Earth Afire (The First Formic War) (38 page)

“We want to study the Formics,” said Wit. Which was true.

The whole world was using that term now. Formics. It was all over the news.

“Your name does not show up on our databases,” said the lieutenant. “There’s no file for you at all in America. No credit reports. No address. You’re an anomaly.”

Wit had no address because he was never
in
the U.S. If he had leave time, which was almost never, he passed it elsewhere. Or, in the rare occasion in which he did visit the States, he went to his parents’ house in upstate New York. He didn’t own property. Why would he?

The rest of his personal data had been erased when he had joined MOPs.

Wit sighed inside. He had wanted to do this the polite way, but the lieutenant wasn’t going to let them in. Wit could see that now. It was all over the kid’s face; he was picturing himself arresting forty highly skilled soldiers. He was seeing a commendation in his future. Maybe even a promotion.

Wit said, “I’m sure the United States would be thrilled to know you’re invading the privacy of its citizens.”

The lieutenant looked up from the passport, his lips pressed tight together. “The information is public record, Mr. O’Toole. Anyone with access to the nets can acquire it. You are requesting permission to enter my country. I have every right to know whatever I want to know about you. Your privacy laws don’t apply here.” He closed the passport, placed it on his desk, and steepled his fingers. “Why do you want to study the Formics?”

“Because we want to stop them,” said Wit. “Which will probably involve killing them or driving them back into space. But between you and me, I’d rather kill them. It’s easier that way. You don’t have to worry about them coming back with their friends.”

The lieutenant blinked, surprised by Wit’s candor.

“My companions and I are soldiers,” said Wit. “As you likely have already deduced. We’re MOPs. Mobile Operations Police. We’re here, dressed as civilians and passing through your gate as a courtesy to you. We don’t have to come through this way. There are hundreds of ways to get into China. I would prefer to do it legally, as I’m attempting to do now. But should you deny us entrance, we’ll get in the other way. Easy.”

The lieutenant smiled, as if he found Wit’s confidence amusing. “You think you can sneak by me and my men, Mr. O’Toole?”

“In my sleep,” said Wit. “And if you deny us entrance here and force us to enter the country illegally, it will reflect very poorly on you, Lieutenant. You can be sure of that. Because once we’re in the country we’ll tell the Chinese military how we crossed right here, right under your noses. We’ll tell them how lax your security is. We’ll tell them how a whole fleet of foreign vehicles honking their horns and shooting off fireworks could pass through the gaping holes in the border here without any detection whatsoever. We’ll tell them it was easy. We’ll tell them all sorts of things. We’ll be very thorough and very convincing. It will paint you, I’m afraid, in a rather negative light.”

The lieutenant looked angry, but Wit was far from finished.

“And you and I both know that the blame won’t stop there,” said Wit. “Whoever helped you get this position will be culpable, too. He’ll be tainted for putting an incompetent in charge here. He’ll take the fall. It will annihilate any chance either of you have of ever getting promoted again. If you can’t maintain a border crossing in the middle of nowhere, they’ll say, then you can’t do much of anything.

“However, if you
do
let us cross, you now have a story to tell. They passed as civilians, you’ll say. They weren’t carrying weapons. Their passports checked out. I had no reason to deny them access. In fact, I was doing my duty correctly by letting them in. And if the Chinese military asks me and my men why we would pretend to be civilians and cross over this way, we’ll tell them that we had no other choice. We’ll tell them the borders are so tight up there under that lieutenant that we had no choice but to abandon our weapons and go right through the gate. We’ll tell them how the level of security here made us uneasy, how a mountain crossing was out of the question because the men at the border are too well trained and too savvy and too watchful of the passes. They’d catch us for sure. We’ll tell them all sorts of things, Lieutenant. And it will reflect very well on you. They might even give you a shiny medal.”

The lieutenant was quiet a moment. “I could arrest you right now,” he said finally. “That would get me a medal, too.”

“See? Now you’re being stupid,” said Wit. “You have no right to arrest us. We’ve committed no crime. We’re not even on Chinese soil yet. This office is neutral territory.”

