Fear and Anger (The 47 Echo Series) Read online

  Of course we are, Christopher thought.

  “For now, you’ve got four and a half hours. I’d suggest grabbing whatever rest you can, familiarizing yourself with the mission data. And grab some ECW gear – current temperature at Carbon-4 is minus 10.”

  One of the Galaxy’s loadmasters showed Christopher where to find the Extended Cold Weather gear for his crew – thicker uniforms, heavy parkas with fur-lined hoods. It was all Air Force issue, and rated to -60 degrees. For all ten people in the unit, it made for a huge pile of gear.

  “Jesus. Are we riding around in a convertible or something? That’s a lot of shit,” Daniel asked.

  “Negative, convict,” the loadmaster said, dropping another pair of thick, white boots onto the pile. “That’s your ride under the netting. Razor Mark II. But if you get caught outside for whatever reason, you’ll be glad you have this stuff.”

  After he had his people cram the 220 pieces of cold weather equipment into the Razor, Christopher told them all to get some rest. He returned to the situation room and began studying the mission information. Almost two hours into his prep, Neal came back into the room and sat down across from him.

  “Heard Lieutenant Morrow got left behind in Shanghai,” Neal said without preamble.

  “That’s correct, Captain. He stayed behind so the rest of us could get away.”

  “Sounds like the guy. Heard anything from him?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I got myself into a bit of trouble back at Camp Justice lobbying for a mission to go in and get him. I was a little... too vocal, I suppose,” Neale said, winking.

  “And the response?”

  “Exactly fuck all. But Justice is a busy place right now. Processing all the new recruits.”

  “More convicts?” Christopher asked.

  “No. I mean, yes, there are always plenty of those. But now we’re dealing with a massive flood of real military. New recruits. Volunteers after the New York attacks.”

  “How are we going to equip them all? I mean, we’re sending convict units out with sticks and harsh language,” Christopher said, closing the file on his command screen.

  “No idea. Russians are helping out as much as they can. Germans and French are sending guns through back channels. We’re still laughably outmatched, but we’re getting some numbers, finally.”

  Christopher nodded, unsure of where this conversation was going.

  “Reason I bring this up, Mr. Lee, is because I need to impress on you just how important this prototype Razor is. We’re getting to the point where we just might stop getting our asses kicked on the regular, and if the Chinese and North Koreans get a hold of our stealth tech... all for nothing. Imagine a CDM with adaptive camouflage.”

  “Rather not, sir.”

  “Good. Get that fucking Razor back, and put bullets in the heads of every one of those traitors. Get me?”

  “I get you.”

  * * *

  “Everybody strap in! We’re landing in 0-2 minutes, and it isn’t going to be fun!” the loadmaster yelled from the other side of the plane.

  Christopher looked out the window and saw only a lake, a huge, jagged scar in the ground that had to be 40 miles long. The Galaxy was headed right towards it, and for a moment, Christopher thought Major Griffin meant to land the seven-story tall plane right on the water. As they descended, though, Christopher made out a tiny airstrip on a bit of land jutting out into the water.

  “No way are we landing on that,” Bryce said, shaking his head.

  “Uh... I think that’s an airstrip,” Martin said, pointing out the window. “Either that, or someone left a Band-Aid out.”

  The huge Galaxy lurched violently, and it suddenly felt like they were going into a spin. Christopher screwed his eyes shut and tried not to vomit, but the vertigo just wouldn’t let up. Even when he heard Mary say they’d landed, he still felt like they were in the air, spinning.

  “That was... unpleasant,” Christopher said, unstrapping himself and standing shakily.

  “I think we’ll have to get used to that feeling,” Carson said, unhooking his gear from under the seat as the back cargo door opened. A blast of freezing air hit them. “Unpleasant will probably be the buzzword for this whole assignment.”

