Michael Williamson: When Diplomacy Fails…

Aramis’s voice was muffled by a mask, and echoed oddly. He said, “We go across the street, well, under it. That puts us outside the epicenter. We then go up, and wait to see who comes looking for us. They have to fight through the confusion, and we’ll have a good position.”

Behind him, it was Highland who asked, “What if they wait us out?” She coughed from dust seeping around her mask.

“They’ll want to be fast, and take the opportunity. The longer it goes on, the more likely we are to get backup. Their resources are finite. This assumes they’re logical and reasonable.”

She said, “Huble will be. I don’t know about Lezt.”

“We’ll hope others are, too, or that they make mistakes.”

Elke’s voice said, “Ready to close this end.”

He really wasn’t sure about that. They needed cover and concealment, and to stop pursuit. It was also useful to create the impression that they might be dead. Against that, though, was that they’d be trapped underground, hoping the other end was no worse than this one had been, and that if Elke missed a calculation, it might cave in on top of them.

“As soon as everyone is in, do it,” he said.

“No time,” she insisted. “They’re entering the building now.”

“Everyone move! Babs, do it!”

Behind him came shouts and scrabbles, then a breath-stealing bang! That blew debris past him. The ground shook and rumbled and continued to do so, as he scurried like a rat, except a rat had proper feet and wouldn’t wear out its knees the way he was, even with kneepads.

“Elke, it’s still rumbling!” he said.

“The building was unstable. A large part is coming down. Think of it as free bonus destruction.”

“Can it hurt us?”

“I accounted for it.”

If he ever got married again, he’d never be able to trust even a wife the way he trusted Elke.

Aramis said, “There’s already a news churp that Ms. Highland may have died in fighting in the capital.”

She snarled, “Those crab-picking snot ghouls.”

Alex said, “After last time, you think they’d learn not to-”

Aramis cut in with, “BuState denies dead in fighting, insists kidnapped by factions. I’m getting a feed of ‘her’ calling for help and demanding peace from her supporters.”

Highland said, “You were right.” It was so soft it would have been inaudible, except he’d been hoping for it, and hoping not to be right.

“Yes, ma’am, they’re going to build you up heroically, try to kill you, and load your presence into the party. If they can’t do that, look for some embarrassing content to make its way out shortly.”

Elke apparently had reception on her gear. “The Sunni are offering a reward for her capture as a war criminal. The Amala are offering to match it, dead or alive. Highland Campaign Concordance is demanding the government arrest the preceding groups.”

“They’re in quite a frenzy. Good.”

“Access ahead,” Aramis advised.

“Open?”

“Welded.”

“Shit. Elke, forward.”

“I am the creeping thing,” she said.

They pulled up and stopped, face to heel, almost face to ass. A minute later, Elke crawled past, brushing the wall as she did so.

“This is going to be loud. Cover ears, open mouths, stand by. Any alibis? Fire in the hole.”

The explosion sounded deep and low, but felt like a kick in the guts from an elephant. The overpressure absolutely crushed him in the enclosed space. The dust turned opaque, and over it all was a ringing noise where the metal had yielded to Elke’s ministrations.

It still wasn’t open, though he assumed her blast had done as intended. She was neither cursing in Czech nor preparing a second charge.

A tug at his ankles was Highland, who crawled closer and muttered, “Alex, are there clean clothes available?”

He wasn’t going to ask which way she’d cut loose. These things happened in war, and her expression was completely forlorn.

“Not at present, ma’am. I’ll see what we can find.”

“Thank you.”

Aramis pried at the metal, Bart shoved, and shortly it shrieked and relented.

Aramis said, “Yeah, a lot more trash here, and ripe. Wow.”

The stench indicated the stairwell at this end had obviously been used as a latrine, trash dump and general pit. There were coffee scents, rot, piss, fermented vegetables and god only knew what else.

Behind, another round of rumbles started.

Elke said, “That was not me. Someone just struck the other building.”

“So they know we’re in this area. Move.”

Aramis said, “Yeah, there’s a plastic pallet here. We can walk over that for a few steps.”

“Whatever helps. Move!”

Fortunately, it was mostly stink, though the floor was slimy and disgusting. “Watch your step!” he advised, as he crawled through the hatch onto the pallet, stood and turned.

Bad news, they had a ladder, not stairs, though there was a small landing at the top.

“Okay, this place already stinks, everybody drain. That corner, ladies first.”

Aramis and Shaman stood there facing out, creating some illusion of privacy. Highland looked embarrassed and ashamed. Jessie half-moved and hesitated, stuck between needing to and unable to, until Elke grabbed her and went back herself. Cady said, “I’m fine.”

Several of the men took turns to unzip and drain, and Alex went last as Aramis ascended the ladder behind him. There was a respectable puddle, several liters, but the detritus on the ground was so squishy it didn’t seem it would matter.

That done, he turned to the stairs and climbed up, hands on the sides to avoid gripping the muck left from Aramis’ boots. Then he knelt, turned and offered a hand to Highland. As she came up, he could see she had wet her pants. Well, explosions and collapses could do that to one. He wasn’t going to mention it. If they could find clean clothes later they would. For now, he helped Jessie up, and Cady made the small landing completely full.

The door was partly off the hinges and askew. Beyond it was a cabinet of some kind.

There was movement to the sides, and he got the impression there were combatants.

Aramis had a pen-sized periscope, and Bart slid a small probe through another crack. Good. Elke’s shotgun-fired recon rounds would not help here.

Aramis whispered, “There are four routes underground we could have taken. That disrupts the pursuit. This appears to be local militia. Red bandanas with Arabic as their uniform.”

From the ladder, Jason asked, “Does it say ‘Arm of God’?”

“How the fuck would I know? I don’t speak Arabic. Hold on. Bart?”

Bart nodded, fingered controls, and pulled an image. It meant little to Alex, though it was familiar. Jason said, “Yes, that’s them. Sunni. Adequately trained. Looks like they have current generation gear.”

Alex asked, “Estimate on numbers?”

“Possibly thirty in this space. Beyond that, unknown.”

He sighed. Frontal firefights were a bad thing, even with the element of surprise. These guys had rifles, light armor, and looked ready to rumble.

“Well, we do what we have to. Ten of us can take them. But some discretion would have been nice.”

Jason said, “My Arabic is good enough I can sound like an Amala.”

“Will they believe it, the way we’re dressed?”

“Shouting will do it.”

“Likely. Then I guess we do. Judgment calls. Balance ammo with damage. Aramis and Bart split the front. I’ll take forward.”

Cady said, “I’m on the right,” and shifted her carbine to a left-handed stance. She and Jason were both largely ambidextrous.

Jason said, “I’ve got right. Marlin, Lionel, take left. Ms. Highland, Jessie, huddle down in the middle while we clear some space, then be ready to sprint for cover. Shaman, Elke, stay with them, bring them up the rear”