Grunt Traitor (32 page)

Instead of that reality, here we were, six humans locked inside EXOs, with two Chinese cargo chutes attached to each of us and about to leap out the back of a former Soviet cargo aircraft and into an alien-infested city. Of course, no one had ever jumped from an aircraft in an EXO before. It took a lot of faith to trust our lives to a few techs who did some math and gave us a thumbs-up because they believed two Chinese-made parachutes would keep us from slamming into the ground. And if we had to do a PLF, we’d probably take out whole buildings. I was hoping we might be able to perform standup landings, but realistically I just wanted not to die, especially since I was carrying the suitcase nuke on my back. Although it was protected in a Kevlar case, I was afraid to so much as bump it.

“Tarantula One-One, this is Tarantula One-Six.” Dewhurst was calling me on a private secure line.

“Two, what’s up?”

“Just got a change of mission message. We’re adjusting our drop zone.”

Why did Dewhurst get a message and not me? Fucking rookies.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re to link up with a different group for support. Dropping in ninety seconds.”

As he said the words, the red light at the back of the aircraft began to blink.

“Sharing drop zone location now to all Tarantula elements,” Dewhurst said, switching to a team feed. “Import new drop zone data and prepare to jump.”

I toggled the location information, observed the drop zone, and checked for visual landmarks I could use to mark our drift. We’d have to rely on sight; without GPS and with the distractions of falling out of a perfectly good airplane, it was going to be tricky. Seeing the location, I immediately wondered what was going on. The plan had been set to land north of Big Cieniga Spring and link up with Mother’s crew. Landing in West Covina was the last thing I wanted. No, correct that. Landing at God’s New Army headquarters at the West Covina Mall was the last thing I wanted.

“Dewhurst, what’s going on?” This was what happened when the person in charge of the overall mission wasn’t one of the tactical commanders. How could I expect to lead him into combat if he was going to keep me in the dark?

“Classified for now. Charlie Mike. Dewhurst out.”

Continue mission, my ass. I was about to say something when the red light in the back of the plane switched to yellow. The sound of the ramp unlatching was followed by a rush of air as the ramp lowered, revealing a keyhole of gray-blue sky.

“Thirty seconds to jump point,” Dewhurst said over the net.

Instead of arguing, I tapped into each soldier’s HUD and JMPIed the person in front of them in turn. I couldn’t get the last man, Stranz, but this would have to do. Everyone checked out visually. Now all we had to do was hope that two Chinese cargo chutes would hold the weight of a human and an EXO.

We were about to find out.

Digits counted down from ten in my HUD. When they hit one, we all surged forward, nut to butt. I stepped out first, tumbling slightly forward to better allow the static line to deploy the low-hanging Chinese chutes. I was aware of the movement, but was blocked by the suit from the feeling of air rushing past me or the 360-degree whirling-out-of-control feeling I always had those first few seconds of a jump. If I wasn’t feeling the onrushing tug of gravity, it could have almost been a video game.

Then I was jerked backwards as both chutes filled with air.

Nope,
I thought grimacing inside my EXO,
not a video game at all.

My chutes were holding. I didn’t see any EXOs plummeting by me, so that was a good sign for the others. I quickly toggled through each of their HUDs. Everyone seemed fine, if not experiencing skyrocketing heart rates. I couldn’t access Dewhurst’s data, however. He’d cut my access. I couldn’t figure out why, but we’d be sure to have a face-to-face once we landed.

Keying in on the drop zone and careful of my enhanced EXO strength, I pulled my left risers, well aware of my need to tack into the wind. It gusted, pushing me off course, and I went with it, circling back around. The drop zone was a wide green space beside what might have once been a school. Trucks were aligned alongside one end of the DZ. It looked like several hundred people were arrayed around the area in what only could be an ambush.

