by Vance Huxley
“That doesn’t look a good place to link up, Beebi.”
“You like this better?” Hood scowled in reply. “Nor do I so we’ll go for the armour because HQ will send help for them. I’ll empty a clip or two into the crowd but we want the brave ones at the front going down.” Hood nodded, settled down, and the rifle started firing. Bobby glanced back. Bells sat with the barrel resting on a body, shooting his carbin one-handed with the other hung straight down, while Siflis had knotted a strip of something round his leg. Both were using bodies for cover.
The Plebs in the street had fallen back but the ones with the weapons were spilling out of the doorway and window now, and the incoming started to increase. Bobby used up four of his newly acquired clips in long bursts into the square ahead. The crowds creeping towards the four vehicles stopped when Hood killed the leaders and four hundred flechettes tore into their flanks. Shouting and screaming spread, the heavy machine guns on the armour opened up in longer bursts, and the advance recoiled.
A light flicked from under one armoured car, a bit too fast but Bobby got the gist. They wanted covering fire. What for? Bobby wanted the bledrin covering fire, from those heavy weapons. Then he saw the figures gathering in the gap between one armoured car and the upturned one. No! They couldn’t come this way! That would be suicide! Bobby fumbled for a flashlight to tell them but the three turret guns went onto full auto, walking the tracers across the attackers. The attackers hunted for cover behind bodies or bits of masonry.
Even as Bobby pulled out his light, the group sprang into action, racing across the gap towards him. Well over a score or so Troopers started out, carrying bags as well as packs and spare carbins. The turrets kept firing, as did a half dozen carbins from among the vehicles. “Covering fire, fast as you can at shooters.” Bobby took Hood’s carbin and rested it on the barricade before emptying that and his own in short bursts, alternating. He probably didn’t hit much but it would look like two shooters and help to keep heads down.
The group of Troopers kept running though three had already dropped. Each time one went down someone else snatched up the bag or weapons and kept coming. Two more dropped and at least one only seemed wounded. Nobody slowed to rescue him. The Trooper started firing his carbin in triple bursts, bloody brave under the circumstance because he attracted plenty of replies. More of the group staggered but kept coming, all firing sideways from the hip as they did.
A line of flame shot along the floor from the barricade on the right of the square, heading for the running men. They tried to run faster, but the last three were still too close when it reached a buried charge. The last man in the survivors snatched the bags from two of the dead and ran for Bobby, then he stumbled. The Trooper swung the bags and let go, and did the same for his own before going down. Bobby ducked and waited for the explosion.
It didn’t happen, the bags just landed with a clank. Moments later the first man over snatched one up as he came past. “Ammo,” he called and tossed a bag to Bobby. A tug on the fastener and carbin clips spilled out! Bobby turned, tossing the bag towards Siflis.
“Ammo.” Another bag went towards Bells, down to handguns again.
“Now to fix a few of those basteds.” The men turned back once they were over the top and brought up their carbins.
“No. Kill these behind you first so we can escape.” A pair of angry eyes stared back. “We can catch those basteds in the square when they break cover because we’ve scarpered.” The eyes were still angry, but the man’s lips curled up.
“Done.” The Corp turned away. “Shoot this way first lads.” None of the newcomers liked that idea.
Bobby pointed. “Aimed shots and clear our way home. Then that lot in the square will think you’ve gone and get careless, sitting ducks.” The muttering turned into smiles without any humour at all. Bobby tapped Hood and pointed back down the street behind them. “Kill anyone with a decent weapon, anything that might go through a jacket. We open the back door first.” Hood nodded and slid down a bit so the back of his head didn’t make a target from the square.
Three minutes of aimed triple bursts and Hood’s big rifle, and the mob in the street didn’t want to pick up a weapon. They recoiled slowly, warily and still poised, but at least they pulled back past the burning doorway. That had caught properly now. The ceiling must be alight as flames were coming out of a window above the door.
“Corp?” The man turned to see what Bobby wanted. “What about the heavy weapons? We can’t stop them taking the vehicles now.”
