Series: Mission Series #3Genre: Action/Adventure
Pairings: None
Wordcount: 24K
Warnings: Violence, Language
Mission Brief
Code Name: Hot Zone
AssignmentsExternal Assets: None
Internal Assets - Commander: X5-'494
Internal Assets - Support: Unit X5-09, X5-'511 CO
Objective: Search and Seizure. Locate and retreive virus ATR-22 (Argent) sample
Primary Mobile Target: Mikhail Ashkovich - see dossier
Level of Threat: Minimal
Mission Abstract
Surveil and assess the target location. Resistance and personnel numbers are expected to be minimal. Once the exact position of the sample has been identified, proceed to obtain the sample by whatever means necessary. Return to base.
Enemy base located at 64.10.32E,40.2.2N, Bukhara province, Uzbekistan
Proceed with all possible speed. All travel, personnel, and customs arrangements are in place.
Signature, Commanding Officer: Lydecker, Donald, Colonel
(Monday, 1600 hrs)
494 snapped the blue plastic mission brief folder shut with perfect military precision. He returned crisply to attention, eyes firmly directed straight ahead. "Sir! I understand."
The office around him was a marvel of efficiency and order. The walls were largely bare, with the exception of a couple of framed commendation certificates hanging precisely just inside the door. There were no plants, no distractions, save a large map of the middle east currently occupying the full size corkboard on the western wall. The office reflected the precepts of the Manticore way of life, though no more so than the man sitting behind the large mahogany desk that took up a good deal of the room. Colonel Donald Lydecker leaned back in his gleaming black leather chair, rocking slightly on the springs.
Lydecker looked him over assessingly, and 494 straightened even further. "Good man." he said, his voice its customary husky tenor. Suddenly he came to his feet and approached 494, circling him as he looked the soldier over. "I believe you've worked with 511 before?"
"Yes, sir. We have been on three missions together."
Lydecker nodded and pursed his lips as he came to a stop facing 494. "And you used to be his CO."
494's eyes didn't so much as flicker. "Yes, sir."
"Good. You have a good record with him." Lydecker paused. "I expect your performance on this mission will be exemplary, 494. No repetitions of what happened in Kazakhstan, understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Pick up your papers from the Comissary. You leave at 0200. Dismissed."
Lydecker returned to his chair as 494 turned on his heel and exited. He smiled and shook his head, remembering the mission report 494 had filed after the Kazakhstan mission. {'X5-511 and I proceeded to diligently investigate the local establishments for willing informants', indeed.} he thought to himself with an reluctant grin. {Though I have to agree that Lola certainly qualified as 'willing'...}
He looked up as X5-511 entered his office and saluted smartly. "Sir!"
"X5-511." he stood and subjected the waiting soldier to the same scrutiny that 494 had endured. X5-511 stood at attention, dark eyes fixed on a spot directly in front of him. He was attractive, as all of the X5's were, but to this day Lydecker had never quite been able to rid him of the mischievious glint in his gaze. 511 had put on some weight, been bulking up, he noted with approval. Lydecker flicked his fingers along the edge of 511's short black hair. "Remember to get a haircut when you get back."
"Sir."
"Have you read the mission brief and attached documentation?" Lydecker asked as he returned to his desk.
"Yes, sir."
"What are you planning for the composition of your team?"
"In addition to X5-494, sir?" 511's tone was impassive, but Lydecker's lips twitched in a hastily supressed smile.
"Yes."
"X5-529 should be sufficient, sir. Based on the threat assessment, enemy count, and efficiency gains in a small group, I believe a team of three would be optimal, and X5-529 is our comm specialist."
Lydecker gazed at him expressionlessly for a moment, then nodded curtly. "I concur." 511 flushed slightly with pleasure. "Dismissed."
(Tuesday, 0030 hrs - Staging Area)
"Ahmad. They named me Ahmad." 494 looked down at his ID in disbelief. He wore a loose tan burnous, belted at the waist, and dark leather boots were briefly visible as he shifted position. "I never liked Ahmad. I thought for sure they'd give me Alexei. I mean, come on. Do I look Arab to you?"
511, dressed virtually identically, gave an amused, pointed stare at 494's newly black-dyed hair, henna-darkened skin, and brown contacts. "You know, I've gotta go with 'Yeah, you do.'"
"Laugh it up, Habib." 494 tossed 511 his own portfolio. 511 sighed in resignation. 529 looked up from his packing. His naturally thick, dark, silky hair, perfect caramel skin and soulful brown eyes marked him as a genetic descendant of the middle-eastern region they were about to visit. "And you. Shut up. At least you didn't have to sit through hours of being poked, prodded, and colourized. And, you get Saleh. At least that one is kinda cool." 529 just flapped his hand dismissively, returning to his packing. 494 zipped up his black canvas duffel and looked at his watch. "All right. We still have to stop at the armory. Let's go." he ordered, leaving the staging area. 511 and 529 picked up their own bags and followed.
(Tuesday, 0045 hrs - Staging Area)
"No guns? What do you mean no guns?"
The armory sergeant, Jessin, looked back at 494 blankly. "I mean... no guns." 511 and 529 exchanged glances, and 529 began edging around behind Jessin carefully. 494 raised an eyebrow and threw an arm around Jessin's shoulder, angling him away from his fellow soldiers. 529 blurred to the display case and crouched in front of the lock, hands busy.
"Now, come on, Jessin. You know we can't head over there unarmed. What if something went wrong?"
Jessin snorted. "You lot are plenty lethal without any guns." 529 stealthily opened the case and withdrew three Glock21C pistols, concealing them easily in the folds of his black burnous. He snagged a handful of replacement magazines and closed the glass case soundlessly, giving 511 a thumbs-up. 511 nodded, a motion 494 caught from his shadow on the wall. "I've given you all the comms equipment you asked for, but the Colonel was very clear. No firearms required."
494 removed his arm from Jessin's shoulders and nodded. "All right." he said lightly. "If the Colonel said no firearms, we'll just leave it at that." Jessin turned to look at the other two X5, standing near the door looking innocent. He frowned suspiciouly, but 494 headed for the door before he could say anything else. "Gotta go, Jessin. We'll make sure to return everything when we get back."
"You do that!" shouted Jessin after him as the door closed behind the three X5s.
494 stopped in the hall and held out his hand. 529 handed him one of the Glocks, which he immediately placed in his waistband under his robe. 511 and 529 mimicked his gesture. "Uh, 494, if the Colonel said there shouldn't be any guns, should we really..." 494 and 511 exchanged glances.
"Forget about it." 494 cut him off curtly. "The Colonel only gave that order to keep us on our toes. He'd have been shitting kittens if we went on a mission without firearms. He likes to play these little games." His lips compressed. "Especially with me."
"How would you have managed, if we hadn't been here?"
494 remained silent, but turned and looked at 529 with empty, impassive eyes. 511 put his hand on 494's shoulder, making him blink. Humanity slid back into his expression, and 529 began to breathe again. 511 waited calmly for a moment, then started purposefully toward the helipad, drawing 494's attention. "0100, men. Time to head out."
(Wednesday, 1200 hrs)
They came off the plane at the airport in Bukhara to a ferociously beaming sun, groaning and arching their backs. 494 paused to make a full body stretch, starting at his toes and ending with his fingers. His burnous returned back into its loose folds as he let his arms fall with a heartfelt moan of release. 511 and 529 stared at him.
"What?" 494 asked, sliding on his sunglasses against the glare.
511 just shook his head. "Ahmad, it freaks me out how you can make something so normal sound like sex."
494 grinned, white teeth shocking in his dark face. "I guess I've just had a lot of practice, Habib."
511 made a rude noise. 529 smiled, but looked around watchfully. "We need to get going."
494 nodded, running a hand through his black hair. "Yeah. I'm sure there's a car waiting for us here. Let's go steal it before the owner comes back."
The three men strode off of the paved airstrip, careful not to walk in sync. Dust puffed up from their boots with every footstep, only to be swirled away by the swaying of their robes. True to 494's prediction, several small cars were sitting in the rutted dirt parking lot, their drivers waiting inside the building for new arrivals. 511 chuckled and headed for a dusty tan Citroen. "This one looks like ours." He rocked the car with his hip as he moved up the driver's side, feeling the weight of the car and listening closely to the slosh of liquid inside the body. "Lots of gas." he commented. He reached through the open window and popped the trunk for the others to drop in their duffels. They piled in as 511 cracked the steering column and hotwired the car effortlessly. "Look... the key works and everything."
494 was sitting shotgun, drumming his fingers against the window frame. He stared intently at the door to the airport, eyes watchful behind his dark lenses. "Enough chit chat, Habib. Let's go." He tossed their handheld GPS into 511's lap without looking. "Head north. I want to be in position before dark."
529 was keeping an eye on the airport exit, too. "More importantly, I want to be out of the parking lot before the owner of this car comes back." 511 glanced at him in the rear view mirror and nodded with a grin.
They headed out.
(Wednesday, 2100 hrs)
494 lay prone on a tiny outcropping of rock overhanging the target site in full dark, night vision goggles providing him a view of the encampment even his enhanced vision couldn't match. The goggles included some bizarre collapsible bumps and ridges, designed to break up the telltale sillhoueete of the human head, making it easier to blend in with his rocky surroundings. He surveyed the compound again, as he had been doing for the past hour. {Twelve buildings. Random layout.} A new player left one of the west-most buildings, shouldered a rifle, and headed towards the western perimeter. {Seven guards on watch.} A lighter flared off to the east, deep in shadow. The light illuminated a face that 494 had missed on his earlier sweep, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep drag. {Eight guards on watch.} He concentrated, focusing on the perimeter guard first. {SKS carbine, 30 round magazine. M6-446 Viking pistol times 2. Six... no, seven fragmentation grenades, one smoke.} He moved his attention to the guard in the shadows. {ROMAK AKM, 30 round magazine...Is that?} He squinted in disbelief, blinked, looked again. {A GM-94 pump action grenade launcher? What the fuck?}
Wriggling carefully, 494 reversed himself off his rock until he was safely out of view of the compound. He flipped the goggles off and rolled onto his back, staring up at the star-studded sky. {A GM-94 grenade launcher is not a standard bad-guy home defense system.} He blinked again, lips compressed, as he thought. {There is something very wrong here.}
494 rolled fluidly to his feet and made his way back to his unit's post, deep in a rocky crevice and safely away from the view of any casual, or most purposeful, investigation. 511 looked up as he dropped softly to the ground beside 529. "How'd it go?"
"They have grenade launchers." 494 replied curtly, his mind still obviously elsewhere. {Why the fuck do they have GM-94s?}
529 blinked. "That doesn't jibe with our intel at all. We were only supposed to be seeing small arms."
494 frowned. "I know. Double the personnel that was projected. And, they all have SKS rifles and ROMAK AKMs. Not unusual for this area, but also not quite qualifying as 'small arms'."
511 stood and began pacing the length of their small grotto. "I don't like it. This is way outside the mission profile. And all we have is the pistols. We're way outgunned."
"But our lot's lethal enough without weapons." 529 quipped, with a flawless impression of armoury sergeant Jessin.
494 smirked and closed his eyes, assessing. "We'll proceed with the mission." he decided firmly. "We'll continue surveillance until we're sure what we're up against. Habib, find us alternative exits. If this goes south, we'll need options for bailing." 511 nodded and immediately bent his head over their satellite maps of the region. "Saleh. Are the comms up yet?"
529 nodded. "Full satellite link available. I've flashed arrival, but otherwise stayed comm silent, as you ordered, sir."
"Good." 494 tapped his lips with his thumb. "I don't like it either. There is definitely something wrong here." He paused, then sighed faintly. "But we don't have to like a mission to get it done. Now that I'm back, Saleh, how are the personnel transmitters coming in?" He rubbed his finger over the faint itch behind his ear that told him that the subcutaneous transmitter was in place. He looked up and caught 511 doing the same thing. They exchanged a grin and sheepishly dropped their hands.
"Coming through loud and clear." 529 caressed his receiver station with one loving hand. "Not even a hint of static. And we managed to stay close enough that we can use whisker communications. Virtually impossible to detect."
"Good, good." 494 found himself rubbing behind his ear again and forced his hand back to his side. "Nice to know something about this mission is going according to spec." he smiled at 529. "Good job, Saleh."
"Nothing but the best for my CO!" 529 replied happily. 511 stiffened where he stood hunched over the maps, turning to look warily at 494. 494 stilled, and the smile on 529's face began to fade.
"And, your CO thanks you!" 511 interjected quickly. "I made a good choice for comms on this trip, didn't I, Ahmad?"
494 relaxed visibly. "Yeah." he said, smiling at 529 warmly. "You did." He turned and sprang up to the top of the rocky cleft that made up their hidey hole. "I'm heading back out. I'll be back in a few hours." He faded into the shadows, and 529 and 511 exchanged a long look.
"Jesus, they sure did a number on him." 529 said plaintively. "I miss the old 494."
511 pinned him with a glare. "494 is the same person he's always been. He's just a little sensitive about some things, like how he's not our CO anymore. You know better than to make comments like that. You know why he likes to work alone."
"He doesn't like being responsible for the safety of his unit." 529 nodded. "Because..." he faltered.
"Because they die." 511 finished for him baldly. "And 494 hates to lose family."
"Maybe it's time for someone to tell him how much his family hates to lose him." 529 retorted.
511 stared at him consideringly. "Maybe." he conceeded, turning back to his maps. "But I'll tell you right now, knowing how much he hates to think about all that stuff, it won't be me. Now get back to work."
(Tuesday, 2300 hrs)
494 paced. And paced. And paced some more.
Finally 511 had enough. "Ahmad! Sit down, or go out on surveillance. Whatever! But either way, Stop. That. Now." 529 muttered his agreement from his position propped against his duffel, listening intently to the radio traffic from the compound. All three of the transgenics were looking the worse for wear, facial hair growth having passed beyond the 'sexy stubble' stage but not quite reaching the 'very short beard' stage.
"I don't like it." 494 ran his hand through his black hair, unconsciously stopping to rub the tiny bump of the transmitter behind his ear. Just watching him made 511's own head itch, and he forcibly beat down the desire to scratch it. "There's something not right here."
"We all agree on that one." 529 said, opening his eyes. "But we also all agree that we have no grounds to abort. We're outside of the profile, but still within mission parameters. And we have our orders to proceed."
494 snorted. {Like I give a shit about orders.} He stopped pacing, shook out the folds of his burnous, and waved at the cloud of dust that was produced. "All right," he said, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'll go in tonight. If everything goes according to plan, in two days we'll be sipping scotch back home. Let's go over the details again."
511 nodded and brought out the map of the compound, drawn in 494's neat, precise hand. "You'll enter the ventilation system of the underground portion of the facility here." he pointed to a tiny, meticulous star inscribed on the southern side of the rock face. "We know from your surveys that there are only three rooms underground, and that one of them, this one," he indicated the room marked with a one-eyed happy face, "Is the most likely one used for cold storage, evidenced by the additional metal found during our satellite resonance scans, plus the additional electrical and water conduits going to it."
