by Vance Huxley
Then the Super said the four were a scout-sniper squad and threw them to a sergeant to sort out. The sergeant had asked to see the metal, which made a better spread now, then pointed out that he didn’t mind the rule breaking but try to not let the bledrin management find out. The squad didn’t care because they were together again. They’d settled back down into their old routine within weeks. That had been nearly two years ago and so far this Super either didn’t know or didn’t care what the squad did as long as the basted targets carked it on time. Not strictly true, he did flick Bobby about breaking rules but only trying to get a rise.
This unit of one hundred Troopers were called 3914 SSAB-Tata, and policed Residential Complex SSAB-Tata 17D. This particular complex seemed grubbier than most, with a worse drug problem than others they’d seen though it wasn’t the worst. Unfortunately SSAB-Tata, the corporate owners, expected the Troopers to shoot agitators instead of addressing any problems. As a result, the Plebs here were more savage than in the other complexes Bobby’s squad had served in. Now the four of them were sneaking through the darkened streets on yet another mission, though tonight’s targets were drug growers and deserved killing in Bobby’s opinion.
* * *
Siflis showed up in the gloom. He’d pulled up his balaclava so they could see the pale oval of his face. “Nobody else,” he whispered, and pulled the face covering back down. Bobby saw the dark shadow melt back into the night and followed with the rest of the squad. He searched the still-warm corpse Siflis left behind and took the short-range radio and a snub nosed Pleb special. Bobby confirmed the revolver loads by touch, and found a dozen loose rounds in a pocket so the little revolver went in Bobby’s boot. He’d look at it in daylight before deciding whether to turn it in.
Some Pleb weapons were good gear, and they all had several now. The chances were this would be good gear. The big drug growers always had creds for decent weapons because they took the least risk but set the price. The more dealers the Troopers caught, the more the growers could charge the starved market. Bobby thought it about time the Unit, the hundred Troopers under the Super, went after the growers. Raiding this complex of allegedly abandoned warehouses would lead to the burning of acres of illegal foliage.
Hood stayed right behind Bobby. The God of Death carried a real rifle these days. The weapon fired frangible rounds, which didn’t break property because the bullets broke up straight after impact or if they hit brick. The rounds made a mess of Plebs, even ones with bits of captured or homemade armour since Hood didn’t aim where there might be any of that. He fired a lot faster these days and loved the fancy telescopic sight on top of the long barrel.
Bells acted as rearguard because that way he wouldn’t walk into a surprise. Bells still went viral when surprised, a real advantage for a rearguard, and probably carried more knives, small swords, brass knuckles and spare bayonets than the rest of them put together. Bobby always had an itch in his back while Bells held a carbin but that usually stayed strapped over Bells’s back.
The dinky little automatic weapon with the long clip of plastic bullets that Bells had in one hand wouldn’t go through a Trooper’s jacket, or only enough to cause a flesh wound, a comforting thought. The weapon came in handy for close up work against unprotected Plebs since Bells didn’t need to worry who got in the line of fire. Siflis reckoned the gun was Kraut, which meant very illegal and definitely not anything a Trooper should carry. Bells had traded an inlaid handgun and two long knives with inlaid blades for it and scored a box of the plastic ammo as well.
Siflis stopped moving as they came past the front of the drug growing complex. He started pointing out which guards were where, and Bobby sent it back to the Super on the tapper using Morse’s code, whoever Morse was. The jumble of numbers made no sense unless you had the map marked with today’s location codes. A series of gentle vibrations on his neck replied, telling Bobby they had ten minutes to close the back door. Bobby passed the news to Siflis and the squad crept on. They pulled back a little to go through the housing around the warehouses and approach from the back.
Another cooling corpse later they had the right place with a good view of the rear of the target and the two routes away, which would be why the corpse chose the spot. Corpse had another of the pistols and more loose rounds so Bobby passed that one to Siflis. The scout waved it away but Bells didn’t. Bobby wondered how Bells found room in his boots for feet.
