Death Before Dishonor Read online

  “Thank you.” Yuri poked his brother in the meat of his shoulder. “Hey, no stutter-stepping. I need you on your A-game for this one. None of that half-ass moral-high-ground shit. We’re in enemy territory, and they’ll kill us if we don’t kill them first. Think about the SAS clowns.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you good?”

  “I’m good.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah—let’s go over the plan one more time.”

  ***

  Terry and Yuri made use of snow shoes over the frigid wastes, dragging a rake behind them as they trekked through the waist-deep snow blanketing the topography separating them and their target. Terry was in the lead, navigating to their point of ingress. Meanwhile, Yuri brought up the rear, dragging the rake to scrub evidence of their passage.

  The climbs were fairly benign—frozen wilderness notwithstanding—but the descents proved treacherous as the windward sides were less stable and the climbing, cutting, diving, and demolition gear were weighing them down heavily. Terry tried not to let discomfort frustrate him. Yuri, as usual, didn’t seem to notice the weight or the weather.

  Terry kept a close eye on his watch, wanting to keep them on schedule. They had built this operation with a large enough margin of time to deal with slowdowns, but they still needed the cover of darkness. He estimated that the current pace would put them at their final checkpoint within the target time. When they finally arrived, they fanned out to inspect the area. Then they met back up, and Terry remarked that they were twenty minutes behind schedule. Yuri didn’t much care so long as they were in the water before the lookouts had sunlight on their side.

  Yuri dropped his gear in the snow, organizing it all in a line. Terry followed suit, squeezing the releases on his buckles and the gates on his carabineers, dropping his mountain gear into the snow next to his brother’s. Finally relieved of the weight, he stretched his arms above his head as far as his winter jacket would allow, arching his back to ease the stress.

  “Hey, how’d the visit with Veronica’s family go?” grunted Terry while he stretched.

  “It went.”

  “That’s it? It went?”

  “Pretty much.” Yuri started assembling the saws while Terry laid out his weapons in case they needed to defend themselves and beat a hasty escape.

  “What’d you all do?” he asked.

  “You know, the typical shit: dinner, boring conversation, politicking.”

  “Sounds glorious.”

  “It was for me.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I tried to kill her father,” Yuri deadpanned.

  “Not in the least bit surprised by that. What stopped you?”

  “The rest of her family when his face turned blue.”

  Terry chortled a steamy exhale.

  "Hey, can you double-check our position, Ter?" Yuri requested, estimating about how far they appeared to be from where the shore should have been. “If the shore were visible through the snow, I’d be able to tell, but all I can do is guess right now.”

  Terry pulled his tablet from his pack and tapped an imagery icon that showed local temperature gradients. The area where they were standing was the warmest location situated closest to the spillway entrance. "Yeah—this is it. Dig in, bro."

  "Splendid. Now move," Yuri demanded as he slammed the blade of a saw down at Terry's feet. Terry leaped backward the best he could with snow shoes on. The teeth of the saw bit into the wooden rim of the shoe, catching Terry's foot and causing him to fall into the snow.

  "What the fuck is your problem?"

  "Sorry—it slipped," Yuri said, smiling.

  Yuri swept aside bushels of snow with the broadside, building a mountain of his own to either side of a small trench at the bottom of which he planned to cut the hole. Terry pulled off his snowshoes, unfolded his spade, and began assisting. By the time they struck ice, they were up to their shoulders. Once they had sufficient ice showing and a satisfying space cleared, Yuri began chipping away ice with the blunted tip until he was through to the water beneath. From there, the brothers could plunge the serrated portion through, and they sawed a three-foot wide by four-foot long block that was easily two-foot thick within thirty minutes, heaving it clear.

  Terry wasted no time getting out of his winter gear and into his anti-exposure suit, pulling on his dive harness and rebreather. Yuri quickly ran his hands over the weak points, seams, and connections of Terry's gear. Everything checked out, so he connected the tether to a D-ring on Terry's shoulder and dragged the demolition gear up to the edge of the hole.

