by James Axler
“There isn’t going to be time to get around to all of them,” Michaela said despairingly. “How are we going to manage this?”
“Simple.” J.B. grinned. “Look, you all know these people. Who are the ones that you know will be most committed? Go to them first, and then when you go to the next person on your list, give them a list of their own. That way you can hit several people at once and before you know where you are, you’ve got an army.”
“That’s all right as far as it goes,” Eddie muttered, still gnawing nervously on his lip, “but we’ve got to hit hard, before those loyal to Ethan get a chance to crush us. From what we know, they’ve still got the blaster power and the sec advantage.”
“Then you hit them first, and you hit them hard—and in ways that they don’t expect,” J.B. explained. “Look, I’m still off balance from that shit Ethan pumped into me. I feel like I could sleep a week right now. But if there’s one thing I do know, it’s how to plan an attack.” He grinned more broadly than before. “You tell me where they’re based and I’ll give you a plan.”
The Armorer then sat back and listened to Eddie, Stark and Michaela reel off facts at him. Places and people that would have been a blur if not for the fact that they were able to use the height of the emplacement, and the resulting panorama of the ville it afforded them, to point out key locations.
It seemed to J.B. that the problem would be in securing the armory and the sec compound. The majority of the dissidents that would unite against Ethan were from outside the sec force, and there were also a number of unconcerned residents who would go with the flow of combat, easily switching their allegiance to whoever had the upper hand. To stop a long and costly pitched battle, and to draw the uncommitted to their cause, J.B. knew that he would have to devise a plan that would secure these two key points.
“Tell me again who you have on your side and where they are,” he said, narrowing his eyes as he was told once more, following the lines that could be drawn between the small groups of dissidents and where they were clustered. As he drew up these lines, an idea began to form in his head.
“The key is to keep the recruitment a secret until the moment you strike. That’s kind of made easier by the speed you’ll be moving at. But otherwise you’ll have to keep away from key areas.” He indicated spots in the ville where there were clusters of Ethan supporters. “Get some of your people to contain those areas, and leave the sec compound and the armory until last. Keep your best fighters for those. The important thing is to cut off attack from your rear, or support reaching those two areas.”
Stark nodded. “So we surround pockets of support and then pincer the armory and sec compound, using the cover of the surrounding streets, and then hit hard and fast with fighters who really know their business.”
J.B. nodded. “Exactly. People who aren’t great fighters can use the other areas to their advantage in the containing operation, but for the two main targets you need good runners and accurate, swift combat experts. Do you have those?”
Stark grimaced. “Mebbe not as many as I’d like, but plenty who’ll be willing to take a chance. There are people here who’ve been waiting a long time for this, even if they haven’t realized it before today.”
“Okay.” J.B. nodded once more. “Guess me and Millie can’t do anything more than just sit here and watch. And you’d better get moving. Whatever has happened out there on the hunt, you can bet it won’t be long before Ethan and Horse are back.”
Stark nodded and clapped his hand on J.B.’s shoulder. He didn’t have to say anything.
The big man and nervous Eddie started to descend the emplacement to ground level. Michaela lingered a moment, caught in two minds before hugging Mildred.
“Thank you,” she said, risking a gentle kiss on Mildred’s cheek.
“What for?” Mildred asked, astonished.
“For setting me free, one way or another,” Michaela replied before following the two sec men down into the ville.
“What was that about?” Mildred questioned softly, almost to herself.
“You tell me,” J.B. replied, bemused by Mildred’s confusion.
But there was no time for this matter to be pondered any further. If they could take no active part, as yet, in the revolt, they could at least study its progress from their secure bolthole.
Both Mildred and J.B. maneuvered themselves into positions where they could see across the ville, but couldn’t be observed from below. Both had blasters in their hands in case sec men sympathetic to Ethan should want to relieve or check on the men they thought were manning the emplacement.
There was nothing to do now except wait and watch. It would be the most frustrating thing of all.
From their vantage point, they could see the three Pleasantville rebels split up and move off in different directions to begin rounding up their army of dissidents. The trio managed to steer clear of the areas they had identified as hot spots for Ethan’s supporters. They disappeared into three separate dwellings and it seemed like an age before they all emerged once more, this time with three companions. All three were armed, and Mildred recognized one of them as Angelika, the trader in cloth who had settled in the ville and with whom Krysty had been billeted. As Mildred watched, the striking woman tied her distinctive multicolored hair extensions in a drab scarf, so that she was less inclined to stand out in a crowd. The woman had a Glock slung over her shoulder on a short strap and she appeared to be speaking in an animated manner to Michaela, who had recruited her. After a brief discussion, the two women parted company and headed off in different directions.
Meanwhile, Stark and Eddie had begun their own recruitment, and as the numbers of people doubled with each separate visit, it was easy to see a pattern develop across the ville, as the lines of dissidents grew, flowing out in a spiderweb pattern across the streets. As more and more were recruited to the cause, it seemed an inevitability that those who supported Ethan would know something was happening.
“Dark night, I haven’t felt so useless for a long, long time, and I hate it,” J.B. whispered as he watched the action unfold in front of him.