His finger traced out a path on the map. "This ventilation shaft will take you directly to the cold storage area. Say, thirty metres in. Basic alarm system. Piece of cake for someone of your incomparable talent." 494 couldn't help it, he smirked. "And back out the same way. If anything goes wrong, your number one alternative exit is route B, here to the north, followed by route C to the east. I'll be..."
"You and 529 will stay here." 494 told him with finality. "You'll be my support and backup plan."
511 bit his lip, dark eyes grave, then nodded reluctantly. "All right, commander. We'll monitor your progress from here. Once you have the sample, you book it to our primary rendezvous point. Anything happens, and just tell us which RV you're headed for." he tapped the back of his ear meaningfully. "We'll meet up and head home."
"All right. I'm heading in at 0300. Wake me then." he suddenly gave them a cocky grin. "Cheer up, guys. Walk in the park." he headed for his duffel / bed roll. {Now, if only I could shake the feeling this is all about to go sideways.} He saw 511 stare up at the sky, and knew his friend was fighting the same misgivings. {I would have thought that when they made us they'd have left superstition out of the mix.} He fingered his pistol absently. {Bastards.} He closed his eyes and was immediately asleep.
(Wednesday, 0245 hrs)
511 checked his watch, then motioned for 529 to preceed him up out of their hiding spot. Knowing the deal, 529 didn't argue, just sprang to the ledge in one easy swirl of black cloth. He moved back from the edge, out of the line of fire. 511 followed, looking down at 494's sleeping form, then deliberately eased off the safety on his gun.
494 was instantly and impressively awake. He rolled to the opposite edge of the grotto in a blur of speed, coming up on one knee and training his Glock unerringly between 511's laughing brown eyes. 511 was standing at the very lip of the crevice, hands spread, pistol dangling from his index finger, eyes dancing with mischief.
"Fuck." 494 breathed out in a great whoosh of sound, lowering his gun, and his head. He glared up at 511 darkly, but the corner of his mouth twitched as he supressed an unwilling smile. "You could have just said 'Hey, Ahmad, time to get up.'" he rose and began brushing the newest layer of dirt off of his robes. 511 and 529 dropped softly back down beside him, snickering softly, though still cautiously (and intelligently) out of arm's reach.
"I could have." 511's voice was rich with amusement. "But this way was so much more fun." 529 snickered, moving to check his beloved receiver again. "Just be glad your clothes aren't pink."
"Huh." 494 didn't sound convinced. He unzipped his duffel and pulled out his covert garb, a skin-tight black catsuit and hood, with a mottled mesh face cover. He began to strip.
"You know, the interior is going to be lighted 24/7. Once you're in you're going to stand out like a big black spot on a big white wall." 529 told 494 conversationally as the latter slid his legs into the snug pants and 511 started making a small pile of the equipment 494 would be needing. 494 picked up the shirt and turned it partly inside out, revealing the cream coloured inner layer.
"Fully reversible." he told 529. "Us solo specialists come prepared." he paused. "Well, prepared for black or white. If the walls are red, I'm fucked." He pulled on the shirt in one easy movement and reached for the headpiece.
"You probably wouldn't be too thrilled with neon green, either." 511 bantered casually, examining a tiny mag scope carefully. "And I've heard that purple is all the rage these days."
494 ignored him pointedly and finished suiting up, placing his matte-black mesh equipment vest on over the sweater and filling the pockets rapidly. Finally, he squeezed some dark-coloured paste from a tiny tube onto his fingers and scrubbed them across his teeth, staining them and hiding their telltale white gleam. "All right," he said, rolling his shoulders, taking a deep breath and rubbing his hands together briskly, finishing up by cracking his knuckles. "All set. Let's rock." He jumped to the edge of the crevice and disappeared into the night.
494 avoided the perimeter and interior guards with practiced ease. He'd been inside the compound several times each night during the past week, checking and rechecking his map and route information. He knew he was going overboard on the caution, but for some reason the Lydecker missions had a habit of carrying surprises with them. Deadly surprises. He made his way to the southern rock face and scaled it smoothly, stopping at the carefully hidden recess that marked the entrance to the ventilation systems. The security system was a joke, and it only took seconds to strip and cross clamp the wiring. He made quick work of the screws holding the vent screen in place, and slipped inside silently. "I'm in." he muttered, knowing 529 would hear him.
The shaft was too small to be comfortable, maybe a meter by a half, and 494 ruthlessly clamped down on the impending claustrophobia that was the product of too many hours spent in Manticore's punishment boxes. All of the X5s suffered from it to one degree or another. 494 was fortunate; for the most part he barely noticed, and what he couldn't avoid he could successfully control with a minimum of effort. 529, on the other hand, would have been incoherent by now. It was one of the reasons that he was a comm specialist, so that he could stay away from the tight quarters so frequently necessary during missions.
494 extracted a tiny pin light from a bicep pocket and examined the interior of the shaft minutely. Smooth steel, faintly dusty, ever so slightly pitted from long use. 494 frowned. {Exactly what I'd expect. Why does that bother me so much?} He froze in place, all senses on full alert as he tried to identify the cause of his disquiet. Finally he shrugged and began to make his way towards the cold storage room by dragging himself along on his elbows. He kept his legs absolutely still to help minimize potential sources of noise. "Proceeding to the target." he whispered so quietly that it was almost subvocal. Every two metres or so he paused, flipping back on the pinlight and subjecting the next area of vent to the same meticulous scrutiny as the previous section. He repeated the process over and over, until he estimated that he was within five metres of the target room. A light shone through a tiny pattern of vent holes up ahead of him, denoting a tightly woven screen covering the ventilation holes. "Three metres out." He returned the pin light to his pocket and made for the screen.
511 and 529 were both hunched tensely over the receiver, headsets firmly planted over intently listening ears. They heard rustling, so faint as to be almost inaudible, even by transgenic standards. 511 moved restlessly, shifting tense shoulder muscles, and 529 jumped as if he'd been goosed. He gave 511 a dark look, but 511 just flicked a hand at him, concentrating on the tenuous audio feed connecting them to 494's movements. Soft breathing came through the headsets, followed by vaguely metallic rasping sounds.
[I'm in.]
Both of the waiting men sighed with relief.
[Proceeding to the target.]
More rhythmic rustling noises followed, with brief pauses every minute or so. 511 could picture 494 making his way through the vent clearly in his mind, and the frustration of waiting on the sidelines grated on his nerves. He realized with surprise that his hands hurt, and had to consciously focus to convince his fists to unclench. He rubbed his palms self-consciously against the tan fabric of his robe-covered thighs, grinning slightly when he saw 529 surreptitiously doing the same thing. The rustling noises stopped, and they each held their breath, straining to hear the slightest sound.
[Three metres out.]
At the curt update, both men started breathing again. They exchanged a sheepish look and huddled back around the receiver, hands now clamped tightly against their earpieces. The sounds of movement resumed.
When it came, the minute click was astonishingly loud.
529's eyes sought 511's and found them wide with panic. [Oh, fu...] The crackle of rampaging electricity cut off the transmission of 494's absurdly casual curse. 529 frantically changed channels, initiated whisker sweeps, and cursed fluently as 511 stood over him, hands clenched.
Their only answer was static.
(Wednesday, 0345 hrs)
511 scrubbed both hands over his face, and worked to get his breathing back under control. 529 was still flipping switches on his receiver, feverishly working dials and pushing buttons. 511 put his hand on 529's shoulder, and gradually 529's hands slowed, and fell back to his sides. 511 pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand and sighed shakily.
"All right. Call base. Whisker comms. Let them know that 494's been taken. Request authorization to go in for him before they have the chance to prepare."
529 nodded, and clicked the button on his headset. "Hot Zone to base. Hot Zone to base."
[Base here. What is your status?] the cool, impersonal voice of the Manticore operator had an immediate calming effect on both listening soldiers.
"Unit six is compromised. Repeat, unit six has been compromised. Will initiate retrieval now."
Lydecker's distinctive whiskey-roughened voice came on the com immediately. [Negative, Zone, negative. Do not retrieve until you receive clearance.]
"What the fuck?" 511 exploded, staring at the satellite receiver in disbelief. "That can't be right."
529's face was a mask of shock. He swallowed hard. "Zone to Base. Please repeat."
The anger in Lydecker's voice was unmistakable. [Do not attempt to retrieve, Zone. Base out.]
529 switched off the satellite link and looked up at 511. "What the hell is going on here?"
511's face might have been carved from stone, for all the expression it showed. "They gave him up on purpose."
"What?"
"It's the only thing that makes sense. They gave him up on purpose. And they don't want him back until he's done what they needed him to do." 511 closed his eyes.
"And what the fuck would that be?" 529 asked, disbelief ringing in his voice.
"I don't know. And," he paused and swallowed hard. "I'm sure 494 doesn't know, either." He heaved a breath, then pinned 529 with a glare. "Saleh. Get on that receiver, and find me the signal from Ahmad's transmitter. I don't care how fucking long it takes. Get. Him. Back. I'm heading out to see what kinds of assets are around that we can appropriate. When we get clearance to go get Ahmad, it won't be easy to break him out." 511 sprang to the edge of their hole. As he disappeared, 529 overheard dark, angry muttering. He turned on 511's channel on the receiver just in time to catch his parting words.
"Walk in the park, my ass."(Tuesday, 1500 hrs - Seattle)
Lydecker put down his headset, and clicked open his cell phone, dialling rapidly. He waited until the far side picked up, before speaking curtly. "They've got him... A week might be too long. 494 is very resourceful. There's a good chance he'll escape in that time... No, sir. 511 won't go in without authorization... Yes, we can provide sufficient impetus to keep 494 captive long enough." He closed his cell phone with a snap, thin lips all but disappearing with his displeasure. He growled as the com operator tried not to look at him.
"Fuck." Lycdecker ground out, beginning to feel a little sorry that he didn't fill 494 in on the whole mission. "Fuck." He dropped his cell phone into his pocket and hesitated for a brief moment, then gritted his teeth.
"Get me Ashkovich."
(Wednesday, 1400 hrs)
494 awoke in a cage.
His eyes snapped open, and the first thing he saw was the floor, several metres below. {Ooooh...a hanging cage. This is different.} He was sprawled uncomfortably on his stomach, and he could feel the tiny bite of the steel squares of wire digging into flesh from temple to toes. {Naked. Great.} He gave a mental shrug. {I'm going to be a transgenic chess board if they don't give me something to sit on.} He rolled over and sat up, completely unselfconscious. He ran his eyes over his accomodations assessingly. {Hey. It's tall enough for me to stand up in.} He eyed the height of the cage again. {Well, maybe.}
494 replayed in his mind the moments leading up to that annoying little click. He shook his head in disgust. {I didn't check the last metre. Stupid.} he reviewed the 'click' itself. {Thermal switch. And I had a thermal masker with me. Rookie mistake.} He shrugged for real this time, and shook it off. "I'm here." he muttered, just in case 529 could hear him.
He got to his feet, ignoring the discomfort of having small two inch squares of wire digging into the soles of his feet, and found that he could just stand upright, but that the top of the cage pressed into his hair. {Hmmm... snug fit.} He saw a tiny metal plate welded to the floor, near what he supposed was the release mechanism for the door, which seemed to be the entire base of the cage. Curiosity got the better of him, and he crouched to look. {Costeel, model 494.} He laughed with delight. {Now, that's funny.}
494 returned to standing, examining the top of the cage minutely, testing the strength of the wire. The cage was hanging by four heavy chains that climbed to the ceiling of the room, and a light hung directly above his head, blazing down on him. The light was supported by electrical wires that were strung from each of the suspension chains. There seemed to be more wire than strictly necessary, but 494 dismissed it as just another example of Ashkovich's penchant for overkill.
The room arched away from him on all sides, formed from a large natural cave. The walls were a lovely natural sandstone, and 494 grinned as he identified the vent screen that was to have been his ingress to the room. {See... I knew the cream colour was the right way to go.} The room was definitely a lab facility, and 494 could see the freezers and biology equipment that would mark the location of the Argent virus. Closer to his own position was an examining table and surgical gear. He eyed the heavy iron restraints along the edge of the table warily, and his good humour drained from him like water from a sieve. He raised his hand and rubbed behind his ear thoughtfully.
{I think it's time to leave.} he raked one hand through his hair, coming up with a thin, flexible sliver of black graphite and epoxy he'd hidden in his hair. {This should do the trick.}
494 moved to the release mechanism for the cage, and, whistling softly, began to work on the lock.
(Wednesday, 2000 hrs)
529 sat bolt upright, hand frozen on the tuning dial. Quiet whistling came through his headset, slightly roughened with static, but definitely there. "Yes!" he said, a fierce grin breaking over his face. "Verdi has never sounded so good. Heh heh heh."
He heard a noise above and behind him, and turned, grinning widely, to tell 511 the news. "I..." His startled eyes instead saw four black-clad men carrying tasers. "Well, sh..." They fired.
(Wednesday, 2100 hrs)
494 smiled grimly as the lock finally clicked under his questing fingers. {These Costeel guys know how to make a lock.} He took a firm grip on the side of the cage and kicked the bottom of the cage over the lock. The bottom of the cage swung open, and 494 dropped soundlessly to the ground. He headed for the archway leading out of the room, but stopped abruptly at the sound of approaching voices. He looked around, deciding on a set of cabinets to his right as the best available hiding spot. He rolled himself between two of them, easing himself towards the back as the owners of the voices dragged something heavy into the room. They dropped it with a thud.
"X5-494." 494 started at the sound of his designation. {They know who they've got.} The speaker had a faint Russian accent, and a light baritone voice. "494. Please join us in the room."
He didn't move, didn't even breathe.
The baritone sighed deeply. "I have something of yours. I think you may be wanting it back in good condition. Of course, we can negotiate." There was the sound of something heavy striking flesh, and an accompanying crack that he recognized as the sound of breaking ribs. "I believe his designation is... X5-529."
{Fuck.} 494 clenched his fist, then rubbed his fingers over his eyes. Another thud was followed by the suddenly laboured breathing of a man with a punctured lung. "All right!" he called, sliding back out of his hiding place. "All right." {Fuck.} "I'm coming out." he raised his hands and stepped into the room.
There were at least eight heavily armed men now occupying the room, and each of them had an SKS rifle trained very carefully on 494. 529 lay gurgling on the floor, blood spotting his lips, still unconscious from whatever means they had used to bring him in. He placed his hands on his head and laced his fingers together, trying to look as harmless as possible. He looked at the one man in the room other than himself who was both fully conscious and unarmed. "Ashkovich." It wasn't a question.
The man inclined his head, light gleaming off sun kissed brown hair. He was remarkably handsome, with a long straight nose and dark eyes, but a certain twist to his lips lent his features the impression of cruelty. "So I am. And you are X5-494. And now, you will return to cage, please."
494 tilted his head, pretending to consider. "Hmmm. No."
Ashkovich yawned. "You will enter cage, or 529 will die. Now." he said, bored. One of the eight guards shifted his rifle to point at 529's head meaningfully.
