When Diplomacy Fails . . . (31 page)

She nodded while drawing in breaths.

“Jessie, how are you doing?”

“Scared,” she said, and the trembles gave it away. She seemed recovered from the running and ready for more. Young, light, unencumbered by gear. Must be nice. And yes, scary.

“Good. Time to move,” he said. “Bart, Aramis assist Ms. Highland. Lionel assist Jessie. Elke and Jason on point.”

Jason said, “Always a punishment for being best. Let’s do it.”

CHAPTER 25

ARAMIS FELT GOOD,
with occasional tingles of fear. These trogs loved their random gunfire, and relied on prayer for hits. Prayer and hits had about the same likelihood of success, but enough millions of rounds meant someone would hit the jackpot. He’d been fragged once in a previous mission, tortured this time . . . he felt mortal. Not good.

Highland was in that state of mind where she’d try to lag for rest. It wasn’t conscious, and military training taught you to get past that, but she hadn’t had that, so he grabbed an arm with Bart and hurried her along. She was courageous enough. Again he wondered why she bothered posing. He didn’t like the bitch, but she had enough guts if she’d just show those.

Jessie ran alongside, offering encouragement.

“Come on, ma’am. We’re doing it. We’re with you.”

Aramis would have preferred to get Military Trainer on her, but it wouldn’t help. She was working hard.

The route was as it should be. This wall was farther along than he’d expected, though. Trust the government to get something right at the wrong time.

“We turn in two hundred meters,” he said.

Cady sounded angry. “The devil we do. Those crabherders got the berm built.”

“Aw, shit.”

Yes, he could see it, past the debris, tools and remains of buildings. The wall was still being built, but the berm used to set it was steep, high and had that cut in the middle, where the wall would go. Some eager crew had run ahead of schedule, probably to wangle for budget.

“Now I hate contractors,” he muttered.

“We’ll have to cross it,” Jason said. “Not quite my field of engineering, but if I can find some poly sheets or lumber, we can do it.”

It was then that a targeted drone zipped over the berm and dove for them with an angry buzz.

Even Highland remembered her gun, and eleven weapons swung that way.

Aramis was just behind Jason. Jason was slightly in the lead, and grinned as he got the gun lined up. Then the drone spit itself to pieces, as he heard rapidfire from the Medusa. Bart had beat him.

“Well done,” he acknowledged. That put him back to the event at hand—combat construction of a bridge while at the top of a berm between hostiles. Aramis wondered how the hell you did that.

Cady said, “I don’t wish to alarm anyone, but the angry mob is about three minutes behind us and closing.”

Some sort of projectile wooshed and crashed not far away, and they all dove for cover amidst cable drums and re-rod boxes.

Elke said, “Recon” and swung her shotgun. The dull sound gave away what she’d fired. The tiny camera snapped photos as it flew, and the computer in her visor stripped away the worthless ones that showed sky. She thumbed a control, clicked for several, and a moment later they popped up on his goggles.

Neither resolution, aperture nor size were good, but it was clear enough there was a missile mortar support element on the far side. They seemed to be some local army, but it was hard to tell which and didn’t matter.

Aramis tried hard to chill the frustration. It wouldn’t help, and they needed clear thinking right now. Active hostiles over the berm/wall. Others closing. Exactly what they wanted, except for being stuck in the middle. Engineering was Jason’s job. They had light support weapons in the Medusa. They had a reinforced squad. Alex was a good leader, what could he do to help?

Alex said, “We could really use some mortar fire. Elke, any ideas? Charges we can toss?”

She looked at him, looked at Jason, Jason looked at her, and the two of them took off at a low sprint.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Alex muttered. “Aramis, Bart, keep Witch covered.”

“Yes, sir,” Aramis nodded.

For now, all they could do was bunker down. That berm was very solid, and they lacked anything with the required punch.

Aramis was embarrassed. This new army was not as capable as his had been. In less than five years, the entire philosophy had changed with the leadership. They were more geared toward fighting lightly armed rebels than real threats. That came from consensus building rather than competent central authority.

Still, they were keeping the rebels here well tied up. Though at some point soon, someone higher up would order a heavier engagement, he was sure.

Some kind of engine roared behind the building. It was a turbine, and sounded military. He got ready to shoot at the driver if he had to.