Mildred grasped his arm. “It’s better this way, John. We can get down there and join the firefight once it starts, but right now we’d only be likely to alert the opposition. We’ve got to have patience.”
“Yeah…” J.B. didn’t sound too convinced, but he knew that Mildred was right.
Meanwhile, down in the ville, there were a number of fighters gathering together to tackle the armory and the sec compound. Stark, Eddie and Michaela had managed to marshal a considerable force to tackle the two targets, and had encountered little, if no resistance. This was partly because they had been careful to approach the right targets and partly because the level of support for Ethan hadn’t been as high as they’d suspected. Those who would follow the baron were complacent, and this complacency was enabling the rebels to grow in number.
J.B. and Mildred kept watching as the forces divided and gathered around the two areas that were marked for attack. There had been little resistance thus far: a couple of dissenting voices had been swiftly and silently stilled so as not to alert the sec forces. Most of the activity had been away from the center of the ville, and the rebels had been able to recruit without causing too many ripples in ville life.
But time was running out. There were now two forces gathered at the strategic targets, and by their sheer size alone they would be noticed by the still unsuspecting majority of the population.
BACK IN THE NIGHT, a few hours before, the four companions clustered in the wooded copse plotted their revenge against the horsemen that roamed the open space beyond.
Ryan was seething as the full realization of what had happened hit him. J.B. had possibly bought the farm, Mildred had maybe gone the same way, and the four of them gathered in the woods had nearly ripped each other into pieces at the behest of one man’s greed.
“Jak, you reckon Ethan will have realized what’s going on by now?” h
e asked of the albino.
“Be triple stupe not to—and Ethan not triple stupe.”
Ryan nodded grimly. “That’s just what I was thinking. From now on we have to assume that the horsemen will be out to hunt all of us. They’ve got firepower that is mebbe the same as ours, but not superior. And they’ve got the horses, which’ll make them faster over open ground.”
“But not in here.” Krysty smiled. “So we take them on here. But Horse and Ethan will have worked that one out for themselves, so how do we get them in here where they’ll be vulnerable? They’ll be quite happy to wait out there for us to come out.”
“Ah, yes, those two reprobates will be contented with such a course of action,” Doc commented with deliberation. “But can you see those who have paid to see blood having quite such a long fuse? I’m sure that I cannot.”
“Doc’s got a point.” Ryan grinned. “I figure that the best thing we can do is hit their vulnerable spots. That blond asshole riding with them wants my blood, so I’ll give him something to think about. As for the coldheart bastards who’ve paid…Let’s offer them their jack’s worth and see how they react.”
But the first thing that needed to be done was for the outside of the copse to be recced. While Doc and Krysty stayed in the center, Jak and Ryan set out to the east and west respectively, intending to skirt the edges of the forest to see where the riders were and any formation they may have adopted.
The copse itself was about five hundred yards in diameter and about seven hundred yards in length, forming a rough semicircle that spiraled at one point into an oval. It was large enough for the companions to successfully contain themselves from outside interference, but small enough to provide a group of horsemen with difficulties in maneuvering. Which was precisely why Horse and Ethan were keeping their increasingly impatient riders on the outside of the copse.
When both had finished their circuits, they returned to where Doc and Krysty awaited them.
“Well?” Doc asked impatiently. “What news from nowhere do you bring for us?”
“Say stupe things,” Jak muttered, “but know what mean. On the west, six riders. Ethan, blond man, four others. Ethan split into two threes, each patrolling north and south end woods. Moving slow, triple-red, but not getting much. Four who pay big jack to see us fight getting restless.”
“Good.” Ryan grinned mirthlessly. “That’s what I like to hear. The more impatient those fuckers get, the more likely they are to make mistakes, rush in instead of thinking.”
“What about your side, lover?” Krysty asked.
“Just the three riders. Horse, some guy with no chin and a fat bastard who looks like a trader. He’s keeping them tight to the center, so they can rush either end of the woods in equal time.”
“Stupe not keep even numbers much as possible.” Jak shrugged.
Ryan nodded. “Yeah, but what do you expect? Horse and Ethan haven’t got that much combat experience and not that much smarts, either. Ethan wants to keep the customers happy, but with only one sec man for each pair, there’s little else he can do.”
“So what’s the best way to hit them?” Krysty questioned.
Ryan grimaced. “Soon, more than anything.” He looked up through the leaf and branch cover to where the sun was rising and the sky was beginning to lighten. “In this cover, one of our best assets was the dark. Now it’s morning. I figure we need to move fast, make the most of what’s left. I figure the best thing to do this….”
HORSE WAS UNEASY. The two riders with him were champing at the bit more than their mounts, eager to get into the copse and hunt down the four targets.
“Come on, man. Ethan told us we could have a crack at the fuckers,” the fat trader complained. “So why are we still here? Why don’t we go in after them?”
“He has a point, you know,” the inbred baron added. “We’ve paid Ethan a lot for this, and it hasn’t been everything that was promised…in fact, I’d say it’s been nothing that was promised.”
