Michael Williamson - When Diplomacy Fails…

Alex said, “You acted in good faith, and fast. It’ll take paperwork and lawyers. You’re covered.”

Under his breath, Bart muttered, “And maybe the stupid hippies won’t do that again.”

From the driver’s compartment, Elke said, “Don’t hurt my hopes.”

Jessie at least seemed sympathetic.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “Oh, my. This is not going to be good for.. anyone. Was anyone hurt?”

Aramis decided he shouldn’t answer that question. He was surprised to realize he really didn’t give a shit about the fucking morons who’d put pyro charges on projectiles and thrown them at a cabinet member. Pyro. Projectiles. That’s what he needed to ensure was in any statement. He’d feared for her life and acted to protect it. Damn the bitch for attracting such idiots, either for or against.

Jessie said, “I don’t know what else to say.”

“The Minister is unharmed. You can say that. Don’t say where we’re going next.”

“I don’t know where we’re going,” she protested.

Yeah, that was probably intentional, Aramis thought with an inward smirk.

Pyro. Projectiles. Potentially explosive threat.

Did Caron have that much political pull, and would she use it? She did owe him her life, but she’d paid in cash for that service. She didn’t care what anyone thought of her, but was she willing to spend that kind of political capital for a boink buddy?

Could he egress the system alone if it went sour?

Jessie stuttered as she very quietly said, “I need to find a restroom. Is there…?”

Alex said, “No, there is no bucket aboard. I can pick one up for next time. You’ll need to hold it another ten minutes.”

She nodded. Then they hit a bump and she flinched.

Alex pulled a hush hood. He was probably talking to the military, or relaying a message to Corporate first, to get the lawyers primed. There’d be an investigation. At least Elke would have video for his side of things.

Alex pulled the hood and said, “We’re going straight back.”

Elke said, “Understood.”

“We will unload before the gate, and the guards will inspect our weapons. Drop me at Base Operations. I need to talk to them.”

Aramis didn’t like the sound of that.

The rest of the ride was smooth enough, but just the hammering dread he felt made it feel worse than actually getting wounded. Chills, shivers, flushes, roiling bloodflow in his ears-massive shock.

Politics was scarier than combat.

He followed Jason’s lead and slipped out magazines, cycled the actions and locked them open. He carefully started to rise for the autocannon, but Bart reached up and took care of it for him.

At the gate, Elke lowered the ramp. The sentry was three steps up before it clattered on the ground.

“Show me clear weapons,” he said, very firmly, very intently, with his right hand on the grip of his carbine and his finger twitching near the trigger. Aramis cautiously bent both weapons to show the open chambers.

“Do not load them again without orders,” he said, and crabbed down the ramp sideways, keeping an eye on the team.

Through all this, Highland sat silently, but not tranked. It had obviously worn off.

Elke rolled up in front of Base Operations, and Alex slipped out the side hatch. Jessie looked very miserable and very uncomfortable. Highland looked furious.

Elke maintained exact base speed limit as she rolled into the diplomatic compound. Jessie looked almost nauseated as she staggered, body clutched tightly, toward the latrine. Aramis felt nauseated. He needed to drain, too, but that wasn’t it.

Alex stepped into the OPS building. He had legality on his side, but that rarely mattered to military officers, especially Infantry officers or Staff officers, and this would involve both.

A master sergeant stood waiting, and said, “In there, sir,” while pointing. He was polite enough, and didn’t sound any more bothered than any NCO whose bosses were pissed, so this was probably just a staff matter. That helped, a little.

He knocked on the door twice, firmly, waited three seconds, and walked in.

Captain Das was seated there, and seemed neutral enough. With him were Colonel Stack, the Facility Commander, and Colonel Andronov, the Operations Officer. They both bore professionally blank expressions, the kind that presaged formal actions. Stack was barrel chested and clearly a bred soldier. Andronov lean and bald.

Stack said, “Agent Marlow, you had a rather interesting day. In fact, it became interesting for a lot of people.”

That was a fair enough opening. He had not been asked to sit, though.

“It did, sir. The tactical situation differs from our original terms, and our client is making additional trips we had not counted on.”

Andronov said, “I am not interested in justifications. I am interested in unauthorized weapons fire right outside the perimeter, and firefights with locals who are not armed.”

Alex took a measured breath and said, “As to the latter, sir, they made every attempt to appear armed, and that they were using deadly force. What appeared to be explosives required an armed response. Had it been a rushing crowd or such, we would have blocked physically and removed Ms. Highland, and we did that as well. My agent’s response was appropriate at that moment, even if it seems otherwise in hindsight. I do not yet know BuState’s position, but it is my company’s position that he was fully in accordance with contract. That means everyone’s legal teams will have to decide the ramifications, and it becomes a matter for our employer, which is BuState. The military will not legally be involved.”

Andronov spoke sharply. “I don’t give a damn for legalities. I care that the locals now perceive violence on the behalf of the UN. My soldiers will have to deal with that. Or is that not of concern to you?”

Alex could feel the prickliness. “Sir, anything that interacts with hosts, allies or opposition is of concern to me. I will say again that the circumstances were rushed, threatening in presentation, and that our original contract has been stretched. However, abiding by the strict letter of that agreement will create”-”enemies would be a bad word, he thought, “-problems with BuState. I couldn’t address it then. I’ll do so as soon as feasible.”

Andronov seemed about to reply so he added quickly, “As to the former, it is standard practice to test weapons before a mission or movement. It also used to be a standard practice in the military. I will not put my client at risk over a difference in policies. To that end, I informed your operations team that we would conduct that test, and that we would do so immediately upon leaving the wire.”

“Is that true, Das?”

“I’m told it is, sir. They made the call, and informed Lieutenant Ghar.”

“Ghar did not propagate this information to you?”

“Neither to Security Operations nor to Intel, no, sir.”

Andronov looked at Stack. Stack didn’t say anything.

Turning back to Alex, Andronov said, “There will be some discussions, then. I will accept, under protest, that your rules are different. I will discuss this with our people, and with BuState. I make the official request of a favor that you provide me with as much information as you can.”

“I’ll do so through Captain Das. And of course, anything we observe that might be of intelligence interest will be shared, including relevant footage.” After Elke scrubs what they don’t need to see.

Andronov didn’t seem at all mollified, but it did appear he grasped the problems of a completely distinct chain of command he had no control over whatsoever.

“Very well. You may go.”

Alex wasn’t about to be dismissed like an errand boy. There was an issue of status, and that had to be covered at once.