Dead Six

by Larry Correia; Mike Kupari

  DEAD

  SIX

  Larry Correia

  & Mike Kupari

  Baen Books

  by Larry Correia

  Monster Hunter International

  Monster Hunter Vendetta

  Monster Hunter Alpha

  The Grimnoir Chronicles

  Hard Magic

  Spellbound

  DEAD SIX

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011 by Larry Correia & Mike Kupari

  A Baen Books Original

  Baen Publishing Enterprises

  P.O. Box 1403

  Riverdale, NY 10471

  www.baen.com

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4516-3758-8

  Cover art by Kurt Miller

  First printing, October 2011

  Distributed by Simon & Schuster

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Acknowledgements

  Far more people help in the creation of a novel than just the authors. The story that would become DEAD SIX began as an online serial at www.thehighroad.org titled Welcome Back, Mr. Nightcrawler. Thank you to the good folks of THR for letting us play in their yard. We would like to thank Chris Byrne and the Gun Counter for fixing the “computer situation.” Their generosity is much appreciated. Special thanks go to Marcus Custer for his technical/tactical advice, he’s like having your own personal Jack Bauer, only without all the yelling and whispering. John Shirley helped out big time on knives as did Ogre Rettinger on information security and Jeff More on the border. Once again, Reader Force Alpha rode to the rescue with their proofing, critiques, and vast stores of useful knowledge. Thank you all.

  DEAD SIX

  “And by thy sword shalt thou live . . .”

  Genesis 27:40

  Prologue: Cold Open

  VALENTINE

  Sierra Vista Resort Hotel

  Cancun, Quintana Roo

  Southern Mexico

  February 17

  There was an angel standing over me when I opened my eyes. She was speaking but I could barely hear her. Every sound was muffled, as if I were underwater, except for the rapid pounding of my heart. Am I dreaming? Am I dead?

  “On your feet, damn it!” the angel said as she grabbed my load-bearing vest and hauled me from my seat. My head was swimming, and every bone in my body ached. I wasn’t sure where I was at first, but reality quickly came screaming back to me. We were still in the chopper. We’d crashed. The angel was pulling me toward the door. “Can you walk? Come on.”

  “Wait,” I protested, steadying myself against the hull. “The others.” I turned to where my teammates were sitting. Several of them were still strapped into their seats, but they weren’t moving. Dim light poured through a gaping hole in the hull. Smoke and dust moved in the light, but behind that there was blood everywhere. My heart dropped into my stomach. I’d worked with these men for years.

  “They’re dead, bro,” Tailor said, suddenly appearing in the door frame. At least one of my friends had made it. “She’s right. We’ve got to get out of here before they start dropping mortars on us. This isn’t a good place to be.”

  Still terribly disoriented, I shook my head, trying to clear it.

  “You’re in shock,” the angel said, pushing me through the door of our wrecked NH-90 helicopter. “What’s your name?” she asked as we stepped onto a large, tiled surface.

  “V . . . Valentine,” I stammered, squinting in the early morning sun. “Where are we?”

  “In a pool,” Tailor said, moving up a steep embankment ahead of me. “Ramirez is dead. Half the team’s gone.” He dropped the magazine out of his stubby, short-barreled OSW FAL and rocked in a fresh one. “Hostiles will be on us quick. You locked and loaded?”

  My head was clearing. I looked down at the DSA FAL carbine in my hands and retracted the bolt slightly. A .308 round was in the chamber. My good-luck charm, a custom Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum, was still in its holster on my left thigh. I was still alive, so it hadn’t let me down. “I’m ready,” I said, following Tailor up the incline.

  Our chopper had crashed in the deep end of a huge, pear-shaped swimming pool that had been mostly drained of water. It sat at an odd angle, still smoking, the camouflage hull absolutely riddled with bullet holes. The walls of the pool’s deep end prevented the chopper from flipping over, but it was leaning to the side. There were deep gashes in the tile where the rotor had struck. The rotor had blown to pieces, and fragments were scattered everywhere.

