The Payback War by Lisa Smedman

Author:Lisa Smedman [Smedman, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

18

Alexi ran for the helicraft, the wolfhound sprinting beside him. The motors were revving up, and Soldatenkof screamed static in Alexi’s ear. In another moment or two the helicraft would take off, leaving Alexi stranded here in Tomsk 13 with the growlers. . . .

Alexi skidded to a halt. What was wrong with him? The helicraft was just around the corner. Why was he hesitating? It would take off without him, leave him standing here like a fool, his feet frozen to the spot like a man in a dream where his legs will not move . . .

The wolfhound had also skidded to a stop. It crouched at the corner of the building, nose low to the ground and hackles raised. Then it nervously bared its teeth and whined.

Gunfire erupted just around the corner. A pistol—but in the hands of friend or foe? It had a slightly higher pitch—usually a sign of a Union weapon. But Alexi couldn’t be sure. Boris would have offered high odds on there being other Union paratroopers around here somewhere. . . .

Alexi jogged back the way he had come, the dog trotting obediently at his heels. He’d circle around and come at the helicraft from the other side. Then he saw an open doorway, and a patch of light coming through a hole in the far side of the building. And through this hole, a blur of silver that was the helicraft rotor. He decided to cut through the ruined building; it would be quickest. He pushed the door open wider and stepped into the building . . .

And stopped short when he saw the pile of canisters inside it. A dozen or more of the things were stacked in a neat pyramid, like tins on a grocery shelf. Tucked into the gaps between the canisters were fragmentation grenades. Lying at the base of the pyramid was a soldier in an MVD uniform, a grenade clutched in one rot-bloated hand.

The upper half of the soldier, to be more precise. Something had chewed away the lower half of his torso, one tiny bite at a time.

The stack of canisters needed only a single frag grenade tossed into the center of it to set it off. And the canisters—each stenciled with a single word in faded white letters— TABUN —together contained enough nerve gas to wipe out an entire city.

The room was large, and housed what looked like a heating system. Ducts led away from two squat boilers near the pile of nerve-gas canisters. The wolfhound had trotted over to one corner of the room and was pawing at some gouges in the floor near a vent, nose to the cement. Then it growled, and the fur along its spine rose in a sharp ridge.

From outside the building came a loud roaring that had a hollow reverberation, as though the sound were echoing inside a tin can. The sound sent a shiver through Alexi. He was suddenly very glad he wasn’t any closer to whatever was making that noise.

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