Suicide Squad (21 page)

Deadshot pointed to a doorway, just beyond the burning trucks. Slumped across it was one of GQ’s SEALs. His equipment, weapons, and extra mags were scattered on the ground around him. Flag raised GQ on his comm line, then they hurried over.

“He’s dead,” Flag whispered as he checked the man’s pulse. “We’ll bury him later, but give me a hand getting him out of there.”

GQ joined them and helped Flag pull the body from where it had been lodged.

“Dammit,” he exclaimed when he turned the body over and saw his face. “That’s Dave Aparo. I was his instructor at the Academy. He was a good man.”

Flag nodded. “They all are. Dedicated, no-nonsense, loyal—and kick-ass soldiers.”

GQ nodded. “Kick-ass soldiers. Yeah.”

Deadshot used his scope to check out the area. “Whoever did this is long gone. I’m not seeing anyone else. I’m thinking those spuds came and snatched up your boys. This one probably fought back and got himself killed.”

GQ agreed. “Fighting back was his style. Never gave up.” He turned to Flag, eyes red with anger. “We don’t leave teammates behind. Let’s get our people back.”

Flag shook his head. “Negative,” he said flatly. “We’re continuing the mission. They’ve been taken by those things, they’re already dead.”

“Rick, you don’t know that.”

Flag shot him a look that said,
Yeah. I do.

* * *

GQ’s anger swelled suddenly. He saw images of funerals and broken families. Aparo was a personal friend, but then most of his boys were. It was the way buddies got after spending days huddled together in trenches on the field of combat. There was nobody closer to you than the people you knew who were watching your back, and expected that you’d be watching theirs.

The other SEALs surrounded Flag, GQ, and Deadshot, and they were joined moments later by the rest of Flag’s Squad. The colonel looked them over. Nobody had ankled.

“Okay, I want the Two-Forty on point, Diamond formation. Start picking ’em and putting ’em down. The objective ain’t walking to meet us.”

GQ wanted to find his lost men and rescue them, but he was a special warfare officer to the bone. The mission, and his orders, always came first.

“Yessir,” he said, saluting his superior officer. “Understood, sir.” His men started out, with GQ in the lead.

The battle was a short one.

The SEALs made their way to Devin Drive in an attempt to engage the enemy from behind, effectively cutting off their escape routes. The SEALs had expected to find well-armed soldiers, the enemy’s version of their own team, equipped as they were, with similar high-tech weapons.

They thought the monsters, whatever their origins, were the grunts—point men sent out to test the enemy. The real enemies, they thought, would be men, just like them. Men who, when the war was over and done with, might someday become allies, like World War Two’s Germany and Japan. Like Cuba. Like Vietnam.

Instead, they found themselves attacked by more of those things. The monsters weren’t an advance squad. They were the army. The first wave of creatures easily pushed through the SEALs as if they were little girls at a backyard tea party. Four soldiers were killed in the first seconds of combat.

Whatever the SEALs were expecting, this wasn’t remotely it. The enemy downed Grant and Moore, then dragged them away. Their frightened cries chilled GQ to the bone. Brubaker and Lopez were hunkered in the remains of the Reed building, shooting at creatures as they scurried into view. The bullets slowed them down, even ripped out chunks of them, but they couldn’t stop them.

The things turned to their attackers and squealed. Groups of them came together and scurried toward the SEALs. The screams could be heard from a block away.

Sweating and frightened, the soldiers took position behind a stack of demolished trucks. The things rushed past, dragging away SEALs still alive and resisting.

* * *

Enchantress looked pleased as the SEAL was tossed down in front of her. His name was Joe Anderson.

The captured SEALs stared at her, not yet believing what they were seeing. If the giant was a god, she looked like she was a goddess, breathtaking in her glowing crown and robe of light.

Their briefing called her Enchantress. Perhaps she had godlike power, but she was also a murdering witch. They had heard Waller talk about this one, to Flag. Enchantress was evil, Waller had said.

“Not the Goddess she claims she is, but definitely a devil.”

