Gavin Smith: War in Heaven

Mudge started laughing. ‘Fucking spooks, man. One cliche after another.’ He shook his head. ‘They actually think this shit is cool.’

I turned back to look at Papa Neon. Maybe he was a cliche too, a stereotype. It was difficult to tell how much was real and how much was show — a bit of theatre and intimidation for those watching, waiting for his fall. Or maybe he’d played the role too long and believed it. Or maybe it was all real, which is what the hackers would have us believe.

‘I think you came here to feed the Baron with those stupid white boys,’ he said. Then it hit home.

‘You were on us from the moment we came into Crawling Town,’ I said.

‘I asked Obatala to watch for you,’ he said. Thanks, God, I thought. But the sense of betrayal was misplaced. This was what we had asked God to do after all. On the other hand, how were we ever going to sneak up on someone ever again? ‘The way those boys killed you-’

‘They didn’t kill me…’ I started. Papa Neon looked at me in a way that made me want to not interrupt him.

‘The way they killed you, you don’t walk away from that.’

‘Those boys are evil,’ I told him. The copter was getting closer.

‘No doubt, but they is our evil. You do not live here.’

I’d decided that the Wait got a pass, but I couldn’t help smiling and playing devil’s advocate. ‘So how long would I have to live here before I could do them?’ I asked.

‘Jakob?’ Rannu said. He had the sniper/shotgun combo in his hand. He unfolded the weapon and twisted the barrel, changing it from a smoothbore twelve gauge to a rifled twenty gauge. Turning it into a heavy-calibre marksman’s weapon. I was aware that the copter was beginning its landing approach. He slid the magazine with the caseless twenty-gauge rounds into the combination weapon.

‘You have to live here.’ Papa Neon emphasised the live. ‘We know the difference. Goodbye, my friend.’ He turned, heading for his pickup/hearse.

The copter was now kicking up a lot of dirt. I reached into the car and slid the assault shotgun out of its scabbard. Mudge already had his AK-47.

‘Goodbye, dead man!’ Papa Neon shouted through the swirling dust.

The copter was heavily armed. I could make out rotary railgun turrets pointed in our general direction.

‘Papa Neon! When the devil comes will you fight?’ Mudge shouted over the roar of the copter’s engines.

I could hear Papa Neon’s deep laughter as the coffin closed and he sank into the back of the truck. Little Baby Neon was already in the cutaway passenger seat, and the vehicle made its way back towards the huge dust cloud that was Crawling Town. The cloud seemed to fill a lot of the horizon. I was sorry to see them go. It would have been nice to have someone as frightening as Little Baby Neon backing us up in a discussion with the inhabitants of the copter.

The three of us spread out. Mudge to my left, Rannu to my right. Our weapons were at the ready, held horizontally against our bodies but not pointing at anything in particular. The dust cloud engulfed us as the aircraft landed. We all switched, I’m guessing, to thermal to look at the copter in the reds, yellows and oranges of its heat signature. This was significantly masked, which suggested it was set up for stealth to a degree.

A door in the centre of the copter opened, stairs extending to the dirt. Three figures came out. We saw them as thermal outlines. They had weapons at their shoulders pointed at us.

Rannu and I had our weapons to our shoulders covering them. We each picked the closest target. I’d been working with him long enough to know that was what he would do. Mudge was a fraction of a second behind us.

‘Drop your weapons!’ they shouted. They were American. We didn’t say anything; we just kept them covered.

‘Drop your weapons or we will shoot!’ The one in the middle was doing all the talking. Still we didn’t reply. We just watched for the tells that they were about to fire. Hoped that we were quicker. Worried about the copter’s weapon systems, which were the biggest threat by far.

This sort of bollocks was typical of some paramilitary types. Had they landed and talked to us we would have talked back to them. Instead they’d probably read in some textbook somewhere the importance of establishing dominance in a power relationship so they could control the situation. The thing is, to us it wasn’t about a power relationship, it was about a threat. If we didn’t respond to having weapons pointed at us this time, then what happened the next time, when someone did actually want to do us harm? People like this never seemed to learn that they could get a lot further by behaving courteously. Would they get scared and back down or would they get scared and do something stupid?

Okay I admit it, part of it was that we just didn’t like being strong-armed. If they were going to do that they should have brought a lot more people.

‘We have you covered! Lower your weapons!’ The vocal one shouted again.

‘Should we threaten them back?’ Mudge sub-vocalised over the comms. ‘I can sound really macho and threatening when I want to.’ I failed to completely stifle a laugh. Rannu grinned. This didn’t help.

‘Put down your guns!’ He sounded shriller now. The dust was settling. The three of them looked almost identical. Boy Scout haircuts, dark glasses, anonymous dark suits, fancy European gauss carbines. They looked exactly like what they were: bad intelligence operatives. They may as well have worn a uniform. The question was: were they going to commit suicide today? The problem was that if they did it meant our imminent death at the hands of the copter’s heavy weapons.

‘Why are you laughing?’ Mudge sub-vocalised. He even managed to sound genuinely peeved. ‘I am threatening and intimidating.’

I decided to throw them a bone.

‘Shut up, Mudge,’ I said out loud. ‘You want something from us?’ I called out. ‘Because if you do you’re not going about it very well.’

‘Drop your weapons. You are coming with us,’ the guy in the middle said. All three of them looked nervous. We didn’t.

‘I can’t think of any compelling reason to do that. Why don’t you take your guns off us and tell us what this is about?’

‘Put your guns down!’ he screamed.

‘His shrillness bothers me,’ Mudge said. Rannu remained quiet. I favoured Rannu’s approach more. I’d had enough.

‘Put your guns down,’ I said to Mudge and Rannu.

‘What?!’ Mudge demanded. I lowered my assault shotgun.

‘Are you sure?’ Rannu asked.

‘These guys are dicks. They’re also stupid. If we don’t, they’re going to force us to kill them.’

‘Put your guns down!’ He was sounding more masterful now. I think he thought he was winning. That this was somehow validation for being a dickhead.

‘Shut up!’ I shouted back at him. ‘I just can’t be bothered with it,’ I said to Mudge and Rannu. I also didn’t mention that the result of killing these idiots was death by rotary railgun. Both of them lowered their weapons.

The three idiots rushed up screaming at us to drop our weapons and lie down. Mudge started laughing at them. Rannu seemed to have just the slightest look of contempt on his face, which was unusual for the passive ex-Ghurkha. I was just bemused.

‘Look, what do you want?’ More screaming. ‘You must be here for some reason. If you’d just tell us…’ Yet more screaming and threats. ‘We’re obviously not going to lie down, so what have you got left? Are you going to shoot us?’

The one closest to me produced a shock stick from a pouch on his belt. With a flick of his wrist he extended it. I couldn’t shake the feeling he’d practised that move in the mirror. He triggered the display that sent sparks of electricity surging down the weapon. I wondered if it was supposed to intimidate me. What did he think I’d done for a living? I grabbed his wrist and stabbed him in the face with it. Which had to be embarrassing. I was pleasantly surprised that his internal systems were not sufficiently insulated, like mine, to cope with a shock stick, and he hit the ground a juddering mess.