Supercritical Page 3

  “What’s up, Tony?” Nick yawned, checking his watch. Five p.m.

  “I just got a message from Martin,” Anthony said. Martin was 47 Echo’s demolitions expert, currently back at Firebase Zulu resting up from two recently healed broken legs.

  “Yeah?”

  “He was talking to one of the Air Force eggheads out at Zulu. Found out that satellite has a large Renegade Russian force massing about twenty miles from here. Martin says they’ll be here in two hours, maybe less.”

  “Lovely.”

  “Yeah. Good news is they’re driving T-90s and BMP-3s. No CDMs or chopper support that we can see. Bad news is there’s a fuckton of them, and this place can’t handle it in the shape they’re in.”

  The news wasn’t good, of course, but it was better than it could have been, Nick admitted. CDMs—Chinese Death Machines—were small, heavily armed, almost impenetrable little vehicles that could each do as much damage as a traditional tank battalion. Traditional tanks like T-90s and BMP-3s were still terrible news, but at least the Marines had a chance of killing them.

  “Brass here know about this yet?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Shit. I hate being the one to deliver bad news.”

  Nick smoked a cigarette as he walked over to C2 (Command and Control). He saw some of the other Marines shoot him a look, and he knew what it was about. Convicts smoked. Marines didn’t. Of course, they could have been glaring at him for an altogether different reason—though Nick was only half-Chinese on his mother’s side, he looked like a slightly taller version of the men who had just cost them more than a hundred of their brothers. Nick ignored them, but he did snuff the cigarette out before he walked into the C2 tent.

  “Ah, Lieutenant Morrow,” a rail-thin, balding Marine in BDUs said as Nick entered. He had a Major’s oak leaf on his sternum.

  “I’m sorry. Have we met, sir?” Nick asked. He knew they hadn’t. His visual memory was outstanding, but it was the polite question.

  “No, not in person. I’m Major Tim Bryant. But I’ve heard of you, Lieutenant. You’re something of a celebrity out here on the line.”

  Nick clamped his teeth together to keep from frowning. He hated it when people said shit like that. He was just out there doing his job, protecting his friends and trying to get out alive. It made him slightly angry to think that other people saw him as anything more than what he was—just a guy looking out for the man next to him.

  “Major. Have you been in contact with Firebase Zulu lately?”

  “No, I haven’t. Not since we reported our…well, I wouldn’t call it a victory but, you know.”

  “I expect you’ll be hearing something soon. We just got word from our man there. Satellite recon shows a heavy Russian Renegade presence on its way here. Armor and ground troops.”

  “Shit. What are we looking at?”

  “Tanks. T-90s and BMP-3s. A lot of them.”

  Bryant’s smile had started to fade as soon as Nick said the word “Russian.” Now it was completely gone, and he kicked the folding chair next to him hard enough to collapse it.

  “Goddammit! I just…fuck! We just managed to hold onto this place by the skin of our teeth. Those CDMs—”

  “Take a breath, sir. No CDMs inbound that we know of.”

  “No, I mean the ones that were here already. There were only five of ’em, and they wiped out most of our tanks and all but two of our Razors. Even managed to shoot down some of our choppers. We barely took out three of ’em. Well, four, I suppose, if you count that one,” Bryant said, throwing a hand toward the back flap of the tent.

  Outside, Nick noticed a CDM that looked brand new. It was still hooked up to an MTVR seven-ton truck by tow lines, and he could see deep tracks in the mud where the small armored vehicle had been dragged into camp.

  “What’s the deal with that, sir?”

  “No idea. Chinks—” Bryant looked at Nick’s face then quickly corrected himself. “Uh, Chinese forces abandoned it on the battlefield. My boys managed to avoid blowing it up, but when we got the back door off to take a look, whole thing was dead inside.”

  “No power?”

  “No nothin’. Wheels were even locked up. We dragged it in. Figured someone in Intelligence would want a crack at it.”

  “I think I have a better use for it, sir,” Nick said, toggling his radio. “Mary, you copy?”