“Those are nearly out of ammo anyway. The wounded who couldn’t run are using up what they’ve got.”
Bobby flinched. “Shite! We can’t let the plebs have heavy weapons!”
The Corp’s face set like stone as he held up a small plastic box. “This is why it’s a bad idea to nick our wheels. Boom. I’ll do it just before they get into the hatches.”
Bobby looked at the plebs creeping across the square, getting even closer to the armour. The heavy weapons were back to firing short bursts again. “Can you get in touch?”
The Corp gestured to a man with a radio on his back. “Yeah.”
“A bullet in their own head might be better, right at the end, and we can be away by then. We’ll give it a while so there are plenty of the basteds climbing over all four vehicles and then click?”
“You don’t want to see it? We do.” The snarls on the fifteen faces were clear to see.
Bobby gestured to the crowd waiting for them, now slowly thinning as the word spread and more of them moved off sideways to find a way into the square. “If we do it this way the Plebs are distracted by all those goodies so we can punch clear and break contact. Siflis will find a way out for us once we’re clear.” Bobby didn’t fancy a last stand just here, ta, and the boom wouldn’t kill enough.
“Siflis?” Bobby pointed at him and the Corp smiled, a real one. “You must be Beebi.” Bobby nodded. “Where’s your Unit?”
“Super sent us ahead, then told me they’re going down for the third time. We’re supposed to get out how we can, if we can.” Bobby gestured. “We’ve already picked up too many wounds. Four of us just isn’t enough.” He snorted. “We already had to resupply from the dead Plebs.”
“But you’ve still got four. Sniper and scout squad, yes?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve heard of Beebi’s Basteds. This is your environment, and you haven’t lost a man yet which is good enough for me. You’re in charge. Now how do we get out of this?” Bobby stared for a moment, shook his head, and began to actually plan.
* * *
It didn’t work all that well for either side, because Murphy stalked the streets in all his bloodstained glory tonight. The Plebs launched their first mass attack on the vehicles. Three heavy machine guns on the armour and the wounded Troopers with carbins, combined with a dozen Troopers with Bobby firing into the flanks on auto, slaughtered the basteds. The assault broke apart in blood and chaos. By then the trapped Troopers were firing even the heavy weapons in triple bursts so their ammo had about gone. Just as Bobby poised to break through the thinning crowd by the burning block, away from the square, another horde turned up and they brought plenty of weapons and ammo.
A storm of incoming meant there was no way to break through the reinforced mob in the street. Bobby took the enlarged squad back into the housing block through the already broken door. He left two of the new men dead on the barricade while others had picked up more wounds. “Jam that, and I mean jam it. Siflis, use your grenade.” The remaining ten Troopers stared at Siflis as he produced the grenade, and Bobby used it to rig the door while others broke the lock to get out the other side of the block.
They ran straight across the next street exchanging fire with the score or so Plebs coming towards the firefight, before smashing straight into the next block. “Shite, no more grenades.” Bobby hammered a knife into the gap between door and jamb to hold it closed.
“Here.” The Corp from the armour passed an
other grenade and showed three more. “We’ve got throwers on the turrets, but the Sarge said the last eight wouldn’t save the armour now. He thought four might help us escape, fair exchange since you were shooting the shit out of the Plebs attacking us.”
“He’s right. Rig that door. We keep doing this until we find an empty street, then Siflis finds us a deep, dark hole.” Bobby went to the other door, already being broken, to check the next street.
The Corp spoke quietly. “We’ve got one here won’t make it. He says he’ll let them get in, then pull the pin, chuck it round the corner and start shooting.” Bobby nodded, it was as good a way to go as any. As they left the block, the first grenade went off behind them. The Troopers cut down the nearest half dozen Plebs on this street and the rest ran, screaming about Troopers attacking the accommodation blocks.
