Ice War (8 page)

“I can’t hear your voice,” Monster said, when Emile had been silent for a little too long.

“I’m sorry, Sergeant Monster,” Emile said.

“That’s okay, but keep talking,” Monster said.

“I mean, I’m sorry for all this. This is my fault. I was stupid,” Emile said.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Monster said. “You got us out of there. You gave us chance. Chance to alert ACOG and chance to rescue the others.”

“I wanted to be a hero,” Emile said. “Like you and Price and Lieutenant Chisnall.”

Monster swallowed rapidly several times, choking down a spew of hurt, anger and grief. There were droplets of ice forming around his eyes, tears that froze as soon as they were formed.

“Emile, you are hero,” he said, when he could.

The ice beneath his feet was dark and uneven and Monster was surprised to find he was walking on rime-coated rocks.

A few paces further on Emile stumbled and fell. He got up slowly, and Monster realised that neither of them had been speaking. Somehow he had forgotten about that.

His mind seemed a little foggy and he knew it was very important to keep talking, but he was not sure why.

“Emile,” he said with a thick tongue.

There was no answer.

“Emile!” Monster said. When that got no response, he caught up with him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Emile looked around, dully, through eyes that did not seem to recognise his friend. He shook off Monster’s hand and continued to stumble on.

Monster trudged along after him, not sure why, or where they were going, but knowing that it was vital to keep moving.

They encountered another patch of rocks covered with thin ice. They were slippery and treacherous. Why there would be rocks here in the middle of an icefield, Monster couldn’t understand, although something about it caused a tickle at the back of his memory. Why was he even in an icefield?

Emile had sat down, Monster saw, and that seemed like a good idea. He was so cold and so tired. Emile leaned against one of the walls of ice that surrounded them. Where was Price? Monster wondered. She was supposed to be in charge of this mission, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. Where was Chisnall? His friend. Why wasn’t he leading the mission?

He began to sit down next to Emile and that was when he remembered. Chisnall was dead. His friend was gone. He had died fighting the Bzadians. Price was dead too, or soon would be, if he didn’t do something about it.

He loved her in a way that had taken him by surprise. When she had been terribly wounded on the last mission, it was as though he too had been injured. He had helped nurse her back to health, he remembered that. The long hours of rehab, building up the muscles in her new leg. But for what? So she could die in a Bzadian prison cell?

He could not let that happen. He could not stop, no matter how tired he was.

He shook Emile’s shoulder a couple of times and when that got no response, he grabbed the smaller soldier by the arms and hoisted him up in a firefighter’s lift.

Emile was light, even with his armour, but Monster was so tired and the first step seemed like an impossible task. He managed it though. After that, the second didn’t seem as hard, although he couldn’t understand why he was doing this, or who it was he was carrying.

He put one foot in front of the other and thought that if he could keep doing that, then he would be all right. They would be all right.

The sky was clear and the sun low on the horizon, a bright red disc that lit up clouds in shudders of orange and streaks of deep dark blue.

Ice under his feet turned to snow-covered rock, which began to rise up, steeper and steeper, until it was too hard to climb.

Perhaps if he dropped his pack. It was a heavy pack. He let it slide off his shoulders and was surprised to see a body fall to the ground. He had been carrying someone. But who? And why? Somehow that didn’t seem important. It was so hot here. Why hadn’t he realised that before? He was sweating. He had to get cool. He reached for the releases on his armour but his fingers were frozen into claws and he couldn’t get the clasps open.

He took one more step then felt the ground coming up to meet him. The snow was surprisingly hard.

He tried again to take off his armour, to cool himself down, but it would not come off and so he stopped struggling. That was making him hot, he decided. Better to rest.

And although nothing made sense any more, about why he was here, or why it was so hot, he did understand in some deep place that his body was shutting down. And it made him wonder. Was this really what the universe had in store for him?

All he could think was that it was a silly way to die.

Such a silly way to die.

[MISSION DAY 1, FEBRUARY 16, 2033. 1400 HOURS LOCAL TIME]

[BERING STRAIT, SOUTH-WEST OF LITTLE DIOMEDE ISLAND]

“I am sorry about your friends,” Colonel Nokz’z said, in perfect English, walking down the row of Angels, neck-cuffed and restrained. “They were foolish to go out in those conditions without proper equipment.”

Price’s heart was thudding in her chest. She had given the order that had started the chain of events that had led to Emile and Monster running out into the storm. It had been her decision. Her call. Had she made a fatal mistake?

It was worth the risk, surely? It might have worked. But things hadn’t gone as planned.

“They’ll be back to kick your Puke ass,” The Tsar said.

“They won’t be kicking anyone’s ‘Puke ass’,” Nokz’z said. “They wouldn’t have lasted twenty minutes.”

Price stared at him, afraid he was right, but willing it not to be true.

“Pukes, scumbugz,” Nokz’z said, shaking his head. “These are the names we have for each other. Is it not enough that we have to kill each other? Could we not at least be civil about it?”

“Yeah, that would make all the difference,” Barnard said.

Price caught Barnard staring at her, although the other girl quickly looked away, with an expression of pity.
Don’t pity me
, Price wanted to scream. Monster was not dead. Neither was Emile. They couldn’t be.

Price forced herself to remain still, unemotional, fighting the urge to shout and tear herself against the neck restraint. She couldn’t lose him, not now. The last year, stuck at Fort Carson, watching the progress of the war but unable to assist, had seemed like a prison sentence. But it was a prison she had shared with Monster. He had been by her side almost every day in the hospital while she grew the new leg. And he had trained with her every day after that as she had built up her strength.

But he was gone. And no matter how much she tried to deny it, she knew it was probably true.

