Better to Beg Forgiveness-ARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  Dammit, he should be in on this, not sitting it out. The damage to his side was healing and every body was needed for this. He tried to pretend that looking over his shoulder to back didn't send stabbing pains up his side and around almost to his left nipple, back to the kidney, and up his neck.

  The shredded, ruined wheels slammed against the curb of the decorative flower island out front but didn't immediately scale it. They did jolt him into further spasms of pain, but he rode through it, ignoring his pounding pulse and the sweats that came with it. The smell of damaged plastic grew stronger, along with assorted metallic scents and fuel.

  He saw the two guards from the gate running up fast, batons out and shouting into radio collars. Time to dismount.

  The nearest one fired, but Aramis was on his knees in the dirt, behind the open driver's door, and the heavy plastic didn't conduct the beam. He reached underneath, aimed by feel, and shot and missed, but the guy dodged aside and rolled for cover. The other was trying to flank him. Aramis shot at him, and that one dodged the beam, too, diving into the back of the flowers a few meters away.

  Perfect.

  He dropped the baton, reached back to the box between the seats, and grabbed a stun grenade. His left side hurt just from pulling the key, dammit, but once done, a careful right-handed lob sent it over the mound. As he used his left hand for suppressing fire, the baton zapping every half second or so. It was a good throw, even accounting for the higher gravity. As the grenade arced down he ducked his head and drew his arms in.

  He was safe from the direct blast. His toes tingled a little, but it was manageable.

  The stunner blast that smacked the closed rear door next to him was a little less so.

  He yelped, fired blindly, rolled while his ribs stabbed, and shot again with better accuracy. The half-stunned survivor went down twitching and Aramis stunned him again. Meanwhile, he heard sirens howling as civil backup arrived. That would be City Safety Patrol, almost all of whom were ex-military, according to Jason.

  Glancing around the trees, landscaping, and truck to be sure he was safe, he grabbed a couple more grenades, rose, and headed for the building at a limp, bent over his side. Looked at from this position, the front was a mess, doors and frames shattered, windows fragmented and even some rock damage, not to mention scrapes on the walkway from the now totally ruined truck.

  He almost tripped on the curbs, stumbled inside, and slammed against the welcome desk, now empty, just in time to hear real rifle rounds slap into the brick façade a few meters away. Not good.

  Building security to his left shouted and came after him as a few remaining gawkers squawked and ran. He counted three threats. There was only one thing to do: run. After tossing a stun grenade, of course.

  Three rounds came close as he crossed the threat zone of the atrium again, past the desk, and toward a dead end. He zigzagged to get the solid cover of the greeting center between him and the impending blast. Then he heard shouts as the incoming fire met the pursuing security. Then he heard the grenade bang. He grinned.

  One wounded Aramis had mission killed five local security and tied up the cops for a few seconds. If he could now get a good position, here, against a table with a stone statue atop it, he could possibly take more out.

  It was a moral victory. A guard jumped over the railing above and landed bare centimeters away. He and the guard stunned each other simultaneously, batons in contact for maximum effect. He passed out with a rictus of pain and triumph on his face.

  * * *

  Elke and Bart dodged the opposite way from Bal's group, which was toward the rear of the building and away from the studio or the control room above it. For now, she and Bart had to make as much of a distraction as possible without killing anyone or destroying anything.

  That latter had already gone to hell, Elke decided, as her pounding heart kept time with her pounding feet. Fabric fluttered across her arms, and she realized her shirt was open to her belt. She'd popped all the buttons doing something. Her body armor was clearly visible.

  Bart fired behind her with his pistol. Good. Just because they couldn't use nonlethal force didn't mean the enemy needed to know that. Though rules or no rules, if one of those Recon mamrds shot at her, she was going to kill him.

  They seemed to like locked doors around here. Luckily, her breacher loads could shatter locks and the mechanisms attached. Just as they hit the door at the end of this corridor, literally, Bart crashing atop her and knocking her breath out, she jammed the shotgun muzzle against the lock and shot. The noise was hellacious from conduction, even with her earbuds in, but the door blew open.

  It was dark as she erupted through left, Bart going right, ready to shoot anything with either the riot gun or the baton she held underneath. Her eyes adjusted in a moment, and the space wasn't actually dark, just lit by dim directional lights with dark walls. Seeing no immediate threats, she shouted, "Clear!" as Bart did also. She then took two seconds to attach her baton to the standard clip on the shotgun.

  They were in an open area under a roof, a loading and work area behind the soundproofed and sealed studios. They were between outside cargo doors, and no threat was imminent. She dialed her gun, turned, and shot recon over the studios twice in different trajectories. One round smacked through something overhead, the other was unknown. Images flashed on her glasses, and she sorted them. Daylight, delete. Black, delete. Crowd near the front, good, that was away from them.

  "What the fuck is going on back heurff!" someone shouted as Bart stunned him. Elke's charge was a moment behind. At five meters, he'd be down for minutes. There was another corridor and it was closer to where they wanted, but they needed to be sure. This was turning into an athletic event.