A glowing septagram had been painted on the wall behind her. Its points were formed by seven gravity-defying creatures, hovering cross-legged in the air. Somehow the very sight of it emanated pure evil. Without warning Enchantress embraced one of the SEALs. He tried to pull away, but somehow she was too strong for him. She held him close and immobile.

“The change cannot be contested,” she said loudly enough that everyone could hear every word. “But it will not hurt if you surrender to the light. Accept what is already done.” She wrapped her robe around him and kissed him. Her lips pressed to his as a chrysalis of light surrounded them both. A similar glow came from the septagram, and writhed around them.

The witch held him a few seconds more before releasing him. Then she smiled.

The SEAL gasped, and cursed under his breath.

Her kiss somehow turned him into one of those things. This was where those creatures came from, he realized. The would-be goddess took his people, his friends, and turned them into more of her blasphemous monsters.

The SEAL couldn’t look away. He bowed deeply, took a weapon from a large pile, and joined the line of Enchantress’s slaves. The decent man he had been was gone. This thing was an enemy now. Something they might have to kill—if they survived long enough.

Killing their friends—killing their family—that wasn’t what any of them had signed on to do.

Fifth Avenue was a decimated wasteland, most of its buildings leveled to the ground, shattered glass and other debris strewn across the street.

A window shattered.

Harley batted aside the few remaining glass shards from the window of Northern Lights, a stylish clothing store frequented mostly by millennials aged twenty-one through thirty. She had stolen some of her favorite outfits from the Northern Lights store in Gotham City.

She reached in and pulled an expensive crystal purse off of its display pedestal. When she turned back to the street, everyone was staring at her. Except for Flag.

Flag glared at her. “Seriously? What is it with you people?”

Unfazed, she swung the little purse over her shoulder, and rolled her eyes at him.

“We’re bad guys, remember. It’s what we do.”

Harley struck a pose and checked her reflection in the mirror. “How does this look?” Arms out, she danced a bit, reveling in her new acquisition. “Me likee.”

* * *

Flag shook his head and walked off. He hoped when push came to shove, they’d do the job he needed them to do. Until then, might as well let them have their little fun.

They’ll pay for it all later
, he thought optimistically.

* * *

Lawton saw Croc standing about thirty yards away. Then Croc gestured for him. Deadshot looked back and saw Flag was deep in conversation with GQ and a few of the other SEALs, probably arguing over who had the biggest gun.

They call themselves heroes, but they’re just as ridiculous as everyone else
, he mused. Then he let Croc come to him. “You want something?”

“Yeah,” Croc said. “When we’re back in Gotham City I have a list for you. Names I want scratched out.”

Now that was unexpected.

“You have any idea what my fee is?” he said dismissively.

Croc laughed, or gave what Deadshot took as a laugh. It was deep, guttural, and nasty.

“You killed a man once,” Croc said.

“More than once. That’s my job. I do it well.”

“Whatever. He was an important man. You cut out his heart and sent it to the client.”

Then Deadshot remembered the job. The client’s requests were twisted, but he paid big for it.

“I don’t discuss my business,” Deadshot said.

Croc laughed again. “I was the client. I know what you cost.”

Deadshot stared, studying him. There were deeper levels to this… man… than he would have expected. He’d have to take the job offer seriously.

Suddenly Flag shouted.

“Everyone take a knee,” he bellowed. The SEALs immediately formed a perimeter around the Squad. They watched as Flag double-checked his map, then pointed to the Federal Building just four blocks away. “Our VIP’s at the top of that building. We get up there, pull the target out of the vault, and make it to the roof. Helos will be waiting for us.

“After that, it’s Miller time.”

Deadshot took his monocle and used it to bring the Federal Building into clear focus. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

“Who’s up there?” he asked curiously.

Flag started toward their destination. “Not your concern,” he said, as the others joined, following behind.

Deadshot wasn’t pleased.
Why do I think this is all turning to crap?
he thought, but he held his tongue.

The Federal Building was less than a hundred fifty yards away. Flag kneeled behind an overturned garbage truck, and watched EAs move in and out of the area, doing whatever the hell EAs did. He gestured to the SEALs, about twenty yards behind him.