  "Make sure you check the seals on the electronic equipment before you jump in,” Terry reminded Yuri as he pulled on his mask. “A drowned tablet won't help us."

  "Dude, I got this. This isn't my first rodeo.” He gave Terry a firm smack on the backside. “Giddy-up."

  Terry shook his head. "I’m just trying to make sure you don’t forget anything."

  “Why are you not gone yet?”

  Terry stuffed the regulator of his rebreather in his mouth. He took a raspy, mechanical inhale; it gave him a positive indication of flow. All was in order nearest he could tell. He took a momentary sanity check as he neared the edge of the hole.

  "Get going already," Yuri barked as he started pulling on his own anti-exposure suit.

  Terry’s middle finger shot up. He closed his eyes, readying himself for the opening shock of wet, frigid hatred, and plunged through the hole.

  Thunk-ba-doom.

  Terry struck the slush, his eyes slamming open and his muscles seizing despite the suit. It was so cold, in fact, that Terry’s senses thought he was being burned. Then he willed his lungs to breathe; the hollow gurgle of inhalation through the rebreather rebooted his higher brain functions, giving him something else to hang on other than cold. His awareness, like a sonar pulse, instantly spread out in all directions.

  The next thing his senses detected were the near imperceptible low-frequency waves that shifted him laterally in long periods. Next was the sloshing silence that cradled his head through the hood of his suit. There was, also, the high-pitch warbling of the ice creaking due to the dynamic motion of the water. Different portions of the ice sheet were impressed upwards while other areas were compelled down as the ice flexed with waves. Terry toggled on his headlamp, and it lit up a cone of frozen gloom when it hummed to life. He checked his compass and locked onto a heading, flattened himself out, and began kicking in the direction of their next checkpoint. Kicking forced blood back into his extremities and helped keep his body temperature manageable. After several minutes of busy flutter kicking, Terry noticed multiple vertical inconsistencies, which he bet were the bars of the grate covering the mainline to the facilities sewage. He kicked hard toward them until they came into view. He wrapped his fingers around two bars and gave them a solid tug, checking their integrity. Although they were old, rusted, and brittle, they still had enough resilience to shrug off human-grade force. They'd have to cut through. Terry and Yuri were prepared for that.

  Thunk-ba-doom.

  That was Yuri entering the water. And he sent a shock out that interrupted the death-like stillness in all directions. Terry felt it as his depth pulsed in response.

  Yuri propelled himself in his brother’s direction using the tether as a guide, towing his gear behind him and cursing the cold water with unholy expletives. Yuri kicked furiously, trying to produce a desperate level of warmth, not paying attention to how rapidly he was closing the distance between himself and his brother. He torpedoed Terry, slamming them both into the grate. Terry, for his part, felt the tether tug as Yuri approached but hadn’t expected him to plow into his back. Startled, Terry spun and clipped Yuri with his elbow, breaking the seal of Yuri’s mask, who immediately pulsed backward, releasing a mouthful of bubbles and curses that sounded like “Muh-moo-wow!”

  Terry responded with “Muh-moo-moo-mwah!”

  “Mwah,” Yuri snapped, clearing his mask and toggling o
n his headlamp, and he shined it on Terry’s tow pack. He unzipped it and pulled out the first of five cutting-pylons. With one hand, he grabbed the bar of the grate and then wedged the pylon between his shoulder and the bars, pressing into it to hold it; with the other hand, he adjusted his ballast. Satisfied, he gripped the pylon and secured it to one of the bars using zip ties, and then he reached for and drew another. Wash, rinse, repeat. Once Yuri was finished, Terry checked that each pylon was adequately secure, that their blades were unobstructed, and that the charges were securely fastened.

  Everything checked out, so Terry and Yuri backed away, Yuri pushing his tow pack clear and Terry disconnecting from his pack and letting it sink.

  Terry looked at Yuri and flickered his headlamp: Ready to do this?

  Yuri’s middle finger shot up.

