Authors: Shawn Kupfer
“Technically I’m supposed to cuff you until you’re officially released from our custody, but you’re not gonna give me any trouble, are you, guy?” the Federal Marshal asked, checking the Glock 50 in his holster.
“I’m actually planning to sleep most of the time, so, no.” Nick shrugged.
“Good man. So, this used to be a commercial airport, huh? Barely looks like it now.”
As Nick and the Marshal sat on a long, plastic bench near what had once been a departure gate, they watched a crew of Army convicts unloading a factory-new Cougar from a C-5 out on the runway. Behind them, a crew of mechanics was checking the vehicle as soon as it rolled off the plane, giving a thumbs-up to the waiting motor crew. Once the first Cougar was off the plane, the process started over with another.
“You know where they make those things now, right?” the Marshal asked.
“Nope.”
“Rock Island, Illinois. Place called the Rock Island Arsenal. Same little island where they used to put together the Humvees. I’m from around there.”
Nick nodded. Words couldn’t express how much he didn’t care where the Cougars were built, but he was going to be stuck with this guy for the next twenty hours or so. He might as well attempt to make small talk.
“So where do they have you stationed, Marshal…”
“Raines. Aaron Raines. Sorry, thought I introduced myself back at the hospital complex,” Raines said, holding out a hand. Nick shook it.
“So where do they have you stationed, Marshal Raines?”
“Tampa. I got the call they were letting one of you guys go, and I was on the first flight across the Atlantic. Beats sitting at a desk in a suit and tie all day—not like we’ve got much to do since all the criminals are out here nowadays. Hey, you know where we can get some food?”
“Trust me. You don’t want what they call food here. We’re heading to a commercial airport in Germany after the airbase, right?”
Raines nodded.
“I’d wait until you get there to eat. Your stomach will thank you.”
As Raines considered that, a large, buzzcut Air Force Sergeant walked up to them. “Raines? Morrow?” he asked.
“That’s us.”
“Your ride’s here, gentlemen. Runway one-five. Sorry about the accommodations, but it’s only two hours.”
The sergeant motioned for the two men to follow him, then led them out onto the tarmac to a waiting C-130 Hercules. Nick and Raines walked up the ramp and found two empty jump seats, which wasn’t difficult—the plane was full of cargo, but apart from the flight crew, there was no one else aboard.
“Wheels up in five, guys!” the pilot called from the flight deck. “Strap in!”
Nick tightened his harness then helped Raines with his. True to his word, Nick was asleep as soon as the plane left the runway.
***
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. On behalf of Delta and the crew of flight one-seventeen, I’m happy to welcome you to Los Angeles International Airport. The local time is 2:47 p.m. Temperature is a rather pleasant eighty-two degrees.”
Nick forced his eyes open as the plane taxied to the terminal. He could have slept another several hours, but it was time to get off the plane and…do…something. He had no idea what was waiting for him outside the plane, and no idea what he was supposed to do with his life now. He should have felt happy that he was home, but where the happiness should have been, there was nothing. No joy, no apprehension, no anxiety—just a feeling of blankness.
“All right, compadre. Soon as we hit the end of that jetway, you’re a free man. You feelin’ good?” Raines smiled at him, unbuckling his seat belt and adjusting the holster at his side.
“Sure,” Nick lied. It sounded unconvincing, even to him.
“What’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get out of here?”
Raines’ friendly manner had been wearing on him since Frankfurt, but Nick reminded himself he only had to deal with the guy for a few more minutes. No reason to stop being polite now.
“Probably visit my brother. I haven’t seen him since my trial.”
Raines and Nick exited the plane. As they walked down the jetway, Raines handed Nick the file folder Markham had given him back at Camp Justice.
“You’re free, my man. Stay out of trouble, yeah? You don’t want to end up back there, am I right?”
Nick nodded.
“I’ve got a flight back to Tampa to catch. Take care of yourself, Nick.” Raines smiled and headed left out of the jetway.
Nick headed right, toward the sign marked Exit. As he approached the end of the secure terminal area, Nick saw his brother Stan, along with his two-year-old niece Lia and thirteen-year-old nephew Cedric, waiting for him.
As Stan saw Nick, he broke into a huge smile. “Look, kids! There’s your uncle Nick!”
“Hey, Stan.” Nick smiled wearily as he limped toward his brother.
“You all right, Nick?”
“I’ll tell you about it later. Hey, big man. How you doing?” Nick smiled at Cedric.
