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  “You can’t afford to feel one way or another about things,” his father had told him once. “Too many feelings are what make guys chop up their wives, stash them under the floorboards and tell the neighbors she’s off visiting her mother. Things like compassion, pity, regret—they don’t have any place on the battlefield.”

  “But what about fear?” Nick had asked. He was fourteen at the time, and his father had just been called up to deploy into Afghanistan again. Nick didn’t know that this would be the last time he spoke to his father in person.

  If Alex Morrow was bothered by his kid asking the question, he didn’t show it. It wasn’t the first time Nick had asked him about his job, about war. Nick was fascinated by his father, this man who looked nothing like him but seemed to think in exactly the same ways.

  “Fear is inevitable. You can’t avoid it, and trying to ignore it is stupid. Same with anger. Those two…well, you just have to use them. Pump them into your muscles where they can do some good. You have to let the fear sharpen you, focus you. Let the anger make you stronger, faster. Let it keep you from fucking up.”

  It had sounded profound and warrior-poetic to Nick at the time, but as he sat there in a Chinese cargo train clicking deeper and deeper into enemy territory, it sounded like bullshit. He was getting more and more scared the farther he and his squad went, and it didn’t seem like the emotion was making him sharper or more combat-effective. If anything, it was making him jumpy, more prone to mistakes.

  As he thought about it more, though, he realized it wasn’t the Chinese Army he was afraid of. They’d either kill him or they wouldn’t, and he didn’t feel one way or another about it. He was petrified of what they’d do to his people. His friends. The whole reason he’d joined the regular Marines after his conviction was overturned was out of some sense that he should be the one to protect them. He wasn’t afraid of dying, or of failure.

  He was just afraid of getting his friends killed.

  And that wasn’t fear, he realized. It was worry. And worry was one of those things he needed to control, to ignore. To push out of his mind so he could get to work. Perhaps his father had said something profound, after all.

  Nick sensed more than he heard someone stirring behind him. He turned to see Briggs rising to a crouch, stretching his arms over his head and rolling his neck.

  “Shit. We get back from this mission, boss, and I’m never complaining about cots or crappy military pillows again,” Briggs said.

  “You and me both, pal.”

  “Yeah, like you’ve been sleeping. I might seem like I’m absentminded at times, but I’ve noticed the steady drain on my amphetamine supply. I’m not going to say anything about it to the others, but you really need to be careful with that shit, sir.”

  “Noted. Looks like we’re only about half an hour from Hefei,” Nick said, nodding to the netbook screen as Briggs walked up behind him.

  “Any idea how we’re proceeding from there?”

  “Seat of our pants. Like always. Let’s start waking up the kids. Time to do a quick huddle before we get shot at.”

  Nick’s unit was awake and checking their weapons within two minutes.

  He handed off the netbook to Mary and took a seat on one of the many crates facing his people. “A few things, guys. We have no idea what we’re walking into here, so I’m going to hop out as soon as the train stops and see if I can get some kind of read on the situation out there. I’d be happy if this doesn’t turn into a firefight, but I’m a realist.”

  Nick held up the taped-together magazines he’d made while the others were sleeping.

  “I did this to most of our ammo already. When one clip runs dry, pull it, flip it over and jam in the next one. It’ll buy you a couple seconds on reload, and we might need the time. Daniel, Bryce, Christopher, I want the three of you to cover the door as soon as I go out. I give you the signal, come out shooting. Martin, Mary, Ben, you three cover them from the rear.”

  “Uh, Nick, sorry to interrupt,” Mary said, her face turned toward her netbook screen.

  “What’s up, kiddo?”

  “I might have found a way to get some intel,” she said, turning the screen to face him. In a window on the right half of the screen, he saw an image of a moving train, captured from above.

  “UAV feed?”

  “One of about two hundred. The sky is full of them in Hefei, and their signals are running unencrypted.”

  “Why would they send out unencrypted transmissions?” Martin wondered out loud.