  “What’s up, boss?” His computer specialist sounded sleepy, and Nick realized he’d probably woken her from a well-deserved nap.

  “How’s the stealth on the Razor looking?”

  “We’ll have it up by nightfall.”

  “Back-burner that for the time being. Grab Bryce and meet me in the C2 tent. Quick as you can.”

  “On the way.”

  Nick’s radio clicked off. He noticed that a couple of other officers had gathered behind Major Bryant. All of them were looking at him.

  “What are you thinking, Lieutenant?” Bryant asked.

  “Chinese tech’s mostly computer-based, sir. I’ve got people in my crew who might be able to get that CDM up and running before the Russians get here.”

  “You got someone who can translate Chinese?” Bryant asked.

  “Uh, yes, sir. That’ll be me. With your permission, we’ll see what we can do. It would be a hell of an asset against the Russian armor, sir.”

  “Do what you can, Lieutenant.”

  As Mary and Bryce walked in through the tent’s front flap, a young Marine Lance Corporal stood up from her chair and walked over to where Nick and Bryant were standing. A short, powerful woman, she had one arm wrapped in a red-stained bandage. Nick guessed she’d seen some action during the attack, but she seemed alert and in better shape than a lot of the Marines at the outpost.

  “Major,” she said, scratching idly at her bandages, “just got a message from Zulu. What the Lieutenant said is true. Satellites have T-90s and BMP-3s inbound. Approximately forty vehicles, plus more than two hundred ground troops.”

  “ETA?”

  “Hour and a half, sir.”

  “Lieutenant Morrow, you have until then.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  Nick led Mary and Bryce to the motionless CDM. The back door had been removed, but apart from that, the thing looked like it had just come out of the factory in Hangzhou. Without Nick needing to say a word, Mary and Bryce started to inspect the motionless vehicle.

  “Sorry to wake you up, kids,” Nick said as they worked.

  “No worries, boss. Wasn’t sleeping well, anyway. Chucks kept ‘accidentally’ coming into the wrong tent. Kinda sucks being the only girl in a convict unit sometimes,” Mary said, yawning and cracking her neck. “Pete growled ’em off for me, but still…would have liked to have gotten a couple of hours of sleep.”

  Nick shook his head. He couldn’t really think of anything to say to that. He wanted to apologize, but he knew Mary would just tell him it wasn’t his fault. It was, though—he’d had her reassigned from a nice, easy desk job to 47 Echo more than a year ago. He hated dragging her out into the hellish situations they kept getting themselves into, though he knew she could take care of herself. And she was the best there was at her job, so he simply said nothing and let Mary and Bryce work.

  “Dead,” Mary commented to Bryce as she checked the main control station in the cramped pilot’s cabin.

  “Any power to anything? Lights, switches, anything?” Bryce asked.

  “Nope. No power.”

  “Got an idea.”

  Bryce hopped out of the pilot’s cabin and slid under the CDM. The vehicle was small enough that his legs stuck out under the back door, even though he was barely five and a half feet tall.

  Nick could see his friend reach into the cargo pocket of his BDUs and pull out an automatic ratchet. He heard four quick bursts of the tool’s motor then saw an armored panel slide out from under the CDM.

  “Yep. What I thought,” Bryce said.

  A half second later, the lights and sc
reens inside the CDM flickered to life. The panel slid back under the CDM, and Nick heard Bryce reattach it.

  “What did you do?” he asked.

  “They’re banging these things out pretty quick—like, ten a day, according to the Intel guys back at Zulu. Stands to reason there’s a pretty high defect rate,” Bryce said, sliding out from under the CDM and troweling mud off his BDUs. “Main power conduit on this thing wasn’t attached right. Probably rolled just fine for a couple hundred miles. Then they hit a bump, and…”

  “The battery cable was unplugged?” Mary asked.

  “Essentially, yeah.”

  “Nick, everything looks operational in here. I could use your help figuring out some of these displays,” Mary said.

  Nick joined her in the cramped cabin—there was barely room for the two of them to stand on either side of the pilot’s chair. Nick read the screens as they loaded.

