by Vance Huxley
“Thank you sluur. Now if we can talk to your people and get eyes on the building?” The man waved at a group of five before leaving, walking rapidly. Bobby smiled, just a little, as four suits and the Super in charge of security approached. They looked like deer being driven to the same watering hole as a pack of wolves.
* * *
After listening to all five, and getting eyes-on the problem, Bobby held a meeting with most of his old squad and the Corps. Eventually he sat back and smiled. “Yes, all right, I agree. We’ll have to top two Supers.”
“Didn’t think you’d fight that hard over it Beebi.” Bells grinned. “Are you going soft on Supers or worried about shite from that Director?”
“Neither, but I’ve got to justify it to Guns. He won’t care how many Supers cark it but we’re not to top them just for the hell of it.” Bobby frowned. “We might have just found our sort of officer.”
“So why isn’t he here, because the basted proved he can shoot?” Guns had provided live fire for some exercises, getting close enough on a regular basis to prove he did it deliberately.
“I asked and that’s not allowed. He’s supposed to be low profile.” Bobby grinned. “Maybe nobody wants him either. Now just to be an arse, we run through it again. The Plebs, rebels, filthy upstarts or general scumbags have the computer controls for the generators, the actual control panels and switching gear, and allegedly enough explosives to turn it all to scrap and rubble.”
“What do they want, you never did say?”
“Because they won’t get it, Attic. They want a shitload of prisoners released, strikers and rioters from the housing complex.” Bobby shrugged. “Even if that happens, the men in there aren’t getting out alive.”
“They’ve got enough weaponry to stop the guards on the plant, and enough explosive for seven necklaces.” Sandman frowned. “We all agree if they’d really got a shitload of explosives they’d let someone see them to prove it. Instead they’ve put a Super or Manager in the middle of each door or window with explosives round their neck. If anyone breathes hard on the wires over the openings, the Super loses his head.”
“Clever, because management won’t authorise killing their own.” Hood glanced at Bobby. “Though you say this Director type just did.”
Bobby laughed. “No he didn’t, he just set a priority and clearly told me to take the place without damaging the gear or killing management, if possible. The two-faced shite just passed it to me.”
“Oops, that’s a mistake.” Sandman looked at the schematic. “It would be easier to go in five places at once? Seven?”
“Don’t get greedy. Just because this will be your first Super.”
“Mine as well.” Magpie grinned. “This is a Pleb dream. Can I top one of them?” She really had loosened up now, enough to occasionally flick Bells about underwear. She reckoned the reason he asked about hers was because Bells wanted to borrow some.
Bobby shook his head in mock despair. “No, but you two cherries can put a clip of solid rounds through the window and door and trip the wires. I suppose the rounds will hit the Supers, but then those nasty rebel bombs will blow their heads off so nobody will look too close.” Bobby raised his head as a Copter went by overhead and another lined up to do the same. “At least those are doing their job. Hood, you and Reaper get set up. Three-click when ready, I’ll say eight when its time.” The radio had been spouting random numbers now and then for an hour, but among the unused ones was eight. Just so anyone listening to radios didn’t realise when the code message was passed.
“Get set?” Hood sniggered. “I thought you’d got to run this past management again?”
“I will, I’m just going to ignore what they say and go in the door and this window. Unless they say go home, we’ll deal with it?” Bobby rolled up the schematic. “Sandman, Magpie, count two after the snipers shoot, then open up.” As Bobby left another random shot rang out, aimed at the open sky.
* * *
Just over five minutes later, Bobby’s tapper three-clicked. Bobby brought his hand down and the motors behind him whined into life. A Copter cruised in, aiming to pass just clear of the target. “Eight.” Two flat cracks sounded as one. Bobby watched one of the lookouts on the roof flip backwards as a heavy bullet blew through his head. The other sniper would have killed the second lookout but anyone in the building would assume more of those random shots. Then Bobby lurched as the jeep surged forward, though he still tried to watch the Copters.