We’re ready. Let’s do this.

Moving in pairs, they scurried to their new positions, their rifles locked and loaded, and ready if any of the creatures spotted them.

None did. Waller believed they were of a hive mind, fixed on a given task to the exclusion of all others. Unless programmed to do so, a single EA couldn’t directly dictate the actions of another. Flag hoped that was true. It might make it easier for them to slip past.

With the SEALs in place, Flag darted ahead. He waited for the crowd of EAs to thin out, then gave the sign for the SEALs to leapfrog him again. They would continue that way until they were inside the building.

* * *

Deadshot hunkered behind the chain-link fence that surrounded the Federal Building. He was rapidly growing impatient with Flag and the SEALs and their snail-pace dance. At their current dead-man-walking speed, it would take them another twenty minutes to get inside. What was needed, he decided, wasn’t a cotillion, but a little rock ’n’ roll.

He slipped through a break in the fence and made his way to the front door. The creatures, involved with their own tasks, paid no attention to him. Group mind. Waller’s analysis appeared to be on target.

He waved to Flag and company, opened the door, and stepped inside.

* * *

Amanda Waller watched the drone feed from inside the ops center. She shook her head as Deadshot disobeyed his orders and calmly walked into the building. She held the remote detonator, deciding what to do.

That bastard’s going to get everyone killed.
At the same time she almost admired him—at least he got things done. So she put down the detonator and turned to the tech assigned to direct the camera. “Any visible threats?” she asked.

The tech maneuvered the drone over the Federal Building rooftop and had it do a 360º scan of the area.

“No, ma’am,” he answered. “All clear.”

Waller sat back in her chair, her hands nervously clasped together behind her head. Something was going to screw this up, she feared. Somehow, this mission was going to go south. But she said nothing. She needed the techs to do their jobs, and she didn’t want to add anything into the mix that might distract them.

* * *

Deadshot used his carbine sight to scan the Federal Building lobby. It was clear. Either the EAs were lousy tacticians and forgot to place guards, or they weren’t at all worried that the humans might find them. He prayed it was the former, but he knew better.

He crossed to the guard desk and checked the security monitors, which were still active—they had to have an internal power source. Each was focused on a different area of the building.

“All sectors are clear,” he said as Flag and the others entered.

“You were supposed to follow orders, Lawton,” the colonel growled, “and that meant following me, not going off on your little scavenger hunt.”

“If I listened to you, we’d still be outside.”

Flag turned to scan the monitors. “You do know you’re an asshole.”

“Better believe it,” Deadshot replied. “It’s on my business card. ‘Floyd Lawton, asshole assassin.’ You want, I can tell you where to get ’em printed. All you’d need to do is change the name.”

“I don’t see the problem, mates,” Boomer said, interrupting. “Looks like we had a spot of luck. A walk in the park. Easy peasy.”

“Will you please shut up,” Deadshot said. “Getting inside was the easy part. Finding our target won’t be.”

“That was the easy part?” Boomer asked, concerned.

“We’re still alive,” Deadshot answered.

“What’s the hard part?”

“When we’re not.”

* * *

Flag checked the building’s blueprints on his tablet. Satisfied, he put it back into its case and walked off to the left.

“Atrium’s this way. The stairs up are on the far end. Don’t wander.” He was talking to all of them, but he was staring at Deadshot.

Squad and SEALs followed Flag out of the lobby toward the building’s second quad. None of them noticed the slight movement on the guard desk’s main security monitor. For just an instant an EA looked at the camera, then scurried past, out of range.

* * *

“Any of you wankers got a clue why we’re doing this?” Boomer asked as they made their way through one endless stark white corridor after another. “Just saying, I’d rather be safe behind bars than get myself killed. Anyone else thinking about that?”

Flag tapped his cell phone holster. “Feel free to make a break for it, Harkness. I’m all for it.”

“Calm down, you two,” Deadshot said.

Croc stared at Lawton. “Something going on here I don’t know? When did you become Mister Peace Between All Nations?”