Blades of Winter (36 page)

I look behind me, toward the window I smashed through. Flaming bits of crap tumble from the roof above. Tracer bullets ram orange streaks into the walls outside. The floor shakes, and the ceiling rumbles. I wonder if the architect planned for rocket-propelled grenades and a storm of gunfire.

“Almighty, Almighty, this is Scarlet, over,” I comm directly to the Front Desk, the last resort of an ExOps field agent on a fucked-up mission. This long-distance comm call will definitely get picked up by the CIA, and they’ll know ExOps pulled some crazy job without telling them. Chanez will probably fire me, but I’ve got no choice. I’m surrounded, and I just watched my Patrick—

“Scarlet, this is Almighty, report.” Cyrus comms very quickly. It’s all so fast right now.

“Almighty, my cover is blown, I’ve lost my IO, and I anticipate a heavy assault. Request emergency evac.”

“Roger, Scarlet, please confirm: your IO is terminated?”

—oh, God, he’s gone he’s gone he’s GONE—

“Scarlet! Confirm!”

“HE’S FUCKING DEAD!” This can’t happen, not to
Trick, not to me and Trick. I sob hysterically. I can feel my neuroinjector gushing Kalmers into me, but they barely help.

“Scarlet, hang tight. Help is on the way. Are you mobile?”

“Roger, Almighty, I am mobile.” Thank God for comming. I’d never be able to actually talk right now.

“Stand by for extraction, Scarlet.”

Booted feet clomp into the far end of the hallway. A group of silhouetted figures walk to the broken window and trace the path of blood and broken glass that leads to my dark little closet. I can’t move. I can’t do anything. My life has ended, and it’s only a matter of seconds until these assholes make it official. I’m sure they can hear me. I can’t stop bawling. I don’t even
want
to stop. I’ll never see Trick again, and I’ll never stop crying again.

Alix!

Oh, my God, it’s happened. The voice talks to me when I’m awake now. I’ve been driven insane.

C’mon, Alix, get up!

“Why? I’ve failed my mission, Trick’s dead, and it’s all my fault.”

You’ve got to get up! Your mother and I love you very much. We want to see you again
.

Two flashlight beams land on me. Big guys with big feet and big guns arrive and clear all the broom closet junk off me. My eyes are so wet that everything looks blurry, but I still see that these men all look exactly alike.

If you get up, I’ll tell you a secret
.

“Daddy, please, not now.”

The twins, or quadruplets, or zillionuplets, whatever the fuck they are, have spotted me. One of them steps into the closet. At that moment, even I’m not aware that it’s the last step he’ll ever take.

Alixandra, I need your help
.

My dad was always totally honest with me.

I can hear a little. But I can’t see. It’s so dark here
.

He never lied, even when he should have.

I’ve missed you terribly, honey
.

This can’t be happening. It must be the drugs.

No, baby, it’s real. But I’m so cold. I need you to find me
.

“What do I do? How do I find you?”

First, you’ve got to get yourself out of there. Go, now
.

Somehow, from wherever he is, my father has found a way to talk to me. He’s really alive!

Alix, go!

He’s alive he’s alive he’s—

GO, HOT SHOT!

All the willpower I’ve cried out rushes back into me like a hurricane, and I burst out of the closet howling like a deranged tiger. My fingers gash through stomachs, lungs, and intestines. Torsos explode into crimson fountains. There’s so much blood in the air that it looks like a gore blender. Once I clear a small perimeter around me, I haul out Li’l Bertha. She’s turned herself on again, and she immediately perforates the rest of the goons while I watch their faces flash bright and dark as my gun illuminates the hallway like a strobe light. The gorillas I shredded on my way out of the closet hit the floor as the dudes I just shot begin their graceless flops. I’m so cranked up that I can watch individual drops of blood hang suspended in midair, floating like helium balloons. My gunshot victims collapse to the ground as I race back up the long hallway, leap through the shattered window, and land in the main quad.