As soon as he’d said eight, two spare Copters hovering nearby had accelerated straight for the target. The one nearby went past as usual, blanketing the area with sound. The two spares, the noise of their approach drowned out, headed towards the big square brick building and ropes unfurled. Two seconds later automatics stuttered from nearby, followed by two explosions.
Bobby saw the explosions as his jeep burst through the flimsy hoardings put up so the besieged Plebs couldn’t see to shoot at anyone moving about. He propped his shotgun on the sandbag sat on the bonnet in front of him, bracing as the jeep raced straight for the shattered ground floor window. Lines of smoke flew past as first the flash-bangs and then the smoke preceded him into the building. “Fire.” Flechettes erupted from the two other passengers, both aiming carbins.
At the very last second Bobby fired both barrels of his shotgun, loaded with plastic instead of lead buckshot so he wanted to be close. He hung on as the jeep hit the low brick below the window, lurching as the metal plate on the front smashed straight through. The jeep bounced and crashed back down, the driver immediately slowing the wheel while braking as hard as possible. Bobby grabbed his shotgun, bouncing around on its sling, and crammed in two more rounds.
Flechettes whined, then heavier weapons sounded. His goggles picked up the heat from a real firearm. Bobby gave the man both barrels, because that weapon might go through body armour. The high-pitched burr of the Kraut meant the second jeep through the window had arrived with Bells aboard, and turned left or it would be buried in the back of this one. Up on the floor above flash-bangs exploded, followed by shots but not many and quickly stilled. Siflis would be up there because the most agile Troopers went in through the skylights.
Bobby charged forward into the offices at the rear of the room, ramming in two more rounds but using one immediately on a man with a grenade. He grabbed the dead man and flipped him onto the grenade, then dropped on top. Behind him the two Troopers dived back out the door. Four seconds later a giant kicked the dead Pleb into the air, flipping Bobby off into the wall. He glanced round, relieved to see no real damage to the equipment apart from scratched paint and spatter, then staggered out to find the fighting had finished.
* * *
Sudden limped over. “We lost one man, but the other two should make it if the medic gets here sharpish. There’s no explosives on the equipment though a couple of the corpses had grenades.”
“Grab the grenades and sort out any good quality notsi or ammo.” Bobby looked round and waved two Troopers over. “Nerd, Sparkler, check those necklaces. If you can’t make them safe, tell the Managers and Supers to sit very still until someone who can gets here.” Bobby opened a channel to the plant security. “Come in but don’t point things because my Troopers are twitchy. Don’t go near the wired openings.”
“Aren’t they safe yet?”
“My people are looking very carefully. Do you want to come over and stick your fat fingers into the wiring, save us the job?”
“No! Did you capture any of the rebels?”
Bobby sighed. “Of course. We asked them really nicely to put down their weapons and they said yes and put on the kettle to brew the caff.”
A different voice came on. “Comedian. I wanted to know.”
“These men knew they weren’t getting out alive so no prisoners. Sluur.” Bobby smiled, unseen by the Super on the radio. “We captured some management, most of them alive?” He held the earpiece away until the Super finished venting.
Though Bobby
kept the smile off his face when he came out to find the Director waiting. “I said no damage!”
“A window and a low brick wall, non-load bearing, one set of entrance doors, some cleaning and decorating, a few desks and chairs and maybe a comp screen or two in there. Two skylights on the roof, and there’s some broken dials and spatter on the machinery and controls. In return you got the place back still operational with two Managers and three Supers still alive.”
“But I said no damage and no deaths.”
“You refused permission to blow holes in the brickwork, so we had to go in the windows or doors.” Bobby shrugged. “Two entry points is the minimum.” He tapped his wrist comp. “I’ve got your exact wording, sluur.”
Bobby listened patiently while the Director screamed a bit. He didn’t care because he could see Magpie and Sandman celebrating in the background, toasting each other with a beer. Once the Director wound down Bobby collected his wounded, all but two who left in a Copter for serious attention and more metal. The notsi body armour Guns had found someplace made a big difference. Bobby frowned, he suspected this had been a test of some sort and wondered what sort of missions they’d get now?
