Fear and Anger (The 47 Echo Series) Read online

  “Lower your weapon, Corporal,” Nick shouted. “This man is a guizi dog, but he needs to be questioned.”

  The soldier didn’t move a bit. He still glared at Nick, and still held his weapon to the young aviator’s head. Nick got close enough to touch both of them, shoving his fake ID back into his pocket as he did.

  “I said lower your weapon. Do it now. I’m taking custody of this prisoner,” Nick growled, slowly drawing the Type 77 from his holster and aiming it at the pilot.

  He didn’t take his eyes off the young soldier, but he made sure his moves were slow and deliberate, and that the pistol was aimed nowhere near the pissed-off Chinese Corporal. He knew the rank insignia on his lapels indicated he was a Major – that and his fictional association with the Ministry of State Security meant the kid should have listened to him instantly. It seemed to be taking ages, but the soldier eventually lowered his weapon a couple of inches. That was as good as he was going to get out of this guy – the anger in his eyes was almost a solid, physical force covering both Nick and the pilot.

  “Good man,” Nick said, keeping his voice deep and steady and making sure his eyes stayed locked on the young Corporal’s. The more he stared, the more the kid backed down, until his barrel was pointed at the filthy street.

  Nick finally let himself look past the young soldier, down the street to where he’d captured the pilot. Parked haphazardly, with the driver’s door still open, Nick saw a BJ2022 – a Brave Warrior utility vehicle. It was the small version, which was still the size of a large sport-utility vehicle. It was the People’s Liberation Army’s basic kickaround jeep, based on the Russian GAZ trucks of a decade ago. There had to be about a half a million of them in service, and Nick guessed they wouldn’t miss one.

  “That your truck back there, Corporal?”

  The soldier opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, he was interrupted by the pilot, who’d managed to struggle into a sitting position.

  “Would one of you fucking Chinks just shoot me already?” he grumbled.

  Without looking, Nick placed his right boot on the pilot’s left shoulder and pushed, sending him back to the pavement. That brought a smile from the young Corporal.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m borrowing it. What unit are you with?”

  “Guǐ,” the soldier said, flatly, as if no other explanation was needed. Nick searched his brain for the meaning – Ghost.

  Nick nodded as if he understood, because the young soldier clearly expected it to mean something to him.

  “I’ll make sure it gets back to you.”

  Without giving the soldier any chance to argue, Nick hauled the pilot to his feet and dragged him away, towards the idling Brave Warrior. As soon as they were a hundred feet or so from the Corporal and the medics working on the office-building victims, Nick spoke quietly to the pilot he was marching down the street.

  “Stay calm,” he said in English. “I’m getting both of us out of here. Just keep quiet and act like I’m taking you somewhere you really don’t want to go.”

  “You are taking me somewhere I don’t want to go,” the pilot growled back.

  “Which part of ‘keep quiet’ was so goddamn hard for you to understand? I don’t want to have to knock you out, but I will.”

  “You speak English pretty good for a Chink,” the pilot spat.

  “Really? You’re just not getting it, are you?” Nick said with a sigh.

  The pilot didn’t say anything to that, thankfully. Nick managed to drag him the rest of the way to the truck in silence. He lifted the pilot into the passenger seat, keeping the pistol aimed at him in case he decided to run. Keeping the gun up, Nick crossed around the front side of the Brave Warrior and climbed into the driver’s seat. The engine was still running – the Corporal must have done a quick jump-out when he saw the pilot wandering around. Nick slammed the driver’s door and put the truck in gear.

  “OK. We’re heading out of the city, but it’s only fair to warn you, I don’t really know where we’re going. Keep your head down below the windows, if you can,” Nick said.

  “I’m not doing a fucking thing you say,” the pilot mumbled. “I don’t take orders from Chink army officers.”

  “Well, that’s fortunate. Because I’m a U.S. Marine. Lieutenant Nick Morrow, 47 Echo SRF,” Nick said as he turned the truck around and motored away from the crash site.

  “Bullshit,” the pilot spat.

