Michael Williamson - When Diplomacy Fails…

Cady asked, “Do we have any idea which faction it is?”

Jason said, “I’d almost say army, except the fire is almost too good and all lethal. Aerospace Force doesn’t have that kind of hardware. It’s not Marines, in this sector, so it’s a local faction. I’d guess that’s the Sufi. They’re about the best local.”

“Well, if we can keep that up, we’ve got a semi-professional contact approaching from the north.”

“Interesting,” Aramis said. “That’s Amala territory, and they’re certainly not anything professional.”

Helas asked, “Suborned? An elite group? Infiltrated?”

Elke had some kind of scanner, and said, “Munitions are Croatian. So they may be anyone’s.”

Jason looked frustrated as he said, “Who cares? We knew it wouldn’t go as planned. Move!”

They clustered up around Highland and Jessie and ran east in a crouch. After the berm there was a ditch, then debris where annexed property had been demolished. He presumed that was their immediate destination. It was a solid kilometer, and he was already breathing hard, with the weight of the Medusa, and Highland’s drag.

Jessie was keeping good pace, though. She certainly had been a runner.

The occasional fire increased. Then another drone rose behind them. He heard it, but it had to have already logged them. He turned, sighted, let the #2 gun slap a burst into it, and resumed.

Alex said, “Bart just killed a drone. Assume we’re compromised.”

“That wasn’t a military drone,” Elke said. “Do we have a photo?”

Bart said, “Yes, but I’m not sure how to get it from the system. Is it important?”

“It might be,” she said.

“Then I will try.” He was running, would soon have to actively dodge fire, half-carrying a weakened noncombatant and thirty kilos of Medusa. Now they wanted him to do technical work while avoiding debris and craters.

He thumbed a control, then another. There it was, and then gone. Scheisse. Hopefully not lost. There. He leapt like a 150 kilogram ballerina over a large chunk of concrete. He found the link for network, confirmed it was the one Jason projected from his pack, and sent it.

“Sent,” he called to Elke.

A moment later she said, “That’s a Ranco Industries model, last generation. They lost the trials on UN military, but were declined export license. They were a little too good for that.”

Highland said, “But Blanding was CEO of Ranco before he…”

And she’d been talking to him, at length.

Alex said, “He was a suspect.”

Cady added, “He may not be the only one. Alliance? Overlapping?”

“We can’t know.”

Highland’s voice was ragged as she hurled, “I want that fucker dead.”

“Not in our power to do, ma’am,” Alex said as he dropped alongside. He needn’t have. She found renewed energy somewhere and surged. Bart let her move ahead.

“If you get a chance…”

“We will follow contract, law and rules of engagement. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Fuck you, too,” she snarled.

“Cover in there,” Aramis said and pointed. “There are supposed to be tunnels.”

“Tunnels?” Jessie asked.

“Power conduit tunnels, more than big enough to crawl in.”

“I’ll try,” she said. Claustrophobe?

“That’s our best bet at the moment.”

A serious, aimed burst of machine gun fire chewed chips from the debris around them. They shouted, shrieked or grunted as they felt minded to. Bart tracked back as best he could, fired a burst into the building from #1, and followed with a grenade from #4.

Then he almost smashed Highland into the wall as he turned to go sideways through the door. He paused to let her shift, banged his weapon and his knee, but got through, dragged her carefully past the frame, as Aramis brought up the rear.

“Must… rest,” she rasped.

Aramis said, “One swallow of water, three deep breaths, and we have to find the tunnels.”

“Should we split up?” Cady asked. “We can do more damage?”

Bart wasn’t sure where her advantage came from, but Cady hardly seemed winded. She rolled on the balls of her feet, ready to spring.

“Down, or up?” he asked, because more than that would tire him. Also, he wasn’t sure about dragging the bitch-either Highland or the Medusa-through the tunnels.

It was Lionel who said, “Above offers sniping position. Under will be harder to locate. We need to be rats.”

Alex agreed. “Even though we’re taking the fight to them, we’re twelve, currently ten, versus thousands. We want to instigate, not wave our arms and offer it up.”

“Through here,” Aramis said. There was a collective groan, sigh, murmur and agreement that moving was better than standing, and they all followed at a jog, which would be easy except for the exhaustion of the previous sprints.

This had been an office building, perhaps twenty years ago. On Earth it would have been replaced by now. Here, it had apparently become apartments, then offices again, and the structure was weakened by a combination of substandard materials, age and conflict. Yes, if the tunnels were of good depth, they would be much safer than any elevation in this derelict.

Aramis seemed to know where they were going, and it was impressive how many maps, charts and building plans he could have. It was almost as if he had an inertial tracker in his brain.

They took a turn, then another. They went through what had been an office but had only broken remains of fixtures and furniture left. The walls had been pried to access the wires and fibers. That led to another door, to a service corridor.

“Elke, door,” Aramis said.

She stepped up, slapped on a patch, took a large step sideways, and popped the lock. Or rather, banged it. His goggles stopped a few sharp tatters of plastic, and he caught one in his teeth, which he swept clear and spit.

Lionel looked at Aramis, who nodded. He kicked the door wide, waved his carbine down the empty stairs, then took point.

Not quite empty stairs. They’d been used for storage once the tunnels were no longer used.

“Ears,” Lionel said. Bart checked Highland was wearing hers.

In enclosed quarters, even moderated guns were loud. His burst shredded several boxes, that seemed to be full of paper copies of documents.

“Ah, crap.”

“Let me,” Elke said. “Back in the hall.”

Bart was in the doorway and stepped aside. The front two backed out, leaving Elke to fish out something, toss it, then step aside herself.

“Fire in the hole.”

A roaring nimbus erupted from the doorway, blowing cindered paper and heavier chunks. He felt an overpressure slap. Highland whimpered, JessieM yelped. The rest flinched and waited. Five seconds later, Elke threw a thumb up and led the way.

He turned in and found she’d made worthy headway, but there was more crap down there, the lowest levels at the bottom of the landing were molded and slimy. Down the next flight, some stuff had tumbled and slipped in a small avalanche, but by careful foot placement they could step and ease their way through hot embers, acrid smoke, clutter and trash.

At the bottom, Aramis had opened the tunnel door himself, with a pry bar.

From the rear, Shaman said, “Hear that?”

They froze momentarily, and Alex heard small arms combat.

“They’re mixing it up now. Hopefully that will slow them.”

“What’s the plan?” Lionel asked as they trooped into the tunnel. A crouch was possible, but Alex knew he’d be crippled after a hundred meters of that. He went to his knees, as Aramis and Bart had.

They stirred up dust that was a combination of spores, grit and drifting insulation. He grabbed for a paper mask and dragged it over his head. Some still got through, and his breathing was hindered by the filter matrix holding his hot exhalations. Still, it was a hindrance, not a stoppage.