David Gunn - Maximum Offence

‘Incoming,’ says my gun.

‘ Where . . . ? ‘

Doesn’t matter. The incomer is here.

As we watch, a bare-chested boy tramples our fire and turns his horse in a tight circle. Sparks fly from beneath its hooves. A leather thong ties back the boy’s black hair. He’s holding the reins in one hand. His other hand is holding a rifle.

He’s shouting what sounds like a battle cry.

‘Fuck,’ says Shil. ‘Will you look at that.’ She’s not talking about the horse either.

Caught in the cold brightness of her searchlight, the boy throws up his arm, realizes it’s not enough to shield his eyes and aims his rifle. I have time to knock up Shil’s muzzle. But not enough time to stop the boy from pulling his own trigger.

In the silence that follows, everyone freezes except for the bloody pony. So I punch it to the ground.

Dragging the boy from beneath his animal, I throw him against a rock. My foot’s on his throat and I am treading down when Pavel unslings his own rifle and his fighters draw their blades.

So I tread down harder.

‘Sven,’ whispers Colonel Vijay. ‘Not again.’

I take my foot off the boy’s throat.

As the boy clambers to his feet, he tells me who he is. He’s Racta, and he’s the old man’s grandson. Sorry, that is Don Racta, heir to Pavel, caudillo of the O’Cruz. He’s not happy with his grandfather or me.

‘Shut it,’ I tell the boy.

When he doesn’t, I kick his feet from under him. And when half a dozen ejercito, as members of an ejercitox seem to be called, step forward, I put my foot back on his throat.

‘ Sven . . . ‘

‘He’s negotiating,’ says Haze.

Colonel Vijay stares at him.

‘Seen it before, sir. Best to leave him to it.’

That’s no way for a trooper to talk to an officer; never mind talk to a colonel. Soon Colonel Vijay is going to wonder why Haze never takes his helmet off. But there is stuff I need to do and the SIG has just come up with a good reason why I should do it sooner rather than later.

‘See that blood,’ it says. ‘It’s yours.’

Neen finds a slug against my rib, flattened from where it ricocheted off my arm. Extracting the misshapen lump of copper he walks over to where Racta kneels, still gasping and clutching his neck, and tosses it at his feet.

‘Do that again,’ says Neen, ‘and he’ll cut your throat.’

Turns out, we couldn’t have chosen a better way to reach a deal. As the old man looks on approvingly, Shil stitches the edges of my wound shut. She’s done it before and her needle-work’s good.

Colonel Vijay has some questions.

Has Pavel seen anything odd recently?

‘Just ask it,’ he says, when I look surprised.

So I do, and get a long rambling answer that I don’t bother to translate.

‘What did he say?’

‘Life’s strange.’

The colonel’s lips tighten. ‘I ask a question, you translate exactly. Do you understand?’

Shil’s wondering how I’m going to answer.

‘Of course, sir.’ ‘Ask him about people dressed like us.’

‘Like us?’

‘Yes,’ says the colonel. ‘Like us.’

Sounds as if we’re not the first Death’s Head mission to this place. Pavel doesn’t know anything. At least, not directly. He’s heard from someone in another tribe. Of course, the other tribe lies. They lie like . . . well, Azari, which is what they are. Anyway . . .

‘What happened?’

Well, the Azari say the ghosts took them, but they’re superstitious fools, and not to be trusted. Because everyone knows women lead them. Unlike the O’Cruz, who . . . See, I told Colonel Vijay he didn’t need me to translate every word.

‘Tell him,’ says the colonel, ‘anyone who helps us will also get gold.’

Pavel wants to see it.

As we watch, Colonel Vijay reaches into his jacket and removes a roll of coins heavy enough to make his hand tremble. The man is an idiot, he might as well have drawn a line around his throat and written cut here .

‘What?’ demands the colonel.

He asks because Neen has jacked the slide on his rifle.

When Pavel looks at me, his eyes are amused. ‘So young,’ he says. ‘So stupid . . .’ He shrugs. ‘Undoubtedly, he will get himself killed.’

‘But not tonight,’ I say. ‘Because I’m here to keep him alive.’

Pavel considers this.

‘Five gold coins,’ he says.

I’m not sure if that is his price for helping us, or for not trying to cut Colonel Vijay’s throat on the spot.

The caudillo shows me a horse he wants to sell Colonel Vijay. It’s cheap, only ten gold pieces. He laughs when I refuse without bothering to check with the colonel first. The five gold pieces in his pocket have made us allies, apparently.

‘Here,’ he says. ‘Yours . . . No cost.’

The leather flask is filled with wine that tastes like vinegar.

‘Our finest,’ he announces.

We are about to move out when the caudillo makes a final offer. I’ve told him about the missing U/Free observer. Although I tell Pavel the missing man is a friend of my caudillo, who may have been captured or fallen.

‘A weak man?’ Pavel asks.

He means, weak like your caudillo ?

I shrug. It’s possible. The U/Free don’t strike me as physically strong.

‘Could have fallen,’ Pavel admits. ‘These mountains are treacherous . . . You need to be tough.’

His offer is simple. The gang’s best trackers will go with us. They know all the high paths. That is when he says something interesting. Bad things have come to these mountains.

Ghosts and snakeheads , Pavel calls them.

Maybe he sees a flicker of interest in my eyes. Because his grin says he knows he’s got a deal. The O’Cruz are going to take us right round Hekati in five days. All it will cost, he says, is another twenty gold coins.

‘Five,’ I say.

Pavel shakes his head. ‘Fifteen.’

‘Ten, but only if we find my caudillo’s missing friend.’

‘Five now,’ says Pavel. ‘Five then.’

I take his offer to Colonel Vijay, since he is the one with the gold. Even at the ten gold coins I tell him it will cost, five for us and five for Pavel, the colonel thinks it’s a bargain. So do I, until I discover the Itcific trackers are to answer to Racta, who is still clutching his rifle. The boy’s bare-chested, his skin is oiled and his hair is twisted into a long plait.

When he grins at Shil, she actually smiles back.

‘See,’ whispers Colonel Vijay. ‘Dialogue helps.’

Neen takes rear and I take point, with the colonel behind me. The rest of the Aux slot into their usual positions, with the trackers riding ahead. It’s early morning by the time we move out and the sun is just over the mountain. Well, it is bouncing off a mirror at an angle chosen to give that impression. Haze is busy telling Rachel how the mirror hub works. She sounds interested. Maybe she is.

Snipers are strange.

As Racta rides, his men run behind, heavy knives stuck in their belts and their heads protected against the sun by caps with flaps that hang down their necks. The trackers look tough, made fit by living on these slopes. Much more running, though, and they will be useless before mid morning.

‘Crap horse, shitty little tribal prince, treacherous ravines . . .’ My gun sighs. ‘You could get slaughtered out here and I wouldn’t be found for a thousand years.’

‘You’re on silent.’

‘So,’ it says, ‘I adjusted myself.’

‘You can’t-’

‘ Emergency override .’

‘What’s the emergency?’

‘That little idiot,’ says the gun. ‘He’s going to get you killed.’ Takes me a second to realize he means Racta and not the colonel.