At that moment, the sound of engines came to them from ahead, from the direction of Mueller.
“Jeeps, or something like them,” Ryan said. “More than one, less than ten.”
“I want eight men with me,” Pete said. “The rest stay here and cover either side of the road. Take high ground wherever you can.” Where’s Sadler? “And for fuck’s sake, someone take responsibility for Clyde. I assume he’s still inside the PM. If he runs off while we’re occupied, I’m going to kick every one of your asses.” The man was chained, but given his IQ and resourcefulness, anything seemed possible.
“I’ve got Clyde,” Yu said, and Pete was glad it was him. Yu was cool-headed and reliable. If Ryan had said it, Pete would have had to say no, which would have shamed his friend. But it would be unacceptable to finish a firefight only to come back and find Clyde strangled to death like Osborn.
Pete and seven others hurried around PM1 as best they could. At least it had blocked the road. It made things difficult for them, but it also made things difficult for whoever was coming their way.
They’d just reached the other side when four sets of headlights cut through the night, two in front, two behind.
Ryan and Olowe, the best shots in the unit, raised their rifles and took aim, butt plate wedged firmly against their shoulders, left hands bracing the stocks. Four shots fired, and four headlights knocked out. Spent rounds jingled as they hit the ground, a strangely merry sound. Judging by the way the other lights slewed from side to side, the jeeps in front had swerved, and the jeeps behind had to correct course or plow into them. The people in the jeeps started returning fire. Pete and his men dropped to their bellies and their camo suits adapted, becoming blotchy with browns and grays, and a smattering of white to match the surface of the roadway.
Ryan fired again, knocked out another headlight, but his second shot missed. “Son of a bitch.” He tried again—and missed again. “Shit.”
“I’ve got the shot,” Olowe said, and took it. Another headlight went dark.
Then the jeeps were too close to worry about headlights, and the world narrowed down to kill or be killed. A bullet kicked a shard of pavement into Pete’s face, sending a sting across his cheek. The percussive blast of weapons firing became everything for a while, along with the smell of cordite. Then, one of the men to his right was hit. Whoever it was cursed and took to moaning and bitching, letting Pete know it wasn’t serious. At least he hoped that was what it meant.
Then one of the men to his left was hit.
“Motherfuckers!” Olowe yelled.
I second that, Pete thought, and kept firing, aiming where he’d last seen a muzzle flash.
Behind them, PM1 exploded. There wasn’t time to worry about whether everyone had gotten out, or even if they were at a safe distance from the explosion. Because it was behind them, the burst of light gave Pete and his men an advantage, and they used it. The people on the other side would have been blinded by that blast. They wouldn’t be able to defend themselves.
After an eternity, or a minute or so, return fire had stopped.
“Cease fire!” Pete shouted. He had to say it twice more to get through to the men, who were not soldiers, for Christ’s sake. They were Guardsmen. Sure, their training included the use of firearms, but for all intents and purposes, they’d been glorified janitors for the last few years; earth janitors whose job it was to clean up after flood, fire, earthquake, and infrastructure failure. None of them had ever fired their weapons in a combat situation, that he knew of.
Pete rose cautiously in case one of their enemy was playing possum, then took stock of the situation. Two men down. For good. Hernandez and Hayes. Plus Zabinski and Sing. Men who would never see their families again, never toss back a beer with a friend, all because one weaselly little shit had infiltrated their unit.
He was glad Ryan had choked Osborn to death, and he wanted to do the same to Clyde. The man wasn’t worth a drop of the four men’s spit. All he’d done with the gift of his astonishing intellect was sow chaos, while men like Hernandez and Hayes, with their eyes on a better future, raised their children with love, working to form them into people who were polite and considerate and placed a high value on giving back to their communities.
“We’re going to have to make do with their jeeps,” Pete said to the remaining six men. “We can’t wait around for someone to move PM1 and we’ll never get PM2 around it.”
“What about our dead?” Ryan asked.
“There isn’t going to be room for them and the rest of us on the jeeps. Pull them to the side, cover them as best you can, and mark the site. We’ll come back for them later.”
