A/N: Apologies for the long wait between updates, life happened and this is the longest and most complex chapter so far. Thank you for reading!
Rescue Ops
[Configuring secure uplink… COMPLETE]
[Running encryption protocol… COMPLETE]
[Initializing video conference… COMPLETE]
S: Sir. Good news from Central Asia. The war is escalating. The eyes of the superpowers are fixed on Aldastan and Kazakhstan. With the GLA as a distraction, we can safely expand our operations in Europe and Africa.
K: Good. Well done. And Dr. Thrax?
S: The prototype's performance exceeded expectations, and the data gathered will inform the next set of upgrades. The Divination is proceeding ahead of schedule.
K: I asked about Dr. Thrax, my friend.
S: …Unfortunately, it would seem that we eliminated one of his many body doubles. We did intercept the stolen dossier, however.
K: I want him dead. And I want the source of this leak found and dealt with. We must conceal the Technology of Peace until we've made this world ready to embrace it.
S: Yes sir. The prototype is awaiting the right moment. Our enemies will find Thrax for us, and then we'll have him.
K: Very well. See to it. Oh, and one other thing… What is the UN's little band of misfits up to?
S: Solomon's "fact-finding" mission? I wouldn't worry about them. They have no official support, and their roster is a disgraced handful of rejects. My sources tell me that Solomon's career is effectively over.
K: I wonder. I wonder if it would have been wiser to strangle that man in his crib. Watch them closely, Seth. And keep me updated.
[END TRANSMISSION]
November 5th, 1995 - Bishkek, Liberated Aldastan (former Kyrgyzstan) - 1900 hrs
ADILET
The thirst was the worst part. It hurt to speak, hurt to cough, hurt to swallow. Any movement in his mouth made his throat's dry, irritated flesh scream for water.
Adilet could endure the beatings, the hunger, the shackles. Given a choice of sufferings, he would have chosen all of them to end the thirst. But he had no choices. Not while he was captive here.
Thrax's men had chained him to a sturdy metal shelf in the garage's supply closet, wedging him like an ungainly cargo in between stacks of oil cans and boxes of machine parts. The closet was dark and hot, and stank of chemicals. It was constantly clamorous with the sound of power tools from the garage floor and from the battle for Bishkek still roaring outside. The rusty can they'd left him to piss in was the closest thing he had to water.
The steel door squealed as its lock released. It swung open, letting a stab of light into Adilet's swollen eyes. The man called 'Boil' came in, all six feet of him filling the doorway, blocking the light. Adilet had never seen Boil without his gas mask and Russian combat helmet, but still knew his face. General Thrax's elite guards were all the same kind of man.
Behind that mask would be Arab features, probably young and bearded. Boil spoke Russian, so Adilet suspected he was from Iraq or Libya, one of those countries where the World Socialist Alliance was spreading proletarian progress just as Russia had once done in Kyrgyzstan. The two gold chevrons on his green GLA armband marked him as an elite fighter, as did the modern tan body armour over his black uniform.
Adilet pictured Boil serving in his country's military, fighting GLA rebels before becoming radicalized himself and being drawn into Dr. Thrax's orbit by promises of toxic super weapons to change the world. It was a familiar story, a pattern Adilet had seen many times since the GLA took over Kyrgyzstan.
But none of those details mattered right now. Adilet was focusing on Boil's weapon, as the GLA man's heavy steps came closer. The Tesla-designed Shock Projector hummed with power. It looked like a high-tech two-pronged pitchfork, connected by a thick cable to the bulky antique battery pack on Boil's back. The weapon was at least fifty years old, a relic of Stalin's insane war against the world, but Adilet knew it still worked. He held still and quiet, watching the weapon and the man.
Boil slowly took one hand off the Projector and switched on the radio nestled in his chest rig's many pockets, next to the sheath of a long combat knife. The crackling, staticky voice that came was more frightening than the Tesla weapon.
"Hello there, my stupid guest." Dr. Thrax's voice was raspy and his Russian was terrible, amateurish, grating to Adilet's ears. He had to strain to understand.
"Boil tells me you still won't confess. This makes things much worse for you. Make no mistake: you will reveal who you are spying for. The Chinese? The Americans? Or maybe another side in the shadows, hm? You will tell all to me, soon enough. That's right! This is one Doctor who still makes house calls!"
