Blades of Winter (16 page)

Li’l Bertha switches to .12-caliber suppression pellets as I leap out from cover and charge the concrete barrier. I spring across the cars like they’re skipping stones, advancing on an angle to take away Small Guy’s cover. He’s smart, though, and quick crawls about forty feet to my left. He sticks his gun over the barrier and blind fires a flurry of bullets. I have to drop flat to dodge them. My momentum makes me skid off the hood of a car, and I land right on my noggin. My vision goes all white static for a second, and my ears start ringing.

All right, fuck this subtlety bullshit. I switch Li’l Bertha to the biggest thing she’s got: .50-caliber Explosives. I stand back up and blast giant holes in all the concrete barriers anywhere near this goddamn guy. Chunks of cement fly around the garage, ping off the cars, and knock out some of the lights. The explosions echo like a freight train falling into a canyon. My infrared vision allows me to see through the smoke and dust. Unless Small Guy has vision Mods, he’s effectively blind right now. Even if he has them, all they’ll do is let him witness his own demise.

This shithead has done well, but playtime is over. I’ve got a grenade in my right hand while Li’l Bertha kicks
and bucks in my left. Small Guy scrambles to keep away from me, but finally one of my bullets blows his right leg off. I put the grenade away and switch to more reasonable indoor ammunition, standard .30-caliber.

Small Guy is bellowing like a stuck pig. I stand over him, snap his picture with my retinal cameras, then shoot his face until it’s goo. Drops of his blood splatter on my forehead and run down my cheek.

Shouts echo from outside as I run back to the BMW. I punch out the driver’s-side window, hop in the car, slide the seat all the way forward, and stick my hand under the dash. Being an ExOps field agent makes it certain that once in a while you’ll need to steal a car. At Camp A-Go-Go, we learned how to hot-wire everything.

I find the correct wires, yank out the ends from the ignition cylinder, and touch the tips together. The car starts. I put Li’l Bertha in my lap and a couple of grenades on the seat next to me. I stick the car in gear and screech my way around what’s left of the concrete barriers to the exit.

I hear more cars arriving outside. The four guys who arrived in the Mercedes run into the garage. More gunmen run up behind them. They stand on the exit ramp and unload their guns at me. Christ, there’s too many! I accelerate straight at them and duck under the dashboard. Their shots shatter the car’s windows. Safety glass fragments chop into my scalp and bullets pierce my shoulders and upper arms as the Bimmer gets absolutely riddled. Hot streams of blood pour down my back and soak into the leather seat. I keep my head low and my foot on the gas until I feel some goon-size thumps from outside the car. Howls, crunches, gunshots … it’s like Mardi Gras in hell. Blood splashes onto the dashboard, and ovenlike heat flares from the backseat. Flashes of orange light pulse in time with the heat waves, and I realize that my car is on fire.

I fly out of the garage and into the street. My right hand steers the rolling inferno while my left hand grabs Li’l
Bertha and lays down a suppressive mix of incendiaries and tracer slugs.
Give those fuckers some of their own medicine
. My neuroinjector crams coagulants into my bloodstream to stop the bleeding and dumps in so much Overkaine that I can barely see from dizziness. None of this matters as much as the fact that I’ve got to ditch this vehicle before it explodes right out from under me.

“
Solomon!
My car’s on fire. Get me the fuck out of here!”

“Jesus! Okay, okay, uhh—go straight 300 onto that bridge ahead of you. Then turn right, off the bridge into the Tigris. Don’t slow down.”

I count to three hundred feet and swerve to the right. I’ve got the gas pedal floored, and before I know it, my ride flies off the bridge and into the river. The car hits the water like it’s crashed into a wall. The steering wheel bashes into my face, and the world goes black as I pass out cold. Patrick has to wake me up with a remotely triggered electric shock.

