by Linda Nagata
“Shut up!”
I grab Ransom’s shoulder. He elbows me in the chest using the strut of his dead sister. I know he doesn’t mean to hurt me. It’s just that he’s too angry, too scared to think.
It fucking hurts anyway. It knocks me off balance, knocks the air out of my lungs, and I swear to God my ribs would be broken if I wasn’t wearing armor.
I never took Ransom’s King David fantasy seriously, but I guess he did. It’s like I betrayed him by failing to foresee the wolf, by letting Kendrick get hit. And then Sheridan, taunting him. He’s so shaken by her accusation that it’s not God but the devil who’s protected us that he’s out of control. He slams Sheridan facedown into the snow. Then he pulls out the pistol Rawlings gave him and points it at her, taking the most direct route to silence his doubt.
I don’t have any breath to yell at him. I lunge instead, powered by my dead sister. Jaynie goes after him too, but I hit him first. I hit him in the shoulder. We both go down, and the pistol flies out of his hands, spinning through the air and landing just beyond Sheridan. I’m lying on my side, trying to hold Ransom down, when I see it happen: Sheridan scrambling on her knees in the snow, scooping the pistol up.
I don’t know why her hands are cuffed in front of her . . . maybe because fifty-year-old women aren’t dangerous? This one is, and I’m not allowed to shoot her. I can’t even hit her, because Ahab Matugo will not take her if she’s hurt.
I let Ransom go and scramble to my knees. Sheridan swings the gun toward me. She’s shaking with cold. I don’t know how well she can aim. There’s a good chance she’ll miss, and if she doesn’t, my armor might protect me. So I lunge for the gun—but Ransom is already on his feet. He shoves me aside just as the shot goes off.
The slug impacts his armor, knocking the wind out of him and turning him half around. Sheridan closes on him while he’s off balance, moving as fast as an AI made flesh. Jaynie can’t stop her. Neither can I. And Ransom is not thinking straight. He’ll kill her, I know it, and the mission will fail.
“Ransom, don’t hurt her!”
He looks at me, not at her, and she uses the opening. Ransom is wearing body armor. His helmet and visor protect his head, but Sheridan is a DC. She knows how the gear works. She knows where it’s vulnerable. She just steps in next to him, jams the pistol up under his jaw to steady her shaking hand, and pulls the trigger. His head jerks back. Blood sprays over Sheridan’s upturned face and peppers the snow. She puts two more fast shots into his brain before I can grab the gun, before Jaynie can grab her.
Ransom collapses, his status flashing on my visor like it’s some fucking video game: Matthew Ransom, deceased.
“Fuck!” I scream. “God-damn, God-damn, God-damn.”
I’m a millimeter from meltdown. The skullnet can’t keep up with my fury, my despair. Jaynie knows it. She scoops up Sheridan using the strength of her arm struts, and tramps off through the snow, carrying her to the snowcat.
“She fucking killed him!” I scream at Jaynie’s back.
Ransom is at my feet, his blood pooling in the snow. I look from his body to the pistol I’m holding. I want to jam its muzzle against the back of Sheridan’s skull; I want to put a bullet right into her brain.
“You fucking idiot, Ransom,” I whisper off-com.
But I can’t roll back time, and the mission is not over yet. We need to move. So I hook my arm strut in the frame of Ransom’s dead sister and haul him across the snow, dropping him close to Kendrick. I gather my gear. The pistol goes into my pack; the pack goes over my shoulder. I pick up my HITR and shoulder that too. With the gear secured, I turn to Kendrick. One arm hook goes around the shoulder bar of his dead sister; the other I use to hook Ransom. Then I set out across the snow, hauling both of them with me.
Four minutes and forty-five seconds have passed since we launched our ambush.
“More vehicles coming down the hill,” Jaynie says over gen-com.
“Roger that.”
Sheridan is in the snowcat’s front passenger seat, her hands tied behind the seat, her feet tied together and tied down.
Jaynie helps me get Kendrick stripped out of his rig and settled into the backseat. His blood pressure is low, but he seems stable. “Colonel, clear your visor, please. If you can.”