“Uncle Nick.” Cedric nodded. The kid was wearing black clothes, not unlike Nick’s own, and had a copy of
Starship Troopers
held in one hand. Nick took no offense to his nephew’s lack of enthusiasm—he remembered being thirteen.
Nick reached down and picked up Lia, swinging her high in the air. She laughed, and Nick put her up on his shoulders.
“Man, Lia. You’re getting big.” Nick smiled, turning toward his brother. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“Wouldn’t consider letting you come back on your lonesome, bro. Sara would have been here, too, but, y’know…work.”
“No problem. How is she these days?”
“Oh, fine. I talked to her the other night—you’re staying with us until you get settled. No arguments.”
“None forthcoming.” Nick yawned.
“You have any bags we need to pick up?”
“Nope. Wearing everything I own.”
Stan nodded and nudged Cedric, whose nose was firmly buried in Heinlein’s work. The four of them headed out to the parking deck, Lia still riding on Nick’s shoulders. Stan led them to his model-year Chevy Ronin and unlocked the doors with his keyless entry fob.
“Nice new ride,” Nick said.
“Yeah, promotion at work. I’m running my department now. I can talk to someone about getting you a job there if you want.”
“Yeah, maybe. I doubt I’m Homeland Security’s ideal employee, though.”
“Don’t be too sure. They need Chinese and Korean translators bad. With your level of fluency, you’d be a rock star.”
“Cool. We’ll talk about it more later, okay?”
Stan nodded as the Ronin’s electric drive spun up and they shot out of the garage, headed for Santa Clarita. The Ronin’s engine made almost no noise, so it was silent in the cabin. Apparently, Stan had decided to spare his brother the annoying, repetitive children’s music Lia usually demanded in the car. Lia herself was quiet, staring at the back of Nick’s head. Cedric spent the entire drive reading, so Nick and his brother pretty much had the ride to catch up.
“So, the limp?”
“Got half of my foot blown off by an exploding Lada.”
“Ouch! When? And what is a Lada?”
“Yesterday. Maybe the day before…I’m jetlagged as all hell. It was whenever I called you. About a minute after I hung up.”
“And you’re walking already?”
“They fit me with a robotic prosthetic. It’s fine.”
“Well, we’re going to have a nice, home-cooked meal, and you can relax for a bit. Sara won’t be home until late, anyway. Oh, and I managed to snag your old car from before your trial, so that’s back at the house, too.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Not that you’ll be able to drive it right away. I talked to some guys at the office, but it’ll still take a couple of days to get your citizenship status back.”
“I kind of expected that.”
“Well, here we are,” Stan said, pulling his Ronin into the driveway and hitting the switch to open the garage. Inside, Nick saw his baby—his 1996 Jaguar XJS V-12. He’d had to convert it to hybrid to make it street-legal, but apart from that, the car was all original, showroom condition, and still blindingly fast.
Stan herded his kids out of the car. Cedric headed straight for his room, as thirteen-year-olds were programmed to do, and Stan put Lia down for her afternoon nap.
“Want a beer?” Stan asked.
“Fuck yes.”
Stan laughed and grabbed two bottles of Guinness from the fridge. Nick and his brother stepped out onto the back patio. As they settled in, Nick pulled a pack of Russian smokes from his cargo pocket and lit one.
“Jesus, Nick. Those are illegal,” Stan choked, barely managing to keep a mouthful of beer from spewing over the patio table.
“Calm down. It’s a misdemeanor ticket if I get caught, and unless the LAPD is hiding in your hedges, I think we’re fine.”
“All right. Give me one, then.” Stan chuckled.
Nick handed his brother the pack and lit his cigarette for him.
“So how was it over there? We never heard word one about the convict units until that NYTN story broke. Sounded pretty brutal.”
“It’s a meat grinder. We’re outnumbered and outgunned, even with the convict units.”
“Bet you’re glad to be out of there, then.”
“Yeah,” Nick said. His voice was flat, but Stan didn’t seem to notice.
***
“Look, cut the guy some slack, huh, Sara?”
“He’s been sitting around the house for four days straight now.”
“Yeah, and he can’t really go anywhere until his citizenship comes back, can he? What’d you expect him to do? Hop in the car, go job hunting, and get thrown in County when they pull him over and find out he has no driver’s license, no legal rights?”
Stan was trying to keep his voice down, but Sara wasn’t bothering. Nick could hear them clearly from the guest room at the back of Stan’s house.
“I thought you were going to talk to someone at Homeland Security.”
“I did. It still takes time, Sara.”