The tapper counted down the last ten seconds against their legs, directed from Unit command. Firing broke out followed by a bledrin great bang, all light and smoke as either the door went in or a booby trap blew at the other side of the buildings. It didn’t stop the firing but although he kept to his own channel Bobby knew the raid had achieved initial success. The notsi weapons used by Plebs and gangsters were getting fewer while the Trooper carbins were firing short bursts, killing defenders instead of suppression. Any time now the survivors would try to get away. Sure enough a blank bit of wall slid forward and sideways, and a man with a rifle came out of the gap and looked both ways.
The two-way on the corpse buzzed. No message followed, so Bobby took a chance and buzzed back just once. The man peered up, undecided, so it probably should have been two. A grenade exploding around front of the weed farm made up the basted’s mind and he beckoned. Another two men came out, both carrying rifles but Bobby put a hand on Hood. Not yet, because the Super wanted the boss.
Sure enough those two looked round and waved and a vehicle bonnet showed! That wasn’t expected. Bobby thought about that for a moment and this had to be the money man because a working vehicle wasn’t something everyone had. Plebs walked, so this had to be the boss’s fast getaway and would have worked except for Hood’s rifle. Bobby tapped Hood and the rifle spat. A muted clang followed but the vehicle kept coming, and the three men were looking this way! “Armoured!” Bobby hissed.
“Should I…”
“Yes, quick!” Hood fumbled for notsi ammo as the small van pulled carefully out of the narrow gap and started to turn away. Meanwhile the three men were looking towards their dead lookout and the radio crackled. Bobby ignored it, and as he heard the bolt go home on Hood’s rifle spoke to his squad. “On two we open up on the riflemen with carbins. Put their heads down so they don’t see the flash when Hood stops the van.”
Mutters of complaint came back but Bobby saw Bells unsling his carbin. Bobby put a clip of solid rounds in his carbin instead of the legal flechettes because even if they were illegal so was the bledrin van. Anyway, ordinary flechettes might reach but wouldn’t penetrate much.
“One, two.” Three carbins went full auto and at least one solid round hit the van or other metal. The three men went for cover though one didn’t make it. While they were still firing, Hood’s big rifle cracked. They all heard the clang but the van kept going though still slowly turning. “Again, the other side, then move sharpish.” It must have Frog steering, or maybe Yankee.
“You two, if they bail out shoot at their legs. They’ll have armour.” Siflis would know that but Bells needed it explained. He’d become their own personal Homer, even if he’d never actually said ‘doh’ or at least not yet. The rifleman who had dropped kept crawling, slowly, but he wasn’t shooting so Bobby ignored him. Bells didn’t and puffs rose over a wide area around him as more flechettes hit the road. The man stopped crawling.
Bobby put in a standard flechette clip and emptied his carbin at the two riflemen shooting back. The flechettes might come near enough to make them duck. From the dust coming up off the brickwork Siflis must still be using the heavier black market version. Management disapproved but they weren’t being shot at with rifles using solid lead bullets. Even as the clang of the second hit echoed off the van Bobby realised the first one probably did the job. The vehicle hadn’t straightened up and continued the slow turn into the wall.
The back doors burst open and Bells let fly with his little machine pistol. That didn’t hit anyone at this range of course but the loud buzz o
f noise made the three men press back against the van for a moment. Siflis and Bobby opened up with carbins. Siflis must have switched back to lighter loads judging by all the puffs of dust. There were a hundred standard flechettes in a long clip and all Troopers used long clips instead of the short thirties given to Timers. The two hundred flechettes raised a cloud of dust around the three men as all three dropped, screaming.
Hood’s rifle blew the head off one of the two riflemen and the other started to run. “Leave him.” Hood sounded certain and sure enough the runner barely got past the van when he flew sideways and laid still. “Oops, forgot.” Hood hadn’t forgotten to switch back to frangible, he just preferred the solid bullets. He always said they were more accurate but the rest of them thought Hood liked the spatter.
“Switch back, there might be more. Not only that, but accidentally shooting our Super with the wrong ammo will get you into trouble.” Brief laughter followed because so far this Super wasn’t in danger of an accidental bullet. Then they all concentrated on the door and the rest of the wall just in case the back door had a side door.
