Fear and Anger (The 47 Echo Series)

by Shawn Kupfer

  Nick had never been able to give himself any sort of functional pep talk, so he was surprised when he started feeling more confident. It was probably just that he was so tired, but man... when his brain laid it out like that, things seemed doable. Workable. Like he was actually going to make it out of this completely insane situation pretty much unscathed.

  Even as he had the thought, Nick felt himself straighten up in his seat, felt his shoulders push back and his chest puff out.

  He was going to beat the odds. Again.

  Sure, there was still the matter of probably a hundred highly-trained, well-outfitted PLA Special Operators lying in wait for him... but he’d either make it past them, or he wouldn’t. No sense in worrying about it until he had to. And he hadn’t picked up any evidence of a large unit the closer he got to the North Korean border – no suspicious helicopters, no APCs or tanks barreling down on him, no assault vehicles ramming him off the road. Maybe Jason Black was wrong.

  Over the course of the next forty-five minutes, Nick managed to convince himself that Jason Black was, indeed, wrong. He was approaching the Amur River, formerly the border between Russia and China, though now North Korea had a huge chunk of former Russian soil. Black’s GPS had Nick taking a small, wooden regional bridge across the river, then shooting off into back roads into the forests. Even if there were a hundred Ghost operators out here, Nick realized, they would have to be spread very thin – the border was huge. If they placed people at every crossing the GPS had loaded... well, it was possible he’d be looking at maybe ten people.

  Totally doable.

  Just as Nick had the thought, he saw the helicopters. There were three of them, and they were all huge, and almost silent. He’d seen the design before, at an outpost outside of Datong. He’d also seen the same type of chopper level a four-story building with gunfire. “Doable” had just gone out the window.

  It’s maybe five seconds before they open fire, and bulletproof or not, you’re fucked unless you do something, Nick thought, turning off all the car’s lights – headlights, running lights, even dashboard lights – and switching his TotalVis goggles over to night vision. It wasn’t ideal – night vision tended to fuck with one’s depth perception – but it was better than giving the choppers lights to target in on.

  He jammed the gas and zigzagged the car on and off the road, trying to make it harder for the choppers to get any sort of lock on him. They’d still get him, but Nick was going to be damned if he was going to make it easy on them.

  It took Nick a full 30 seconds of this Dukes of Hazzard routine before he realized that no one was shooting at him. The helicopters, bristling with guns, were floating silently just in front of him, keeping pace but not taking any action.

  “It’s because they want you alive, dumbass,” Nick said, shaking his head, straightening out the car, and slowing down to a respectable 60 miles an hour. It wasn’t as if he could outrun them – even the cheapest commercial chopper could go faster than his supercharged little sedan – and smashing into a tree at 100mph wasn’t the way he wanted to go. He’d just have to keep heading for the border and wait for Ghost to make its move.

  The choppers had probably been flying a search pattern, Nick realized, hoping to pick up a lone car headed for North Korea. His freakout and subsequent display of high-school-level evasive driving had done nothing but confirm that yes, indeed, this was the car they were looking for.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. You didn’t used to fuck up this much.

  Nick hated to admit it, but his abused, REM-starved brain had a point. He’d been a shitshow for the last few days, making one bad decision after another. And this most recent fuckup would probably land him in a Chinese prison for the rest of whatever life he had left before someone decided to torture him to death.

  The North Korean border was only ten minutes away now, and aside from the choppers floating just ahead of him like bored phantoms, there was no sign of any Special Operations presence. The helicopters kept on course with the road, almost as if...

  They’re leading you right into the kill zone.

  Nick blinked a few times as if that would clear his mind as well as his vision, but both remained spotty. He had two options, as near as he could figure: continue down the road and take his chances with whatever Ghost had waiting for him, or try to off-road it. The sedan wasn’t built for off-road, and there was still the small problem of crossing the Amur River. The only bridge nearby he knew of was the one on his GPS, and there was no telling how far he’d have to go in either direction to find another one. Besides, even if he did, the choppers wouldn’t have much problem beating him to the next bridge, too.

