The Russian sergeant, dazed but recovering quickly, swayed uneasily. Sam’s stun grenade had detonated too far away from him to put him out of commission. He still had control over most of his muscles, and what he’d lost was returning. His machinegun dipped downward, but he fought to steady it.
“Throw down yoor weepons!”
Sam tossed his guns onto the pavement and then raised both hands in surrender and waited for an opening. The sergeant’s chest heaved as he approached Sam with the gait of a drunkard. Sam tensed and coiled like a rattlesnake. The sergeant frowned and examined his imposing, dark-skinned opponent, clearly puzzled. He glanced down at Sam’s weapons. As he did so, the barrel of his machinegun dropped an inch. It was enough. Sam sprang forward.
Russian curses spilled from the sergeant’s mouth as he fell back and unloaded a round of machinegun fire into the asphalt. Sparks ricocheted off the ground inches from where Sam had been standing. The large Subdivision agent hit the sergeant in the chest with his left forearm and pushed the machinegun down and away with his right. The sergeant tumbled onto his back, losing his weapon in the fall. It clattered across the pavement out of reach.
Howling in pain, the Russian threw an elbow into Sam’s jaw and broke free. He scrambled for the gun. Sam pounced. Both men tumbled to the ground and grappled for control.
“Amereecan peeg!”
Sam pinned the sergeant’s arms to the pavement. With a swift snap of his neck, he slammed his head into the Russian’s. The sergeant’s body went limp. Sam ran to Jessica and threw her over his shoulder. He engaged his communicator.
“Colonel?”
“Sam! What’s going on?”
“I have her, sir.”
“Give me more good news.”
Sam’s head dropped. “I setup an ambush. They think I’m an American. It’s at least Class 4, sir.”
Class 4. The Union Subdivision avoided extensive physical contact with non-timeslingers—civilian or military. Time travel was unpredictable, and leaving any kind of imprint on the past could lead to dire consequences years later. A Class 4 breach meant that no recovery was possible without modifications to known history. The only thing worse than Class 4 was Class 5, which meant a significant re-write of known history. This would be the first time the Subdivision had ever caused a Class 4 breach.
“Any chance of a memory swipe?”
“Too many of them. Too hard to control.”
A long pause followed as the gravity of the situation crept up onto Taylor’s shoulders. When he spoke again, his voice was grave, “Wipe the area clean.”
