by David Adams
Worrying thoughts wormed into his mind. The crazies were stronger than normal, tougher, more resilient…surely they couldn’t see in the dark, too.
Surely not.
Probably.
Pavlov flipped the image on his visor’s thermal camera to white-hot to increase contrast. “The stairway down to the basement is about twenty metres ahead,” he said, keeping his weapon raised. “Straight down the steps and follow the green. You can’t miss it.”
Dmitriev waved his flashlight from wall to wall, briefly washing out Pavlov’s thermal camera. “You guys will go first, right? And kill those arseholes?”
“Yes,” Pavlov said, the memory of Dmitriev sabotaging his rifle still fresh in his mind. “Assuming my gun works this time.”
“Hey, I said I was sorry about that.”
“Well, that makes nearly getting me killed with your incompetence and paranoia totally okay then.”
Ilyukhina used the camera on the side of her rifle to glance around the corner. “Clear,” she said.
Pavlov advanced to the staircase down to the basement. The metal bulkheads were apt at muffling sound, but the silence all around him seemed eerily oppressive, thick enough to strangle him. The scientists had showed their hand early…but where were the rest of Pavlov’s Dogs?
He motioned for Ilyukhina to check the stairway. She crept past him, up to the edge. Pavlov leaned around her, keeping her covered.
Ilyukhina stuck her rifle around the corner, examining the view for a moment.
“Looks clear,” she said, taking a step forward.
Her chest snagged on something Pavlov couldn’t see. The faint squeak of metal-on-metal hurt his teeth, followed by a click. A thin metal pin fell from the ceiling, plinking off Ilyukhina’s shoulder plate.
Pavlov looked up just in time to see a grenade tumble out of an air vent.
CHAPTER 34
Hammerfall
“SHIT,” SAID PAVLOV, “GRENADE! GRENADE! Back!”
The lemon-shaped device thumped on the metal deck. Ilyukhina stumbled back, her rifle falling out of her hands and clattering down the stairs. Her breastplate was caught up in the tripwire. With a flash of steel, Ilyukhina drew her knife and slashed at it. The thin cable resisted the steel’s edge.
The grenade’s fuse could only last seconds. Ilyukhina hacked wildly at the wire, trying to free herself.
Dmitriev grabbed Pavlov’s shoulder and yanked him back. “We have to get out of here!”
Solid advice. Pavlov couldn’t free Ilyukhina if he tried. But he couldn’t leave her there to get blown up.
Instead, he took a third option. Pavlov threw his rifle to the side, snatched up the grenade, and hurled it down the stairwell. It rang against the metal, bouncing and rolling down the stairs. Strangely mesmerised, Pavlov watched it tumble.
“Down!” shouted Ilyukhina, grabbing him and pulling him back against the floor.
The grenade exploded, sending hot fragments everywhere, a shockwave reverberating through the bulkheads of the facility. Dust flew out from the stairwell.
“Holy shit,” said Pavlov, pulling himself to the lip of the stairwell and looking over. Someone in spetsnaz armour sat at the base of the stairwell, slumped over, blackened and peppered with fragments.
“Contact!” he shouted. “Bottom of the stairs!”
Pavlov grabbed his rifle and put two rounds into centre mass, high-velocity rounds screeching as they bit into the armour and flesh beneath. The body didn’t move.
He climbed to his feet and, crouched low, began to walk down the stairs. Down, down, down. Step by step. Pavlov advanced cautiously, rifle alternating between tracking the prone figure and scanning the rest of the basement for threats. The green light cast harsh shadows everywhere, each one capable of hiding a person. He alternated between thermals and optics, taking the steps one at a time until there were no more steps and he was standing right beside the body.
It still didn’t move.
Then he realised why. The helmet was glued on the suit’s shoulders. There was no head beneath it.
It was Karpola’s body. Pavlov exhaled loudly and was, not for the first time, glad his visor kept the smell out. The crazies had propped the body up at the base of the stairs like some kind of scarecrow.
“Fucking hell,” said Ilyukhina, following right behind him. She reached out and poked the visor. It fell off with a clank. “That’s morbid as fuck.”
