Ex-Patriots (38 page)

The burning transport hit the Cerberus
battlesuit in the hip. The titan spun, crashed into the building a
few feet from Danielle and Cesar, and collapsed in the dirt. Part
of the wall crumbled, and a chunk of concrete and plaster hit the
ground inches from Danielle’s sneaker.

The Humvee veered off to the right, carried
by its own momentum. Legion spun the wheel and kept the pedal
pressed to the floor. They heard him laugh as he rushed by.

The front corner of the vehicle hit the fence
and ripped through the first layer of chainlink without slowing
down. It crushed a pair of ex-soldiers wandering between the
barricades and broke through the second fence. A section of
chainlink twenty feet long tore loose, crumpled, and fell. One of
the Humvee’s tires ripped open on the stiff wires and exploded, but
the vehicle lurched on and struck one of the outer poles by the
watch tower. The engine roared, the tires spun in the dirt, and
with its dying breath the flaming vehicle pushed the pole over.

The fence sagged on either side and knocked
down the exes pressed against it. It sprang back up for a moment,
then dropped to the ground with a crash of metal. Close to thirty
exes were pinned under it when it fell. Twice as many moved for the
opening.

Fucking son of a bitch,
said
Zzzap.

* * *

Truman stumbled out of the crater in the
wall, tripped over one of the dead soldiers, and crashed to the
floor. By the time he hit the tiles, St. George had put down
Franklin with a strike to the forehead. The hero glared at Captain
Freedom across the lobby. “Did you actually think you could take me
in a fist fight? Even all together?”

Kennedy tried to hit him with her rifle
stock. He took the weapon away from her and broke it in half. The
ammo box fell open and the belt spooled out across the floor. She
drove three punches into his jaw and felt her knuckles crack on the
last one.

“I mean, do you guys have any clue how far
out of my league you are?” He caught Jefferson’s punch against his
palm and gave the knuckles a sharp twist. They all heard the bones
splinter and snap along the arm. The soldier screamed and dropped
back even as the hero batted away a kick from Kennedy. “A group of
first graders would have a better chance of taking out Mike Tyson.
If I didn’t need you to monologue about where Stealth—”

Freedom’s double-handed blow caught St.
George across the cheek. He closed in, slammed some fast punches
into the hero’s stomach, and then swung his elbow up to catch him
in the chin. St George staggered back into the wall. The captain
moved forward and swung a backhand that sounded like a gunshot when
it connected. He brought the hand back around in a punch that could
dent steel.

St. George grabbed the larger man’s wrist.
The punch stopped dead in the air.

“
Okay,” said the hero, ribbons
of smoke streaming from his nostrils. “That’s enough.” He
straightened up off the wall, still holding the wrist.

Freedom stumbled back. He tried to twist his
arm around, a simple break to free his hand and get control back,
but the hero’s fingers were like stone. The captain twisted his
free arm around and threw his weight into an elbow that connected
with the middle of St. George’s forearm.

The arm was like stone, too.

Jefferson drew his SOCOM pistol left-handed
and emptied the magazine at St. George. The rounds thudded and spun
off his side and shoulders. The last three slapped his temple. The
bullets clattered on the tile floor.

Stone.

Kennedy leaped onto his back. She got a
chokehold across his neck and threw her weight onto her arm. He
reached up with his free hand and swung her over onto Truman’s
unconscious form.

Freedom battered at the stone arm and threw a
kick into the hero’s stomach. It was like hitting a wall, and he
knocked himself off balance. He would’ve fallen over if not for the
iron grip on his wrist. He flailed at St. George’s chest for a
moment and righted himself.

“I’m used to having to pull my punches with
people,” said St, George, “so you got in a couple good shots back
at the Mount. But don’t confuse catching me off guard once with
being stronger than me.” He moved Freedom’s arm back and forth, and
the huge officer was dragged back and forth after it.

“I’d never say I’m stronger,” said Freedom.
“Just smarter.”

He made a fist around the demon fang he’d
torn off St. George’s lapel and slammed it into the hero’s arm just
behind the wrist.

* * *

The Humvee had left an opening in the fence
line almost forty feet wide. The stumbling dead worked their way
over the fallen chainlink and onto the base, their teeth
chattering.

