by Vance Huxley
“Stalemate.” Mickey sighed. “If they’ve found food and water, this could last until the reinforcements arrive. Then it’ll depend on what alliances the other blocs make.”
“Worse, we can’t block the airlocks so everyone can come in all over the place. Even if they don’t team up, we can’t guard everything. Maybe they’ll bring heavy weapons, enough to blow those doors and the lasers before our own reinforcements get to us.” Bobby glanced back down the corridor. “We need something extra. Fleur said the Frogs only had one rocket but we haven’t been totally truthful. Maybe they’ve kept something back?”
“Hello there. Is that Beebi’s Basteds?” Mickey and Bobby looked at each other. That accent meant a Ranger. Every Trooper had seen cowboy films and heard how the Rangers and Yankees spoke, and the Yankees were dead. Mickey indicated that Bobby should answer.
“Yes, is that the Rangers? What do you want? We’ve got more flechettes?”
“Luck with that because we’ve got our jackets on but I’m more worried about notsi. That last bledrin automatic wasn’t a carbin and those aren’t flechettes. We want to talk.”
“What about?” Even as he spoke, Bobby gestured at the others to get into Trooper gear. They’d stayed in spacesuits in case the ship voided air but now, despite a firefight, the ship hadn’t reacted. The Trooper gear wouldn’t stop lasers but would slow them up while the jackets and trousers, especially their adapted ones, would stop plastic flechettes except close up.
“We’ve got extra packs and weapons, so we can wait you out. We’ve also found what we reckon are the engines even if we can’t work them.” The voice paused. “Has your Super dropped yet, because our Super wants to negotiate a contract? He reckons you must have the control room so between us we control the ship. The other blocs can eat shit and die.”
“What other blocs?”
“There’s Frogs and a couple of SEPA. The Frogs lost one, maybe two. Watch those bitches, they tried to sucker us.”
Maybe Fleur’s smile had got to him, because Bobby preferred her version. He grinned at Mickey and shouted again. “What about the Amazon and the Shivas?”
“The Frogs shot the Amazon but we got the body and pack.” The voice paused. “You got me, we’ve teamed up with the Shivas. A solid contract.” A carbin rattled way behind Bobby. “That will be one of them sealing the corridor at the other side.”
Mickey leaned close. “Ask if their contract will stand when reinforcements arrive.”
“What if the Shivas have different orders when their reinforcements get here?”
The voice in the corridor didn’t hesitate. “Nope. Our Super has the authority to make contacts and alliances. I’ll bet yours did and that means you have the authority now he’s gone.”
Bobby looked at Mickey and he shrugged. “True. I’m just not as sure as he is that Area Manager Gunnar Eriksson will stand by what I agree. I’m certain he won’t stick to what you negotiate.” Mickey shrugged again. “That’s if he comes. He’s an Area Manager so I can’t see him giving up his legs.”
“Guns is a realist so whoever he sends will be the same. This Ranger seems confident they’ll last until someone gets here, so either he got the supplies from the main rocket or they’ve found food and water. We can’t spend weeks on alert.” Bobby raised his voice. “How do we negotiate without someone getting a clear shot?”
“Our Super will come to the front of our barricade, and you stand out in the corridor.”
That sounded workable. “Give us five while we talk. The mirror will watch so you don’t get cute. No shooting.”
“Deal.”
The talk didn’t take five minutes because Bobby suggested that if the Putes weren’t here helping, they could live with whatever deal he made. Mickey worried about the Frog Super not agreeing, and Bobby explained the Magpie option. Mickey didn’t think that over as long as Bobby expected, but added the proviso the Frog only carked it if he became a problem. Mickey insisted on one point; he would stand out in the corridor to negotiate instead of Bobby. His Trooper gear would stop a plastic flechette even at point blank because Supers didn’t really trust Timers or Troopers. The last bit came with a rueful smile.
Hood went back to tell Magpie she should get her Trooper gear on, and pass that message to the Putes. Once they were changed Bobby noticed they all seemed to have a sharper edge, were more focussed and intent. Maybe the uniform did it. Bobby finally shouted to the Ranger. “Lucky you, we’ve still got a Super so don’t try to pooch us. You don’t want your bloc sued for a breach.”