  “Because this is where they’re building and testing them,” Nick said, the idea clicking in his brain even as he spoke. “Two hundred UAVs to cover a city the size of Chicago in the middle of a country where we can’t even get satellite recon? They’re not looking for intruders. They’re all on shakedown flights before the Chinese deploy them to the front.”

  “That’s what I think, too,” Mary confirmed. “But it’s not just their telemetry that’s running unencrypted. Their flight controls are running open, too.”

  “You can hack them?” Daniel asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “If the boss helps me with the language thing, sure. No problem.”

  “So we’ll have our own UAV to scout ahead, find us a clear path.” Christopher chuckled.

  “More than that,” Nick said. Another idea was forming. “Mary, let’s get to work.”

  * * *

  The train was still about ten miles outside the actual city when it stopped. Nick guessed the military base was new, built during the war on the outskirts of the already-established industrial zone. That was good—he could add it to the list of military targets for the bombers if they completed their mission.

  With his help, Mary had managed to gain control over two UAVs, a large jet-powered WJ900 and a smaller prop-powered ASN-2285. The smaller one was close by, hovering over the station as the train pulled in. It was broadcasting the images on the left side of Mary’s screen, and the larger one, still miles away, was broadcasting on the right.

  “There they are,” Christopher whispered, pointing at the left side of the screen. “Looks like three crews. They’re starting at the front of the train.”

  “They’re not in uniform,” Mary said. “Civilians?”

  Nick didn’t answer.

  “Mary, try the rear camera. Anyone near us?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

  Mary tapped a few keys, and the image on the left side of the screen changed. It was now showing the last four cars, but no one seemed to be close by.

  “Right. Bring in the big one. Guys, get ready to move out.”

  “I don’t feel right about this, boss,” Mary said, shaking her head.

  “Good. The minute you feel right about doing this kind of thing, that’s when you know you’ve gone too far,” Nick said, slowly rising to his feet.

  He kept one eye on the netbook’s screen as he winched the straps on his assault rifles as tight as they would go. The larger UAV was moving fast now, buildings flashing by below it at a blur. It was also flying low, but Nick knew it was about to get a lot lower. It was a well-built machine—the camera kept transmitting for a few seconds even after Nick heard it crash into the front of the train.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Nick spat, jumping out of the train car and running for the nearest cover, a large outbuilding just off the train station.

  He felt his people running behind him, heard the screams and shouts in Chinese at the front of the train platform. As he crouched behind the outbuilding, Mary fell in next to him, her netbook in her hands.

  “Where to?” Nick asked.

  “Two streets over. We’re clear for about a block down that way so far.”

  “You heard her, people. Fast as you can go.”

  Nick and his people ran out from behind the outbuilding, following the path Mary mapped out for them with the smaller UAV. They saw no one for almost six blocks, when they came across a large warehouse. Nick tested the door and found it unlocked. Inside was a maze of crate
s, packed almost to the vaulted ceilings.

  “In here. Find a spot near the back and hunker down,” Nick ordered, holding the door and hustling his unit into the building. Briggs was the last one in, and Nick closed and locked the door behind him then joined his people at the back of the warehouse.

  “Fuck, boss,” Christopher wheezed. “What’s up with the air out there?”

  Nick could feel it too, the tightness in his chest. The back of his throat felt dirty, coated in smoke and sulfur. He cleared his throat, spitting out a glob of saliva and mucus. It was almost black.

  “Pollution,” he said. “All the factories churning crap into the air.”

  “Boss, check it out,” Bryce said, nodding out a tiny window near them.

  Nick followed his gaze and saw two men in Chinese Army uniforms walking past almost a block away. Both of them wore N-95 respirator masks over the lower half of their faces and goggles over their eyes, and they weren’t the only ones. As Nick watched out the window, he noticed almost everyone wore some sort of filter mask and eye protection.