“I could arrest you as soon as I let you in. Right over the border.”

Wit shook his head, as if feeling sorry for the kid.

“Your stupid meter keeps going up. Think. If you arrest us right after we’re through, then it’s obvious you let us in only for that purpose. Again, we’ll have committed no crime. My men and I represent thirty different countries. Do you really want the embassies of thirty different countries calling your superior officers and asking why China arrested citizens who legally crossed its borders?”

“You’re soldiers. Your very presence in China is illegal.”

“You’re missing the point,” said Wit. “Everything you’re suggesting puts a target on your head. When this becomes an international incident, who do you think the Chinese are going to blame to pacify all parties involved? Us? The people who valiantly crossed into China to help its citizens and save lives? No. It will be you. You will take the hit. You’ll be stripped of rank, honor, and any affiliation with the military. You’ll have to get a blue-collar job. Maybe loading boxes somewhere. Or chopping the heads off fishes in some rancid-smelling market. You
won’t
meet and marry that daughter of a party official. You
won’t
rise to a position of station. You’ll waste away in a one-room apartment with a bad back and no pension. Those are the facts, Lieutenant. You can let us in or you can send us away. The choice is yours.”

Five minutes later Wit and his men were walking east into China. They stayed on the shoulder of the road in a long line as cargo trucks streamed past, heading toward the airfield. Wit stuck out his thumb, and it didn’t take long before a truck picked them up and gave them a lift.

*   *   *

They slept on the plane, squeezed between crates and boxes. The pilot had accepted their offer without a second thought and promised to take them only as far as Hotan. From there they caught a flight to Jiuquan, and then to Zhengzhou. They ate when they were hungry and slept when they were tired.

Through it all Wit tracked the progress of the war. The Chinese were touting great successes and victories but supplying no evidence for either, which suggested it was all bogus, or at least highly exaggerated. The Russian army had offered to enter China and assist in the war, but China had refused. Probably because the Chinese worried that the Russians might not leave when the war was over. Kick out one invading army only to have another one to deal with.

The nets were flooded with vids. The Formics were relentless. Their skimmers were fast and lethal. Their troops were calm and methodical. They burned the countryside wherever they went, spraying their defoliants like farmers. The Chinese tried to take down the vids and paint a different picture, but you couldn’t stop the floodgates of information.

Wit searched for more vids from Mazer Rackham but found none, which concerned him. It had been days now. There was no official word from New Zealand or the Chinese that Wit could find, which either meant that Mazer had been discreetly pulled back from the frontlines, or that he was MIA.

On their third day in the country they landed in Changsha. It was the last flight they were going to get. Commercial flights were grounded now, and no pilot would fly any farther south no matter how much money Wit offered.

Wit made a few calls from the airport. He needed all-terrain vehicles, and the black market in Changsha seemed like as good a place as any to find them. His contacts in Hunan province put him in touch with some shady people, who put him in contact with some even worse people, who suggested Wit go to a used truck lot in the southern, industrial part of the city called Winjia Alley. Wit took Calinga and Lobo with him and left the rest of the men at the airport.

The old man who greeted them at the lot was in his eighties maybe, with a slightly hunched back and a broad sun cap and a pair of exoskeleton braces on his legs to assist him with walking. He introduced himself as Shoshang.

“I’m Captain O’Toole of the Mobile Operations Police. These are two of my companions Calinga and Lobo.”

Shoshang smiled. “Soldiers, eh? Come to fight the Formics.”

“We’ve come to help as much as we can,” said Wit.

“You think China needs help? You think China isn’t strong enough?”

“From what I’ve seen, no country is strong enough. Not the U.S., not any nation in Europe, not Russia, no one. We all must help.”

“Help is what I do best,” said Shoshang. “What are you looking for?”

“Armored transports. Off-roaders. All-terrain. Enough to carry forty men and supplies. And they need to be airtight.”

“War machines?” Shoshang frowned and shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint you, Captain, but I’m not licensed to sell that kind of vehicle. What you see on my lot is all I have.” He gestured to the vehicles behind him. “Big utility trucks and dozers for commercial contractors. Perhaps you would like to test-drive one of those?”