  "This way!" she shouted, heading back to the right, past Bart. She scrolled the last two images . . . inconclusive, but this way was not filled with hostiles yet. What they needed was a massive distraction back here to draw attention away from Bal, while she and Bart tried to regroup. That distraction couldn't be a fire, damage to the building power or antennae.

  An idea occurred to her and she loped toward the wall.

  When it came down to it, the power, a camera, and an antenna were the minimum mission requirements. Beyond that, they needed more notice, and she had a reputation to uphold. Besides, distractions were best loud.

  In ten seconds she had three breaching charges in five-meter increments slapped against the extruded wall with glue. That glue was also tacking up on her fingers and shotgun, but it could be peeled or dissolved later. Right now, it was time Recon thought Bishwanath had his own army.

  "Fire in the hole," she whispered to Bart while grinning. He took off at a sprint with her on his heels. She grabbed four more small charges, called up a code on her programmer, and stuck each detonator in in turn. Those charges she just dropped on the ground.

  * * *

  Jason kicked a hole in the ceiling below and dropped, pointing and shooting at the two figures below. They turned out to be employees on their way out the door, but he hadn't had time for that distinction.

  "Hallway!" he shouted and yanked the door, as Alex went through with Shaman and he brought Bal last. Elke and Bart were shouting on their mics, so they were still working.

  Elke said, "Be advised large team out front and allied force in the rea—" as a bang and rumble shook the building.

  "Holy shit." The original plan, he recalled, had involved as little damage as possible. Someone was going to pay hugely for this.

  Ah, well. That did mean a better chance of notice . . . assuming they got through. But what the hell had Elke meant by "allied force"? Was that just a distraction? It had to be.

  "Ladder," Alex pointed. "Goes up to the maintenance mezzanine."

  "Perfect!" Jason tried not to shout. "Bal first, go!" It was a ladder with a web of safety rails around it, and a hatch only three meters up.

  Bal looked dazed but did as he was told, clambering up as fast as he could. Jason went second. He held the
hatch and stood ready to close it.

  "Someone coming," Shaman hissed. "We'll meet you there. Go," he said, as he handed up the coil of cable, then slid down the ladder, turning to appear as if he hadn't used it yet.

  Then the shooting and shouting started underneath. Jason closed the hatch with a curse and a flip of his stomach.

  Below, he heard the zapping bang of a stun grenade, but whose?

  No time. He needed to get Bal two hundred meters across that way. There was a catwalk near the arching roof but no handy way to get there. Or, there were the climate control ducts hanging on heavy straps. Those straps were not rated for a man's weight, certainly not for two, but he'd done it once or twice during maintenance, and this was an emergency.

  Which of course meant it would fail. He was sure of it. Nevertheless, he urged Bal to shimmy up atop a decent-sized duct leading from an air handler, and followed.

  "Watch yourself," he said with a wince as he ripped his palm on a loose edge. Even plastic could be sharp, and this stuff didn't get beat around enough to dull it down. There'd be jagged edges at every seam.

  * * *

  Elke was truly insane, Bart decided, head ringing from the triple blast. He also intended to shoot anyone who tried to get her therapy. Her lunacy had kept them alive many times now. When all you had was explosive, everything looked like a bank vault, it seemed. He wondered how much she had left.

  "Catwalk," she said. "You cover down here and stop anyone. I'll cover the top." She unslung her shotgun, the strap tangling for a moment on the remains of her shirt.

  "Ja," he agreed. That was likely best. Staggered defense for a few more seconds could let them finish this. He handed over his ersatz rappelling rope, which she dropped over her shoulder as she swung onto the ladder and started climbing. She ignored the power lift. It would make noise and be otherwise detectable, but she had a stiff climb without it, in higher than normal gravity. Bart crouched and ran to a pile of crates he could use for cover.

  Clattering booted feet sounded from two directions, and it sounded like a lot of them. From his "rear" came a series of small explosions and shouts. Someone had found Elke's mines and was delayed. He squatted behind a stack of slatted plastic pallets that were great concealment but lousy cover, as absolutely anything could shoot right through them. Of course, he thought, as he laid out pistol, shotgun, and baton, that made them a great rest, because absolutely anything could shoot right through them.

  Elke had stun rounds in this cassette, but he wasn't sure how many, nor could he easily read the indicators. On the other hand a shotgun was loud. Bart let the first man, almost certainly local security, get into clear view, then deliberately shot just behind him. He shrieked, stumbled, and dove for cover against the wall of the end studio. Bart recalled the map for a moment. No, that was not the studio in question, and holes wouldn't matter.

  Someone else was close behind and shot back, then tossed a stun grenade that landed short. He felt the tingle through the gaps in his position, but it wasn't disabling yet. Bart had nowhere to retreat, however.