“You mothers still have your Super? Bullshit.”
Mickey spoke up, and all the recent relaxation had gone from his voice. “This is Supervisor Steven McKay so you button it, Trooper. Who is your Supervisor? If his name checks I’ll send my ID on the command channel and he’ll send his.” Mickey grinned and shrugged at the faces of the Basteds because he suddenly sounded like a typical uptight dick, the sort of dick Beebi’s Basteds should have topped on day one.
A long pause followed, before Siflis started with his hand signals. He could hear voices but couldn’t make out words. An argument had started. Eventually another, accented voice spoke. “Supervisor Satbir Singh Barar of Shiva’s Children. The Rangers have lost their Supervisor but accept my authority. Please confirm ID, Supervisor McKay. I can read that over the command channel.”
“I can read yours as well. Sending, Supervisor Barar.” Mickey listened, then turned his com off. “He’s got the right codes for a Supervisor that name, and the ID readers are hard to fool.” Mickey didn’t say impossible. “I wouldn’t trust a contract with a Trooper Sergeant or Corporal but one agreed with this Super, thumb printed and recorded, should stand.” Mickey sighed. “Then if the Frog dick acts up, set Magpie or Bells on him.” The Super shrugged. “He hasn’t even given me his name and ID so I don’t exactly trust him, and we have no contract.”
“It’ll be a relief if you get a legal contract. We’ll still keep a guard watching the approaches, but the Ranger is right. Between us we have the numbers to lock the ship down and when the rest arrive we can tell the other blocs to piss off. With control of the engines and control room, our bosses should back us.” Bobby grinned. “It’ll probably kick off on Earth, but we’re out of range.” He stood and saluted formally. A crap salute, but the principle counted. “Siflis will watch them with his mirror and Hood will be ready with a carbin. Good luck sir.”
“Piss off, you’ll have me crying next.” The rest of the Basteds saluted, all crappy salutes, while Mickey replied with the parade ground version. Taking a deep breath, Mickey turned his com on and spoke. “Let’s see you, Supervisor Barar.”
He’d turned the volume up far enough for Bobby to hear the reply. “I am standing on the barricade. I will step forward when I see you.” Siflis’s hand signals confirmed that, so Mickey moved to the corner and showed himself, cautiously.
Mickey called out loudly and turned on his squad coms so that Bobby and the rest could hear as well. “Jump down and I’ll take a step. Then I’ll move out further as you come forward.” The reply must have been agreement, because Mickey moved to the middle of the corridor in increments. Siflis indicated the Shiva’s Super had advanced three steps in reply.
* * *
Both Supers shouted as well as used their coms, so everyone could hear as they started to discuss terms. Mickey admitted to having the Putes as allies because the Shiva’s Super wanted shares to be based on numbers of Troopers. The Shivas had lost a man, and the Rangers their Super, so they had ten to Mickey’s eleven. Bobby expected that to become ten as well. He’d find an excuse because otherwise Magpie would do it anyway without orders, after what the basted did to Baiser. Mickey confirmed the Putes were here as armed Troopers, not captured as Divas. Neither knew where the two SEPA Troopers were, and they hadn’t been heard on the coms after that first quick burst of speech.
Mickey asked about contact with Control and Super Barar had used the same method, opened an a
irlock to call the capsule. They both admitted knowing that the reinforcements were on the way and the capsules had no supplies, and agreed to share any supplies in the main rocket. The Shiva’s and Rangers claimed to have plenty of spare food from their own casualties, plus two Amazon packs and one from the Putes, and they’d found water supplies. Mickey told Super Barar that the Basteds and Putes had rationed their food to last for at least an extra week.
“They’ve found food!” A loud crack echoed the shout from the barricade, and Mickey flipped backwards before curling up around his gut. Hood and Siflis opened up with carbins as Super Barar ran back over the barricade. Bobby darted out, snagging Mickey by the collar and towing him into cover despite the scream.
As soon as he made it into cover Bobby shouted down the corridor. “You stupid basteds. Why did you do that?”