There are dozens of men with assault weapons out here. I sight on the closest one and decapitate him with a huge bullet from Li’l Bertha. The priceless look on this shitfuck’s face as his head tumbles to the ground without his body makes me burst out laughing. I pick up the head with both hands and give it a big kiss, right on the mouth. Then I hold it up by the hair and bellow, “Who wants to get
fucked
like a dog tonight?”

I think that’s what I say. I don’t really know. Whatever it is, all the goons in sight look at each other, turn, and run away, just like that. This might be the most fucked-up thing they’ve ever seen. I’m a living nightmare that terrifies everyone who lays eyes on me. I drop-kick the head across the quad and hold my hands up like I’ve scored a point in soccer. “Gooooooaaal-l-l-l-l!”

“Scarlet, this is Almighty. Evac inbound on your present position.” A chopper soars in fast and low. It’s good that he told me it’s friendly because I don’t feel very discriminating right now. This is the new worst moment of my life, and I’ll fuckin’ take on anybody.

Some detached, well-trained part of me comms, “Roger, Almighty. The LZ is clear. Scarlet standing by,” while I hunt around the quad. I may have lost him, but I won’t leave him behind.

I find what’s left of my Trick under a pile of rubble at the base of the Chemistry Institute building. His legs aren’t connected, but I scoop them up along with the rest of him as a big helicopter hovers into the quad and lands. The helicopter has a Zurich TV station’s logo painted on its side. Six heavily armed Squaddies in civilian clothing hop off and form a circle around the aircraft, facing out. I carry Patrick past them and climb into the evac.

I put Trick on the floor of the chopper and take a seat. I sit facing forward while the Squad members jump back on board. Two guys station themselves on the door guns, three of them take the seats opposite me, and one guy sits next to me. Nobody talks. One trooper stares at me. I’m about to ask him for a date when he leans over and pukes out the door. I guess I’m not his type. The Squaddie sitting next to me has pulled out a first-aid kit. His hand wears a ring with a red cross on it. He’s the Squad’s Med-Tech.

He looks me over and asks, “How much of this is you, Interceptor?” with a very serious expression on his face.

I look at him and intelligently reply, “Huh?”

He looks into my eyes for a second. His face softens, and he says, “Scarlet, you’re covered in blood and … stuff. Have you been wounded, or is this from everyone you left down there?”

I look at my hands. They’re slippery with dark red goo. My synthetic right hand is shredded and scorched from the rappelling line. Li’l Bertha droops in my left hand. The glop oozes down my arm, flows across the pistol grip, drips off the end of the barrel, and forms a puddle on the deck. I look down at my feet. My sneakers and pants are covered with gore. It’s like I punched my way out of a cow.

“I might have s-screwed up m-m-my knees again,” I stutter. My voice shakes terribly. Must be from the helicopter. As I look up from my feet, I notice that Trick’s legs are rocking back and forth with the motion of the chopper. His torso is facedown, but I can see his profile. Suddenly I can’t breathe, and my vision goes from full color to black and white. I try to scream, but only air bubbles come out of my mouth. Everything sounds like it’s underwater as my vision fades out entirely.

A fish shouts, “She’s going into shock!” and then—

The Warsaw Confrontation

This dossier contains public-facing and classified information. Do not remove this file from the ExOps Archive.

WASHINGTON—Congress has authorized the Joint Chiefs of Staff to send the U.S. Army’s 1st Infantry Division to Europe in response to Russia’s surprise invasion of Greater Germany in the territory formerly known as western Poland. The Soviet Union’s unprovoked attack on April 6 broke their nonaggression pact with Germany and enraged the international community. Yesterday, President Eisenhower pledged to assist our ally and this morning reiterated his stance that “the enemy of our friend is our enemy, and he will be met with maximum resolve and determination.” In Berlin, U.S. Ambassador Henry Cabot Lodge Jr. called the situation in the east “dire” and declared that help “can’t come soon enough.”

The Big Red One will deploy under the command of Lt. General Creighton Abrams. Details are still coming into focus, but military spokesmen anticipate the troops’ arrival in Greater Germany by the end of May. What remains unknown is whether our boys will be bringing the Bomb with them. General Abrams refused to divulge if American forces would again use atomic weapons, limiting his response to, “Ask the Chinese troops we left in Korea.”