Special Purposes: First Strike Weapon

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

1653 UTC -1, 22nd November 1987

The Dietrich, North Atlantic

“WHAT DID YOU do?” Vadim asked, his finger curled around the finger of Princess’s AKS-74 as he looked down the barrel of Gulag’s Stechkin.

“Don’t you point your gun at me,” Gulag said quietly. He had a dripping saperka and knife in his off-hand. There were shell casings all over the floor. Vadim stepped into the room and to the side, letting Skull in behind him; Princess remained out in the corridor, watching their back.

“Couldn’t control yourself,” Vadim said, not bothering to hide his disgust, though the charnel stenches of the bridge castle were making him salivate.

“You’ve never liked me, have you? Why didn’t you just leave me in the pile of bodies you found me in?” Gulag hadn’t lowered his weapon.

“Lower your weapon, now,” Vadim told him.

“Make it easier for you to shoot me? I don’t think so.”

Vadim started to squeeze, feeling the resistance of the trigger against his finger. It would be so easy, and one less problem.

“Boys?” Princess said from the corridor.

Gulag had caused this, somehow. Vadim had to kill him. He was aware of the movement amongst the bodies down on the floor. He saw Skull shift, knew the sniper would handle it; he could concentrate on Gulag’s execution.

“Boss,” Skull said quietly. Vadim didn’t take his eye off Gulag, but he was aware of Gloria, Maria’s girl, covered in blood, wriggling out of the bodies. At first he took her for one of the zombies – expected Skull to kill her – but she wriggled free, took a few running steps to Gulag and wrapped her arms around him. Gulag put his arm round her, careful not to cut her with the knife or the saperka.

They heard sobbing from the pile; Skull kicked some of the bodies away and found the Carlsson boy, now the last survivor of his family. Skull reached over and pushed Vadim’s weapon down, and Gulag lowered his pistol.

“Skull, disarm Gulag and take him and the kids down onto the main deck. I want him down on his knees, facing a bulkhead, hands laced behind his head, you covering him at all times…” Vadim said. The children notwithstanding, he was far from convinced that Gulag didn’t cause this.

“Boss…” Skull started.

“Do you understand me?” Vadim growled, not taking his eyes off Gulag. Skull nodded.

“Him?” Gulag asked, turning to Skull. “Where were you?” Skull didn’t answer, and Vadim didn’t want to think about it right now. He started removing Gulag’s weapons from him.

He finished clearing the bridge castle with Princess. There were no more zombies. Even from deck three, he heard Maria’s reunion with her daughter.

ON THE LEDGE on deck three they found New Boy. Vadim checked his wound and – squashing the impulse to sink his teeth into it – confirmed it was a graze from a bullet rather than a bite. The young scout elected to stay where he was until their sweep was finished.

On deck four they found a carpet of dead bodies and a multitude of shell casings. It looked like Mongol and the Fräulein had lain down a lot of fire, covering the refugees so they could get to the bridge.

Eventually Vadim found himself stepping over the bodies on the stairs to the bridge, accompanied by Princess. He banged on the hatch, and a grim-looking Fräulein opened the door for them. He could hear weeping.

“Is it over?” she asked. Vadim nodded and stepped in.

There were two bodies lying in the corner. Even in the now cramped confines of the bridge people were trying to give them some room. “They were wounded on the way in,” the Fräulein offered by way of explanation.

The resentment and fear that Vadim had seen in the refugees’ eyes had given way to naked fear. They flinched when the squad walked by.

He caught sight of Mongol. Even dead, despite the sutured skin twisting his mouth into an obscene grin, Mongol looked sick.

Vadim felt eyes on him, and turned to find Schiller staring at him. The captain didn’t have to say anything; it was Vadim who had brought this onto his ship.

“Can you still sail this ship?” Vadim asked Schiller.

“Are my engine crew all dead?” Schiller asked. Yes, but we have them all locked in a container. The thought came bubbling up unbidden and with it the urge to start laughing and possibly never stop. Instead he nodded, screaming at himself internally.

“Colstein, you have the bridge,” Schiller told his first mate, walking past Vadim. He looked pale, drawn and exhausted. Vadim couldn’t think of anything useful to say to the man.

“Boss?” the Fräulein asked.

“Mongol, I want you to check New Boy’s leg wound, okay?” Vadim said. Mongol nodded. Vadim turned to the Fräulein. “Get everyone downstairs, we need to find out what happened.”

IT WAS SNOWING black snow again, but the sea wasn’t too rough and the cold didn’t bother the dead. The zombies in the containers seemed to have quietened down. He could hear them shuffling around and bumping into each other.

Mongol had properly cleaned and dressed New Boy’s leg wound. The scout had looked less than happy about this, keeping his pistol in his hand the whole time. It took a moment for Vadim to realise Mongol was salivating, dripping from his exposed jaw.

