Red America

Part Twelve: Dead Man's Hand

Comrade-Colonel Elisabeth Braddock marched smartly down the corridor leading from her office, saluting her soldiers as she went with absent-minded precision, her gloved hands otherwise curled tightly into fists and her stone-coloured greatcoat flapping around her ankles. She had placed her officer's cap on her head after tightly binding her long blonde hair into a severe bun – if she was to confront this ragged collection of rebel filth face-to-face, she had decided, she did not want any hindrances to her aim. And besides that, she wanted to look as much like the avenging demon she supposed the American dogs thought her to be. Even in the midst of battle, she knew image was everything – simply appear to be somebody's doom, and they would accept you as such, meekly rolling over and letting you crush them like cockroaches. The rebels would soon be smashed underfoot, that Elisabeth had promised herself.

She stepped inside the elevator and stabbed the button that would take her down to the ground floor before reaching inside her greatcoat and pulling out her pistol. Once again she checked the magazine and firing mechanism, cocking the gun at least twice and slipping it back into its holster. She picked out a spot on the inside of the elevator door and aimed at it precisely with the gun, almost feeling the bullet punch out of the weapon's barrel and through the thin door, anticipation of physical combat flaring inside her. She put the gun away again, knowing that she would most likely repeat the ritual again sooner rather than later, and then glanced at the sleeve of her right arm, feeling the three fresh cuts she had made in her skin still stinging: one for Major Grey, one for Lieutenant Rasputin, and one for Lieutenant Drake. She wanted – needed – to add more kills to the tally she had preserved in her skin. Major Grey, Drake and Rasputin were only the start.

The desk-job had had her chained down long enough. Now it was time for her to take back her birthright – being right in the thick of the blood and grime and noise of the battlefield was where she rightfully belonged. She could almost taste the stinging cordite and smoke in the air, as she had when she had personally led her troops into battle against Mexican rebels and had emerged victorious, rebel blood splashed on her uniform like a badge of honour. She could feel her heart beginning to pound like a hammer against the inside of her ribs as hot, excited blood coursed through her veins like liquid fire.

Yes. I have earned this right, she thought determinedly, and nobody will be able to take this from me. Nobody.

Breaking off from her own thoughts for a second, she put her fingers to her temples and made telepathic contact with the officer that Lieutenant Drake had left in charge. Report, Lieutenant Wagner, she said curtly, hoping that this officer was as useful at relaying information as Drake had been. If he wasn't, then she knew right away that he'd be worth replacing as soon as possible once this particular conflict had ended.

The rebels are moving towards the surface, he answered, respectfully. However, there have been scattered reports of a fire in the med-lab. I have sent troops to contain it, if possible.

See that you do, Lieutenant, Elisabeth said, her eyes narrowing. With the fire in the truck depot already almost totally out of control as it is, I don't want any more… mishaps… occurring until we can get reinforcements from elsewhere. This installation is too important for it to be sacrificed, do you understand me?

Yes, Comrade-Colonel, the officer on the other end of the mind-link replied, Elisabeth letting his sour fear flow pleasantly into every corner of her mind as he did so. At once.

Good, Elisabeth said, and then abruptly cut the psychic contact. She had long since discovered that her silence was a more potent weapon than anything she could ever say aloud, and she liked exercising that effect as often as possible. She closed her eyes and waited for the elevator to take her right down to the ground…

… and was almost instantly rocked off her feet by a rumbling that caused the elevator to shake and shudder in its shaft. She knew enough about ballistics to realise that that had been the shockwave from a sizeable explosion, and immediately re-opened her link to Lieutenant Wagner. Report, she snapped again, angry that for the first time in a long time, she didn't know what was going on.

The rebels have detonated an explosive device close to their last recorded position, Wagner replied, sounding remarkably composed despite what had just happened. Elisabeth wondered briefly whether to mentally mark him down for a commendation later, but discounted that as irrelevant for the moment. There were more important things to worry about here and now than simply pinning medals to a subordinate's chest.

Damage? she demanded, tapping her chin thoughtfully with one gloved finger and glancing at the backlit floor indicator above the elevator door, seeing with simmering frustration that she was still well above ground level.