“I think you got him,” said Dmitriev, eyeing the helmet.
He didn’t feel like explaining the whole thing to him just now. “You okay?” Pavlov asked Ilyukhina.
“Yeah,” she said, shaking her head. “Goddamn booby trap. Goddamn wire. Damn.”
“Aye,” said Pavlov, unable to help himself. “A booby trap. ‘Cuz it caught your boobies.”
The two of them exchanged a very serious look and then burst out laughing.
* * *
Pavlov’s Cell
“You’re a child, you know that?” said Yanovna, her scowl as hard as the Varyag’s hull plating. “You realise that if the court martial you’re heading to finds you guilty, they’ll hang you?”
“Mmm hmm,” said Pavlov. “Yup. Gotta have a laugh though.” He smiled. “So, anyway…”
* * *
Basement
Hammerfall
Pavlov sized up the reactor as Ilyukhina moved Karpola’s body to one side of the basement.
It was a large device, throbbing with power, and his target—the two large cooling pipes full of a green fluid and lit up by some internal light—glowed tantalisingly, teasing him with their potential.
“You sure you want to do this?” asked Dmitriev. “I’m not an engineer. We don’t know exactly how large the blast radius will be, or how long we’ll have to escape it.”
“Yeah,” said Pavlov.
“It might just explode instantly, killing us all.”
“Yeah,” said Pavlov.
“Or your rifle might not be able to penetrate the cooling pipes. The crazies will have us pinned down here, and—”
“Yeah,” said Pavlov. “I know. I got it. It’s a bad plan, but we’re here now, so…” He glanced over his shoulder. “You two should find some cover.”
They did so, retreating up the stairs, leaving Pavlov alone in the lurid, green basement.
He hesitated for just a moment, but that would get him nowhere. Decisions had to be made. Pavlov pressed his rifle in against his shoulder, snug and tight, sighted in one of the bright green cooling pipes and squeezed the trigger.
The pipe buckled and cracked. Pavlov fired again and again. Rounds ricocheted around the room, screaming as they bounced off walls and the floor and ceiling. Heedless to the danger, Pavlov kept shooting until finally the thing burst, spraying out thick, green fluid all over the floor.
Red light flooded the room and a wailing alarm klaxon rang out, followed by a gentle male voice.
“Warning. Reactor coolant leak. Stand by for damage control team deployment. This is not a drill. Warning. Reactor coolant leak. Stand by…”
If the crazies hadn’t known where they were before, they did now.
CHAPTER 35
Basement
Hammerfall
THE ALARMS WAILED. PAVLOV CLIMBED the stairs, rejoining the other two at the top.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said, and the look on the faces of the other two showed he had their full support.
Ilyukhina took the lead, Pavlov covered the rear, and Dmitriev swept the side corridors as they moved, racing back to the hole they had blown in the entrance.
Three turns. Two. One. Ilyukhina checked the corner with her camera and held up her fist. Stop!
They stopped.
She held up two fingers, like a peace sign. She touched her arm, waggled her fist, then swayed her hand limply.
Two contacts. Enemy. Vehicle by the point of entry.
Vehicle? Pavlov squinted at her, repeating her sign.
Vehicle!
she signed emphatically, waggling her fist harder. Vehicle!
Pavlov risked a glance around the side, and found himself staring at a tank wedged into the blackened and scorched blast hole, the gun barrel poking through the threshold.
The tank had Separatist markings. Was that on their side? Where the hell had it come from?
Pavlov motioned for Dmitriev to move up.
One look and the answer was swift.
Enemy! Dmitriev signed frantically. The tank wasn’t one of his. Enemy!
No way out that direction. Even if they had something to pop its armour, the wreckage would block the way out.
The three of them retreated back down the tunnel.
“That’s not one of ours,” said Dmitriev, keeping his voice hushed as though if he spoke too loud the walls would hear him. “That tank went missing a week ago. The crew got the crazy. I thought they’d just driven it into a bog or something.”
Well, shit.
“Where should we go now?” asked Ilyukhina, her visor lighting up. “If the main entrance is still sealed—”
“Which it will be,” said Pavlov.