I’m on my back with my legs over the wheel, totally disoriented. All I see is a gray smudge that turns out to be the inside roof of the car. There’s blood on the seats, dashboard, ceiling, everywhere. My mouth hangs open. It’s like my lower jaw has seceded from my face. I can barely see because my throbbing eyes have swollen shut. The fire has gone out, but now the car is sinking into the Tigris River. I stuff Li’l Bertha into her holster and wait until the water is even with the windows. Once it is, I gently float myself out of the car. My uncloseable mouth makes loud sobbing gasps because it’s full of blood, water, and broken teeth. My neuroinjector has automatically released another shitload of painkillers, but I’m still in agony. The few front teeth I have wobble around like drunken sailors. Oh, yeah, and I’m still stuck in the middle of fucking Baghdad with a gang of motherfucking assholes trying to kill me.

“Scarlet, what’s your status?”

I comm, “Oh, God, Trick, I’m all fucked up!” I forget
to use his field name. I forget that I’m an unstoppable badass. I forget everything as I float under the bridge and grope my way to one of the supports. I climb out of the water and lie down on a concrete slab, with the underside of the bridge about six feet above me. I pant, wheeze, and groan as I fight just to stay conscious. A cold puddle forms around me while I use my hands to hold my mouth closed. The world spins and flashes from dark to light even though my eyes have swollen completely shut.

I can hear the anxiety in Trick’s comm voice. “Hang on, Alix! He’s almost there. Jesus H. Fucking
CHRIST
—hurry up, Rashid!” He’s so freaked out that he forgets to switch comm frequencies. But this is good. Ol’ Lonely will come for me, and I’ll be okay. He’ll take me home and I’ll sleep, and then I’ll have breakfast with Mom and Dad. Oh, wait, maybe not Dad. Isn’t he still on a mission?

The ground starts to shake. A hurricane of noise up on the bridge: screams, gunshots, explosions, the works. Big splash in the water nearby. A pair of spicy-smelling arms lifts me, carries me up to the bridge and into a vehicle. I think it’s Rashid’s van, but you could tell me it was Apollo’s chariot and I’d believe you. There’s still a storm of shooting and yelling, but I know I’ll be fine. My dad is back from his mission, and he loves me.

“Scarlet! Can you hear me?” Dad sounds and smells like Rashid.

“Sure, Dad, I’m fine. I love you, too.” This is what I mean to say, but it comes out more like “Shhthethfoouhht.” Maybe I’ll leave the whole talky thing to everybody else for now.

I’m set down on the floor of the vehicle, which has been carpeted with a rich, thick shag. I watch a TV show of a rabbit in a doctor’s outfit sticking a hypodermic into my arm. I don’t look so hot. The TV camera zooms in on my face, which is covered in blood. I can’t see my eyes, and my mouth is a gaping mess. The camera zooms
out as somebody—Dad? Mom? Bugs Bunny?—wraps a blanket around me. We float out of Baghdad on a big red carpet. Then the TV shuts off.

This dossier contains public-facing information.

Through all of human history, nothing has exceeded the nobility and the depravity, the brilliance and the ignorance, the colossal production and devastating destruction of World War II. Even thirty years later, the consequences of this history-altering conflict continue to shape our world.

In September 1939, Germany launched an invasion of Poland from the west while the Russians invaded Poland from the east. Within a month, the Polish army and government collapsed. In April 1940 the German army quickly occupied Denmark and began their invasion of Norway. In May, the German blitzkrieg rumbled through the Netherlands, Belgium, and Luxembourg. The Wehrmacht took only six weeks to sweep around France’s eastern defenses and demolish the once-proud French Army. The Germans then methodically occupied the rest of Europe while they tried to persuade the English to join the German Empire. Great Britain’s stubborn resistance sealed her fate.

In the early morning of June 6, 1941, almost every vessel in the Kriegsmarine crossed the English Channel
from Harfleur and Calais to take part in Operation Sea Lion as Germany invaded Great Britain. The deadly effectiveness of Germany’s Luftwaffe cleared the skies while her U-boat fleet protected the troop transports. The invasion was brutally effective, and Parliament was forced to surrender. Later that year, Germany surged to victory in Palestine, Syria, and Saudi Arabia. The German Empire now stretched from the Balkans to the Atlantic and from the Arctic Circle to the Persian Gulf.