Payback
The first supposedly precision operation must have been precise enough, because the TRRF were given more jobs that didn’t involve killing everyone. Fourteen months later, after a succession of missions from straight hits to hostage rescue missions, Guns brought them their first really black op. “We want you to find a bomber, one who doesn’t care about collateral. He’s killing a lot of Plebs as well as Troopers and causing property damage. A couple of hints led to booby-traps, because there’s a leak or a sympathiser so the bombers knew before the Troopers made a raid.” Guns grimaced. “Worse, the spooks think the bombers know when any Trooper operation is actually planned, and they can’t find electronics or how the information is passed.”
“So what’s our job?”
“You go into the complex without the local Trooper Unit knowing.” Guns sighed. “Without the local management knowing, right up to Director.” He looked Bobby straight in the eye. “You will be repaying a debt. This is for the Ironhills so I reckon you’ll be dealing with an embarrassing problem for your patron.”
“I don’t mind, she did right by me. What sort of problem?”
Guns put the thin file on the desk. “That goes in the shredder once you’ve read it. On the face of it there’s a mystery leak in lower management or the Troopers, and some Pleb revolutionaries. Reading between the lines, especially bearing in mind upper management won’t know about you, someone high up is playing silly basteds. It boils down to political stuff to get promotion or smear a rival. There’s always this sort of shite, but this arse is using bombs. They’re costing the Ironhills serious creds to make a rival or superior look bad, but I’d guess the person is too smart or too high up to be fingered.” Guns looked downright hungry for a moment. “The basted is getting people killed in a power game, but if you unpick the bottom layer of the communications I reckon The Horseman will follow the trail upwards. Then what happens depends on how well the Duchess knows The Horseman.”
Bobby smirked. “She knows his name, what he looks like and where he lives; she said so when she thought spooks were listening to us.”
Guns sniggered. “Then it’ll be a mysterious disappearance, or a botched mugging or robbery.” Bobby stared and Guns smiled at him. “Management really do police themselves, at least sometimes, and I’m far enough up to know how it works.”
“Good to know.” Bobby frowned at the file. “Are we being used to top another Super?”
“Nobody that insignificant. This is best if nobody ever knows you were there, not officially. Unofficially I’d guess it’ll be leaked to make sure a few people get their house in order.” Guns looked quite sad for a moment. “Neither of us will ever retire quietly, Beebi. We’ve rattled the wrong cages.” A brief smile flitted over his face. “Not unless the Iron Duchess finds you a quiet country cottage.”
“I’d die of boredom, unless everyone else comes with me? You could teach me manners.” Bobby opened the file, because talk of the Duchess always made him a bit uneasy. Though he really did owe her so payback seemed fair. Especially since this basted killed job lots of Plebs just to get a promotion.
* * *
Getting into the complex and buying a small cheap place to stay wasn’t a problem, but the next bit could take time because the TRRF didn’t do subtle. Sandman frowned, looking out of the bedroom window at the locals in the street. “What are we supposed to do exactly, if we can’t break heads or at least raid someone? For that matter, why are we here because these Plebs look happy enough. Not exactly laughing, but not ready to riot or revolt.”
“I told you, the problem is in upper management. Some super-dick looking for promotion. He’s using bombs and blaming the Plebs to stir the shite.” Bobby looked out of the window at the Plebs streaming past, coming home from their shift in the Potash Mines. “The housing here is decent for Pleb blocks, and there’s no starvation, but there’ll be plenty of youths looking for thrills or an easy cred.” The group exchanged glances, being young and looking for thrills or creds had been how most of them ended up ‘volunteering’ for the army. “Someone is using young idjeets to set off the bombs, and because the bombs kill Plebs it’ll stir up shite eventually. Then the arse will solve the problem, catch the bomber, and get his promotion.”
