Authors: Richard Parry
His men — the ones still loyal to him and not to the pay check — were pushing into the facility.
He knew the target would be at the top.
Not Morgan’s kid — but Everard.
He’d be drawn up there like a bee to honey, and that’s where they’d take him down.
That was the deal.
“You want this, yes?
”
Volk had spat blood onto the ground.
“The power.
You need it.
”
“It gives a tactical advantage I can’t ignore.
”
Spencer had pushed the man with his boot, watching as the Russian had winced in pain.
“Still, you’re not invincible.
I have to wonder if it’s worth it.
”
“Worth it?
You will see many things.
”
Volk had coughed, red bubbles coming to his lips.
His hand had reached up, clawing at Spencer’s pants.
“I promise you this.
By tooth and claw, it will be done.
”
“What’s the catch?
”
Spencer had adopted a bored expression, thumbing silver rounds into his pistol’s clip.
He’d cocked the weapon, looking away from Volk.
Waiting.
“Da.
”
Volk had levered himself up against the wall, and grinned through the pain. “You must help me.
Erase mistakes.
”
“Mistakes?
”
“The other wolf.
He should not be alive.
”
Spencer couldn’t have agreed more.
Everard should be six feet under.
“It sounds like we have a deal.
”
He’d offered Volk a hand.
It was curious that Volk wanted Everard dead.
He was sure they didn’t know each other, and such passion — well, it was to be admired, certainly.
But it could be a cause for concern.
If it distracted them —
No, it wasn’t a distraction, it was the price of the mission.
Once Spencer had Volk’s gift, he’d give it to his men, and they’d become an army.
Perhaps they could challenge the natural order of things.
He’d always wanted to run his own country; the people usually in charge were motivated by politics and petty ambition, rather than structure and order.
He’d do a better job of it.
There was an explosion as his men breached the main door.
He thumbed his radio, ordering a handful of troops to flank their approach and take the rear.
They were a sacrificial pool, designed to draw enemy fire, but the distraction might buy him success.
If the enemy thought that they were being attacked on two fronts, they’d have to divide their forces.
The shame of all of this was the cost of good men; soldiers on both sides were dying, good men he’d fought alongside before and hoped he would again.
The extra sweetener here was the Ebonlake contract; the death payments to families could potentially bankrupt a company the size of Biomne.
Maybe that was wishful thinking.
“Volk.
It’s time to move.”
Spencer nodded at the front entrance.
“We’ve got a breach.”
“
Da
.
So you do, Captain.”
Volk grinned.
“This is fun, yes?”
Spencer eyed the man.
“Let’s just get it done.”
“Of course.”
Volk hefted the baseball bat he carried.
It was a signed José Canseco bat, an older Worth one by the looks of it.
Spencer wasn’t a fan of the game, but he recognised that bat.
“Why did you bring that?
A gun would be more effective.”
Volk shrugged.
“This is very effective!
Besides.
Canseco was the first honest American I hear of in Russia.”
“Honest?”
Spencer spat on the ground.
“Didn’t he admit to doing steroids?”
“As I said.
Honest.”
Volk started to jog towards the entrance, smoke pouring out of the breached doorway.
“Come, Captain!
There is much killing to be done.”
Now that was a curious way of phrasing it.
They were after Everard, for sure.
Casualties would happen en route, that was a certainty, but Spencer took no special pleasure in it.
It was like reaping wheat; it needed to be done to put food on the table, but that was all.
Volk — well, the man seemed to relish it.
Spencer watched as Volk reached the front of the battle, three soldiers still at the doorway.
God, but he was fast.
As the Russian ran, he scooped up one of Spencer’s loyal troops from behind, holding the man up as a shield.
The surprised soldier had time to yell before the salvo of bullets hit his body.
Volk had hunkered down behind his human shield, still running, until he was in amidst the soldiers at the doorway.
He threw the dead human shield at one man, then swung his bat into the helmet of another soldier.
The man’s head spun around, neck broken, his body tumbling into a patch of fire and smoke.
Volk didn’t stop to look at what he’d done —
he’s damn sure that man’s dead, isn’t he
— just whipping the bat around over his head, gaining a revolution of momentum before releasing the bat into a throw.
Spencer was sure he could hear the low woosh of it, even over the noise of the battle around them.
It spun horizontally through the air, connecting with another man’s helmet and bouncing off.
The man fell, twitching, and Volk —
God damn, but he didn’t just catch that bat did he?
That was an impressive thing to see.
Another soldier fired at Volk, but he wasn’t there anymore — he’d ducked into the smoke.
The soldier took a cautious step forward before Volk lunged back out of the smoke, an overhead swing cracking the top of the man’s helmet.
Spencer stepped through the doorway, looking at the bodies.
“You’re right.”
“About what?”
Volk was grinning like a happy dog.
“That bat.
It’s effective.”
Spencer waved his hands, and soldiers started to stream past them.
“I’m curious, Captain.”
“About what?”
“All of you.
You wear black.
Da
?”
Volk picked up one of the bodies and shook it.
It looked to Spencer for all the world like a cat trying to play some life back into a dead mouse.
