Тим Пауэрс - Bugs and Known Problems

Nothing says “ Tutti stanno calmi, calmi …” like a bipod mounted FN Minimi and a box magazine of belted ammunition. Except perhaps, two of them.

Yes indeed. One per vehicle, perched across the roof.

I checked the coolers that the directore offered us. As far as I could tell, everything was present and correct. I’d insisted on getting the complete order in one go, despite his bleating that he couldn’t afford to short other customers. Eventually, with a few glances at our team, he yielded, and added a third container.

We left the hospital without incident.

It is a human failing to want to relax as soon as you pass the point of maximum perceived danger. That’s an error.

The mission is never over until you count your last Guardsman across the threshold and turn over the post. Which is why, even as we turned onto Viale Vaticane, the road that parallels Vatican City just outside the stone walls, I wasn’t wholly surprised when a Carabinieri panel van shot out of the alley and hit us. Aldemar was one of our Guards who’d been to driving school, so his reactions kept the impact to a glancing blow, instead of being center punched as the attackers intended.

Once we came to rest, however, we were hung up on a traffic bollard.

Immediately, small arms fire peppered our SUV. I wasn’t too worried, since the damage to the bullet proof glass suggested a light caliber. However, we were immobile, which means we were vulnerable. Right on time, glass jars of petrol broke against the hood and grill. They were trying to damage the engine, not merely kill us outright. That meant a hijack.

Then the first high powered round pierced the glass, and struck Detective Tranquilo, the Gendarme with the FN. We immediately scrunched down behind the thicker door armor, and Hallebardier Aldemar rocked the SUV, trying to free us.

Understand, that this all happened in the space of fifteen seconds. I was still processing the direction of the attack, reaching for a trauma bandage with one hand and keying the radio mic with the other when the Boivin saved our ass. He ordered his driver to ram our stalled vehicle, knocking us back onto the road. He’d also gotten all of his guns into play, and plaster, cement and stone chips flew from the orange facade of the hotel that held our ambushers.

Then one of the windows of the hotel opposite our walls belched flame. I thought it was a rocket attack and cursed. That we couldn’t survive. Even as bile rose in my throat, a second window exploded, and the incoming fire dropped to almost nothing. I registered a sharp bark and looked over to see Boivin hanging outside passenger window of the second SUV, shooting his third grenade from a South African revolving tear gas launcher. Then a fourth.

While I knew that we had access to the crowd control weapon, I had no idea where Boivin had found explosive grenades. I probably didn’t want to know. Actually, scratch that. I really did want to know. We could use some more.

Meanwhile, we were still in the ambush zone and eventually some creative opportunist would come along to finish what our ambushers started.

"Will it run?" I asked Aldemar.

For an answer he gunned the gas pedal, and our SUV crabbed down the street a few hundred more yards, paced by my faithful Boivin.

Who attacked us? Someone with a police truck. Doesn’t prove it actually the Carabinieri. Was it the original buyers for the vaccine? Maybe desperate citizens that resented our apparent safety inside Vatican City? I still don’t know. Doesn’t matter.

The Gendarme bled out from his neck wound before we drove back into the sally port.

Cardinal Crivetto never relinquished the initiative that he seized during the first postmortem meeting of the Curia. He had the full, public support of only a few of the prelates. Much of the Curia and the surviving members of the College of Cardinals were overwhelmingly focused on finding a mechanism to reconvene the Conclave. Globally, there were still many cardinals, but the rule prohibiting members of the college older than eighty from voting subtracted heavily from the available pool. Many cardinals, often the younger and more pious, had also succumbed to the disease in the course of living up to their oaths to minister to the sick.

In fact, the entire basis for one of the seven sacraments, the Anointing of the Sick, was nearly called into question. Fortunately protocols that permitted clergy to minister to the "sick," even if they were bound, muzzled and tranquilized, were adopted from practices secretly perfected by the Archdiocese of New York. In fact, issues of scale persuaded them to administer last rights to thousands of infected at a time.

Talk about pragmatists.

At least it cut down on the number of priests that we were losing.

I know that this account is rambling.

Sorry.

I haven’t even mentioned one of my biggest problems. When I added it to the agenda for the weekly executive session of the Curia, it blew up more than a little bit.

We were nearly out of ammunition.

The sole remaining cardinal in Rome didn’t lose his head.

"Hauptman Gagliardi, we won’t try to dissect how this came to be," Cardinal Crivetto said, gesturing around the table where the weekly Curia executive committee was in session. "We must focus on what we can do. Is there more ammunition to be had anywhere?"

"Of course, we must discuss who is responsible for this outrageous lapse!" stated Archbishop Tangretti, lightly tapping one fist on the table. "Who’s to be held accountable? Is there not a store of military supplies beneath our feet?"

The good archbishop had gotten over his shock of being slapped. Then again, he wasn’t raising his voice overmuch or actually pounding the table, even now.

I’d take it.

Besides, he had a point.

The Vatican is honeycombed with tunnels, storerooms and secret passages. Construction projects overlapping nearly a millennium and a half of human activity have created a large amount of storage space. You’d think that with all that room, someone would have a tremendous cache of arms and equipment.

"Your Eminence, Your Grace, honored members of the Curia," I said, standing up. I’d been promoted to an actual seat at the table by this time. "There certainly have been substantial military stores inside our walls in the past, indeed there was a time the papal Armeria included muzzle loading cannon. However, we are limited by treaty and by Papal Bull to a much smaller force now. Our ordinary needs are modest and our ammunition is stored with the police, whose facilities we use to train."

Swiss Guard recruits were required to take a history class in the original Italian, but I won’t inflict that upon you. Suffice to say that in the early twentieth century, the Vatican accepted dramatic limits on its military capabilities in exchange for extra-territorial concessions from Italy. Then, in 1970, the reigning pope relinquished all but a ceremonial force.

Us.

"Then draw your ammunition from the police!" demanded Tangretti. The deputy secretary of state was nothing if not single-minded.

"The Carabinieri and the Stato are already operating somewhat…" I searched for an appropriate adverb. "… independently. Our stocks of ammunition were not huge to begin with. At this time, we cannot be certain that they still exist."

There was a low rumble of displeased conversation around the table.

Our ammunition stockpile had never really been worthy of the name, even prior to the advent of H7D3. Despite the more aggressive role assigned to the Guard after the assassination attempt on His Holiness John Paul II, the impact was principally on our protective role, not sustainment. In fact, during my vacation to the United States, I’d seen medium sized gunstores with several times the amount of ammunition that we kept on hand for range training.