Desert takedown, p.8
Desert Takedown, page 8
Altman cracked out two more shots — one cutting through a man’s chest, and the other missing as those around the dying soldier dropped to the sand.
Nathan peeked into the cab of the pickup. No keys. Two men rushed out from somewhere behind the headquarters tent. They carried a long case and a smaller one next to it. The other soldiers spread out, making room for these men. As they set the cases down and unlocked them, Nathan’s stomach dropped. He knew it before they brought out the weapon. An RPG — rocket propelled grenade. From the smaller case, they had four missiles to use.
Nathan trusted Altman to change her position after every few shots, but that did not alter the fact that an RPG could do a lot of damage over a wider area. If the Nazis were lucky or Altman chose her next position poorly, she would end up dead.
He considered honking the truck horn. It would certainly distract the enemy, but it would not solve the problem. They would merely focus their weapons’ fire on him, and he could not afford to take the brunt of an RPG when down to one soul. Other than his rifles and Maggie, he had a few magazines of extra ammunition and one flash-bang grenade. It would have to do.
He pulled the pin and tossed the grenade. As he dropped back down, he caught a glimpse of the man with the RPG on his shoulder taking aim toward Altman. Nathan clapped his hands over his ears as another soldier’s raspy voice said, “Grenade!”
The flash-bang went off, and Nathan felt it through the sand. He jumped to his feet and rushed into the camp. Any man tottering in his way took a bullet. None of them offered real resistance — they all had expected an explosive burst of shrapnel from the grenade. Not a single one protected against the bright light and deafening concussion. The entire group lay on the ground clutching their ears and squinting in agony. Soon, soldiers from further back in the camp, ones unaffected by the flash-bang grenade, would be arriving.
But those nearby would not be able to say a word. Nathan continued to shoot, taking down one swastika-tattooed fool after another. When he reached the RPG, he shouldered his rifle and lifted the heavy weapon. He grabbed one extra rocket and headed straight for the urban training area.
Already, he could hear Altman’s sniper rifle taking shots at the last men gathering behind him. Whether she hit her targets or not, he could not tell, but it didn’t really matter. As long as she suppressed their advance upon him.
Running across the gap between the main camp and the urban training area, the distance grew longer with each step. Nathan ignored the illusion, pushing his legs to move faster. Just because he had a sniper on his side did not mean he could take it easy.
He cut the corner behind the remnants of a wall, dropped the RPG and rocket, and collapsed to the ground. Breathing heavily, he rolled back to press his body against the cold stone. Somewhere above, Altman continued to pick off those few brave enough to attempt crossing toward her. Nathan stayed on the ground like a prizefighter using the full count to catch his breath before getting back into the fight.
After his fifth deep breath, when he felt his heart rate slowing, he sat up. Checking over the SCAR, he moved into position by the wall’s edge. When he heard Altman stop shooting, Nathan whipped around the corner and opened fire.
This first barrage of bullets served only to keep his enemy down and to give him a chance at spotting their positions. But he only picked out three targets. Could that be all that remained?
They might have other men battling the fires in the back, but leaving only three to fight an enemy of unknown strength seemed foolish. Then again, Nathan had faced organized and well-trained militias before. These men did not impress him as particularly organized or well-trained. They were well-funded — no disputing that — but from everything he had just experienced, these men had either a failure in leadership or a failure in knowledge. Or perhaps both.
Nathan rattled off a few more shots before taking cover from the expected return fire. Altman’s sniper rifle cracked out several more rounds. Then silence.
“Altman?”
A figure emerged from the dark, crouching as it hurried toward him. He knew her shape well enough — it was Altman. Her dark skin and assault gear made her a shadow soaked in by the night. She pressed in close next to him.
“If there’s anybody left, they’re hiding in the back. I’m not spotting any movement.” She waited for him to speak, and he appreciated it. For all her impulsiveness, she could still manage to show respect for the chain of command.
