Michael Williamson - When Diplomacy Fails…

Alex stood and stepped toward the cab, using the gun mount for a handle, then gripped the cab. Elke and Shaman moved aside. Aramis heaved, and gun and tripod tumbled over the back of the bed to crash on the ground. It might still be functional, but wasn’t likely to come into play against them, and they needed the room and mass reduction.

Alex said, “We need to change vehicles, get to cover or otherwise well-clear the area. Those fuckers on the Springblades are insane, but obviously competent.”

Jason said, “Let’s make a couple more turns and persuade someone else to take this vehicle.”

“That fits our psychology so well. Do it.” He faced Highland and said, “We once paid someone to be hijacked by us. It’s weird, but it works.”

“Start now,” Jason said, as they rounded another corner.

Highland nodded. It seemed to be acknowledgment of being spoken to. She looked to be in shock. If she’d thought them trigger happy before…

Elke slipped over the side in a crouching sprint, straightened and entered what looked like a vacant building. Aramis hoisted Jessie over, who crouched and scampered through the doorway after her. He rolled over and down, and caught Highland by the chest and shoulders as she followed. The woman wasn’t in bad shape, but was not young or athletic. Parts of her anatomy, however, were probably deliberately built to fake it. He shuddered.

Four people ran out of the building with Elke behind, prodding with her carbine. Shaman took the rear of the vehicle, Jason the front, and corralled them into it. Bart shouted “Drive, habla, surucu! ” Apparently he knew a little Arabic and Turkish, too.

The whole process took twenty seconds, and the evictees drove madly, lest they disturb the crazy Earthies.

“We can’t stay here too long,” Jason said. “They’ll do some kind of scan, or DNA sweep.”

“Where do we need to get?”

“I would like to get to this area here,” Elke said, and projected a map on a mostly-clean section of floor, while pointing.

“Why there?”

“Because I have enough explosives in the area I can simulate my own battle, and tie everyone up for hours.”

“Fantastic. So we should get there.”

Highland said, “I’m very impressed. I’d call it paranoid, but it seems to be very forward thinking.”

Elke looked at her coldly and said, “Next time a professional tells you she needs explosive, or even network keys, or a doccase full of cash, please believe her.”

“I will.” She nodded vigorously. This time she actually blushed a bit.

Shaman asked, “Are we going on foot?”

Aramis said, “Yes, but do we want to pretend to be locals?”

Alex said, “I don’t see that working long enough to bother with. Shoulder up, let’s move. How far can you jog, ma’am?”

“I can handle five kilometers at a normal pace.”

“Good. This will be shorter but a bit faster. Jessie?”

“I did track in school, but it was some years ago. I don’t do as much as I should.”

“Can you run a couple of kilometers?”

“Yes,” she agreed, sounding positive.

“Then let’s go.”

They went out the door, formed loosely around her and let her set the pace as Aramis led.

Elke had to keep craning to watch her rear quarter. They were unmolested across the street, and reached the alley. That felt less exposed, but the terrain was terrible, with uncollected rubbish heaped and piled. It wasn’t that it was filthy. It was that it was filthy, unstable and prone to shift and outgas methane, ammonia and rot smells as they clambered around and over. Above them, windows were dark caves that looked threatening even without hostiles.

Highland might be an obnoxious bitch, but she didn’t complain about rough conditions. No doubt boasting of it would be part of her next level of campaigning.

Then they were through, and onto another street. Traffic seemed normal enough here, though civilians drew back in the face of what was obviously a small military unit. Then someone recognized Highland.

Elke sighed for a moment and grabbed a stink gas grenade. She yanked the cord and rolled it left, then rolled another right, and one straight ahead.

The crowd screamed and drew away, except those closest, who tried to get closer. While not quite as potent as the vehicle mounted dispensers, the stench was so strong it was palpable, as slight whiffs drifted by.

Alex caught what she did before she said anything, and ordered, “Deep breath, sprint forward.”

She dragged in a breath tinged with that awful sulfur smell, and put a hand on Jessie’s shoulder to keep her moving briskly. Her eyes teared up as they passed through the fumes in front, but she felt it clear in the slight breeze, and they were soon in another alley, this one less disgusting but narrower, dodging between bins and tubs, piled debris and stacks of crates. It turned to the left and they followed it, then right again.

Aramis said, “We should be coming out onto the Plaza of the Caliph in a moment and… wait…”

Everyone ahead stopped and Elke moved up close in case she was needed. She checked behind again, hand on a device just in case.

Jason said, “And now we find out just how effective a wall between sectors is.”

Ahead was the broad, glistening curve of the Peace Wall. More trash leaned against it, including abandoned cars and boxes. Above that, it really did look like marble, but that featureless concrete extrusion was impenetrable to anything she carried. She could divot it, but…

“Move,” she said, and the team cleared her path, yanking Highland and Jessie aside.

She turned her back to Jason and said, “Spare cassette.” She indicated with her thumb.

“This isn’t a mine is it?” She had on occasion rigged an ammo cassette as a claymore.

“No, it’s loaded with spalling charges.” She took it as he pulled it out, swapped for the one in the weapon, then handed the shotgun to him. “You’re the best shot, make us steps.”

“Understood,” he said. He hefted the shotgun, chose a spot just over an abandoned van, and started shooting.

The charges were designed to punch through block. She’d had in mind opening a large hole by perforating a wall, or creating loops he could snipe through. In this case, the first shot impacted the wall seventy centimeters above the van’s roof, and blew a crater several centimeters deep and roughly conical. It would support a hand or foot. His next shot moved up the wall, then again. By the time he emptied the cassette there were steps within a meter and a half of the top.

“I can’t climb that,” Jessie said.

Aramis said, “Sure you can. Take it one step at a time, don’t look down, and try to ignore the bullets peppering the wall under your heels.” He had the harness from the bag Bart carried, and was stepping into it.

It was impressive how fast the locals had abandoned the area and turned it into a dump. The team was unmolested as they crossed the street, which served as a ring road, as in a walled town in Europe. It was quite clear to within five meters of the wall, then the debris started. The van was a shell, stripped of engine, wheels and seats. The windows were gone, reused no doubt, and likely someone would be along soon for either body panels, sections of them, or to salvage the polymer plate for some other use. In the meantime, it got them three meters off the ground, leaving only five meters above Bart’s head.

“First,” Elke said. It wasn’t that she liked heights. She didn’t want to think about heights, and going first left less time to fret.

The craters were deep enough, though tight on her boots. That could be a problem for Bart and Shaman, with the boats they wore. She shrugged and kept climbing, reaching in with gloved hands, gripping hard and placing each foot carefully. It was like climbing a very narrow ladder with no gaps between rungs.