He does it. His eyes are half-open, his lip curled in disgust or in pain, I don’t know. “Get us the fuck out of here,” he whispers.
“Working on it, sir.”
I jump down and close the door. The plan was for Kendrick to drive. I can do it if I have to, but I want to hold a weapon.
“Jaynie, can you drive this thing?”
“I had a lesson this morning.”
“It’s yours then.”
I throw Kendrick’s rig and his weapon into the cargo bed, and then Jaynie helps me load Ransom. She returns to the cab, puts the cat into gear. I hear what sounds like two more snowmobiles. Trees block my line of sight to the switchbacks, so I access angel sight, and I see them, speeding down toward the bottom of the hill. Another snowcat is farther up.
Behind me, Jaynie coaxes our hijacked snowcat across the ditch that we blasted in the road. “You coming, Shelley?” she asks over gen-com.
“Yeah.” I turn and bound over the ditch, then haul myself into the snowcat’s cargo bed, alongside Ransom. “Go.”
The snowmobiles reach the bottom of the ridge just as she lays on the speed. Rooster tails of snow are thrown up behind us, making it hard to see exactly where they are. I’ve got Kendrick’s and Ransom’s weapons in the back with me. I grab one, salvaging two grenades from its magazine, transferring them to mine. Then I aim straight down the road and fire.
“Status?” Jaynie asks.
I can’t see much past the rooster tails, so I switch to angel sight. I don’t see either snowmobile on the road, but then I pick them up in the forest. “They’re trying to flank us.”
But weaving through the trees has slowed them down, and the airfield is not far away. I hope like hell Sergeant Nolan has got it secured. I push through a link.
“Nolan, status?”
“LT! Are you going to make it?”
“Status!”
“We’re on schedule. Lucius Perez has identified himself. Flynn’s with him. They’re working with the pilot to get the plane ready. We’ve located and secured twelve Vanda-Sheridan personnel on the top floor of the blockhouse.”
“Were they mercs?”
“Four Uther-Fen . . . two of those might not live.”
“The rest?”
“Maintenance personnel. A little roughed up. Nothing serious. They told us there were four more mercs living on the hill.”
“We made the arrest, but the enemy is coming after us. Two snowmobiles in the forest, either side of the road.”
“Harvey and Tuttle are stationed at the end of the road. They’ll cover you. Got that, Harvey?”
“Roger that,” she says.
I’m still watching the snowmobiles with angel sight. The one on the ocean side of the road is almost parallel with us. “Harvey, one of the mercs might get to you before we do.”
“Hope so, sir.”
“Don’t let them get past you. They could try to crater the runway, or blockade it.” That’s what I’d do: make it impossible for the plane to take off. “Nolan, when’s the plane going to be ready?”
“They’re moving it to the end of the runway—the inland end. Because of the mountains, we need to take off over the sea.”
“Got it.”
“LT, about the pilot . . .” The hesitation in Nolan’s voice tells me bad news is coming. “So far she’s cooperating, but she isn’t part of our operation. She doesn’t know what’s going on. Perez woke her up, told her she’s got an emergency flight—that’s all she knows. She’s thinking it’s a hijacking.”
“Perez said he had a pi
lot lined up.”
“Yeah. Guess he forgot to tell her about it.”
So we get to kidnap an innocent woman.
I decide I don’t like Perez. He betrayed Sheridan, he betrayed the pilot, and for all I know, he’s planning to betray us too.
“Stand by.” I link to Flynn. “Consider Perez to be hostile. Don’t let him near the controls. Cuff him if you have to. How’s our pilot holding up?”
“Perez is sweet-talking her. I think she wants to slug him, but she keeps eyeing my gun. She respects that.”
“If she doesn’t cooperate, shoot Perez. We don’t need him anymore.”
“Yes, sir.”
The map on my visor puts us two hundred meters from the airfield when a fireball explodes behind one of the snowmobiles. Three quick bursts of automatic-weapons fire follow, sounding like a HITR. “Status?” I demand.
“One snowmobile down,” Harvey says.
Tuttle adds, “The other one’s pulled back.”
The pursuing snowcat is still on the road behind us, but it’s not catching up.