  Carson hefted his gear bag on his shoulder and walked around to the Razor’s rear hatch. Outside, all Christopher could see at first was snow and water. They’d landed pretty close to the edge of the lake, but at a narrow point – with the enhanced mode on his TotalVis goggles, he could see a bridge running across, and land on the other side. Christopher pushed the goggles up onto his forehead and grabbed his own gear bag.

  “Jesus. That guy’s depressing,” Mary muttered as she grabbed her gear.

  “Yeah,” Christopher said, heading for the Razor’s passenger door. “But he’s not wrong.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Anarchy For Sale

  Nick didn’t remember closing his eyes, but when he opened them, he saw daylight. It took him a moment to realize that he was on a couch, staring up at a cheap drop ceiling. He sat up and looked around – concrete floors, tiny windows high up on the walls. Hansen was sprawled out on a couch across the room, out cold. There were four laptops on a table to his right, up against the concrete wall. Basement somewhere, he thought, trying to piece together the events of the night before.

  He remembered following Feng’s compact car across the railroad tracks, winding through some industrial buildings before coming to a stop. It was a garage, an auto shop of some sort. He and Feng carried Hansen...

  Here. Put him on the couch. Then, nothing.

  He didn’t know how long he’d slept, what time it was now, or what time he’d arrived at the garage. That was largely thanks to the stimulants messing with his head. He checked his pockets – the pills were still there. He let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and stood up.

  There was a single metal door to his left, and Nick walked over and tried the handle. Locked. For his protection, or to keep him in?

  Feng – or whoever – had left the bags of food and water, as well as the medical kit and his TotalVis goggles. But conspicuously absent were his assault rifle, his sidearm, and even the knife he kept in his boot.

  Definitely keeping us in, Nick thought, kicking himself for trusting the guy do easily. There were probably PLA soldiers on the way to capture him and Hansen, to interrogate them. The night before, Nick would have probably just accepted the situation. But a solid few hours’ sleep had changed that, and he started looking around the room for something to use either as a weapon or a way to open the door.

  Apart from the table, the four computers, and the two couches, there wasn’t a hell of a lot in the room. The windows were small – he wasn’t getting out that way – and the door was steel. Escape wasn’t an option. It would have to be fighting his way out.

  That would be a problem, too. No weapons. Even breaking a leg off the table wouldn’t get him far, as it was just a cheap, aluminum-legged folding table. If he had time, he might be able to file down one of the broken legs into a stabbing implement, but Nick guessed time wasn’t going to be abundant.

  Hand-to-hand it is, then.

  In terms of a plan, this made everything simple. Wait for someone to come through the door, break his face, get his weapon, and go down fighting. If by some miracle he made it out, and Hansen wasn’t killed in the crossfire – he couldn’t count on the injured pilot to help – he’d pick up his burden and start running. Again. Nick rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles, ready to explode into violence.

  His plan was shot to shit when the door opened minutes later and a child walked in. She was maybe four or five years old, and carrying a small tray with two cups of hot green tea on it. She walked past Nick as if he wasn’t even there, boosted the tray up to the table, and walked out. The door clicked and locked behind her.

  “That coffee?” Hansen asked groggily from the couch.

  “Tea.”<
br />
  “Of course it is. God forbid this country makes some fucking coffee,” Hansen bitched, swinging his legs off the couch. He yelped as his left foot hit he concrete floor.

  “Careful,” Nick said, his voice flat.

  “Where are the goddamn painkillers?”

  Nick dug in his pocket and fished out the Hydrocodone. He tossed the bottle to Hansen, who missed the catch. The bottle bounced off the back of the couch and landed next to him. He opened it, shook out two pills, and swallowed them. Nick picked up both cups of tea, and Hansen held his own hand out, so Nick gave him one.

  “So what’s our situation? We captured? The little kid kick the shit out of you and lock us in here?”

  “Not sure yet. You remember much about last night?”

  “Don’t know if you know this, but you’re only supposed to take one of these at a time,” Hansen said, holding up the pill bottle. “My second double-dose was kicking in when we hit the gas station. I don’t remember shit.”