“Then there’s no way out.”
Solution. They needed a solution.
“The bombers,” said Pavlov, the solution hitting him like a thunderbolt. “The bombers! Of course!”
“What?” asked Dmitriev. “Bombers?”
Pavlov snapped his fingers. “We got bombed, remember?”
“Yes,” said Dmitriev, slowly, like he was talking to a child. “I do remember, I was there.”
“Well, before that…back when we were housed here. We couldn’t call for extraction or help because Hammerfall’s communications array was damaged. But the crazies were able to call in bombers to hit our SAM battery, so they must have fixed it and gotten a signal through to the Varyag.”
“Yeah,” said Dmitriev, his tone dark. “A signal telling them to wipe us all out.”
“Us?” Ilyukhina smirked. “Speak for yourself, rebel scum. They’re on our side. We’re going home. You’re going to a prison cell.”
“Rebel scum? Wow. Name-calling. Rude.”
“Oh no,” said Ilyukhina. “My sticks and stones will be confiscated.”
Dmitriev smirked back. “Actually, I’m confident my government will ransom me back at their first opportunity. I’ll be sipping tequila in Mexico City in a fortnight.”
Ilyukhina flashed a confused, angry stare. “What government? What are you talking about?”
“He’s UE,” said Pavlov, shaking his head. “Some kind of meddling spook.”
She snarled at him. “You knew?”
“I only found out yesterday. It’s fine. He’s helping us.”
“He’s a spy,” said Ilyukhina. “A spy for the enemies of the Confederation. You know what we do to spies?”
“We let the officers decide what happens to them,” said Pavlov.
“Arf arf,” said Ilyukhina, her expression souring further.
Well, that really took the wind out of their sails. Pavlov took a breath, rallying his thoughts. “Okay,” he said. “We have to get access to the communications system. If we can patch directly into the communications dish…”
“Do you know how to do that?” asked Ilyukhina. “Because I have no fucking idea. I shoot people.”
“I shoot people too,” said Pavlov, looking to Dmitriev expectantly. “But you seem pretty handy with stuff.”
He didn’t look pleased. “It’s a simple system,” he said, “but if it’s anything like the hundreds of systems I have to cobble together to make the tools of my revolution work, then I imagine I can probably make something work. Probably.” Dmitriev hesitated, glaring at each of them in turn. “What will you tell them? Your Confederate masters?”
Now that was a difficult question. A dozen lies drifted through his mind. Various things he could say, lies he could concoct… “I’ll tell them we’re being overrun by Separatist scum,” he said. “Tell them we need an urgent extraction for the survivors and our…” He grinned to Dmitriev. “Prisoner.”
“Works for me,” Dmitriev said, his face hard to read through the gas mask. “Just get us out of this shithole before it blows.”
He nodded in agreement. “The communications array is on the roof,” he said. “It’ll be accessible by a hatch near the landing bay. No doubt they’ve changed the access codes, shut us out of the computers…but if we hardwire it, break in directly, we can send a signal that way.”
“Right,” said Dmitriev. “And you guys will definitely vouch for me?”
“If you behave yourself,” said Ilyukhina. Something about her face, though, belied a hesitance that he rarely saw in her.
“Spit it out,” he said. “C’mon. You got a better idea?”
She scrunched up her face. “Honestly, sir, I don’t. And that’s what bothers me.” She glared at nothing. “Look, the crazies sent the scientists out to fight us outside. Fine. Maybe they were saving their best for last, you know? But they also didn’t defend the reactor. They did, however, seal the door with the tank. So either they thought a grenade would stop us—which is just plain stupid—or…”
That was a good point. “You think they’re guarding the communications array?”
“They’d be stupid not to.” The proto-plan churned over in his head. It was full of weaknesses and holes, but it was all he had. “Let’s get going,” he said. “The longer we wait, the closer this place is to exploding.”
Ilyukhina smiled crookedly. “Just promise me one thing,” she said. “If any of those fuckers lay a hand on me, you’ll put a bullet in my face, same as Jakov.”
“Same as Jakov,” said Pavlov. “I promise.”