Wit wasn’t buying the innocent-civilian act or the weak-old-man act either. He had busted enough drug lords and gunrunners to know that it was normally the ones who didn’t look the part who were the nastiest.

“Perhaps this will remind you of some inventory that may have slipped your mind,” said Wit, tapping his wrist pad to the old man’s.

Shoshang read the amount on his wrist, then smiled. “Ah yes. Now that I think about it, I might have what you’re looking for.”

He escorted them to a tall, rusted metal wall that encircled a junkyard at the back of the lot. The wall was topped with concertina wire and looked like it could withstand a small army. Shoshang waved his hand through the holobox beside the gate, and from somewhere on the other side a crank turned, and a chain pulled, and the heavy metal door swung open.

“A lot of security for a pile of junk,” said Wit.

Shoshang smiled.

They walked through the junkyard—weaving through a labyrinth of scrap iron, crushed cars, and long-dead industrial equipment. When they reached a warehouse at the center of the maze, Shoshang stopped and faced them. Wit saw several armed men perched atop the warehouse roof and a few others among the piles of junk around them. Wit wasn’t impressed. The men weren’t professionally trained. They were all carrying themselves the wrong way, standing in the wrong places, brandishing their weapons like amateurs. Wit was beginning to think this had been a waste of time.

Then Shoshang ordered one of the thugs to open the warehouse, and Wit saw that the trip wasn’t a total loss after all. There were five armored Rhinos inside—which were big, six-wheeled ATVs built for the Chinese military. They were much faster than light tanks and ideal for quick strikes and maneuvering. Shoshang had painted them a deep green to cover the army’s insignia, and welders had attached additional armored plates and modifications to make them look like original vehicles instead of stolen government property, which is what they obviously were.

“If I drive those through a military checkpoint,” said Wit, “I’m liable to get arrested. The army doesn’t take kindly to thieves.”

Shoshang looked offended. “These aren’t stolen, Captain O’Toole. They were surplus, purchased legally on the open market. I have all the papers in order.”

“Falsified papers,” said Wit. “There
was
no surplus of Rhinos. The manufacturer was bought out by Juke Limited before production of the initial fleet was complete. Then Juke renegotiated with the Chinese and changed the design.”

Shoshang smiled. “I see you are a student of military commerce, Captain O’Toole.”

“I’m a student of a lot of things.”

Shoshang scratched at his cheek then sighed. “Very well. I’m willing to drop the price because of the
legality
issue.” He said the word like it annoyed him.

“What about fuel?”

“I am feeling generous today,” said Shoshang. “I will give you all five vehicles and enough batteries and fuel cells for a year of constant use.”

“For how much?”

Shoshang told him. It was ten times what the vehicles were worth, even on the black market.

“We’ll take them,” said Wit.

Shoshang looked surprised. He had expected a brutal negotiation, an argument even. But Wit had neither the time nor the inclination. Strategos auditors would likely sniff out Shoshang and seize the money back anyway. It wasn’t Wit’s concern.

“We also need supplies,” said Wit. “I’m told you’re a man who can acquire anything.”

“I’m a man of many talents, yes. What else do you need?”

“Containment suits, for starters. With HUDs, targeting capabilities, and plenty of oxygen.”

“I take it you’ve seen the mist the Formics spray.”

“We’d rather not breathe it,” said Wit. “We also need weapons. Small arms. Antiaircraft. Smart grenade launchers.”

“What type of grenade munitions?”

“Whatever we can get. HEABs, flechette-laden, thermobaric. Low-velocity, twenty-by-forty millimeters.”

HEABs, or high-explosive air-bursting grenades, would be ideal. It was easier to program the munitions, and air detonations usually had the greatest kill count. But Wit wasn’t getting his hopes up.

“I’ll need to make a few calls,” said Shoshang. “It will take a few hours. It’s not every day I’m asked to outfit a miniarmy. But don’t worry, Captain, I will get you what you need.” Shoshang removed his hat, dabbed at his forehead with a cloth, and smiled. “I can’t help but wonder, however, why your own agency isn’t supplying you. Not that it’s any of my business.”