“Bro,” said Cesar. He rapped his knuckles on
the steel forehead of the fallen battlesuit. “You still alive in
there?”

The armor shifted and a metallic groan hissed
through the speakers.

“Cool. No broken bones or nothing?”

“I... I’m good,” said Gibbs. “What the hell
was that?”

“Dead girl driving a Hummer,” Cesar told him.
“Look, you sure you’re okay?”

“A little dizzy.”

Danielle crouched by the helmet and looked
for damage. “Is the suit okay? No problems with monitors or the
reactive sensors?”

The battlesuit flailed for a moment as the
arms pushed it up to a sitting position. “Power’s down to
sixty-eight percent, but as far as I can tell past that, all
systems read one hundred percent across the board.”

“Good,” said the redhead. She sighed. “I’m
sorry about this, but I think your loyalties are a little too split
for you to be of much use right now.”

Cesar’s face broke into a grin.

She glared at him. “One scratch, one circuit
I need to replace, and I own you for life. Clear?”

He wrapped his arms around the armor. The air
crackled as he vanished, and a few arcs of electricity danced
across the helmet and chestplate. “Crystal, ma’am,” said his voice
from the speakers. “Cerberus, reporting for duty.”

“Let’s get one thing clear right now,” she
said as the armor clomped back to its feet. “You’re a kid with a
neat power. I’m Cerberus.”

* * *

The fang ripped through St. George’s jacket
and flesh. Its tip burst through the other side of his arm. Blood
splashed out over the sleeve. The hero roared and it came out as a
blast of fire that blinded everyone in the lobby. He let go of
Freedom’s arm and the officer twisted away from the flames.

Freedom looked back and St. George grabbed
him by the throat. The fang was still buried in the hero’s forearm.
It was bleeding, but not enough to be fatal. Just painful as all
hell. The arm stretched up and Freedom’s feet left the floor.

“We’re not going to surrender,” grunted
Freedom.

“I’m not asking you to,” said St. George
though gritted teeth. “Say you won if you want. I just don’t want
to waste any more time fighting. My friends and I want to
help.”

“One of your friends beat Colonel Shelly to
within an inch of his life.”

“I don’t know what that’s all about,” said
the hero, “but it’s not the issue. There’s a threat to this base we
need to deal with. All of us. No one heads off in any helicopters
or anything. You’ve got the manpower but we’ve got the experience
with this guy. Once that’s done, you and me and all our friends can
sit down and figure out who did what to who.”

Freedom glared at him. Out of the corner of
his eye, St. George could see Kennedy struggling to her feet and
Jefferson trying to reload his pistol one handed. Franklin and
Truman began to stir.

So were the dead soldiers, he realized.

Noise burst from their earpieces and the hero
saw their faces shift. It woke up Franklin and Truman, and they
shot glances between Kennedy and Freedom. The captain’s jaw was
still set, but St. George could see the conflict in his eyes.

“What’s going on?”

The soldiers looked to Freedom. “The main
gate just fell,” he said. “Someone drove a Guardian through it.
They’re getting in.”

St. George nodded at the waking exes and the
bloody lobby. “What’s it going to be, captain? Help us save
everybody, or do you want to keep trying to put handcuffs on
me?”

Freedom’s shoulders relaxed. Just a little.
“What’s your plan?”

St. George let his arm drop and opened the
fingers around the officer’s throat. He tried not to wince as the
muscles around the fang shifted.

“Peasy—Legion, whatever he’s calling himself
now—he attacks on multiple sides. When he tried to take the Mount,
that’s how he did it. I’ll bet he’s going to do the same thing here
if he hasn’t already.”

Freedom and the other soldiers nodded. “Ask
and you shall receive,” said Kennedy, pressing a finger to her ear,
“the same thing happened at Tower Nine. The whole fence line is
gone between Nine and Eight.” She glanced at St. George. “Sounds
like your people are already there. Zzzap and the robot.”

“Exes?” asked Freedom.

“About a hundred with as many closing
in.”

St. George pursed his lips. “Anyone got a
radio?”

The teeth of one of the corpses clicked
together and Truman’s boot lashed out to shatter its skull. The
specialist pulled the radio from the headless body’s belt and
stripped off the headset and mic. He tossed it to St. George.
Catching it made the pain in his forearm flare again.

