Counterstrike: The Separatist Wars Book 2

by Thomas Webb

  “Of course,” the general said. “Now if we are all done with pleasantries, perhaps we can begin?”

  Lima laughed from several thousand miles away. “Some things never change, Jaali. Still always right to the point. So what do you have for us?”

  General Njoroge moved his hand through the air and an image of the black site, alongside images of Separatists bodies and burning vehicles, appeared. “The hit on the prison site was a highly coordinated attack. The bombing of the gates was merely a diversion.” He pulled up another image of the sandstone corridors beneath the prison. An image of a large hole appeared. “The attackers used a sonic drill to access the lower cells. That is where the higher value prisoners were kept.”

  “How would they have known about this site?” Hale asked.

  “Inside job?” Zombie ventured.

  “Perhaps,” the general said. “We are still investigating. Mr. Sanders has agreed to act as the United Nations Intelligence Agency’s liaison with the kingdom.”

  “How many escaped Jaali?” Lima’s holographic image asked.

  “I can field this one gen’ral,” Sanders said.

  “Please do Mr. Sanders. Proceed.”

  A nod and Sanders waved his hand. Five images appeared from thin air. “These four-” the SAD man pointed to the first four escaped prisoners, “are hardened, but none of em’s real important. We’d already drained em’ of intel for the most part. We were just holding them on account of no one else wanted to take ‘em. Now this one?” he pointed to a fifth man. Olive complexioned. Dark hair. A wild, untrimmed beard. Handsome, but unkempt. No signs of abuse, outside of some malnutrition. “This one is Renee Leblanc.”

  Hale didn’t recognize the face. But that name . . . Leblanc. That rang a bell. He’d heard it in connection with some intel on several operations while he was still active duty. LeBlanc was a bomb maker. A talented one, too, if the scuttlebutt was any indication. Which it usually was.

  “Leblanc is a former OC EOD technician. He did a stint with the Separatist Militia Legionnaires,” Sanders continued. “And then moved on to the Outer Colonies Special Ops division. A team nabbed him in a raid about two years ago. Taking him out of play was a major win for us.” Sanders swiped the image. “And this one here. . .”

  Hale’s eyes moved to the image of the last man. It was a face he recognized as the prisoner they’d come to interrogate. The prisoner who’d turned out to be –

  “Jordon Ramsey,” Shane said.

  Sanders made his finger a gun and pulled the trigger. “Bingo, Captain. Out of all the prisoners who got away, these two—Leblanc and Ramsey—are the big fish.”

  “I have read the preliminary reports,” General Njoroge said. “What I do not understand is why? Why would this man Ramsey change his face, then allow himself to be taken into custody? He could have easily conducted the hit on the prison from outside. There was no need for him to become a prisoner himself in order to execute this action. He could have even conducted it remotely.”

  It was a good question. Hale knew the answer. And so did the rest of his team.

  “It was because of us,” Kris said, so low that they almost couldn’t hear. It was as if she was finishing Hale’s thoughts. “He wanted to see us all. In person. He wanted to look Trace Child of Hale, and Shane Child of Mallory, in their eyes when he exacted his vengeance.”

  Kris’ statement elicited a puzzled look from Sanders. “one of y’all want to fill me in?”

  “Last year we captured Ramsey,” Hale said. “He led us to the Separatist base where we freed Anesu.”

  “And for that he changes his whole face around, gets arrested, and attacks a fortified Kushite outpost?”

  “We also killed many of his comrades,” Lash offered.

  “And don’t forget how Lima tortured the shit out of him,” Zombie chimed in.

  “Yes,” Lima said. “There was that.”

  Sanders nodded. “Well that makes sense, then.”

  “I am beginning to understand,” General Njoroge said. “But an operation of this complexity requires resources. More resources than the Separatists could ever have hoped to muster alone.”

  Hale looked pointedly at Shane. She met his eyes. Maybe it was time to share more of their information with the Kingdom.

  “We’ve been working a theory on that,” Shane said, choosing her words carefully.