It could also be an industrial engine, he realized, as a cement mixer barreled around the corner, leaving tire compound in tracks and throwing debris. Jason and Elke were in the cab, he driving, she on shotgun. Jason braked hard but kept it straight, which threw the doors open to crack hinges against the detents. They bailed out in leaping rolls as it reached zero speed, and took cover as it sped up again, the engine revving in an insane whine. Jason had jammed it in gear, pinned the steering and let the engine run.

It almost reached the berm when Elke rose enough to key something on her box, and the explosions started.

The first one lifted the rear of the vehicle two meters off the ground in a dusty slam. The second ripped the drum from its mounts and angled it up and forward while throwing the damaged chassis back down. The third one blew as the truck smashed into the berm.

As the drum stood upright, a dull whump rippled it, then peeled it into petals from the mouth, turning it into a bizarre metal flower. The contents erupted out the mouth in a volcanic splash of gray ooze, looking like ten cubic meters of fantasy lava, in globs and clumps and a huge fountain. It caused a dark, foreboding shadow as it rose. It reached apogee, tumbled and fell, right behind the berm.

Twelve tons of concrete “mortar” wasn’t quite what he had in mind, but the wreckage against the berm made a convenient step, and there wasn’t any enemy fire in that area. The steel flower of the blown drum tumbled and fluttered down to land atop the glop.

“Well done.” Alex couldn’t say anything else. “We’ll need to detour north.”

Bart took point and let the guns swivel. He chose targets near people but legitimately kept the casualty count low, though there were always collaterals.

Like that pair with what looked like a crude rocket launcher. It might be effective and it might hit, so he tagged them for a grenade and felt it kick the harness as it launched. It was an incendiary. He was out of the antipersonnel rounds.

It splashed in sparkly white, ripping one in pieces and sending the other shrieking in basso wails until he fell over and convulsed and stopped.

“Keep moving,” Alex said. “We’re following.”

He did so, lumbering along, and something sailed past him. The visor flashed a warning, but it was outgoing, something on a string, so probably Elke’s. That was confirmed when it hit the ground and cascaded in stages, from a first brilliant flare to gleaming fires, to flashing sparks and embers. Something overhead arced into the conflagration at high speed and exploded. She’d decoyed it.

Bart said, “I think they’ve escalated. Elke successfully shut off this section. The others are increasing fire.”

Cady asked, “Do we have any idea which faction it is?”

Jason said, “I’d almost say army, except the fire is almost too good and all lethal. Aerospace Force doesn’t have that kind of hardware. It’s not Marines, in this sector, so it’s a local faction. I’d guess that’s the Sufi. They’re about the best local.”

“Well, if we can keep that up, we’ve got a semi-professional contact approaching from the north.”

“Interesting,” Aramis said. “That’s Amala territory, and they’re certainly not anything professional.”

Helas asked, “Suborned? An elite group? Infiltrated?”

Elke had some kind of scanner, and said, “Munitions are Croatian. So they may be anyone’s.”

Jason looked frustrated as he said, “Who cares? We knew it wouldn’t go as planned. Move!”

They clustered up around Highland and Jessie and ran east in a crouch. After the berm there was a ditch, then debris where annexed property had been demolished. He presumed that was their immediate destination. It was a solid kilometer, and he was already breathing hard, with the weight of the Medusa, and Highland’s drag.

Jessie was keeping good pace, though. She certainly had been a runner.

The occasional fire increased. Then another drone rose behind them. He heard it, but it had to have already logged them. He turned, sighted, let the #2 gun slap a burst into it, and resumed.

Alex said, “Bart just killed a drone. Assume we’re compromised.”

“That wasn’t a military drone,” Elke said. “Do we have a photo?”

Bart said, “Yes, but I’m not sure how to get it from the system. Is it important?”

“It might be,” she said.

“Then I will try.” He was running, would soon have to actively dodge fire, half-carrying a weakened noncombatant and thirty kilos of Medusa. Now they wanted him to do technical work while avoiding debris and craters.

He thumbed a control, then another. There it was, and then gone.
Scheisse
. Hopefully not lost. There. He leapt like a 150 kilogram ballerina over a large chunk of concrete. He found the link for network, confirmed it was the one Jason projected from his pack, and sent it.

“Sent,” he called to Elke.