“What about the others?” All three on the street behind the van started off screaming, though now one seemed to have fainted. The first rifleman had stopped twitching now and must be bleeding out from the growing stain around him. Hood probably asked just because he wanted the target practice.
“They’ll bleed out, or management will ask them some questions.” Bobby sniggered. “I doubt they’ll get the option of metal.” Bobby had some of the other sort of metal now, as plates in both legs because the toughened Trooper jackets didn’t cover them. They all had enough protection inside their trousers now to stop flechettes except really close up. Nobody else showed even when the firing became muffled as the Troopers worked deep into the complex. Three or four minutes later there were muzzle flashes inside the darkened doorway, then a voice called out.
“Outlook, it’s the Unit. Is it clear?” Bobby didn’t recognise the voice, and it sure as hell wasn’t the sergeant or the Super.
“Not for a question like that, you prat.” Bobby replied on the channel, because he wasn’t shouting so that some sneaky shite out in the dark got a free shot at the squad.
A different voice spoke up, on the radio this time. “Third squad requesting clearance. Bad Spliff. I repeat Bad Spliff.” That had to be a Corporal.
“Backstop. All clear, come ahead Bad Spliff. Check the screamers for weapons.”
“Wipe your own, Buttstop.” The figure coming out raised a single finger in salute and headed for the screamers. Bobby and his squad stayed where they were, keeping an eye open all round while the Troopers took the belts from the trousers of the dead to tie off the legs on two screamers. Eventually the Super came out with his shotgun over his shoulder and Bobby’s neck vibrated with the rally signal.
They came down while the Super wandered around the bodies. He looked up as they approached. “It looks as if the Plebs have been shooting each other again. After all we’ve got nothing that makes that sort of mess.” The Super gestured at the splash where one rifleman’s head had exploded across the road, and the pool spreading from the huddled corpse of the other. “What’s in those clips if I check?”
“Don’t know slur, they’re all loaded at the factory. We’re not allowed to mess about with them.” Bobby smiled at the old exchange.
The Super snorted. He poked a finger through the two holes in the van. The door had been opened to show the two slumped figures still bleeding over the seats. “I see Beebi’s Basteds are still the luckiest shites in the Unit. Else how would there be these dinky little holes in just the right places to shoot this pair through?”
“Pure luck, though it was good shooting to hit those holes. Maybe Hood should get metal for that, slur.” Bobby could keep this shite running all day. He’d had practice because the Super seemed to enjoy flickin Bobby, trying to get to him, though he never really pushed. The Super stiffened, which had to be his personal coms, and moved off a bit to talk to higher about something. Something he seemed unhappy about from the body language. Then the Super came back, beckoning to the sergeant.
Though first he spoke to Bobby. “Well I hope your luck rubs off on all of us. Move out ahead of the rest and find us a way home. We’ll torch this sharpish and follow.” The Super sounded stone cold serious now.
“What, no search?”
“No time. Some sort of bledrin black newsletter has wound the Plebs up and it’s going viral. If we don’t get back soon, we won’t get back at all.” The Super waved a hand. “Get going. If in doubt, kill whoever it is and I don’t care what you break.” Bobby stared open-mouthed as the Super turned to the sergeant.
“Sarge, shoot all the prisoners. Then look over our wounded and use severe triage because if our men can’t move by themselves, they can’t come.” Sarge opened his mouth to protest but the Super rode straight over whatever it was. “We move fast or we all cark it. Our badly wounded have an option, GV or a weapon and a good position until the Plebs get to them. Notsi hand weapons only because I’m not giving the Plebs a carbin.” Sarge shut up.
“Super?”
“You still here? Sarge, if these four are in sight in ten seconds, shoot them.”
“The truck is armoured, and will carry wounded.” Bobby turned and trotted to the nearest corner because the sergeant would be counting.
“I could...”
“Not yet Bells.” Bobby glanced back. “Too many witnesses.”