“Some packs were shot up so our food leaked and we haven’t got enough even with the captures. The basted mothership won’t release any, or hasn’t got any. We can’t find ship food, but you must have some or you couldn’t last that long.” A short laugh followed. “Beebi’s Basteds don’t like Supers anyway so I figure you won’t care about him carking it. Now we can make a deal with you instead of him. Our bloc and the Indies will pay well for the ship, then you and the rest can retire anywhere in comfort.” The voice kept shouting which drowned the argument behind him, an argument behind the barricade which meant someone had gone off the script. “Top the Frog Super and we’ll buy a couple of the Putes, because there’s no Divas here and it’ll be a long lonely wait.”
Cursing wasn’t going to help so Bobby thought quickly, playing for time. “You must be using different cream or enjoy pain but in any case the Putes say no, piss off. They’ve got a cure for your problem but it’ll be bloody. As far as the deal about the ship goes, how do I know you’ll keep your word?”
“You don’t, but we’ve got a real contract and you haven’t. When the reinforcements get here ours will swamp you, because we can shut off the airlocks and you can’t open one for your Troopers.”
“He’s right. You’ve got to hold an airlock and if he’s got a man in the other corridor we’re pooched.” Bobby winced as he glanced back at Mickey’s pale face and bitten lips. “I’m done Beebi, gut-shot. It went right through the jacket.”
“What did?”
“A toe.” Siflis had left Hood with the mirror while he came to report. “I saw it when the shooter fired. He’s using a detached leg, bent up at the knee and he’s aiming the foot. There’s three toes left.” Siflis shrugged. “Someone must have taken their leg off, or maybe it’s one of those the Amazon brought.”
Bobby called out to Hood. “Can’t you reply with that thing of yours, Hood?”
“I only had two solid rounds. The rest are frangible and might not make it through a Trooper jacket at this range, or even break a face-shield.” A shot sounded. “I’m trying, but not having much effect.”
“I hit that basted Super but the plastic flechettes bounced.” Siflis scowled. “Whoever fired really pooched that Super, going by the look on his face. Then he started running. That argument will end with one less Super or one less shooter I reckon.”
A burst of firing sounded followed by an American voice. “Oh dear. Beebi’s Basteds have shot the Shiva’s Super. Or maybe we can blame the SEPA if we can make a deal.”
“Piss off.”
“All right. We can wait. We’ve got extra food now the Super carked it so we might get thin, but we’ll make it.” The voice laughed. “I’ve already sent more Troopers to seal off the other side. When reinforcements come we’ll tell them you killed your Super, and they’ll believe me.”
“Beebi.” He turned to the Mickey. “Unscrew my other sole. On my foot.”
“What?”
“Do it for a dying man.”
Bobby unscrewed the sole, frantically thinking about what to do next. As the sole came free he gasped. “A bledrin grenade. They allowed you a grenade?”
“Yes, but where you wouldn’t find it if you killed me. Now use it to pooch those arses good and proper.” Mickey subsided, panting heavily as Bells did his best with a bandage and wadded clothing.
“I can’t. The barricade is too far. I’ll not get it over the bins throwing round the corner.” Bobby grinned. “It’ll come in handy if they rush.”
“No, you’ve got to push them back. That Super might have a grenade, and if they find it you’re pooched instead.” Mickey stopped, panting again. “I’m going to give you an order, Sergeant Three Bobby B. I’ll give you a disc.” Mickey coughed and blood came up. “Don’t lose this disc. Eriksson will think you topped me but the disc will be a record of up to now and he’ll not try to pooch you.”
“Thank you Mickey. We’ll push them back somehow, enough to get to an airlock.”
“No you won’t, or you’ll lose men doing it because they’re behind cover.” Mickey bit his lip until blood ran. “In my pack, pouch at the back. Two needles. Green and red. Give me the green, all of it.” A quick search and Siflis held the two syringes up.
“One has to be a GV.”
“Give him the green like he said.” If that turned out to be a GV, well, Mickey had asked for it.
The contents weren’t a GV, and the dose didn’t take long to work. Mickey straightened slowly and carefully. “Not too bad. I can do this. Find me a bit of shelving and something to strap it on, Beebi.”
“Why?” Though Beebi nodded to Bells to do as Mickey said.