  “Well, you’re going to be a hell of a lot of fun,” Nick said, sighing.

  Chapter Three

  Another Bag of Bricks

  Rush hadn’t understood the need to go get Nick, Christopher told himself. He just hadn’t gotten how important the guy was to the team, hell, to the damn war. But there were people back at Firebase Zulu who would understand, who would greenlight the rescue mission as soon as Christopher and his team touched down on the helipad. He kept telling himself that as the Air Force C-17 winged them to Camp Justice, and was so sure of it by the time he landed that he spent the entire helicopter trip from Justice to Zulu planning the rescue mission in his head.

  It was a good sign, then, when an Army convict ran up to him as soon as he stepped off of the Black Hawk helicopter at Firebase Zulu. The convict was a messenger, dispatched to tell Christopher and Ortiz-Gonzales that they were to report to Colonel Sawyer Ross, the commander of all of the Special Forces at Zulu, immediately. It was even more encouraging when Christopher saw Lt. Colonel Johnny Evans in the office with Ross – they were there to discuss the rescue mission. Christopher was sure of it.

  First, the debrief. Christopher had expected that, and quickly ran through the events of the mission – the attack on the city’s nuclear plant, the loss of their medic Ben Briggs. The rescue by Ortiz-Gonzales. The fact that they’d had to leave Nick there. Then Ortiz-Gonzales gave her report. Then Evans gave his. And just when Christopher was about to blurt out “what about Lieutenant Morrow,” Evans beat him to it.

  “Any word on Lieutenant Morrow, sir?” Evans asked.

  “No, Colonel. He’s a smart guy—when he realized a rescue wasn’t on the way, he probably went ghost and did it fast,” Ross said.

  “So when does the rescue mission go into China, sir?” Christopher asked.

  “It doesn’t. We managed to place some deep-cover operatives inside the mainland during the blackout, and they’ve been told to keep their eyes and ears open for Lieutenant Morrow. But the Chinese have obviously beefed up border patrols since we bombed the shit out of them. No chance of getting even a small team in, at least not yet.”

  “But, Colonel –”

  “I know, Sergeant Lee. I hate the shit out of the situation, too. But I can’t get men killed on the hopes of saving one Marine, no matter who that Marine is.”

  “Then let me go alone, Colonel. I know the country, at least a little bit. I could do it,” Christopher said.

  “I’m afraid that’s also an impossibility. You’re taking over command of 47 Echo, Sergeant, with a promotion to Gunnery Sergeant. And 47 Echo needs a Marine commander, especially now with the Chinese and the North Koreans planning a retaliation for the bombings.”

  Christopher opened his mouth to speak again, but Johnny Evans cut him off with a look. The younger man stayed silent, grinding his teeth instead of speaking.

  “That’s all for the moment. You’re dismissed. Get some rack time and some decent food—you’ve all earned it,” Ross said.

  Christopher sat in his chair for a long moment. His brain wasn’t processing what he’d just heard. No rescue mission. Nothing. Nick was really on his own.

  “I said you’re dismissed, Sergeant,” Ross repeated, nodding toward the door.

  “Right. Sorry. Yes, sir,” Christopher mumbled, standing and throwing a salute at his commanding officer before following Evans out of the room.

  The elevator ride from Ross’ subterranean office was silent, and Christopher got the distinct impression that Evans had nothing to say. What could
he say in that situation? He had to be as confused and pissed off as Christopher was.

  As it turned out, that wasn’t the case. Evans was just waiting until they were on the surface and outside on the street to speak. And he wasn’t holding anything back.

  “Don’t,” Evans said, “I can see it in your face.”

  Christopher didn’t ask what the Colonel could see. He was planning to go back into China against orders, and apparently, he wasn’t hiding it too well.

  “They’re just leaving him out to dry, Colonel. They don’t give a shit that this mission wouldn’t have happened if not for him.”

  “You think Ross doesn’t realize that? Or that I don’t? When you met me, I’d just left eight of my men dead in a North Korean ditch. Trust me, Sergeant, we understand.”

