Krezi didn’t meet her eyes. She stared into the middle distance.
“It could have been me,” Tabitha said. “It could have been any one of us. Just luck. Luck of the draw. One second you’re alive, and the next second you’re dead, right through the jugular. This was Sergeant Lytle, you know? I mean, it’s not like we were friends, but we knew him, right? He called me darlin’. I think that’s probably against some rule, like it’s sexual harassment or not politically correct or something, but I liked it, and now he’s dead, somewhere back there.
“And it’s not like he’s the only one. The whole crew of our Bradley was blown to bits. Gone. I can’t even tell you what it was like. We had to step over one of them to get out. And one of them was so . . . I don’t know. It was like he wasn’t even there anymore, like there was no part of him that I could see. I don’t know how it happened.”
Krezi knelt in the cold grass. The captain was off the radio. A helicopter was coming.
“No, I do know how it happened,” Tabitha continued. “We were hit by a goddamned artillery shell. Right in the nose. I’m amazed any of us survived. I couldn’t hear a thing for five minutes, my head was ringing so much. And there was nothing any of us could do. Nothing. We were just sitting in that tin can, waiting to get shot at.
“That’s the worst of it. They knew that the Russians had something that could shut down every vehicle. And they have us looking for it in a Bradley? I mean, it’s better than making us walk out in that hellstorm, but that was really the best thing they could think of?”
Tabitha struggled against her sore muscles and sat down. The Green Berets were still on alert, but the battle was over. She hadn’t heard a shot in the last fifteen minutes.
“I don’t know about you, but I didn’t sign up for this so I could be target practice for the Russians. I signed up because they said if we didn’t sign up we’d be stuck in the quarantine until further notice. And you know what that until further notice means? Probably means forever. It means that instead of assigning us to combat they were going to experiment on us and see how we worked.
“And look at you. You didn’t get to finish basic training. You’re not a private—you’re a private lambda, which is the bottom of everything, and they have you out here fighting. They think that even without basic training they can just use you to shoot your lasers or whatever.
“Look, Krezi, I know I shouldn’t be talking like this. Our country was just hit by terrorists, and now it’s being invaded. But what about the constitution? What about our rights? Why are we protecting a country that would act like this?”
Tabitha paused. Maybe she’d said too much. Maybe she shouldn’t be venting to Krezi.
Or maybe she hadn’t said enough. Everyone had the right to know what they were facing. What the world was really like. Tabitha had tried talking to the others. Tried talking to Jack, but Tabitha could never say anything to Jack that wouldn’t eventually make it back to Aubrey, and Aubrey was such a loose cannon.
“You and I have talked about the rebellion,” Tabitha said, almost afraid to mention it again. She’d already brought it up once tonight only to be brushed away by Aubrey—pretending she couldn’t hear. “I shouldn’t even call it a rebellion. It’s more like a movement. Or a protest. I heard about it at the quarantine, and then when I was assigned to my first unit we saw them—they were trying to get more lambdas to join them.”
Tabitha didn’t tell Krezi that the rebel lambdas had tried to free the teens from a quarantine center. Tabitha’s first mission with the Green Berets had been to ferret out the rebels and stop them. They got to the quarantine center at the same time a lambda, a big guy who had grown into some kind of monster with scales and spines, was trying to tear down the fence. Tabitha’s Green Berets killed him. All he was trying to do was free teenagers from unconstitutional incarceration, and they’d shot him a dozen times. Maybe more.
“I don’t know where the rebels are anymore,” Tabitha said nervously. “I don’t know how we’d find them. But I’d rather be with them than on the front lines of World War Three. It’s not like they even need me here. You know what I’ve done tonight? I used my amazing powers to get someone in your Bradley to open the door. That was my contribution. And you—you shot at people, but were you more effective than any private with a rifle? My point is, it’s not like us leaving is going to hurt the war effort. Nothing’s going to fall apart just because we’re not around.”
