Free Stories 2016

by Baen Books

  Driving the point home was the grim-faced American man, splattered with the blood and brains of the dead Russian mercenary lying next to him, defiantly pointing an empty Makarov pistol at me. I wasn’t sure who was who, and the dead Russians scattered around the house sure as hell weren’t going to tell me. That left this asshole, whoever he was. I stood over him, rifle pointed at his face, but held my fire.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  He looked tired. I’ve worked with a lot of guys who had spent too long in the business of war, and this man’s thousand-yard-stare was a dead giveaway. “Me?” he asked, resignedly lowering the Makarov. “I’m nobody, not anymore.” He mumbled something about being expendable, and glanced over at the house. “Go ahead, do it. You’d be doing me a favor.”

  I should’ve just shot him. My G3 was pointed at his face, the safety was off, and my finger was on the trigger. Killing him would have been the safest thing to do, because there were some very bad people looking for me. Yet I hesitated, slowly taking my finger out of the trigger guard. What I needed more than another dead man on my conscience was answers, and this guy was the only chance at those I was going to get.

  “Listen,” I said levelly, lowering my rifle slightly, “you don’t have to die today. I just wanted to ask you a few questions. This can work out so we both walk out of here, alive. We don’t have a lot of time, though.”

  “Yeah, no shit,” the man said, distantly. He dropped the Makarov. “Every Russian brodyaga and Armenian henchman is going to be descending on this place in the next hour. You should go.”

  I frowned, having no idea what a brodyaga was. “Yeah, no, I think you’re missing what I’m getting at here. You’re coming with me. Get the fuck up.”

  He stood up, slowly, leaving the empty pistol on the ground. He kept looking past me, at the house he’d come out of. His clothes, drab, local garb, were stained with blood. He had a chest rig full of AK magazines, but didn’t reach for his rifle as he came to his feet. He looked at me for a long moment, his face a mask. “You’re Valentine, right? The one they’re looking for?”

  My stomach twisted a little. Damn it. I’d been made. Coming out here had been a big risk. “I am,” I said, “and right now, your survival depends on you answering one question. Where is Simon Anders?”

  A humorless smile split the man’s face. He chuckled like a condemned man laughing at the gallows. “Fucking hell, this is too much.”

  I moved my finger back to the trigger and pointed the heavy battle rifle at the man’s face. “Last chance, asshole.”

  “You don’t get it, do you? Anders isn’t here. He was never here. This whole thing? It was a fucking setup. He’s put out false trails everywhere. Looks like we both took the bait.”

  Again, I hesitated. The simplest answer was that he was lying, trying to bluff his way out of getting his head blown off. Yet, there was something about the look in his eye, the harshness in his voice, and in his bitter resignation that seemed familiar. I remembered that look on my comrades’ faces, after one nearly-suicidal mission or another, as they realized that their only reward for surviving the last mission was to be sent on the next. It’s one thing to know that you’re expendable. It’s another thing altogether to realize that you’ve been expended.

  Antoine appeared at my side then. Like me, he was dressed in muted tones, with a tactical vest and a G3 rifle. His rifle, however, was fitted with a 40mm grenade launcher. “We need to go,” he said flatly. “This was an ambush. They knew we were coming.”

  “I don’t think so.” I nodded toward my captive. “I think they knew this guy was coming.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s a fucking dead man if he doesn’t start being useful,” I answered, my tone changing slightly. I could tell that Antoine was uncomfortable with the idea of shooting an unarmed man. I was too, to be honest, but the stakes were too high. Anders was working with Katarina Montalban now, and was the last living person who knew what Project Blue was. I didn’t know, at the time, what Project Blue was, but I knew it was big, and I knew it was bad. I didn’t want to do it, but if I had to have Antoine hold this guy down while I cut pieces off of him to get him to talk, then that’s what I’d do. I could tell he was mulling it over; I could almost see the gears turning behind his eyes, looking for a way out.

  “My name is Dragic,” the man said, finally. “Frank Dragic. I was sent here by the Organization to track down Anders, but he’s not here. We contacted higher authority and they told us as much. Anders set out bait, and we were sent to spring the trap on the off-chance that he might actually be here. They were just going to leave us to die.”

