Уильям Дитц - Into the Guns

“Hell, no,” Mac said, as a column of smoke poured up into the sky. “I wish I had.”

Roughly four hours later, Mac was sitting in the FOB on the other side of a makeshift table from Hanson and two of his cronies. They were pissed, and Mac understood why. The Marauders had been hired to capture the refinery, not destroy it. So she let them vent.

Finally, after the men ran out of gas, Mac offered her side of it. “Look,” she began, “here’s the deal. I’m sorry about the way things turned out. We did our best to recapture the refinery and, if it hadn’t been for the AC-47, I think we would have done so. And oh, by the way… you folks told us that the 711s were nothing more than a street gang!”

Hanson scowled and was about to respond when Mac raised a hand. “Hear me out… Both sides signed a contract. It provides for a per diem charge plus a bonus for capturing the refinery. We failed to accomplish the primary mission, so you’re off the hook there… But you still owe us three ounces of gold per day for twelve days. So pay up.”

That set off a round of recrimination that lasted for fifteen minutes. But the outcome was never in doubt. The mercenaries could waste Miami, Arizona, so the locals paid.

Mac spent the trip back to Superior brooding. Once again, she’d been tested, and once again, she’d been found wanting. Or so it seemed to her. What if Peters hadn’t taken it upon himself to attack the AC-47 gunship? Would the idea of using his helicopter to attack a plane have occurred to her? Mac didn’t think so. But all of your people are still alive, the voice told her.

Because I got lucky, Mac replied. What about next time?

The question went unanswered as the column entered Superior. It was a small town of about fifteen hundred residents. As Mac’s Humvee led the rest of the column east along Main Street, there was very little to see other than some old, flat-roofed buildings and vertical cliffs in the distance. Historically, the town was known for two things. The first was its popularity as a location for movies like How the West Was Won , Skinwalkers , and The Gauntlet .

The second was the town’s proximity to a major copper mine, which, because of the meteor strikes, was no longer in operation. And that had everything to do with why Mac had chosen Superior as the unit’s home. She figured the mine would make a good base… And the fact that there was a town, no matter how small, helped, too. Because Superior could provide much-needed shopping for the troops and their dependents.

As for Superior’s citizens, they were thrilled to host the unit since the mercenaries would have to protect them in order to protect themselves. Not to mention the much-needed cash that the soldiers would spend. So people waved as the vehicles passed by, and that included a squad of Marauders who were out on patrol. Their presence was a sure sign that Evans was doing his job, which consisted of security, maintenance, and training. The latter was of particular importance as new people continued to join the unit.

A short drive took them to the mine. Two A-shaped steel structures marked the entrances to shafts nine and ten. A water tank was perched on a rise, outbuildings sat here and there, and a pile of slush-covered scrap loomed on Mac’s left.

Meanwhile, some of the mining company’s heavy equipment was being employed to excavate what was to become a subsurface vehicle park and maintenance facility. The company’s living quarters were already underground—and impervious to anything less than bunker-buster bombs. And that was important since the unit was large enough to make a tempting takeover target for a warlord.

The company’s vehicles were parked in walled revetments where they would be safe from anything other than a direct hit—and that included support vehicles like the fuelers, six-by-sixes, and gun trucks.

Evans was not only expecting the detachment but was there to greet it. He came to attention and tossed a salute as Mac’s Humvee came to a stop, and she got out. “Welcome home, Captain.”

Mac returned the salute. “ Captain? Since when?”

“Since you were promoted,” Evans said with a smile. “Some potential customers are waiting to meet you—and how many lieutenants command an outfit the size of this one?”

“That makes sense, I guess,” Mac said, “although we’ll need to chew it over with the troops. But if I’m a captain, then you’re a lieutenant. Congratulations, butter bar! You’re overdue for a bump. Who are these people anyway?”

“They claim to work for the new president… A guy named Sloan. He was Secretary of Agriculture or something.”

“There is no government.”

“They claim there is,” Evans countered. “And they’re here to recruit us.”

“For what?”

“To put Humpty Dumpty back together again.”

Mac wasn’t sure how she felt about that. That could be good, if it was for real, but what if Sloan was little more than a warlord? That would mean another step backwards. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll take a shower and find a clean uniform. Can we invite them to dinner?”

“I’ll pull something together,” Evans promised.

Mac was ready to meet with the government representatives an hour later. The delegation consisted of Interim Secretary of Defense Frank Garrison and an army major named McKinney. He had piercing blue eyes… And Mac feared that he’d see her for what she truly was: a lieutenant, masquerading as a company commander. But it couldn’t be helped. All she could do was play the part and hope for the best.

The meeting took place in what had been the mine supervisor’s office. A conference table dominated the center of the room, a makeshift bar occupied a wall, and a space heater purred in a corner. Evans was present… And wearing the bars Mac had given to him.

After a few drinks, and a discussion of the bad weather, Garrison took charge of the conversation. “Let’s get to it,” he said. “Here’s the situation… As you know by now, Washington, D.C., took a direct hit from a meteorite. That was a devastating blow. Our country was left without leadership, and that opened the way for a group of people who want to take over. They call themselves the New Confederacy, and they plan to run their country like a corporation. The president would be replaced by a CEO. He or she would report to a twelve-person board of directors, and citizens fortunate enough to own land would become shareowners. The rest of the population would become disenfranchised.

“But as bad as that sounds to most of us… Plenty of so-called haves would vote for a system that puts them on top. That, plus a well-coordinated fear campaign, explains how the so-called New Order has been able to gain traction.

“Meanwhile as the A-holes who run the Confederacy sell their crap to anyone who will listen, they’re busy stealing anything that isn’t nailed down. Take the Strategic Petroleum Reserve for example… According to our sources, they’re selling the oil abroad—and using the money to buy voters. In light of these facts, President Sloan plans to restore the federal government, and unify the country.”

Mac stared at him. “Even if that means starting a civil war?”

“Yes,” Garrison answered firmly. “And that’s why I’m here. Military force will be required to stop the Confederacy—and that means we’ll need units like this one. Units that shouldn’t exist. You and your personnel swore an oath to defend the United States of America… Not to steal equipment from the army and go into business for yourselves.”

Mac opened her mouth to object, but Garrison raised a hand. “I know, I know… You were cut off and looked for a way to survive. I’ve heard that malarkey before. And we’re willing to accept that explanation for the moment, realizing that the government won’t tolerate mercenaries forever. Let’s talk business. We want to hire Mac’s Marauders… How much will that cost?”