Horse could feel his patience stretched to the limit. “Look,” he muttered through gritted teeth, “those are good fighters. I know those woods. If we take horses in there, then they have the advantage of speed and space, and they’ll chill you before you have a chance to draw breath. If we wait until they come out, then we have the advantage over open ground. They can’t stay in there forever.”
“How do you know they won’t just sit it out?” the baron asked.
Horse shot him a glance that was undisguised venom. “Because we’ve got their friends hostage back in Pleasantville, and they’ll want to get them back. So why go in and risk a chilling when they’ll be coming out? And why don’t you just shut the fuck up and wait?”
The baron glared at him, outraged. “You impudent bastard. I’ll report what you said to Ethan. You’re not supposed to talk to us in that way…”
“I’ll talk how I fucking like,” Horse snapped. “Out here, you don’t mean shit. My job is to keep you alive, and if the least that takes is harsh language, then you’re fucking fortunate.”
The trader chuckled. This didn’t sit well with the baron, who snapped at him, “And you can shut up, as well, you fat fool. What have you contributed to this little campaign beyond hot air and your vacuous views?”
“You fuck-witted chinless freak, you talk to me like that and it won’t be the fuckers in there that I’ll be hunting,” the trader snarled, drawing a Glock and waving it toward the woods before pointing it at the baron.
Horse winced. This was the last thing he wanted. Just when they were supposed to be on triple-red to cover any flight by the trapped prey, the hunters were squabbling among themselves and mebbe even chilling each other.
“For fuck’s sake,” Horse yelled, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible, but knowing that he sounded pissed off and ready to leave them to it. “We’ve got more important things to do than fight among ourselves, okay? We need to keep calm.”
The fat trader glowered at the sec chief as he lowered the Glock. “Yeah, well, mebbe you shouldn’t start things by being so fucking mouthy in the first place.”
“Yes, you should remember who you are,” the baron agreed.
Horse sighed. Being put in his place by these two was all he needed, but at least they were united once more in their slanging of him.
Unfortunately for the sec chief, this brief respite meant that they had all dropped their guard for one brief moment.
That was the moment for Jak to strike. The albino had been silently watching them argue, waiting for the exact moment when, for that fraction of a second, they were all distracted, and all at rest.
Jak stayed in cover, and from his concealed position pulled two of his razor-honed, leaf-bladed throwing knives. Balancing one in each palm, he took aim and loosed the first, which flew straight and true into the left eye of the inbred baron. He gave a brief, strangled cry of shock before the momentum of the knife carried the point up into his brain and shut down all his motor functions. He didn’t even feel himself fall sideways from his mount, a piece of chilled meat before he even hit the grass of the plain.
The second knife followed in less than the blink of an eye. It was headed for the fat trader, and in that briefest of moments he turned slightly to where his instincts—blunted by age and indulgence, but still retaining a vestige of what had once been needed to survive on trading routes—told him the knife thrower sat.
He didn’t even have enough time to raise the Glock before the knife hit him in the side of the neck. It was slowed by the layers of fat and muscle that protected his carotid artery, but not enough to prevent the tip of the knife nicking the tough tissue that comprised the artery wall. The pressure of the blood within, pumping around his fat body, was enough to rend the nick, to enlarge it and cause the artery wall to rupture.
This took a few moments—moments in which the trader fired his Glock into the ground as shock made him squeeze the trigger; moments in which he lost his balance and toppled backward, falling fro
m his mount and catching his foot in the stirrup, ending upside down on the turf with his lifeblood erupting from the suddenly rupturing artery.
His horse panicked at the sudden fall of its rider and rose up on its back legs before hitting the turf at a gallop, heading north and dragging the trader behind it. It would have hurt like hell if the fat man had still been alive, but the gouts of blood spraying from the neck wound and leaving a showered trail of rusty red on the dry grassland in the wake of the galloping mount were testimony to the fact that he was beyond caring.
Horse swore loudly and pulled his own Glock, firing four shots into the area of woodland he identified as the attacker’s territory. The foliage was devastated by the heavy-caliber blasterfire, but to no avail. Before the second knife had hit its target, Jak had already begun to move away from his position and move to his left so that he was at an angle of sixty degrees to the last rider.
Jak was unhappy that Horse had fired and that the trader had loosed a shot before his demise. The point of using knives had been to keep the attack silent, so that it didn’t attract the attention of the riders on the far side of the copse. He wanted them to stay in position for the other companions. That was blown now and he could only hope that the shots hadn’t preempted their attacks.
But if silence was no longer an imperative, Jak wouldn’t have to stick to knives. Horse was beginning to spur his mount to move toward the area where he had fired and was angling the steed to use it as cover, slipping from the saddle so that he was shielded by its body.
Jak cursed to himself again. If he had moved the other way, Horse’s tactics would have been futile and he just would have presented Jak with an open target. Unfortunately for Jak he was slipping out of view.
It would have to be one shot and it would have to be good. Jak slipped the Colt Python into his palm so smoothly that it was up and aiming before his finger had even the time to curl around the trigger, tensing to squeeze.
He had a fraction of a second to sight and fire as the sec man’s body disappeared behind the body of his mount. It would have to be a head shot, the most difficult of all.