“Zzzap, you out there?”

“Hey, fearless leader,” said the radio.
“We’re in hell. How are things with you?”

“He sounds normal,” said Kennedy. “Is that
him?”

“It’s because you’re not hearing him, you’re
hearing him broadcast his voice.” He held up the radio. “What’s
going on?”

“Our boy Peasy brought down the fence at the
north-west corner of the base. We’ve got a gap about thirty-five,
forty feet across.”

“So I’ve heard,” said St. George. “Under
control?”

“The soldiers and Cerberus—sorry, the
Driver—are keeping them at bay so far.”

“Copy. Is Danielle with you?”

“Yep.”

“Good. I’m going to see if we can get some
people there to assist. If you think you can spare a minute, meet
me here.”

“Gotcha.”

The hero shoved the radio into the pocket of
his flight jacket. Jefferson tilted his head up from the crude
splint Franklin was building around his arm. “How’s he know where
you are?”

“Because he could see where the signal was
coming from,” said St. George. He looked at Freedom. “Where’s
Stealth being held?”

“She’s probably still in the brig. Last I
heard Smith had all of squad Twenty-one guarding her.”

“We need her.”

Freedom’s jaw locked up again. “She attacked
Colonel Shelly.”

“Later, captain. Right now she’s the
smartest, best fighter within about a hundred miles and she needs
to be helping us.”

They could hear Freedom grinding his teeth
but he reached for his radio. “Unbreakable Twenty-one, this is
Unbreakable Six.”

“Unbreakable Six, this is Unbreakable
Twenty-one.”

“Twenty-one, this is Six. You are to release
the prisoner named Stealth. Escort her to the main gate. We’ll meet
you there. Be advised this is a combat situation and you are
entering a hot zone.”

* * *

Staff Sergeant Harrison furrowed his brow and
shot a look to Taylor and Polk. “Six, this is Twenty-one,” he said.
“Could you repeat, please?”

“Twenty-one, this is Six,” said Freedom’s
voice. “Release the prisoner and escort her to the main gate
immediately. Be advised this is a combat situation and you are
entering a hot zone.”

“Six, this is Twenty-one,” said Harrison.
“Sir, Mister Smith was very precise with his orders on the
prisoner. He believes she’ll be good leverage against the —”

“Twenty-one, this is Six,” barked Freedom.
“You are not taking orders from
Mister
Smith, you are taking
them from me. Is that clear?”

The super-soldiers shot a few confused looks
back and forth. They looked at the cell Stealth was in. Then they
looked at the man in the good suit sitting on the desk across from
them.

Smith opened his eyes wide, as if something
had just occurred to him. “They couldn’t be forcing him to say all
that, could they?”

Their eyes opened wide, too. “St. George,”
said Polk, “the Mighty Dragon, he’s probably strong enough to force
the captain into something.”

“That fucker,” said Taylor. He wiped another
thread of blood from his nose. It was still going from when the
bitch kneed him in the face.

“But...” Harrison blinked and shook his head.
What Smith said made perfect sense, but there was something wrong
with it. Something nagging at the back of his mind. “Compromise
words,” he said. “Why isn’t the captain using the compromise
codes?”

Taylor frowned. “What’s today’s word?”

“Chocolate, I think,” said Polk.

“Six, this is Twenty-one,” Harrison said.
“Things that bad, sir? You said this mission was going to be all
cake and ice cream, remember?”

“Twenty-one, this is Six. Understood and
negative. Release the prisoner and get your legs in gear.”

Smith shook his head. “Could they have
learned the codes somehow? Or maybe they’ve got some of his people
at gunpoint. He’d lie to keep them safe, wouldn’t he?”

“Fuck, yeah he would,” said Taylor.

Harrison stared into space and tried to work
his brain around something. His own nose was bleeding, and he
couldn’t remember if Stealth’s vicious attack had caused it or
not.

Smith looked at him. “Staff Sergeant
Harrison?”

He blinked twice. “Yes, sir?”

“I think we need to get the prisoner to the
helipad and prepare to leave, don’t you?”

“Of course, sir,” said Harrison.