494 walked over beneath the hanging cube, looked up, and sprang up into the cage. He linked his fingers through the metal mesh of the roof and hung there, patiently dangling while another of the guards closed and locked the floor with a heavy pole. He set his feet against the bottom and tested, then set his full weight against it. He watched impassively as they brought in a metal table and chained 529 to it, spread eagled on his back.
"So what is this about, anyway?" It was 494's turn to sound bored. "I mean, I get the whole 'caught you breaking in', so, hey, 'my bad', but this seems a bit more extensive than that."
Ashkovich smiled. "Da. I have captured you because you contain some answers I am seeking. I will be examining you closely." he laughed. "I will be determining, as they say, what is making you tick."
494 tilted his head, lips quirking. "You'd better hope I don't tick, Ashkovich. In my world, ticking only leads to 'Boom'!"
"I think there will be no 'boom' now. I have your partner, and you will co-operate, 494. If you do not, your comrade will suffer. Terribly. As it is, I still need to punish you." Ashkovich withdrew a small device from his pocket, and 494 narrowed his eyes. It looked like a remote control, with a single large button. Ashkovich pressed it, and even as 494's world dissolved into pain, he recognized the increasingly familiar crackle of electricity.
{So, that's what the extra wires were for....}
Mercifully, the world went black.
(Thursday, 0645 hrs)
511 returned to the bolt hole at dawn. He approached at a trot, then paused about 30 metres out as he noted the scuff marks edging the crevice they'd been using. He stopped dead, then circled out around the base's position. Due south of their encampment, he found what he was looking for. Four sets of booted footprints led to the edge, then back out headed towards Ashkovich's compound. Drag marks obscured part of the evidence, and 511 felt his stomach drop as his fears were confirmed.
{Goddamnit.} He cursed silently, not wanting to alert any possible sentries left behind.
Carefully he edged his way to the cleft, all senses on full alert. He stopped again near the brink, dropping to his stomach and crawling the last few metres to peer cautiously over the edge.
The camp was empty.
511 rolled himself soundlessly over the edge and examined the bottom. The evidence was clear; 529 had been surprised, and taken. 511 ground his teeth. The footprints led directly to their hiding place and back out with no attempts to hide them. {They knew our location.}. The hot flash of rage caught him by surprise, and he picked up 529's discarded headset with every intention of breaking it into tiny little pieces. As he raised it in his hands, he heard a noise.
511 froze. Very faintly, so softly that a normal would have never caught it, he could hear breathing. {494!} It had to be; only 494 and 511 had been implanted with the subcutaneous transmitters. 511 fumbled to get the headset over his ears, almost breaking it in his haste. He took a deep breath and forcibly calmed himself, then placed it over his ears with exaggerated care. The hoarse, laboured breathing of someone in pain came through as clearly as if 511 had been sharing the room. {Holy shit. He got him back.}
Instantly 511 was on his feet, gathering all the equipment he would need to maintain the tenuous connection to 494. He hesitated over the portable satellite transceiver, then stuffed it into his duffel. He took one last look around, then disappeared over the edge in a swirl of robes.
(Thursday, 0700 hrs)
494 came awake to the sensation of something digging deeply into the flesh of his side. "OK, OK." he muttered, rolling painfully away from the pole wielded by his guard. The scorched skin on his back protested loudly, sticking a little to the cage mesh. He bit back a groan and eyed the walls around him with distaste. {You know, I'm think I'm starting to lose my fondness for Costeel 494.} He came up onto his feet and scanned the room. Only one guard had been left to watch them, and he stood near 529, his rifle pointedly aiming at 529's temple.
529 hadn't yet moved, and his breathing was still gurgling in his chest. The position he had been chained in was preventing his marvelous body from healing itself, and from the look of the black, mottled bruise still spreading along his ribcage and abdomen, without medical assistance it would soon be too late. "Hey," 494 addressed his guard curtly. "Get Ashkovich in here."
The guard glared at him and didn't respond. 494 dropped to one knee and lowered his voice to a dark growl. "Look, asshole. Right now the only thing that is keeping me from busting out of here and taking you apart in fucking pieces is the man on that table. He's the only thing keeping you alive. Now get Ashkovich in here."
The guard shot him another look hot with hate, but made his way to an intercom recessed into the wall of the room near the door. He pressed the button.
"Da?"
"The prisoner wishes to speak with you." the guard said in Russian.
"Does he?" the reply was thick with amusement. "I am on my way."
The guard returned to his post beside 529. He glanced up at 494, then deliberately jabbed the barrel of his rifle against the bulge of 529's broken rib. The action wrung a groan out of the unconsious transgenic, and 494 felt his face tighten. The guard laughed and pointed. {Laugh it up, asshole. You're dead already. You just haven't bled yet.} Something in 494's expression made the guard stop smiling and pale, taking an involuntary step backwards. The barrel of the gun came around to point at the cage, and 494 waited to feel the bite of the bullets into his body with fatalistic patience.
"Halt! Manatov! What the fuck do you think you are doing?" Ashkovich's voice was hot with rage. "Point that gun somewhere else before I feed it to you!"
"I... He.." the guard gestured incoherently.
"Pah!" Ashkovich snatched the gun out of Manatov's hands. "Leave us now. Send in Andrei."
If the guard had been angry before, this curt dismissal fueled his rage to new heights. The look he gave 494 was unmistakable; if they were left alone again, one of them would die. Ashkovich pushed him impatiently, and Manatov left, glaring over his shoulder at the caged, grinning transgenic. 494 flipped him the bird.
Ashkovich sighed. "I would have more success keeping you alive if you would not encourage him."
494 shrugged and moved restlessly within his cage, eyes on 529. "I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not. He's an asshole."
Ashkovich pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. "This is true. But he is also aquainted with you already, and I do not believe that he has forgiven you just yet."
That got 494's attention. "No." he said with absolute certainty. "I've never met him before."
Ashkovich moved over to the gurney and ran his hand down 529's uninjured flank. "I did not say that you had met him." he tilted his head coyly, gazing up at 494 through his lashes. "I believe that you knew his brother, in the Balkans."
494 didn't blink. "Is that what this is all about? The war?"
"Oh yes, thought not as you may think." Ashkovich walked to one of the tall standing freezers that 494 had marked earlier as the virus repositories. He unlocked and opened the door of the unit quickly, extracting a vial and bringing it back over where 494 could see it clearly. The light glinted through the amber-coloured liquid inside.
"This, 494, is called 'Orono'. It is a virus, of course, a biowarfare agent used extensively in the Balkan War. I believe you are familiar with its effects?" 494 didn't react, just stared at him expressionlessly. "You did, after all, infiltrate a local resistance group in Bucharest, three days before this bioagent was released over the city? Correct me, please, if I am wrong..." he tapped his lip thoughtfully. "But I seem to recall that out of your cell, you were in fact the only survivor. Even your little infiltrator partner died."
494's hand closed into a fist, the metal of the cage biting into his fingers where he had laced threm through the mesh. He remained silent. Ashkovich smiled expansively. "And, of course, your sponsor into the group was none other than Sasha Ivan Manatov."
"Get to the point."
"Well, I would think it would be obvious, to one of your faculties. Orono was the basis for my new virus, the wonderful Argent. And, your Manticore agreed to make you available to me as a test subject, because of your previous exposure. In exchange, I will of course provide them with the antidote you will help me synthesize."
{Lydecker, you cock.} "Uh. Huh. And you figured I would just co-operate with having that shit running through my veins again, why?"
"Of course I did not. That is why we also have your partner. His well-being is your reward for a job well done."
{My partner... They don't know that there were three of us.} "Not if he's dead."
Ashkovich twitched slightly with surprise at the dry humour in 494's words. He turned to look at 529's heaving chest. He was plainly getting weaker. "Andrei!" he shouted for the still absent guard who was to have replaced Manatov. A tall, dark-haired man strode confidently into the room, his entire bearing and posture marking him indelibly as a professional solder. He ran his eyes over 494 dismissively. For the first time, 494 felt a spark of disquiet. {Uh oh. This fellow knows what he's doing.}
"Da?" Andrei sounded bored.
"Get the doctor in here. This man is to be treated for his injuries." Ashvovich gestured at 529. "His survival is paramount."
Andrei nodded and left.
"Now. 494. You will co-operate, or we will make you co-operate. The cage will remain electrified, yes? The choice is yours." Ashkovich picked up the pole that would release the base of the cage and prepared to open it. 494 ran his eyes over the room. {No threats. Take him out, unhook 529, book for RV. Sounds like a plan to me.}
Ashkovich caught the flicker of 494's eyes and stopped. "Ah, yes." He walked to the intercom and pressed a red button. Eight guards rushed into the room, seven of them taking up unflinching aim at 494, and one pressing a Glock21 against the back of 529's skull. 494 sighed. Ashkovich returned to his position under the cage and released the lock.
494 dropped to the ground with less than his usual grace. The electrical burns on his back, buttocks, and legs pulled painfully, and he bit back a groan. He rose back to his feet stiffly.
"On the table, on your stomach."
494 stetched out on the table, gritting his teeth and hissing faintly as the cold metal encountered warm flesh. The iron restraints were placed carefully around his wrists and ankles, and finally his waist was encircled and chained down. "A bit of overkill for a co-operative subject, isn't it?"
Ashkovich chuckled and moved into 494's line of sight. He was drawing silver-coloured liquid into a syringe. "The initial tests of this virus have indicated that it has rapid and... unfortunate... results for the subjects. I do not trust you, first of all. Second, you will likely be genuinely unable to help yourself."
494 stared grimly into Ashkovich's eyes. "What are you waiting for, a kiss? Hit me already."
Ashkovich emptied the syringe into 494's shoulder, and stepped back to watch.
(Thursday, 0810 hrs)
511 rubbed his eyes tiredly. The reasoning behind sending 494 out to get caught was now clear, as was Manticore's revealing the location of 529. But why hadn't they handed over 511, too? What game was Lydecker playing now? He bet that 494 had it figured out already. He stared down at his hands, then grunted and reached for the satellite set.
"Hot Zone to base. Hot Zone to base."
[Base here. Go, Zone.]
"Get the Colonel."
It was only a moment before Lydecker came on the comm. [Go, Zone.]
"The mission is progressing as planned, sir." 511 couldn't quite keep the anger out of his tone. Lydecker laughed.
[So you figured it out. Well done, son.]
{Fuck you.} "How long?"
[Six days.]
"529 might not have six days. 494 has indicated that he's in bad shape." There was a long pause. "Did you copy, base?"
[Copy.] Another pause. [Wait as long as you can.]
"Yes, sir. Out."
(Thursday, 1600hrs)
Andrei looked at his watch. "Eight hours." he said.
"I know how long it's been!" Ashkovich was purple with rage. "Why isn't anything happening?"
494 lay still on the metal table, sprawled with his arms and legs chained, still managing to look completely comfortable. The dark burn patches that had mottled his back, legs, and buttocks were already fading, and the soft snores coming from the prone transgenic just served to enrage Ashkovich more. Unable to contain his fury, Ashkovich moved to the still unconscious 529's gurney and thumped his now tightly wrapped ribs with one meaty fist. 529 cried out, trying to curl around his side but prevented by his chains from doing so. Instantly, 494's snores stopped.
Ashkovich turned back to the examining table, and met 494's wide awake glare with one of his own. He gestured to one of the guards. "Take another blood sample. Then, put him back in the cage." He struck 529 in the ribs again, wringing a tortured moan from the injured transgenic. 494 tensed, his restraints rattling menacingly. The guards surrounding him cocked their guns. He stilled.
Ashkovich nodded with satisfaction. "Now you see, yes? Even co-operation may not save your partner. But as long as he is alive, we have you where we want you." A muscle twitched in his jaw, and he motioned for his men to continue their work. 494 lay absolutely still as they withdrew the blood sample, and set about stripping off his restraints. He waited until all five metal bands had been removed, then struck.
494 came up off the table like fire made human, snagging the guard who had just released his right arm. Wrapping his hands around the guard's head, he twisted with lightning speed. He let the guard fall, and was on Ashkovich before anyone had a chance to move. He held Ashkovich in front of him as a shield, and Andrei leveled his Browning at 529's head.
"No, now you see." 494 hissed in Ashkovich's ear. "529's good health is protecting you, too, Mikhail. He's the only thing standing between you and your death. As long as he's alive, I have you where I want you, too. You would do well to remember that." he pushed the blond man away from him, into the arms of his guards.
Ashkovich struggled back upright, face flushed, but back under control. He nodded stiffly. "Back in the cage." he declared curtly. 494 just looked at him. "Andrei."
Andrei cocked the Browning. 529, finally awake, found himself looking down the barrel of a gun, and jumped, rattling his chains. 494 glanced at him, and found 529 looking back at him, eyes wide and confused. He sighed. "As long as we understand each other, Mikhail" He strode over to the cage and did the jump and hang routine again, until the floor was fumbled closed. Andrei eased down, but his dark eyes held a new, wary respect that 494 would have rather seen missing.
"So, now, you know what happens next, yes?"
494 braced himself and nodded, waiting for the remote to make its appearance.
"Andrei." Once again, just the name. But this time, Andrei brought up the Browning and fired in a motion so fast that 494 would have been hard pressed to match it. As it was, 494 moved to dodge, but the wall of the cage blocked him. The bullet took him in the lower left leg, and he dropped flat to the floor of the cage with an involuntary cry of pain. {Well, fuck. I didn't see that coming.} he thought as he tried to catch his breath and stuff the radiating pain from his leg into an appropriately ignorable compartment of his brain. "You know, I've never liked being shot." he said to the ceiling conversationally before rolling to glare at his captors.
Ashkovich smiled with satisfaction, watching the blood drip slowly from 494's leg to pool on the floor. "That should slow you down somewhat, yes? And now." he withdrew the remote and tossed it to a grinning Manatov. "Punish him. When you're done, clean up this mess." he gestured to the dead guard.
Manatov actually laughed out loud. "Oh, thank you!" he chuckled. 494 sighed again with resignation. 529 looked at the remote with fearful confusion. Manatov fiddled with some dials on the side of the remote, then deliberately and with great anticipation pressed the button.
494 had just enough time to hear 529's blurt of shock before the electricity hit him, contracting all of the muscles in his body and bowing his back. It was less intense this time, and he could feel the tingles spread across his body until it felt as though his skin was trying to crawl itself off of his flesh. Vaguely he could smell himself scorching where his shoulders and heels still touched the cage. Abruptly the electricity ceased, and he collapsed back against the cage, panting. He heard the scream of tortured metal, and something whinged off his cage. Weakly, he turned his head to look.
529 was fighting to get free of his table with all the power in his whole, genetically enhanced body. He was all but hidden by the knot of struggling guards. Muscles bulged as he twisted and fought. One leg was loose. The flailing chain caught one of the guards in the throat, and he dropped, choking desperately through his crushed windpipe. Andrei calmly walked up to the table, waited for his opportunity, and shot 529 with the ever present taser. 529 convulsed and went still. Out again. 494 turned back to the ceiling. {Another guard gone. Way to go, 529.} he thought calmly as he heard the injured guard's laboured gasping cease. His wounded leg spasmed and he twitched, gritting his teeth against the pain. "Twenty or so more to go." He snickered faintly.