She looked into the distance, to where dozens of vehicles burned. Maybe hundreds. So much death. And so much of it pointless—their soldiers had died as sitting ducks. Lytle had just happened to be sitting in the seat where the shrapnel flew. It could have been any one of them. It could have been her.
She touched her throat—the smooth, bare skin that was exposed above her Kevlar vest. She could see the chunk of metal in her mind, see the blood pouring down her chest.
It could have been her. She was sitting right across from him.
“I don’t know about you,” Tabitha said, “but I’m not doing this anymore. I don’t care if they lock me up for going AWOL—at least I won’t be out here, on the front lines, waiting for artillery to land on me.
“You can come if you want, Krezi. I can’t promise you’ll be safe. But it’ll be better than this. We can get home. We can see our families.”
There was the steady sound of helicopter blades coming in behind her, and Tabitha glanced over her shoulder to see the approaching Black Hawk.
She looked at Krezi, who hadn’t turned to face her this whole time. Was Krezi going to report everything? Turn her in?
Gillett shouted, “Everybody, move. I don’t want this bird to go powerless while we’re on it.”
Tabitha stood up and checked her rifle out of habit.
“You can ignore everything I just said,” Tabitha told Krezi. “But I mean it. I’ll take you with me. We can get out of here.”
Tabitha followed VanderHorst to where the Black Hawk was coming in to land. She had to shield her face from the flying dirt it kicked up.
She felt a hand grab her sleeve, and she turned to see Krezi. Even in the dark, she could tell the girl had been crying.
Krezi’s voice sounded like a whisper against the noise of the helicopter.
“Yes.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
ALEC WAS NO LONGER ALEC. He was Sergeant Moore. He had tricked a man into going into the clump of bushes beside a stream, where Alec had then choked him until he no longer struggled. The guy could easily have beaten him in a fair fight, but Alec was carrying a garrote—two sticks with a wire between them. He took the man’s uniform and boots, all of which were a size or two too big.
Fortunately, ACUs looked baggy on everyone, so Alec was no different. He fished in the pocket of his own pants and pulled out a black armband with the letters MP emblazoned on it. Military police. All the vehicles that survived were retreating from the battlefield, or heading to defensive positions, and Alec was standing at a central intersection, giving completely fake orders to all the men who were returning, directing one infantry company back north, sending tanks on a wild-goose chase down a westward road until they saw a big pink water tower—for all Alec knew, no such water tower existed.
He stayed at that intersection long enough to spread chaos, then pulled off his MP badge, stuffed it in a pocket, and followed a tired-looking infantry platoon that was heading back to base. After a few minutes he was able to bum a ride on a Bradley.
There weren’t enough medals for all the things he’d done. He hadn’t been properly thanked for his work at Bremerton, for setting the whole city on fire. Granted, he hadn’t done the grunt work, but it was his plan, and he’d watched from across the water as his people did their jobs—giving their lives for one final victory. And what a victory it had been! It had sent the American fleet scurrying into the sea, where the Russian fleet destroyed it. Alec didn’t know how they’d done it, but it had to be a lambda. Some ultrapowerful lambda. The Russian Fed
eration wouldn’t have created this wondrous gift and then not expected the blessed to use their powers to serve their nation. Of course the lambdas would serve. That was what they had to do—what they must do.
It hurt Alec’s pride a little to know that there were others like him—others who were better than him in so many ways. But now he was on the ground, getting close to the Americans’ base of operations. His people would see who the real hero was.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“WE HAVE TWO FLYERS AMONG our lambda group,” Major Brookes said, sitting at the head of the table. “But both are male. From that lambda base out in South Dakota.”
“This one was definitely a girl,” Jack said. He’d seen her clearly. She’d been wearing a formfitting black combat suit. “Somewhere between eighteen and twenty.”
The major had command over all of the lambda teams at the Yakima base. It had taken hours for Gillett to get a meeting with him, and Jack was exhausted. They’d been debriefing from their evening’s events for a solid hour. Jack’s watch was wrong—he hadn’t been able to fix it since their time inside the electrical interference—but he guessed it had to be close to two in the morning.