Again they broke into and out of a block, and this time they might have killed the three Plebs and gone dark, but more appeared at the far end of the street before ducking back. Behind them a carbin ripped off a long burst before a grenade exploded. That should make the pursuers more cautious. The group heard the loud rattling of heavy machine guns followed by more grenades in the distance. The Plebs had reached the armour. In and out one more block, leaving another grenade and a Trooper who’d carked it, bled out, and the only two Plebs on the street died quickly. They were well clear of the square now and better yet, at the end of this street lay a warren of workshops, garages and warehouses.
“Break into the next block and out, but rig the door leading out yon side. Do it from this side and come back as fast as possible. They’ll think we headed for the barracks or went to ground in that block and search it.” A grenade exploded behind them. “Catch up quickly because we’re going to disappear into that lot.” Bobby pointed at the dilapidated buildings.
The corporal hesitated. “Base is the other way; we could try for it.”
“Base will be up to their necks in bledrin maniacs and the Troopers will be trigger-happy basteds. One or the other will shoot us.”
“Fair point.” The Corp waved to one of his men and they ran across the street, while Bobby led the rest along the side of the accommodation block to the other end. Shortly after the Corp caught up, running into the narrow alley as Bells frantically beckoned, another grenade went off. Bobby heard the screams followed by the baying of the angry mob.
“Nobody shoot.” Bobby held up his silenced pistol, while Bells held up a knife. Siflis unwound his wire to let it swing by one handle before moving ahead. Carbins were slung and bayonets and knives gleamed softly in the dim light. “Watch where you step, be as quiet as possible.”
The Corp held out the small box, and then showed Bobby his wrist comp. “They’re done.” The terse message just said ‘Luck.’
Bobby nodded. “Wait five minutes. The Plebs can’t get the weapons dismounted by then, can they.” The Corp shook his head, teeth bared in a silent snarl. Corp pressed his button five minutes later, long after the last of the booby-trap grenades had exploded far behind. The survivors were deep into the warren of alleys and narrow streets but still saw the result. The flash lit the sky five blocks away, followed by a long rumble, showing the totally excessive paranoia of SSAB-Tata when it came to theft prevention. According to Corp the charges would also send a signal to the Trooper Base asking for an air strike on their position.
Siflis felt his way through the night, while the twelve still alive followed him as silently as possible. One had to be gagged and more or less carried, and the chances of getting him to a medic in time were shrinking by the minute. Silently meant leaving a few probably innocent bodies but Siflis used his wire and Bobby his long barrelled pistol, and once a thrown knife from Bells, so nobody heard the unfortunates die. The bodies were quickly hidden under rubbish or inside sheds or skips, to leave no immediate trace. Before dawn the Troopers holed up in a derelict warehouse, using the water coming from the broken toilet cistern for washing and drinking. Corp, who now introduced himself as Sandman, sat with Bobby and gathered enough radio intel to finally get some idea of what had happened.
* * *
All four of the local SSAB-Tata Steel Corporation housing complexes had exploded in violence. No Copters had arrived as backup because the plebs shot two down with SAMs, surface-to-air missiles, so real warplanes had to be called up. Now the SAMs had been dealt with the Copters were concentrating relieving the Trooper bases and compounds, using shrapnel and napalm on the hordes laying siege to them. SSAB-Tata must be truly miffed since that had to be destroying whole housing blocks and costing a fortune. Corp managed to reach his own command on the radio and report his position.
“Corp Sandman with 659th Armoured, Tango squad, with eight Troopers and Beebi’s Basteds.”
The reply wasn’t quite what Sandman expected. “Perfect. You say Beebi’s Basteds are with you?”
“Yes sir. But they’ve been shot up. We all have.” Sandman had a sinking feeling about this. The dick on the other end sounded too bledrin happy.
“How many of them?”
“Four.”
Sandman could almost hear the smile. “That’s all of them. Good. Their Supervisor needs extraction.”
“With four men, sir? They’re all wounded and there’s thousands of armed Plebs out there. The Plebs have Trooper weapons and explosives. We’re surrounded.” The Corp could hear the pleading in his own voice, but pressed on. “Without Beebi’s Basteds to find us a way home, I’ll lose the rest of my men, sir.”