Manatov heard him. "Funny, is it?" He wrenched the dial on the remote, and pressed the button again.
494 tensed, expecting to hear the crackle of rampaging electricity. Instead, he heard a faint humming and felt a tickle along his back, not unlike a shock from a light socket. This time he laughed out loud, with deep, roaring bellows, turning to look at his tormentor. "Turned the knob the wrong way, Manatov?" he chortled. "I gotta say, yeah, pretty funny from here."
Manatov gave an inarticulate noise and spun the dial in the other direction until it could go no further. "Right way now, asshole." he said in a low rage filled voice, and pressed the button.
494's world went away in a wash of white pain.
511 pulled off his headset and ran his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. He looked at his hands, unsurprised to find them shaking. He heaved a deep breath. "Christ." He looked at his canteen, threw it into the cliff wall with all the force he could muster, 494's incoherent scream of pain still ringing in his ears. The violence did little to soothe his distress, though, and he choked back the urge to vent his frustration on the remaining equipment littering the campsite. Finally he snatched up the satellite transceiver and called in.
"Hot Zone to base. Hot Zone to base."
This time it was Lydecker right away. [Go, Zone.]
"Unit six has been shot." {Oh... and electrocuted. Don't forget electrocuted.} "And they've been hitting him with electricity." 511 dropped to one knee for better reception.
[What is his status?]
"Hurt, sir. But still yapping."
[Wait it out, Zone.]
"Request permission to initiate retrieval." 511 crossed his arms over his knee and leaned until his forehead rested against his forearms, as he rocked himself slightly. He already knew what the answer was going to be, but he just couldn't quite keep himself from asking.
[Negative.] Lydecker's voice was unexpectedly sympathetic. [Has he shown any signs of being sick yet?]
"No, sir. It's been eight-plus hours."
[It should be soon.] Lydecker's sounded grave. [It's going to get worse before it gets better, Zone. Hang in there. Base out.]
511 stared at the now silent set and wanted to scream. {When I get home, Deck, you and I are gonna talk.}
(Friday, 0915 hrs)
When 494 cracked open his eyes, he knew it was not going to be one of his better days. His left leg throbbed with malevolent anguish, and the rest of his body ached with a mind-clouding intensity he hadn't been subjected to since his last run through re-indoctrination. His gaze immediately met the criss-cross of the wire mesh ceiling delineating the realm of his control, and his mouth twisted with a bone-deep hostility. {Well, Costeel 494,} he thought darkly. {I've definitely graduated to an intense distaste for you.} He resisted the urge to snarl, and slowly and painfully rolled to his left side, curling slightly as his wounded leg made its displeasure acutely known. The skin on his back cracked and wept as the burn blisters broke, and 494 could feel the warm trickles of fluid trace their way down his side. {That's gonna hurt in the morning.} He rolled his stiff shoulders and bit back a groan. {Oh yeah. Its already morning.}
He looked down at the room. 529 was awake and staring up at him, face grave with concern. They had double chained him, weighed him down with so much iron he had to strain to clench his fists, and had gagged him with a leather strap. 494 nodded at him, and 529's face relaxed into what looked like a tentative smile, then smoothed into flat impassiveness as their current guard shifted in his seat. 494 let his head fall back against the cage, and closed his eyes.
He could feel the changes beginning in his body, and knew that they were being hastened by his weakened state. It wouldn't be long before the virus would have him in its teeth, and 494 knew, from previous experience, that those teeth were very, very sharp. {You know, this isn't very fair,} he thought idly. {There should be a rule that the bad guys can only subject you to one spirit-crushing flavour of torture at a time.}
"Saleh." his voice was faint, throat sore from producing the noises that had been wrenched from him. He licked his lips and tried again. "Saleh."
529 looked at him, blinked to show he had heard.
"Saleh, I'm going to be pretty out of it for a while."
529's eyes opened wide with denial.
"They've injected me with a virus. It's going to take effect." His stomach spasmed, and 494 caught his breath in a hiss. {Shit. This is coming on faster than I thought.} "Soon. Very soon. Don't interfere, Saleh."
529 growled, low in his throat, moving his head back and forth as much as he was able in refusal.
494 raised himself on one elbow and stabbed 529 with a flat glare. "I am giving you an order. Do not attempt to interfere." he whispered at the other man fiercely. "They need me alive, and they will make every effort to keep me that way." He pointedly did not mention any need for 529. "Do you understand?"
The corners of 529's dark eyes creased with displeasure, but he gave a single curt nod.
"Good." 494 rolled himself the rest of the way onto his stomach and pressed his forehead against the cool mesh of the floor. He was starting to heat up. His heartbeat was becoming more rapid. {Fuck.} He beat down the sneaking threads of fear that were trying to wind their way into his mind. {I don't want to go through this again.} His eyes stung, and he wrote it off as due to the sweat trickling down his cheeks. {Yeah, right.}
A moment later, his stomach cramped viciously, curling him into a ball. His wounded leg dragged along the cage and he barely felt it. The heat burst over him in a scalding wave, and he knew that it had begun. {Oh Christ.} he thought a split second before he convulsed. {I wish this was the first time. I wish I didn't know...} His head slammed into a corner post of the cage, and it was lights out again.
(Friday, 1300 hrs)
511 lay on his back, baking in the afternoon sun. He scratched his beard, rubbed his fingers over the bump of his transmitter, drummed his fingers. He listened intently to 494's slow, choked breathing. Every pause made his heart stop, and he would tense, willing 494's chest to move. Finally he couldn't stand it any longer. {Fuck. Even reporting in to that asshole is better than lying here doing nothing.} He clicked over to the sat.
"Hot Zone to base. Hot Zone to base."
[Go, Zone.]
"Six is showing symptoms." He reported flatly. {Symptoms. Jesus. What a mild word...} "Request permission to initiate retrieval."
[Status?]
"Bad, sir. Very, very bad." He tried to forget the sounds 494 had been making.
[And unit two? Will he interfere?]
"Six gave orders against intervention, sir."
[Good. Obey them.]
"Request permission to initiate retrieval." 511's voice was more insistent this time, and he threw his arm across his eyes, as if Lydecker could see the anguish he couldn't keep from his face.
[Negative. Right now, he's in the best hands he can be in.]
"Sir..." 511 heard his voice crack and took a deep breath. When he continued he sounded almost normal. "How long, Colonel?" {How long will I have to listen to this?}
[A couple of days.] Lydecker replied grimly. [Then another couple to synthesize the vaccine. You know the timeline already, Zone.]
"I know your timeline, sir." 511's curt tone made it clear he didn't share Lydecker's schedule.
Lydecker's amusement was so clear that 511 could practically see him grinning. [Base, out.]
(Friday, 2100 hrs)
529 had never felt so helpless. Not through all of the training at Manticore had they ever come up with a scenario like this. {So, what the hell do you do when you're wearing a couple hundred kilos of iron chains, and you're watching one of your brothers die in a cage from a designer virus in a compound in Uzbekistan?} he thought to himself with a black humour he hadn't known he possessed. {Not a fucking thing, that's what.} He tensed his muscles for the hundredth or so time, trying to find a weakness in the iron somewhere. Anywhere. Again he was denied.
The guard's commander, Andrei, entered the room, flanked by his usual phalanx of companions. His eyes skated across 529, dismissing him. {You wouldn't be so complacent if I wasn't wearing these chains, asshole.} 529 thought with a fine, heated rage. Andrei surveyed the rest of the room, then raised his eyes to the cage where 494 lay huddled in the corner. A closer look showed foam around his mouth where he had actually begun to froth.
"Shit!" Andrei raced to the intercom and pressed the button.
[Da.]
"Get down here. It's started."
[Are you sure? It is not a trick?]
Andrei looked at 494's limp body curled in the cage.
"This is no trick."
[I am on my way. Get him on the table.]
Andrei released the intercom and snapped his fingers at one of the guards. The guard just looked at him, eyes wide. "I'm not going anywhere near that." The guard gestured at 494's fever wracked body with one shaking hand. Andrei looked around at the others, and not a single one of them would meet his eyes.
529 made a sound, deep in his throat, and Andrei's dark gaze swung around to him. 529 blinked, trying to convey with his gaze his need to speak. Andrei hesitated, then shrugged and came over to 529's table. He loosened the gag and slipped it around 529's neck.
"Let me..." 529 stopped, swallowed to wet his throat. "Let me help. I'm not afraid." he spoke rapidly, desperately. "Please. I'll help. I won't interfere. I'm not afraid."
Andrei stared down at him impassively.
"Christ. You'll need help with him. Let. Me. Help."
Ashkovich's face appeared beside Andrei's. "X5-529." he said in his slow, accented voice. "You do realize that you are not immune."
529 nodded. "I know." His eyes burned with intensity. "You need help. I'm it."
Ashkovich tapped his lips with his finger. "If you try anything that goes against my wishes, I will have every bone in your body turned to dust, while you live and beg me to stop."
529 thrust away the desire to roll his eyes and sigh, concentrating instead on being earnest. "Let me go. He needs attention."
Ashkovich stepped back. Andrei looked away, at one of the guards, and nodded. Moments later, 529 was free. Instantly he headed for the cage. Andrei grabbed his arm to hold him back.
"One moment." 529 stopped. "We need to cleanse him first. None of us are interested in becoming ill. Georgi, please rinse him off."
An astringent-smelling solution began to rain down from a pipe above the cage, showering 494 and sloughing the grime and sweat off his naked body. He began to shiver, although the liquid was warm. After several minutes, Ashkovich gestured and the deluge ceased. Andrei readied the pole to release the lock, and nodded at 529, who promptly positioned himself under the cage. Andrei popped the lock, and 494 tumbled bonelessly into 529's waiting arms.
511 blinked sweat out of tired eyes and resisted the desire to do a happy dance. {Way to go, 529! Lucky bastard.} An available asset was going to be of invaluable assistance when the time came to break 494 out. {Fuck. I wish there was something that I could do other than sit here and cheer you two on.} He called in.
[Go, Zone]
"Unit two is loose, sir." He grinned fiercely.
[What?] Lydecker sounded shocked.
"Unit two is loose." he repeated, enjoying the Coloner's upset.
[What the hell is he doing?]
"He is assisting with six's care, sir. No one else would go near him." 511 was careful to keep the condemnation out of his tone, if not out of his mind.
[Oh. Okay. As long as he doesn't interfere.]
"Six ordered him not to, sir." 511 reminded carefully. "Two would never go against six's orders."
[Unlike mine, huh?] Lydecker's tone made it clear that he knew exactly what 511 was getting at. [Base, out.]
(Saturday, 1100 hrs)
529 was shaking with fatigue. He had been awake for more than forty hours straight, the last fourteen of them on his feet, and the previous six with his injured ribs forming a wide, thick ring of fire around his torso. Still, he stood at the head of 494's table and bathed his flushed, feverish face with a damp, cool cloth. 494 flinched away from the touch and moaned. The cloth came away tinted pink with the tinges of blood evident in 494's sweat, and 529's face tightened at the sight. He dipped the cloth in a bucket of the astringent liquid that they had doused 494 with before taking him out of his cage, and ran the cloth as gently as possible down the long lines of his friend's back. 494 was chained to the metal table, on his stomach, all five restraints in place. So far, his convulsions had tested their strength to the limits, and 529 feared that the worst was still to come. He saw the telltale tensing of 494's muscles, and got ready.
An instant later, 494 rolled his head and violently vomited blood. He convulsed, seizing, his body writhing against the restraints that held him down, eyes leaking blood stained tears. 529 stood back and let the fit pass, cursing. Slowly, too slowly, 494's body relaxed except for occasional weak twitches, and 529 returned to his side. He braced his legs against his exhaustion and began to bathe 494 again. He worked his way down to 494's feet, then started back up, watched by amused guards. He didn't care; if anything he did gave 494 any relief at all, then they could point and request show tunes for all the attention he'd give them. {Except maybe that Manatov asshole. } 529 thought balefully to himself, remembering the look of hateful satisfaction on the guard's face when he'd pressed the button on the cage remote. {Him I'd give all the attention he deserves.} He felt himself go cold and black inside, and knew that if he'd looked in the mirror his eyes would reflect the same pitiless emptiness 494 so often wore to look upon the world. 529 bared that look at the guards, and they stopped smiling.
529 got a shock as he reached his patient's head; 494's eyes were open. Wide open, pain filled, and worst of all: lucid. 529 bit back a blurt of sympathy and took 494's hand in his. "You're awake." he said instead. 494 blinked weakly.
"Yeah. It's one of the perks." his voice was rusty, vocal cords rough with strain. "I'd rather not be."
He closed his eyes and turned his head away."Was it this bad last time?" 529 asked quietly.
"No." 494 licked dry cracked lips, and 529 immediately provided a water-soaked cloth for him to suck on. "No. Last time it wasn't this bad." He groaned and curled against the restraints. "Last time I wasn't locked up."
529 leaned close, mouth almost against 494's ear. "I could fix that." He moved back so he could see 494's face.
"No." 494 sounded reluctant. "We have to stay a while longer. Right now I'd be a liability."
529 bit his lip. "How long?"
"It'll break tomorrow. I'll need a while to get back some strength." 494's eyes hardened in his drawn, pale face. His next words came out with an icy cold rage. "Then we can make all the mess we want."
529 nodded curtly. "I understand."
"Good." 494 swallowed painfully as his body began to cramp again. "Saleh?"
529 leaned close. "Yes, sir?"
"I don't want to be awake for this." 494's voice was level, empty, but his eyes... his eyes said everything his training wouldn't let him express aloud.
529 nodded again, slowly, then ran his disinfectant cloth over 494's chest, moving up to his neck. As he reached the carotids he leaned, very carefully. 494 blinked his gratitude, then let his eyelids flutter shut as blessed unconsciousness claimed him. 529 eased up, and moved to begin the endless cycle of washing down 494's body, covered again in blood-tinged sweat already.
"So. You two are... uh.. like that, eh?" one of the guards, Georgi, asked with a laugh, waggling his hand suggestively. 529 just rolled his eyes and conentrated on his task.
"No, Georgi. They're brothers." Andrei spoke up from his position, leaning in the doorway. To 529's shock, his accent was American. "Closer than brothers, sometimes." He tilted his head with an undefineable expression on his face, examining 529 minutely. He ran a hand along his jaw, scratching idly. His next words were so faint that 529 was sure he was the only one who heard them. "Sometimes further." Andrei straightened, strode into the room to look down at 494 impassivley. "He's doing well. Surprisingly well. His exposure to Orono must have given him more protection than Ashkovich anticipated."
"You call this well?" 529 asked bitterly.
"Oh, yes." The muscles in Andrei's jaw bunched. "I was here for the testing phases. This is a mild case."
