was almost at the other roof. He jammed his rifle back into its chest clips and grabbed the brake on the carabiner. He was coming in too fast. He had been shooting when he needed to be slowing his speed for a smooth landing. He prepared for a hard roof landing. As he neared the roof, he pulled his feet up. Just as he crossed the roof line, he released the carabiner, dropped, hit hard, and rolled over and over until he slammed into an old air-conditioning unit. He groaned. It felt like he had just been hit by a truck, but he was all right. Tanner got up and limped out the pain in his left leg and was off the roof quickly. He didn’t want to stick around to find out whether the gang survivors decided to try
and run him down.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Special Action Team

  En Route to Extraction Point Reinhardt

  1728 hours

  Lieutenant Anke Muller strapped herself into her seat in the tiltrotor. She flipped open her pad and pulled up the file on the RSF team. Anke had been a corporate soldier for twelve years. She had fought in the Water Wars out west, quelled food riots in a dozen major cities across the U.S. and the world. She had performed corporate missions overseas against other corporate-military and regular-military units, but she had never gone after an RSF team or any other American government agent. So this would be an interesting mission. Let’s see who we’re going after. It was always good to have intel on your targets. She tapped her screen and opened the first file.

  “Sergeant Vincent ‘Vin’ Tanner, ten years in the teams.”

  He should have been at least a lieutenant by now. With that many years in the field he should have gained rank by simply surviving if nothing else. She changed the screen and looked at his records. He came from nowhere. His father and mother had been manual laborers on the Sea Wall. Mother killed in a construction accident. Father raised him. How did he get on the Force? You don’t get on with a father who is working on the Sea Wall. She flipped back to his original enlistment papers. No recommendations. No special compensation exchanged. Then she looked at his test scores; they were off the charts. This was one smart boy. Born smart and tough if he grew up working on the Sea Wall. The death rate among those workers was high. So he got lucky, took the test blind and scored through the roof. He actually earned his way on. She was impressed. Not many of those around. Interesting. Now for his service record.

  Five awards for valor including a Resource Security Silver Star. There were two pages of commendations for excellent performance in the field.

  Why hadn't they promoted this guy? She thought.

  Then she looked through his administrative records: as many office hours as commendations. It appeared he could not keep his mouth shut when it came to officers he did not feel lived up to the standards of the Resource Security Force. He had written up several, so naturally his efficiency ratings had been marked as terrible by the officers he was under. He could not keep his mouth shut. A true believer. He actually thought he was out there helping people. Those could be very dangerous men. She pulled up his picture. Good looking if you liked the rugged type, which she did, with brown hair and brown eyes. Not bad. Not bad at all—she’d do him.

  Next she pulled up the file of Corporal Catherine “Cat” Vasquez. She looked closely at the picture. A dark-eyed blonde, Vasquez was sexier than she was beautiful, and with her looks she could have wrangled her way into something else. How did our girl get on the Force? Muller flipped back to her original enlistment papers. Former very expensive call girl. Worked the Megas, which meant a bunch of one-percent clients. Started very young at thirteen. Somebody must have picked her up off the street and taken her upstairs. She could have even been sold by her family. Someone as pretty as she was could go for a nice sum. More than most families made in years. It was becoming more and more common. She had been able to enlist when she was twenty, so somebody must have pulled some strings. There wasn’t a record of parents or education. Then Muller saw the name on her enlistment recommendation: R. Retig. A real corporate bigwig. He was a one-percent type, must have felt pity on her, or she’d blackmailed her way out. If she had lasted seven years being passed around, she had to be one tough girl. Strange she hadn’t used her angle to go for something in the Megas.

  She had been on Tanner’s team for all five years she had been on the Force.

  Again three awards for valor.

  Multiple commendations.

  If Muller had to guess, she was sleeping with Tanner. If she isn’t, he’s a fool, because I sure would be, Anke thought. That could be a weakness she could exploit if things did not go as planned.

  Finally she pulled up the last team member. Adriel Garcia Matos. He too was unusual. He had not gotten on the Force through contacts or family either. In fact he had grown up in one of the first Wild Zones. Apparently he’d been an early gang member who lived by his wits and strength. Then things got fuzzy—there were a couple of stints in jail in his teens. Then he showed up with an RSF sponsor. She looked up the sponsor’s name: it was Brull. So some RSF type recognizes this kid has potential and takes him in and raises him. I’ll be damned. He, like the other two, had scored high on all his aptitude enlistment tests.

  Been on seven years and been busted back to private seven times. Drinking and fighting off duty.