Mock patience bled into the radio voice. “I know the Plebs have substantial weaponry. How many men do you have left, Corporal? Men fit to fight.” Bobby sat next to the Corp, listening in after being urgently beckoned.
“Nine, including me, but that will be eight soon without extraction.” The ninth man lay unconscious, bleeding from an ear and the corner of his mouth. There were at least two flechettes or bullets deep inside him.
“Well then, your best bet is to team up with Beebi. That will compensate for his wounded.” The asshole safely tucked away behind concrete had done his sums. The lives of another dozen Troopers versus a chance to extract a Supervisor. No contest. The Corp stared at the radio, because anything he said right now would get him shot anyway.
Bobby beckoned, and the Corp passed the radio across. “Bobby B here slur. We’ll need a sit-rep before we can try. Otherwise we’ll run into trouble and might be too late for the Super.” Bobby mimed sleeping and cutting a throat to the Corp, then mouthed “sod him” while listening to background muttering on the radio.
The muttering stopped. “You’d better get to him before that, or there’s no point sending anyone to relieve you or you coming home. If you get to the Super and link him through, we’ll send a relief column.” Bobby covered the microphone and cursed quietly. Then he met Sandman’s eyes and they both shrugged. May as well go for it.
“Perhaps you’d better give me the best sit-rep you can.” Bobby paused. “Sluur.”
“Smartarse. You know where the weed farm was?”
“We found it, sluur.”
“Ah. Right. Well your Supervisor had to break east, to avoid the Plebs, but there were more coming. He made it to the tram station. File coming for the wrist map.” Bobby listened to the rest of the sit-rep while looking at the small map on Sandman’s wrist with the Plebs and Troopers marked in over the street plan.
The Super still hung on, holed up with maybe half the Unit, up to fifty Troopers. They’d got clear of the housing, right into the tram depot and the Troopers were in the station itself according to a Copter. The plebs in the tram housing and repair workshops and the trams themselves had them surrounded. SSAB-Tata wouldn’t authorise napalm or even explosives there. Enough Troopers with carbins or machine guns could kill the Plebs, while the valuable real estate, trams and heavy equipment would survive flechettes and a few bullets. The dick on the radio didn’t put it like that, just spouted economic use of weaponry and manpower.
Bobby had the job of get
ting through the surrounding Plebs and reaching the Super with a radio link. Once the Super confirmed he wasn’t dying, an armoured relief column would be sent to extract him and the Troopers. “If he dies, the relief column comes home. I’ve heard all about you and your Supers, Beebi, and this one had better not have an accident.”
“Yes sluur, of course sluur. Would never think of it sluur.” The men nearby were stifling their mirth, because Bobby had turned the volume up a bit. There were rumours that some Supers were wary round Beebi’s Basteds but this confirmed it for Sandman’s Troopers. “Could I have your name please sluur, for my official report?”
“No need. Just do the job.” Bobby clicked the radio off and the men nearby exploded into laughter.
Siflis stuck his head in. “Shut it you eedjits, or shall I just send up a flare and ask the bledrin Plebs to join the party?” The group shut up, but they were still smiling. “I’m stuck with a bunch of Homers.” Siflis went back outside to keep an eye and ear open.
“We’ve got to do it, haven’t we?” Sandman stopped smiling and looked decidedly unhappy, and now so did the rest as it sank in. “We can’t even sit it out because that,” he gestured at the radio, “tells them where we are. We, the Armoured, will do what we can but we’re used to riding around in a tin box. You and your Basteds will have to supply the expertise and we’ll supply extra firepower.”
“The trick will be to avoid needing it. Here, look at this map.” Bobby bumped wrists to pass the detailed map of the area around the weed farm and the sitrep map came back from Sandman’s wrist comp. Hood, Siflis and Bells already had the first one because as a scout squad, all his men had to know the mission. Sandman sent two men up as lookout, so Siflis could come down and all the Basteds could help with the planning.
They agreed on a provisional route. While the rest were checking gear and putting an edge on favourite weapons, Bobby pulled Sandman aside. “What about him?” He indicated the dying man.