  “What happened?” I asked. The angel didn’t answer at first. I remembered then; her name was Ling, the one who hired us. She followed me up the embankment, clutching a suppressed Sig 551 assault rifle.

  “We crashed,” she said after a moment, as if I didn’t know that. We cleared the top of the incline. A handful of armed people waited for us in the shallow end of the empty pool. Aside from Tailor and me, only three were dressed in the green fatigues of my company, Vanguard Strategic Solutions. I closed my eyes and tried to catch my breath. Ten of us had left on this mission. Half hadn’t made it. Goddamn it . . .

  “You alright, Val?” Tailor asked. “I really need you with me, okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, kneeling down to check my gear. “Just a little rattled.” We’d crash-landed in the middle of a deserted resort complex. The city had once been covered in places like this, but now they were all abandoned. In front of us stood a cluster of white towers that must have been a luxury hotel once. About a hundred yards behind us was the beach and ocean as far as the eye could see. The place had probably been evacuated back when the fighting started. It was dirty from disuse and littered with garbage and debris. Several plumes of smoke rose in the distance. Cancun had seen better days.

  Ling brushed the dust from her black body armor. “Mr. Tailor. You’re in charge now, correct? We must keep moving.” I believed she was from China, but there was no accent to her speech.

  With Ramirez gone, Tailor had just been promoted to team leader. He quickly looked around, taking in our surroundings. “And where in the hell do you want to go? This part of town is covered in hostiles.” His East Tennessee twang were more pronounced with his anger.

  “Somewhere that is not here. I have multiple wounded,” Ling said, nodding toward the rest of her teammates, all members of the same mysterious Exodus organization. Like her, they were heavily armed and dressed in black. They were clustered in a tight circle near the edge of the pool, waiting for instructions. In the middle of them was a teenaged girl being tended to by their medic. “We have to get her out.”

  “Look, damn it,” Tailor exclaimed. “We’ll save your precious package. That was the deal.” He jerked a thumb at the young girl as he spoke. “Let me try to get help again.” Tailor squeezed the radio microphone on his vest and spoke into it. “Ocean-Four-One, this is Switchblade-Four-Alpha.”

  While Tailor tried to raise the base, our team sharpshooter, Skunky, ran over to see if I was okay. He was a skinny Asian guy and was in his mid-twenties, same age as me. “Dude, you’re alive.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, standing up. “What happened?”

  “They hit us with some kind of big gun right after we took off. It punched that hole in the chopper. The pilots were hit with frag. We made it a few miles, but it was too much damage. They were trying to set us down when the pilot died. That’s how we ended up in the pool.”

  Tailor looked over at us, flustered. “I can’t raise the base. This is bad, really bad.”

  “Switchblade-Four-Alpha, th
is is Stingray-Two-Zero,” a new voice said, crackling over our radios.

  That was the call-sign for our air support. One of Vanguard’s Super Tucano turboprop attack planes roared overhead and began to circle our position. Vanguard was one of the best-funded private military companies in the business. We could provide our own air support if we needed to.

  “Stingray-Two-Zero, this is Switchblade-Four-Alpha,” Tailor said. “What’s your status?”

  “We were going to ask you the same thing, Four-Alpha,” the pilot replied. “We’ve lost communication with the airfield. It looks bad down there.”

  “We’ve got multiple wounded and multiple KIA. We need an immediate medevac. Five of us, six Exodus personnel, and the package. Eight confirmed KIA, including the crew of the chopper.” Switchblade-Four was down to just me, Tailor, Skunky, Tower, and Harper.

  As Tailor talked to the pilot, trying to figure out what was going on, I looked over at Ling and her people and at the young girl that we’d gone through so much trouble to acquire. I didn’t know who the girl was or why Exodus wanted her so badly. She had to be important, though, since Ling had offered us an ungodly sum of money to go into Cancun, guns blazing, to rescue her. The fact that we’d be violating the UN cease-fire hadn’t seemed to bother her.