Nick quietly crept out onto the back patio. He could still hear Stan and Sara arguing, but at least he couldn’t make out their words clearly anymore. He took a seat in one of the patio chairs and stretched out his legs. Across the yard, he noticed Cedric sitting in another chair, reading.
“Hey,” Cedric said quietly.
“Hey yourself, big man.”
“They’re fighting about you again, aren’t they?”
“Yep.”
“Don’t take it too hard. They fight a lot lately.”
Cedric put his book down and walked across the patio.
“So you were in the shit over there, huh?” the boy asked.
“Yeah, you could say it that way.”
“Kids at school say the Mechoes are pretty hardcore. It’s one of the few reasons they don’t beat the shit out of me for being part Chink.”
“Chinese.”
“Whatever. I’ve got it better than the Kwon brothers. They get messed with every other day. I don’t get these kids. I very much doubt Richie and Evan Kwon had anything to do with the attack on L.A. or anything after, but the jocks still beat the crap out of them for being Korean. They’re not even
North
Korean. They’re from Inglewood.”
“Yeah. Don’t expect that to get better before it gets worse. And it’s gonna get a lot worse as we get deeper into this war and keep losing it.”
“You really think we’re going to lose?”
“I don’t think we’re going to win.”
Cedric shrugged—this seemed to make perfect sense to him. “So what are you going to do now? Go out there and get a job, I guess?” he asked.
“I guess.”
“Any idea what yet?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I know exactly what I’m going to do.”
The next day was Sunday. When Cedric awoke, Nick was nowhere to be found. He’d wanted to talk to his uncle more, but Nick wasn’t in the guest room, out on the patio, or anywhere in the house. He decided to check the garage, to see if maybe his uncle was working on the sweet car they’d been storing for the past several months.
Nick wasn’t there, but there was a note addressed to Cedric under the driver’s side windshield wiper. It said, “When you hit sixteen big man, it’s yours. Take care of it.”
The last month hadn’t been pleasant for 47 Echo. Christopher had done his best to command the unit, but they’d lost Wes and Owen at the Battle of Neryugn. They’d still gotten away light compared to some of the other Echo units—two hundred dead in total from Echo, almost double that from Charlie and Delta. The 4-7 Echo had been the first in on a mission to try and secure an airfield that the Chinese had taken months before. They’d managed to hold it long enough to land the troop planes—then the CDMs popped up from underground and slaughtered hundreds before they could get back out again. While the 4-7’s mission was a success, the operation as a whole had been a resounding failure.
To make matters worse, Kenneth had abandoned the unit. His tracker wasn’t responding, and command had no idea where he was. In the commotion, the big man had managed to slip away, vanishing into the night without a trace.
The Marine and Army convict units had fallen back to Aldan, just inside Allied territory. Aldan had been renamed Firebase Zulu, and sat directly on the front lines, ten miles from the Chinese troops.
Now only five men strong, 47 Echo SRT was assigned a small house just down the street from the new Command and Control building, a former mineral-processing facility with direct access to below-ground mining facilities.
Christopher and his men were recovering from the beating they’d taken at Neryugn and waiting on their next assignment. Gabriel was still nursing a broken arm, and Anthony had a slight limp from a bullet he’d taken in the thigh. Captain Neal showed up unexpectedly on their second afternoon of convalescence, walking into their house with a thin file folder.
“What’s up, Captain? Another mission already? We’re kind of beat, and short on men,” Christopher greeted wearily.
“No new mission yet. Just some reorganization going on over at C2. Major Harrison’s finished his sentence and been sent back to the regular Marines. I’ve been tapped to replace him as Echo Commander.”
“So who’s gonna be our new boss?” Peter asked.
“New guy. Regular Marine. Coming in today.”
“What’d he do to get assigned to Echo?” Michael grumbled.
“He requested it. Your unit, specifically. Guess your special forces exploits have made you pretty well known.”
“Yeah, well, our recent record hasn’t been too impressive. Last month’s been kinda shit for us,” Christopher said.
“Yeah, I think you’ll get along with your new Lieutenant just fine. He’s bringing some replacements from the other units in with him. You’ll be back up to full strength in two days. Also, the Lieutenant will be taking over my position as Second-In-Command of all Echo units, so make it easy on him, yeah?”
“We’ll do what we can, boss.”
“Good men. Mr. Lee, you want to come with me to Command and Control? Your new commander should be there any time now.”
“Yes, sir. Rest up, guys. I’ll be back in a bit,” Christopher told his men. He was greeted with halfhearted affirmatives and at least one groan.