When he opened his mouth, an engine revved to life. Poking his head around the corner, he spied headlights cutting across the sands. Apparently, the Nazis had at least one more working vehicle.
“They’re going to make a break for it.” Nathan nodded at the sniper rifle. “You’re really good with that thing. Can you take out a moving vehicle? Probably an SUV?”
“I can try.” She hurried away, checking over her rifle as she moved.
Nathan glanced down at the RPG. Hoisting the weapon onto his shoulder, he said, “Backup plan.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The SUV smashed through the sand as it blew across the open ground between the main camp and the urban training area. Altman fired twice — cracking the windshield with one shot, the other popping sand near the tires. Nathan stepped out from behind the wall and aimed for the headlights.
The rocket soared out and slammed straight into the SUVs engine. A ball of flame burst outward, knocking the hood over the windshield. One tire blew out, and the driver made a useless attempt to maintain control. Though he did prevent the SUV from flipping, he could not keep it from sweeping off the road and coming to a hard stop.
Nathan dropped the RPG and pulled out Maggie. He marched straight for the burning vehicle. He could taste that man’s soul.
Just stay in the car.
If that Nazi piece of crap tried to run for it, Altman would shoot his head off. Since this might be the last man alive in the area, Nathan did not want to waste the opportunity. He moved fast, not giving Altman or the man time to ruin things. A rumble deep inside yearned to stretch out, to take hold, to claim this soul.
When he reached the SUV, he ignored the heat wafting off the burning engine. He had to hope the man was still breathing. If only for a few more seconds.
The driver-side window had blown out. In one quick motion, Nathan poked Maggie into the cab and shot. He yanked open the door, climbed on top of the dead man, and held the man’s eyes open.
He could feel the life draining out of the guy as if every slowing beat of the heart pulsed into Nathan. The fire did not matter. He did not fear an explosion — it would’ve happened already — and he did not worry about burning himself. Soon he would have his second soul. Soon he would be immortal again.
A dark mist drifted out of the dead man’s eyes. Nathan stuck his face forward. The man’s soul entered Nathan, and he groaned with pleasure.
Feeling his heart rate drop and the tensions in his body relax, he scooted out of the truck and sauntered away. The flaming wreckage warmed his back. Altman walked out of the urban training area and approached. She dropped the sniper rifle and took hold of her SCAR.
“You think we’re done?” she asked.
“Almost. We need to sweep through the entire area. Make sure there are no stragglers.” Leading the way toward the main camp, he added, “Do me a favor. If we find somebody, don’t kill them yet.”
“But —”
“You can kill them after. But let me talk to them first. Let me see if I can get some answers. Because this place does not add up to a threat worthy of the expense.”
As they walked, Altman’s head bobbed left and right as she had her internal debate. At length, she said, “Okay. But when you’re done, any prisoners have to die.”
“Then we burn the place to the ground.”
“Definitely.”
With their rifles ready and their minds sharp, Nathan and Altman worked through the camp. The carnage they had inflicted did not bother him. From what he could tell, it did not bother her, either. More than anything else, that troubled him.
As an Immortal, Nathan had started to accept that he could no longer consider himself human. Not entirely, anyway. Life as a human — the constant needs and wants, the urge for protection and procreation, the struggle against norms and judgments — none of these applied. He could outlive them all.
Not so for Altman. Yet Nathan witnessed her acting as if her actions had no consequences. If she continued her maniacal pursuit of Russo without regard for the fallout, she would destroy herself and possibly those she loved.
But how could he tell her she was wrong for reveling in the annihilation of a Nazi training camp? There weren’t many all-out evil groups in the world. But Nazis? Nobody would fault her for doing a thorough job here.
The two times she found a person still breathing, she did not hesitate to fire a few rounds into them. When she caught Nathan’s confounded gaze, she shrugged. “They were practically dead anyway. You wouldn’t have managed one question before they’d fallen off the twig.”
“Fallen off what?”
“Died. Before they died on you.”
