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  “I mean, I’m a White Supremacist, but I’m not stupid. Hell, I’m not even much of a White Supremacist…just, you try to survive in prison without joining the Aryans. Brothers will eat you alive in there without some protection.”

  “Look, man,” Nick said, taking the pack of cigarettes from his own pocket and placing it in Shaw’s jacket. “I know it’s shit out there. I mean, my unit’s supposed to be the model of the convict forces, and even we have to scrounge for decent weapons. Just keep alive, one day at a time. That’s pretty much the best we can hope for.”

  “I guess. That, and maybe get to blow some shit up once in a while.”

  “That part is fun.”

  “You done playing with that convict, Lieutenant?” McShane yelled from the street, where Nick could see the Chinook cargo helicopter touching down.

  “There’s your ride, Shaw. I’ll make good on those weapons. That’s a promise.”

  “Appreciate it, man. Watch your head out there.”

  “You too.”

  Two SAS soldiers came and hauled Shaw to his feet, bundling him off toward the helicopter.

  “Thanks for that, Nick,” Kirstin said, walking up to him as the SAS guys loaded the convicts into the Chinook. “I appreciate you coming in to get us.”

  “Part of the job, I guess.”

  “Still, you risked yourself for a bunch of convicts and fuck-ups. Did the whole thing without firing a shot or even injuring anyone too badly. I appreciate it. Not to mention the guns, which we really, really need.”

  “No problem.”

  “How’d you manage to get a hold of those, anyway? I heard you talking to Shaw. You’re in bad shape too, sounds like.”

  “A couple of weeks back, we found a Renegade cargo truck full of ’em. The Russians didn’t give them up easy, but they gave them up.”

  “You sure you can spare them?”

  “Oh, sure,” Nick said, smiling and flicking his cigarette into the street. “We also steal. I mean, like, a bunch. Every chance we get. So we’ve built up our own little stockpile. We’ll be fine.”

  “Steal? That’s hardly very Marine of you.”

  “Hey, we’re a convict unit. They should expect some theft every now and again.”

  “So you’re saying no one would mind if I took this M4 back with me?”

  “What M4?”

  “You should look me up if you’re ever out my way. We’re out of Camp Timberwolf, just west of here. I’ll buy you a beer,” she said, smiling. “Also, bring beer.”

  “Count on it,” Nick said, standing from the curb.

  Nick looked at her for a long moment. Now that neither of them was moving around trying to keep from getting shot or blown up, he could see that she was a bit shorter than him, and almost actress-pretty. If Kirstin noticed him checking her out, she was polite enough not to show it. Instead, she shot him a salute, which he returned. He stuck out his hand, and she shook it.

  “Take care of yourself, Sergeant.”

  “You do the same, Lieutenant.”

  As Kirstin walked away, Nick became aware that he was still staring at her. He shook his head a little harder than necessary. First rage, now ogling a fellow Marine. His own behavior was surprising him lately, and not necessarily in a good way.

  “I agree, mate. Not torture to watch that one leave,” McShane said, walking up from behind Nick. “And I will point out for the record that you never introduced us, did you?”

  “Accent thing is a myth, Captain. I told you that,” Nick said, still watching Kirstin as she boarded the chopper. He wondered what it would be like to know her in civilian life—would they have ever met? Would they have even talked to each other if they had?

  “Well, we’re never gonna know now, are we?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Come along, then, mate. I promised your boss I’d have you home in time to rest up for tomorrow’s big mission.”

  “Shit. They’re giving us a full night’s sleep before a mission? That’s never a good sign,” Nick grumbled, pulling another pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He grabbed a fresh smoke and lit it.

  “Careful there, my son,” McShane said, lighting his own cigarette. “Those things are terrible for your health, I hear.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Revenge

  “I have the feeling I don’t want to go to this briefing,” Christopher said under his breath as he and Nick walked with the rest of the unit toward the C2 building.

  “Hey, you had a chance to get out,” Nick said. “You’re the one who decided to put on the real Marine uniform.”