  “When one has made a decision to kill a person, it will not do to go about it in a roundabout way. It is best to charge in headlong,” Nick mumbled under his breath before he realized what he was saying.

  The Hagakure. His dad made him read it more than once. The things his father had said had kept him alive thus far, so why not this one, too?

  Bet I can cut it down to seven minutes if I floor it, Nick thought, jamming the accelerator to the carpet.

  For a few minutes, nothing changed. The helicopters hung a couple of football fields ahead of him, matching his speed but making no attempt to intercept. Nick wondered if they might be drones, but their size precluded that – if he was to guess, each one had room for 20 or more troops, even with all of the weapons systems pointing out from every angle.

  It was odd. Part of his brain knew he was caught, that the best thing for him to do was stop, throw his weapons as far from him as possible, and get used to the idea of being a POW. But the rest of him clung to the belief that he’d find a way out of this alive, and that he’d get to see his friends again. Logic seemed to hold no sway with the latter part of his brain; it was operating exclusively on adrenaline, on fear and anger.

  Fuck them. No way I’m stopping now.

  A mile and a half from the bridge, one of the helicopters finally broke formation, swooping low over the roadway a hundred yards ahead of Nick’s car. It didn’t stop or slow down, but a large screen on the back of the chopper flickered on. It displayed two syllables – “停止”.

  Stop.

  That was all it said, and the message wasn’t repeated in English. That was a bad sign – it meant they knew who they were dealing with, and they knew Nick could read Chinese. How they found his information was something he couldn’t worry about now, though. He was focused on disobeying that single command.

  The speedometer was already at 140, but Nick gave it a little more gas, coaxing the sedan up to 155. The chopper floated away from the road, rejoining its two friends back in formation. Nick watched it ascend, then got his eyes back on the road. As he did, he immediately saw the reason the chopper had displayed that command.

  The small, wooden bridge was completely blocked by a ZTZ-99A tank. The massive vehicle could barely squeeze on to the small regional bridge, and there was maybe six inches of clearance on either side.

  Nick slammed on the brakes, the tires screaming as he forced them from 155 miles an hour to a dead stop in the space of about 300 feet. Feng had put good brakes on the car, but Nick was traveling so fast he barely missed slamming into the huge tank. His front wheels were on the bridge already, and the car had slid slightly to the right during the braking maneuver, which meant Nick could see the wooden guard rail through his windshield. He’d have to back up – going forward would just wedge him in tighter.

  Checking the rearview, he saw that backing up was a no-go. The choppers were landing in formation, blocking off the road and the level ground on either side. It wouldn’t be long before troops started pouring out, wouldn’t be long before he was bound, gagged, and thrown into one of those choppers for a long flight back to a Chinese prison. It was time to give up. Ghost had played their hand and played it well. Nick had to give it to them. They’d won.

  At least he’d finally be able to get some sleep now.

  When he opened the driver�
��s door, he thought he was going to get out, throw his M4 into the Amur River, and surrender. The logical part of his brain had convinced him that this was, now, his only option. At some point over the last few days, though, the logical part of his brain had been shoved in the backseat, and whatever psychotic, angry monster that had been lurking in the darker corners had come into the light and taken the wheel.

  Nick did get out of the car. He held his M4 at arm’s length with one hand, holding it by the barrel so everyone could see he didn’t plan to fire.

  But he didn’t throw the gun into the river. That’s what he thought he was going to do, but he was as surprised as Unit Ghost must have been when he started running straight at the tank. In three steps, he took a leap, scrambling up onto the left side of the vehicle just above the treads. The hatch at the top popped open, and a soldier appeared to grab the machine gun mounted in front of the hatch. Nick was still holding his M4 by the barrel in his left hand; still running, he grabbed it with his right, as well, and swung it as hard as he could at the soldier, connecting with the guy’s chin just below his helmet. He didn’t even look to see if he’d knocked the man out, but by the lack of gunfire, he must have.

