47 Echo by Shawn Kupfer

friendlies, coming through,” the speakers crackled. The voice on the other end was deep and heavily accented.
    “RF friendlies? What the fuck does that mean?” Peter asked.
    “Russian Federation, I think,” Nick said, nodding to Christopher. “Put me on with them.”
    Christopher toggled the comm system and nodded back to Nick.
    “RF friendly incoming, this is Cougar 4-7 Echo.”
    “Greetings, 4-7 Echo. Looks like you have some stalkers on you. Do you need a hand?”
    “We’d appreciate it.” Nick smiled.
    “Head to our position. We’re sending a unit to deal with your problem,” the voice came back.
    “Do it, Chris.”
    Christopher headed toward the source of the transmission, and in less than a minute, the Cougar crew saw ten Russian TX-47s rumbling toward them. The lead vehicle stopped in front of the Cougar while the other nine tanks raced past it. All of them had the same words painted in Cyrillic on their olive-drab bodies in red paint.
    “What’s that say?” Michael asked.
    Owen, the last of the new convicts and who hadn’t spoken a word up to that point, piped up. “It’s in Russian. It means ‘Invaders Must Die.’“
    Nick toggled the rear cameras, and his crew crowded around to watch the monitors. The nine Russian tanks formed a line across the road, completely blocking off the Cougar from the approaching CDMs. As the three Chinese vehicles crested the hill, all nine Russian tanks opened fire, their massive front cannons lighting up the night. They kept firing as quickly as their crews could reload, spraying bullets from their front-mounted machine guns between salvos.
    The lead CDM took a direct hit front and center, and two of its gatlings peeled away from the frame. The other two CDMs quickly turned around and drove the other direction, and the Russian tanks concentrated their fire on the immobile lead CDM.
    It was all over in a few seconds, and the last remaining CDM was a smoking black shell.
    “I think we got him,” the voice on the radio said. “Come on out and say hello.”
    Nick nodded to Gabriel, who put his hand on the latch to the Cougar’s back door. Before he could turn the latch all the way, the back door fell off of its hinges and clanged to the road below. Nick couldn’t help chuckling as he led his men out of the Cougar. He stopped chuckling as he stepped over what was left of Reggie’s arm.
    “Hey! American friends!” Nick heard the voice from the radio outside the Cougar. It belonged to a tall, thin man in a dark green uniform. Nick didn’t know Russian ranks, but he guessed the man was at least a Colonel from the way he carried himself.
    “Nick Morrow, 47 Echo Second-in-Command,” Nick said, sticking out his hand.
    “Andrevich Petkov, Russian Federation fourteenth Armored Division Commander.” The thin man smiled, shaking Nick’s hand enthusiastically.
    “Thanks for the assist, Andrevich.”
    “Always glad to help, my American friend. Shall we go take a look at your stalker?”
    Nick nodded and followed Andrevich’s lead. As they walked past his tank unit, Nick saw that the men inside were now sitting on top of their tanks, smoking cigarettes. Nick lit one up himself as he and the Russian tank commander approached the motionless CDM.
    The smell was horrible, like rotted meat and burned hair. Andrevich put on a pair of thick gloves and opened the hatch at the back of the CDM. Nick and the Russian commander were greeted first by a huge cloud of smoke, accompanied by the smell of what Nick could only guess was burned flesh.
    He was right. As the smoke cleared, Nick could see that the inside of the vehicle was relatively undamaged, but its pilot had been cooked into his chair. He’d apparently tried to turn and let himself out of the vehicle when the shells had started hitting, but he obviously hadn’t made it—all he’d done was ensure that his charred death mask, frozen in mid-scream, was staring at Nick and Andrevich when the smoke