  I lowered my rifle, but kept the safety off. “Which organization are we talking about here?”

  Dragic looked at me like I was stupid.

  “I mean, I’m pretty sure, but there are, you know, a few different organizations looking for me. You work for Majestic, right?”

  He actually laughed. “That’s what the conspiracy nuts call them, but yeah. Majestic. You were Dead Six, weren’t you?”

  “I was. Right up until we became inconvenient, and they left us to die.”

  Antoine spoke up. “Gentlemen,” he said, his voice deep and serious. “Perhaps now is not the time for swapping war stories?”

  “The big guy is right,” Dragic said. “Those Russians we killed? They’re working with the NKDA. Once they realize they all got smoked they’ll come down on this place in force. Either let me go or let’s get the hell out of here.”

  I looked over at our ride, a rusty old Russian UAX 4x4. It had been riddled with bullets and was leaking fluids from several places. The two-and-a-half-ton truck the Russians had rolled up in was pretty shot up too, and several of its tires had been perforated. “Do you have a ride? We can call for one, but it’ll take them a while to get here, and I don’t think we have a while.”

  Dragic seemed to hesitate. “I do, but it’s been made. The NKDA is looking for it. It’s parked down the street.”

  “It’s better than walking,” I said. “None of us blend in, and we just need to get to a place where we can ditch it. I have backup, and they can pick us up.”

  “I need to check the house first,” Dragic said.

  “Forget it. Let’s get to that car.”

  “One of my teammates was in there! I’m not going to just leave him.”

  Antoine gave me a look. I sighed. “Fine, let’s go.” Dragic bent down to pick up his AK-47. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, killer,” I said, shouldering my G3. “You just leave that right where it is.”

  He stood back up, slowly, raising his hands, but looking at me like I was stupid. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

  “What, you think because I decided not to shoot you a little bit ago that we’re besties now? Into the house, you first. We need to get off the street.”

  If looks could kill, Dragic would’ve stopped my heart cold with the glare he gave me, but he complied with my command. Leaving the Kalashnikov on the ground, he headed toward the front door of the house. I followed, closely enough to keep eyes on him, but not so closely that he could turn around and grab my rifle. Antoine followed, watching our six.

  The inside of the house was mostly barren, save the areas where Dragic and his team had obviously been set up. In one room was a bunch of computers and communication equipment, all of it portable, next to a stack of Pelican cases. In the main room, the one facing the street, a dead man was crumpled beneath a window in a pool of blood.

  “JD,” Dragic said, quietly. He exhaled heavily, and looked back at me, a tired expression on his face. “You know, he always was an asshole.” He looked back at the body and shook his head. “That’s it, then. I’m the last one left. I guess going with you is my best bet now.”

  It was his only bet, as I was resolved to shoot him if he ran, but I didn’t need to say that. “I’m sorry about your team.”

  “There’s something you should know, Valentine,” he said, distantly. “Before he
died, JD over there notified higher authority that we had a tentative sighting of you. There’s been a BOLO out on you for over a year.”

  My hands tensed on the heavy rifle in my hands. “What did they say when you told them you saw me?”

  “A guy who called himself Underhill called us and said he would be en route. He was an old guy, but—”

  “I know who he is,” I said, coldly. “How much time do we have before he gets here?”

  Dragic shrugged. “Hell if I know. You got some history with this guy? What the hell did you do to piss off the Organization that much?”

  “It’s a long story. A really long story. Short version is, I survived being liquidated in Zubara and then escaped their custody later on. They didn’t like that.”

  He raised his eyebrows. He didn’t quite look impressed, but I could tell that he either thought I was bullshitting or that there was more to me than met the eye. “No, I bet they didn’t,” he said, chuckling.