  “Nick, I don’t know what this shit is, but we probably shouldn’t be sucking down big lungfuls of it,” Briggs said, hacking up a bit of dark phlegm.

  “All right. You guys hunker down here, try to breathe as little as possible. I’m going to go see if I can’t find us some masks,” Nick said. “Not only do we probably need them to live, but they’ll cover our faces pretty well and let us move around pretty easily tonight.”

  “Oh, hey, if you’re making a run, I could use a burger and a pack of smokes,” Chris said, spitting out pollutant-laden saliva.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Rip Up The City

  Nick thought he’d blend in better on his own, looking Chinese and all, but he couldn’t help but feel everyone was staring at him as he walked back the way he had come. It wasn’t that they thought he was American, he realized, it was that they were shocked anyone would be crazy enough to walk around outside without a mask on.

  He’d slipped on his TotalVis goggles and set them to clear as soon as he’d left the warehouse. The air felt painfully dry and hot, and it stung his eyes if he kept them open for more than a few seconds. He did his best to breathe through his nose as he walked, thankful he was a smoker. If his lungs weren’t used to a little abuse, he’d probably already have passed out by now. He was feeling nauseated again, but he didn’t know what was causing it—the amphetamines, the adrenaline, the crap in the air or all of the above. Doesn’t matter, he thought. Just keep going.

  The train station was as logical a destination as any. They’d probably have a stockpile of masks, goggles and other protective equipment for new arrivals to the city, and he’d most likely be able to slip in among the confusion and grab some supplies without attracting too much notice. As he neared the area he’d recently run so hard to escape, he saw that fire trucks and emergency crews had already arrived. A large, four-bay ambulance was parked near the outbuilding he’d hidden behind, and its back doors open. Nick popped his head in and found it abandoned.

  He climbed inside, quickly opening cabinets and drawers and rifling through them. In a storage bin over one of the beds he found two four-packs of N-95 filter masks. He stuck one in his cargo pocket then tore open the other and pulled out one of the masks. He hopped out of the truck and cleared his throat again, expelling more disturbingly dark mucus and spitting it onto the street before slipping on his mask and putting the rest of the pack into his other cargo pocket.

  “Uh…something I can help you with, Shao Xiao?” he heard someone ask.

  It was a young woman in People’s Liberation Army fatigues, standing just to his left. He noticed a medic’s armband on her uniform as he turned to look at her.

  “No, I just lost my mask in the, you know,” Nick said, waving his hand in the general direction of the UAV crash.

  “Your uniform is blank, sir.”

  “That’s because I don’t exist, young lady,” Nick said, holding up his MSS identification. “You didn’t see me here, clear?”

  She stared at his identification, then at him, for a long moment and sighed loudly.

  “Fine,” she said finally. “I suppose I didn’t see you here, sir.”

  Nick couldn’t help but catch the condescension in that last word. She wasn’t even trying to be subtle. Rather than say anything about it, though, he decided to just nod and be on his way. She’d probably had some sort of run-in with the MSS in the past, he told himself. At least, that’s what he hoped it was. He’d hate to think he’d blown his cover so easily.

  He kept checking over his shoulder as he walked back to the warehouse, and he was reasonably sure no one was following him, but it was hard to tell. With everyone wearing identical uniforms, masks and goggles, it was hard to tell one person from another. He made a couple of extra twists and turns on the way back to the warehouse, but he didn’t have much time to waste. His people were probably already getting sick, and he couldn’t afford even one of them going combat-ineffective. He’d have to leave anyone who couldn’t carry on.

  No one gets left behind, he told himself, shocked by the anger of his own inner voice. Just put that idea out of your head right now, motherfucker.

  When he was mostly confident no one was around, Nick ducked back into the warehouse and made a beeline for the back. He could hear wheezing and coughing before he saw them. Their condition had gotten worse, as he feared.

  “Rinse out with water. Expectorate as best you can before you put your masks on,” Briggs told them, hacking as he and Nick passed out the N-95s.