  Nick just kept running, hopping off the back of the tank and pounding across the bridge. He heard shouts behind him, but they were distorted, fuzzy. He put them out of his mind and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Faster. Faster.

  He felt the wood under his feet shift to concrete, and he turned left, heading for an outcropping of trees. The concrete turned to soil. Ducking under branches and hopping over rocks, Nick put everything he had into his legs.

  If they wanted him, they were going to have to chase him.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Gunned Down

  First hide spot was a no-go – nothing but trees and more trees, and an abandoned factory that contained a single, wooden table in the middle of a huge, open building. Someone had gotten to it and gutted it long ago.

  Christopher had gotten about an hour’s sleep off and on between hide spots one and two, and he was feeling slightly more himself. It turned out Bryce was right about Carson – the kid was sketchy on the first sweep. When Christopher spoke to him, the Ranger jumped noticeably, like he’d gotten a low-level electric shock. That kind of anxiety could get him or one of Christopher’s people killed, and he couldn’t have that. Time to build the kid back up.

  “Approaching location two,” Bryce told him, stifling a yawn. Christopher realized he didn’t know when his driver had slept last.

  “Carson –” Christopher said. The kid jumped again. Christopher pretended not to notice. “This one’s yours. Pick your team and sweep the area. Sing out if you see anything.”

  “Uh. Right. Copy that, Gunny. Peter, Mike, Martin. You’re with me.”

  Wrong. Take Daniel to cover you on long guns. Leave Mike or Peter here to cover you on the fifties, Christopher thought, but he didn’t say it. He had to let Carson make the call.

  Peter shot a glance at Christopher as Carson turned away to gear up, and Christopher gave him a little nod. He hoped his message was clear – let the kid do his thing. Peter nodded back and grabbed his SAW.

  “Anthony, put their comms on speakers,” Christopher said after the team jumped out. “Daniel –”

  “I’m on it, Chris,” the sniper said, climbing up into the right-hand .50 turret.

  “Gabe, take over at cameras. Try to keep an eye on them.”

  The medic nodded and moved up to the camera station, raising the chair a bit before sitting down. His legs still splayed out on the floor, but the chair only went so high, and Gabriel was a big dude.

  “Pete, go ahead and take Martin and check that structure on the left,” Carson’s voice said over the comms. “Mike, get my back. We’re going for that small hill. See it?”

  “Hard to miss, Sergeant,” Mike’s voice said.

  For a few minutes, there was nothing over the comm lines. Christopher got up and paced the length of the Razor, walking all the way back to Mary’s station by the back door. She gave him a small smile, which he tried to return. He wasn’t sure he was successful – he felt like he was grimacing. As he headed back up to the front of the vehicle, he glanced over Gabriel’s shoulder – he had thermals on Peter and Martin, who were inside what looked like a large, metal building – a warehouse or hangar. There was no one else on thermals with them. Another camera had a view of the hill Carson had spoken of, but there were no thermals.

  “Went behind the hill,” Gabriel explained, tapping the screen with his sausage-like index finger. “White boy moves pretty fast, though. Looked like Mike was jogging to keep up.”

  “Yeah, Mike needs to cut down on the cigarettes,” Christopher said.

  “Which of us doesn’t?”

  “Fair point. You know, I used to smuggle those things up from Haiti and Cuba all the time. Never started smoking ‘em until I got here. How’s that for –”

  A burst of static cut him off. Then, over the comms, gunfire.

  “Hostiles! Hostiles!” Michael shouted.

  “Bryce, get us to them. Anthony, tell Martin and Pete –”

  “On it, Chief,” Anthony called.

  Christopher jumped into his seat and brought up the targeting matrix for the Razor’s missile pods. The gunfire continued over the speakers, and Michael tried to say something, but the weapons drowned him out. Bryce manhandled the Razor around the long curve of the hill at a steady 60 miles an hour, and thermal images finally popped up on Christopher’s targeting screen. There was one vehicle – the Razor’s computer identified it as a BTR-80 Armored Personnel Carrier – flanked on both sides by soldiers with guns. The computer helpfully auto-targeted the weak spot, a lightly-armored side door, so all Christopher had to do was double-tap to fire. He sent two rockets flying. At the same time, he heard Daniel open up with the Razor’s top-mounted .50.