Undetermined, as yet, Lieutenant Wagner explained. We have lost contact with at least one squad of troops and there seem to be power fluctuations in that area as well. I have sent two squads to investigate, but I fear we will not know the full extent of the damage for some time.

Elisabeth felt the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips at that. At last, she had the prospect of a challenge. She liked that thought. Good work, Lieutenant. Keep me informed.

Kitty felt grateful for the respite that the explosion had brought her and the rest of the squad – with the corridor collapsed behind them thanks to one of the blocks of plastique that Hank and Cecilia had had the foresight to bring along, it would take the Soviets valuable time to circle around and come at them from a different angle. Kitty decided that that was a very good thing right now; it would give them less time under fire, and that was exactly what they needed with four wounded colleagues to look out for. Val, Sam, Hank and Logan were all far from their best physically – and although Kitty could see Logan was improving almost by the second, thanks to his fast healing, she still didn't think it was sensible to put the old man back in harm's way just yet. She wasn't worried about being outnumbered – she knew that with Madrox around, that wouldn't ever be a problem – but she was worried about being caught with her pants down, or getting trapped in a corner and having nowhere else to run to. She didn't want to leave the wounded to the Ivans, either, because she knew they'd just be sent off to Alaska and worked to death in the labour camps. Although with the combination of the fires in the truck depot and the med-lab, and the explosion that had just gone off, she hoped that that wouldn't come to pass.

"So… you got any idea where we're going, babe?" Madrox said as cheerfully as he could manage, jogging up beside her with his rifle clutched in one hand and a grenade held in the other.

"No," Kitty muttered, pointing to a large set of directions bolted to the wall beside her. "I can't read these fucking Russian signs, remember?"

"Well, I can," Logan said, holding his side briefly as his muscles continued knitting themselves back together – Kitty could see the surface of Logan's skin shifting like the surface of a pool of water as tissue re-grew underneath it. He stepped up to the board and started scanning it as quickly as he could, underlining the words with a finger as he read them. "Okay. We're on sub-level two… so if we keep goin' straight, then take a left, and then another left, we should reach the stairwell without any more problems." He grinned, exposing his sharp canines. "Looks like we'll be gettin' outta here after all."

"Looks like," Kitty agreed, feeling slightly less lost than before. Then she turned and looked at Cecilia, who was still helping her concussed husband to stay upright, and grudgingly allowing a Madrox dupe to help her. "How's Hank?" she asked, seeing from his vacant, unfocused gaze that the answer wasn't going to be one she wanted to hear.

"Not good," Cecilia replied, confirming Kitty's sour expectations. "He can just about stand on his own now, but running or fighting's out of the question."

"Still can't see straight," Hank mumbled, sounding just as hopelessly dazed as he had the last time Kitty had heard him try to talk. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise," Cecilia told him firmly, brushing some stray hair out of his eyes. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, you hear me?"

Logan's sandpaper-rough laughter echoed in the empty corridor at that moment. "Yeah, Hank – if anybody should be apologisin', it oughtta be me. I got you into this by gettin' myself captured by those bastards in the first place."

"You know, much as I hate to interrupt this touching little Kodak moment," Madrox said, coughing slightly, "it's pretty much too late to be handing out blame to anybody. When we get back to… to… to wherever it is we're going to go once we're out of here, then we can start ripping chunks out of each other. Until then, I suggest we all keep a lid on things like that, and try staying alive first."

"I second that," Val agreed in a strained, hoarse voice. Kitty could see that she was still suffering from the persistent headache the glancing bullet wound had caused, and she could also see that with the Russkie anaesthetic wearing off, Val's pain was getting worse. "You'll make a leader yet, Jamie." She offered Madrox the best smile she could manage, pulling the edges of her mouth up almost imperceptibly into a thin, lipless line, and then patted him on the shoulder with her left hand – her right was clutching one of Kitty's pistols. Kitty had offered it to her more as a security measure than anything else: right now she was convinced Val wouldn't be able to hit the broad side of a barn, but having a gun in her hand would probably make her feel more comfortable about the whole situation, if nothing else.