  “Yeah, about that. What’s it take to become an officer? I just saw my first pay statement. Officer’s gotta make more than that, right?”

  “Well, there’s the college degree.”

  “Got that. In Drama, but I got it.”

  “Drama? Seriously?” Nick asked, barely managing to keep from laughing.

  “Hey, fuck you. Uh, sir.”

  “Fair enough. Like I said, degree, then OTS. Officer Training School. Usually takes about five months, but they have an accelerated two-week program thanks to the war. That’s the one I took.”

  “Think I can get into that?”

  “I’ll ask after this mission.”

  “Assuming we survive it, of course.”

  “Hey, brother. I always assume we’re gonna survive,” Nick said, punching his friend lightly on the shoulder. “We’re lucky, remember?”

  “I like where your head is at. Oh, looks like we’re not alone,” Christopher said, nodding toward the entrance to the abandoned mine.

  “Hey. We know some of those guys,” Daniel said from just behind them.

  He was correct, Nick saw as they approached the other unit. They were members of the 138th Ranger Regiment, a unit Nick and his guys had worked with more than once before. Even from a hundred feet away, Nick recognized Lieutenant Colonel Johnny Evans, Staff Sergeant Carson Richmond, and Sergeant First Class Monica Andrews. There were four other men with them, also wearing woodland ACUs, but Nick didn’t recognize any of them.

  “Lieutenant Morrow,” Johnny said as they approached.

  “Colonel. You here for the same meeting we are?”

  “Think so. Christopher. Looks like you’re not a convict anymore?”

  “Yeah. Pardoned.”

  “Good for you, Sergeant. Well, let’s get this over with,” Johnny said, motioning them toward the door to the mine.

  Outside Colonel Ross’ office, a Marine Delta convict met them. He was an older guy in his fifties with a large scar across his throat.

  “Gentlemen. Ladies. You’re down in the main conference room. End of the hall,” the Delta said. His voice was quiet and raspy.

  “Thanks,” Nick said, following Johnny and his people farther into the bowels of the C2 facility. The door to the conference room was open, but the room already had a few people in it. Colonel Ross stood at the head of the long conference table, and near him sat Tech Sergeant Briggs and two female Marines Nick had never met. He recognized the unit emblem on their shoulders, though. Marine First Recon Battalion.

  “Have a seat. We’ll get underway in a moment,” Ross said, tapping a few commands into the screen on his sleeve. As Nick and the rest of the soldiers sat down, the screen at the front of the room switched on, showing a map of China and Mongolia.

  Shit. We’re in trouble, Nick thought. If they were looking at China, Ross expected them to infiltrate the country, something no American Armed Forces personnel had been able to accomplish yet. Most of the units that tried had been killed before they made it within a hundred miles of the Mongolian border.

  “First, let’s make some introductions,” Ross said. “Lieutenant Morrow and Sergeant Lee are in charge of 47 Echo SRF. They’re the tip of the spear on this one. Master Sergeant Ortiz-Gonzales and Staff Sergeant Matsuda here are on loan from First Recon. They’ll be leading Team Two. Finally, Lieutenant Colonel Evans and Captain Dyuzhev are from the combin
ed 138th Ranger/Spetsnaz 24 Strike Team, which will serve as Team Three on this mission. Tech Sergeant Briggs of the Air Force’s 24th Special Tactics Squadron will be joining Team One.”

  Nick and the other commanders gave each other nods.

  “You’ll have a chance to get to know your teammates before you leave, but right now, let’s get right down to it. I’m sure you’re all aware of the attack on New York City by now. Official reports have less than five thousand survivors.”

  A collective murmur went around the room. No one had expected the death toll to be that high: more than ten million.

  “It’s something Command does not want unanswered,” Ross continued, his voice growling just slightly as he spoke. “These bastards have to know that if they take out one of our eyes, we will rip out their fucking lungs and throw them in their faces. Get me?”

  “Hoo-rah, sir,” Ortiz-Gonzales said quietly.

  She was seated across the table from Nick, and he stole a quick look at her. She was a little older than him, probably about thirty-five, and looked strong enough to rip his arms off and beat him to death with them.