  Lima tsked. “Do not be modest, Shane. It is much more than a theory.” Hale had to admire the old man’s style. Without giving anything up, he’d just given Shane tacit permission to share their intel.

  “You suspect who is behind this?” General Njoroge asked.

  Lima nodded. “Thanks to some outstanding work by Shane, we have a strong working theory.”

  “We only require enough proof to present to the United Nations,” Shane added.

  General Njoroge frowned. “Is there a reason the Kingdom was not informed of this, Silvio?”

  Lima shook his head. “Strictly speaking? No—there was not. I was simply waiting for the right time to share it, Jaali. That time is now. I’m sending something to you via encrypted wave.” Holographic Lima flicked his hand and a file appeared above the briefing table.

  The gathered group waited for the decryption sequence to do its work. A few seconds later the file opened. Rows of documents appeared, the first bearing the distinctive, blood-red logo of United Les Space.

  “Gods,” General Njoroge muttered. “ULS? The Kingdom has a massive interstellar shipping contract with them.”

  “This must be kept quiet,” Anesu said. “Until we have indelible proof.”

  “Yes. Of course.” Njoroge rubbed his chin. He gazed at the image of Lima. “So you think that ULS is funding the Separatists?” he asked.

  “After what my team has discovered? I would bet my life on it.”

  Hale thought a moment. “So the next question is where do we find LeBlanc?”

  “Exactly,” Shane said. “If we find LeBlanc, I’m guessing he’ll lead us to Ramsey. Ramsey has to have been in contact with ULS. If we can get him to talk about his ties to the corporation, it’ll be just the nail we need to hammer ULS’s coffin shut. We can bring whatever evidence we find before the UN Security Council.”

  “So where do we start?” Sanders asked.

  Shane leaned in close, examining LeBlanc’s file. “According to this, Leblanc is from New Paris.”

  “Sounds as though it is time I add in my piece of the puzzle,” Lima said. “I had to swallow my pride in order to get this information.” He zipped one more file through time and space to land, floating, above their briefing space.

  “What’s this boss?” Hale asked.

  “This is your latest target package. I’ve had X37 putting it together while we spoke. The UNIA agrees with your assessment, Shane. They think Leblanc may have gone to ground in New Paris.”

  Hale scratched his bearded chin. “New Paris is a big place. We have it narrowed down to the city, but without something more specific? We’ll never find him.”

  “The city’s a start,” Shane said.

  Silvio Lima got that look on his face. The one Hale had come to recognize as the old man having something up his well-tailored sleeve.

  Lima grinned. “Shane is correct. “The city is a good start. But I can do you one better.”

  -13-

  Hale looked out the window of the armored transport. The plexglass was two-way. It allowed for a good view of the old city as it passed by, but prevented the pedestrians and other drivers from seeing inside. It was a good thing, too. The United Nations-provided van was practically bursting at the seams, filled near to capacity with Galian peacekeeping cops in full tac armor, a New Parisian Police Command liaison, and two prior-service UN military pipe hitters.

  Hale glanced over at Zombie. The Green Beret checked her gear and popped her gum as if this were nothing more than another day at the office. Zombie could be immature as hell sometimes, with her jokes and her juvenile sense of humor.
She was even worse in social situations. But as soon as they were on-mission, she was all business. She was good at what she did. Scary good. Not for the first time, Hale thought she could have just as easily led the team as him.

  Not that he’d be telling her that anytime soon.

  For this operation the team had split. He and Zombie were going it alone on Galia. Shane was co-quarterbacking the op with Lima back on Earth, at their home base in Sao Paulo. Lash and Kris were off the clock this week, both having chosen to return to their home planets for reasons that were their own.

  Zombie leaned over and checked the view out the window as they drove. She whispered to Hale, low enough so only he could hear. “This place is a deathtrap,” she said.

  “Can’t say I disagree,” Hale replied.

  The tight winding roads, the close quarters, the streets seemingly designed by a drunken Andarian. It all made for a perfect tactical nightmare. Hale thought he and Zombie were being quiet enough that the local cops next to them couldn’t hear. Right up until he looked across the aisle and saw the local police commander staring directly at him.

