Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle - eARC Page 23

Saviour allowed herself a full-on wolfish grin. “What is Trek Star captain say? Ah, da. ‘Make it so.’”

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Untermensch was suited up and had the van started in the garage. Chug was with him; he was sitting on the rear bumper, the suspension sagging under his compact weight. If there was one thing both Saviour and Georgi fully and unreservedly approved of, it was the nanoweave combat suits that Vickie had “lost” out of ECHO inventory via her hacking skills, and Ramona Ferrari and Belladonna had brought over to CCCP two and three at a time. Of course they had to be retailored with CCCP colors, but they were a vast improvement over the old Kevlar vests that had been used for years; less bulky with better protection, they granted improved mobility and speed.

  Chug looked up from the ground as Natalya approached. “We go out for a ride, now?” His stony eyebrows lifted in anticipation; it was always a highlight for him whenever he was able to leave the HQ, but it happened rarely due to the fact that he always needed supervision. It wasn’t that he wrecked things on purpose, or even by accident; it was mostly that he got hungry a lot, and when he got hungry, he just took whatever looked good to him—which was virtually anything and everything, from garbage to motorcycles—and ate it. He could actually eat things larger than a motorcycle, but it usually took him a few moments to break it down into small enough pieces. No one knew how he actually metabolized it all; his rock-hide was virtually impenetrable, to scalpels and medical scans alike. The tragedy was that before his metahuman abilities triggered, he had been a brilliant research physicist. Nat tried to never remind him of his past…the few times dim, dim memories had been briefly triggered had been the only times—outside of the massacre in Moscow at the start of the Invasion—that she had seen him cry. He still had glimmers of his former intelligence, but they were as few and far between as his memories of the past. All that were important to him now were pleasing his comrades, feeding squirrels in the park, and his pet hamster; for a creature with such immense strength, he could be exceedingly gentle when he wanted to.

  “Da, Chug. We are going for a ride. We have fascista to meet.” Chug’s lips curled into a craggy smile as he hopped off of the bumper. Natalya opened the back door of the van for him, allowing him to clamber in; the rest of the van’s rear seating area was covered in ammo cans and grenade boxes. Natalya called up to the front. “What is all of this being here for?”

  Unter looked over his shoulder from the driver’s seat. “You said we did not need to worry about damage. As Murdock says, it is better to have more than less. Or something like that.” The Commissar couldn’t but help to agree with that, so she shut the doors and walked around the front to climb into the passenger seat.

  “Move out. We don’t want to keep our hosts waiting for the party.”

  The ride was uneventful; the sun had set maybe an hour before, so the city was still sticky with trapped heat. Natalya had not been to this part of the city since her first visit with Bella; the CCCP’s area of responsibility had grown, but not this far out. Incredibly, a rectangular yellow sign shone in the dusk, still in operation. “Oh look. Is Waffle House. Horosho.”

  “Waffles?” Chug perked up. “Like waffles.”

  Nat tried not to groan, but Unter had come prepared. “Here, comrade lump,” he said, tapping a box between the front seats. “Be lookink in there. Comrade Upyr will make you waffles for reward if you are good when we return.”

  Chug did. “Oh boy!” he said happily as he opened the ammo box and dug into the contents.

  Nat did a double-take. “Are those—” she began incredulously.

  “Depleted uranium bullets, no casing or propellant, da,” Unter shrugged. “Moscow sent them with other useless garbage. They are being dense enough to keep Chug happy for hours. He eats them like hard candy.”

  Saviour rolled her eyes. “Borzhe moi.” At least they weren’t going to cause any problems with disposal. With all the nonsensical American laws, they probably would have been unable to send them back to Moscow, or get rid of them here. It was a wonder that they had even made it through customs, truth be told, though perhaps being ECHO allies, the CCCP shipments had gotten the “hands off, we’d rather not know” treatment. They certainly couldn’t use the bullets here.

  The van lurched to a stop, then turned off. “Commissar, we have arrived. I have parked us a block away, just in case they have lookouts.” Georgi turned around in his seat to face her. “What is our plan?”