  “Expectorate?” Mary asked.

  “He means clear all the snot and crap out of your lungs,” Daniel told her.

  “Ah.”

  The next few seconds were filled with disgusting sights and sounds, grown adults hocking up whatever they could and vomiting a bit of bile. It quickly began to smell in the warehouse, and Nick was thankful he was already wearing a mask.

  “Briggs, how are we looking?” Nick asked.

  “Can’t be sure, boss. No telling what kind of shit is in the air. Our exposure was less than half an hour, so I don’t think we did any permanent damage. We’ll just have to hydrate as best we can and get to clean air soon.”

  “Roger that. Listen up, guys. I’m not feeling really great about this warehouse as a cover point. With the masks, goggles, helmets and all, we should be able to move around pretty freely, so we’re leaving. We’re going to try to secure a vehicle and get the hell out of here.”

  “No objection here,” Christopher said.

  “When we get moving, stay in tight on me. Anyone says anything to you, let me do the talking, obviously. Let’s roll.”

  Less than a block away from the warehouse, Nick and his unit came upon an older Mercedes cargo van parked along the street. Nick tested the driver’s door and found it unlocked. He motioned for Bryce to come close, then whispered in the smaller man’s ear, “Can you hotwire this thing?”

  “Probably. It’ll take a minute. Let me try something first,” Bryce whispered back, slipping behind the wheel and pulling a thin flathead screwdriver out of his pack. He jammed the screwdriver into the ignition and twisted, and the van rumbled to life.

  Nick rushed around to the back doors and threw them open. He waved his people in, then hopped in himself. They were all aboard in seconds, and Bryce pulled away from the curb as Nick closed the cargo doors behind them.

  “Mary, go up front. Give Bryce a direction, and keep your head down,” Nick said.

  She nodded and climbed into the front seat, opening her netbook and bringing up the map and UAV feed. Before she could start directing Bryce, though, two police cars appeared behind the van, lights blazing.

  Shit. I knew that bitch at the train station knew something was up.

  “Pull over, boss?” Bryce asked, his words slightly muffled by his mask. Nick could never tell when his driver was kidding—the guy’s voice redefined “monotone.”

  “Sh
it no. Lose ’em if you can. Everyone hold on to something. Daniel, Chris, on me,” Nick said, reaching for the back door handle.

  Bryce hammered the accelerator to the floor, and the police cars sped up to stay with them. There was no way the van was going to outrun them, Nick realized. The cars caught up way too quickly, and they weren’t loaded down with seven people each like the old Mercedes. Nick opened the back door and raised his M4.

  “Engine blocks,” he yelled to Christopher and Daniel, who unslung their own weapons.

  The three of them opened fire at the same time, spraying bullets into the pursuing police cars. One officer leaned out his passenger window and pulled out his pistol, but Daniel blew him out of his car with one round to the forehead. The police cars quickly fell behind, their engines smoking, front tires shredded.

  “Bryce, hammer this thing!” Nick yelled, closing the back door again and peeking out through the back window. “Everyone else, get low, but be ready to pop back here and fire if you have to!”

  The old Mercedes zoomed down the street and took a hard right, slamming Nick and his people over to the left side of the van. Mary shouted directions to Bryce, who nodded calmly as if she were telling him he missed the turn for the grocery store. Nick pulled himself off the van’s floor and looked out the back window again. Five more police cars had joined the chase.

  “Let me know when you’re about to turn!” Nick yelled, his hand on the door again.

  “I got these guys!” Mary yelled.

  As Nick watched, the smaller UAV swooped down and crashed directly into the lead police car’s front windshield. The explosion was bigger than Nick would have expected—the UAV must have been carrying a missile. The blast took out three of the cars, but the other two swerved around the wreckage and quickly caught up to the van. Nick flung open the back door, and Christopher and Daniel opened fire on the last two cars, destroying their engines in a matter of seconds.