Just then, another passageway loomed up on Kitty's left, and she reached into her bag for another block of plastique. "Okay," she said, before taking a deep breath and jabbing the contact points of a fuse into the soft material before fixing it to a power-relay box on the wall. With luck, it might also help knock out the building's electricity, or at least slow it down for a while "Everybody get clear." When the squad was a reasonably safe distance away from the potential blast zone, Kitty took a detonator from the bag and pressed it together with the wires snaking from the plastique. Taking a deep breath, she pushed its button down with her thumb and yelled "Fire in the hole!" before phasing instinctively as the corridor collapsed, spilling dust and chunks of concrete and steel everywhere. Something else for the Ivans to work through, Kitty mused privately, a haggard grin crossing her lips for a second or so. Making her way down the corridor to where the rest of her squad were positioned behind what little cover they could find, she shrugged. "Time to move on, I guess."

Sam took a hand away from his blood-soaked ribs to gesture at the passageway in front of them. "You're one hundred percent sure you know where we're goin', Logan?" he asked, scepticism thick in his pain-wracked voice. "I don't wanna end up dead because you forgot how to read, old man."

Logan growled deep in his throat, obviously annoyed that his judgement had been questioned. "I'm as sure as I'm ever gonna be," he replied in a gruff, clipped tone, both his fists clenching tightly closed. "That's all I can tell you… boy."

In response, Sam simply snorted contemptuously and began moving down the corridor as quickly as his wounds would allow, blood continuing to spatter in sporadic droplets onto the tiled floor as he did so. Watching him limping a little, Madrox slapped a hand against the wall and popped another dupe into existence. "You want a hand, man?" the dupe said in concern. "I got two, after all."

"I'm fine," Sam muttered, fixing his gaze on the corridor ahead of him and intentionally speeding up so that the dupe couldn't take his arm. "I don't need no help from anybody, you hear me?"

Madrox shot a questioning look at Kitty, who simply shrugged. "You heard the man," she said. "Let's pick up the pace, guys. Don't want to be here when the Ivans decide to drop in, after all." Guess that's one thing we can all agree on, she thought bitterly.

Colonel Braddock felt the elevator touch down, the familiar momentary lurch as the compartment's speed vanished a welcome sensation, especially now. She stepped out and walked towards the defensive perimeter that her troops had established in the lobby, and then found the provisional commanding officer, Lieutenant Wagner. He saluted with one of his blue-furred, two-fingered hands, and gave her a quick, perfunctory summary of how he had arranged his forces so far – giving her details of how he had re-assigned men to help stem the spread of the fires in both the truck depot and the med-lab, and to deal with the rubble caused by the explosions in the sub-levels – Elisabeth had felt the second blast just as she was about to arrive at ground level, and had demanded an explanation there and then. Fortunately, Lieutenant Wagner had had foresight enough to know that it ought to be dealt with as soon as possible, and had made sure he had all of his bases covered before she had demanded that he do something. Elisabeth made another mental note that this was a man worth watching in the future. Perhaps I should make him my new adjutant, she mused thoughtfully. The position is vacant now, after all…

"Very good, Lieutenant," she said, after he had finished laying out his plans to her. "Now pull back."

Lieutenant Wagner's face looked as if he had swallowed a hand-grenade. "Sir?" he said, confused. "We have a solid defensive position here. If the rebels come from anywhere in the building they will –"

Elisabeth held up her hand. "I know, Lieutenant – and that is why you will pull back to the outside of the building. I wish to face them… alone."

"Comrade-Colonel?" Lieutenant Wagner asked, incredulous. "I don't... I don't understand. What are you –"

Elisabeth held up a hand to silence him. "I'm not asking you to understand, Comrade-Lieutenant Wagner, I am ordering you to pull back. And if you do not do it, I will personally sign the order that will transport you and your whole wretched regiment to Alaska. I trust you understand that?" She jabbed a gloved hand into his fur-covered face for emphasis, making sure that he understood exactly what she meant and leaving no room for confusion.