  “Status on this one. Power’s at ninety-seven percent. Weapons—doesn’t look like this thing fired a shot. Three-thousand 25mm armor-piercing rounds. Nest of Bees reads full.”

  “Nest of Bees?” Bryce asked from outside the vehicle.

  “I think that’s the name for the rocket pods. Reading fifty miniature tank-buster high-explosive rockets in both pods. Thing must’ve crapped out before the fight even started,” Nick said.

  “So who gets to drive it?” Mary asked.

  “I’m the natural choice, I guess,” Bryce said, shrugging and pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

  “Except you don’t speak Chinese,” Nick said, gesturing to the screens.

  “There is that. You, then? Or Chris? I mean, he’s been picking up the language, right?”

  “Yeah, but he’s not fluent yet. I think I have a better candidate. Mary—”

  “I can barely drive a stick-shift, boss, much less one of these,” she said.

  “No worries there. The drive system, weapons, targeting system—all of those run through the main computer, yeah? I mean, they depend on input from a driver, but…”

  “I see where you’re going. Maybe we can hook up an interface. Drive the thing remotely, by radio.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You help translate, and I’ll wire in a netbook or two,” she said, smiling.

  “Bryce, get back on the Razor. If this thing doesn’t work, we’ll need the firepower.”

  “On it, boss.”

  Chapter Four

  Nobody’s Hero

  “Lieutenant? What’s the status on your CDM project?” Major Bryant asked, walking out of the C2 tent.

  Almost as an answer, the small vehicle’s three front-mounted Gatling guns started spinning, filling the air with a high-pitched, electronic whine. After a few seconds they shut down, and Mary shot Nick and Bryant a thumbs-up from behind her netbook.

  “Looks like we have everything running, sir. Mary can run it from that machine. I suggest we send it out ASAP, take out as many of ’em as we can before they get here,” Nick said.

  “What’s the range on your control interface, convict?” Bryant asked.

  “About a quarter-mile, sir. I’d need to go out with it,” Mary said.

  “Along, of course, with a small security detail,” Nick added.

  Bryant nodded. “I’ll assign a Charlie unit to take you out in one of our Cougars.”

  “Due respect, sir, but leave the Chucks here to fortify the base. Me and two of my men can provide security if you’ll loan us that Cougar. The rest will stay behind and pilot our Razor, give you some extra guns if the Russians get through.”

  “We could use the help. Let’s hope you’re successful—with your Razor, we’ve got three, plus a couple of Cougars and two choppers. If your plan doesn’t work…”

  “The base will last about a minute and a half. Have you gotten any word on any sort of backup, sir?” Nick asked.

  “We requested AC-130 Spectre gunships and more armor, but apparently we’re fighting two other battles nearby. Air Force is going to send A-10s as soon as some free up, but they say it’ll be about an hour after we need them.”

  “Understood.” Nick looked at his watch. He could already feel the muscles in his shoulders tensing up, his heart rate increasing. “We’d better get moving, then.”

  * * *

  “Love how you volunteered me for this duty, boss,” Christopher complained from the passenger seat of the Cougar 4x4 as they rolled through the main gate.

  “I did you a favor, pal. COs at Rattlesnake wanted you to head up a unit of Chucks. They’re on foot. At least here, you have metal around you,” Nick told him.

  “They didn’t want me commanding our Razor?”

  “They lost a lot of their convict COs in the first battle,” Michael said, checking his M249 SAW. “They’re yanking anyone with any sort of leadership experience to run Chucks. They got gang leaders running squads now. Mean ones, too. Those Mexican guys, MS-13s.”

  “MS-13s are Salvadoran, not Mexican,” Mary corrected.

  “Huh,” Michael muttered.

  “Oh. Well, in that case, I actually do love how you volunteered me for this duty, boss.”

  “No problem. Mary?”

  “Four miles down this road, and we should probably stop and deploy the CDM,” Mary said from the passenger seat.

  “How’s it running?” Nick asked.

  Mary looked in her rearview mirror and grinned.

  “Keeping right after us like a lost puppy,” she said. “Link’s holding strong. CDM’s responding well. I think this might actually work.”