  Tailor let go of his radio microphone. “Pilot says there’s an armed convoy headed our way up Kukulkan Boulevard. Looks like Mendoza’s militia. They saw us go down, I guess. Couple trucks full of guys and some technicals. He’ll provide cover, but he’s low on ammo.”

  “Just like us,” Skunky interjected.

  Ling put her gloved hand on Tailor’s shoulder. “I need you to get your men moving,” she said. “I’ll contact my people to see if I can find out what’s going on.”

  As Ling trotted off, Tailor turned back to us with a worried look on his face. “Val, Skunky, c’mon, we gotta go.” Nodding, I followed him as he waved to the others. Standing away from the Exodus people, we huddled up. “Listen up, Switchblade-Four,” Tailor said, addressing us as a team. “We’re in some serious shit here. I don’t know what’s going on back at the base. I got a bad feeling.” Tailor looked over his shoulder as an explosion detonated to the southeast. The Tucano had begun its attack run.

  “This is the third time we’ve broken the cease-fire this month,” Skunky said, anxiously grasping his scoped, accurized M14. “You don’t think . . .”

  “I know what I think,” Tower, our machine gunner, said. Sweat beaded on his dark face. “I think they left us here.”

  That got everyone’s attention. Being abandoned in-country was every mercenary’s worst nightmare.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Tailor said. “Everybody shut up and listen. I don’t trust these Exodus assholes. When we start moving, y’all look out for each other. If we have to, we’ll ditch these guys and head out on our own.”

  I flinched. “Tailor, they’ve got wounded and a kid. And where in the hell do you think we’re gonna go?”

  “Don’t argue with me!” Tailor snapped. The pressure was getting to him. “We’ll figure it out. Now get ready. We’re moving out. Keep your spacing, use cover, and watch for snipers.”

  “Get some!” the rest of us shouted in response.

  “Mr. Tailor, I’ve got some bad news,” Ling said, approaching our group. She had a satellite phone in her hand. “I don’t think anyone’s coming for us.”

  “What?” Tailor asked, his face going a little pale.

  “Something happened. According to my people, the UN shut down all of Vanguard’s operations about an hour ago.”

  “The UN?” Tailor asked, exasperated. “But the Mexican government—”

  “The Mexican Nationalist government dissolved last night, Mr. Tailor. I don’t have all the details. I’m afraid we’re on our own.”

  “All we have to do is get to the safe areas in the city, right?” Harper asked. Since the cease-fire, half of Cancun was controlled by UN peacekeepers.

  Ling took off her tinted shooting glasses and wiped her brow on her sleeve. “I don’t think that’s wise,” she said, putting the glasses back on. “All employees of Vanguard have been declared unlawful combatants by the UN. I’m sorry, but we need to go, now.” We all looked at each other, and several obscenities were uttered. We were now on our own in a country where we’d made a lot of enemies.

  “They sold us out,” Tower said. “I told you!”

  Tailor spoke up. “It don’t matter. Let’s move.” He took off after Ling. The rest of us followed, spacing ourselves out in a small column. Ling rallied the Exodus personnel, and they followed her as she climbed over the edge of the pool. Two of them were always within arm’s reach of the strange young girl. We quickly moved across the courtyard of the resort complex, heading for the buildings. The grass was overgrown, and the palm trees were untended.

  Tailor tried to contact the pilots for an update but got no response. It was obvious something was wrong. The small attack plane zoomed back over the resort in a steep right turn, ejecting flares as it went. An instant later, a missile shrieked across the sky, trailing smoke behind it. The Super Tucano exploded in mid-air, raining burning debris into the ocean below. A Rafale fighter jet with UN markings roared overhead, turning to the east.

  Our entire group froze in disbelief. This day just kept getting better and better. Beyond the noise of the fighter’s engines, the distinctive sound of a large helicopter approaching could be heard.

  Tailor grabbed my shoulder and pulled me along. “Move, move, move!” he shouted, breaking into a run.