A hacking cackle broke off into a series of wrenching coughs, and the warlord cut the transmission. Boil stared at Adilet for a few moments, waiting, watching behind his round dark goggles.
Adilet said nothing. They would kill him no matter what he said. Silence meant they would kill him slower, but at least later. He would take that trade. It was the only choice he had.
Yet fear still made him swallow, sparking another pang inside his parched throat. Dr. Thrax was the prince of poisons, a delighter in disease. Adilet knew that when Thrax arrived, he would beg to feel something as merciful as thirst again.
Boil turned away, and walked out. The heavy door shut and locked once more. Artillery rumbled like thunder outside his prison, announcing a fresh Chinese offensive in the battle that was destroying his home city. Closing his eyes, Adilet tried not to cry.
TOYAMA
Calm down, Suki, Lieutenant Toyama told herself. You can do this. You have to do this.
But her hands would not stop trembling. She folded her arms to hide them, and glanced around to make sure none of her teammates had seen her weakness.
They hadn't. They were all watching the battle.
The Sun had faded, and the city was blacked out. The only light came from fires. Bishkek was burning in a hundred places now, but the main conflagration was taking shape in front of them, two hundred metres away. Echo Nine could watch from their perch on the fourth floor of a parking garage, behind Chinese lines, waiting by their vehicle.
Chüy Prospekti, formerly known as Lenin Prospekt, was a major east-west road running through the heart of Bishkek. Any invader wanting to take the city needed to take the road.
The GLA had blocked the road with vehicles and sandbags and Stinger Sites, with garrisoned strongholds established in bombed-out university buildings on flanking both sides of the route. Recon had exposed a warren of fortified tunnels underneath the position, screened by a swarm of IEDs. Hundreds of fighters were believed to be entrenched, backed by vehicles.
The People's Liberation Army was attacking head-on with overwhelming numbers and firepower. Toyama ducked down and covered her ears as a fresh salvo of artillery screamed overhead to fall upon the GLA. The armoured vehicles on the road fired at the same instant, tank shells and rapid-fire rotary cannons hosing the enemy's defenses, enveloping them in a cloud of flame and dust lit with orange flashes of tracer rounds and detonating explosives.
The explosions blended together into an overwhelming roar. The ground quivered beneath her feet. Toyama felt like her organs were shaking within her, and she was hundreds of metres away. She could only imagine the hell that the GLA fighters were in.
Behind the neatly-arrayed front line of firing tanks, the Prospekt was thick with supporting units: Mobile Listening Posts raising their antennae to capture enemy transmissions, Troop Crawlers deploying squad after squad of Chinese infantry, and a double row of self-propelled artillery lifting their barrels skyward in a grim salute, ready to hurl even more firepower onto the GLA's heads.
Officer school had taught Toyama that the Chinese military was a backwards force of indoctrinated conscripts, depending on sheer numbers over sophistication. But these troops moved with smooth confidence, acting with precision and grace under fire. Every unit had their place in an offensive as coordinated as a dance. Toyama wondered if this was the impact of the famous General 'Tigress' Liang in command, or just another sign of her own lack of readiness for real war.
It hadn't been this hard in Sinai. When the UN mission had been ambushed, Toyama had reacted instantly, guided by instinct and training. She had tried everything to save her team, risked her life without hesitation, and fought to her last bullets in the face of hopeless odds.
Anger had kept her moving. The fear had come only afterwards. The nightmares had followed, night after night. And now, with lives depending on her, the tremor in her hands matched the shaking of the ground as the battle raged.
She forced herself to focus on something productive, like checking her equipment. At least this time, her team was properly geared up.
Toyama had a fully loaded medical backpack, and an MP-7 submachine gun for personal defense. Parker and Captain Solomon were geared for real combat, and had opted for the AR-70 'Raptor' automatic rifle as their primary arm along with sidearms, knives, and an array of grenades. Even Black Lotus had a weapon slung alongside her laptop case, a stubby QCW-05 bullpup submachine gun. Lotus was the only one not wearing tan desert camo fatigues. Her long dark coat enveloped her like a cloak. The rules were different for spies.
The GLA held their fire as the Chinese advanced. The tanks rolled forward, still firing steadily, the cannons of squat Battlemasters pounding away alongside the rapid-fire spinning barrels of 'Gatling' tanks. Infantry squads trailed behind the tanks like a long human cape, crouching behind the armour for cover. The elite paratroops bristled with weaponry - battle rifles, explosives, rocket launchers, even a few rotary miniguns hefted by the burliest troops.