  It took two seconds to empty the remaining rounds in the shotgun, snapping the trigger and letting the cassette spin sequentially until empty. Ambient light grew brighter as he shot, as several rounds tore holes in the studio wall across from his position. Shouts and curses indicated he'd had good effect. No one wanted to face that kind of artillery, even in full armor, and non-Recon people in suits were likely not wearing more than torso armor to start with.

  He wasn't sure at first why he was cringing, until his brain caught up with his reflexes and realized several weapons were being emptied at him not far ahead. Another grenade banged and zapped, and his left fingers went half numb. Something clublike slammed into his leg, and he knew he'd been shot.

  That was enough. He shouted, "I surrender!" loudly and raised the shotgun butt first. He raised it off to one side, in case they decided to shoot.

  "Drop the weapon and come out!" came the reply.

  "I am wounded," he said. Ja, his leg was hit, muscle torn red and blood pouring out. He hoped they had a medic. Oh, scheisse, it hurt. He felt nauseous under the sweats and needed to lie down.

  "Nice try. You better hope you can walk out, or we'll use shitgas."

  That would certainly slow things down while they masked, but Bart had a better plan on removing combat effectives. His leg jolted with pain anyway, so he shuffled forward on his knees, leaving both firearms and using the baton as a short walking stick. Even that was excruciating, but he had to hold out a few moments more.

  As soon as he peeked around he saw weapons. There were six here, plus the one he'd scared who'd been stunned by the incoming fire. Enemy fratricide was so useful when you were outnumbered. He just hoped he could arrange more.

  "Put the baton down now!" someone shouted, recognizing it as a probable weapon.

  So Bart jerked and fell forward, extending his arm and the baton in it. That aimed the baton directly at his foes, and made him the smallest target possible in the open. The floor was dusty but also cool, which felt good. He was near to throwing up from the pain.

  As the first of them approached, he flicked the button for the light and started pressing the trigger.

  Two men recoiled from the actinic flash, one stumbled from the charge, and a second one dodged aside. He could see four more weapons pointed at him, and more than one of them fired their own charges.

  At least his leg stopped screaming at him as he blacked out.

  * * *

  "This is it," Alex said to Shaman, amazed at how calm he sounded. Whoever had discovered them was twitching on the ground ten meters away at a blast from Shaman. No one had seen Jason and Bal that he knew of, so it was time to create distractions and vacate this area.

  He fired a shot into the wall behind, paused a second for a response, then fired five more times in a vertical line to break a hole. He crashed through, leaving skin. His face, arms, and chest stung and burned and he was bleeding in ten places at once, but Shaman could tape him up afterward. Right now, he needed an outside wall of some kind, or a stairway. This was a vacant office with a desk and computer but nothing to indicate human occupation. It was just one box of many. He pulled the door on the far wall and Shaman led the way through in guard position into another hallway of this rat maze. No civilians, no threats. Behind them, however, was a large amount of noise as security people arrived. He yanked the initiator on an incapacitance grenade and tossed it in as he closed the door. That was area denial at least. Three meters to the right, Shaman opened another door, fired a preemptive stun at something and waved. Behind him he heard the beautiful sound of someone violently heaving their guts and banging on the door in panic.

  In two more twisted passagesthey reached an outside wall with a rolling overhead loading door. Somewhere was a ladder or elevator, but it wasn't here. He heard definite sounds of troops in both directions. This area was hotter with fumes and a hint of fresh outside air.

  Gulping, he hit the lift button, grabbed hold of a ridge on the door and jammed his boot toes into another. If he could ride this up, there might be something to hang onto.

  From outside he heard, "Shit, there's one!" and someone fired at Shaman with a real weapon. Shaman ducked, rolled, zapped in that general direction, and ran. Three people pursued him, local security in plain coveralls. Three more bashed through a wall and caught sight of the fracas and followed. Now they were chasing him, and none of them noticed Alex rising up with the door.

  The full height was ten meters. Alex reached six in a panic, looking across both levels of offices, until he saw enough bracing and scaffolding to take his weight at least, a couple of meters higher. He wouldn't fall unless shot, and he could snipe at the minimum. Not that many meters away, he could see Jason and Bal creeping along ductwork.

  Then three blasts almost blew him off the door. A cloud of dust billowed to his right and a gaping hole opened in the wall. He cringed and clutched, eyes closed against the dust until h
e remembered he was on a rising door and had to find a handhold at once. He took a glance through slit eyes, saw a girder, and snatched at it. He kicked off, wrapped his legs around and started shimmying backward. Below he saw the concrete floor, a cruel bitch he didn't want to get intimate with. He didn't loosen his cramped hands until he felt a vertical truss that let him stagger carefully upright. From there, he had to step gingerly along the five-centimeter-wide joist using wires and angled braces for balance. He took a much needed break to calm down. Sweat was pouring into his wounds and the combination gravity and atmosphere getting to him.

  He almost fell when he heard more shooting and explosions. But those were a good thing, because it meant this wasn't over. That was also a bad thing, as it meant this wasn't over. Any time now, sensor gear would be brought in and start showing vital signs, including his. They were on minus minutes and counting.