“Later might be too late.” Siflis gestured ahead as they came around the corner and out of sight of the Super. A glow showed among the buildings, directly between here and base.
“Find a way round. In case nobody got it, we kill anyone and break anything in the way.”
“Yesss. About bledrin time!”
“In the way, Bells, not because it’ll make a nice noise breaking. Hood, don’t use up the solids until you have to. There might be more armour to punch through.”
“Hellfire Beebi, there can’t be another of those cars!”
“No, but some Pleb out there might stick a shed roof in front of a barricade, or some such shite. Save the solids.” There might be another car as well but Bobby didn’t want to tempt the Two-faced Bitch, Lady Luck.
“Shite. It really is bad then?” Hood changed clips as he spoke.
Siflis came back in time to hear the exchange. “I’ll keep the heavy flechettes for later as well. The alley there is clear right now, but I can hear the Plebs in the flats nearby and that could alter. They’re on about Aliens invading and Plebs storming the base to get weapons.” He moved out in front again.
“Aliens?” Bells looked around wildly, waving his Kraut.
“Calm down Bells, they’re Plebs so who knows what they’re sniffing.” Though Bobby thought Aliens seemed a bit more than the usual weird. ”You lot move down the alley, and I’ll tell the Super and warn him the road might close behind us.” The four of them moved down the alley, avoiding the rubbish without any conscious thought after years of patrols. The tramp behind a skip laid very still so Siflis had taken the instructions to heart.
The answer from the Super was stark and simple. “Keep going and we’ll try and follow. If we get cut off from you, get back to base and we’ll either hole up or unleash hell. Luck, Beebi.” Bobby flinched, because unleash hell wasn’t a joke. It came from some old vid, but the reality meant calling down Copters and arty on your own position because you’d been overrun. That meant anything up to napalm if available and management authorised the cost in real estate.
“Luck, sir.” The Super would know Bobby meant it since he didn’t slur the ‘sir’ this time. A shout above and behind meant the luck hadn’t lasted.
Bobby pulled out his long pistol with the fat barrel. “Where is he?”
“Last block we passed. Three up, four from left. Laser light in three.” Bobby brought up the pistol, two-handed, and waited for Siflis to light it up. As soon as the dot of light appeared Bobby put th
ree silenced rounds downrange and Siflis turned the laser light off. Screaming and shouting sounded from back there and lights came on in some rooms, but all confused.
“Move, move, move. He might only be wounded and tell someone. Come on Bells, rearguard from round the bledrin corner.” They ran for the alley end and dodged round the corner. Behind them Bobby could see a glow as the Super torched the weed farm. With luck anyone coming that way would be stoned by the time they got through the smoke.
“Clear.” The Squad moved towards the next corner, where Siflis crouched. “Beebi, one across and up, on the garage. There’s another two down this side in a doorway. I don’t think they’re pooching so they might be waiting for us or dealers setting up a meet.”
“Bells, as soon as I shoot get down the street and sort them. Silent if possible, but don’t take a stupid chance.” Bells suddenly had a long knife and a stubby revolver in his hands. “Hood, watch that garage roof. If I miss or he’s got friends, don’t piss about asking or worrying about noise.” From the corner of his eye Bobby saw the long rifle barrel come up. “Light on him on two, Siflis.” Bobby brought up the pistol. “One, two.”
Bobby fired twice before flame lanced out from the rooftop, the second crack drowned out by Hood’s rifle. A shadowy figure reared up, twisted and went down. Hood fired again. “Yours kept moving, Beebi.” Bells had made it halfway to the doorway when two figures erupted. The stubby revolver let five go in a nearly continuous roar and as the men staggered and ducked Bells ran the rest of the way. Both hands lashed out as the pair went down and by the time the other three reached him the strangers were still.
“Dealers I reckon.” Bells panted as he tossed a Saturday night special and two blades onto the pavement, but that would be excitement.
“Hood, take the blades and the special because it might get dirty tonight.” Hood didn’t carry much gear for close up and personal. Siflis cursed, quietly but continuously. “You OK Siflis?”