"Oh." 529 was finding it difficult to think around the fatigue weighing against his mind. Andrei looked at him assessingly.
"Get some sleep." he ordered. "I'll wake you if he needs you."
529 eyed him suspiciously. "Thanks." he said slowly.
"Don't thank me. You'll notice I'm not offering to help." As Andrei turned and made his way to one of the comfortable chairs the guards used, 529 stared fixedly at the back of his neck left bare by his short cut black hair.
It was blank.
529 shrugged, his suspicions allayed for the moment. He gave 494's face one last swipe with the towel, then moved away to his own table. He collapsed onto it, exhaustion finally taking its toll. He closed his eyes, and moments later was asleep.
511 was puzzled, and he didn't like it one bit. They could have dealt with 494's debility, could have gotten him out, but he'd refused. There had to be something more going on, and obviously 494 had it figured out, damn him. "Fuck!" For the first time in days, 511 vented his frustration aloud. He looked at the headset cradled in his hands angrily. "Couldn't you at least talk in your sleep?" He could hear the strain in his voice, and concentrated fixedly on controlling his breathing. "Fuck!" It wasn't working. Time to share his mood a little. He flipped to the satellite.
"Hot Zone to Base." He was proud of how even his voice sounded.
[Go, Zone] The Manticore operator didn't sound impressed.
"I need some intel, Base" A wicked smile crossed his lips. {Let's get the bastards at home working for me for a change.}
[Copy that, Zone. Go.]
"There is an American running the show here. I want to know who he is. He seems to be calling himself Andrei." he paused, knowing the next tidbit would get their attention. "He's the one who shot six."
[Copy, Zone.]
"While you're at it, there's another name I want you to look up. Manatov."
[Got it, Zone.] Abruptly Lydecker came on the comm. [What is the status of unit six?]
"He is unconscious, sir."
[Unconscious? That's not within the profile.] Lydecker sounded concerned.
{About time, asshole} For a moment, 511 was tempted, very tempted, to yank Lydecker's chain. The moment passed; live missions were not the time to fuck around. {When I get back, on the other hand...} "He, uh, had some assistance, sir. It isn't related to the illness."
[I didn't think Ashkovich was that compassionate.]
"It surprised me, too, sir." 511 knew some of the sarcasm leaked into his tone and winced. Lydecker ignored it.
[Base, out.]
(Saturday, 2000 hrs)
Ashkovich woke 529 by the simple expedient of pushing him off his table. He landed with an "oof", rolling automatically back to his feet. His injured ribs complained, but the pain was mild compared to the hot pokers of only hours before. The sleep had done him a world of good, and 529 was actually starting to feel like a super soldier again instead of a wet noodle. Well, maybe an ordinary soldier. Super soldier could wait another day. He glared at Ashkovich, who just stared back at him, unmoved.
"494 needs a transfusion. You're up."
529 shot a furious look at Andrei, who raised his hands defensively. "Hey, he looks the same to me."
Ashkovich growled impatiently. "He should not be unconscious. He should be awake! And, he's been losing a lot of blood." he gestured to 494's blood slicked skin. "He needs a boost, yes?"
529 was aleady extending his arm. Ashkovich indicated a nearby chair. "Sit, please."
The extraction only took a few minutes, then Ashkovich handed 529 the needle and motioned for him to set up the IV. 529 gave him a frown, but moved to comply. He inserted the needle into the back of 494's hand, then quickly and competently set up the IV rack. He rolled the bubble between his fingers, and watched the thick red blood begin to stream into 494's veins. He picked up his cloth, wet with disinfectant, and began to wipe 494 down again. His patient's skin felt cooler under his hands this time, and 529 began to hope that it would all shake out the way that 494 had predicted. He leaned over, pretending to check 494's carotid pulse. "Tomorrow." he whispered to 494. "Tomorrow you'll wake up. Monday, we're outta here."
511 rubbed his hands together gleefully. His waiting was almost at an end. {Thank god. I don't know about the rest of them, but I was definitely not designed to sit on my hands like this.} He stood and began to pace. The satellite set beeped at him.
"Go, Base."
[We have your information, Zone.]
"Copy that. Go, Base." Finally, things were starting to come together.
[American male; Andrei. No information.]
"Copy that." Well, fuck. Maybe not.
[Male, Manatov, Sergei. Brother, Sasha Ivan, deceased in the Balkan war. Sasha was an infiltration point for Mission X5226/494-887. Theatre, Bucharest, 2011. X5494 was the sole survivor.]
511 nodded, frowning. This matched Ashkovich's information. "What do you have on Sergei?" Lydecker came on.
[Psych case. He spent the last six years in and out of war veteran hospitals. He, uh.] Lydecker paused. [He was the one who found the bodies. In Bucharest.]
"I see." 2011? Christ, they had him in the field early. "Is there anything else?"
[The man is a sadist.] Lydecker sounded grim. [What have you got for me?]
"We will be green Monday."
[Have you identified available assets?]
"I've found some items that could be useful. Nearby. Thirty minute lead time will be sufficient."
[Good. Be ready. Base out.]
(Sunday, 0800 hrs)
Ashkovich checked the monitors connected to 494 again. "This is unbelievable."
529 sat himself into the guard's chair that no one else had been willing to approach since his previous occupation, and leaned back, stretching. His ribs barely twinged, but he made a point of wincing and curling up. Andrei watched him with still, expressionless eyes, and 529 knew that he, at least, wasn't fooled. Andrei flicked his eyes over to his boss.
"His temperature is down already, vital signs stabilizing." Ashkovich shook his head. "This is unprecedented."
"Are either Orono or Argent cross-species infectors?" 529 spoke up idly, not really paying attention.
"No." Ashkovich frowned. "That could explain the speed of recovery, but contradicts the basic lethality. There's something else at work here."
529 shrugged.
Andrei spoke up. 529 noticed that this time, his accent was faintly Russian. "How long before he is a threat again?"
"Within hours."
Andrei drew his Browning in one smooth motion and levelled it unflinchingly at 529's head. "Time for you to go back to your table."
(Sunday, 1000 hrs)
When 494 opened his eyes, he was back in the cage.
All of his muscles clenched at once, with an almost overwhelming desire to do something big, violent, and very, very messy. {Fuck, I hate being locked up.} He was vaguely surprised at the depth of his visceral response to the sight of the interlaced wire above him again. He bared his teeth at the steel, then reluctantly rolled to his side and looked at the surrounding room. His head swam for a second, and his vision clouded. When it cleared, he almost laughed.
It seemed the whole contingent had come to see him wake up. 494 counted twelve guards, plus Manatov, Ashkovich, and Andrei. With the two dead guards, that accounted for all but three of the total. 529 had been returned to his chains, though he wasn't gagged this time. 494 shot him a fast smirk, and saw his partner's lips quirk in response.
"So nice to see you alive and well, 494." Ashkovich sounded angry for some obscure reason.
"Wish I could say the same, Mikhail." His voice came out whiskey-rough and weaker than he would have wanted, but Ashkovich still flushed at the insult. "You seem vexed, Mikhail."
"Vexed. Hmm. Yes." Ashkovich rocked back on his heels. "You have surprised me. I do not like surprises."
"I disappoint me too, sometimes." 494 shook his head in mock sympathy. 529 smirked.
Ashkovich's lips compressed. "You are well much earlier than expected, even with the transfusion. The tests we have run reveal that the virus has been all but eradicated from your bloodstream. I am ... interested... in an explanation."
494 pushed himself gingerly into a sitting position. He shrugged. "Don't have one for you." He held up his hand as Ashkovich opened his mouth to speak. "Wait." he said wearily. "Really, I don't know. I sure couldn't fake the effects, so you're just going to have to look somewhere else for your 'explanation'."
Ashkovich glared at him. "I have used your blood and test results to synthesize the vaccine." he said angrily. "So this was not a complete waste. But there is something here I do not like, 494."
"I'm with you, Mikhail." 494 nodded wisely, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall of the cage. "I don't like that Manatov asshole either."
Manatov made a move for the remote, laying on the metal table that had been 494's home the past couple of days. Andrei beat him to it. Ashkovich's lips twitched reluctantly.
"How have you managed to survive this long, 494?" he asked. 494 swiveled his head to look at Ashkovich with empty eyes.
"That does seem to be the question of the day, doesn't it?"
511 grinned and pounded his fist into the ground. {Yesterday, death's door. Today, up and talking shit already.} He felt his respect for 494 grow a little more. {Resilient bastard.} He sprang to his feet, feeling better than he had in days. He scrubbed a hand through his beard. Better share the good news.
"Hot Zone to Base."
[Go, Zone.]
"Six is recovering. The objective has been created."
[Copy that, Zone. ] There was a pause. [What is the status of unit two?]
"Unchanged." What the hell? "Request permission to initiate retrieval."
[Negative, Zone. Maintain surveillance until cleared.]
"Request permission to initiate retrieval." 511's words came from between gritted teeth.
[Negative, Zone.] Lydecker's voice replaced that of the operator. [What is the status of the mission?]
"Accomplished."
[Negative.]
"I see." What the fuck else is there?
[Base, out.]
{Fuck!}
(Sunday, 1300 hrs)
When Ashkovich returned to the room, he had a wide smile on his face. It was a look that 494 distrusted immediately. He heard a rattle, and looked over at 529. He wasn't happy either. Andrei trailed in after his boss, and his posture was stiff with displeasure.
"494! You are awake. Wonderful." Ashkovich gestured, and Manatov led in several guards.
"Uh huh." This did not bode well. Not at all. 494 put down the remains of his sandwich.
"I have made a decision, 494. One I am sure you will see the logic in." Ashkovich was practically glowing with satisfaction. "Since you are unable to identify for me the reason for your... miraculous.. recovery, I feel it is necessary to expand my sample space."
Faster than thought, 494 was on his feet, staring down at Ashkovich with murder in his eyes. "No one else has the protection of a previous exposure, Ashkovich. You infect someone else, and it's murder."
Ashkovich laughed. "Is it murder to kill something that isn't even human? I don't think so." He gestured at Manatov, who made his way to the cold storage and set about filling a syringe. "And, who knows, perhaps he will even survive, as you did."
529's eyes were wide with horror, and he looked at 494 beseechingly. 494's gaze never shifted from Ashkovich. "Maybe he won't." He said icily. "Who will save you then?"
Manatov finished filling the needle and started to approach 529. 494's fingers clenched around the mesh of his cage, and blood trickled down his wrists as the wire bit into his flesh. 529 leaned as far away from Manatov as his chains would allow."Andrei." Ashkovich grinned. "I believe that 494 will not wish to witness this. Please activate the remote and put him out for a while." Andrei didn't move. "Andrei? I made a request of you." Ashkovich's voice turned steely.
"Sorry." Andrei told him, raising his hands in an innocent shrug. "I forgot the remote in my room." He gave Ashkovich a wide-eyed look. "Can't help you." Ashkovich's face turned purple and he stepped toward Andrei threateningly. Andrei stood his ground, looking amused. Manatov reached 529's side and reached to give him the shot.
"Uh, Ahmad?" 529's voice was even, not a trace of fear, though his eyes were telling a different story.
"Fuck this." 494 said. "Fight."
511 was stretched out in the midday sun, envisioning another day of helpless waiting and listening when the sat com beeped. He frowned. {The next checkin isn't for hours yet.} As he rose, he heard Ashkovich return to 494's room.
Ashkovich: [494! You are awake. Wonderful!]
Not wanting to miss any of the conversation, he pulled out 529's headset and hooked it up to the satellite set, and flipped one of his earpieces around so he could hear both conversations.
"Go, base."
[Information on Andrei, Zone.]
"Copy, Base. Go."
494: [You infect someone else, and it's murder.]
511 froze.
[Andrei Zimov, Russian national, deceased 2016.]
"I copy." Deceased? Then who the hell was the guy running the guards?
Ashkovich: [Is it murder to kill something that isn't even human?]
{They're gonna infect 529!} "Get me the Colonel, now!" 511 listened with painful intensity to Ashkovich's taunting instructions to knock 494 out, and Andrei's unexpected, mocking response.
529: [Uh, Ahmad?]
494: [Fuck this. Fight.]
{Fuck!} 511 dropped the comms and took off for his stash at a sprint.
[Base, to Zone....Base, to Zone....]
511 was gone.
"Shit." Lydecker threw down the transmitter, then turned to stare at the Manticore operator who had the misfortune to be on duty. He quailed under Lydecker's flint hard glare. "You. You will find 511's personnel transmitter, however you have to." The operator nodded, looking like a bunny in the headlights of a really big truck. He didn't move. "Now!"
The operator jumped, spun back to his computer, and started punching buttons. "Yes, sir!"
Immediately 529 responded, throwing all of the impressive power of his healed body into obtaining a singluar goal: get loose now. The chains twanged with a mellow gong as they snapped taut, and there was a howl of tortured metal as one of the connections to the metal table tore away. Suddenly, 529's left arm was free, and he planted his hand into the middle of Manatov's chest, sending him sprawling several metres away. 529 curled and wrapped his left hand around his right wrist, heaving against the steel restraint, desperate to free his other arm. The metal of the table screamed as it began to buckle under the force.
494 didn't wait to watch 529's efforts; he dropped in a blur of speed to one knee over the cage lock, withdrew the graphite-epoxy pick he'd slid between the mesh after the last time he escaped and began to pick the lock. His face was blank, his concentration absolute, fingers working furiously. The tumblers began to click against his fingertips.
Ashkovich was frozen, stunned. Everything had gone to hell so quickly. "Which one?" Andrei asked, then grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "Which one?" he shouted into Ashkovich's face. Ashkovich blinked, looked at 529 struggling furiously with his bonds, and at 494's absolute focus on the lock.
"529! Take 529!"
Andrei drew the Browning and took aim. Ashkovich slapped the barrel of the gun down. "Don't shoot him! Take them alive!"
Andrei waved the tensely waiting guards toward the table where 529 was redoubling his efforts to free his right arm. Muscles bulged across his shoulders, veins standing out clearly against his dark skin as he twisted against the constraining metal. Just as the first guards reached him, the weld to the table gave. The guards piled onto him, turning the surface of the table into a fighting, struggling tangle of arms and legs. Manatov rose awkwardly to his feet, face furious, and advanced on the group with his syringe at the ready. 529 punched one of the guards with a brutal uppercut, propelling him into one of the metal cabinets, where he slumped to the ground with his neck at an impossible angle. It gave Manatov the opening he'd been waiting for and he lunged, burying the syringe into 529's right shoulder and pressing the plunger. Even as Manatov cried out in triumph, the lock on 494's cage opened, and 494 dropped to the floor with lithe grace.
Ashkovich put his hand out in a warding gesture as 494 stepped towards him. "You can't harm me, 494." he said clearly, confidently. "Your superiors need my help, yes?"
494 paused, tilted his head. Behind him, the struggles to subdue 529 continued unabated. A sudden crash indicated that the table had finally collapsed under the combined weight. Ashkovich jumped. 494 didn't so much as flinch. "Mikhail," he said, voice low and silky with menace. "Aside from the fact that I have no superiors, what ever gives you the impression that my bosses want you alive?"