  Saviour sucked on her lower lip. “Much as I would like to go in smashink, I suppose we had better scout first to have an idea of how many heads we must break, da?” She winked at Untermensch, to let him know she really didn’t want to just send Chug in ahead of them and follow shooting…much, at least.

  “Da, Commissar. I will be taking point, if it suits.”

  She nodded, then turned to Chug. She had to give credit to the Blue Girl; the meta did have some very good ideas most of the time, even if she was too soft with criminals for the Commissar’s liking. “Chuggie,” she said, coaxingly.

  Chug looked up with his mouth full of bullets, and swallowed. “Da?” he replied.

  “You know Comrade Blue Girl’s whistle?” She held up a ultrasonic dog whistle; somehow Belladonna had discovered Chug could hear the damned thing for the better part of a mile.

  Chug smiled beatifically. “Yes Comrade Commissar,” he said happily. “When you blow the whistle, Chug comes. Right?”

  “Horosho. Exactly right. Stay in van until you hear the whistle. Then you come. Then you smash what I say, and we go home and have waffles.”

  “Can Chug have Mikhail Mouse waffle?” he begged.

  She sighed. Too much Amerikanski television. “Yes, but only if Chug also has proper Comrade Mischa Medved waffle.” She didn’t envy Thea; with Chug’s appetite, she’d likely be spending all day cooking waffles to sate him. She hoped he’d fill up on bullets before then.

  The stony creature clapped his hands. “Yay!” he cried. “Chug will be very good!”

  Untermensch opened the driver’s side door and hopped out of the van; he was completely silent as he slunk away into the shadows. It seemed to take forever before Saviour heard her encrypted radio squawk. “Approach is being clear, Commissar. Move up on the alley; I’ll be waiting. Untermensch out.”

  “Remember, Chug, wait for the whistle,” she warned, pulled on her NVGs and slipped into the ruins without waiting for his reply. Hmph. “Move up on the alley”…am not sure there is any alley left! The destruction corridors were always bad, but this one was—well, she could certainly see why no one had bothered trying to clear it yet. Something had come through here and toppled three and four story tall buildings like a bad Japanese monster movie. Nevertheless, she could tell where the alley should have been, and managed to worm her way in, noting as she did so that there was a disabled trap; something that looked like a grenade that had been attached to a standard tripwire. With the Thulian tech it was sometimes hard to tell the purpose of their artifacts. Untermensch stuck his head out of the doorway; she hadn’t even known he was there. He motioned for her to come forward while pressing a gloved finger to his lips.

  She followed him into the building; from the surroundings, it looked like an old hotel, and he had taken them in through a service entrance. They were both wearing NVGs now, lightweight ECHO models courtesy of Vickie. Saviour did her best to keep track of all of the corridors, but after awhile she was completely lost. Finally, Georgi gave her a hand signal to come to a halt. He crouched low outside of a double door; she reflexively took up position on the side opposite from him on the door frame.

  “Intel was good,” he whispered. “Four fascista; one officer and three technicians. The collaborator appears to be inside as well. You may recognize him as Councilman Richard Saint. He appears to be feeding them information concerning the police, clean up efforts, and some other things I could not make out. They are in a meeting, currently; their security is nonexistent outside of traps and
early warning devices at the entrances, so far. The fascistas seem to be fairly confident.” Georgi allowed himself a thin smile.

  “Then I think we should shake that confidence, da?” Saviour shook her hands down at her side, feeling her power gathering. Her own inherent energy blasts would be safer in here than bullets; with all the masonry and crazy angles, ricochets were a concern. Untermensch, having only his healing and his invulnerable hands for metahuman abilities, unslung his KS-23 in order to give himself a way to “communicate party doctrine…at range” as he liked to say.

  “On your command, Commissar.” Georgi checked the shotgun’s chamber, making sure a round was ready.

  Saviour took the fiber optic camera from Unter and slipped it under the door. Unter was right; their opponents were entirely preoccupied, with one of the creatures talking to the Alderman, two more dithering about on some sort of computer equipment that had been set up on round wooden tables that clearly belonged to this old hotel. She straightened, and grinned wolfishly. “Davay,” she said, and blew the whistle for Chug.