  Christopher was going to say something the second Evans started talking, but that last bit cut him off.

  “You take your team into China without authorization, you’ll just all get yanked back into the regular Echo rotation,” Evans continued.

  “I’m not taking my team, sir. I’ll go alone.”

  “I respect your loyalty, Sergeant. And I would expect any one of your team to say the same. But let’s think about this for a moment,” Evans said, sighing as if he was explaining the concept of properly tied shoes to a three-year old. “Your team is scheduled for training at Camp Python in Yekaterinburg. Training, I might add, that Nick busted his ass to get for you. What happens when your team shows up without you?”

  Christopher said nothing. His brain tried to convince him that Evans was making sense, but it wasn’t working.

  “I’ll tell you what happens. They find another Marine, this one a reject or a Special Ops washout if you’re lucky, to run your team. He’ll get them killed. You’ll get killed trying to go into China. Remember that defense grid we all worked so hard to take down? You think you can just stroll right through that?”

  There was still nothing to say, but Christopher had to admit Evans was making sense. He nodded slightly and let out a long breath.

  “So that’s it, then. We leave him to fend for himself.” Christopher was surprised by his own defeated tone.

  “Well, now. I didn’t exactly say that,” Evans said in a low voice. A hint of a smile played at the left corner of his mouth.

  Fuck yes. I knew somebody had a plan, Christopher thought, allowing a little smile to break the plane of his face, as well.

  “Here’s how I see it – they’re going to let your team rest up for a couple of days before you get shipped out to Python. Get some sleep and some food in you. I’ll come by tomorrow morning and we’ll take a little field trip.”

  “To where?”

  “There’s a guy at Camp Justice I need to introduce you to.”

  Christopher nodded.

  “You think this guy can do something?”

  “I think this guy is the only one who has a shot.”

  “Fair enough. Tomorrow morning?”

  “0400. We’ll have to... borrow a helicopter and a pilot. I’ll work out the specifics. Just be up and ready to go when I get there, get me, Gunnery Sergeant?”

  “Five by five, sir,” Christopher said, straightening to attention and throwing a crisp salute at the Ranger.

  “Now go catch a fucking nap. You look awful.”

  * * *

  Christopher was dressed in a black BDU, smoking a cigarette on the porch of 47 Echo’s bunkhouse, at 3:30 the next morning. He hadn’t slept much, but he felt perfectly awake and ready for action. He didn’t know exactly what action he was ready for, but there was enough adrenaline flooding his system that he felt like he could run a mile in about four minutes.

  He expected Lt. Colonel Evans to show up in a Cougar M-ATV, or possibly an older Humvee, but the Colonel walked out of the darkness on foot at a minute to 4:00.

  “Morning, Gunnery Sergeant. Got your weapon?” Evans asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Christopher said, standing from the porch steps and slinging his M4 Assault Rifle over his chest.

  “I don’t expect you’ll need it for anything, but better to have it and not need it.”

  Christopher noticed that Evans also had an M4 slung over his chest, and had his helmet in one hand. Christopher picked up his own helmet and followed the Colonel down the long dirt road that ran in front of the Echo bunkhouse.

  “Sleep OK?”

  “Like shit, sir.”

  “Yeah, me too. I suck at downtime. I don’t expect we’ll have much of it, though. Rumor is we’ve got a massive Chinese strike force steaming hard towards us. We’ll have to make this errand quick – someone will shit a brick if Zulu is attacked and the three of us are nowhere to be found.”

  “Three, sir?”

  Evans nodded down the road, where Christopher could just make out the outline of a Cougar. As the two of them approached, the engine started up, and the headlights turned on, illuminating the road ahead of them. Evans opened the passenger door and climbed inside, and Christopher piled in through the back door. He saw the outline of a powerfully-built soldier in the driver’s seat. Before the Cougar set off, the driver turned around, and Christopher saw it was Master Sergeant Ortiz-Gonzales.

  “Gunny. Congrats on the promotion,” she said, her voice flat.

  “Everything ready, Master Sergeant?” Evans asked.