Ryan nodded.
“Grab Bahar to help you. The rest of us will clear the jeeps.”
“Sir.”
Ryan rarely used that word when addressing Pete. It usually meant his friend disagreed with his orders but wasn’t going to say anything. Let him disagree. Until we find Sadler, another weasel, I’m in charge.
Pete and the others dragged bodies from the jeeps. “Collect their weapons. Who knows if we’ll need them?” he shouted, trying to keep his head moving ahead of them rather than focusing on the woman he currently held in his arms, her head half gone.
Olowe inspected one of the blown-out headlamps. “Now that I know we’re going to use the jeeps, I’m sorry to have been such a good shot.”
Pete snorted and kept working. When they were finished with the grisly task of moving the dead to the sides of the road, they made their way back to the rest of the unit. Each of the men had a rifle pointed out into the distance, their eyes on the darkness, their posture that of a man who was ready for trouble.
“Suppose Osborn supplied them with info?” Olowe asked sharply.
“Probably.” Pete sure hoped so. If it was Osborn, at least they’d already dealt with the mole. He wasn’t about to voice what he was thinking, which was that there might be more than one of Clyde’s followers among them. In his head, he ran through the roster, but couldn’t imagine which of the men would do such a thing. They’d been through thick and thin together. Osborn was the only new piece in the puzzle.
They moved around the wreckage of PM1 and were met with the aftermath of that one new piece’s treason: Clyde’s gloating smile. Someone had removed his gag—a mistake Pete intended to correct ASAP—and he was standing there like the cat who’d had the proverbial cream, all arrogance and snide, disgusting victory.
Pete could have broken his neck right then and there. But he stopped himself—barely. It wasn’t his job to kill the guy. It was his job to get him to the place where someone else would kill him.
“Being a genius has its advantages,” Clyde said, his voice as oily as possible. “When I told my people where to place the IED, I had to make several calculations. Weather. Speed of travel. How long it would be before the stims inevitably kicked in and had the men needing to take a piss. There were so many variables. I can’t help feeling pleased by the accuracy of my calculations.”
The hair on Pete’s arms stood up, despite how comfortable he was in the tactical suit. Screw Mueller and the needle waiting there. Maybe it would be better to kill Clyde right here, after all. They could tell Command about the attack, the betrayal, and explain the man’s death away. His men would back him.
“Except your little band of rescuers are dead,” Pete finally said. “To the last man and woman.” It wasn’t like Pete hadn’t seen dead women before, but he’d never seen one he might have killed. She’d come back in his dreams, of this he was certain.
Clyde appeared unmoved, which only made Pete more nervous. The man was a cipher. And then Sadler appeared from wherever he’d been hiding, rifle slung over his shoulder and without a mark on him. Pete was sure if he checked Sadler’s weapon, he’d find it hadn’t even been fired.
Because, of course, the man hadn’t bothered to lift a finger during the firefight. Why would he have? He might have ruined the manicure Pete was positive he regularly got.
“Put the gag back on the prisoner,” Pete said to Yu. He turned to Sadler. “Maybe you’ve forgotten how to count, sir. We’re down four men.”
Sadler’s eyes went wide. “Oh. Well—”
“Yeah. That’s about what I expected,” Pete said.
“Excuse me, Lieutenant?” Sadler stepped close, bristling.
Pete countered by getting right into Sadler’s face, making a point of having to lean down to do it. “You heard me,” he said, then dismissed Sadler by turning his back on him to address the men. “It’s been a long night, and it’s going to get longer. We’re going to have to complete our mission using four jeeps with one working headlamp between them. And we don’t have a hell of a lot of time to do it. Not if we want to be on the plane leaving Anchorage.”
“Sir,” Yu said, interrupting him. Pete nodded, giving him permission to continue. “I drive buses and big rigs in the real world. I can get PM2 around the wreck. Give me a crew armed with shovels and we’ll get her sorted.”