  “Into the hotel, quickly!” Ling ordered. Behind us, a huge Super Cougar transport helicopter descended past our crash site and set down in the courtyard. Like the fighter jet, it bore UN markings. More than twenty soldiers, clad in urban camouflage and blue berets, spilled out of the chopper. They fanned out and immediately started shooting at us. Rounds snapped past my head as I ran across the hotel lobby. I jumped, slid across the reception desk, and crashed to the floor below. I landed on top of Tailor. Harper landed next to me.

  “What do we do?” I asked, climbing off of Tailor. The water-damaged lobby was illuminated by hazy daylight streaming through the huge, shattered skylight. The wall in front of us was pockmarked with puffs of plaster dust as bullets struck. The reception desk was heavily constructed out of marble and concrete, so it provided decent cover. The hotel interior was ruined from disuse and stunk of rot.

  “Why are they shooting at us?” Tailor screamed.

  Ling was crouched down next to Tailor. She shouted in his ear. “I told you, they declared you unlawful combatants. We broke the cease-fire. They’re just following orders!” She then reached up, leveled her assault rifle across the counter, and ripped off a long burst. “Protect the child!” The Exodus operatives under her command obeyed her order without hesitation. The two men guarding the young girl hustled her, crouched over, to the very back of the room. The rest started shooting, causing the UN troops outside to break their advance and dive for cover.

  I glanced over at Tailor. “What do we do?”

  Tailor looked around for a moment, the gears turning in his head. He swore to himself, then raised his voice so he could be heard over the noise. “Switchblade-Four! Open fire!”

  My team was aggressive to the last. Tower opened up with his M60E4. The machine gun’s rattling roar filled the lobby, making it difficult to hear anything. I saw a UN trooper drop to the ground as Skunky took the top of his head off with a single, well-placed shot from his M14. Harper’s FAL carbine barked as he let off shot after shot.

  I took a deep breath. My heart rate slowed down, and everything seemed to slow with it. I was calm. I found a target, a cluster of enemy soldiers advancing toward the lobby, and squeezed the trigger. The shortened alloy buttstock bucked into my left shoulder as I fired. One of the UN troops, much closer, tried to bolt across the foyer. Two quick shots and he went down. Another soldier crouched down to reload his G36 carbine. The palm tree he was hiding
behind didn’t conceal him well. The blue beret flew off in a spray of blood as I put two bullets through the tree.

  I flinched. Something wet struck the right side of my face. Red droplets splashed my shooting glasses. Ducking back down, I reflexively wiped my glasses, smearing dark blood across them. Harper was lying on the floor, a gaping exit wound in the back of his head. Bits of gore and brain matter was splattered on the wall behind him.

  I tugged on Tailor’s pant leg. He dropped behind the counter. I pointed at Harper. My mouth opened, but I couldn’t find anything to say. “He’s dead?” Tailor asked, yelling to make himself heard as he rocked a fresh magazine into his weapon.

  I nodded in affirmation. “We have to move! We’re gonna get pinned down!”

  “Got any grenades left?” Tailor asked. I nodded. He got Ling’s attention. “Hey! We’ll toss frags, then I’ll pop smoke. They’ll find a way to flank us if we stay here.”

  Ling shouted orders to the rest of her men. Tailor and I pulled fragmentation grenades from our vests and readied them.

  “Frag out!” We lobbed them over the counter. The lobby was rocked by a double concussion as the explosives detonated nearly simultaneously. Dust filled the room, and the remaining glass in the skylight broke free and rained down on top of us. Tailor then threw his smoke grenade. It fired a few seconds later, and the lobby quickly filled with dense white smoke.

  “That way!” Ling shouted, pointing to my right. At the far wall was a large doorway that led into the main part of the hotel. Her men filed past us at a run, stepping over Harper’s body as they went.

  One of Ling’s men stopped. He was a hulking African man, probably six-foot-four and muscular, so broad that the rifle he carried seemed like a toy in his hands. “Commander, come on!” Behind him, a Chinese man fired short bursts through the smoke, keeping the UN troops busy as we fell back into the building. Then came the young girl, flanked by her two bodyguards.