Well, that was original. He had to wonder whom she was killing, because it certainly sounded as if she knew how to handle a weapon. Her sobs were loud enough to hear over all that. She was definitely having a stress reaction to close combat, not that he could blame her.
"Shaman, give her a hand," Alex said.
"Touch me with a trank and you die," she growled low and loud enough it sounded like an engine tone. Her voice was not at all feminine anymore. She stopped shooting. Her hyperventilating pants and sobs tapered off.
One of the other NCOs leaned down through the hole in the roof and yelled too loudly, so the earbuds muffled it, "Convoy is on Ammonia Avenue, has just passed this point. I advised them to keep rolling and we will pull into the rear."
"Roger," Jason nodded. "Alex, you concur?"
"Do it."
"On it." He revved up the archaic engine some more. Yes, he could see vehicles passing by down the street ahead. He took that route fast, and the outgoing fire volume increased, though it was strictly warning shots now.
The street they were on teed onto the Avenue. They weren't shot at from the convoy as he turned right behind it, though they were tracked by large caliber weapons, machine guns, and 15mm cannon, among others. The new ranking NCO made contact and they were expected as allied friendlies. There was some significant fire behind now, aimed at the convoy.
Jason was relieved. This group was professional to the nines. Good spacing on the vehicles, good supporting fields of fire. Some of them looked scared, and he could tell because they didn't have enclosed helmets, but they were still performing their mission.
Part of that, as he'd tried to tell people before, was that Aerospace had no "peacetime" mission. If you fucked up in a ship or in ground support, people always died, peacetime or war, and the costs were in the millions at least.
"I have not mentioned who our passengers are," the NCO said. "We are cleared to move in ahead of the rear convoy guard."
"Understood," Jason said, and slowly eased into position, nodding to the crew on the vehicle as he passed them: an angular, jagged-looking Cavalier armored car like that the Company had considered for use, which BuState had ruled "too military." There was little locally that could scratch one of those. It had a 15mm Viper cannon and a 6mm machine gun, and had been upgraded with two more machine guns and a mini rocket pod. Through the thick, armored ports, four Techs could be seen, and they were armed as well as equipped with commo gear. Add the two gunners on bubbles on top and it took a load off Jason.
"I do not believe we are doing this," Bart said. He could be the most conservative member of the team when things got weird.
"Neither do I, but I am impressed," Jason said. "These so-called fairies run a very professional convoy. Don't they, Aramis?"
The reply from Aramis was a mumble.
"What was that?"
"Yeah, they're good. Better than I expected. Better than the Army." He was flushing as he said it.
"Son, smaller forces are more selective, and almost always better. The training and the gadgets are never as important as the discipline. You should know that, serving here."
Aramis said nothing, but did give a single nod.
"What do we do when we reach the port here? Do we want to try to continue on?"
"Not with them. No way," Alex said, shaking his head. "B-metrics will stop us. Bahane is far more freelance and we can get a smuggling craft or stow away."
He confirmed his orders. "Jason, as they pull into the port, we'll wave off and keep driving. No one in the convoy proper should question us. By the time anyone thinks to, we'll be out of town."
"Understood." Jason nodded.
Incoming fire cracked and boomed. Yet one more harassing attack.
There were shouts and orders through the radios. Jason tromped the pedal to keep up with the accelerating vehicles around them. Outgoing fire chattered back, punctuated by two very loud bangs.
Bishwanath started sharply. Aramis said, "Whatdafuckwasthat?" He was watching rearward and didn't turn.
"Sounded like two Peltast missiles," Elke said. "Expensive."
"Looks like," Shaman agreed. "Someone has money to spend."
"Space Force has a bigger discretionary budget than the Army," Jason said. "That's why these vehicles look newer."
"Fucking Space Fairies have gear the Army should have," Aramis grumbled.
"Fucking Army can't unfuck itself long enough to get someone competent in charge of logistics," Jason grumbled back. "Or they'd have it."
White shifted and shouted down, "You seem glad enough of the support. Does it make you feel unmanly?"
* * *
"Stop." Alex said quietly. He was really getting tired of that debate. Jason had reason to be pissed, but he was overdoing it, though White could use any distraction after losing a friend. If she could be friends with someone whose job was to shoot her to avoid capture. They were all under stress and didn't need the argument. Off to the right, two dark, roiling mushroom clouds indicated the AF security had pegged something with fuel.
"The word is the Army has cleared out of the palace," White said, holding her headset. "They got out with no dead, some minor injuries."
"Oh, good," said Elke, and pulled out a phone. She had to wiggle atop Rahul, then squirm to get it where she could reach it.
She was punching numbers by hand as Alex asked, "Elke, who are you calling?"
"You said the palace was empty of friendlies."
"Elke, no, don't—"
Far to the right and behind, a muffled boom sounded, and a cloud of dust started rising. She giggled and sighed, her chest heaving again.