Eyeing the Chinese through his binoculars, Parker let out a hungry growl.
"Man. I gotta get me one of those chainguns."
It was all a game to him. Toyama liked Parker, but in the same way she liked children. She wasn't sure whether he could handle real responsibility.
As the Chinese closed in, the GLA finally opened up. Volleys of rockets arced into the air as smoking RPGs cut their winding trails toward the lead tanks. Machine guns chattered angrily, guarding tunnel entrances that were now disgorging their own vehicles, light 'Scorpion' tanks peppering the Chinese with their short cannons.
Some of the attacks went wide. Others didn't. A Battlemaster tank exploded, and the soldiers behind it fell flat.
The Chinese kept coming. Jet engines roared overhead as MiGs swooped in slinging missiles, and the self-propelled guns pumped a flaming salvo skyward. Sheets of yellow flame rose above the smoke as napalm shells roasted the GLA.
Toyama knew she was too far away to really be smelling the burning of human flesh. But somehow, the napalm still had the exact same scent as Carson and Singh's bodies, cooking in the ruined APC after the Sinai Massacre. She coughed for a moment, and turned away.
Lotus glanced at her, and Toyama froze. Black Lotus' gaze always felt like a searchlight, illuminating her weakness in plain view. Toyama looked away, focusing on Captain Solomon instead.
The Captain was calm and confident, surveying the battle like he was in command of it. Toyama promised herself she wouldn't let him down. This mission was their first real chance to redeem themselves. To prove to the world that they weren't just failures.
"Best distraction we could ask for," the Captain said, then touched the radio lodged in his ear.
"Keller says we've got our opening." Solomon up at the sky where the Rorqual was observing from high altitude. "The enemy has pulled forces off a side street to reinforce the main front. Everyone saddle up! This is it!"
"Finally." Parker lowered his binoculars, flashed a grin at her, then hopped into the driver's seat of their ride. "Nice night for a drive."
The rest of Echo Nine boarded as well. Toyama unslung her medkit and carefully placed it in the back before taking her own seat beside it. Then she pulled up the black scarf tucked into her collar, hiding the lower half of her face. The rest of the team did the same, leaving only their eyes exposed.
Her hand shook as she lowered it. She curled it into a tight fist, then sat on it.
"Time to rock n' roll!" Parker shouted. The engine growled like a dog eager to play, and the captured Technical rolled out.
PARKER
Solomon had been right. Parker loved the plan.
Dressing as the enemy was prohibited by international law. Using captured enemy equipment, on the other hand, was more of a legitimate 'ruse de guerre,' assuming appropriate markings. Which was why Keller had spray-painted the Technical tan in the Rorqual's cargo bay. The vehicle had been seized intact by Chinese troops as they stormed Bishkek's train station, and found its way into Echo Nine's hands thanks to Black Lotus' connections.
GLA forces were a patchwork of different militias and bands, with no standard look among them beside a fondness for green. Their team was gambling their lives on the assumption that, with a nighttime battle already raging, the GLA would hesitate to fire on a Technical painted the wrong colour. Colonel Burton would never have approved a stunt like this.
Parker hummed and tapped the steering wheel as he guided the pickup down the ramps leading out of the parking garage. He rolled slow and without lights through the darkened city, approaching the border of GLA territory. Gunfire and explosions kept up a constant background roar.
"Take a left, and then the third right onto 'Solidarity Lane,'" Lotus said beside him, slightly muffled by her mask. Her laptop was propped on the dashboard, a 'borrowed' USA drone feed showing an aerial view of their route.
"Backseat driver," he muttered, but did as she said.
He'd memorised their route, but Lotus was in charge of navigating this little ride. Toyama would stay in the back with her gear. Captain Solomon was manning the .50 cal machine gun bolted to the back of the truck bed, one of many pieces of American gear seized in GLA raids across the world. That left one seat open in the Technical for Adilet Kulov: their objective. If they made it that far.
Solidarity Lane ran parallel to Chüy Prospekti, placing them on the edges of the main battle, shells and missiles arcing overhead as Chinese troops kept pounding militant defenses. It had been blocked off, but some helpful Chinese tanker had blown a pickup-sized hole through the rubble. The torn bodies of GLA defenders sprawled across the street, lit by a burning building. The Technical bumped up and down, up and down as it ran over them.