Lieutenant Wagner swallowed, and then nodded respectfully, before walking back to his troops and relaying the order from the other lieutenants down to the sergeants and the enlisted men, every trooper carrying out his part in the operation with the speed and efficiency that Elisabeth was so proud of when she thought of her soldiers. They trooped outside and set up defensive positions facing towards the building, with machine guns and sharpshooters taking precedence over the normal rank-and-file men. Every exit was covered, and Elisabeth was sure that nothing would get out of the building alive unless she allowed it.

This ends here, she thought, pulling her pistol out of its holster for a final time. Let them come…

Kitty helped Val climb the stairs, easing her injured body up each step as quickly as she could. Val pulled her breath in through her teeth every few minutes or so, as a movement hit a tender muscle or a bruised arm or leg, but she kept going, determined to get to the top. The same was true of Cecilia and Hank, and the Madrox dupe that was helping them – even though Hank was nearly twice Cecilia's size, she didn't give up, and kept pushing his muscular bulk up the stairs as fast as she could. When he stumbled, she caught him, and offered him a reassuring word or two as she helped him back to his feet.

Sam was a different story, though, and that worried Kitty. He had taken to pushing himself harder and harder, leading the way, and even with his injuries was refusing help. He used his shotgun as a crutch sometimes, and often bounced off the concrete wall of the stairwell, making Kitty wince in shared discomfort, but he didn't stop. The one time Madrox popped another dupe out to try and help him up, Sam had angrily shrugged him off again, with the same message as before.

"I don't like this," Madrox whispered to Kitty. "This isn't Sam. He's a jerk, yeah, but he's never been this jerky. Something's wrong."

"Probably the eight pounds of buckshot he's got in his side, kid," Logan interrupted as he padded lithely up the stairs in front of Kitty, all his wounds finally mended. "That'll make a man say just about anythin'."

"Agreed," Val murmured in a low voice. "I think we'll have to keep an extra eye on him. Logan, can you take care of that?"

The small man touched two fingers to his brow briefly in a short salute. "Gotcha, Val. I just hope I won't need to do anythin' drastic, is all."

Sam stumbled up the last few steps to the ground level, and waited for the rest of the squad to reach him before he smiled smugly at them. "Glad y'all could make it," he said, blood bubbles popping at the side of his mouth as he spoke, and then he grasped the handle of the door as hard as he could and flung it wide open, limping through and into the wide open space of the building's converted lobby. He laughed as he saw the Soviet troops waiting outside, their weapons trained on the exits. "Looks like they planned us a real party, huh?"

And then his leg exploded, a high-calibre round punching right into the meat and gristle of his knee-joint and making it fold like a house of cards. He landed squarely on the shattered joint and screamed as bone crunched unpleasantly. Kitty cursed herself for watching Sam instead of looking around to secure the area, and then realised that she couldn't see anybody else in the lobby at all. None of the soldiers outside had fired – there were no holes in the glass, for one thing, and she could see that there were no smoking barrels amongst the Russian troops.

Another bullet hit Sam square in the stomach, making him scream again – and Kitty still hadn't seen any muzzle flash or other indication of where the bullets were coming from.

What the fuck is going on here?

Mocking laughter erupted out of thin air, seemingly coming from behind the squad. Kitty whirled, her gun at the ready, but she saw nothing, and instead only felt a cold trickle of sweat running down the back of her neck and into the fabric of her ragged T-shirt. The laughter sounded again, this time from the squad's left. Kitty looked in that direction nervously, her breath catching in her throat, and once more saw nothing.

Sam was hit one more time then, through the back of the head. His hands twitched once, reflexively, and then he lay still. As Kitty watched the spreading pool of brains and blood oozing from around her team-mate's head, she saw a form begin to materialise in front of her, something that definitely hadn't been there before. It was a woman – a Red Army officer, Kitty quickly realised, since she was dressed in the traditional grey greatcoat and peaked cap that all Soviet officers wore. When she was fully visible, she simply smiled. "Hello, Logan," she said, eyeing the short man with almost casual coldness. "Good to see you again."