  She exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke. “There is a beauty to the way the streets move, no?” The woman leaned forward suggestively. She extended her hand.

  “Captain Juliette Martin,” she said, pronouncing it more like ‘Marteen.’ “But for you? You may call me Juliette.”

  Juliette had hopped onboard the truck at the last minute, and had been on a handheld comm device the entire ride. She’d only just now had the opportunity to introduce herself. Right in the middle of Hale and Zombie trash-talking her city.

  Nice one, Hale.

  Like most of the inhabitants of Galia, Commander Martin spoke Earth French. She had auburn hair, and a voice like two kilograms of gravel, earned from years of smoking. Her body was fit and lean, despite the unhealthy habit. The long years of conflict with the Separatist hardliners shone in her eyes. A direct result of two different ideas about how to run a planet, clashing head on. A story as old as war. As old as time itself.

  “You see our streets as a place of death?” Martin asked

  “There is sometimes beauty in death,” Hale offered.

  “Damn boss,” Zombie remarked. “Didn’t know you were such a friggin’ poet.”

  “I have my moments.”

  Martin smiled and took a drag from her cigarette. “The proximity to death can make life so much sweeter.” Her eyes devoured him.

  “Must’ve been tough,” Hale said, suppressing a cough and shifting the conversation away from anything even remotely seductive. “Growing up here and working for the UN-backed cops?”

  She shrugged and inhaled. The woman’s lungs must look like a thousand meters of melted asphalt. “We are not exactly UN backed. We accept their support, but we are Galians first and foremost. My people,” she shook her head. “They are not always right. We do not always agree.” She shrugged again, in that most resigned, most French of ways. “We do what we must. What we feel is right.”

  “I can respect that,” Zombie said.

  A young cop leaned over and said something to Martin in rapid-fire French. Hale turned to Zombie, the resident language expert. A look was all it took to relay his question.

  “He said we’re five out,” Zombie translated.

  The local police units were going in fully armored. Hale and Zombie were, technically, only along as observers. So today they were sticking with plate-carrier style modular body armor only. Hale checked his rifle one last time, watching Zombie do the same.

  Zombie looked at Hale with a raised brow. “So ’Juliette’ is it. You two on a first-name basis now?” she laughed.

  Would the team forever be giving him shit because of his relationship with Anesu? Zombie hadn’t mentioned knowing about them directly, but the subtext was there. He had to admit, though. . . he liked the ribbing a little. It reminded him of how it was when he was still active duty, doing his old job.

  Hale needed to change the subject, and something occurred to him. There was a question about Zombie that had nagged him ever since he’d first met her. He figured now was as good a time as any to get an answer.

  “So why do they call you Zombie anyway?” Hale asked.

  She smirked. “Old earth vid feeds. A director named Romero. He made the best zombie movies ever. You should check them out sometime.”

  “I’ve been to Terraxus,” Hale said. “They got real zombies there.”

  “Terraxus?” Zombie said. “Yeah—I heard about that planet. Those aren’t real zombies, though. Those are just the indigenous life forms being infected by a native planetary species.”

  Hale shrugged. “Close enough to real zombies for me. You might say the same thing if you’d seen them in real life. Either way, shit gives me the creeps.”

  “Touché’,” Zombie conceded.

  Commander Martin concluded her conversation with the local police officer. Her attention returned to Hale. “Alright Masseur Hale. . . as skilled and as attractive as you are, this is a local police show. The pull your benefactors have will only take you so far. You and your companion Mademoiselle Romero must follow my orders. You will go in behind my team, taking the rear position. Is this clear?”

  “Yes ma’am,” Hale said. “As clear as Andarian crystal.”

  The commander turned back to the front. Zombie smirked. “So I‘m your companion now? That’s an effing laugh.”

  “Who are you telling?” Hale asked.

  “Mademoiselle Romero,” Zombie snorted. “Sounds like I run a damned cathouse.”