  “We’re good to go, sir. Called in a favor with the 160th. They’ve managed to lose a Lakota to maintenance for the next six hours,” Ortiz-Gonzales said, turning to face the road and wheeling the Cougar towards the Firebase’s small airfield. The ride was short, and before long, Christopher was climbing into the rear door of a UH-72 Lakota helicopter. Ortiz-Gonzales was in the pilot’s seat, and after a quick pre-flight check, the rotors spun up.

  “We’re skids up in 30 seconds,” she called out over the rotor noise.

  “Maybe try not to crash this one?” Christopher said quietly to himself, thinking the rotors would drown him out.

  “Heard that, Gunny. You’re lucky I like you,” Ortiz-Gonzales shot back, shooting a glare over her shoulder.

  “Sorry,” Christopher grumbled. He didn’t like to admit it, but Ortiz-Gonzales kind of scared him. She was shorter than him, but her arms looked like they were made of spun steel. She looked like she could kick the shit out of him without breaking a sweat.

  “But you have to admit, that was kind of funny,” Evans said as Ortiz-Gonzales turned to face forward.

  “If you say so, sir.”

  The Lakota lifted off quickly, and Ortiz-Gonzales swung it low over the camp as she poured on the speed, heading for Camp Justice, formerly the Siberian city of Novosibirsk. It was the main forward operating base for the American Forces in Russia – when Christopher had entered the war a little more than two years before, it had been 400 miles from the front lines. Now, it was less than 200.

  Christopher had taken the flight from Zulu to Justice a handful of times, enough that he knew it took about two and a half hours. This time, it took slightly less than two. Christopher had just always assumed helicopters he was in were flying as fast as they could, but that apparently wasn’t the case. Ortiz-Gonzales was really stepping on the gas.

  The sun was up when they landed at the Tolmachevo Airport in Novosibirsk, and Evans and Christopher hopped out of the chopper before the rotors had even spun down.

  “Put the hood up and look busy for about an hour,” Evans yelled to Ortiz-Gonzales.

  “Copy that, sir.”

  Evans led Christopher through the terminal building, about half of which had been bombed at the beginning of the war. It had been partially rebuilt, but there were still wide-open areas that looked out onto the parking lot just outside. Evans walked through the parking lot to a waiting Humvee, where he opened the passenger door.

  “Need you to take us to JSOC tracking, soldier,” Evans said to the driver.

  “I’m waiting for someone, sir,” the driver said. Christopher noticed he was a convict, wearing the concrete-gray
BDU of an Army Foxtrot.

  “Yeah? Who’s that?” Evans asked.

  “Captain Underwood, sir.”

  “Might have noticed this oak leaf on my uniform, convict. That means Lieutenant Colonel. Now, I believe you were taking us to JSOC Tracking?”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Chapter Four

  Foreign Policy

  “Look, even if you don’t believe me, which you obviously don’t –” Nick spat, barely keeping himself from punching the steering wheel.

  “That’s correct.”

  “You’re allowed to give me your name, rank, and serial number.”

  “Allowed to,” the pilot said, “Not required to.”

  The pilot was being infuriating. Nick had expected his half-Chinese ethnicity to cause problems for him the second he had landed at Staging Area November almost two years before. While his father was a white guy, Nick took after his mother heavily in the looks department. So he didn’t really know why he’d thought the pilot would believe him about being an American citizen, and a Marine besides – apparently, saving his ass wasn’t enough. He hadn’t been able to get anything but open hostility out of the guy, not even his name. The pilot had ripped the nametape off of his flight suit when the young Corporal caught him.

  As Nick drove somewhat aimlessly around Shanghai – the streets and freeways were confusing as all hell, and the Brave Warrior didn’t have a GPS – he was sorely tempted to reach across the pilot, open the passenger door, and boot the guy out onto the street at the next stop light. He knew he wouldn’t do it, though. The same gut reaction that made him save the pilot in the first place would never let him abandon the man.

  Never leave a man behind.

  “Fine, man. Don’t believe me. We’re still getting out of here... once I figure out how to do that.”