A moment later she said, “That’s a Ranco Industries model, last generation. They lost the trials on UN military, but were declined export license. They were a little too good for that.”

Highland said, “But Blanding was CEO of Ranco before he . . .”

And she’d been talking to him, at length.

Alex said, “He was a suspect.”

Cady added, “He may not be the only one. Alliance? Overlapping?”

“We can’t know.”

Highland’s voice was ragged as she hurled, “I want that fucker dead.”

“Not in our power to do, ma’am,” Alex said as he dropped alongside. He needn’t have. She found renewed energy somewhere and surged. Bart let her move ahead.

“If you get a chance . . .”

“We will follow contract, law and rules of engagement. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Fuck you, too,” she snarled.

“Cover in there,” Aramis said and pointed. “There are supposed to be tunnels.”

“Tunnels?” Jessie asked.

“Power conduit tunnels, more than big enough to crawl in.”

“I’ll try,” she said. Claustrophobe?

“That’s our best bet at the moment.”

A serious, aimed burst of machine gun fire chewed chips from the debris around them. They shouted, shrieked or grunted as they felt minded to. Bart tracked back as best he could, fired a burst into the building from #1, and followed with a grenade from #4.

Then he almost smashed Highland into the wall as he turned to go sideways through the door. He paused to let her shift, banged his weapon and his knee, but got through, dragged her carefully past the frame, as Aramis brought up the rear.

“Must . . . rest,” she rasped.

Aramis said, “One swallow of water, three deep breaths, and we have to find the tunnels.”

“Should we split up?” Cady asked. “We can do more damage?”

Bart wasn’t sure where her advantage came from, but Cady hardly seemed winded. She rolled on the balls of her feet, ready to spring.

“Down, or up?” he asked, because more than that would tire him. Also, he wasn’t sure about dragging the bitch—either Highland or the Medusa—through the tunnels.

It was Lionel who said, “Above offers sniping position. Under will be harder to locate. We need to be rats.”

Alex agreed. “Even though we’re taking the fight to them, we’re twelve, currently ten, versus thousands. We want to instigate, not wave our arms and offer it up.”

“Through here,” Aramis said. There was a collective groan, sigh, murmur and agreement that moving was better than standing, and they all followed at a jog, which would be easy except for the exhaustion of the previous sprints.

This had been an office building, perhaps twenty years ago. On Earth it would have been replaced by now. Here, it had apparently become apartments, then offices again, and the structure was weakened by a combination of substandard materials, age and conflict. Yes, if the tunnels were of good depth, they would be much safer than any elevation in this derelict.

Aramis seemed to know where they were going, and it was impressive how many maps, charts and building plans he could have. It was almost as if he had an inertial tracker in his brain.

They took a turn, then another. They went through what had been an office but had only broken remains of fixtures and furniture left. The walls had been pried to access the wires and fibers. That led to another door, to a service corridor.

“Elke, door,” Aramis said.

She stepped up, slapped on a patch, took a large step sideways, and popped the lock. Or rather, banged it. His goggles stopped a few sharp tatters of plastic, and he caught one in his teeth, which he swept clear and spit.

Lionel looked at Aramis, who nodded. He kicked the door wide, waved his carbine down the empty stairs, then took point.

Not quite empty stairs. They’d been used for storage once the tunnels were no longer used.

“Ears,” Lionel said. Bart checked Highland was wearing hers.

In enclosed quarters, even moderated guns were loud. His burst shredded several boxes, that seemed to be full of paper copies of documents.

“Ah, crap.”

“Let me,” Elke said. “Back in the hall.”

Bart was in the doorway and stepped aside. The front two backed out, leaving Elke to fish out something, toss it, then step aside herself.

“Fire in the hole.”

A roaring nimbus erupted from the doorway, blowing cindered paper and heavier chunks. He felt an overpressure slap. Highland whimpered, JessieM yelped. The rest flinched and waited. Five seconds later, Elke threw a thumb up and led the way.

He turned in and found she’d made worthy headway, but there was more crap down there, the lowest levels at the bottom of the landing were molded and slimy. Down the next flight, some stuff had tumbled and slipped in a small avalanche, but by careful foot placement they could step and ease their way through hot embers, acrid smoke, clutter and trash.

At the bottom, Aramis had opened the tunnel door himself, with a pry bar.