Suddenly smoke flared from a grenade, marking the center of the DZ. I noted the way the wind took the dark gray smoke, adjusted, then came in for a landing, wanting it to be like baby feet on cotton with the weapon of mass destruction attached to my back. The landing was both lighter than I expected and harder than I wanted. I felt the impact in my bones as the momentum of the EXO abruptly stopped. My mouth began to bleed a little. I think I might have bit my lip. But that hardly mattered.

I ripped my chutes free, then got on one knee and brought my weapons to bear. The Hydra aimed at one edge of the ambush while my minigun tracked back and forth on the other edge.

“All Tarantulas, deploy in defense formation upon landing. Interlocking fields of fire.”

“Belay that order,” Dewhurst said, grunting as he hit the ground. His wasn’t a standup; he want sprawling several feet, taking grass with him.

“Bullshit. Tarantulas, defend!”

Sula, Mal, and Ohirra hit the ground standing. They took up formation beside me.

Stranz came in last, skidding to a stop while ripping free his chute. I noted that he’d painted sergeant’s chevrons on the arms of his EXO. He glanced at Dewhurst, hesitated for a moment, then joined us.

Which left Dewhurst standing in the middle like a private who didn’t know what to do.

“Mason, stand down,” he yelled through the coms.

“Explain yourself, Dewhurst. My grunts aren’t doing anything until I tell them.” I wasn’t sure what deal he’d made with the devil, but I wasn’t about to let my grunts get hurt.

“I said,
stand down
.”

I could hear the fury in his voice, but didn’t give a shit. “Never!” I kept my gaze focused on the forces arrayed before us. My HUD counted one hundred and forty-seven targets. Three groups held RPGs trained on us. A group at each end of the ambush had heavy machine guns—M2 50-calibers. I created aiming points over each spot and shared them with my grunts. “Lock Hydras on locations and prepare to fire.”

“Jesus Christ, Mason. Do you want to start World War III?” Dehurst demanded.

“I’m not going to let you get my grunts killed.” To the team, I said, “Prepare to fire on my mark.”

“Mason, get your head out of your fourth point of contact. We have a change of mission.”

I was tired of the bullshit. “Here’s what I know. We were briefed to link up with Mother but here we are in the heart of GNA territory with one hundred and forty-seven targets pointing their weapons at us. This isn’t exactly a friendly welcome, Dewhurst. And it makes me wonder why you haven’t joined us yet.”

I keyed a secure line back to headquarters at Fort Irwin, hoping I was close enough to a retransmission site to get my coms leapfrogged in, but got nothing but static. Then I keyed a secure line to Ohirra. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“I don’t, and I don’t like it.” I could hear her breathing. “Wait, who’s that?”

A figure separated from the center of the ambush and began walking towards us. Only one celebrity asshole would wear a white suit at the end of the world during an armed confrontation—Sebring. I zoomed onto him. He was unarmed other than his smarm and smile.

“Keep steady,” I said over the team net. “Fire only on my command.”

I stood, but kept my weapons trained on the GNA.

“Okay, Dewhurst, explain.”

“Nothing to explain. I got a message to change mission to link up with GNA. It could be anything. Mother is closer to the 605. Perhaps the fungees overran her. Goddamn it, Mason, I’m just following orders. Same thing you should be doing.”

Was I being over careful? Was I letting my prejudices against GNA color my leadership?

“Then tell Sebring to have his people stand down. If I so much as detect a laser designator on our position I’ll have my grunts open fire. So unless they want to see how much violence and lead we can throw at them,
they
stand down.”

“Got it,” Dewhurst said.

On a secure channel, Ohirra said, “You know we don’t have lead rounds, right?”

“It sounds better than saying depleted uranium. Be on alert, Ohirra. Something’s rotten in Denmark. And yes, I know we aren’t in Denmark.”

“Just trying to keep you straight, Mason.”

“Right. Thanks.”