Clyde chose that minute to pretend to have trouble breathing again, but once bitten, twice shy. Pete strode over and punched him in the stomach, thinking, That’s for Hernandez. I still owe you for Sing, Hayes, and Zabinski. Then he thought about the real world and wondered what could be more real than this.
“No one,” Pete said, looking at Sadler. “And I mean no one removes the prisoner’s gag again. I don’t care if he chokes on his own vomit.”
“Hooah,” Ryan said.
Pete took four men to clear the jeeps out of their way so that if—when—Yu got PM2 sorted, they could get moving without further delay. He told himself not to look at his watch, but then he did anyway.
The window for getting to Mueller and back had narrowed considerably.
Chapter 5
Yu was as good as his word and got PM2 around the wreck within ten minutes. They had to stack Hernandez, Hayes, and Zabinski in the back like goddamned cords of wood, their already stiffening, cold bodies one on top of the other. At least they weren’t lying in the open to be picked at by wild animals.
As for Sing, after PM1 exploded, he was gone. Not even a forensic team could have recovered the pieces, and Pete quickly decided that it wasn’t worth it to try.
It was crowded in PM2, and some of the men sat in the aisle, Clyde among them, because fuck it if Pete was going to have a good man on the floor so that a sack of excrement could have a seat on the bench. He’d been tempted to make Sadler sit on the floor as well, but just as the words came to his tongue, the fight went out of him. He was mortally tired, and hungry to boot, suffering the aftermath of an adrenaline surge.
There was also the small matter of Sadler being his superior. It hadn’t felt like it since they were back in Anchorage, on cleanup duty. Sadler was beyond useless in any emergency situation, and Pete had naturally taken over command. But the stars on Sadler’s uniform still said he was an inch or two above Pete.
At some point, Pete figured, Sadler would remember that and go out of his way to knock Pete down a peg or two. He didn’t want that to happen out here in the wilderness. So he kept his mouth shut. For now.
Lark, a paramedic in the real world, was the unit’s de facto medical officer. He moved through the vehicle, front to back, applying bandages where they were needed and assessing limbs for breaks and sprains. At some point, he came to stand in front of Pete.
“Let me deal with that cheek, Lieu,” he said, pointing to his own right cheek.
Pete had forgotten about getting wounded during the gunfight. “It can’t be that bad,” he said. “See to the others first.”
“I knew you’d say that, so I saved you for last.”
“Break it down for me,” Pete said.
“Cuts, some of which required stitches. Two neck injuries. Whiplash. Three sprains, only one serious. And one leg that might have a hairline fracture. He needs an X-ray. I’ve given him painkillers, nothing too strong. I guess it could have been worse.”
“But for the ones we lost,” Pete said.
“Yes, but for them.” Lark looked around and then added, “And someone’s courage going missing, if it was ever there to begin with. We sure could have used an extra man when it came to it.”
“There is that,” Pete said.
Fucking Sadler. Fucking Clyde. He should have thrown the two of them into the burning wreck and left them there, casualties of a mission gone south.
Pete had never believed in regret. It didn’t serve any useful purpose. And yet he found himself wishing he could turn back time, or send his younger self a message, tell that other Pete not to sign up for the NG. Tell himself to keep himself safe, maybe find a job where he didn’t have to carry a gun. Didn’t have to worry about getting shot. Didn’t have to worry about ferrying some asshole who specialized in killing innocent people to his next stop.
Hell, if he’d been able to speak to his younger self, Pete would have given him all sorts of useful advice. But he couldn’t, so he put it out of his head. Better to look forward than back. Better to plan than to spend time on regrets.
Now that they were starting to gain elevation, the snow was getting thicker on the ground, which made the drive even more dangerous. Light from the four high-intensity headlamps was shining off it as though someone had tossed handfuls of diamond chips into its midst. The growl of the engine and the sound of the tires crunching over freshly fallen snow was hypnotic, and Pete found himself nodding off.
Next thing he knew, he was jerking awake with a gasp. Ryan handed him a cup of water and another stim tablet, which he swallowed with a grimace.