Ashkovich was confused. "You need me." he repeated, a little uncertain.
494's lips pursed, and he raised his eyebrows, looking up and talking to himself. "Well... let's see. I have the cure, in me, and now I have the virus, in him...." he shook his head, pitiless eyes coming back to rest on Ashkovich, piercing him with a glare. "That seems to be my whole shopping list. I just can't see any further need for you at all, Mikhail."
Ashkovich turned white under his tan as he looked his death in the face. A muffled 'whump' could just be heard faintly over the noise of 529, ankles still shacked to the collapsed table, snapping another guard's neck. An instant later, the entire room rocked underfoot, sand spraying in a fine mist from the ceiling. "What the fuck was that?" Ashkovich's voice was high with terror in the startled silence.
"Reinforcement." 494 said, a wicked smile twisting his lips.
511 could not believe his luck.
He'd been heading at a dead run for the cache of Russian weapons he had liberated from an abandoned enclave, cursing with every step the fact that it would take him at least fifteen minutes each way and his unit mates would likely be dead in that time, and {Fuck, fuck, fuck!}, when he became aware of the low, deep rumbling shaking his bootsoles. He'd stopped dead and looked around wildly, recognizing the vibration. His face came alive with delight and he laughed out loud as he saw, less than 200 metres away, his new best friend.
{That has got to be the most beautiful Russian Black Eagle I have ever seen!}
The Black Eagle was, of course, a tank. A big-assed, mean, wonderful piece of 15 year old equipment that could certainly kick the shit out of anything 511 wanted it to. Better yet, it could kick ass at almost 60 kilometers an hour, and that meant that 511 could be on site in less than 5 minutes, even with the delay required for.. uh.. convincing the crew.
{I think I'm in love!} 511 chortled. {Plan B, come to Poppa!}
He raced up to the tank and leapt to the top of the chassis in one clean movement, crouching on one knee over the entry port. He spun the locking wheel and wrenched open the hatch, reaching inside and pulling out the first soldier by the scruff of the neck before he had time to do more than begin to look up. Half a second later he dropped into the body of the tank, and with movements too quick to follow knocked out the other two occupants. He heaved their limp bodies out of the tank, being careful to make sure that they fell far enough that they wouldn't be damaged by the treads, then rubbed his hands together and gently grasped the yoke. {This is so much better than waiting around for orders.}
511 hit the throttle, and laughed again as the tank responded smoothly to his touch. He turned her to face towards Ashkovich's compound. "Let's give 'em something to think about, Baby." He slid halfway into the gunner's seat, using the computer-based sighting system to aim the turret towards Ashkovich's camp. "We're a bit far out, but let's make 'em shake." He pressed the firing toggle, and the entire tank shook as the shell left the barrel. "Thank god for autoload!" He looked at the compound and grinned fiercely. "Let's go introduce you to some enemies of mine."
"Sir! I've got it! 511's signal!"
Lydecker just stared at the operator, who seemed to be waiting for applause. A moment passed. "Well, put it on!"
"Uh, yes, sir!" The flustered operator flipped a switch, and abruptly 511's soft breathing filled the com centre. A moment later there was a click and a metallic thud.
[Thank god for autoload!] 511's voice was exultant. [Let's go introduce you to some enemies of mine.] A heavy rumbling filled the channel.
Lydecker's eyes narrowed, but he was helpless to intervene. The transmitters were one way only, meant for surveillance, and even if he had wanted to, he wouldn't be able to call 511 back. The rumbling peaked, and Lydecker's eyebrows rose with shock. "Wait a minute! Is that a tank?"
Ashkovich's face paled even further, if that was possible. "Kill them!" he hissed. Andrei pulled the Browning, but hesitated as he and 494 exchanged a long look. Another guard was propelled past them as 529 wrenched a foot free.
"Can't do it." Andrei closed his eyes, shook his head and dropped the gun, kicking it to one side.
Ashkovich gave an inarticulate noise of rage, and turned to run out of the room. He hit the red intercom button on his way out the door, and the entire complex was filled with the sound of a whooping siren. "Kill them!" he screamed, amplified voice echoing throughout the room, before disappearing out the door. 494 moved to go after him, but Andrei stepped sideways to block his way.
"Can't do that either." he said, shaking his head again, looking reluctant.
"Out of my way." 494's voice brooked no argument.
Andrei looked at 494 assessingly. "No." he said. "I don't want the other bodyguards to make fun of me, do I?"
494 gritted his teeth, but the decision was taken from him as the remaining guard contingent poured through the door, guns at the ready. He sprinted for the safety of the metal cabinets as bullets stitched their way across the room towards him, vaguely aware of Andrei beside him. They crashed behind the cabinets barely in time, and the cabinets 'tinked' as they absorbed the enemy fire. The guards turned their attention to 529, who rolled the heavy metal table up on its edge and crouched behind it, one leg still trapped. Two more guards fell as they failed to clear the field of fire in time. 494 did a quick tally. {Thirteen left.} He turned a cold glare on Andrei.
"So, which one are you, anyway?"
"British SAS." Andrei's voice took on the clipped sound of a native British accent.
494 grabbed his head, pulling it down and wiping a hand across the back of his neck. His fingers came away with makeup on them. 494 held up the smears in front of Andrei accusingly. "Which one are you?" He articulated each word of the question slowly and coldly. Andrei sighed. Bullets pinged against the cabinets and 529's table. 494 waited.
"Zane! I'm Zane. Fuck." Zane smacked his head backwards against the cabinet. "I can't fucking believe I'm outed in fucking Uzbekistan, after all of these years."
"Don't sweat it." 494 curled to look around the edge of the cabinet, attracting a new hail of bullets. "I don't actually care. I was just curious."
"How could you tell? I am very careful." Zane sounded tired.
"Nothing human moves as fast as you drew on me." 494 rubbed his fingers gingerly over his still-aching re-opened calf wound. "I knew then. But even if I hadn't, you should never have been able to keep up with me across the room." He looked at the other transgenic soberly. "So," he said. "How's the mercenary life treating you, anyway? I may end up looking for another line of work if this keeps up."
Zane stared at him in shock, then laughed. "Pays real well. Though, after this, I may be looking for another line of work myself."
494 risked another look around the cabinet edge. The guards were advancing on 529's position. "Look," he said. "We need help to get out of this. Give it, and I forget I ever even speculated as to the identity of Andrei. What do you say?" He turned back, but Zane was already gone. 494 looked up to see the vent screen hanging by a single screw. "Well, shit." Dimly, over the wail of the siren, 494 could hear explosions, and felt the floor shake again. 529 was still pinned down, and the five advancing guards would soon be on him. 494 closed his eyes, feeling fatigue racing in overcome the adrenaline high and slow him down. He rested his forehead against the cool metal of the cabinet. {Couldn't have waited one more day, Ashkovich, you asshole. I could have handled this single handedly tomorrow.} He filled himself with resolve, then moved.
511 hit the first of the outbuildings at 50 kilometres per hour, crushing the mud brick structure like a child's sand castle. He laughed out loud at the blizzard of dust that clouded the tank, and gunned the throttle again. As he cleared the debris, he caught sight of the black outline marking the entrance to the cave structure. He chuckled again, grabbed the joystick for the turret, and aimed carefully just above the door. {Wouldn't want any of the little bugs to escape before I have a chance to step on them.} He pressed the trigger, and watched the entrance disappear in an avalanche of rock and sand. He turned his attention to the next outbuilding. "One down. Eleven more to go."
[One down. Eleven more to go.]
Lydecker's thin lips twitched at the satisfaction in 511's voice. Sandoval entered the room in time to overhear and frowned. "Is he attacking Ashkovich's compound?"
"Yes, he certainly is."
"Stop him!" Sandoval was furious. "We need that virus."
"I can't stop him. We have no com link." Lydecker turned and glared at Sandoval coldly enough that the other man stepped away. "And, with all due respect, I wouldn't if I could. It's time to get my kids out of there." The last word was punctuated with a reverberating boom as the next building fell.
[Ten more to go.]
"Uh, sir?" The operator raised his hand tentatively, and Lydecker resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Why isn't X5-511 going straight to X5-494's position, sir?"
"He's clearing out his back." The operator just looked at him, still uncertain. Lydecker sighed. "It's a basic rule of combat, private. If you leave an enemy at your rear, he'll bite you in the ass."
494 launched himself from behind the steel cold storage cabinet just as another explosion rocked the complex, sending the guards staggering and buying him another second. He hit the closest guard with a stiffened elbow to the jaw, stripping him of his gun and tossing it behind 529's table with a single smooth motion. He was on the second guard an instant later, twisting his head savagely. He held the dead guard in front of him long enough to grab his pistol, then dove over the top of 529's table to land beside his squadmate as the remaining guards regained their balance and sent a storm of bullets at him.
"Fuck!" 494 touched his stinging side, and his fingers came away wet with blood. 529 stared at him, wide-eyed, SKS at the ready. "Don't worry. Flesh wound." 494 assured him. He twisted around carefully so that his back was to the wall and his feet were braced against the table, then leaned forward and grasped 529's trapped ankle in both hands. The newest wound along his ribs complained fiercely, and 494's sight dimmed briefly. He gritted his teeth and pushed the weakness away. He blinked sweat out of his eyes and looked at 529. "Ready?" 529 nodded. "Pull!"
Both transgenics put all their weight and power into pulling free 529's ankle from the table. It didn't budge. "What the fuck did they weld this one on with, titanium?" 529 asked tiredly, slumping, though still careful to stay behind the protection of the table.
"Dunno. But we don't have time for this." 494 leveled the Viking at the iron encircling 529's leg. "Stay still."
Just then a fresh hail of gunfire hammered into the wall over their heads, and 529 crouched lower. 494 gave him a dark look. "Stay. Still." he repeated, slowly and clearly. 529 nodded sheepishly. 494 aimed again, and fired. 529 glared at him.
"That would be... 'OW.'" he said grimly, withdrawing his bleeding leg from the table, which was now sporting a large hole where the weld used to be.
"That's nothing, man. Give it twelve hours and you're gonna be wishing I'd shoot you again just to give you something else to think about."
"Sweet Jesus!" 529 stared at him, paling underneath caramel skin. "I hope that wan't meant to be comforting."
"Eleven guards left." 494 told him, ignoring the comment. "There's no way we're gonna get out of here without taking more damage. But," 494 bared his teeth. "I'm pretty sure that all that noise is 511 making a mess for us outside." 529 nodded his understanding. "Unfortunately, all of the guards are in here, and we need to deal with them before they rush us." 494 took a deep breath and held it as his vision greyed out again. "I'm going to head back over to the cabinets. Push the table over to that corner, " he gestured at a nearby grotto, "And then spray the room." He paused. "Miss me, of course."
"Of course." 529 rolled his eyes sarcastically, checking the magazine on the SKS. "A full clip! How considerate."
"You're welcome." The gunfire stopped, and 494 poked his head out to see four of the remaining guards, including Manatov, preparing to rush the table. He reached down and wrenched a piece of jagged metal free from the place that had held 529's left wrist. "Perfect." he said with a cruel grin. He looked at 529 and nodded, then sprang from behind the table. 529 came up on one knee and began firing.
494 raced for the safety of the cabinets, firing the Viking as he moved. He picked his targets carefully, hitting three of the oncoming guards with four shots. He barrelled straight into Manatov, bowling him over and ending up riding him the rest of the way behind the cabinet. An over-confident guard rushed the opening, and 494 spun in place and blew the top of his head off. Still pinning the struggling Manatov with a knee in his groin and an elbow in his windpipe, he looked at the Viking with new respect. He dragged Manatov to his feet, spinning him so that his left arm was across the man's throat, and pulled him to the edge of their refuge, using him for cover. A quick look around the corner revealed another guard down thanks to 529, and one sneaking up along the line of cabinets. 494 aimed and squeezed the trigger, taking down the lurker. The Viking's slide clicked open. Out of bullets. {Shit. Five left. No bullets.} Mentally he reviewed the number of shots 529 had expended covering him. {Twelve rounds left over there.} He risked another look, but the remaining resistance had wisely taken cover. {Damn.} He looked down at his captive, but Manatov had dropped his gun when 494 tackled him. {Yep. Damn.}
A sudden flurry of SKS fire jerked his attention back to the table. Two of the remaining guards had rushed 529's position, drawing his remaining ammo. One of them fell, but the other managed to make the edge of table and fired. 494 heard 529 grunt, then the guard disappeard over the edge of the table in a movement so fast it looked like he'd been eaten. A distinctive crack signalled the end of the guard. Blood seeped from under the edge of the table. 529 had definitely been hit. They were running out of time.
511 patted the Black Eagle's instrument panel fondly as they plowed through the last of the outbuildings. This was more fun than he'd had in ages. "All right, baby. This next one will be a bit more of an effort, but I believe in you." He angled the tank's nose towards the cliff face, and stopped for a moment to strap himself into the five point collision harness. He flexed his fingers, then gently wrapped his hand around the throttle. He took a deep breath, then rammed the throttle full open and, engine screaming, headed for the wall.
494 pulled Manatov in front of him and stepped out from behind the cover of the cabinet. He held the jagged piece of metal from 529's table against Manatov's throat so tightly he could feel his pulse, and edged his way back towards 529's position. He glanced over the edge of the barrier. 529 looked up, clutching his shoulder, and mouthed, "I'm out." 494's lips compressed, and he looked at the room. There were firearms with the dead guards, three metres away, but he would need to crouch to pick one up and that would make him vulnerable. They could not stay in their current positions without weapons, though. He weighed the options.
Ashkovich staggered through the door to his left, blood streaming from a cut over his eye. He stopped and stared at the tableau in front of him, then gave an inarticulate scream of rage and scooped up Zane's Browning from inside the doorway. He started firing before he even brought it level, hitting the ground, dead guards, the table, and Manatov before clicking empty. He looked at 494, still standing unscathed, and howled before diving for one of the SKS.
Manatov screamed and tried to double up over the gunshot penetrating his gut. 494 wrenched him back upright, then realized his screen was useless. He moved his mouth beside Manatov's ear. "Say hi to Sasha for me." He pushed Manatov's head forward and drew the makeshift knife across his throat, severing his jugular. He propelled Manatov's body forward, throwing him into Ashkovich just as the other man reached the rifle. Ashkovich went down, and 494 moved to leap headfirst behind the shelter of the table. {Too late, too late!} One of the four remaining guards swiveled out from the door frame and fired his ROMAK on full auto, catching 494 twice in his already abused left leg. "Argh!" 494 curled up, clenching his fists and trying desperately to push the pain down into the depths where he could control it. 529 stared at him, blood trickling from between his fingers, face already starting to turn red with fever. 494 straightened his leg, cursed, punched the ground. He looked at 529 and shook his head. {That's it,} he thought despairingly. {We're done.} He heard movement in the room and braced himself for the final rush.
The room exploded around them.
