Michael Williamson - When Diplomacy Fails…

Alex avoided snorting, and he heard Jason cough. It wasn’t really funny, but the surprise factor did it. Depending on what other evidence they found, those might be exactly where they’d start.

The Army’s technical specialist said, “Definitely north.”

“Concur,” Jason said. “Map shows several storefronts. Some are substantial, but all have storage areas.”

The sergeant, Tames, said, “That wind gust helped. Got the arc down to forty-three degrees.”

“Overlay,” Jason said. “I have forty-six, but the intersection is thirty-eight.”

“That tall building is interfering.”

“Yes, definitely beyond that.”

Elke said, “Your area is approximately seven five zero zero square meters. Sergeant Tames, if you can move thirty meters north to the corner, check your density there.”

The captain nodded, and the sergeant with two second classes moved that way, checking for threats.

Tames said, “Probably east of me here.”

Jason moved down an alley, Alex and Bart covering him along with their escorts.

A burst of fire made Jason flinch and duck.

He said, “Contact right front,” as someone else shouted, “Contact left!”

Whoever was shooting had bad aim and poor weapons. He recognized the muzzle cracks as Brasarms carbines. There were lots of them here, sold cheap for police use and stolen for factional fighting. They were cheap, and marginal, and cheap. However, they put bullets downrange, and he was downrange. He hunkered down against a building wall and crabbed around into an alley. He went across the alley. Bart backed into the opening, facing the street. Their troop escorts did stay close, and tensed with their weapons.

He spoke to his chaperone. “I want to suppress and advance.”

The sergeant looked around nervously, then nodded. “Agreed.”

“I’m moving.” He swung, fired a burst, sprinted across the narrow alley, which had suddenly devoided of people. He reached the far wall, fired a burst straight up parallel to it, and another high around the corner, as the soldier sprinted over.

Heavy fire from a Grumbly’s cannon echoed down the walls, booms turning tinny and hollow.

The troop said, “It’s apparently some random potshots. Three locations, not coordinated, seem to be dispersed.”

“What does the captain say?”

Right then, his earbuds spoke. “Argonaut, Playwright. Bars reports containment. Advise your movements.”

“One square red.” South. “I can advance.”

“He’s ready,” Alex said to Rowe as he came up. “Unless you want to sweep and secure first?”

“What’s your preference?”

“Hell with that, let’s get in and get Aramis, then we can operate as a mass unit.”

The captain nodded. “Yeah, since you fuckers are going to do that anyway. Lead, then.”

There were no overt signs of previous combat in this area, which was probably why it had been chosen. Ground of the enemy’s choosing was not ideal, but they should have the upper hand tactically.

“Do you have observation all around?”

“Cameras on three Grumblies, two Dragonfly drones at five hundred meters, and the evac bird three klicks north.” Rowe gestured with a hand.

“We have the south approach. Do you have anything for containment?”

“Same Grumblies and crews.”

“I would like to have them dismount and patrol, sir.”

“Very well, stand by.”

He’d give the captain this: the man took it seriously and was playing by the rules but with practicality.

“They’re dismounted and advancing slowly,” Rowe said.

Alex spoke on his voicemitter. “Team, we want to be dynamic and watch for collaterals. I’m quite sure they’ve got buddy berms. Approach orders from the captain. Sir?” he said as he turned.

Rowe said, “Thank you, by my orders, advance in leapfrog.”

Alex waited for the first movement, then he and the captain jogged forward. There was no fire, and people left the streets as soon as they saw troops with guns. Of course, that meant a good chance the enemy knew they were approaching.

Then it was time to advance again, past doorways, alleys and enclosures locked or barred or full of pedestrians. Vehicles traveling by accelerated to clear the area. Passing a woman and three kids huddled into an entryway, he gave a short, quick wave. Hopefully they’d grasp that they weren’t of military interest.

This was an actual military assault, and he sweated and shook. Aramis had experience doing this. On paper, Alex had no actual combat experience. All his was escorting principals to safety, and the only rule of engagement was “keep them alive.” Here, he was very much accountable, easier to predict, and the principal was not under his control. Getting that control risked Aramis’s death.

Still, there was nothing to do but go forward.

Then they were across the street and huddled themselves, trying not to present targets or recognizable military appearances.

Elke came alongside and he asked, “Are we positive it’s this building?”

She waved a scanner. “Yes, I can pick up a second trace, of a secondary chemical. This building.” She nodded.

“What’s in there, officially?”

The captain said, “Paradise Clothing. They seem to make garb for Muslims and Christians both, middle class.”

“Track the owner later. What do we have on intel?”

“Right now it looks like people sewing. I’m reluctant to deploy drones. They’ll be obvious in this environment.”

They’d also be subject to damage and loss, which he’d have to account for. Though that might not be fair. They would be easy to spot. There was little airborne traffic of any kind.

Elke said, “Let me take a scan.” She unslung her shotgun and fired a recon round up past the windows. She scrolled the images on her glasses.

“The quality is not good, and the frame is small, as well as blurred from speed. There are occupants, several, male. There is a lot of debris. I note rags and cloths and possible bloodstains.”

Alex said, “Good enough for me. We’ll kick it and try. We have lawyers if we’re wrong.” He looked at the captain.

Rowe sighed and twisted his mouth. “I don’t like the potential collaterals, but I don’t see how it can get better if we wait. Go ahead and tell your people. We’ll lead.”

Elke rose and sprinted fearlessly, with everyone else playing catch up. She obviously took her buddy’s safety personally.

One nice thing about the shots outside, they offered distraction. The team might be compromised already, or the engagement might be taken as some random interplay. Either way, though, it was noisy. They were quiet. Anyone looking for them should be looking in the wrong place.

They ran to the entrance, and Elke pressed the door switch. It slid, they swarmed through into a very obvious sewing shop. There were gasps but no outright shouts or screams, and several troops raised fingers to lips then held calming hands out. Alex headed up the broad stairs with Elke and Jason each a half step behind, Shaman and Bart flowing through the door and falling in. They moved in practiced, gliding steps that minimized noise. There was still quite a bit of shuffling and clattering and some yelps from the workers. If they hadn’t been compromised already, they were now.

Jason rose up the stairs. There was a bare landing about a meter square, a featureless metal door, needing some kind of signal or having a hidden touchplate for access.

Jason was not minded to be picky. They stacked, Elke slapped a charge against the door, gave a thumbs up. Shaman goosed Jason, he goosed Elke, she fired the charge. Smoke and sparks fled in an arc. Bart managed to fit his bulk into the available space, and kicked the door off the tattered remnants of its hinges. He went right, Elke went left, Jason stepped right across the downed door, hearing a muffled grunt from someone trapped underneath it when it fell. Behind him, a shot indicated Alex had stopped the man’s pain permanently. Yes, there was a weapon next to the corpse. Good kill. Eddying dust roiled up in light from the windows. The hostiles should probably have covered those, but it might have drawn attention. This place was long abandoned.