  The thermal glowed white when the BTR-80 went up. Christopher could hear the explosion, but they were still too far out to feel anything. His screen cleared, and he could see one soldier up and running away. That soldier quickly pitched face-down, and Daniel’s .50 cut off a second later.

  “They’re down. You got ‘em all,” Michael radioed. He sounded out of breath. “I’m at the back door. Let me the fuck in.”

  Mary opened the back door, and Michael struggled in, Carson slung over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Without Christopher having to say a word, Gabriel was on his feet, rushing to the center of the Razor and dropping the lowest fold-down rack on the truck’s left side. Michael lowered Carson onto the bunk, then shook out his arms.

  “Fuck, he’s heavy.”

  “Where’s he hurt?” Gabriel asked, grabbing the medical kit and dumping the contents on the floor in front of him.

  “Shoulder and right leg, at least. NoKo caught him with a spray as I shot the fucker, ripped diagonally. His armor took a couple, but he’s bleeding a bunch,” Michael told him.

  “Grab your flashlight and point it where I tell you,” Gabriel said, grabbing a pair of scissors in his right hand and a squeeze bottle of saline in his left.

  “Need an extra pair of hands?” Christopher asked, getting up from his seat and heading back to the center of the truck.

  “Just need room, Chief. Mike’s got my back.”

  “Shout if you need me.”

  “Will do.”

  Martin and Peter came aboard a moment later while Gabriel was still working. Peter took one look at the Ranger sprawled on the rack and looked over to Christopher, shaking his head. Christopher got the message. He’d fucked up by letting the kid call the shots. He knew it, Peter definitely knew it.

  “Mike?” Christopher asked.

  “NoKo encampment on the other side of the hill. Not too many guys – small unit like ours. Carson reached for his gun, and I guess they got a glint off his scope or something. They laid into us. I hit the ground and opened up, but Carson wasn’t fast enough.”

&n
bsp; “We get them all?”

  “You killed ‘em so hard they probably skipped purgatory and went straight to Hell,” Mike said.

  “Flashlight down here, Mikey,” Gabriel said, pointing to Carson’s upper thigh.

  “How is he?”

  “Lucky as fuck, so far. Some ugly shit near the subclavian, but I managed to shut that down. His leg... missed the femoral, I think. Not enough blood. Looks like the bullet’s still in the muscle. I’ll plug it up like the through-and-through to the shoulder, but it’s safer to leave the bullet in until we can get his ass to a hospital.”

  “He gonna live?” Michael asked.

  “Live, probably. Depends on how soon we get him to a surgeon if he’s gonna be able to use the arm or the leg again, though.”

  “Do what you can for him. Daniel, get on the cameras and make a sweep. Make sure we got everyone. Give Bryce the OK when we’re good to proceed,” Christopher ordered.

  “Look at the bright side,” Bryce said in a low voice as Christopher took his seat. “At least he won’t be questioning your orders again.”

  Christopher glared at his driver, who for a second almost grinned.

  “What? Like you weren’t thinking the same thing?”

  “Shut up, Bryce.”

  “Shutting up, Gunnery Sergeant. Sir.”

  Christopher knew his driver was just trying to lighten the mood, but he really, really wanted to slap the guy. It wasn’t because of the sarcasm or the attempt at black humor – that happened all the time. It was because Bryce was right. Christopher had thought the exact same thing. At least Carson would shut up for a while now. It was a horrible thing to think, but seeing someone shot just didn’t move the needle much anymore. He’d seen it too many times to get upset by it, and truth be told, he didn’t like the young Ranger much. He didn’t want him dead, despite the empty threat he’d made earlier... but having him laid up did make things easier on Christopher. Carson was the one unstable element on his team, the one person he hadn’t developed a working relationship with over the past eighteen months. Taking him out of the equation meant the team could function as it should.