As Christopher and Neal walked down the street to Command and Control, Christopher scratched idly at a bullet graze on his shoulder.
“So, this new guy—he have any Special Forces experience?”
“Some, sure.”
“Why in hell would anyone in the real Marines request this shit duty? All due respect, of course, sir.”
“Of course.”
“But you wouldn’t even be here if you hadn’t been sentenced to it, right?”
“Correct.”
“So what’s that say about this guy? He must be some kind of psycho. Man, I wish we had Nick back.”
Neal opened the door, and the two of them saw Lieutenant Colonel Markham talking to a man in Marine fatigues. The other man had his back to them.
“Like I said, I think you’re going to get along with your new commander just fine.”
The other man turned around and smirked at Christopher.
“Holy motherfucking Christ. Nick!”
“That’s Lieutenant Morrow to you, convict,” Nick shot back, chuckling.
“Sir!” Christopher shot him a crisp salute.
“Lieutenant, the unit’s yours,” Neal told him.
“Thank you, Captain. Mr. Lee, let’s take a walk. We need to recruit some new members,” Nick said, saluting his superiors before he ushered Christopher out into the cold sunshine of the Eastern Russian autumn.
“Shit, um, Lieutenant—” Christopher started.
“Fuck the Lieutenant bullshit. That’s only in front of the bosses,” Nick cut him off.
“All right, Nick. What the fuck are you doing back here? I thought you’d have headed for the hills as soon as the ink was dry on your release papers.”
“I was escorted to those very same hills. Moved in with my brother. Had a job interview all set up, was on my way to becoming a functioning citizen in polite society again. Then, Sunday morning, I said fuck it. I didn’t want polite society, not the one that’s over there now.”
Christopher shook his head.
“Look at me, Chris. Just a matter of time before I got picked up again for being Chink on a Friday night. And there was no way I was leaving you guys out here to have all the fun for yourselves. Nothing for me out there. The only real friends I have are out here.”
“About that…Owen and Wes—”
“I was briefed. You guys did a hell of a job at Neryugn. It’s amazing any of you walked out of that pit of hell.”
“I fucked up, Nick.”
Nick looked over at his friend and saw that he was barely keeping it together. Christopher’s eyes were starting to lose focus, and Nick knew he was replaying the battle in his mind.
“You did nothing of the kind. You did as well as anyone could have. Better, in fact. I hope you don’t think being bumped down to my SIC is a reflection on your work at all. They wanted to give you your own unit, and still will if you want.”
“No. I’d rather stick with you, brother. So you’re a real Marine now. An officer. How the fuck did you manage that?”
“Walked into the Marine recruiter at Long Beach. Place was empty—one crippled sixty-five-year-old Marine working the office. Recruitment’s been a problem, apparently. I sat down in his chair and told him I wanted to join up. He asked if I had any military experience, I told him I had a couple of months in 47 Echo.”
“Bet that fucked with his head.” A bit of Christopher’s characteristic grin crept back into the corners of his mouth.
“Thought the old guy was going to have a heart attack. He recognized me pretty quick after that, told me to wait right there. Phone calls got made. I had to meet with a lawyer to sign a statement saying I hadn’t been coerced or forced to join up. I told them exactly where I wanted to go, and they were only too happy to fast-track me into this special accelerated OTS at Quantico.”
“OTS?”
“Officer Training School. Two weeks, plus the time I’d already done in Echo, and I was on an Air Force bird for Justice. Caught a ride with an Army helo from there, and here I am.”
“You’re fucking insane, man.”
“Good thing for you I am, too. We’ll need it on our next assignment.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“Don’t worry. I have it all planned out.”
“Strangely, that does make me feel a little better. So, where are we headed?”
“The Echo bunkhouse. We’re poaching a few from what’s left of the 1-8, then picking up a specialist from Army Kilo and one from Air Force Delta Flight.”
“Sounds like a lot of leg work.”
“Yeah. We’d better get started, I guess. I have some alternates lined up in case my first choices turn us down, but the Mechoes are pretty much a lock.”
Christopher nodded and waved them past the guards at the converted high school that housed the remainder of the Marine Echo units.
“So that’s the deal. You agree to join the 4-7, you’re a free man with no criminal record soon as the war’s over.”
Daniel shrugged his broad shoulders. “That’s if I survive that long, which judging by your mission profile, I probably won’t. ‘Course, after Neryugn, I doubt my survival’s any more assured in the 18. But why me?”
“That shot you made back at Camp Justice. There are maybe four, five guys in the world who can shoot like that. You did it twice in two seconds without even taking a breath,” Nick said.