Parker glimpsed Toyama's ashen face in his mirror, and smirked. You ain't seen nothing yet, Doc.
"Incoming! Six o'clock!"
Parker didn't ask why Solomon was shouting. He floored it, blessing the black-market modifications that made the Technical's engine roar under the hood. Tires squealed and the Technical lurched forward down the street, rattling from the blast of the rocket slamming into the pavement from behind it. For a moment, Solomon was enveloped by smoke.
"Captain!" Toyama yelled, half-turning. Her hand was on the door handle, ready to leap out.
"I'm good!" Solomon called back, coughing, brushing bits of street off his shoulder. His next words came through the radio, sounding clear in Parker's ear over the chaos of the battle. "Lotus, contact Iron Tiger and tell them to hold their fire. I saw- That was a Chinese round!"
Lotus flashed an 'OK' signal, and spoke Chinese into her radio headset.
Parker wasn't surprised by the friendly fire. They were a secret team on a covert op that the Generals only half supported. To the average grunt who knew nothing about their mission, one Technical was the same as another.
Jet fighters roared overhead, AA missiles nipping at their tails, and more explosions ripped through the night air. Shattered concrete spattered over the vehicle as more of Bishkek's buildings crumbled. Someone shouted from a window above them. GLA fighters scrambled down the street brandishing rifles and RPGs, running past the vehicle without giving the tan Technical a second glance.
It's working, Parker thought.
A tremor shuddered through the pickup, and some instinct moved Parker to flash the lights for a moment. A steaming shell crater gaped wide to welcome them into a yawning pit beneath the street. He cursed and whirled the steering wheel, sending the Technical skidding around the cracking edge of the hole.
He left the lights on after that. Black Lotus, still talking on the radio, tapped his forearm and signalled for a left turn.
From here it was a straight shot to the objective. A quick, easy drive. If their intel was good. If the Chinese or the GLA didn't kill them. If the road wasn't cratered, or blocked.
"Civilians!" Toyama said, leaning forward in her seat.
"I see 'em, Doc." Parker slowed down, then brought the vehicle to a grumbling halt.
A huddle of unarmed people in long coats and robes staggered across the cracked street, stark and pallid in the glare of the headlights. A snow-bearded man stared at the sky. A young girl pulled at his hand, guiding his stumbling steps forward. A woman behind them wailed into her bloody hands, before being bumped by a younger man wobbling on his crutches. They limped and weaved slowly, supporting each other as they shuffled like sleepwalkers.
"Mental shock. Lacerations, maybe from broken glass. Possible concussion on the old man. That ankle looks broken." Toyama murmured symptoms behind Parker, one hand resting on her medical bag.
"We can't stop for anything," Lotus said. "Let's fire over their heads."
Parker hammered the horn and revved the engine, edging the truck forward. The girl blinked at him for a moment, eyes wide in the headlights. Then she called something in Kyrgyz and waved a hand, beckoning her- family? Family, Parker decided - to hurry across the street.
Toyama sighed, watching them go. Parker slowly rolled the Technical forward, and gave Lotus a look. She ignored him.
"Captain, Iron Tiger says there won't be any more friendly fire," Lotus reported, eyes not straying from her laptop and its drone feed. "Because we're now too far behind enemy lines for their fire to reach."
"Heads up," Solomon came back on the radio. "Enemy motorcycle troops incoming."
A long, snaking line of GLA fighters buzzed up the street towards them, bent over motorcycles. They dashed for the battlefront in darkness, their lights dimmed to avoid coalition eyes and bombs. Some of them waved and called out to the Technical as it passed. Parker pulled up his mask and waved back, trying to look casual.
Two, then four, then six cycles passed. The seventh trailed behind, loaded heavy with explosive shells and components. The young, goggled rider came up beside the driver's seat, and the two men glanced sideways at the same moment. Their eyes met.
Then the rider's eyes widened behind his goggles, taking in Parker's khaki uniform, and the Chinese woman sitting next to him.
Shit.
"We're made!" Parker yelled, and flattened the gas pedal. The Technical leapt forward, engine roaring not quite loud enough to drown out the GLA fighter yelling for his comrades. In the mirror, Parker saw the cycles slow, then wheel around and come after their car.