“It’s the uniform.
Studies show black is intimidating.”
Spencer nudged a body with his foot, then fired once into the body’s head and twice into the chest — you could never be too sure.
Once when he’d been a rank and file grunt, his squad had been almost wiped out by an insurgent who was presumed dead.
Carelessness cost lives.
“I understand.
What I wonder is, how you tell each other apart?”
“It doesn’t seem to bother you.”
Spencer nodded at the torn body of the soldier Volk had used as a human shield.
“That man was on our side.”
“He was on
your
side, Captain.”
Volk showed his teeth.
“He was not on my side.”
“What —”
But Volk was gone, loping off into the building.
Damn it but the man was cryptic.
Spencer assumed it was a language issue, or that Volk was simply crazy.
Either way, he had solutions to those problems; once he had the gift, he could resolve the issues around Volk permanently.
He patted the grenade harness around his body absently, feeling the dull metal of the silver.
It’d been painted black so that Volk wouldn’t notice, but the grenades were a complex mix of ingredients — a full silver casing with nano-particles of silver suspended in a gel at the core.
Spencer was almost certain that one of those going off near you wouldn’t make you happy.
The metal shards would carry the silver into the blood, and then — well.
The silver in the gel wasn’t a solid like a bullet that could be pulled out.
Spencer smiled a dead smile to himself.
If what he’d seen when he shot Everard was anything to go by, a werewolf hit with one of these would burn alive from the inside out.
Volk’s untrustworthiness was a risk, and when you had risks you needed to carry insurance.
If Volk tried to double cross him, the best the man could hope for was for them both to die.
It seemed fair to Spencer.
It was as he was lost in thought that he almost died.
It was a careless mistake — he’d assumed the squad he’d sent to the rear of the building would be effective.
Most of his men were seasoned veterans, the odd new blood salted in for good measure.
Spencer thought they’d breach the rear of the building and meet him here.
What he didn’t expect was the three civilians in their stead.
Civilians
, for God’s sake, instead of his squad.
Two of them looked familiar — no, he corrected himself.
All three were from the hospital — Everard’s friends.
Spencer was so surprised to see them he failed to act, his gun resting in his hands while he stared.
One of them —
another woman, they show no damn respect
— drew a sidearm on him.
She was pulling the trigger as Spencer’s brain kicked in, and he rolled behind the reception desk in the lobby.
It was a small calibre weapon, but still dangerous through the wood of the desk.
He caught sight of Volk at the base of the stairwell, door held open as the big man looked at the action.
He was grinning again.
Spencer lifted his rifle and fired blind over the top of the lobby desk.
It wouldn’t hit anything unless he was really lucky, but it’d keep their heads down.
True to form, the shooting on his position stopped, and he risked a look around the edge of the desk.
Large pillars touched the roof — they’d be hiding behind those.
It didn’t matter; he just needed to get to the top of the building.
“Volk!”
Spencer said.
The man’s gaze swung briefly to him, then back into the room.
“Give me a distraction!”
The big man looked at him again.
“I think this is distracting enough —”
“Motherfu—”
It was a woman’s voice, and Spencer risked another look.
His eyes widened.
One of the other civilians —
a crossbow?
Really? —
was trying to run towards Volk or the stairwell — it was one and the same.
The third, a man, was wrestling with her, trying to get her behind a pillar.
Spencer grinned to himself, and stood up.
He raised his rifle, but ducked back down as the first woman pulled out from behind a pillar and fired at him.
He’d never have a better chance; Spencer ran towards the stairwell where Volk was waiting, bullets dogging his steps, the shots ringing loud and fierce in the lobby.
He was almost there when Volk stepped back, letting the door close.
Spencer slammed against the outside, then kicked it open, ducking into the dark beyond.
The ceiling light was out but he saw Volk’s teeth glinting in the dark.
“They a part of plan?”
The Russian chuckled from the darkness.
“No.”
Spencer breathed heavily, then faced the door.
He raised his rifle, shooting the door mechanism.
That would slow them down some.
Unless Everard had turned them — but no.
They wouldn’t have needed cover if they’d been turned, they were flesh and blood like he was.
“Why’d you shut the door?”
“Is fun, this.”
Spencer saw the shadow of the man heading up the stairs.
“Back home, I did not get much excitement.”
Christ.
It was all some big game to him.
That’s the last thing Spencer needed — some kind of goddamned Leeroy Jenkins on the battlefield.
He’d need to bear that in mind, stay behind Volk and not rely on his support.
It wasn’t a mistake he’d make again.
Spencer tasted dust in his mouth, spitting onto the ground.
“Excitement, huh.”
He checked his weapon again, then touched his grenade belt to make sure they were still there.
“I guarantee you’ll get all the excitement you need before the day is done.”
There was no response.
Spencer hurried up the stairs behind Volk, hearing noise from above — gunshots, then the sound of something heavy hitting flesh.
He came to the second floor landing, finding black armoured bodies.
One man had been shoved through the stair rail, his head staring upwards as his chest faced down.
Spencer looked away, then climbed higher.