For a moment, 494 thought that they'd set off grenades, then his ears stopped ringing and he felt, more than heard, a a deep rumbling vibrating him to his bones. "What the fuck?" He peeked over the edge of the table, eyes wide with disbelief. He blinked. He blinked again, but the sight in front of his eyes didn't change. He turned his head and looked at 529, who was also peering over the edge. 529 looked back at him wide eyed, and shrugged.
There, sticking half-in and half-out of the wall, was an enormous, tan, Russian Black Eagle tank.
Sunshine could just been seen dimly all around the outside of the tank, and 494 could just make out a foot sticking out from under one of the treads. An arm extended from under the other. {Three bad guys left.} 494 thought in some tiny part of his mind still capable of rational thought. The hatch's lock wheel spun, and the hatch clanked open. 511 popped his head up and gave them a big, happy grin. "Hey guys. Need a lift?" Gunfire converged on him from two positions, and he ducked back into the safety of the tank. The Eagle's machine guns swiveled around to target the guards, and fired in two short bursts. The guards slumped. 511 popped back up, grinning.
494 dragged himself out from behind the table, pulling 529 to his feet. He stopped a few metres away from the Black Eagle and whistled softly. His eyebrows rose, and he pursed his lips in appreciation. "Now that is what I call a rescue."
511 widened his eyes at the sight his naked friend, and disappeared back into the tank. A black burnous came sailing out of the hatch, followed by another. 494 shrugged it on and belted it in place, then helped 529 on with his. His leg threatened to buckle, and he staggered the rest of the way to the tank, leaning heavily against the chassis. A scraping noise made them both turn, and 511 vaulted out of the hatch and took up a defensive position in front of his wounded squadmates.
Ashkovich pulled himself upright out of the rubble, blood streaked face and matted hair making him look demonic through the thick dust. 511 narrowed his eyes at him, and suddenly all of the humour drained out of his face, leaving a cold, expressionless mask. His voice was low and full of menace. "Ashkovich. I've been wanting to meet you. Very much."
Ashkovich brought up his gun, much too slowly for a healthy transgenic. 511 blurred forward and struck him in the face with a forearm, taking him down hard, though not hard enough to knock him out. He planted a foot against Ashkovich's spine, holding him in place.
A phone began to ring.
The three transgenics exhanged looks, then 494 limped heavily to Ashkovich and frisked him, coming up with a Nokia 9300 cell phone. He looked at the incoming number, and snorted. He flipped open the phone. "Yeah." Pause. "Yeah." Pause. "Yeah, got that." Pause. "All right." He crouched down beside Ashkovich, pressed the volume up on the phone, then held it so that Ashkovich could hear. The other two transgenics listened in.
[Ashkovich!] Lydecker sounded jovial. [I understand you're in a bit of a pickle.]
Ashkovich blubbered through broken teeth.
[I suppose you're thinking that now would be a good time for me to tell these guys to back off and let you go, right] Lydecker continued.
"Yes! Yes! Tell them to let me go."
[You know, I don't think that's going to happen.] Lydecker's voice abruptly dropped, became rage filled, chilling. [You didn't really think I was just going to let you torture two of my kids and just walk away, did you?] He hung up.
Ashkovich closed his eyes.
494 leaned close over him, whispering. "Do you remember what I told you, Mikhail?" He stood in slow, painful movements. 511 withdrew his Glock from it's hiding place at the small of his back and took steady, unflinching aim. 494 moved to stand wearily beside him, one hand on his friend's shoulder for balance. "Tick, tick, asshole. Tick, tick, tick." He stopped.
511 squeezed the trigger.
494 stepped away from 511, turning back toward the tank on unsteady legs that threatened to buckle. 511 twitched as if to help him, but 494 shot him a look that made him raise his hands and step back.
"Colonel. 529 is going to need assistance quickly. We're going to need an extraction right away." 494 spoke to the air, knowing that Lydecker could hear him. 529 rather suddenly collapsed, straight down, as though the floor had dropped from under him. 511 was at his side an instant, with 494 a limping step behind. 494 grabbed 511's hand just before he touched 529's huddled form. "Don't touch him! He's infected." 511 backed away, giving 494 room to drop painfully to 529's side. He touched 529's hot forehead, and his fingers came away tinged with blood. "Colonel. It's progressing quickly." 494 looked up and met 511's worried gaze. "Where's the nearest airstrip?"
511 pursed his lips, dark eyes distant. "There's a Russian enclave less than 20 klicks from here. I ...ah... borrowed some of their more mobile pieces of equipment. It's where I was headed when I stumbled over my friend here." he gestured at the tank. "They had a strip. Nothing paved, though. To get paved we'd have to head back to Bukhara."
"We'll take the Russians."
"They might be a little annoyed about my aquisition of the tank, you know."
"I know." 494's face was expressionless, but his eyes were worried. "We need to get 529 back as soon as possible. We'll have to handle the Russians."
511 nodded crisply. 494's eyes slid back to 529. "Colonel." he said. "Send something fast."
Ashkovich's cell phone rang again. 511 scooped it up, clicked it open. "Go, Base." He smirked.
[I'm sending an extract to a base 18 klicks northeast of your position.] Lydecker didn't sound amused. [A Canadian XFF-887 will be setting down in one hour. Be there on time.] He hung up.
"Bye, Colonel." 511 spoke to the air.
"Check and see if there's a tarp or something like that loaded on Eddie here." 494 closed his eyes briefly, then raked a hand through sweat-soaked hair. "And pass me out the medkit, will ya?"
511 nodded and leaped up to the chassis. "Eddie?" His voice was muffled as he opened the aux hatch to see if the soldiers had been carrying a tarp.
"Eddie the Eagle. Try and keep up, 511." 494's vision darkened, and he shook it off.
511's head popped back up from behind the hatch. "My tank is NOT a boy. She's beautiful." he declared indignantly.
"Edwina, then."
"Fine." 511 rummaged for a moment, then closed the hatch and dropped down beside 494. He handed him the medkit. "I found a tent. Heavy canvas."
"Good." 494 cracked open the medkit and started pulling out gauze and bandages. "You got a knife?" 511 nodded silently and handed it over. "All right. Roll the tent out flat on the ground." He hiked up his burnous and looked at the two new bullet wounds in his left leg. "Shit." The one in his calf looked like a through and through, but the one in his thigh had lodged inside. "We don't have time for this."
511 finished unrolling the tent and came to look. "No kidding." He opened the bottle of alcohol and poured it over the wounds, ignoring 494's indignant hiss. He grabbed the gauze and some four by four bandages and started wrapping the leg quickly. "You can get it taken care of properly when we get back." He took out an antibiotic ampoule and stabbed it into 494's leg.
"Failed the bedside manner section of Field Med 201, I see." 494's mouth compressed. "Gimme the morphine." 511 handed it over, and was surprised when 494 turned to 529 and jabbed three ampoules deep into his leg. 494 turned back and caught 511's raised eyebrow. "He's not going to want to be awake for this, any more than I did." he said softly.
"What's the tent for?"
"I'll need you to put 529 in the tank. Since you can't actually touch him..." 494 broke off. He bound 529's shoulder as fast as possible, noting that at least the bullet went straight through and the blood had slowed to a trickle. Finishing up with the bandages, he rolled 529 more quickly than gently onto the tent. 511 nodded again, wrapping him in the canvas and lifting him easily onto the chassis before sliding him bonelessly through the hatch.
494 rose stiffly and began shuffling along the cold storage cabinets, opening the doors as he went. "Hey, does Eddie have any incendiaries?" he called over his shoulder. 511 hung himeself upside-down through the hatch to look at the targetting readout.
"Yeah!" he called back, voice muffled. "Six incendiary. And... uh... four phosphorous."
494 blinked and chewed his lip. "That might do it." He ignored 511's wide-eyed look at his response and opened the doors on the last two cabinets, pushing aside one of the dead guards to do it. He made his way back to the tank where 511 waited for him impatiently. His pace was somewhat slower than a crawl. 511 looked at his wrist pointedly and drummed his fingers on Edwina's steel skin.
"Do you mind, 494? We are a little pressed for time."
494 shot him a murderous glare. "Fuck off." But he did hobble faster, gritting his teeth.
511 jumped energetically down from the chassis and made a cradle of his hands. 494 balanced on his bad leg long enough to plant his good foot in 511's hands, then landed heavily on top of the chassis. He dropped through the hatch and into the gunner's seat with a ragged noise, then checked on 529. He was completely out, the morphine doing its job. 494 stroked 529's hair back from his face, then turned to the targetting computer, all business. A few keystrokes later and the incendiaries were ready to go. 511 slid into the driver's seat. He winced, lifted himself a moment, and came up with Ashkovich's Nokia. He looked at it a moment, then shrugged, flipped it out of the tank and slammed the hatch closed. He turned to 494. "What do you say we get out of here?" he asked softly.
"I'd say 'about fucking time'."
511 eased the tank out of the hole in the wall, backing her away for about 400 yards before 494 indicated they should stop. He lined up the hole in the wall carefully, precisely aiming the crosshairs at the exact centre of the tank-shaped hole. He twitched the joystick ever... so... slightly...
"Will you just blow the fucking place up already?"
494 gave 511 a superior glare, and pulled the trigger, holding it down to initiate the automatic fire function. Edwina shuddered as the shells left the barrel, and an instant later the whole world shook as they began finding their target. A furnace of fiery heat blasted out of the hole in the cliff, but 494 continued to fire. Shell after shell added their fury to the cauldron, and still 494 sent in more. Finally, 511 looked over at his fixed, savage expression, and gently tapped his knuckles. 494 blinked, and eased down.
511 looked up at the scanner, and nodded at the flames. "Sterilized."
"As it should be." 494's lips thinned, then he turned to 529 to check on him again. "Let's go, 511. We've only got thirty minutes left, and we don't wanna keep the Russians and Canadians waiting. Hockey might break out."
511 turned his head and looked at him levelly. "I'll put twenty on the Canadians." he said.
511 stopped Edwina behind the last set of outcroppings before the Russian airfield. "OK." he said. "We're here. Now what?"
"We're going to have to get closer than this." 494 squinted, ignoring the 'Well, Duh' look that 511 shot him. He gestured towards the airstrip vaguely. "We'll need to be close when the XFF-887 gets here. You're going to have to drive right up to their doorstep."
"We're in a stolen tank."
"They might not know that. Christ, it's not like these things come with a big, neon, 'Stolen' sign on them. Come on! Just, you know, be casual. Look like you're supposed to be here." 494 paused. "Stop peeking at them from behind a big hill! All the other tanks are gonna laugh at Eddie if they see her hiding out like this."
"Ed-WINA!" 511 glared, but kicked the tank back into gear and started moving. "She's going to get upset if you keep calling her Eddie. And you do not want Edwina upset with you."
494 rolled his eyes. "Just drive the bus."
They reached the edge of the airfield without incident, but as they prepared to trundle across to the landing strip, a jeep suddenly veered towards them, with a wildly gesticulating soldier standing in the passenger seat. The jeep slid to a halt directly in their path, and the soldier jumped out and ran up to the side of the tank. 511 stopped before crushing the jeep and looked at his watch.
"Two minutes to go."
494 bit his lip. "Shit." He was so tired. "We need a distraction. Before they send more folks out here to investigate."
511 laughed and turned the tank towards the flight tower. "I'm pretty sure our ride isn't planning on asking for clearance." 494 sighted on the tower and pulled the trigger.
The tower exploded in a bright fireball of destruction, raining wood and glass on the nearby buildings. 511 used the advantage of the soldiers' shock to bring the machine guns to bear. He waggled them meaningfully, and the Russian beside the tank broke and ran back the other way. The driver of the jeep joined him. An instant later, they heard the supersonic scream of the incoming jet.
494 reached behind his seat and came up with an old, faithful weapon, the AK-47. "I'll go out first. You take 529, stuff him in the plane, and get in. I'll cover your back. 511 opened his mouth to argue, but 494 drew his hand across his throat in the Manticore sign for 'Shut it.' "No argument. Go."
511 reached across 494 and grabbed 529 by the tent cover, heaving him across 494's lap. He popped the hatch, then hunkered down to let 494 climb over him. "You know," he said conversationally. "I'm sure we could have thought of a way of doing this that wouldn't have required each person to climb over both other people at least once."
"I'm too tired to think." 494 scrubbed a hand across his eyes and realized that it was true. He was feeling foggy. {Shit. Not good.}
"Then it's a good thing I know something about this soldiering deal myself then." 511's words were light, but his tone was steely. 494 gave him a reluctant grin.
"Fine. Go first."
With a flashing grin, 511 disappeared out the hatch. A second later he was back and hauled 529 up onto the chassis, before reappearing and extending his arm down into the tank. 494 took the help without complaint, and 511 lifted him out easily. The jet screamed overhead again, and 511 gave it a glare.
"Get the fuck down here, already!"
The jet came around again, on approach this time, and 511 nodded in satisfaction. "Nice to see someone around here can take orders." They climbed down, and dragged 529 to the ground.
Unfortunately, it appeared that the Russian contingent had also seen the Canadian pilot's latest flyby. A flood of irritated soldiers was flowing out of the various buildings dotting the landscape, and most of them had weapons.
"511."
The word was enough. 511 sprang back into the tank and started it moving, machine guns swiveling to target the oncoming soldiers, and to put the tank between the soldiers and the wounded transgenics. The jet touched down behind them, and 494 struggled to lift 529 up onto his shoulder. With a massive heave, he succeeded, and started to stagger towards the slowing jet. His vision blackened, but he concentrated only on placing one trembling foot in front of the other. It felt like forever passed before he felt the pilot race up and pull 529 off his shoulder. 494 blinked, and slowly, too slowly, the darkness receeded. The pilot wrapped both arms around 529's bundled body and started dragging him back towards the plane, where the canopy stood open, the three empty passenger seats beckoning invitingly.
Edwina's guns chattered again, and 494 turned, pulling the AK around to a firing position. He pinged a shot off of the tank, and it immediately stopped and turned to face them. He heard a blurt of shock from the pilot as the turret swiveled to aim at them, then the hatch flipped back and 511 vaulted out, hitting the ground already sprinting. 494 dropped to one knee with a groan of pain, levelling the AK-47. 511 had already reached them when the first Russian soldier broached the barrier of the tank, and 494 fired, sending the soldier tumbling to the ground. 511 picked up 529 and raced up the side of the aircraft effortlessly, dumping him into the rearmost seat and fastening the five point harness at the four available points before jamming the helmet on his head in a blur of speed. He dropped back to the ground without bothering to use the handholds, ignoring the pilot's gaping jaw. 494 continued to fire in short bursts, taking down the soldiers as they came around the edge.
511 tapped the pilot on the shoulder and pointed insistently at the jet. She nodded, still looking shocked, and climbed into the front seat. 511 moved to 494's side and helped him up. The pause in the supressing fire gave the Russians the break they had been waiting for, and one of the soldiers made it into the tank. 511 made a cradle of his hands, and 494 planted his good foot between them, launching himself to scramble untidily into the seat in front of 529. The tank's turret moved minutely, and 494 braced himself for the shell to come as 511 swarmed up the side of the plane.