"Only nine hundred kilos and change, but it will do," she said.
"Scratch one mob," Aramis said, grinning.
"Also scratch one building someone is going to ask about." Alex sighed. Yes, killing freaks was good. Disposing of the explosives so no one else could use it was good . . .
Actually, given that last, she'd made the right choice. They were going to get blamed no matter what. Might as well cause some damage.
He wondered if he could stay out of prison, if he stayed alive through this. Maybe a local exile with Bishwanath was a good idea.
"We're not there. I used local purchase phones. There is nothing anyone can attach to me," she said.
The radio suddenly blared, "Jesus Christ, the palace just blew up!"
"Space Force is good with the satellite intel," Jason commented. "That's potentially bad if they start tracking us."
"We're moving onto another route," Jason said. "Detour through the industrial area."
Once again, there was incoming fire. At least one rocket shot through the convoy, although it didn't hit anything.
"I notice something," Bishwanath said.
"Yes, sir?" Alex replied at once.
"The attacks have occurred at each bend or corner we take on this route."
"Meaning someone leaked the route."
"It could be coincidence," the President said.
"It could be," Alex agreed. "I don't like coincidences." He reached for a radio.
The NCO said, "I'm supposed to relay a message that convoy commander is coming back to discuss some issues. We'll be stopping to perform convoy support and fueling in four kilometers."
They all locked eyes for a moment before forcing themselves back to their sectors.
"Discuss because they see the same threat? They suspect us? They want to change plans and have us peel out because we're drawing attention or don't want to be responsible?"
"I suggest we depart now," Bart said.
"Go," Alex said without pause. There was no good reason to stay here.
Jason goosed it, ducked around the vehicle ahead, and went straight while the convoy slowed to turn left.
"Tech White, Sergeants, we're going to have to leave you here and run our own evac. We greatly appreciate your help and it was a pleasure to assist."
White nodded, her face red and stained and lined w
ith stress. "That's probably best. Good luck." She had a thousand-meter stare and wasn't tracking well. She'd done a hell of a job, though.
"And you."
Jason braked, the Security Techs jumped off the roof and assisted White out the rear. One of them grabbed Buckley's body, and he could now see the wound. It was a headshot from the side, just under his helmet lip. Ugly. The rear vehicle of the convoy slowed and prepared to board them. Once it was clear they'd be picked up, Jason nailed it again. Allies were an iffy thing around here.
Rahul opened his door, shimmied from under Elke, and stepped out.
"What's up?" Jason asked, puzzled.
"There are things I must do for my chief," the large man said cryptically. "I appreciate the ride to safety." He stepped to the back, leaned far in to hug his boss. "I will get things started for you, sir. Good luck."
"I owe you much, friend," Bal said. "Be well."
Then Rahul turned and jogged down the street to disappear into an alley.
Jason shrugged and kept driving.
CHAPTER 21
An hour later, Aramis relaxed slightly. They were hidden in a hotel of sorts. It was a large addition built onto a house, with several suites. They stowed Bishwanath in a bedroom, with a strong drink for his nerves. He'd tried to refuse, and Alex insisted. Shaman claimed the bottle was "medicinal," and distributed a double shot each.
The house was in an outer area of the city, and was just a frame building with a moderate amount of wear from outside. Jason had slipped in and rented space for a reasonable rate plus bribe from a thrilled owner who assumed they were smugglers. Jason was good at such things, Aramis admitted. He wanted to learn more from him.
Now they had a few hours or a day or so before trouble would find them. That was enough to wash, rest, and regroup. Aramis used the time to check weapons and catch his breath from the chase. That had been an intense experience. Thrilling, even. That was a firefight, and serious EP work that would look great on a resume at some point, and he'd done a decent job, he thought, protecting their principal and literally carrying him to safety.
Some of the others were still stressed, though.
"Alex, you realize we're breaking all kinds of laws by doing this," Elke said. She hunched over, obviously nervous now. Her drink was untouched. She caressed her shotgun.
"Well, Elke, there are laws and then there are laws," Alex said. Aramis didn't blame her. She carried the stress well, though.
"I think we're cool," Aramis said. He sprawled on a couch and was comfy, dammit, even if it was musty and torn. "After all, if he's dead, we're not guarding him. We're just evacuating and taking some random civilian we felt sorry for out of harm's way. If he's alive, we've discovered an error in the system. Being incommunicado, we can't correct that error, so we have to handle it directly. Assuming we get out, no one can object . . . well, not officially." He finished his drink, crushed the cup, and bank-shot it into the corner designated for trash.
"Goddam, son," Jason said, "you are a major dormitory lawyer. I think there's hope for you yet." He was sitting by the window, eyes out. An opened bulb of beer was next to him, but he'd hardly touched it. The alcohol was more for bonding than use.
Bart was the exception. He'd produced beer, had one, and started on a second. The brawny German was true to his heritage. Beer wasn't just for breakfast anymore. It could be a snack.