  I was barely listening. Underhill had been hunting me ever since Exodus helped me escape from Majestic custody at North Gap. No surprise there; after months of torture and twisted mind games, my captors had come to realize that I really didn’t know anything about Project Blue. I was as in the dark as they were. They still couldn’t just let me go, though. I knew too much, I’d seen too much, and that made me dangerous. I’d been inside their black sites, I’d seen faces, known names, and could potentially corroborate other evidence. For an organization built on layers of secrets and lies, having someone like me on the loose was unacceptable. For that reason alone, they’d never stop chasing me.

  I was tired of running, though. I was tired of always looking over my shoulder. I had important work to do, trying to find Anders, find Katarina Montalban, and stop Project Blue from happening. It was too important to waste time playing cat and mouse with shadow government operatives. The stakes were too high, and there was no time to waste.

  Maybe, just maybe, I thought, if I killed this Underhill guy, they’d finally give up and leave me alone. If they sent their best after me only to have him disappear, or turn up dead, maybe then they’d get the fucking point. I owed him, anyway; he’d murdered Hawk in cold blood. Beside the fact that a government organization had summarily executed an American citizen with no due process whatsoever, Hawk had been like a father to me. Beyond the outrage over the injustice of it, this was personal, and I swore to God that I was going to find a way to kill Underhill myself.

  As if on cue, the satellite phone in one of the pouches of my vest vibrated. It was all I could do to not roll my eyes as I pulled up the Velcro lid and checked the phone. Sure enough, it was a text message from Ariel. She denied it up and down, but I swear the girl was psychic.

  Status update?

  Watching as Dragic rummaged through his safe house, I thumbed a brief explanation of everything that had happened, including how Underhill was on his way.

  You’re thinking of staying behind, aren’t you? she asked me. To lay a trap.

  I am, I replied, honestly. Ariel was incredibly perceptive, and I’d long since learned that there was little point in lying to my little Oracle. I can’t do what I need to do while being hunted.

  It won’t work, she sent back. There was a long pause, more than a minute, before I got the next message. If you try, you will either be killed or captured again. Even if you do succeed, it won’t change anything. They’re afraid of you and they will never quit. If not Underhill, they’ll send men like Frank Dragic after you, one after another.

  I can’t keep running forever.

  You won’t have to, she assured me. Even via text message, she always seemed so damned confident in everything she told me. Your paths will intersect. But not today. Dragic is a rogue variable. He complicates things. Just get out of there. Please. Come home.

  Dragic interrupted my text message conversation. “Are you done? I mean, every armed and angry asshole in the area will be descending on this house in the next hour, but sure, finish your status update or whatever.”

  I ignored him as I put the phone away. “I’m going to be honest with you,” I said quietly to Antoine, “I was thinking of laying a trap for Underhill.”

  “I assumed as much,” Antoine said. “It was all over your face the moment this man mentioned his name.”

  Am I really that easy to read? “The Oracle strongly advised against it. She said it won’t work, and she’s right. The Armenians or Russians or whoever will be here long before Underhill gets here.”

  “You should listen to her,” Antoine advised. He didn’t add that any personal quest for revenge would jeopardize my entire team, but I could tell he was thinking it from the intense look on his face. Being responsible for others often means not doing what your base impulses tell you to do.

  I sighed again. “You’re right. You ready, Dragic?”

  He shouldered a full-looking backpack, probably his bug-out bag, and nodded. “We should go out the back.”

  Driving his point home, a big, green military truck rumbled down the street and pulled to a stop in front of the house. Ten men, wearing camouflage uniforms, helmets, and mismatched gear, sporting AK-74s, spilled out of the back, appearing one after another from under the canvas top. That was fast.

  “Get down!” Dragic hissed, and we all dropped to the floor. The house was dark, save the light coming in through broken windows. “This way,” he said, crawling on his hands and knees toward the back of the house. Antoine and I followed, scuttling along, trying to get low and stay out of sight.

  “Who are these guys?” I asked Dragic.

  He looked at me incredulously as he scurried across the floor. “Seriously? They’re the Nagorno-Karabakh Defense Army. The NKDA I’ve been talking about? Armenian nationals, probably with some Russian volunteers. Did you do any research on this AO before you got here?”