He also saw Solomon yank the bolt back on the 'Ma Deuce,' whirl the machine gun around, and light up the night with a hammering stream of rounds. A golden tracer sparked against the cycle's fuel tanks, and the vehicle vanished in a fireball, taking its rider with it.
Solomon kept firing. Parker whooped out loud as more motorcycles exploded and men died. People kept telling him that war was Hell, but no one had ever explained to him why Hell was so damn fun.
"Roadblock up ahead!" Lotus yelled over the noise of gunfire. "We have to detour!"
The surviving motorcycles shot out of the fireball, closing on the Technical, guns blazing. Solomon kept up the fire, knocking them over one after another. More gunfire erupted left and right, GLA fighters opening up from surrounding buildings.
"No time!" Parker yelled back, and pinned the pedal to the floor. The modified engine roared in the hood like an unchained beast.
The roadblock loomed out of the night: a rude, hasty heap of earth and scrap metal. Parker aimed for the largest sheet of corrugated iron, leaning against the roadblock like a ramp. If this didn't work, the truck would flip into a crash, and surviving team members would be pulled from the wreck into the GLA's waiting knives.
But if it does work, it'll be awesome, he thought, and held the wheel dead steady as he guided the Technical towards the jump.
Everything else faded away: Black Lotus coolly shutting her laptop and bracing herself beside him, Toyama screaming behind them, Solomon blazing away in the rear, GLA bullets sparking off the Technical's scarred armour. Nothing existed except him, the truck, and the jump.
The Technical hit the ramp, climbed upwards, and shot off the top of the roadblock as though launched from a catapult, hanging in the air for two eternal seconds before crashing back to the street in a teeth-rattling slam. Parker felt his jaw shake, tasted blood as he bit his tongue, and grinned.
He'd done it. And the Arms Dealer was now dead ahead.
A low wall encircled the shabby-looking brown garage, but its big wooden double doors were wide open, revealing an opening into the warmly-lit vehicle bay within. Parker drove for it, ignoring the bang of an abused tire deflating beneath him, wrestling with the wheel as the Technical began to fishtail back and forth, back and forth. In the mirror, a GLA cyclist copied their jump over the roadblock, only to explode midair from Solomon's gunnery.
The rest wouldn't be far behind. All hope of stealth had blown up along with that first motorcycle. Their only hope now was to hit the garage like a hurricane, grab the hostage, and get out before the enemy knew what was happening.
"Hang on!" He yelled, and floored it one last time.
Beside him, Black Lotus rubbed her whiplash-shaken neck, and braced herself again. Solomon ceased fire and swivelled the machine gun forward, ready to engage new targets. Toyama made a keening noise and gripped her medkit.
The truck shot through the garage doors and screeched to a halt in the garage's vehicle bay, slotting itself in between a half-stripped American Humvee and a trackless flame-scorched Scorpion tank.
Parker was expecting to see surprised mechanics amidst the metal workbenches and whirring tools surrounding the vehicles. He instead saw half a dozen rifles and SMGs raised from all directions by the tan-armoured elite bodyguards of Dr. Thrax.
"Oops," he said, and the battle began in earnest.
SOLOMON
At this point, the plan had been to quietly hide the truck in an alley and sit tight while Black Lotus infiltrated the garage, scouted enemy forces, and located the hostage. Only then would Echo Nine go loud and storm the location.
The plan was now completely shot. So were a lot of people, as well as Captain Solomon's patience.
"Move!" He roared, and swung the .50 cal in a blazing semicircle around the garage, ignoring the enemy bullets snapping past his ear, blowing out a light over his head, and raking the vehicle beneath his feet. His team scrambled out of the Technical, Parker and Lotus already shooting back.
The heavy machine gun was almost deafening in this enclosed space, and its impact was devastating. Solomon hit two men, and they burst like wet fruit thrown against a wall. Another man dropped from Parker or Lotus' fire, he didn't see which. The surviving three terrorists dove for cover among barrels, boxes, and the other vehicles.
A whirring motor drew Solomon's eyes behind him. He saw the garage door swinging shut, which was good, because more GLA were closing in from outside. He turned back, and then he got hit.