“About what happened with Osborn,” Ryan said quietly.
“Only Sadler and I will be asked to file reports,” Pete said. “Sadler was in PM1 and didn’t see anything. My report will state that Osborn was one of Clyde’s followers and that he was killed while trying to free Clyde. I doubt anyone will tell a different story.”
“Thanks, buddy. It wasn’t my finest moment. Something about being shot at by one of our own—”
“Once we deliver Clyde and have a hot meal and a long sleep, we’ll sort it out.”
“We’re about ten minutes away, Lieu,” Yu said, breaking into their conversation.
Pete rose from the bench, went to the front of the vehicle, and peered through the windshield, looking for some sign of the big jail in front of him. He couldn’t wait to get the human garbage off their bus. Couldn’t wait to be on their way back to Anchorage, putting this episode behind them.
“How are you doing, soldier?” he asked.
Yu laughed, though it didn’t contain much humor. “I’ve had to pee for an hour, but if you think I was going to stop, you’re crazy. I’d rather piss my pants. Who knows? This tech suit might just whisk it away by magic.”
“More likely just to keep it warm for you.” Pete clapped Yu on the shoulder. “Let Mueller know we’re almost there.”
“Will do.” Yu grabbed the radio.
“And find out the name of the guy in charge.”
“It’s Andersen,” Yu said. “Robert Andersen. The guy I’ve been talking to mentioned him a couple of times. I hate to say it, but something hinky’s going on in there. I’m getting a weird vibe. I’m just not sure what it is.”
“Great,” Pete grunted. Then, not wanting to affect Yu with his negativity, he added, “Not our problem, at the end of the day. Our one and only job is to get Clyde into Andersen’s hands. After that, we’re done.”
“Hooah to that, Lieu.”
“And if we do it quick, there’ll still be time to get to the plane,” Pete said.
“Providing the weather cooperates,” Yu said, leaning forward over the steering wheel to look at the sky.
Pete glanced up as well. Clouds were keeping any moonlight from making it to them, and the hour made the sky difficult to read. But he couldn’t see any stars up there, and that made him nervous.
&n
bsp; Ten minutes later, they pulled up in front of Mueller Maximum Security Prison. The gate wasn’t open the way Pete had hoped it would be, but there were guards on duty who opened it without delay, without even checking their bona fides—an oversight Pete found troubling. If he and his men were Clyde acolytes, they’d be inside the prison already.
Yu drove in, parked where he was directed to by another pair of guards, and then bolted off the vehicle and peed on the ground.
“Let’s stow the weapons in the locker,” Pete said to the others. “The guards here are armed; we don’t need to go in there packing.”
After he’d collected and stowed all the rifles, he engaged the lock with a twinge of regret. He knew they’d never be allowed to carry weapons inside the prison, but he felt naked without his M4 slung over his shoulder.
Then he saw the tarp covering the dead bodies. Too much had already gone wrong. Go in there armed and there was a good chance someone would get twitchy and end up causing trouble. And he didn’t want anyone else to die tonight.
The men debarked, a couple of them hobbling. Several of them joined Yu in peeing on the ground. Pete released Clyde from where he’d cuffed him to the base of the seats.
As soon as Clyde was standing, he mimed choking, then threw back his head, mimicking a man who was laughing his ass off.
Pete stared at him, keeping his own expression masked. Clyde’s eyes were filled to the brim with crazy. Had he looked this deranged from the very beginning, or had he changed along the way?
Pete would like to believe Clyde had changed. It made it easier to give everyone who’d had him up to this point the benefit of the doubt. Because if he’d looked like this the entire time, his pupils blown out like a drug addict, surely someone would have noticed. Surely they wouldn’t have been taken in by him.
Regardless, Clyde was this close to not being Pete’s problem anymore, and the moment when he wasn’t couldn’t come soon enough. Pete took Clyde’s arm and led him off the vehicle, congratulating himself when he didn’t “accidentally” push him down the stairs.
Stone Cold Fear | Book 1 | Powerless Page 4