  “If it comes to shooting, just do your best to take cover,” Nick said, but he was quickly starting to doubt that would happen. Normally, five-year-old girls weren’t harbingers of firefights, at least in his experience.

  Still, he was ready to start brawling when the door opened again a few minutes later. It turned out to be unnecessary again. There were no soldiers, no police, no guns. Just Feng, dressed in a set of dirty blue coveralls.

  “Oh, good. You’re up. How’s the tea?”

  “Sucks,” Hansen said.

  “Ignore him. What’s going on? What’s the plan, here?” Nick asked.

  “Right now, you’re in my shop. A back room that’s only accessible through a stairway in the electrical closet. We use it to stash supplies, people. Do some hacking,” he said, waving to the computers.

  “And our weapons?”

  “Safe. Locked up in the office. You’ll get them back – I just have my niece and nephews running around in the shop all the time.”

  Feng pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the coverall’s breast pocket and lit one.

  “The truck you were riding in – took it apart and scrapped it. Sitting in pieces all over the shop. They won’t be tracking you in that thing anymore.”

  Nick nodded.

  “You seem to be taking great pains not to answer the ‘what’s the plan’ question.”

  “The plan for what? I got you off the streets. Gave you a safe place to crash. What more are you expecting?”

  “To get out of this fucking country,” Hansen shot, finishing off the tea despite his expressed dislike.

  “Yeah... let me ask you a question, friend. If that was possible, you think I’d still be here?”

  “I’m going out to take a look around,” Nick said, setting his empty teacup back on the tray.

  “Can’t do that. Not until night,” Feng said, shaking his head and blowing out smoke. “PLA knows your face. Everybody knows your face, of course, but the PLA is just a couple rooms away right now.”

  Nick tensed up again. He had been sold out. Part of him knew it.

  “Calm down, big guy,” Feng said. “We do work on the EQ2081s and 2102s for the government here. Drivers hang out here all day. It’s how we get half of the intel we collect.”

  “You keep saying ‘we,’” Hansen said. “So far I’ve seen you and a little kid.”

  “There are a few of us around. There’s a guy I want you to meet – he’s on Unit Ghost’s hit list, too. He might be able to help you out with your ‘plans,’” Feng said.

  “Unit Ghost. What is it?” Nick said. “I keep hearing that name.”

  “They’re... fage, how do I explain this? They’re the thing that lives under the bed. They’re the monster in the closet.”

  “They’re fictional?” Hansen shot.

  “OK, I’m explaining this wrong. They’re the worst of the worst. A special unit of the PLA with no oversight, no official orders other than to hunt enemies of the state. That includes Chinese citizens critical of the war, home-grown resistance groups... and now you guys, I guess,” Feng said, snuffing out his cigarette on the concrete floor and immediately lighting another. “These guys are brutal. They do whatever they want, whatever they need to achieve their goals. No one in the Army ever questions them.”

  “Sounds like a good group of guys,” Nick said, frowning.

  “You don’t want to meet them if you can avoid it. So here’s what we’ll do – wait here until dark. Rest. I’ll get some food back to you. My friend will come out after the garage closes, and you can work on plans with him then.”

  Feng didn’t wait for an answer – he simply turned and walked out, leaving a trail of cigarette smoke in his place. Nick had a brief flash of cartoons he’d seen as a kid, where characters had vanished so quickly they’d only left smoke in their wake. Again, when the door closed, the lock clicked, but Nick got that now – without a key, no one on the other side, especially curious Chinese Army personnel, could just wander in.

  “You... you don’t trust that guy, do you?” Hansen asked, rummaging around in the plastic bags for a pack of cigarettes.

  “I don’t see as we have much choice,” Nick said, shrugging. “Give me one of those.”

  * * *

  Feng’s “friend” was named Yuan Shen, and he was a bastard.