“Wasn’t a big deal,” Daniel said dismissively, fighting a smirk.
“Where’d you learn to handle a rifle like that, anyway?” Christopher asked.
“Might not think it to look at me, guys, but I grew up with a gun in my hands. Daddy had me out hunting almost as soon as I could walk. You go to where I’m from in North Carolina, you’ll find a dozen and a half kids just like me.”
“So what’s the word, Daniel? You in?”
“Might be a bit of a problem there. I’ve got an…attachment here in the 1-8.”
“If you mean Bryce, yeah, I noticed that. We’re asking him to join, too.” Nick nodded.
“And you’re okay with us? With queers in your unit?”
“Couldn’t care less. Both of you do your jobs, and both of you are damn good at it. All I need to know right there.”
Daniel smiled. “Well, all right then. Bryce is in, then I’m in.”
“Good man. If he agrees, the two of you know where our unit’s set up?”
“Sure. Just down from C2. Better digs than here, anyway.”
“A lot better.” Christopher grinned. “We even have Blu-ray XL.”
“When you get back to the one-eight, let Bryce know we’re here to see him. You’re not to tell him why, just tell him to come here and meet with us. Clear?” Nick told Daniel.
“Clear, sir.”
“You’re dismissed.”
Still grinning, Daniel rose from his chair and walked out of what had once been the principal’s office, headed down the hall for the gymnasium where the rest of the 18 was set up.
“So Daniel’s gay?” Christopher asked after the young man had gone.
“How did you not notice that?”
“Didn’t care, I guess.”
“Good. Keep it that way. Bryce’ll agree. I’ll bet you a carton of cigarettes on it.”
“No bet here. ‘Sides, I’m down to my last three packs. Gotta find a new supply chain sometime soon. My contacts either stayed in Justice or got blown to hell at Neryugn.”
“We’ll make a supply run later. Now, where are they keeping the Army convicts around here?”
“Warehousing ‘em. Literally. Couple steel-framed hangars out past the refinery. Somehow stayed standing when the Chinks bombed the hell out of this place. What do we want a grunt convict for, anyway? They’re not the brightest bulbs, you know.”
“This one is.”
Christopher nodded toward the glass door, and Nick saw Bryce limping down the hall. Nick straightened up behind the desk and put on a serious face. When Bryce came in and sat down, Nick explained the situation just as he had to Daniel. Bryce expressed the same caveat—he was in if Daniel was—and like that, 47 Echo had two new members.
Nick and Christopher commandeered a Cougar and drove over to the hangars teeming with Army convicts. As they entered the first hangar, they realized there was no semblance of organization inside. Convicts from different units milled around or slept on cheap bunks scattered all around the huge, open building.
Nick checked the screen on his jacket’s sleeve, then grabbed the first SIC he saw. “Two-eight Kilo 9215. Know him?”
“Shit, sir. Everyone knows that psycho. I’ll take you to him.”
The SIC led them through the masses of Army convicts to the far corner of the warehouse, pointing to a man sitting on a bunk with his back to them. Nick thanked the SIC, who nodded back and disappeared into the throng of green uniforms.
“Martin Chase?” Nick asked the man.
“Yep. And you’re Lieutenant Nick Morrow, 47 Echo SRF,” Martin said without turning around.
“How’d you know that?” Christopher asked.
Martin pointed to his ear, then to the ground. “I keep informed.”
“You know why we’re here, Martin?”
Martin turned to face them, showing a heavily scarred face. One ancient slash ran its way from just above his left eye to his upper lip, and his right cheek looked to have recently healed from a severe burn. His features twisted into a grin. “Well, you’re using my first name, so my guess is you’re going to ask me to join up.”
“That’s correct.”
“Great. I’m in.”
“Gather your stuff and meet at 47 Echo’s barracks by nightfall. I assume you know where it is?” Nick asked.
“Of course. I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Welcome to the 4-7, Martin.”
Martin nodded and started gathering up his belongings. Nick and Christopher headed back out to the Cougar. As Nick started the engine, Christopher lit a couple of cigarettes and handed one to him.
“So, I gotta ask. What’s up with…uh, Martin, was it?”
“Martin Chase. Arsonist. Bombmaker. Tests as brilliant, but violently failed the psych profile, so he landed in Kilo instead of Echo. He’s suicidal and unstable, but he’s fucking great at what he does. And we need someone good at demo.”
“And a basket-case as a bonus. I can’t wait to see what kind of a winner we’re stealing from the Air Force.”
Nick laughed.