Jack was alone with Gillett and the major. The rest of the team had gone back to get some rest. Gillett seemed completely impervious to fatigue. He hadn’t yawned once. Even the major looked miserable—eyes red and lethargic.
“I’m going to take this up the chain of command,” Brookes said. “If their lambda is a flyer, then we should be able to track her down. Our radar can pick up flyers if they’re not too close to land—and if we know what we’re looking for.”
“It makes sense,” Jack said. “I’ve only heard rumors about the invasion and landing, but the concept of a flyer, and the concept of a bubble, all seem to fit what we know.”
Brookes nodded. “I like this bubble idea.” He scooped up his handful of papers and tapped them into a neat stack. “Now, I know you need sleep, but I want you to talk to one more person—our lambda doctor. Tonight was rough and I’m worried about all of the lambda teams.”
Jack nodded.
“Good work,” Major Brookes said, and stood. Jack and Gillett stood as well and watched as the major left the tent.
Gillett put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You all right for another hour of debrief?”
Jack forced a smile. “I’m dead on my feet.”
“One more hour,” Gillett said. “I’m sure that the doc is as tired as you.”
“Then that’s one tired doctor,” Jack said. He tried to straighten his posture. “I’ll manage.”
“You did good work today. Get to bed as soon as you can.”
“Yes, sir.”
Gillett headed out the door and Jack slumped back down into the chair. Because the enemy was so near—some sixty miles or so, Jack guessed—they were all still wearing their ACUs, including vest and helmet. He felt like he was carrying sandbags on his shoulders. Even his boots seemed to weigh fifty pounds.
And he had a headache. It was more than the usual buzz, the constant input of information that made his head ring. This was developing into a full-blown migraine. He’d almost thought he’d lost his hearing when that artillery shell had hit the Bradley, but now it seemed that all of that sound—and the sound of every explosion and gunshot since—had built up in his head, filling his brain and expanding outward to make his skull swell and ache. He felt like his ears were going to bleed, like pressure was building up behind his eyes to make them pop out of his head.
“Hey, Jack.”
He turned to see Aubrey sitting beside him.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She smiled, pushing her glasses up on her nose. She’d changed into her second pair since the first were broken. These frames were more stylish, not the simple wire ovals she usually wore, but a thicker, squarer frame, and violet instead of silver.
“I need to talk to you.”
“The doctor’s coming in to see me,” Jack said.
“I know. You listen for him,” Aubrey said. “When he comes, I’ll disappear.”
Jack wanted to think that Aubrey was coming to see him because they hadn’t spent much time together lately, but he could see on her face that it wasn’t about that. She wasn’t happy. Her eyes looked just as tired and red rimmed as the major’s had, and her hair was coming unpinned, drooping down under her helmet.
“What’s wrong?” Jack asked. It was a silly question. Everything was wrong. They’d just been in the middle of a firefight. Just seen a member of their team killed, and seen all the crew members of the Bradley blown apart in a vicious explosion. They knew more was ahead.
She looked at the floor, and put her hands on the side of her face. He could hear her heart pounding, and smell the salty wetness of a tear.
He reached for her hands, but she didn’t move to meet him, so he rested his palm on her knee. He could feel the softness of the gauze bandage beneath his hand.
“Thirty-one,” she said, and looked up at him through tearstained eyes.
“Thirty-one what?”
“Kills. Thirty-one. Nine yesterday. Twenty-two today.”
Jack froze.
Thirty-one kills. Aubrey Parsons. The same Aubrey Parsons who he’d played with since elementary school, who he’d gone to church with, who he . . . loved. Loved like a sister at first, and then more than a sister.
Now there was a dark emptiness in her eyes. A hardness that seemed so foreign on her gentle face.
“Say something, Jack,” she pleaded. “And don’t tell me I’m a soldier. I know I’m a soldier.”