As a boy, Jim once had an accident caused by a combination of leaking pipes in their little apartment and a frayed electrical cord on the kitchen toaster. His brother had found him on the kitchen floor, twitching and gasping for breath, invisible needles jabbing throughout his body. Ben had picked him up and carried him out of the kitchen, and stayed with him until he could move again.
This felt like that electric shock, in the same way that a pebble felt like a mountain.
Solomon's muscles seized. His back arched. His radio earpiece popped like a firecracker in his ear, jolting his lobe. His hands clamped around the machine gun as though throttling it. His eyes were locked wide open, so he could see the big masked man with the antique Tesla weapon aimed at the Technical from across the garage, a brilliant blue electric bolt arcing into the truck's sparking engine.
Then Parker popped up from behind the Technical and shot the guy. The armoured Shock Trooper staggered, and ducked behind a box of engine parts as Parker's second burst scarred the wall behind him.
The death-grip on Solomon's muscles relaxed. He managed to stumble off the truck bed while the roasted engine caught fire. Steam hissed as the radiator boiled. They wouldn't be leaving the way they came.
Dragging himself on cramping, tingling hands and knees, Solomon joined up with Parker. More gunfire ripped over their heads and two more tires burst on the burning Technical. The GLA had them suppressed.
"Wh-" Solomon coughed, tongue feeling fuzzy. "Toyama? Lotus?"
A grenade sailed over their cover and clanked down between them. Parker scooped it up and tossed it back over his shoulder without missing a beat. There was a shout, a bang, and a death-scream from the direction the grenade had come.
"Saw 'em crawl under the Humvee," Parker said, slamming a new magazine into his rifle, yelling over the sound of battle. "I've still got radio - Lotus says they can get the hostage if we make a distraction."
"Good." Solomon nodded. "Then let's get distracting. Suppress that Tesla while I flank!"
"Man, I'm glad I joined this team." Parker's grin showed all his teeth. He rose up and opened fire, ignoring the sizzling electricity that blazed past his ear, reeking of ozone.
The Technical was truly burning now, a haze of smoke hanging like cobwebs around the garage ceiling. Solomon moved around the vehicle's rear, staying low, shaking the remnants of the shock out his hand.
He'd studied Tesla weapons at West Point. While impractical compared to old-fashioned bullets and artillery, they still packed a punch. If the Shock Trooper had aimed at him instead of the truck engine, he'd be dead and fried.
But he wasn't dead. Which meant that while Parker traded rounds with the Shock Trooper, Captain Solomon could ignore the pain as he climbed up on the back of the Scorpion tank and got elevation on the two remaining GLA guards. He saw them crouched behind a rusty, overturned work table with spilled screws strewn in front of it, aiming their rifles at Parker. Solomon knelt behind the tank's turret, and tossed a grenade.
The enemies had sharp reflexes. They saw the grenade coming and sprinted from cover. One of them shouted out in English, with a slight Jersey accent:
"Boil, target on the tank!"
Solomon would never know what brought the man from New Jersey to Aldastan, because he shot both terrorists the moment they broke cover. As they fell, James Solomon rediscovered the part of himself that liked killing bad people.
Jersey was still moving, squirming on the floor. He grabbed at his thigh holster and raised a handgun at Solomon. Solomon put a burst through his head first, and then the grenade went off, swallowing the bodies in a cloud of flame and shrapnel.
The garage fell silent. Smoke hung in the air from the burning Technical, joined by the stink of paint and oil ignited by the grenades. Solomon called out.
"Parker, you good?"
"Still here! I got that zap guy in the backpack, I think he's dead."
A scraping noise from behind him was his only warning. Solomon whirled around and saw a serrated combat knife coming for his throat. He had a blurred impression of the gas-masked figure lunging for him, faster now that he'd ditched his Tesla weapon, and then Boil was on top of him.
"You can't stop us! The prisoner is already dead!"
Solomon dropped his rifle to grab the man's knife-arm, slowing the blade. The gas mask loomed in his vision, filling his world. The knife plunged downward toward his neck, driving against Solomon's blocking forearm.
"Like hell!" Solomon spat in his face and heaved upwards and sideways, rolling the two men off the tank.
They hit the floor in a yelling, grabbing heap, wrestling for Boil's knife. A tool box clattered down beside them, wrenches and ratchets spilling out beside it.