With angel sight I see Harvey and Tuttle on foot, where the road joins the airfield. I can’t see Nolan and Moon, but the map places them near the first hangar building. “Who do I need to pick up?” I ask.
“I’ll take care of it,” Nolan says. “I’ve acquired a vehicle that’s faster than that thing you’re in.”
“It’s going to take us a couple minutes to transfer the prisoner and our wounded onto the plane.”
“Sir, it’s a damn big plane. Suggest you save time and just drive on board.”
I have to think about that for a few seconds. “What kind of plane are we talking about, Sergeant?”
“An old C-17 Globemaster. DCs have all the best toys.”
“You listening, Jaynie?”
“Yes, sir. Drive on board.”
The trees open up. I look ahead, to see the hangars and the three-story blockhouse where employees live. The buildings stand alongside the runway. The snowplows have done their job. The runway is clear, along with the tarmac in front of the hangars. There’s not even a fence to get in our way.
“Hold on tight, Shelley,” Jaynie warns.
I feel her downshift. The snowcat tilts up as we meet a berm of plowed snow. We climb, and then the snow gives way beneath the tracks, sending us lurching down again, riding a tiny avalanche onto the tarmac.
I don’t know how well the snowcat will do on pavement, but we’re about to find out. Jaynie makes a ninety-degree turn, and we’re paralleling the runway. In the shadow of the hangar, I see a pickup truck begin to move. Night vision shows me the driver, identified as Nolan in my visor. The figure in the cargo bed is Moon. No lights are on. We pass the truck, climbing back through the gears. The tracks hammer the pavement, setting the snowcat vibrating so hard I feel like my bones are going to shake loose. “Wha’ fuck kind of suspension is this?” Kendrick whispers over gen-com.
“Won’t be long, sir,” Jaynie says.
I prop a foot over Ransom to make sure his body doesn’t get bounced out.
Angel sight shows me the pursuing snowcat, stopped two hundred meters back along the road, just out of Harvey’s line of sight. I don’t know where the second snowmobile has gone.
The angel tracks me. It’s moving ahead to the inland end of the runway, where a monster plane awaits us, its wings, belly, and tail defined by navigation lights blazing in night vision.
Over the rattling of the snowcat, I hear a grenade go off. A fierce exchange of small-arms fire follows. Then Nolan’s voice: “Tuttle, report.”
“Fucking sons of bitches,” Tuttle swears in a pained whisper.
This pisses Nolan off. “Report now! Are you wounded?”
“Mule-kicked! Two enemy down, Sergeant. Two more possibly at large near the hangar.”
“Leave them,” I say. “We’re getting on that plane now.”
Jaynie questions me. “They could hit us with a rocket on our way out, LT.”
“Fuck ’em. We’ve got their queen. You think they’re willing to burn her?”
“I guess we find out.”
• • • •
Nolan swings around in his pickup truck to collect Harvey and Tuttle. A few seconds later, he blasts past the snowcat. By the time we reach the plane, Harvey and Moon are on the ground, ready to shoot anything besides us that moves. Tuttle is inside the plane, while Nolan waits at the foot of the ramp, light from the interior blazing around him. I jump down from the snowcat’s cargo bed as Jaynie lines up her approach to the ramp.
The angel is above us. I take a last look through its camera eyes. The pursuing snowcat has reached the end of the road. I don’t see anyone else. Tuttle reported two possible at large, but I haven’t seen them yet. On gen-com I announce, “I’m calling the angel in.” Then I issue the order for the little drone to descend.
The snowcat rumbles up the ramp.
“Harvey, Moon—inside now.” They come at a trot. Their footplates bang on the ramp. I follow them, and behind me, the three-foot-long crescent wing of our angel drifts in—the last member of our LCS.
The snowcat looks small within the cavernous space of the C-17’s empty cargo hold. Fold-down seats line the walls, with equipment racks above them. Above the racks, banks of white, rectangular panel lights shine so brightly that my helmet switches out of night vision.
“Roll call,” I say as gen-com automatically filters out most of the engine noise.
The answers come in designated order:
A whisper: “Kendrick.”
“Shelley,” I say.
“Vasquez.”
“Nolan.”
“Harvey.”
