One by one Shinoda and the rest of the team acknowledged the order. Michael slipped into a burned-out shop and put on his chromaflage cape. After a careful check to make sure that nothing more than a tiny slit across his eyes had been left exposed, he set off to Papa-Six, a derelict factory ten blocks from where Hartspring was quartered.
Tucked away out of sight behind a pile of scrapped machinery, Michael and the team watched the holovid feed from the holocams Kleber had set up.
Hartspring’s unit was billeted in a school; like many of Cooperbridge’s buildings, it was damaged, though not as badly as some. It still had most of its roof and walls. The yard in front was clear of debris, filled instead with marine all-terrain vehicles mounted with a mix of crew-served weapons: heavy machine guns, light antiarmor and air-defense missiles, and 120-millimeter mobile mortar launchers along with microdrone, grenade, and infrared smoke launchers. As Michael watched, the crews were busily throwing chromaflage netting across all the ATVs.
“Looks like they’ve just gotten back,” Shinoda said, shifting the holocam down into the infrared. “Yup, lot of heat coming off those vehicles.”
Michael nodded, trying to stay positive and failing. “That’s good, I guess,” he said. “Means they should be around for a while.”
“Probably, but we need to do this fast, sir. The cart’s been kicked over. The Hammers will be coming after us.”
“They will. What’s this?” Michael added as a small convoy of truckbots pulled up, black jumpsuited figures spilling out of the back.
“DocSec,” Shinoda said. “Wonder what they’re doing here.”
Mallory leaned forward to look at the screen. “I know what they are,” she said. “You’re looking at a DocSec search team.”
“How do you know that?” Michael asked.
“I worked with them once … in another life. See those boxes?”
Michael nodded. The DocSec troopers were manhandling plasfiber crates out of the trucks and carrying them into the schoolyard.
“The large boxes are perimeter security equipment: laser trip wires and so on. The small ones will be full of searchbots. Let me see … Yes, looking at how many boxes they’ve got, they’ve got enough to seal off and search a couple of city blocks at a time.”
Michael swore. Searchbots were like sniffer dogs, only smarter and with better noses, and they never tried to hump your leg. They hunted for traces of carbon dioxide in the air; no matter where you hid, they’d find you. The only way to dodge them was to wear one of the absorbent face masks the special forces teams used. Since he didn’t have any masks at hand, the only other option was to stop breathing, and even then the bots would find him thanks to sensors capable of detecting warm bodies, body odor, and the smell of fear.
Michael swore some more. He did not like what he was seeing. He did not know what it meant, but his instincts told him it was not good. But what he did know, even if he could not explain why, was that it was time for him to go it alone. He could not-he would not-risk the lives of his team any longer.
Michael swung around. “Okay, guys,” he said. “This is nonnegotiable, so don’t argue with me, because if you do-” He reached into his belt and pulled out his laser pistol, a squat, ugly weapon good only for killing at very short range. “-I’ll shoot each one of you in the damn foot and keep shooting until you do as I say. Understood?”
The shocked silence was total.
“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” he went on. “Sergeant Shinoda, the team’s yours. If you leave now, there’s half a chance you’ll get out of the city before the DocSec search teams get rolling. Go and go now. And yes, that is an order.”
Shinoda stared back at Michael for a moment. Then she nodded. “Yes, sir,” she said. She turned to the team. “Okay, everyone. We’ll head down Velici to Juliet-Two. Chromaflage capes on until we get there and move slowly; there’ll be surveillance drones over us for sure. From Juliet-Two down Armada until we hit the Kumasi road, then head south. Don’t forget your countersurveillance drills. If we get separated, the initial rally point is Quebec-Four. If that’s been compromised, then head for Mike-Nine. Questions? None? Good. Kleber, go check that our egress is clear. The rest of you wait for me by the old generator room. Go!” she snapped when nobody moved.
“I’m staying, sarge,” Delabi said, her face a hard, stubborn scowl.
“No, you’re not, trooper. You heard the colonel; you’re going even if I have to shoot you myself.”
Delabi gave a reluctant nod and got to her feet. She looked at Michael. “DocSec killed both my grandparents and my brother,” she said, “so I want you to kill the motherfucker for me.”
“I will,” Michael replied.
“Good luck, sir,” Kleber said, and with that the troopers turned and left.
“I don’t like this, sir,” Shinoda said.
“Nor do I do, sergeant, but I might have a chance on my own. You’d best go.”
Shinoda put her hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Just make sure you come back, okay? I don’t want to have to explain to Anna what happened.”
Her words ripped at Michael’s soul. He cursed his one-eyed pursuit of Hartspring. All logic said he should be leaving with Shinoda and the rest. He’d have done better riding shotgun on Anna, and he knew it, just as he knew he’d never rest until Hartspring and Polk were dead. “I’ll be okay,” he said, his voice soft. “I’m a survivor.”
“That you are, sir. Good luck.”
“Thanks. Get the team back safely.”
“I will.”
With that, Shinoda left, leaving Michael feeling more alone than ever. He shook his head. Shinoda hadn’t asked what his plan was. Why would she? She knew full well he didn’t have one unless hoping to evade the DocSec search teams long enough to kill Hartspring was a plan. Who was he kidding? That was just make it up as you go along.
The Hammers had been busy. The truckbots had parked. The boxes with the tiny searchbots had been opened. The ground was cluttered with small turtlelike shapes, the shells studded with small antennas, stubby sniffer probes, and infrared and acoustic sensors. And for every ten turtles, there was a command bot with comm lasers and antennas on its back to control its flock and provide a datalink to the search commander’s drones orbiting overhead.
As he looked at the scene, something bothered him the way the fact that ENCOMM always knew where Hartspring and Team Victor were did. It was him they were after; that much was obvious. But he could have been anywhere in Cooperbridge. So why were the search teams setting up their bots at Team Victor’s headquarters when they had a whole city to search? It didn’t seem a very efficient way to do business. Michael could only assume that Hartspring was the man in charge of the search, and that was what he wanted.
The more he thought about it, the more his confidence returned. All he had to do was be careful, take his time, and stay clear of the DocSec search teams as they ground their way block by block across Cooperbridge. As long as he did that, he would be safe. And his time would come. Cooperbridge might not have been in the front line, but it was too juicy a target for the NRA to leave alone. They’d attacked it already, and they would go on attacking it. And that was when he would get his chance. He would slip through the chaos and confusion, kill Hartspring, and be gone before the last NRA lander had unloaded its bombs.
An hour later, there was a flurry of activity. Twenty or so of the DocSec troopers dropped what they were doing and grabbed the boxes containing perimeter security equipment. The troopers followed the boxes into the back of the trucks. The truckbots roared off. The minute they’d gone, a DocSec officer-a major from his rank badges and probably the man in charge, Michael reckoned-sprinted across the yard and disappeared inside the school.
Ten minutes later, the DocSec major reappeared, waving his senior NCOs over into what was clearly a briefing. The major did a lot of talking, even drawing a mud map in the dust of the yard. Finally heads nodded, and the group dispersed, moving now with clear purpose, the men galvanized into action with much shouting and