  Terry shook his head and hit the switch. The blades punched through the rusted metal with a squealing buzz and splash of sparks that bloomed in straight lines, never arcing like the streaks of phosphorous from an overhead fireworks detonation, and cooled a split second later into nothingness. The light from the sparks reflected off the icy ceiling and the murky floor, and in that split second, Terry and Yuri could make out their environment: above them was a grey-colored, frozen sky with dagger-like stalactites stabbing into the depths. Below was inky blackness that blanketed a floor that he couldn’t see—despite its relatively shallow forty-foot depth. Between the ice and the floor, suspended in the water, were myriad particles of different sizes that reminded Terry of falling snow.

  Terry checked the hole they had cut in the grate; it was big enough for them to swim through unhindered. He pulled himself through, giving one strong dolphin kick to drive him clear, and then turned to watch his brother come through. Yuri followed with no trouble, and they flutter kicked, with Terry in the lead, in the direction they estimated the opening of the spillway to be. Yuri aimed his headlamp above Terry’s head, trying to aid him in locating the outlet that led into the spillway. Terry, now on his back and coasting in between kicks, scanned above them, looking for evidence. After several moments, he saw a patch of black that was blacker than the rest and made his ascent. As Terry neared the blackness, he slowed to look for more evidence. He didn’t want to poke his head out in the wrong place—like, say, in front of two gun-toting guards.

  Three rusted, derelict pipes came into view along his ascent, assuring Terry that they were ascending into the correct location. Terry figured the pipes were part of the supply lines used in cooling the apparatuses the Soviets had used nearly a century ago to enrich uranium as well as keep the munitions cool.

  Now he was in a tube-like vein with walls made of brick and dark brown slime. Just ahead—well, above him, really—the shine of his headlamp didn’t dissipate into nothingness as it had for the duration of their time in the water. Now the light shined as if onto a wall, a glassy, shiny one. It was the surface.

  Terry strangled his headlamp and slowed his ascent so that he didn’t breach like a startled whale. The top of his head broke the surface slowly, and he spun in a circle, looking for light—guards needed light. He saw none, turned his headlamp back on, and looked for a way to climb out.

  ***

  The spillway, a sideways cylinder bisected lengthwise, one hundred feet in length and with a twenty-foot radius, constructed entirely of brick, slime, and algae, was painted in phantasmal green light from a bundle of glow sticks the brothers had hung from a spike that jutted from a wall. Corroded pipes ran the length of the walls and burrowed into the brick at the far end to make their way into the facility. There was also a door that serviced the spillway, and it was flanked by openings that led into narrower tunnels that doubled as ventilation and as overflow in the event of a spill.

  “Does it bother you that we just did the backstroke in toxic waste?” Yuri asked.

  “I always wanted kids with three eyes.”

  “That’s the least of your concerns.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You lack this necessary element called a woman.”

  “Fine, I want a three-eyed niece.”

  Yuri chuckled

  “I do. I want a niece that I can call Triclops.”

  They laughed as they stripped off their anti-exposure suits and stowed their gear. Then they toward the door. Yuri checked it. It was rusted shut. He pointed to the ventilation system, and Terry nodded.

  Terry pulled the grate free and then positioned his night vision goggles on his head. “After you,” he said, inclining his head.

  “Thank you, sir,” Yuri said, going on to his stomach into the tunnel, dragging the demolition gear behind him. Terry followed, pushing Yuri’s pack from the other side.

  The tunnel wasn’t as claustrophobic as other vents they had crawled through, but it was perhaps the dirtiest with all its cobwebs, slime, and algae. At least their shoulders weren’t rubbing against the walls, which added a measure of comfort since they didn’t feel as though they were going to get stuck. They inched their way through the vent as it wormed through the facility.

  Yuri hadn’t had a cigarette in forever, and he was climbing the walls. The air was blowing on his face and back into the spillway. He was downwind, and now was as good of a time as any. Terry was going to bitch about it, but Yuri was used to it.

  Terry heard the snap-click of what he swore sounded like a zippo. “Did you just light up?”