“Moon.”
“Tuttle.”
We all freeze, waiting for a response from Flynn. Fear grips me when it doesn’t come. “Private Flynn! You there?”
“Yes, sir. In the cockpit. But we skipped Ransom—” Her voice catches. “Oh shit. I’m sorry, sir.”
“Tuttle!” I bark. “Get the ramp up. Nolan, you’re up front. Make sure the cockpit’s secure. If either the pilot or Perez is not cooperative, let me know. And tell the pilot to get us the fuck out of here.”
“You got it, sir.” He starts to go, but then hesitates. His hand disappears into his pocket, comes out again with a high-end tablet phone. “Almost forgot. I took this off Perez.” He hands it to me, then bounds up the length of the empty cargo hold, the footplates of his dead sister banging on the aluminum deck. He disappears up the ladder to the cockpit.
I look the phone over, confirm it’s off, then slip it in my pocket.
We’re depending on the pilot now—and on how much Thelma Sheridan’s remaining mercs value their employer’s life. The plane vibrates as we begin to move; the engine noise ramps up.
Tuttle is directing Moon as they put tie-downs on the snowcat. “When you’re done with that, get a litter set up for Kendrick.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Jaynie, you and Harvey get the prisoner out of the snowcat. Make sure she is secured, hand and foot.”
“On it.”
I go to see Kendrick, still in the back of the snowcat. He’s taken his helmet off. It’s on the floor at his feet, but he dug the audio loop out and has it hooked over his ear so he’s still linked to gen-com. He’s limp against the seat, sweating despite the cold. His eyes are only half-open, but they shift to look at me.
“How you doing, sir?”
“I’m fucked. Why aren’t you up front?”
“Nolan’s on it.”
“You don’t know if we’re on the right course.”
“I’ll check on it when we’re in the air.”
Sheridan is trussed in the front seat, but she’s half turned around, watching me, looking a little worried at last, her pensive face splattered wi
th Ransom’s blood. Jaynie opens the front passenger door and climbs in. She’s taken off her pack and her dead sister so she can move easily in the confined space. Sheridan whips her head around to look at Jaynie, while the vibration of the plane amps up as we speed down the runway.
If Carl Vanda is going to try to stop us from taking off, he has to do it now.
I watch Jaynie cut the plastic shackles that hold Sheridan to the middle seat. I’m ready to intervene if I have to, but Sheridan’s not stupid. There’s nowhere for her to run, no one to come to her rescue. Not yet. So she cooperates, climbing down from the snowcat as the C-17 lifts into the air.
“We’re away,” Nolan says over gen-com.
No one cheers.
Jaynie and Harvey take hold of Sheridan’s arms and walk her away from the snowcat.
“Your turn, sir,” I tell Kendrick. Using the strength of my arm struts, I lift him out of the backseat. He groans in agony, but there’s nothing I can do. Tuttle and Moon help me get him to the litter they’ve set up. “Moon, you stay with him. Do what you can.”
“Right, sir.” He doesn’t sound confident.
I take Tuttle with me. First we stop to check on Sheridan. Jaynie has her in one of the fold-down seats. Her hands are loosely cuffed behind her back. Her ankles are cuffed to the seat supports. “My shoulders are aching,” she complains to me in a firm voice easy to hear over the engine noise. I don’t say anything. Harvey is standing by, fully rigged, keeping watch.
I signal Tuttle. We return to the snowcat for Ransom’s body, laying it out on the side of the cargo hold. With Jaynie’s help, we get the rest of the gear out.
I link to gen-com. “Nolan, we haven’t made our turn north yet, right? We’re still over the ocean?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell the pilot I’m going to open the aft ramp.”
We’re flying halfway around the world. I want to max out the distance before I have to worry about refueling, which means I’m not going to carry unnecessary cargo.
Jaynie helps me remove the tie-downs on the snowcat as Tuttle lowers the ramp. She climbs into the driver’s seat, puts the snowcat in reverse, and jumps down. Together we watch it roll backward. It reaches the end of the ramp, tips over the edge, and drops away. I watch it in night vision, spinning and tumbling as it begins its long fall to the Gulf of Alaska.