  Four awards for valor.

  Multiple commendations for his fieldwork. He was the team’s sniper and consistently scored high on his requalification's for sniper pay.

  So he was one of those who should just live in the field because when they were back in quarters they were nothing but trouble. They were some of the best soldiers. Anke glanced through the RSF team's files again. The more she read them, the more she wished Tanner's crew was on her team. They were all tough, smart, and resourceful. Oh, well, she had to work with what she had.

  She had fed their files into the combat sim before she left, and it had come up with a mission plan. It had obviously taken into account their individual strengths and weaknesses. It was amazing how the program could predict human behaviors under the stress of combat. But, after all, it was an offshoot of the big program that ran the Resource Plan, and everyone knew how well that worked. The ship banked to the left. She would go over her orders one more time with the team.

  “Remember, the two Alpha Teams will be the only ones to take out the targets. That is why they are equipped with civilian weapons. It must look as if the gangs did it. The gunships will go in first using gas rockets. Then we follow up. We should have no problems. The combat sim gives us a ninety-percent chance of success. So think of this as just another live-fire exercise. It will be a good warm-up for our primary.”

  “Why only ninety-percent probability of success, Lieutenant? It’s usually higher.”

  “Because, Morrow, these people are trained professionals. Who knows, they might get lucky, but I doubt it. Besides, you can’t load every possible variable into the sim. There is always unpredictable human behavior. We have surprise on our side but take no chances. Check your weapons and equipment again. We have seventeen minutes until insertion.”

  Lieutenant Anke Muller turned back to the display on her pad. She started working on her primary target. She had already put RSF Sixteen out of her mind. That was a foregone conclusion.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Resource Security Force

  Team Sixteen

  Extraction Point Reinhardt

  1730 hours

  Tanner paused in the shadows of a doorway across the street from the extraction point: an old building with the name Reinhardt still visible under the dirt. It was hard to tell what it had been long ago, but now it was his way out. It was raining hard and Tanner was soaked to the skin. He was hungry too. It had been two days since he had had anything that could be called a meal. But most of all he was tired. A month in the field was too much, but it had become the norm. You slept with one eye open the whole time. The one good thing to come out of this Free Fire Zone declaration was the rest and food they had coming as a team just off patrol.

  He checked the street one last time. Nothing moved. Tanner glanced at his watch. 1730. Fifteen minutes and he would be out of all this. One last look up and down the street, then he darted across. He reached the other side safely. He slipped into a side door in the alley it was an old service entrance. He was facing an ordinary looking door that led into a closet shelves lined the walls. He moved the third shelf from the top and pulled the wall open to revel another door only this door was reinforced steel. He punched a code into the electronic lock, and the door opened. He carefully worked his way past the booby traps on the stairs. He moved up the stairs quickly, his footsteps echoing in the empty stairwell. Other teams ha
d written their team numbers on the walls until the stairwell was covered with numbers. He paused to catch his breath as he reached the top floor; little food and water took its toll. Then he crossed the narrow hall and entered the once-opulent penthouse.

  The long-gone opulence had been replaced by the squalor of dozens of teams and neglect. Now there was only an old stuffed chair that Tanner hesitated to sit in. It was so dirty and bug infested that no matter how much he wanted to throw himself into its cushioned comfort he decided to stand. A broken-legged sofa lay against the wall with a brick holding up one end. It was in the same condition. Cat was sitting on the sofa with her legs propped up on her pack and her rifle across her chest. She had unzipped her jumpsuit to the waist and her sleeves were rolled up to the elbow. Tanner caught hints of her cleavage. He felt a rush of excitement as memories of their lovemaking flashed through his mind. Her usually lustrous blonde hair was dirty and disheveled after a month in the field. She had it tied back in a ponytail with a piece of paracord. Her face and hands were grimy with ground-in dirt. Those wide-set dark eyes and that sensuous mouth lost none of their effect despite the grime. Somehow despite the dirt, her beauty made her look out of place.

  Matos, on the other hand, looked as if he were made for rough and wild places. He was a small, lean man with a pockmarked face and a precise way of moving. With his coal-black eyes, his face covered with the black stubble of his beard after a week of not shaving, he looked like a fierce Hispanic warrior. He was the first to notice Tanner standing in the doorway.

  “Tanner, you fuck!” he cried with real pleasure in his voice.

  Cat was up and in Tanner’s arms before he could reply. Tanner had dreamed of the feel of her body almost every night of the patrol. They could finally let their guard down. Cat kissed him as Matos pounded him on the back.

  “It's good to see you,” Matos said.