Three years of glorious victory had convinced Adolf Hitler that he was unbeatable. He drafted a plan for the invasion of Russia, code-named Operation Barbarossa. His generals were appalled. The vastness of Russia had thwarted every invader since 1249, including Napoleon. All of their simulations yielded the same result: the over-extension of Germany’s armed forces, a massive Red Army counterattack, and the total defeat of the Fatherland.

On 20 February 1942, a secret coalition of Wehrmacht officers, Abwehr agents, and other German officials—collectively known as the Black Orchestra—carried out the assassination of Adolf Hitler. Three months later, riven by internal conflicts and no longer united by Hitler’s hypnotic charisma, the Nazi Party fell apart. Leadership of Germany shifted to somewhat clearer heads, and Operation Barbarossa was scrapped. The Nazi Party’s planned extermination of the Jews was modified to a program of noncitizenship and forced labor. One German officer said simply, “We’d rather fill Europe with workers than corpses.”

The German attitude in the Middle East, however, was a different story. The best and most disciplined Wehrmacht divisions were needed for the invasion of Great Britain, so the only troops left to capture Syria, Lebanon, Palestine, Egypt, and Iraq were the far less disciplined Einsatzgruppen. These units, sometimes battalions of barely
trained police, made no distinction between combatants and civilians. Resistance was both futile and fatal. Cities and towns that fought against the German conquerors were burned to the ground.

While the Germans consolidated their hold on Europe, the Mediterranean, and the Middle East, the Russians secured as much of southwestern Asia as possible. The Red Army eventually conquered Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Iran. These campaigns were notable for their wanton disregard for the lives of the civilians in these areas. Some postwar analysts believe that this near extermination was official policy and that Russia planned to relocate some of its huge population to the Middle East.

For the student of current events, the ongoing terrorist activity in the Middle East is a direct response to these murderous campaigns and the draconian occupations that followed. In no other part of the world has the aftermath of World War II been as violent and chaotic. The conquered peoples of Greater Germany resent their occupation to be sure, but Berlin’s postwar administration has been positively enlightened compared to the unending crackdown imposed by the Soviet Union on its subjects in the Middle East.

Only in the Pacific theater were the invaders successfully pushed back. The Japanese, on the offensive from 1931 to 1942, were decisively defeated by the Chinese and the Americans in mid-1944.

The war in Europe was over before the United States could significantly intervene on behalf of its European allies. This meant that the Americans could respond to the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor with all their might. All they needed was time to bring that might to bear.

The U.S. Navy bought America that time as they repelled
Japanese attacks at faraway places such as Midway Island. America produced more war matériel and more servicemen in less time than any country in history. By the end of 1942 the United States had the largest military the world had ever seen. The president, the Pentagon, and the newly appointed Supreme American Commander, Dwight D. Eisenhower, were ready to dictate the terms of battle in no uncertain terms.

American forces leaped toward Japan with Eisenhower’s famous Tsunami invasion strategy. Enemy resistance was met with an unprecedented torrent of American naval artillery, bomber raids, and armored assaults. Hundreds of thousands of Japanese troops were killed while hiding in their bunkers and tunnels. Those who survived were trapped in their underground strongholds until they surrendered or died of thirst. Some of the islands literally changed shape. The bombardment inflicted on one Japanese base was so heavy that it triggered a volcanic eruption.

In 1943 the U.S. Navy gained total control of the Pacific. American merchant marine convoys arrived in China bulging with American vehicles, arms, and supplies for Chiang Kai-shek’s Kuomintang army. Navy battleships shelled Japanese positions on the coast of mainland China to support Chinese ground attacks. The Chinese chased the Japanese down the Korean peninsula and pushed them off the Asian mainland.