  “The problem is, a strike at mainland China is currently beyond our capability,” Ross said.

  “Because of their defense network, sir?” Briggs asked.

  “That’s correct, Sergeant. The Chinese have an electronic frontier covering China, Mongolia and North Korea. The second something crosses that line that doesn’t belong there, the Chinese detect it and destroy it. That’s been the case for aircraft, drones and every vehicle apart from the stealth Razors. We don’t have many of those vehicles, and not nearly enough to strike at China in any meaningful way.”

  “We’re shutting down the grid, then,” Nick said.

  “That’s the idea. Now, I have to tell you folks, there’s a reason a convict unit is assigned to lead this mission.”

  “Low survivability matrix,” Johnny said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Correct. Teams Two and Three have a decent chance of making their initial incursion, but Team One might not make it past the Mongolian border. And without Team One, this plan goes nowhere,” Ross said. “Convict Wells, a lot of the intel for this plan came from your work. Want to let us know how the Chinese defense network is set up?”

  Mary blinked a few times before she responded. Obviously, she hadn’t known her research had been heading toward a mission like this. She recovered quickly and pulled out her solar-powered netbook, to which she referred occasionally as she spoke.

  “Well, um, theoretically, the main core for the defense network is in Shanghai. Some of our deep hacks have indicated that most of the commands for the People’s Liberation Army network come from there.”

  “So, we need to take out the core in Shanghai,” Nick said.

  “To start. But there’s a problem,” Mary said. “The system, as near as we can tell, has two backups. And these aren’t just backup systems, really. They’re each fully capable of running the entire network by themselves.”

  “This is what our information indicates, as well,” Dyuzhev spoke up. He had a thick Russian accent, but his English was perfectly understandable. “Our scientists, working with your Air Force Cyber Intelligence people, believe they have the location on both backup systems. Two cities called Ordos and Zhengzhou New District.”

  “I’ve heard of those. Ghost cities, right?” Christopher said.

  “That’s what we thought before the war,” Ross said. “Now we’re relatively certain the real cities are underground. Bases covered by fake civilian cities.”

  A few of the soldiers at the table shared surprised looks.

  “Here’s the breakdown,” Ross said, tapping the screen on his sleeve. “Team One will consist of Lieutenant Morrow, Sergeants Lee and Briggs, and convicts Voyer, Bryce, Chase and Wells. They’ll be entering China somewhere around the Russia-Mongolia border and proceeding by any available means to Shanghai. Your team will have a computer loaded with a program developed by Dr. Henry Eaton that maps out the route where you’ll encounter the least resistance, statistically speaking. This will be your map for the mission. If you lose everything else, do not lose this. Dr. Eaton and his team have been sending UGVs into China for months to get this data.”

  The image on the screen now showed two glowing red dots, one at the Mongolian border, the other at Shanghai. As Ross spoke, a red line slowly connected the two.

  “Entering China how, sir?” Johnny asked.

  “HALO jump,” Nick said before Ross answered. “Am I right, Colonel?”

  “That’s correct. Now, moving on. Your team was selected not only for its skillset, but for its genetic makeup,” Ross said.

  Nick looked around quickly at the team Ross had just assigned him. All white, apart from Nick himself.

  “Because we can pretend to be Chinese and Russian Renegades,” Christopher said.

  “Right, Sergeant. Captain Dyuzhev has already put together a quick-immersion Russian-language program for those members of your team without fluency. Now, assuming Team One makes a successful insertion into China, Teams Two and Three will follow behind them in stealth Razors. Team Two, consisting of Master Sergeant Ortiz-Gonzales, Sergeant Matsuda, and Convicts Riley, King, Rice and Martinez will head for Ordos. Team Three, the Ranger/Spetsnaz force, will proceed to Zhengzhou. Team One will bring down the main defense network in Shanghai. At the same time, Teams Two and Three will disable the backups, allowing our strike fighters and bombers a chance to fly into mainland China and get some payback,” Ross said. “Now, questions?”

  Almost every hand in the room went up.

