Michael Williamson - When Diplomacy Fails…

Also, with incoming fire. She flinched as she heard it. It wasn’t well aimed, nor was it in volume, but she had no cover.

With that distraction, though, she made it to the top of the wall, oozed over and clung there. It was just over a meter wide, it was ten meters down the other side, and there was less debris. The government had insisted there were no spikes atop the wall. Technically, that might be true, but it was very rough and jagged where the polymix had stretched and shifted inside the mold as it set. The nearest buildings were a hundred meters away, and the terrain in between was razed urban rubble. An entire street of buildings was gone.

With a loud hiss of gas jets, Aramis bounced up, facing her.

“This is why they pay us those big dollars,” he said with a grin, as he rolled onto the ledge.

“Yes,” she agreed tightly.

From out of his ruck he drew line, swore as it partly uncoiled and tangled, then got it laid neatly in front of him. He pulled out a clamp that looked specifically made for the corner, and clipped it on the near side. It came loose when he tugged, but after two more sets, it remained in place.

“Down fast,” he said. “The rest are coming.”

She nodded, took the line, wove it over her shoulder, hip and crotch into an improvised abseil, and shimmied over the coarse, abrasive edge. Her brain buzzed and thudded because of that single clamp holding her, but she started walking down. The rope cut into her flesh through the fabric, she desperately wanted to dump the ruck, fearing its mass might push her total past some limit and dismount the clamp. She also needed to pee worse than ever, and the shotgun kept jabbing her heel.

Ten seconds later she was on the ground. She crabbed sideways two meters, hunched down and unslung her shotgun.

This area was a bombed-out mess. There were few people, and fewer as those people realized armed troops were encroaching.

There was no cover, though. This had been the other byway of a large road, and the crumbled remains of a curb were nine meters ahead. Another ten meters or so led to shorn foundations and infilled basements, with some structural steel projecting upward. Clumps of weeds were reclaiming the land. The hundred meter gap to the nearest buildings didn’t reassure her. That was a short range for rifles, but a long range to run.

She felt better once Jason zipped down next to her. Highland was lowered but managed to walk herself rather than drag. Jessie kicked a bit but came down, though her expression indicated complete terror. Horace dropped a bit too fast and grunted as he landed. Bart landed hard enough to create seismic waves, but seemed unbothered. Aramis looked graceful.

“Lowering,” Alex said in her ears. She looked up to see the rucks. They still had them? Good, but still.

Then Alex slid down last. He stretched until his feet reached shoulder height for Bart, who stood underneath to support him. Then, reaching far up, he cut the line. He hopped free, Bart caught him and slowed his descent in a squat, and they were all down, with hard cover behind.

He said, “This won’t stop the springblades, if they’re determined.”

“No, but it will stop that round of allies, temporarily.”

“Aramis?”

Aramis said, “Twelve degrees from magnetic north, we’ll shelter in that building for a quick reassessment. Move in three teams.”

Aramis always got a bit of thrill from the chase. It was probably a bad habit, but he preferred it to the alternative of crippling fear.

This, though, was a bit more than a chase. They were in the middle of three angry groups who’d shoot even if they didn’t know who Highland was, and especially if they did, with at least one group of assassins following. They were using the battling factions as a shield against the hit team, who were using the factions as concealment to get closer. All in all, this would be hilarious to watch happen to someone else. Aramis had a starring role, though.

He shivered briefly. Death was no longer the worst thing that could happen. If it came down to it, though, he’d kill as many as he could and save one round. It was for damned sure the army wouldn’t save him without political prodding, which Alex couldn’t do anymore, Highland was unlikely to, and Corporate was unable to. This was some serious shit.

Still, gloves off meant he could shoot back, and the threat level wasn’t any greater than before. He, they were just aware of it now. That was the difference.

Elke and Jason went first, coaxing Jessie with them. He and Bart took Highland, and he had to admit, she bore up reasonably well. She wasn’t Bishwanath, who’d been an actual veteran. She wasn’t Caron Prescot, who could have been a spoiled brat but turned out to be a very courageous woman. She was far better than most politicians or celebrities, though.

The building was structurally sound, and had a few panes of well-crazed polycarbonate left in it. There were even small sections of carpet and a couple of chairs inside the lobby. It had been some kind of small office building, probably rather high in rent, in its past.

The rest came over in a dodging, shifting rush, and they had cover and concealment again.

Alex said, “Aramis, map.”

He laid down his phone and pulled out the plastic roll.

“We’re here,” he said, pointing.

“This is a less nice neighborhood.”

“That’s understating it, but we’re separated by the wall and by culture. This is an Amala area.”

Highland said, “We’re in Amala territory? They’re very antagonistic to me. Why did you do this?”

“They won’t look for you here, and it was the safest physical location under the circumstances. We’ll be moving constantly.” He said. He did want to keep her involved and mentally busy.

Shaman asked, “How are we going to maneuver the hostiles into place?”

Aramis said, “I’ve thought of that. Look here.” He pointed at the map.

“We’re here. The Amala are hostile. If we flee east we wind up in moderate Sunni territory-fairly safe. They hate the Amala. North is Sufi. They don’t like her but won’t go out of their way to attack. Northeast, at that point just a kilometer away, is Covenant of the Lord, and they are crazy and will try to attack both us and the Amala, if we can goad them into it. That will draw the Sufi in to keep their border secure if nothing else, which yields a three-way fight, which means the military has to show up to break it up. While that’s going on, we can be active against those Security Agency guys.”

Highland said, “You are seriously proposing to start a war?”

It was fun to tell her, “The war has been going on here for fifty years. I just propose to escalate it.”

She was definitely insecure now, completely out of her comfort zones.

Alex said, “If we can tie them all up, they’ll prefer each other to you. That’s the survival strategy. And now it’s time to move.”

“But-” she sputtered in protest as he took her elbow and “suggested” she move. She was on her feet and walking before her brain shifted gears.

Alex said, “Elke, Jason, find us transport.”

The two strode faster and pulled ahead.

The building filled a block. Their route through it was circuitous, due to rubble from collapse. It also had a complicated floor plan, having been refitted several times since its original construction. Owners changed, uses changed, factions changed… he stepped over the remains of a block wall, then through a framed doorway in an extruded wall barely in evidence. At least they’d have cover, concealment and distraction if attacked here.

Ahead, Elke and Jason walked out into sunlight. The red glow resembled that of a perpetual sunset.

The rest of them reached the door a few moments later, to find the two had acquired a box van. A man hurried away, and Aramis was fairly sure he was pocketing a large wad of scrip as he did so. Likely some bullion was involved, too.