Sebring walked right by us, smiling beatifically like he’d done so often on his show, when the telephone audience voted a singer off. He was always so sorry, but I just knew there were different thoughts behind that professional smile.
So sorry you sucked. So sorry they didn’t like you, but thank you very much for the ratings, my slick new car, my house in Malibu and the sweet ass of this model I’ve been banging. Now if you would shuffle back to your Walmart job, knowing that you’ve just burned through your fifteen minutes of fame, wondering why it couldn’t have been you, sliding into that dark place where you know you suck and you can’t stop sucking except to shoot yourself to end your hopeless existence, I’d sincerely appreciate it.

Yeah, that was the real Sebring.

“Major Dewhurst, I got the message from OMBRA and brought together as many of God’s New Army as I could in such short time,” Sebring said.

As he passed me, he actually winked at me.

Asshole.

“The GNA is pleased to be at OMBRA’s disposal,” he continued. “What is it we can do for you?”

“You can start by telling your men to lower their weapons. My team leader here has a hair-trigger and says that if any of them even points a laser designator, he’ll have the team open fire.”

Sebring looked at me. Instead of worry, he showed disappointment, as if I was a bad child. “Why would he do that?”

“Better to ask why I wouldn’t,” I said.

And there it was. A flash of worry. Just a hint of it, but enough for me to feel a moment of elation.

Sebring pulled a walkie-talkie from the small of his back and spoke into it. “Everyone lower your weapons. No laser designators. These are our friends and we should treat them that way.” He turned to us, his smile wide once more. “I always thought the golden rule was one of God’s best rules.”

I watched the GNA lower their weapons and power down their equipment, my HUD zooming in and out on different locations.

On the team net, Sula asked, “What’s the golden rule?”

“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” said Stranz. “My mother said it all the time.”

“It was Jesus who said it,” Mal said. “Actually, in the New Testament it says,
Do to others as you would have them to do to you.
”

“That’s just a translation difference,” Stranz said. “Its roots are really in the Old Testament. Leviticus 19:18.
Forget about the wrong things people do to you, and do not try to get even. Love your neighbor as you love yourself.
”

“Let’s keep God out of it for now,” I snapped. “If He wants to be a part of this, He can come down and kick the shit out of the Hypercrealiacs.” Then I added, “How about the Tarantula rule.
Be prepared to fuck up thy neighbor before he fucks you up.
”

Ohirra chuckled uncharacteristically.

Sula and Mal gave an
aye-aye.

Stranz and Dewhurst remained silent, which gave me a start. I checked their coms and noted that they were both in a secure conversation. What was Dewhurst up to now?

Trust is hard to come by. That’s why my circle is small and tight. I’m kind of funny about making new friends.

Eminem

CHAPTER FORTY

W
E’D LANDED AT
Cameron Elementary School. Instead of heading towards GNA headquarters at West Covina Mall, we headed southwest. Sebring sat in the passenger seat of a convertible Cadillac with three of his men, all heavily armored and armed with automatic rifles. We followed behind. Ohirra had the rear and Stranz had the front. The rest of us marched two abreast, with me and Dewhurst side by side and Sula and Mal right behind us. I had everyone on high alert. Not that we were worried about any fungees, but we didn’t want GNA to have any surprises for us.

It did surprise me, however, that we’d left the one hundred and forty-seven GNA members behind and that Sebring apparently trusted us with his life.

I was also worried about the lack of contact I had with Thompson. He should be able to communicate with me as easily as Michelle or Salinas had, but there was nothing. I tried several times to blast out a call, but again... nothing. I decided to try something different.

“Olivares, this is Mason, can you hear me?”

Nothing but static. I tried twice more and was about to give up when I heard a thin voice on the edge of hearing. “Mason, this is Olivares. What’s wrong?”

That was my friend. Always assuming I’d fucked up. “Nothing’s wrong. Permission to speak to Ethridge.” While I could have called Ethridge myself, etiquette demanded that I do it through his mission leader. Something that Dewhurst didn’t seem to understand.