First Hunter, then Chisnall, now Monster and Emile. Emile. Cheeky and quick, both in mind and movement. He hadn’t even had a chance to prove himself. To fight.

Monster and Emile. Were their deaths her fault? Should she have waited for a better opportunity? Was her decision influenced by the thrill and the heat of the moment, rather than cold logic? It was one thing to seek the adrenaline buzz of living on the edge of death; it was another thing altogether to cause the deaths of people you cared about.

Nokz’z completed his inspection.

“So young,” Nokz’z said. “So very young. This is what humans resort to.”

“Shove it,” Price said, still barely containing her emotions.

“You try to have a conversation and this is the response,” Nokz’z said to the Vaza. “ ‘Shove it?’ It is like talking to a monkey.”

“Shove it up your–” The Tsar began.

Nokz’z cut him off. “Bzadian teenagers of your age are in school,” he said. “They are listening to music, ‘hanging out’ with their friends. I have a child not much younger than you. True, he does his military training, but he is not on the front lines. Especially not in these conditions.” He tutted quietly. “Humans ask too much of their young.”

Price remained silent. Nokz’z had a gentle, melodic way of speaking. Yet she sensed something else behind the words: something dark and malodorous. Something rotten.

“Perhaps it is good for you,” Nokz’z said, just as pleasantly. “You are removed from the battle. You are my prisoners and will be treated well. No longer will you have to endure such hardships, or risk death. You will see out the war in comfort.” He stopped, apparently thinking. “Unless the PGZ want you, and I suspect they will. They will want to know all about your Angel program. That might not be very pleasant for you.”

“We’ll take our chances,” Barnard said.

Nokz’z turned to the Vaza. “It might be a kindness if I let them follow their friends,” he said with a slight frown. “Out into the blizzard without face masks or thermals. Perhaps that would be preferable to what the PGZ might have in store for them.” He shrugged. “But then I would not be doing my duty.”

The Vaza looked at Price as though she would be very happy to see Price get tortured at the hands of the PGZ.

“But then again,” Nokz’z said, “with the end of the war in sight, perhaps it does not really matter. There is little they could tell the PGZ that would be of any consequence.”

“The war is not over yet, you Puke freakazoid,” Wall said.

“Still, the grunting of primitives,” Nokz’z said. “I have captured you, behind my lines, in our uniforms. Still, I have treated you fairly and with respect. Yet you insult me. If I was in your position, I would be doing everything I could to cooperate with my captors, not to abuse them.”

“Perhaps you’re right. Let’s swap positions and find out,” Barnard said.

Nokz’z laughed. “Ah, this one has a sense of humour!” He walked in front of her. “The war is not over. But it soon will be. Let me tell you what is going to happen. The skies are clear. It is the eye of the storm. But it will not last long and when it is over, my tanks will continue their advance. We cannot be seen, nor detected. Your army will have no warning. Once we establish a beachhead in Alaska, we will set up landing strips and start flying in equipment and supplies. What will happen in America is what has already happened in Europe and Asia. Or do you still think there is some miracle awaiting your species?”

“I think the real question is whether we pack you Pukes up in rocket ships and send you back where you came from, or make Australia into a giant prison,” Price said.

Nokz’z smiled again. “Bravado. It is such a delightful human trait. We Bzadians don’t have it, did you know that? I shall miss it. In the meantime, make yourselves as comfortable as you can. As soon as the storm returns, we will bring up transporters to take you to our base at Chukchi. From there it will be a quick plane trip to New Bzadia.” He paused, thinking. “Do you have any idea how beautiful this planet of yours is? On my planet people would travel thousands of miles to see a glimpse of blue water, or a patch of green forest. Most of our water was underground. Your planet has it in abundance, yet you do not appreciate it. It really is a wonderful world and, when the war is over, I will spend my time travelling it, drinking in its beauty.”

“Hard to do that if you’re dead,” The Tsar said.

Nokz’z just smiled.

“We know what we’ve got,” Price said. “And we’re not going to let you take it away from us.”

“You are wrong on both counts,” Nokz’z said. “If you really did appreciate this beautiful planet, you wouldn’t treat it the way you have.”

“That’s bull,” The Tsar said.

“You call us the invaders,” Nokz’z said. “But it is you humans who are the invaders. On Bzadia we lived in harmony with the other creatures of our world. What do you humans do? You kill, cook and eat them. You wipe out entire species. And those you don’t eat, you fence off into game parks and reserves. Cramming them into smaller and smaller areas. If insects inconvenience you, you spray them with poison. You are monsters, bullies, terrorising your own world, but you have finally met your match.”

“Ignore him,” Price said. “He’s crazy. You can’t reason with a crazy person.”

“That, my young friend, is the one thing we both agree on,” Nokz’z said.

After some quiet discussion with the squad leader, Nokz’z and the Vaza slipped down the hatch and away.

“There’s something not quite right with that dude,” Wall said. He spoke in English in a low voice so that the soldiers on the other side of the tank could not hear him.

“That is an understatement,” Barnard said. “Don’t you know who that was?”

“Nope,” Price said.

“Colonel Nokz’z. The Butcher of Jakarta,” Barnard said.

“The Indonesian massacre?” Wall asked.

“He was a major back then,” Barnard said.

“That’s the same guy?” Wall asked.

“I think so,” Barnard said.

“You really think Monster will be back to kick his ass?” The Tsar asked.

Price was silent.

“Monster’s not coming back,” Wall said. “Neither’s Emile.”

“Until we see the bodies, there’s always hope,” Price said.

“You’re dreaming,” Wall said. “Nokz’z is right. They didn’t have a chance out there.”

“Shut up, Wall,” Barnard said.

“I’m just saying,” Wall said.

“Well don’t,” Barnard said.

“So what’s the plan, skipper?” Wall asked.