“We’ll not find upper management here. The basteds won’t come slumming to a black market electrical workshop.” Sparkler smiled brightly. “Though mending kettles and toasters is a bit of a holiday for me.”
Bells cracked his knuckles. “I don’t fancy working in the Potash mine, but we’ve got to find a way to fit in somehow.”
“I’m not going into a mine.” Siflis had started twitching. “I joined up rather than go to the Chemworks.”
“I joined up rather than go into a mine so I’m with you there, but we have to find a way to blend in. It’ll just take a couple of us, to find a few of the local likely lads.” Bobby grinned. “Then we can take over a low-profile black operation and nobody will wonder why a group of fit men aren’t down the mine.” His smile faltered. “The first bit getting information on the locals, is the problem. Everyone here knows all about mining Potash and we don’t so we’ll stand out.”
“I’ll do it, find you the local bad boys. I did some waitress jobs at caff houses, and sold a bit of home knitting and embroidery for the family on the market before sis had her problem.” Magpie shrugged, embarrassed. “If I’m the shy type and don’t talk much, I’ll get away with the accent. Someone will come along to shake down the owner or pick up the weekly payoff. That or some smartarse will brag a bit or show off a few more creds than he should.” She blushed just a little. “I’ll have to encourage them to talk, so we’ll need someone to be on over-watch in case some randy shite gets heavy. You know, follows me after work.” Her smile became a little bit more feral. “Knifing the scroat might spoil my cover.” Bobby’s first reaction was no, but Magpie had always insisted on being one of the team. Then she gave him a reason he couldn’t argue with. “You’d let any of the rest do it but they’d never fill out a skirt and blouse the same.”
The thought made him smile. “I never thought of that, you can dress like a woman.”
“I am a woman, sort of. Which means nobody will ever guess I’m a Trooper, will they? Oy, quit that.” Magpie ducked away as Siflis rubbed her Trooper cut.
“You’ll need a wig.” Bobby sniggered. “That’ll blow Guns’s mind, one of us in a woman’s wig. Maybe I’d better buy one local.” He nodded at Magpie. “You’re on. You’ll have a squad watching from here and there, especially when you walk home. Practice the accent so you get near to local, though I can hear a mix out there.”
“You’ll never get the local Yorkshire right, so stick to a mild version and swear your Ma came from someplace else.” Hood frowned. “No, your Dad, because there’s no reas
on for a woman to change complexes but a man can be brought in for expertise. I’ll keep a rifle covering you. If it goes wrong, just run and we’ll drop whoever follows.”
“Work on what you need. Ah, have you got any clothes left? You know, dresses or anything?” Bobby hesitated. “You’ll have to give one of us sizes. Otherwise you might look like a bloke buying dresses for yourself.”
“Just for a dress, then with a wig I’ll buy the rest.” Magpie’s blush deepened when Bells muttered sexy knickers. “I haven’t got to live in a bledrin accommodation block and all that, have I?” She curled her lip in a sneer. “Some block caretaker will want a favour to get me a flat at short notice, or the local protection will want paying off and maybe not in creds. I’ve lived in those places, remember, and only Divas usually swap blocks.”
Bobby hadn’t thought of that. “We can’t pay someone off or they’ll be nosy about how you got the creds. We’d need more than one person there anyway, because we won’t leave one of ours hanging out there without cover. What about a private place, a flat or a room not in a block?”
“It would have to be cheap so as not to attract attention but even then I’d need an income to afford it.” Magpie frowned. “Though at least nobody bothers to shake down some Pleb renting out a room.”
“You need freedom of movement and a reason you can afford it so your cover will be you’ve got a bloke, and he’s got a decent job in the mine. You earn a few creds at the market which means the pair of you can afford to rent a private flat.” Hood hesitated. “The bloke will have to visit, and often enough to look as if he lives there. It would be better if he actually lived there.” Beebi managed not to flick a glance at either Bells or Hood.