Gulag was down on his knees, hands behind his back, Skull standing a little way behind him. Vadim doubted the gangster would have done that for anyone else on the squad; perhaps the Fräulein, but he doubted it. Vadim could never make up his mind what Gulag thought of Skull. Did he fear him, hate him, respect him, a mixture of all three? He certainly seemed to believe that Skull would shoot him if the Muscovite gave the sniper any trouble.

The Fräulein was watching Gulag and Skull unhappily. Princess was dressed in a great deal of warm clothing and leaning against the bridge structure’s bulkhead in the shadow of the crane.

Maria was still there, with Gloria, trying the best she could to clean the child’s face. The Carlsson boy was there as well. Someone had brought them warm clothes. Vadim suspected Maria was loath to take her daughter back into the slaughterhouse that was the bridge castle. He was also sure that the Carlsson boy was going into shock. Both children kept glancing at Gulag.

Harris was also watching Gulag, but thoughtfully. Leary was leaning against one of the legs of the crane he had piloted. He looked more dazed than anything else; Vadim was pretty sure the longshoreman was also going into shock.

“Is that the guy who did it?” Harris asked, pointing at Gulag. He’d also found warmer clothes. Vadim ignored him.

“Captain!”

Vadim turned around to stare at the police officer, but all he saw was a sack of meat. It took him a moment to remember that it had been he, along with Maria, who had acted so bravely to help resolve the situation.

“Do we have a stake in this, or are we just your hostages?” It didn’t sound like a demand.

“We don’t know who did this yet.” It was the Fräulein who answered, in English. Then she looked at Vadim. “It’s what we’re here to find out.” He had the feeling that she was talking to him rather than Harris.

“You have a stake in this,” Vadim told the police officer. It was your people who got slaughtered. Again. “And you are not hostages.” The three civilians had earned their place. “Princess, I want you to translate for the Americans.”

Princess looked less than pleased but didn’t complain.

“Where were you, Gulag?” Vadim asked.

“I’m standing up,” Gulag said, starting to move.

“If he stands up, shoot him,” Vadim told Skull. Gulag stopped.

“That would make things easier for you, wouldn’t it?” Gulag said. “Easy to blame old Nikodim.”

“You said you saw them as meat,” the Fräulein pointed out. Princess was translating it all as Leary, Maria and Harris looked on.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” Leary muttered under his breath, though his anger seemed to have subsided with his bluster.

“I still didn’t do it, Infant,” Gulag said.

“Infant?” Harris asked, once Princess had translated, much to Vadim’s irritation. It wasn’t as though it was important right now.

“Do you know why they call him Infant?” Gulag asked. Princess translated. She seemed to be taking some kind of perverse pleasure in this. “Because he’s killed more people than the infant-mortality rate.” Gulag started laughing at his own joke.

“You bastards!” Maria spat after she’d heard the English version. Her voice caused more bumping and moaning from the containers.

“That’s not why they call me Infant,” Vadim muttered in English, which Princess helpfully translated into Russian for Mongol, Skull and Gulag.

“Can you let him face us?” Harris asked. Vadim shot him a questioning look. “I’m police, it helps to see people’s faces, to get an idea if they’re telling the truth or not.”

“Gulag, turn around, keep your hands behind your head,” the Fräulein told him. Gulag did as he was bidden, but he was staring at Skull.

“So cool, Skull, but I know. Despite all your bible bullshit, you like killing just as much as me,” he said. The sniper didn’t respond. “Where were you?”

“Yes, where were you?” the Fräulein asked the sniper. “How did you end up on top of the castle bridge?”

“I went for a walk,” Skull said.

“Where?” Vadim asked. Gulag’s grin made him want to kick him in the teeth.

“Along the stacks. Then I climbed the other crane, from there onto the roof of the bridge.”

“Anyone see you?” Harris asked. Princess didn’t even bother translating.

“He wouldn’t be much good if they did,” she told him, and then to Vadim: “Boss, Skull didn’t do this, you know that.”

“How would you know?” Gulag asked from his knees. “See, I know I didn’t do this, because I know where I was and what I was doing. I’m pretty sure Princess and New Boy didn’t do it, because they’re the prey, not the hunters anymore.” Princess bristled. “As for the rest of you…” He turned to Princess. “See maybe the old Skull wouldn’t. Though frankly I think he was a sick bastard as well. But that corpse” – he pointed at the other sniper – “that you think is your daddy isn’t the same creature he was. You don’t know what goes on in our heads, you don’t know how we see stringy sacks of flesh like you, the thoughts we have when we smell your raw meat.”

Princess wasn’t translating anymore; she was just staring at Gulag. Harris was watching Gulag very carefully.

Princess turned to Vadim. “I want to put him out of my misery.”

“Not just yet,” the Fräulein told her. Vadim was watching Skull, but if there was a reaction to Gulag’s words, he couldn’t see it.

“He’s not acting like he’s guilty,” Harris said, nodding towards Gulag. “An arsehole, but not guilty.”