  * * *

  “Lieutenant. A word?” Ross said as the briefing broke up three hours later and the soldiers shuffled out of the room.

  Nick hung back until the room was empty, and Ross closed the door.

  “I’m sure you’ve noticed something about the makeup of each team,” Ross started.

  “Commander, SIC, Shooter, Driver, Hacker, Demo and Medic,” Nick said.

  “Correct. Except Team Two. We’re short someone with explosives experience to work Demo for them.”

  “I know just the right person, sir. A Marine out at Firebase Timberwolf. She’s running an Echo unit up there. Sergeant Kirstin Hill.”

  “I’ll look into it. But the real reason I wanted to talk to you on this one… I just wanted to let you know I don’t agree with sending you on this mission.”

  “The reason, sir?”

  “It’s a fucking suicide run. And it’s been planned too quickly. I have a bad feeling in my gut that you’ll be shot down before you make it to enemy territory.”

  Nick had the same thought, but there really wasn’t much he could do about it. He’d save being afraid for later, when he wasn’t in front of his commanding officer.

  “You didn’t work much with the convict units before we got assigned to your command, did you, sir?” Nick asked.

  “No, not really.”

  “There’s a saying in the Echo units: ‘If it’s a shit job, it’s a Mecho job.’ We don’t expect easy assignments, sir. We might be a little better trained and equipped than most other Echo units, but we’re not under any delusions. We know who we are. We’re still a suicide squad.”

  “Even so,” Ross said, shaking his head, “I don’t want one of my best units out there on a no-win scenario.”

  “Understood, sir. Guess we’re just going to have to win this one, then.”

  The words sounded confident, even to Nick, who knew better. He certainly hoped he and his team would survive this one, but it didn’t look good at all for them.

  On the walk back to the Echo bunkhouse, Nick concentrated on keeping his face steady and impassive. He wouldn’t show the fear in front of his crew if he could help it, but putting on a strong face didn’t help the sick feeling in his stomach.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Blown to Bits

  The teams had six hours after the briefing to make phone calls home and get their gear toget
her. Half of his unit had already left to get acquainted with their interim commanding officer, so the Echo bunkhouse seemed emptier than usual. During that time, Nick found out why Mary hadn’t accompanied them on the HALO training jump. She’d been fully jump rated in civilian life before getting arrested for computer crimes. She already had a handful of HALO jumps under her belt.

  Nick spoke to his brother Stan in Los Angeles for the third time that year, but the first time since New York. He wanted to stay on the phone with his brother, just listen to him talk and know he was all right, for as long as he could. He only had fifteen minutes though, so Nick made sure to have a nice, normal conversation, not even hinting that he might not come back. It had become a ritual of his, and he felt it gave him good luck on the mission. And he always needed the luck, as the entire unit had come to think of phone calls home as a bad omen, a sign that command didn’t expect them to come back.

  At just after dark, the Delta convict who had directed them to the conference room showed up at their door.

  “Time to head to the airstrip, sir,” he rasped at Nick.

  Nick wanted to say something snarky, something clever, or even just an acknowledgment, but found himself without any words. There was only simmering acid in his stomach and a bitter taste in his throat. He merely nodded and turned to Christopher, who was lounging on a couch in the living room.

  “Form ’em up, Chris.”

  Christopher must have been unable to think of anything to say, either. He just nodded and headed back into the house. A few seconds later, Nick’s entire team was in the living room, toting their gear.

  All of them were out of uniform for this mission. Shortly after the briefing, a few convicts had come by with civilian clothes: jeans, T-shirts, heavy coats, watch caps and boots. They’d also brought forged identification that identified Nick as a Ministry of State Security official and his team as members of Spetsnaz 18, one of the units that had gone renegade. Thanks to Mary’s hacking, their IDs would hold up to casual scrutiny.

  As they walked out to the waiting Cougar that would speed them the four miles to the airstrip, Nick saw someone in Marine BDUs running toward him and waving him down. When the Marine got closer, Nick instantly recognized the fine features, the dark hair and the lopsided grin—Sergeant Hill.