  Untermensch stood up and kicked the door open, leveling the shotgun on their targets. Saviour allowed the power to charge her fists until they glowed crimson, holding them in front of her in a fighters stance. The room was scattered with Krieger computer terminals and desks piled high with documents. The room itself had once been a very posh ballroom; the Invasion had seen it ruined, all of its former majesty now making it seem all that more tragic. “Privyet, scum,” she said, her voice oozing glee. The Thulians and Mr. Saint were all motionless from shock; none appeared to be holding weapons. “We will be allowing you one second to surrender. Oh. Too late!”

  At that exact moment, the main entrance to the ballroom opened. A small contingent of Thulians, two of them in power armor carrying large metal crates, emerged from the portal. Suddenly finding themselves confronted with Unter and Nat, they froze.

  “Comrade, your surveillance was not accurate,” Nat growled. “There will be excoriation.”

  “They weren’t here before. Excoriate them for not being on duty. Must have been out getting decadent Caffeebucks.”

  There were a few heartbeats of silence before the high windows near the ceiling—no doubt to allow natural light and stunning views of the night sky—exploded inward, causing everyone but the armored troopers to duck and cover their heads. Over a dozen figures clad in black rappelled in through the broken windows, landing on the ground in unison with assault rifles leveled at both the Thulians and the CCCP.

  “Everyone on the ground, now! We will open fire if you do not comply!”

  Natalya quickly surveyed the newcomers; the lack of insignia, the weapons, and the way they carried themselves all pointed to Blacksnake. Everyone was frozen, weapons pointed at one another.

  “Borzhe moi,” Nat muttered. “Is Canadian standoff. How could it get worse?”

  The wall near the entrance that the Thulians came through exploded into chunks of brick and plaster as Chug bashed through it. As the dust settled, the rocky creature looked confused.

  “Oh. Chug didn’t see the door over there.”

  Gunfire erupted then; the Thulians were firing at the Blacksnake operatives, Blacksnake was firing at the CCCP, and the CCCP was firing at everyone. Chug waded into the fray, bludgeoning and knocking over the two armored troopers with his fists.

  Untermensch unloaded his shotgun in a flurry of shots, taking out two of the Blacksnake mercenaries. Grabbing one of the heavy oak tables, he effortlessly flipped it, providing some cover. Natalya discharged the energy from her fists into the floor under a huddled group of Thulian technicians, sending their bodies flying. She ducked back down behind the cover as a volley of return fire from Thulian energy guns and Blacksnake rifles riddled the table and the wall behind her.

  Georgi shook his head as he reloaded his shotgun. “Oh, how could it become worse, nyet?” He finished loading the shotgun, racking the pump to chamber a round and load a final shell. He then retrieved a grenade from a pouch on his belt, pulling the pin and chucking it hard over the edge of the table. A few seconds later it detonated with a cacophonous roar followed by screams.

  Nat was not about to try and fish out the camera to see around the edge of the table, but she didn’t need to see when she could hear the sound of something heavy crunching its way toward them across the ballroom. Either the armored troopers had decided that she and Unter were a greater threat than the Blacksnake operatives or—

  “Hullo Commissar,” said Chug. “Chug found crying man. Chug brung him.” Over the edge of the table tumbled the much-the-worse-for-wear councilman. Richard Saint was gutshot and weeping between screams of pain.

  “Who are you people? Get me out of here!” The councilman was clutching his belly; from the look of the wound, he had been shot in the liver. With that much bleeding, he didn’t have a lot of time to live. Well, at least it wasn’t a shotgun wound; nothing to point to CCCP as the ones on the other end of the trigger.

  “Get you out, svinya?” Nat barked, hauling him to her. “You are beink make many demands for a traitor.” She thought about smacking him, but he was already in such pain he wouldn’t feel it. “Maybe we will think about this, if you begin tellink us what you know.”

  “Anything! Anything!” Saint babbled.

  “It might be worth the trouble, Commissar,” Georgi observed, directing Chug to position himself between them and the firefight, which seemed to have turned two-sided instead of three. Chug watched the battle dispassionately; as long as no one was shooting at his friends, he didn’t much care what was going on. “Best to do this somewhere else; gunshots and explosions make for hard hearing.” With that Untermensch unloaded his shotgun again in a rapid series of shots as Saint shook and wept on the floor.