He took a breath. “You’re a good person. You’re one of the best people I know. This doesn’t change that.”
“I’m not, though,” she said, and the tears began to flow freely. “I had to kill the nine people yesterday because I disobeyed orders.”
“You don’t know that Nick’s plan was better than yours,” Jack said. “It was just different.”
“It was better,” she said. “It would have put more people on the far side of that BMP, and farther away from Josi and Rich.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
She shook her head and wiped at her cheeks.
“It’s not just that, though. It’s not just yesterday. What about today?”
“You didn’t break orders today,” Jack said firmly. “You asked permission to fire, even though you knew we already had authorization to engage. We were being shot at.”
“But,” she said, and then stopped. She pulled off her glasses and wiped her eyes. Jack loved her eyes, especially now that he could see so much better. They appeared gray when you first looked at them, but they were filled with color—with greens and blues and streaks of yellow and white.
She put her glasses back on. “Do you think it matters—in war, I mean? Do you think it matters why you kill people?”
“Matters to who?” Jack asked. “To God?”
“To God. To other people. To humanity. To yourself.”
“You’re not a murderer,” Jack said. “They were shooting back at you.”
She spoke quick and sharp. “They weren’t shooting at me. They couldn’t even see me.”
“Then they were shooting at Americans. They were shooting at your ODA. You were saving lives.”
“I wasn’t trying to save lives,” she said, suddenly quiet.
He didn’t answer, but waited. He didn’t know what was going on inside her head, but he knew she had something she wanted to get out.
“I wasn’t trying to save lives,” she repeated. “I was trying to prove that I was a good soldier. I was trying to be everything that I wasn’t yesterday. Trying to follow orders and kill as many Russians as I possibly could.”
“You said it yourself,” Jack said softly. “You were trying to follow orders.”
She met his eyes. “But I was doing it for me. Don’t you get it? I wasn’t doing it to save lives or be patriotic or help the war effort. I did it so I’d feel b
etter about myself. And you know what? I don’t. I don’t feel any better about myself. I feel worse. I feel like I killed twenty-two men today all for my own gain.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know how else to tell you this, but you did the right thing. Everyone fires their guns for different reasons. Some fire because they’re scared of dying. Some fire because they’re angry. Some fire because their training kicks in and they’re on autopilot. I can’t read minds, but I can hear what they whisper to themselves while they’re fighting. Some are praying. Some are swearing. Some are scared. But it’s all just war.”
“That doesn’t make it okay,” she said, and wiped at another tear. “Does it? Isn’t that just another excuse?”
“War isn’t good,” Jack said. “I don’t think anyone would say it’s good unless they’re a psychopath. Some wars are more justified than others—and I think this is a justified war. We’re being invaded. They’re taking our homes. But that doesn’t make killing any easier, and nothing makes killing good. You’re not going to find a peaceful solution on the battlefield.”
“I don’t like that answer, Jack,” she said. “I don’t feel like a soldier is supposed to feel.”
“I don’t think we know how a soldier is supposed to feel,” Jack said. “Maybe this is it.”
“But it’s different for me,” she said, rubbing her neck. “Because I’m not a soldier. I’m an assassin. I shoot people when they can’t see me. That’s how I killed those nine men yesterday. And that’s how I killed so many tonight. I would have killed more, but I ran out of bullets.”
Jack reached out and took her hand. It was cold and sweaty, and he clasped it between both of his.
“You were saving lives. I know you can’t see it, and I know you don’t like it, but you were saving lives. Every one of those men you killed is one fewer man who would be pointing a gun at me or Josi or Krezi or any other soldier.”
She squeezed his hand back and nodded, close to sobbing.
“This sucks,” Jack said. “War sucks. Our being here sucks. Do you know what I kept thinking the whole time that you were out there tonight, shooting? I was terrified that one of us would accidentally shoot you in the back. Or that a stray bullet would find you even though you were invisible.”