“Not translating anymore?” Gulag asked Princess.

“He said you’re an arsehole,” she told him.

“So Fräulein and I were together until Officer Harris joined us…” Vadim started.

“Excuse me, captain,” Leary said. His most recent brush with death had done wonders for his manners. “Nik was with me.” It took Vadim a moment to work out that Nik was Gulag.

“Yes, winding you up to send you after me,” Vadim said, “as a distraction.”

“You’d be surprised how little excuse people need to get pissed off with you,” Gulag told him.

“Are you saying you didn’t send him after the boss?” the Fräulein asked. “Then why were you talking to him?”

Gulag didn’t answer.

“Because he wanted to feel human again, like a real person,” Mongol said quietly. Everyone turned to look at the big medic. Gulag had squeezed his eyes shut. Vadim couldn’t quite read his expression. Anguish, maybe.

“Glory, no!” Maria suddenly shouted as her daughter wriggled out of her arms and ran across the snowy deck and threw herself into Gulag’s blood-stained arms. Gulag hugged the girl fiercely.

“It’s all right,” he told her. “It’s all right, you’re safe now,” he whispered in a language she couldn’t possibly understand. Vadim couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Nor was he sure he could have maintained that level of self-control. Most telling was Maria, who seemed almost unconcerned.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Harris said. Vadim turned, to see the policeman looking straight at Mongol.

The truth was written all over the big medic’s face.

“Nergui…?” the Fräulein said. Vadim could hear the heartbreak in her voice. Even Princess looked appalled.

“No,” Gulag moaned, his eyes still closed tight, still hugging the girl.

Mongol leaned his RPKS against one of the containers and stepped away from it.

“I need to let you go now,” Gulag told Gloria, his eyes open again. He started to prise her arms off him, but she didn’t want to let go. Eventually her mother had to come and remove her. “I’m standing up now,” he told Vadim, who just nodded numbly. He climbed to his feet and turned to Mongol. “I’m sorry man,” he said.

“I wouldn’t have let them kill you,” Mongol told him. Gulag nodded.

“You tried to put it on Skull!” Princess spat, clearly still angry at Gulag. Gulag shrugged. Skull didn’t seem particularly bothered, but Vadim wondered if the sniper intended to deal with this at a later date.

“What happened?” Harris asked. Still glaring at Gulag, Princess translated. Mongol tried to speak a few times.

“I – she reminded me of my cousin…” His words trailed away. Then he shook his head and looked down. “No. We’re trapped in these rotting bodies.” Then he looked straight at Vadim. “Can’t you feel it?”

Right then, more than ever, Vadim could.

“Life, warmth, belonging, that’s what my family means to me. I didn’t mean to hurt her. More than anything, I just wanted to talk to a child. They are the antithesis of what we are, so full of life.” Mongol was trying his best not to look at either of the children present. Maria hugged Gloria more tightly, tears in her eyes. “She screamed, she was frightened.” His hand rose up to touch the rictus grin of his face. The Carlsson boy was staring at Mongol, terrified, transfixed. Vadim was worried that they would lose the boy. “She screamed. After that, I don’t know, I can’t remember…” He squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his fist and screamed, making Maria, Leary and the children jump.

“It’s not true. Her fear, her blood. I lost control, but I remember everything, every morsel. By the time I managed to control myself, it was too late.”

“Okay,” the Fräulein said. “You’ve fucked up, but we can…” she faltered.

“Do what?” Maria asked as Princess translated. She stood up, holding Gloria close to her, moving the Carlsson boy behind her. “You are monsters; we keep saying it, you seem to acknowledge it, but nobody wants to do anything. You’re the worst of both worlds: zombie cannibals and well-trained commandos. You’re like every normal person’s worse nightmare.”

“I think they saved our lives in New York,” Harris said quietly.

“Or brought the dead with them,” Maria said. “But even if they did, maybe if we’d died, it would be better than living on this knife edge. Waiting for them to kill the rest of us.”

“Better your child had died?” Princess asked. Maria glanced at her and then looked back at Vadim.

“If you ever had even the slightest regard for humanity, you need to kill yourselves right now,” she told him. Vadim was pretty sure she was right. Except that seemed too easy. Except there were people he didn’t think should live longer than him.

Or you’re just afraid.

“What about him?” Harris asked, nodding towards Gulag.

“He’s…” the Fräulein started. The gunshot made all the civilians jump. A neat hole appeared in the middle of Mongol’s head. He toppled backwards into the black snow. The Fräulein and New Boy were both staring, appalled, Gulag looked away, shaking his head, even Princess looked shocked.

“He was one of us!” the Fräulein screamed at Vadim. She had never spoken to him like that before.

Neither of the children were crying. They’d seen far too much now.

Vadim lowered his weapon.

“We don’t kill the living,” he said simply. Then: “We need his ammunition,” as he turned and walked away.