Somebody tripped on a folding chair, uttered several swears, and crashed into a table. The noise came from the headquarters tent. Nathan raised his rifle. As he approached the main door — a flimsy piece of wood missing the bottom third and hanging by one hinge — he saw Altman come along his side, her SCAR held properly, her eyes searching.
Nathan thrust kicked the wood forward. As he rushed in, sweeping from left to right, and as Altman came up behind, checking the corners, a thin voice called out, “Don’t shoot. Please. I didn’t do anything.”
Over the next ten minutes, they calmed their new prisoner enough that he stopped babbling and pleading. He was a young man, blond, fit, with all the softness of a fortunate American upbringing. They tied him to a chair, and Nathan pulled up another chair to sit in front of the man.
“Got a name?” Nathan asked.
Nodding hard enough to pull a muscle, the man said, “Brad. My name’s Brad. I’m called Brad.”
Nathan could see how this young man had made one stupid decision after another and ended up tied to a chair in the Sahara. The kid couldn’t, though. His eyes darted around with confused panic.
“How old are you, Brad?” Nathan asked while Altman started working at a table with two laptops and a portable sat-dish.
“N-nineteen.”
“You meet these guys in college? No. You got the build of college kid but not the smarts. You were what? Not quarterback. Wide receiver? Yeah. High school wide receiver. Had a cheerleader girlfriend who blew you a few times but was saving herself for the right moment. You had dreams of college ball, then the NFL, and everything would go your way.”
“I was the damn MVP my junior and senior year.”
“What happened? Didn’t make the team? No team, no scholarship, no college. No NFL. That led to no girlfriend, too.”
Brad sneered as he looked away. Nobody liked having their life pegged so easily.
“But you found a new friend, didn’t you? One of these guys, probably. He understood. You should’ve gotten everything you wanted. You deserved it. And he knew exactly what went wrong. Which line did he give you? Was it affirmative action? Zionist conspiracy? Feminism?”
Brad sniffled.
“Doesn’t matter. These assholes have spent a long time perfecting their pitch. They reeled you in with ease. Knew when to drag you hard and when to give you a little space. In the end, you were eager to sign up with them. Probably thought it was your idea. Even considered shaving your head. Then they sent you all the way out here. For what?” Nathan gestured to the destruction around them. “Didn’t expect to be shot at, did you? Well, none of these idiots expected that, either.”
Altman tapped at the keyboard of one laptop and fiddled with the sat-dish. She muttered to herself.
Nathan played both good and bad cop — offering a friendly smile while always keeping his rifle pointed at the man. “You were set up. Don’t feel bad though. We were set up, too. That’s what I want to talk to you about. See, I think the people who set you up and the people who set us up might be the same people. Or, at least, they know each other. I’ve got to understand why.” He grabbed Brad’s chin and yanked the young man’s face forward. “You have a choice to make. You can talk with me, make yourself useful, or you can join your friends.”
Brad’s face brightened, and Nathan swore the kid almost asked if he could really go join his friends. Then Brad’s expression dropped. Nazis were his friends now. Dead Nazis. Nathan didn’t think the boy understood it until that very moment.
Lowering his head, Brad said, “What do you want to know?”
Altman snapped her fingers. “I think I’ve boosted a comms signal.”
Patting Brad on the shoulder, Nathan got up and walked over to Altman. “You think you can contact —”
“Hey, you two,” Robin said, her voice fuzzy but understandable through the laptop speaker.
“Good to hear you,” Nathan said.
“Not sure how long we have here. Looks like your signal is bouncing off a few places to find its way to me. If I lose you, just do like you did before. I’m constantly searching for any signs you throw up.”
“You find anything on Douglas and Smith?”
“Forget that,” Altman said. “If we’re short on time, can you open up this laptop’s files? I’ve tried, but they’re all encoded.”
Nathan glanced at Brad, but the kid shrugged.