"Go go go gogogo!" he shouted at the pilot, jamming his helmet onto his head and activating the mike. The canopy slid down as the jet began to move. 494 could just make out 511 frantically fastening his own harness as the canopy closed and the plane rocketed forward. He turned his head, just in time to see Edwina go up in a huge fireball. Dimly he became aware of 511's voice in his ear.
"... so I rigged her to blow when they tried to fire."
"Oh, Habib. Eddie looks unhappy with you."
"Yeah, what can I say? My relationships never last." 511 paused. "Except for you. You I can't seem to get rid of."
494 laughed weakly, then the pilot punched the throttle and he was pushed back into his seat. The pressure built against his chest and he felt himself greying out again. This time he leaned his head back and let it come.
(Thursday, Manticore, Washington facility)
Lydecker stood over the sleeping form of 494, an expression on his face that none of his kids would have recognized. Relief, and tenderness shone in his eyes, and he had to resist the desire to touch 494 to reassure himself. He turned to his head to look at 529 in the adjacent bed, and this time gave in, patting the silky black hair awkwardly. The only light in the room came from a nighlight that glowed a soft yellow from the corner of the room.
529 looked much the worse for wear, though the transfusions and innoculations with the serum from 494's blood had blunted the worst of it. Still, he looked terrible, with faint bloody streaks still showing against the caramel skin.
Sandoval came to stand beside him, and Lydecker's face smoothed back into its usual irritated look.
"Christ, Deck, what the hell happened to you? You look like you had an argument with a bus."
Lydecker raised his hand and touched his bruised eye and fat lip gingerly. "Mugging." he answered curtly. "What are you doing here, Sandoval?"
"Do we have everything we need?" he asked in reply.
"Yes. We can generate enough serum from these two to innoculate the rest of our people."
"Good, good. When are we expecting the DNA workup on the virus?"
"Tomorrow morning." Lydecker turned away from 529 and headed for the door. Sandoval stepped into his path.
"What was it, Lydecker? What gave 494 his protection?"
Lydecker's face tightened, and he drew Sandoval into the hallway, closing the door behind them. "Smallpox." he said, and he looked almost embarrassed.
"The last repositories of smallpox were destroyed in 2004, Colonel."
"No. They weren't." Lydecker paced tightly. "We designed these kids to be resistant to biowarfare elements. We needed to test our design."
"And you picked smallpox?"
"No, not originally. We went through botulism, anthrax, plague. The usual. Then we picked a dozen kids to test smallpox against. For our test group, we needed to have some that had been innoculated, and some that hadn't. 494 was one of four that hadn't been."
"And?"
"The eight that had been innoculated, no problem. Of the other four, two survived."
Sandoval was getting impatient. "Come on, Colonel. Get to the point."
"494 survived in the usual way; you make antibodies, they fight the virus, they win, case closed, right? But when we did a DNA workup afterwards, we found that a change had been made on a genetic level. 494's genetic code had spontaneously mutated to resist an entire class of virus. Smallpox." he paused meaningfully. "And its derivatives."
"Orono was derived from smallpox." Sandoval was finally piecing it all together.
"Yes. Usually, if you have an immunity to a virus that is obtained through innoculation, it is just that virus you are immune to. Small mutations in the virus' code results in no more immunity. We discovered that 494 had a much greater range of immunities while he was in the Balkans. Unfortunately, the mutation has not been reproduced."
"And since Argent was based on Orono..."
"We knew he'd be sick, but that he would almost definitely survive. And we needed a survivor to generate the vaccine that will protect the rest of us."
"And 529?"
"An aspect of 494's mutation is that he eradicates the virus from his bloodstream. To test the vaccine we needed a sample of live virus. Argent's life expectancy is only 4 hours outside of cold storage or a live host. That wasn't enough time to get it back here."
"You are one cold bastard, Colonel." Lydecker didn't respond. "What about the other survivor?"
"Completely immune. Genetically."
"Why wouldn't you copy that genome, then?"
"Because 452 escaped before we could." Lydecker turned cold eyes on Sandoval. "Now, if we're done the interrogation, I'm leaving."
Sandoval stepped aside. Lydecker left.
494 woke to the smell of disinfectant and the feel of clean sheets against his skin. He wriggled a little, snuggling deeper into his pillow. {Ahhh, home.}
"I know you're awake." 511 told him cheerily.
"Huh." 494 refused to open his eyes. "Even I don't know I'm awake yet, Habib."
511 laughed, then threw a convenient shoe at him. "We're home," he said. "It's just plain old 511 now."
494 reluctantly opened his eyes and stretched hugely, groaning. His leg barely hurt at all, and the bullet scorch across his ribs was healed. "How long was I out?"
"Just a couple of days." 511 slouched deeper in the chair set between the two beds. "They kept you out cause they figured you'd regenerate blood faster that way. Vampires."
494 looked at the plethora of needle marks marching up his arm. "Sweet jesus!"
511 rubbed his shoulder. "They were making vaccine. I got my shot a minute ago."
494 rolled his eyes. "Sorry to cause you such pain." He shifted uncomfortably. "So, what happened?"
"Not much. We landed in Anchorage, much to the surprise of the control tower, rearranged you two sleeping beauties, then headed for the Alberta facility where Miranda is based."
"Miranda?" 494 interrupted, a slow smile spreading across his face.
"The pilot who picked us up." A blush stained 511's cheeks.
"You seduced the pilot." 494 closed his eyes and tried not to laugh out loud. "You've got two wounded buddies at death's door, and you seduced the pilot?"
"Hey, you two were in perfectly good hands." 511 said defensively. "She was intrigued by the whole enhanced thing. And she was hot! And Canadian! You know what they say about Canadian women!"
494 let loose the laughter, curling into a ball on the bed. "No, 511, what do they say?" he managed to choke out.
"They say... they're... argh!" 511 spluttered. "Well, it's all true!" he finally said firmly, sending 494 into even greater gales. A sleepy mutter from the other bed caught their attention.
"Could you guys keep it down, please? Recovering transgenic over here." 529's voice was a croak, and 511 immediately gave him a cup of water to sip from. "Thanks, man." He sounded almost normal. 529 looked over at 494. "I can not tell you how much I wish I had never gone on this mission."
511 laughed out loud. "I tell him that after every mission!"
"Not this one. This time, you got to sit warm and cozy, listening to us suffer. Then you get to steal a tank, and finally, you get laid. Somehow, I don't see a lot of room for you to complain here."
"Yeah. Listening was fun." All of the humour drained out of 511's face as he remembered 494's screams, and he rubbed his knuckles thoughtfully. 494 noticed the bruises, but decided he didn't want to know. "But you know I crave the action." he sent 529 a grin.
"Uh huh." 529 stretched gingerly. "Not me. Next time I'll be the eavesdropping tank thief." He paused. "Especially if I get laid afterwards."
The other two looked at each other. After a long moment, 494 spoke. "Christ, when you put it that way... get in line!"
The laughter of the three transgenics echoed down the empty infirmary hallway, and in his chair near the nurses station, Lydecker smiled.
Renfro slammed closed the metal document case in her hands furiously, dropping it on her desk. A moment later, she reluctantly opened it again, surveying the contents angrily. "Fuck!" she said. "How could they have gotten so close?"
The open case revealed a single piece of paper, with an electron imaging scanner picture of the Argent virus taking up most of the page. Ebola had been described variously as a lasso, or as a fish hook, and Marburg as sausages or cigars, but there was only one way to describe Argent.
A caduceus.
(Friday)
494 gave a long-suffering sigh and stretched, rubbing the back of his neck. 511 glanced at him unsympathetically. "Don't give me that." he told 494 firmly. "You are not going to talk me into writing this report for you."
494 gave him a reproachful look and turned to 529, opening his mouth. 529 held up a hand, writing with the other. "Don't even think it." he said. "I am annoyed enough having to write my own."
494 closed his mouth and looked down at the paper in front of him mournfully. 511 glanced up again. "How far have you gotten?" he asked.
"Operative: X5-494. Mission: 1109. Theatre: Uzbekistan. You?"
529 looked down at his own report. "Yeah, about that far."
"Hey, did you guys hear that the whole squadron that XFF-877 pilot belonged to is here for the next three days? Apparently Manticore's considering a program for training us on those."
511's eyes snapped to 529's face. "Where did you hear that?"
"From her co-pilot, in the admin building." 529 looked smug. 511 moved to get to his feet.
"Oh, no you don't." 494 gestured him back down. "We need to get this done before you go after your dessert." 511 sat, but shot him an irritated look.
494 sighed again, then picked up his pen and bent over the report.
[We received our orders and proceeded to processing, where we were {poked, prodded, colourized and dyed} disguised to appear local to the region. We proceeded to the quartermaster, where we obtained {stole} handguns and communications equipment.] 494 paused to flex his hand thoughtfully. [The flight to Bukhara was uneventful. Upon reaching the airport we arranged for {stole} transportation and proceeded to the target location.]
"You know, I spent a really remarkable amount of time unconscious on this mission." 529 commented idly, doodling in the margins. "I don't think I should have to report that I was unconscious."
"Quit complaining. At least you only have to write up the parts where you were alone or the only one conscious. I get the wonderful job of reporting on all the joint activities." 494 sounded sulky.
"That's why they pay you the big bucks." 529's lips twitched.
"Really? Here and I thought it was the drugs I keep selling them." 494's brows drew together, and he chewed on the edge of his thumb. 511 looked up.
"Hey, 494. Did I 'appropriate' the tank, or did I 'liberate' the tank?"
"Discovered. 'Discovered the tank.'" He considered a moment. "Alternative: 'stumbled across'."
511 nodded. "I suppose I shouldn't call her Edwina in my report, huh?" he asked wistfully.
494 looked at him levelly. "Probably not." he replied, "Probably shouldn't refer to blowing Eddie up as 'murdered the tank', either."
511 hastily scratched out his sentence. 494 rolled his eyes and returned to his own report.
[In my initial reconaissance, I identified {contrary to the mission profile} aproximately 20 soldiers onsite, heavily {as in NOT lightly}armed {also contrary to the mission profile} with ROMAK AKM rifles, SKS carbines, Viking pistols {sweet gun}, grenades, and GM-94 grenade launchers. I continued surveillance for one week to ensure adequate intelligence {though evidently not my own}, before going in.] He leaned back again.
"You know, everytime I think back, I realize what a fucking idiot I was to get caught by that thermal switch." he shook his head with annoyance. "I mean, come on. Though... I suppose the electrified vent couldn't have been anticipated."
"Just think, now you know what a mouse in a microwave feels like." 529 laughed. 511 stared at him until the chuckles faltered.
"A mouse in a microwave? Man, that's just sick." 511's lips twitched, betraying him.
"But funny." It was 494's turn to offer a grimace, and 529 held up his hands. "In theory. Just in theory." 494 and 511 bent back over the paperwork, and 529 shook his head. "Geeze. Tough room."
[In line with the mission parameters, {that I was never briefed on}, I allowed myself to be captured {like an idiot} by tripping a thermal sensor {that I didn't notice} in the {painfully... and effectively} electrified ventilation system.]
"Here." 529 tossed his report to 494 to review. "Take a look." 494 skimmed it, and closed his eyes in disbelief.
"It's spelled U-z-b-e-k-i-s-t-a-n." he said through gritted teeth.
"Really? What'd I use?"
"H-E-L-L."
511 snorted, then covered his mouth with his hand when 494 shot him a dark look. 494 continued grimly. "We did not 'steal' the guns, we 'obtained' the guns. We did not 'steal' the car, we 'arranged for' the car. We did not 'steal' the tank..."
"Damned straight 'we' didn't." 511 interrupted indignantly. "I stole Eddie."
494 cleared his throat, then continued. "We did not 'steal' the tank, 511 'stumbled across' the tank. You did not get 'knocked into La-La land', you were 'rendered unconscious'. And Ashkovich was not "coo coo for CoCo Puffs."
"Are you sure about that, cause I gotta say, that guy sure acted like he was." 529 told him earnestly.
"And finally, you did not hide out behind the table during the firefight."
"What's wrong with hiding out? When the bullets are flying it's a hell of a lot smarter than racing around dodging them."
"It's just... it's not..."
"What? Accurate?"
"Macho, man! It's just. Not. Macho."
"Oh." 529 took back his clipboard and ripped off the top page, then handed it back to 494. "You should probably use this one, then."
494's jaw dropped as he surveyed the perfectly completed mission report. 529 smirked. "See you guys later. I have a date with a redhead." He whistled softly to himself as he swaggered out.
"That bastard." 511 breathed. "The least he could have done was finish ours, too." He looked back down at his own report. "Hey, 494? I'm running out of other ways to say 'stole'."
494 stood and tossed his clipboard onto the bed. "We'll finish it later." he said. "Right now, I think it's time to extend the hand of friendship to our newly arrived Canadian guests."
511 thought a moment, then leaped up to join him.
"Think they'd let us extend anything else?"
Mission Debrief
Operative: X5-494
Mission: X5494-1109
Theatre: Uzbekistan
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We received our orders and proceeded to processing, where we were disguised to appear local to the region. We proceeded to the Quartermaster, where we obtained handguns and communications equipment. The flight to Bukhara was uneventful. Upon reaching the airport we arranged for transportation and proceeded to the target location.
In my initial reconaissance, I identified aproximately 20 soldiers onsite, armed with ROMAK AKM rifles, SKS carbines, Viking 446 pistols, fragmentation grenades, and GM-94 grenade launchers. I continued surveillance for one week to ensure accurate intelligence, before going in.
In line with mission parameters, I allowed myself to be captured by tripping a thermal sensor in the electrified ventilation system. I was placed in a hanging cage, from which I escaped using one of the epoxy picks provided by the Quartermaster. As I was preparing to aquire the sample and exit, 529 was brought in. His wound made it necessary for us to obtain medical assistance and delay our egress. I was returned to the cage and introduced to the target, Mikhail Ashkovich, who indicated that I was to be the test subject for the new virus. To ensure my cooperation, it was demonstrated that the cage was also electrified.
I was infected with the virus, and recovered within the projected timeframe. Ashkovich indicated that 529 was to be the next test subject, and I gave the order to resist, as the target would have not believed a passive response to infection. In the process of offering resistance, 529 was infected and shot once, and I was wounded in the leg. It was at this point that 511 arrived in a Russian Black Eagle tank and retrieved us from the compound, which was destroyed with a full casualty complement.
On orders from Colonel Lydecker, we proceeded to a Russian held airfield northwest of the compound, where we were picked up by a Canadian XFF-887 and returned to a base in Canada, where 529 and I received treatment and 511 worked to expand our relationship with the Canadian Military.
Additional Note: ELectricity was used very effectively in disabling both X5-529 and myself. Additional functional work in this area is recommended.
Mission Objectives Accomplished:
Obtain Argent sample
Obtain Argent vaccine
Destroy target compound
Mission Objectives Not Accomplished:
None
CLOSED
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