  “Yup,” Yuri replied, slithering through the pooled muck of the vents on his forearms.

  “You've got to be shitting me,” Terry rasped. “Are you trying to get us caught?”

  “Yup.”

  Stupid questions required stupid answers.

  “Yuri!”

  “Screaming’s only going to get us caught, princess. Being downwind won’t stop your screaming from being heard.”

  “I’m not screaming,” Terry said archly.

  “Keep pushing. You’re getting sensitive, and it’s causing you to stop working.”

  “Goddammit, Yuri, you’re impossible.”

  “I concur. But don’t worry, everyone here is eastern European.”

  Terry lifted his head over the pack and burned a hole in his brother's back with his eyes. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

  “Everyone in Europe smokes. Even if they could smell the smoke, they wouldn't know any different.”

  Terry hissed. “That's the stupidest logic of ever heard.”

  “But it's still logic.” Yuri stopped because he felt Terry stop helping. “Talk and push, bro.”

  “I swear Mom must've dropped you.”

  “You leave the dead woman out of this.”

  “I thought you quit.”

  “I did.”

  “Well, what the hell happened?”

  Yuri ground to a halt again, inhaled deeply, and then pulled the cigarette from his mouth. He exhaled in a steady, tight stream of fumes, and the ghostly red beam of an alarm installed into the vent became visible just ahead.

  “Realized quitters never succeed.”

  ***

  Yuri found a grate that opened into the yard of the compound in an area that afforded the most natural cover. The brothers opened it, exited, and surveyed the area, putting the final touches on their plan before they split and went their separate ways.

  Yuri crept towards the rail depot. He had assumed that much of the material was stored in the rail cars for two reasons: first, the facility lacked much storage space that didn’t require heavy-lifting equipment, which couldn’t be used in this kind of weather, and second, the roving security details were centrally located near them.

  Meanwhile, Terry hustled across the facility courtyard and aimed for the central buildings of the facility. He slithered up to a door that led into the main compound and disappeared inside once he was sure that the coast was clear. The clock was running.

  ***

  Yuri crept along the gray-brown snow trails carved by repeated patrols between the rusted hul
ks of train cars. The RKO, like any prudent para-military organization, had posted sporadic sentries along the walls and the guard towers—mostly in the guard towers, where they had the greatest view of the yard and the area surrounding the facility. Inside the compound, the RKO had posted rovers to walk about and ensure the internal security. While infiltration was highly unlikely this far into the winter wasteland, the RKO couldn’t afford to slack on their security in light of the recent infiltration by a special operations unit and the possibility of a Georgian raid. A two-man team seeking to cut the head off of the proverbial serpent was at the bottom of their list of practical and probable threats. Most of all, the RKO were grossly unequipped to deal with Terry’s and Yuri’s skill and precision, and the brothers knew it.

  Yuri froze and then disappeared into the shadow of a train car when he got a whiff of cigarette smoke followed by the sound of crunching snow. Yuri allowed an unsuspecting rover to pass him by, close enough that Yuri could make out the rover’s facial hair.

  The rover was dressed warmly in leathers, furs, and a wool cap, with a cigarette hanging from his lip and a carbine hanging from his shoulder. Yuri remembered that he and Terry had decided to minimize the casualties. They weren’t against snapping a neck where necessary, but if the body count started to climb too high, the RKO would grow suspicious and initiate a messy manhunt and gunfight. Yuri and Terry wanted neither.

  Once the rover turned a corner, Yuri went about inspecting the cars. He poked his head into them and shined in his infrared flashlight. The cars lit up like daytime in his night vision monocle. The first six hulks turned up nothing of interest, but the seventh, which was much closer to the inlet rail, bore fruit. Yuri climbed into the car and flooded it with IR light. Palletized equipment lined the bulkheads, covered in a tarp. He lifted a corner.

  Bingo.

  Yuri dropped his pack and started pulling out C4 charges and planting them to maximize the effect of their blast radius. Considering he was unsure as to how much material the RKO had brought in, he had to ration the explosives since his supply was limited.