  “We’ll find out in a few minutes. You going to be able to control that thing from in here?”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem. The signal won’t have any trouble getting through to the CDM. We can hang back and watch the entire show on our screens.”

  “Don’t you just love technology?” Christopher asked, stowing his M4 in the footwell next to him.

  “Coming up on safe distance now,” Mary said.

  “Stash us in those trees over there, boss. Just in case they come looking,” Christopher said.

  “Good idea.”

  Nick drove the Cougar off the road a few meters, parking behind a small cluster of trees. The CDM stayed where it was, right in the middle of the road, waiting.

  “Okay, Mary,” Nick said. “It’s your show from here on out.”

  “Deploying CDM. Fingers crossed, everyone.”

  The CDM rolled forward slowly, passing the Cougar’s hiding place and eventually rolling out of sight. Mary activated the CDM’s camera feed, which appeared on the two LCDs in the Cougar’s cabin. After less than a minute, Nick and the others saw the Russian vehicle column coming down the road. The CDM stopped.

  “Mary? Why’d you stop?”

  “I didn’t. Something’s wrong. Signal’s gone all wonky.”

  The camera feed suddenly flickered off, and the Cougar’s screens went dark.

  “Dammit. The Russians are running jamming. Our signal’s not getting through.”

  “What if we get closer?” Michael asked.

  “Wouldn’t matter.” Mary said, shaking her head. “It’s the Russians’ proximity to the CDM that’s fucking us, not ours.”

  Christopher opened his door and hopped out.

  “Chris! Get back in the truck,” Nick ordered.

  “Sorry. No can do. Keep those tanks off my ass for thirty seconds,” Christopher said, running off down the road toward the stopped CDM.

  Nick froze for a second. He watched his second-in-command, his best friend, sprinting down the dirt road, protected only by a Kevlar vest and a helmet. He considered getting out of the truck and dragging Christopher back to the Cougar, but that would only get them both killed. He shook his head hard and gritted his teeth together, barely stopping himself from punching the steering wheel.

  “Shit. Mary, get our main gun active. Mike, get up here and get ready with your SAW.” Nick started the Cougar’s engine and gunned the huge truck down the road after Christo
pher.

  “Can he drive that thing?” Michael asked.

  “Maybe. He’s been learning Chinese, and he studied the specs of the one we salvaged last year,” Mary said.

  When they caught up to their teammate, the Russian tanks had already started shooting with their top-mounted AKS-74 Assault Rifles.

  “Cover fire!” Nick yelled. Mary activated the Cougar’s top-mounted M240 machine gun while Michael opened up with his SAW out the window. A few of the Russian tanks turned their guns on the Cougar. As the bullets pinged into the vehicle’s armor plating, Nick saw Christopher jump into the CDM.

  “Chris!” Nick yelled into his radio.

  “Yeah, boss. Starting ’er back up now.” The response was full of static thanks to the Russian radio interference. “You can pull back to a safe distance—these motherfuckers are about to be toast.”

  Nick breathed out hard before responding. The tightness in his shoulders eased a little.

  “Copy that. You’re in trouble, by the way. I’m beating your ass the second we get back to base.”

  “Roger. If I survive, that is.”

  Nick turned to Michael, still throwing rounds out the window, and put a hand on his shoulder. Michael took his finger off the trigger and looked back at his CO.

  “Hold on,” Nick said.

  He threw the Cougar into reverse and slammed on the gas pedal. In front of him, the CDM sprang to life, activating all three of its front-mounted guns at once, tearing through the first Russian tank. The one next to it started to turn its massive turret to bear on the tiny assault vehicle, but it wasn’t fast enough. One of the small tank-buster rockets flew from the left-side rocket pod, punching through the tank’s armor. There was a loud pop—no real explosion—but Nick knew that the entire inside of the tank had just been bathed in high-explosive flame.

  The CDM juked right and went off-road, firing both guns and rockets as it wove in and out of the tank column. Several hundred assault rifle rounds hit the small vehicle but bounced harmlessly off the thick armor plating.