“Because I’m going to earn my squad name, Mickey the Basted. You made me a Beebi’s Basted, so I’m allowed to go out right.” Mickey turned. “Get the pack off. I won’t feel it much, not now.” Mickey felt it enough to wince and groan a little as Siflis removed it. “Take the shotgun and the weapons, all of them. That’s good stuff, I’m high as a kite.” Mickey grinned through the blood. “Haven’t seen a kite in years. Used to have a red and yellow one.”
“Sir.”
“What? Oh, yes, sort of wandered off. Dying. Here.” Mickey felt inside his jacket. Something clicked and he brought out a small disc and a bit of electrical kit which he passed to Bobby. “A record for Gunnar and the radio to talk to Aggie if she needs my call-sign. Get me on my feet.” His face split in a silly smile. “A shelf and a jacket to stop a toe, then I’ll give them a grenade.” Mickey giggled. “Special delivery. Super special.”
Even if the Super didn’t forget where he should be going, Bobby wasn’t sure that Mickey could make it that far. If he didn’t, when the bledrin grenade went off Bobby would run down that corridor with both shotguns. The arse with the toes wouldn’t get chance to retarget, and at point blank the plastic buckshot would get through a Trooper jacket. Bobby reassessed when Mickey stood because the Super more or less straightened and seemed firm enough on his feet even without the soles. “I’ll fire my own solid shot.” Bobby twisted his finger and prepared his left hand. “I can try to shoot their shooter but I’ve only got one.”
“Good man. Should get metal. Heh, I’ll get metal for this. Supers don’t earn metal. A real metal super, super metal.” Mickey had started drifting again, then sharpened up when Bells and Siflis strapped a piece of shelving to his front. “Aah, didn’t like that.” He took the grenade in one hand, pulling the pin while holding the lever down. “Give me a knife. If I get near enough I’ll try a throw at toe man. Shame to waste the training. Pretty trainer. Missed seeing strategic secret.” He’d started to drift, but before Bobby could get Mickey back on track they were interrupted.
“Hey, you still there, Beebi?” The shite with the American accent was back.
“Yeah, why?”
“Goodbye, sucker.” Bobby knew just what the metal bouncing down the corridor had to be and if a grenade went off opposite the corridor end the blast would get them all. Even as Bobby turned to dive for the nearest room, Mickey lurched into action. The Super staggered forward, dropping the knife, and as the grenade came into view he bent with a cry of pain and scooped it up.
The gun down the corridor cracked, metal clanged, and Mickey bounced off the wall before rolling the grenade back down the corridor and staggering after it.
“Cover him!” Bobby dived, rolling out into the corridor and bringing up his finger as flechettes started to rattle on Mickey’s piece of shelving and faceplate. Shooting over twenty metres with his left hand wasn’t optimum, so Bobby took his time. The little Kraut automatic ripped off a clip, heads ducked at the barricade, and the incoming fire eased. By the time the arse with the toe gun put up his head again Bobby was waiting. His finger end spat flame and the basted flipped backwards. Bobby rolled back into cover as Mickey staggered past the loose grenade, lifting his own high in the air.
Siflis, Bells and Hood rolled away from the end of the corridor as well, because they could all count. The first grenade went off, and Bobby didn’t need to see what happened to Mickey. The blast would throw him and his grenade forward over the barricade, regardless of what anyone fired at him. Four seconds of screaming and yelling later the second grenade exploded. “Come on!” Bells went round the corner at a full run, the Kraut sending another hundred plastic bullets downrange. As Hood, Siflis and Bobby followed, shooting from the hip with their carbins, Bells staggered and spun round. He bounced off the wall and went down.
Bobby went past him, trying to close with the figures fleeing from the barricade. Another Trooper came from the room just beyond the barricade and all three carbins zeroed in. As the man staggered Bobby let the carbin drop, lifting his shotgun instead. The packed charge picked the Trooper off his feet and then the Basteds came over the barricade, past Mickey’s body. Sharp metal gleamed in Hood’s hand as he finished the downed man. Siflis jumped straight over the second, lower barricade to fire a short burst downwards, then he dived back over as carbins rattled from further down the corridor. A small rocket flew towards them and Bobby dropped as well. Luckily the missile cleared the barricade, carrying on down the corridor to explode someplace behind.