  I had left the Exodus compound in the rocky desert of Azerbaijan in a hurry, upon Ariel discovering information that led her to believe that Anders was on the ground in the disputed zone in the western part of the country. There was no way, I thought, that him turning up so close to one of the few remaining Exodus strongholds could be a coincidence. Antoine, Ling, Skunky, and Shen had all volunteered to accompany me, though the latter three were still at our safe house outside of the city. I hadn’t really bothered to read up on the convoluted politics of this region before setting out, something Ling had also scolded me about. She’d probably get along great with this guy.

  Dragic was out the back door as the NKDA squad kicked in the front. I could hear them shouting and the tromp of combat boots on a bare wooden floor as they searched the house. The ramshackle structure wasn’t that big, and they’d be on top of us before we got through the backyard and into the concealment of the foliage beyond.

  I looked up at Antoine. “Go, stay with him! Stay low!” Before he could say anything, I rolled onto my back, sat up slightly, and flipped the G3’s selector lever to full auto. The German battle rifle roared throatily as I emptied the twenty-round magazine through the wall in a matter of seconds. When the rifle clicked empty, I rolled back onto my stomach and furiously low-crawled out the back door, into the yard. The angry shouts and one scream told me I’d tagged at least one of them.

  A few yards in front of me, across the yard, Antoine took a knee and shouldered his rifle, also a G3. The Armenians in the house blindly fired through the walls, as I had, but they still didn’t know where they were and their little 5.45mm rounds didn’t have the same punch as the 7.62mm from my weapon. Still, some of their rounds got through, ripping through the back wall of the house in little puffs of plaster dust.

  I was a few yards out into the yard, still low-crawling, when Antoine opened fire. He fired shot after shot, his rounds snapping angrily overhead, as the NKDA troops were caught in the fatal funnel of the back door. He was joined a moment later by Dragic, who had taken a weapon and a black chest rig off one of the dead Russians. His carbine, some AK type I thought, had no discern
able muzzle rise as he fired off burst after burst on full auto.

  As I reached their position at the back of the yard, Antoine told me to get down and shouted, “Grenade out!” The 40mm launcher bolted under the barrel of his G3 popped, and a split-second later the round detonated inside the back door of the house. I used the moment to roll to my left side and retrieve a mag from my vest. I pulled back the rifle’s charging handle and locked the bolt open. Rocking in the fresh magazine, I slapped down on the charging handle, sending a round into the chamber and reloading the rifle. Looking back, I saw several dead bodies in the doorway.

  I looked up at Dragic, who was reloading the weird AK-type rifle he’d gotten off the dead Russian. “Where’s that car?”

  “We can’t get to it now,” he said, pulling a pack of cigarettes off the dead Russian. “It’s five houses down, but it’s on the street. We need to get out of this neighborhood before they cordon it off completely. They’re looking for us now, and none of us can pass for locals.” He nodded toward Antoine. “Especially not the big guy. No offense.”

  Antoine just frowned, but Dragic wasn’t wrong. “Lead the way,” I said. “We’ll follow.” Now that he was armed, I wanted to keep him where I could see him. Besides that, he obviously had done a lot more scouting of the area than I had, and knew his way around better. Ling would never let me hear the end of it.

  I spoke up, quietly, as we made our way through the overgrown foliage of the crumbling neighborhood. Few signs of life were evident. What locals still lived in this part of town were probably hunkering down because of all the shooting. It looked post-apocalyptic. “If we can get clear of this and get to a safe spot, I can radio the rest of my team and have them come pick us up. They’re holed up in an old barn outside of town.” I didn’t want to head straight there. It was a long walk, in broad daylight, while we were being hunted, and I didn’t want to risk leading the locals to my comrades.

  “I think we need to find a good spot to secure until it gets dark,” Dragic said. “The Organization has, or at least had, aerial surveillance of the area, too. Probably a UAV. If it’s still on station, then they’re watching this shit-show from above. Nightfall won’t give us a lot of cover, but we’ll at least be harder to ID on thermal than we are in daylight.” Off in the distance somewhere, the distinct thwup-thwupping of a chopper could be heard, but I couldn’t see it. We’d really kicked the hornet’s nest.