Pavlov took the point position as he guided the three of them up toward the top of Hammerfall, trying to ignore the increasingly shrill alarms and the feeling that he was leading them into a trap.
CHAPTER 36
Top level
Hammerfall
EVERY CORRIDOR HAD TO BE checked. Every passageway verified. Around every corner, Pavlov expected the crazies, his own former comrades, to leap out and attack him. He expected more traps and snares and tricks and surprises.
Instead, he, Ilyukhina, and Dmitriev made it to the small, one-square-metre hatch that led to the roof of Hammerfall without incident. A pull-down ladder hung invitingly. He could hear the muted rumble of rain pounding on the thick metal.
“It’s not even locked,” said Ilyukhina, her disdain painting every word. “Are they even trying to stop us?”
Pavlov did not have a good answer. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Dmitriev, get on that ladder and get ready to pop the hatch. Ilyukhina, give me a boost. Moment that hatch goes open, I’m going to go. If they’re waiting up there, I’ll pop them.”
“You got it,” said Ilyukhina, cupping her hands together. “It sounds like it’s going to be wet up there. Don’t slip.”
He didn’t plan to. “If I do,” he said with a grin, “I guess the crazies will kill us all, or turn us.”
“You really know how to charm a girl, sir.”
Dmitriev climbed about halfway up the ladder. “Ready.”
Pavlov stepped into Ilyukhina’s hand, and then up to the hatchway. “Three, two, one…”
The hatchway flew open. Grey skies dumped a wall of rain onto him, the hushed whisper of rain turning into a roar, a tropical downpour pounding on his visor.
Pavlov stood up, weapon ready. The water washed the colour out of everything, painting the world in dark greys. The communications dish stood tall and erect, the base barely ten metres away. Rainwater pounded the metal of the roof, creating a thin, shiny film over everything. The top of Hammerfall commanded an impressive view over the rain-soaked jungle.
No sign of anyone.
“Clear,” said Pavlov, sweeping his rifle in a full circle. He had to shout to be heard over the rain. “Can’t see anyone.”
Dmitriev wiggled up beside him, his weapon similarly raised. Without ar
mour, the rain seemed to soak right into his uniform. The guy must have been miserable.
“Go,” said Pavlov, stepping onto the ladder to spare Ilyukhina’s fingers. “I’ll cover you.”
Dmitriev slid up past him and onto the roof, scampering across the rain-slick metal like some kind of large, sopping wet rat, hunched over as he made his way to the box.
Pavlov waited until he was clear, then scurried up onto the roof as well, crouched down on one knee. He scanned the jungle with his visor, trying to pick out anything through the thick curtain of water.
Nothing.
Despite standing only a few metres away from her, the pounding of rain on his armour made hearing hard. He touched his radio. “Ilyukhina, make sure they don’t come up behind us,” he said.
“Got it.”
Where were they? Where were they? Pavlov ground his teeth. He hated not being able to see his enemy. Knowing he was walking into a trap but not knowing from where it would be sprung.
“Help me with this,” shouted Dmitriev over the rain, pointing to a panel on the box. “It might be rigged.”
Pavlov glared at him, cautiously making his way over. The rain made every step slippery. “What am I supposed to do if it is?” he asked, putting his hand on Dmitriev’s shoulder.
“You have the armour,” said Dmitriev.
That was a good point. Pavlov reached up and, hooking his fingers around the handle, yanked the panel off.
He waited for it to explode, but instead, all he could see was exposed circuitry and wires.
“Don’t let any of it get wet,” said Dmitriev.
How in the hell was he supposed to do that? Pavlov held the panel up with one hand as an improvised umbrella, rifle held clumsily with the other, trying to shield the insides of the box from the water. “What happens if it gets wet?”
“It’ll stop working,” said Dmitriev.
Great. “Just hurry up,” said Pavlov.
“Gotta cut out the security system first.” Dmitriev pulled out a pair of wire cutters and snipped two pairs of wires. He spat onto his hands, rubbing them together briefly, and then he touched the wires together. Smoke rose from the inside of the box. “Got it. And now to patch us in.”