Boil flipped over on top of him again, knees on his body, the weight squeezing the air from Solomon's lungs, pinning him. Solomon twisted the wrist holding the knife, trying to force a drop, but Boil just leaned down harder, driving the knife down. The blade filled the right side of Solomon's vision, coming for his eyes.
I can't stop him, Solomon thought. Boil had leverage and gravity on his side. The knife would go into Solomon's right eye.
Three inches from his eyeball. Now two. Now just one.
Solomon gritted his teeth, and put everything he had into his left arm, holding back the knife for just a moment longer. His right hand groped out to his side, closed around a screwdriver, and jabbed upwards to drive the tool's blunt tip into Boil's jaw.
Blood dripped onto Solomon's face. Boil reeled backwards, knife forgotten, clawing at his face. Solomon snatched his sidearm from his holster and shot him twice in the head.
Dead weight fell over him. Solomon heaved the body off, and got back to his feet. Parker was sweeping the burning room with his rifle. Nothing else was moving.
"Nice moves, Cap," Parker said. "Looks like we're clear." There was a thump at the door. "For now, at least."
"More GLA outside." Solomon wiped blood from his eyes, then reloaded his rifle. "You keep 'em occupied. I'm going after the others. We need to get the hostage and get the hell out of here."
Everything relied on Lotus and Toyama. And on the hope that Boil had been lying or mistaken when he said that the hostage was already dead.
BLACK LOTUS - 60 SECONDS AGO
Unlike Parker, Black Lotus hated the plan, and not only because she had just been shot.
While Solomon and Parker had been shooting up the garage, she had crawled out of the Technical and behind the captured Humvee for cover, under fire from the GLA guards. A ricochet had skimmed her right side, muffled by the Kevlar lining her coat but still hitting hard. That side of her body was stiff with pain, flaring with every movement. She pushed past it, and focused on the mission.
She'd kept crawling as bullets zipped through the air and the blood from dying men dripped down on the floor around her. Glancing behind her, she'd seen Lieutenant Toyama crawling along, biting her lip in concentration as she hauled her medical bag.
"Follow me," Lotus had ordered. And so far, Toyama had at least gotten that much right, as the two of them had scurried from the Humvee's concealment toward the back of the garage.
There was a protocol for how a correct special operations team should work. A structure of rules and processes. Real elite teams trained together for months before they ever began field operations. Their missions were planned more than a few hours in advance. And they deployed with much more than four people in a pickup truck.
Echo Nine, on the other hand, had just met their newest recruit a few hours ago. They had never once trained together. They had deployed with almost no backup. And they had thrown together a mission plan this same day, relying on an outrageous bluff and little else.
Solomon's baffling squeamishness against dressing as the enemy had eliminated their best option for approaching the target undetected. Instead of slipping in using disguises, they had been forced to shoot their way in like an American action movie. All because the Captain of a secret, illegal black ops team insisted on obeying the international 'laws of war' regardless of the risk to the mission.
Their intel had been good at least, because Black Lotus had handled it herself. She knew the garage layout, and that the supply closet was the best place to keep a prisoner. While the men of the team were fighting, she knelt down, ignored the pain in her side, and quietly picked the lock of the heavy metal door at the back of the main vehicle bay.
"Ready your weapon," she told the medic. Toyama blinked at her a moment before she complied.
Special ops demanded a certain kind of personality. Toyama Suki wasn't it. Lotus knew what it looked like when someone was only barely holding it together. She had seen the medic's hands trembling earlier.
But the plan called for Toyama to reach the hostage fast, in case Adilet Kulov needed medical attention. And while Lotus hated the plan, she was a professional. She wouldn't increase their chances of failure by undermining their little unit's tenuous cohesion. Lotus had no illusions about her credibility after her failure in Beijing.
The lock clicked. She could hear movement inside, and muffled voices. Lotus raised her free hand, and counted down from three raised fingers. Then she pulled the door open.
Toyama fired. The GLA guard inside thumped to the ground.
"Target down," Toyama whispered. Her hands were perfectly still.
Lotus favoured her with a nod, then moved in.
The body on the floor had been holding a pistol, presumably about to execute the hostage. The guard's brains were spilled next to the gun. The room reeked of piss and blood.
The hostage was chained to a heavy metal shelf. Bruises and cuts marred his face, and one eye was swollen shut, swallowed up by a purple bulge consuming part of his face. His lips were chapped raw, moving sluggishly. A word in Russian came out.
