Orson Card - Earth unavare

“Yes, sir. They are fine soldiers. It was difficult to overrun their position.”

“Funny,” said Ketkar, smiling. “I didn’t hear so much as a scuffle.” He picked up the neatly folded flag on his desk and handed it to Wit. “You must tell me how it was done, though,” he said.

“HALO jump, sir.”

Ketkar frowned. “Attacking from the air? That’s breaking the rules, isn’t it?”

“I was not aware that our game had any rules, sir.”

Ketkar laughed. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. It’s a bitter irony, though. The PCs are paratroopers. You would think we would look to the sky.” He sighed. “Well, you are to be commended for coming this far, Captain. But surely you must realize that escape is impossible. My men have these facilities surrounded. They will never let you out of here.”

“With all due respect, sir, I think they will. They’ll open the front gate for us.”

Ketkar looked amused. “And why would they do that?”

“Because you will ask them to, sir.”

“Forgive me, Captain, but our friendship only goes so far. I will do nothing of the sort.”

“No, sir. I will do it for you. We have enough samples of your voice now.” Wit clicked over to the private frequency. “You ready, Lobo?”

“You’re good to go, sir,” said Lobo.

Wit began speaking, but it was Ketkar’s voice that came out of the speaker on Ketkar’s desk. He was broadcasting to every PC. “Gentlemen, this is Major Ketkar. I have just received a personal call from Captain Wit O’Toole of MOPs congratulating us on our victory. Many of you know, but some of you may not be aware, that I sent a small strike force ahead of our main force and asked them to observe strict radio silence. While our main force engaged the MOPs at their camp, creating a distraction, our strike unit has sneaked through and taken the flag from Captain O’Toole without suffering a single casualty. They are now approaching the base. I will meet them outside the gate, along with my senior officers, to give them a hero’s welcome. Once they’re inside, I expect you to do the same. Our friends in MOPs fought valiantly, but we have shown these cocky bastards who the real soldiers are.”

There was a cry of approval and applause from outside.

Major Ketkar was no longer smiling. “Well, that was unexpected.”

“Forgive me, sir,” said Wit. “I hope this doesn’t damage our future dinner plans.” He politely slapped a spider pad dead center on Ketkar’s chest.

Lobo had two cars waiting down in the building’s garage. Wit and the other MOPs climbed inside. All of them were now wearing the red berets of the Indian Para Commandos. At a distance, in the dark, they might pass for senior officers, but if anyone got a close look, the ruse would be up.

“Make a show if it,” said Wit. “Lots of celebratory honking.”

Three of them carried small Indian flags on sticks that they had taken from Ketkar’s desk. They cracked the windows and stuck the flags outside, waving them ceremoniously. Lobo pulled out of the garage, and Bogdanovich, at the wheel of the second car, followed. As soon as both cars were away from the building, Lobo started blaring the car horn in short beeps. The PCs, who were still a distance away, cheered and raised their weapons over their heads.

“They’re opening the gate,” said Wit. “Don’t gun it, Lobo. Keep a normal speed. You’re driving a major.”

“Yes, sir.”

Soldiers were leaving the safety of the barricade and running toward the cars, cheering and celebrating. Wit settled back in his chair, keeping his face in the shadows. The soldiers were still thirty yards away, but they would be on the cars in seconds. The gate was just ahead. “Normal speed,” repeated Wit. “Nice and easy.” The sentries at the gatehouse stepped outside and snapped to attention as the large gate doors slid open. Wit’s car began pulling through the gate, passing the sentries, just as the cheering soldiers behind them reached the second car and began slapping the trunk in celebration. One of the sentries at attention lowered his gaze to Wit’s car and smiled. The smile vanished an instant later. Then the man started yelling and reaching for his weapon, and all went to hell.

“Gun it, Lobo,” said Wit.

Lobo floored it. Behind them Bogdanovich did the same. The celebration became a furious mad scramble. Men tried climbing on to the second car, reaching for the door handle. Spider rounds pinged off the glass. Bogdanovich swerved and floored it. Men tumbled off the car.

“Roadblock,” said Lobo.

There were two vehicles parked in the road ahead with a half-dozen PCs already leveling their weapons.

Chi-won was sitting in the backseat beside Wit. “Chi-won,” said Wit.

“Happy to, sir.”

There was no explanation needed. Wit lowered his window just as Chi-won did. Their weapons were out the window an instant later, firing. PC suits flashed red and stiffened.

Lobo gunned it. “I’m going through.”

“Don’t run over anyone,” said Wit.

Lobo struck the first vehicle at just the right angle to push it enough to the side to get the car through. Metal crunched. Glass shattered. Tires spun. Lobo put his foot to the floor, the vehicle rocked to the side, and then they were free, racing away. The second car was right behind them. The shots from their rear were less frequent now, but Wit knew they weren’t in the clear yet. Far from it. The cars would be overtaken soon. They still had two hundred men between them and the MOPs camp.

They drove for another hundred yards around two winding curves and stopped. All nine of them were out of the car immediately.

Two MOPs soldiers emerged from the woods. Deen, the Brit, and Averbach, the Israeli.

“Evening, Captain,” said Deen. “We thought you might not be coming.” He looked at the new recruits. “These the new greenies? Pleased to meet, boys. Name’s Deen. Whose crazy idea was this? I love it.”

“Introductions later,” said Wit. “You’re about to have some angry PCs on your tail. Every vehicle on their base will be on top of you in about ten seconds.”

Deen shrugged nonchalantly then got behind the wheel of the first car. Averbach jumped into the second.

“Where I am taking this, Captain?” asked Deen.

“All over creation,” said Wit. “Have a field day. Just keep them occupied.”

Deen brushed some glass shards off the front seat. “I see that we’re not concerning ourselves with the paint job.”

“Try not to total it,” said Wit.

Deen gunned the engine and put a hand to his ear, smiling. “What’s that, Captain? I didn’t catch that last part.” He laughed and peeled away, with Averbach right behind him.

Wit gave them a mile at the most. Then the PCs would be all over them. He’d never do such a thing in a real operation, sacrificing two men like this, but Deen and Averbach said they didn’t mind. They’d take a spider round to the chest if it meant they got to trash a few vehicles in the process.

Wit was running down the slope through the forest with the new recruits. They tossed aside their red berets and replaced them with their helmets. Wit’s HUD flickered to life, barraging him with intel: temperature, distance to the river, projected water depth based on the amount of snow and rainfall in the area that winter. Branches lashed at his suit and helmet. The flag was in his back pouch. They were through the trees. The footbridge over the river was old and dilapidated. Much of the railing had fallen away long ago. The river was twenty feet below. Wit never slowed down. His HUD told him the water was likely deeper to the right. Wit leaped from the bridge. He flew through the air, hit water, and went under. The buoyancy of his dampening suit lifted him to the surface, and the current swept him downstream. His HUD gave him the water temperature and tracked the location of his men. All eight were in the water with him, moving quickly, bobbing along. The current was relatively calm in spots but it raged in others. Twice they saw large groups of PCs heading up the road adjacent to the river, back toward the base, hoping perhaps to stop whomever had the flag. No one looked toward the river. Or if they did, they didn’t see anything in the dark.