“Already about halfway there,” Robin said. “You think I would’ve wasted this time chatting? As for Douglas and Smith, every avenue is a dead end. Except one. Commander Pamela Shi is a real person. I mean, the name isn’t a fabricated alias. I’m guessing it’s a stolen identity, but I’m pulling whatever data I can on her, and hopefully, that’ll get us somewhere helpful. And there you go. You should be able to access everything on that laptop now. There might be a slight lag when opening new files because it’ll ask for a password — just hit enter by the way — and the little code I added will divert to the security clearance I threw in. So, what really will happen is that the computer will think you’re one of the Nazi jerks and then —”
Robin’s voice filled with static before cutting out.
“She really talks a lot,” Altman said.
“You have no idea.”
Turning back to Brad, Nathan wondered what the kid could possibly know. The fact that he had not pissed all over the chair was about the only thing Nathan could say in his favor. Beyond that, Nathan could not see the leadership sharing any valuable information with such a new and clearly weak member of their camp.
In another scenario, Nathan would have cut Brad loose. Let the young man brave the desert, and if he survived, then he deserved whatever life he could carve out. Of course, Brad would most likely die under the hot sun, yet he would have been given a chance.
But that wasn’t this scenario. If Brad could not become useful in the next few minutes, Nathan would have to kill him. They still had a mission to complete on the off-chance that Douglas and Smith would honor their offer. Altman and her sister deserved that much.
Nathan pulled out Maggie, and Brad’s knees shook. Tears rolled down his cheeks and his face scrunched tight as if he could wince away reality. “C’mon, man. Please, don’t do this. I don’t really hate Jews or even —”
“You do not want to finish that,” Altman said, her eyes blazing bullets.
Brad had the sense to look ashamed. Nathan wished this kid had been like the more seasoned fools outside littering the sands with their blood. Easier to kill a man when he’s a hate-filled ass. “Time to make yourself valuable. What do you know about —”
“Look at this,” Altman said.
Scowling, Nathan returned to his partner. “What?”
She had two pdf files open, each showing official paperwork that had been scanned from hardcopies. At the heading of both pages, Nathan read — METHODOLOGY AND RESULTS OF IMMORTAL TESTING.
Nathan pointed his weapon at Brad’s forehead. “You better start talking right now.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The change began with a look. Altman pushed back her chair, crossed her arms, and leveled a piercing gaze at Brad. That look sparked a reaction in the man — a reaction Nathan saw clearly.
Until that moment, Nathan had made a mistake. He had read the man wrong. He had seen this guy as a privileged, whiny brat who didn’t get his way and threw a fit. He was a naïve idiot who allowed a hateful group of people to manipulate him into becoming an unwitting puppet.
But that wasn’t true.
The way Brad glared at Altman spoke volumes. Everything Nathan believed about Brad lived merely on the surface. It missed the deeper truths. Whether by upbringing or through the influence of his peers, Brad had learned to hate all who weren’t like him. He wasn’t here in the desert by accident. He wanted to be here. He was every much a Nazi-wannabe bastard like the rest of them.
In a colder tone, Nathan said, “Start with these files. Tell us everything that’s going on here.”
“I don’t know anything,” Brad said. He kept his eyes on Altman. She did not flinch. And while this staring contest continued, Nathan looked back at the laptop.
A quick scan of the documents showed that somebody was funding these Nazis in order to use them as cover for a darker purpose. At least three individuals had been identified as potential Immortals. The people behind this operation had decided to experiment on those three.
“Reminds me of the uglier side of Eternity,” Nathan said.
Keeping her eyes on Brad, Altman said, “Eternity didn’t hire these kinds of pricks.”
Nathan glanced over the lip of the laptop. “What do you think, Brad? You smart enough to start talking with us? You keep saying you’ll help us, but nothing really is coming out your mouth. The more I look at your pasty face, the more I think you’ve got nothing to offer.”
“I swear,” Brad said, wriggling in the chair. “I’ll tell you everything I know. But I don’t know anything.”