  “Oh, did you think being informant to fascista was all sunshine and nekulturny champagne?” Saviour mocked, She peeked over Chug’s shoulder. The Thulians and Blacksnake were fully involved with each other; all of the technicians were dead and their equipment was a wreck, but the soldiers and the armored troopers were still going strong. She thought she saw what looked like a meta using his powers among the Blacksnakes, but it was hard to tell in the confusion. “Well, it looks to me that no one has any interest in a couple of Russian tourists. I think we go.” She heaved Saint over her shoulder. “Might as well take you.”

  Saint screamed in protest, but Natalya was already charging through the door with him. She could hear Chug bellowing and Untermensch firing his shotgun behind her. She ran down the hallways, but quickly lost her way. “Chyort voz’mi! Where the hell are we?”

  Untermensch shouldered past her while leading Chug by the hand, casting a glance behind them as he loaded the last of his shells into his shotgun. “Allow me to lead the way, Commissar. The exit isn’t far, thankfully. We will have to run for the van, however.”

  “Da, da. Get moving on!”

  They ran through a dizzying series of hallways; she wasn’t sure how Georgi had kept track of where they were until she saw surreptitious marks made with what looked like a grease pencil on the baseboards of the walls; they barely stood out against the other scuffs and scrapes, but apparently it was enough for him to navigate by. Georgi shouldered through a final door, and they were out into the humid air of Atlanta again. Both he and Natalya stripped off their NVGs, replacing them on their belts.

  “Van is this way! Davay, comrades!” Untermensch charged ahead, keeping his shotgun at a low ready position. They were all breathing hard, save for Chug, when they reached the van. Saint had given up his screams for pitiful moans, and he had bled stickily all over Saviour’s shoulder. They all piled into the van; Georgi took the driver’s seat, while Saviour shoved Saint into the back and herded Chug in before jumping in herself and slamming the doors. With a screech of rubber on torn asphalt, they sped away.

  “So, suka,” Nat said, grabbing the man by his collar and shaking him. “Be talking, or I will to be opening door and dumping you out for your
friends.”

  “You can’t—” he gasped.

  “Oh no?” She kicked the door open; it wasn’t that hard in this van. “Who will tell anyone?” She dragged him to the edge, hanging his head and shoulder out over the road speeding away under them. “I am thinkink you will not last past first bounce.”

  “Oh shit! You crazy bitch! This—this is illegal! I’m a city council—Aah!” She pushed her fist against his gunshot wound, grinding her middle knuckle in particularly viciously.

  “And I am to be havink diplomatic immunity,” she said sweetly. “You will be tellink me everything you—”

  Behind them in the direction of the hotel, a gigantic fireball loomed bright against the Atlanta sky. The sound caught up with them a moment later with the accompanying shockwave; windows shattered and dust fell from every building around them. Saviour swore under her breath as the rear axle of the van kicked up. Chug was shifting uneasily, causing the van to rock slightly from side to side.

  “What in Lenin’s name was that?” Saviour reeled Saint back into the van as Untermensch did his best to keep it on the treacherous road. He checked the rear view mirror, then looked ahead again.

  “Hotel. Either fascista scum or Blacksnake running dogs did not want any one to be leaving it alive.” He hazarded a quick glance over his shoulder. “Since he still is, and we were to be seen leaving with him, I think we should expect traveling partners soon.”

  “You think Blacksnake is to care about traitorous running dog working with Kriegers?” Saviour asked doubtfully.

  “He was our target. He seemed to be only valuable thing in room, besides destroyed fascista equipment. Blacksnake is not in habit of doing things without capitalist profits attached.” He pointed at Saint over his shoulder. “Is profits.”

  “Bah.” Saviour turned her attention back to Saint. “You. Councilman Profits. What else do you know?”

  “No-nothin—” the man began.

  Natalya pressed her fist into his wound again, slowly, causing him to squirm and scream. “Nothing? I am not needing nothing from you; would have left you there for nothing. You get to live for something. This is exchange, da?”