  “I’d visit that spot,” Hale laughed. He gave her shoulder a friendly punch. “We’re almost there. I’ll get Lima on.” Hale pulled out his comm device and keyed in the codes, establishing an encrypted wave back to Sao Paulo. He and Zombie gave it a second, time enough for the connection to reach across space and through the jump gate comm ports. She and Hale exchanged looks as they placed the devices to their ears and the vibration mics to the side of their throats. A tone chimed in their ears, indicating the wave connection was established.

  “TOC this is Razor One and Two,” Hale said. “Come in TOC.”

  “Greetings Razor One and Razor Two.” X37’s cheery AI voice came in loud and clear over the wave.

  X37 was Soluções Avançadas Incorporadas’ favorite resident Artificial Intelligence. Given his past experience, Hale hadn’t been much for AI. But what X37 had done for them back on Mios had caused him to have a change of heart. True, there was little chance the AI would die as long as they had the drone box, but blowing up your own body to save your teammates earned you a lot of kudos. It was brave, if such a thing was possible for an Artificial Intelligence.

  “TOC is online Razor One and Two,” the overly enthusiastic AI said. “Jaguar will be with you shortly.”

  ‘Jaguar’ was Lima’s callsign. He and Shane were back in Sao Paulo, watching the op through his and Zombie’s optics. They hadn’t needed Lash and Kris for this one, so those two had gone their own way. Hale wondered what they were up to. Lash was an open book. He hadn’t been able to stop blabbering about visiting his family on Salus. But Kris? She was a complete mystery. Still, when they were off the clock, they were off the clock. Hale preferred it that way. If the team wanted to keep their personal lives to themselves, Hale wanted those lives to remain just that—personal.

  “Roger that TOC. Thanks for the heads up. You reading our visuals? Over.” Hale adjusted the view ports on his helmet and modular body armor, in an attempt to get Lima and Shane a clean shot.

  “Razor One this is Jaguar. Standby.” There was a pause in the wave, presumably as Lima connected to their in-situ optics.

  “Razor One this is Valkyrie,” Shane chimed in. “We got you and Razor Two’s visuals clear. What is your status, Razor One? Over.”

  Hale shifted in his seat for a better angle. “We’re en route with the indigenous forces, TOC. We’re about to hit the target.”

  “Copy One. What’s the
POA? Over.”

  “Plan of attack is that we’re just backup on this one,” Hale said. “The local police commander has made that very clear.”

  Zombie muted her comms. “In the rear with the gear,” she sang. Hale smiled and mouthed the word ‘yep.’

  “Understood One.” Lima this time. “We will go quiet for now, but the wave will remain open. We will be watching and listening, but please keep us in the loop if there is anything we should know.”

  “Good copy Jaguar.”

  “You two watch your asses out there,” Shane added.

  “Will do TOC. One and Two out.”

  Hale glanced across the transport’s aisle at Juliette Martin. He couldn’t say he blamed her for being so dead-set against his and Zombie’s ‘ride-along.’ If this was his op, the last thing he’d want was a couple of outsiders that he knew absolutely zero about screwing up his game plan. Maybe even getting someone hurt. Or worse yet, getting one of his people killed. The truck shifted with a creak of airbrakes as the transport convoy rumbled to a stop.

  “We have arrived,” Juliette said. She strapped on her mod armor chest rig and gave a reassuring pat to the pulse pistol on her hip.

  The rear doors opened, and the local shooters piled out. Hale loved hearing the electronic whine of armor gyros, and the clunk of metallic boots hitting the deck. Soon the Galian cops were methodically checking one another’s armor and weapons. Unlike most operations he’d been a part of, today the needle on Hale’s adrenaline barely moved. This wasn’t his op, but he knew exactly what the local cops were feeling. Jacked on adrenaline, reviewing their training and the op plan over and over in their minds, eager to start and praying they wouldn’t screw up. Zombie gave off the same vibe as Hale, eyes half-lidded and chewing her gum with an eerie sense of calm.

  Juliette began issuing orders to her officers in French. At one point during her speech her eyes flicked to Hale and Zombie, and the helmets of ten Galian shooters followed her line of sight before returning to the petite police commander. She then switched effortlessly to Dutch to fill in the rest of the team.