"Water."
Toyama moved towards him. Lotus put out an arm to hold her back, flaring pain up and down her side.
"Stop. He's booby-trapped."
Lotus pointed. Her finger followed the chain - and the black wire threaded through it - to the wired-up canister tucked innocuously among the metal clutter of the shelf.
"There will be anthrax in that," Lotus said.
Toyama set her jaw.
"I still need to treat him. Can you tell him?"
Lotus was trained in switching smoothly between different languages, but that didn't mean she liked it. Changing from Russian to English while still thinking in Chinese always grated like she was rubbing sandpaper inside her head. She did it anyway, speaking slowly and carefully.
"Stay calm and keep still. A bomb is attached to your chains. It will go off if we free you. I need to disarm it first." She paused, watching to see if Kulov would panic. He kept perfectly still. "She is a doctor. She will take care of you." She motioned to Toyama. "Give him water."
Toyama moved forward, knelt down, and put her canteen to Kulov's mouth. Lotus expected him to gulp it down, but he impressed her by disciplining himself, taking small sips to spare his empty stomach.
The gunfire in the garage was dying down, hopefully because Parker and Solomon had killed the other terrorists. Lotus needed to focus on her part of the job right now. She opened her laptop, then took a small flashlight from inside her coat and shone it on the bomb.
A cell phone detonator, she thought. Like in Beijing. I need to work fast, or they will trigger it remotely once they realise we've taken the garage.
Toyama bent over Kulov's wounds, hissing through her teeth. "They tortured him. He needs a hospital!"
"Can you walk?" Lotus asked Kulov.
"Yes. And I don't want to die."
Kulov stayed perfectly still, not flinching as Toyama tested his ankles, checked his scabbed and filthy bare feet, and disinfected his wounds. Lotus was grateful for that. It made her job easier.
"Can you save me?" He kept his eyes on her as he whispered.
Black Lotus' fingers danced on her keyboard. The detonator layout was exactly the same as in Beijing, right down to the frequencies she knew how to isolate and jam.
"Don't worry. I know this bomb. You are going to be fine."
ADILET
The Chinese woman in the coat closed her computer and pronounced that the bomb was safe. The other woman, the doctor, helped him to his feet with a steady hand while her ally unlocked his chains with a tool from her coat. Adilet swallowed, relishing the moisture in his throat. Then he took his first steps in days, out of his prison.
The garage was on fire. All the GLA were dead, even Boil, who lay with a bloody halo spreading around his head. Two strong-looking men in khaki uniforms came to meet them. The one with dark skin spoke English in a deep voice, and Adilet knew instantly who the leader was.
"The building is surrounded by GLA," the woman with the computer translated in her perfect Russian. "We need another way out-"
A thunderous voice crashed in from outside. The words were in English, but Adilet knew that cracked, rasping voice even if he couldn't understand it.
"It's Doctor Thrax," Adilet said. His legs wobbled beneath him, and the team's medic moved to support him. "He's here for me."
"There is no way out, spies!" Now Thrax was ranting in his ugly half-formed Russian. "You walked right into my trap. You came for me, but you will stay... because you are dead! Gas them!"
A serpentine hiss came from outside. Green vapour began wafting into the garage. The four commandos pulled on gas masks, and the medic handed him one for himself.
Adilet grabbed the hacker's arm, and pointed to the far corner of the garage, where a wheeled rubbish bin was piled with scrap. Adilet knew that it was actually hollow, and far lighter than it looked.
"There. All GLA buildings have holes beneath them, leading to the tunnel network. We can escape through there!"
She translated for her allies. The two men bolted for the bin and braced themselves against it, rolling it aside. The escape tunnel waited beneath.
The hacker looked back to him. "Can you navigate these tunnels?"
"I built them. I am an engineer." He tilted his head at her. These four had saved his life, but he still didn't even know what to call them. "Thank you - Who are you? Chinese? Americans?"
"We don't exist," the hacker said, and then led him into the hole, out of the garage.
A/N: Now that Echo Nine has gone on their first mission, the author would like to thank everyone who has stuck with this strange little story, which is now a year old as of this writing. I never expected an alternate-timeline crossover between C&C's different universes to make it this far, but I am very happy that it has!
The next chapter will shift focus back to the Cold War, through the perspective of Agent Tanya.