  As soon as Yuan walked into the room, he made sure everyone knew he would rather just set Nick and Hansen out into the wild. They were a problem, a headache.

  “You. You’re the Marine?” Yuan said, squinting at Nick without the formality of introducing himself.

  “Nick Morrow,” Nick said, holding out his hand. Yuan just looked at it like Nick was holding out a dead rat.

  “You’re responsible for the bombings?”

  Nick had to think for a second before he realized what Yuan was talking about – the Air Force and Navy raids into mainland China when the defense grid went down. Before he could answer, Hansen answered for him.

  “Yeah. That’s us,” Hansen said, still sitting on the couch. He’d been there all day.

  “You assholes. You know how many Chinese died in those attacks? How many women and kids?”

  “The targets were all military,” Hansen said.

  “Bullshit. American Stealth Bombers leveled the village of Ejin. You know how many Army there were in Ejin? Maybe 200. They wiped the whole fucking thing off the planet.”

  “Look, I didn’t fly the planes. I had a job to do – take down the defense network. I did my job. And it’s not like your government didn’t wipe out 10 million people in New York City,” Nick shot back. He felt the back of his neck getting hot, and he tried to force himself to calm down.

  “What about you?” Yuan said, whirling on Hansen. “You fly the planes?”

  “I’m a pilot.”

  “How many kids did you kill?”

  “Fuck you, guy. Who the fuck are you, anyway?” Hansen said, struggling to stand, and failing.

  “Me? I’m Yuan Shen, and I’m the unfortunate son of a whore who has to deal with you assholes.”

  “Look, everybody calm down,” Feng started.

  Yuan Shen shot Feng a look, a deathly stare. For a second, Nick thought the older man – and Yuan Shen was older, nearing 60 – was going to hit Feng. After a long moment, though, Yuan Shen let out a long, slow breath.

  “Fine. Feng tells me you want us to help get you out of the country.”

  “That’s correct,” Nick said, trying to keep his own voice calm. If Yuan could make the effort, so could he.

  “And why the hell would we do that? Charity? Not like you’ve done a hell of a lot for us,” Yuan said, his voice rising slightly. When he spoke next, he calmed himself. “What you’ve done – or what Feng has done by taking you in – is put us all at risk.”

  “I understand and appreciate that. So the sooner we’re out of your hair, the better. I’m not asking for anything more than a vehicle.”

  Yuan crossed the room and sat on the arm of the couch Nick w
oke up on. He looked at Nick for a long moment, chewing on his right index fingernail.

  “What you really want – whether you know it or not – is a clean car. One that doesn’t exist as far as the computers are concerned. And you want a clear path out. These are things I might be able to do. With the proper... incentive.”

  Nick figured, just from the guy’s general attitude, that the other shoe was going to drop eventually. Now it was in the air, ready to leave his hand and hit the floor.

  “And what incentive would that be?” Nick asked.

  “We’re a small group, but growing,” Yuan said, suddenly disinterested with his fingernail. He stood and paced the room as he talked, never really taking his eyes of Nick. “But we have young men. Strong men, willing to fight. To disrupt PLA operations.”

  “Uh huh,” Hansen said. There was more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice, and Yuan definitely caught it. He shot the pilot the same death stare he’d given Feng before continuing.

  “Problem is, we’re low on supplies. Resources. We can’t be effective with what we have now.”

  “And what is it you need?” Nick asked. He knew they were leading him to ask that very question, but he wished they’d just come out with it, drop the damn shoe already.

  “Weapons,” Feng spoke up. “Guns and body armor. We know just where to find them, but problem is, there’s no way we can get them with the guns we have.”

  “And that’s where you come in, Marine Nick Morrow,” Yuan said, smiling for the first time since Nick met him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dogs of War

  It was the fastest unload Christopher had ever witnessed. The second the wheels hit the ground, loadmasters were on the move, uncovering the Razor and herding everyone inside. In two minutes, they were in the Razor, driving away from the plane as it took off.