"Let's look at easy options first," Alex said. "Book tickets and leave."
"They scan his face and stop him. If they're looking to eliminate him, they have to have planned for escape routes." Jason was cynical about such things, but usually correct.
"Worse if they identify us with him. He can't travel alone and accomplish anything." Elke said.
"Which rules out having Shaman scar him up a bit in the interim. Then there's b-metrics at the port," Aramis added. Shaman nodded. He was glad the President—Bal—wasn't here to discuss that idea.
"Option Two," Alex said, ending discussion of a dead idea, "hide somewhere quiet and pretend not to be who he is."
Bart said, "Accomplishes nothing but will keep him alive. Last resort. Or should that be first? It is not as if he can be in charge here anyway."
"Last resort. We need to get the money," Aramis said.
"You know, there's a name for people with that attitude," Elke said, voice tinged with annoyance.
He stared back. "Yeah. Corporate mercenary. It's in my contract. You cash your check, don't you?" He was going to twit her over this, dammit.
"Well, yes," she said with a shrug. "But there's also the playing with restraints and explosive in an unsafe fashion between nonconsenting adults. That's my part." Ah, her sense of humor was back. That was a good sign. Aramis also knew now it was a sense of humor. She wasn't quite as insane as she came across. Not quite. She really was human and not the bitch she pretended to be.
"Last resort," Alex agreed. "We'll keep him alive if we can, claim we got cut off if anyone IDs us. Keeps him alive, doesn't cost us anything additional. We'd prefer to get the money and get him out to blow this thing. Option Three it is. Take him out and make lots of noise so we can always find contracts. Though my guess is Corporate won't mind."
"Oh? Why not?" Aramis asked.
"Because it doesn't violate our contract on paper, as you noted," Shaman said.
Aramis muttered, "That was largely for reassurance."
Shaman drowned him out. "And it proves we can accomplish our mission without backup when shit hits the fan, as you say. Put those together, and they'll love the publicity."
"I think you're optimistic," Bart said. "Most of our contracts are with government, specifically BuState. They will not be happy."
Shaman nodded. "Good point . . . though they won't dare admit it and can't hold it against Corporate. That means we may get stuck with NoGo missions for a while." He wasn't worried, of course. His skill set would always sell somewhere.
"Hell, if we wanted to be safe, we wouldn't be in this job," Alex said. "So we do it, yes?"
"Yes."
"Sure."
"Does that mean I can use more explosive?"
"Elke, my incendiary love, you can use all the explosives we can find."
"Why, thank you. A gift beyond price, as we have almost none." She looked much more cheerful, though. Crazy.
"Hit the base," Aramis said impulsively, but he had an idea here.
"Say what?" Alex asked.
"Hit the base, load up a truck with gear. Drive it back out."
Jason said, "Sure, and they'll just let us waltz through the gate to do that? Using what authority?"
"This authority," he said, and pulled a holocard from his pocket, his reserve Army ID. "I need a uniform, get Elke a set of vid gear and civvies as a reporter. We beat up a truck, load you guys as casualties, and bang our way through Entry Control screaming and crying. Hit the armory if we have to, or just schmooze with Ordnance Logistics. Drive back out in a different vehicle waving as we go."
"We'd be violating so many UN codes and Army regs I can't even count," Jason said. He grinned. "Fucking awesome."
"I like it, too," Elke said.
"As a plan, that lacks a monstrous amount of planning, prep, and coordination," Alex said.
"And that's a problem?" Aramis asked.
Shaman dryly said, "I rather think that's an advantage around here. While it lacks the elegance of a drawn plan, it has a certain raw appeal."
"Exactly," Alex said. "We'll tweak it as we go. Let's roll."
As they stood, Jason said, "Hey, Aramis, you've shaped up good. I'm glad to work with you." He held a hand out.
Aramis took it and shook. "Uh, thanks." He seemed flustered and unsure how to respond.
"Aramis?" Elke said. He turned, still shaking hands. "I'm impressed. Really. Because I'm impressed, you can have this." She leaned forward and mashed her lips against his. There was a ghostly flutter of tongue against his. Then she leaned back.
"And because I'm a sadist," she grinned, eye
s vividly bright, "that's all you're ever going to get."
Fuck me, that was . . . "You're a bitch, Elke," he said. "But I promise you'll do more in my dreams tonight." He could still feel her hands on his chin and . . . wow.
"I have every night," she said, "and in the shower and the head. Are you going to call a fire mission on your chin?"
As he started flushing bright red, she punched him lightly in the arm and started laughing. He was still having trouble with that. She was a fine operator, but she was also decently hot when you saw her out of a suit. That was bothersome, especially as she was the only female around here who wasn't a disease vector or likely to kill you. Well, maybe not the latter . . .
Better to Beg Forgiveness-ARC Page 32
