He said, “Yeah, but I’m not sure this is going to work. We could end up getting our heads clubbed.”
“No other choice now. We’re down to six minutes. Execute.”
He said, “Roger that, but you’re really going to pay for this later. If I’m not in jail.”
I laughed and said, “I’ll get you out. I promise.”
Brett came on and said, “I’ve always wanted to do this. I mean, really. First one off.”
I saw something arc over the crowd, hit the shield of a military policeman, and explode in a spray of water. He sprang back at the offense, and then the rest of the team began launching their water bottles.
And that was all it took. The police came forward swinging batons and the crowd turned into a mob. Tear gas was deployed, the men behind the face shields showing true fear, and the mob overwhelmed them, storming the gates of the military base.
They spilled inside, having no idea what they intended to do, and we followed, dodging men clubbing people and protestors running amok.
Inside the chaos, to Paul, I said, “Where? Where do we go?”
He said, “This way,” and took off running. A military policeman chased him and came within striking distance before I interdicted him, slamming him to the ground.
I ripped off his helmet, said, “I’m sorry about this. You’ll understand later,” and punched him hard in the temple, knocking him out.
I leapt up and, on the radio, said, “Knuckles, Knuckles, where are you?”
“We’re in. I see you. Right behind you.”
I shouted at Paul, “Go, go!” and he took off running, Jennifer and me right behind him.
We reached a building proclaiming the 501st Missile Battalion just as a man came out front, holding a pistol. The protestors were running amok all over the place, and he waved the weapon in a manner that told me he would use it.
I said, “Paul, talk to him. Tell him to let us in.”
The mob flowed around us like roaches looking for shelter, all wanting somewhere to go but having no idea why.
Paul talked to the guard in Chinese, and the guard talked back. I could tell it wasn’t helpful. He waved his pistol at the protestors running all over the place, and I said, “Enough of this shit.”
Jennifer said, “What are you going to do?”
“Show that asshole that force matters.”
I walked up the steps to the battalion headquarters, and the man waved his gun in my face. I slapped it aside, locked up his wrist joint using the pistol he was holding, rotated around, and flipped him over my back, slamming him to the ground. I took away his pistol and said, “Paul, tell him we’re not the bad guys here.”
He said something to the man just as the crowd of protestors started coalescing on our position.
Jennifer said, “This is going bad.”
I said, “Get inside. We’re out of time.”
She went in and I saw Knuckles and Brett run up. I said, “Where’s Veep?”
Brett said, “Don’t know. We lost him. Probably getting his ass beat. What are we doing?”
I said, “Protect this door. Don’t let any of them in. I don’t care what it takes, nobody penetrates here for the next five minutes.”
The protestors were starting to destroy every building on the base, with Molotov cocktails being thrown, people being chased throughout the place, and the rage growing. It was starting to look like the beginning of the movie Escape from New York.
Brett said, “What’s the force authorized?”
I said, “Hostile engagement. If they try to get in here, you stop it. If it means lethal force, you take it.”
He pulled his pistol and said, “Okay. Get it done. We can’t stay out here forever.”
I released the man at my feet and he stood up, looking at us like we were crazy, which we most decidedly were. I said, “Paul, talk to him.”
Paul said something in Chinese, and the man nodded, growing somewhat calm. I said, “Good. In fact, you’re staying out here. Don’t let someone die because of a language barrier.”
To Knuckles, I said, “But don’t let a language barrier prevent you from stopping an assault on this building.”
He smiled, drew his weapon, and said, “Everybody speaks lethal force. There won’t be a language barrier.”
I said, “Good to go. Paul, where am I headed? Where is the command center?”
Paul talked to the guard, going back and forth with him. He turned to me and said, “Last room at the end of the hall. It’s the control room.”
I nodded and drew my weapon. “Jennifer, on me.”
We sprinted down the hallway, ignoring the people poking their heads out of doors. When we reached the end, I looked at Jennifer and said, “Get ready to fight.”
She raised her pistol at the high ready, and I pulled open the door. I entered first, scanning the room for threats, and then something like a baseball bat hit me in the right shoulder, slamming me to the ground.
I rolled over, realizing I had been shot and seeing Chen Ju-Long holding a pistol. Jennifer assaulted him, knocking the weapon out of his hands, and then his Chinese partner attacked her, stabbing out with a middle finger that had some sort of blade attached to the nail.
Jennifer whipped her hand up against her neck, and the blade punctured through her palm. She closed her fist around it and torqued the woman’s wrist, bringing her to her knees, holding the hand with the blade still through her fist, the ceramic puncturing the back side of her palm.
I leapt up, getting back in the fight. Chen Ju-Long raised his fists as if this was some even contest he was about to win. With my left arm, I crouched down and scooped up my pistol. He attempted to do the same with the weapon Jennifer had knocked out of his hands, and I fired, missing him, but causing him to stop.
He looked at me and said, “You can’t stop what’s coming. I don’t even know why you care. This is about China. Not the United States.”
I said, “No. This is about Dunkin, you miserable piece of shit.”
And broke the trigger again, sending him flying backwards, his head misshapen by the bullet.
I turned to Jennifer’s fight, seeing her still tied to the woman by the blade through her palm. Jennifer jammed her weapon against the Chinese assassin’s head and the woman screamed.
Jennifer pulled the trigger, dropping the assassin to the floor, the weight of her body pulling the blade out of Jennifer’s hand.
I said, “You okay?”
She cradled her bloodied palm and said, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll live.”
I rotated into the room and saw Fly Boy. I pointed my pistol. “Turn off those missiles. Right now.”
He raised his hands and said, “I can’t do that. I don’t have the authority.”
“Who does?”
“Nobody. Nobody does. They are on the way.”
I saw a clock on the wall counting down, and it was at less than thirty seconds. I said, “Is that impact?”
“Yes.”
“Turn it off. Self-destruct those missiles.”
“No. China is attacking us. That is our first line of defense.”
I took two steps to him, put my barrel in his face, and pulled the trigger, exploding his head and dropping him to the ground.
I turned into the room and saw the death had the intended effect, with everyone trembling at my capacity for violence. I said, “China is not attacking, but they will be soon if you let those missiles strike. Who can turn it off?”