“Sure,” I said, causing them to lower their weapons slightly. “Can you do one thing for me, though?”
“What is it?” the second guard asked.
“Can you both remember I warned you?”
“Hey—” the first guard said, but I was already boosting.
I raced forward and snatched the rifle from the first guard’s hands, then hit him in the stomach with the rifle’s butt. As he started to bend over, I wrenched it up, and the butt caught him in the jaw. I spun toward the second guard as I lifted the rifle over my head. The guard almost had a firing solution on me, but I chopped down with my rifle and shattered both of them as I hit the one he was holding. Left only with the barrel, I whacked him—hard—in the temple, and he went down.
“I warned you,” I repeated, then tossed the barrel onto his rather prodigious gut.
I looked up and saw a full squad of men running down the road that spiraled up to the top of the hill. The rapid response force was in much better shape than the two rent-a-cops and were dressed in fatigues. The way they held their rifles showed me they’d seen the elephant in at least one of the corporate wars. I didn’t especially want to mess with them, so I put my hands in the air. Not because I couldn’t take them—I totally could have—I just wanted to start out by giving them a little professional courtesy, similar to the way a shark won’t eat a lawyer.
“Hi, Guys,” I said as they arrived and surrounded me in an arc, careful not to create a crossfire situation where they’d be shooting past me at other members of their squad. “Mind not pointing the rifles at me? It makes me kind of—” I waved at the guards on the ground, who were just coming around, “—squirrely.”
“Who are you, exactly?” the squad’s sergeant asked. “And what are you doing here?”
“I am a Teledyne Specialist, on mission, who needs to go through the canal.”
“Do you have any identification?”
I waved my hand at the guards again. He noted that both were down, the rifles were in pieces, and I wasn’t breathing heavily.
“Sorry, sir,” the sergeant said. He lifted his rifle so it wasn’t at me anymore. “At ease, men. You don’t need to aim those at him.”
“How do you know, Sarge?” one of the men asked.
“I once saw a Specialist in action,” he said. “If he wanted to disarm us and leave us looking like those idiots—” it was his turn to wave at the guards on the ground, “—he probably could. Let’s take him up to the building and verify his identity. If he isn’t a Specialist, we can deal with him then; there are a lot more of us. Just don’t point your rifles at him, okay?” The first guard I’d hit rolled over and spit out a tooth. “I don’t have time to take you to a dentist, and nobody wants to visit one here, anyway.”
The men nodded, and the sergeant motioned up the road with his rifle. “Would you mind preceding us, Mr. Specialist, sir?”
It was nice to finally get a modicum of respect in this Fallen World.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Three
We followed the spiraling road up to the Teledyne building. As far as headquarters buildings went, it wasn’t as great as the one in Portland used to be, but it was still pretty nice. It also wasn’t a glowing crater, which said something for it. How Obsidian had missed it was beyond me. We had captured the canal right before the bombs fell; I guess they decided not to nuke it because they wanted to take it back.
After we reached the building, I verified my identity through a number of biometric means, then I was taken up to see the local director, who confirmed my suspicions.
“The rat-fucks over at Obsidian are trying to take back the canal,” Director John Calderon explained. “Last week, they captured the Gatun Locks at the other end, and they are massing troops to take this end, too.”
“What happened?” I asked. “We had enough folks to take it from them. What changed? How did they get it back?”
“Apparently, Obsidian sent a husband and wife team of Agents. To hear the soldiers who were there tell it, they moved faster than the wind, they hit harder than a speeding locomotive, blah, blah, blah.”
“Probably leapt higher than this headquarters building, too, right?”
“Yeah, something like that.” He looked at me and pursed his lips. “Have you ever fought an Agent before?”
“Yeah, I have,” I said with a single nod. “It wasn’t pleasant. Two would be…difficult.”
“I need your help,” the director said. “Without it, we’re going to lose the canal. I don’t think I can stop them without you.”
“I’m already on a mission, given to me by the chairman, right before Portland got nuked. It was to be my last mission.”
“It can still be,” the director said. “Don’t look at this so much as a mission as opening up the lines of communication so you can proceed north. Right now, Obsidian holds the northern part of the canal, along with all the northern coast. In order to get past, you would have to go a long way back the way you came.”
“Or sneak through. I am pretty good at sneaking through enemy territory.”
“I’m sure you are,” he conceded. “Just as I’m sure there is no way I can make you do this against your will. I doubt, at this stage, I can even play on your company loyalty, as there isn’t much of a company left. I will tell you again, though; there’s no way we can do this without you. I have a force that is going to try to kill them before they attack us, but the odds that my people will be able to take out two Agents…”
“Are slim,” I finished, overestimating their real chances. I’d heard of this team before. They practiced with each other and worked well together; sending troops against them would be a slaughter. Perhaps 1,000 troops could wear them down enough to take them out, but there wouldn’t be many of the 1,000 left afterward.
I shrugged. “You’re in luck, though. They killed one of my oldest and best friends; I’d be happy to take them out for you.”
“You would?” He looked like a puppy who’d just been given a treat.
“Well, maybe not happy, because it’s going to be a stone cold bitch to do so, but I’ll help you kill them. Taking the northern end of the canal afterward will be up to your forces—I don’t want any part of that.” He nodded. “Do you have any intel on where they are?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“Yes, I do, actually,” he said.
Sometimes you can catch a break in this Fallen World.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Four
As it turned out, the Obsidian forces were massing in the small town of Gamboa, about halfway up the canal where the Chagres River emptied into it. The bridge over the river was the current demarcation line between the companies; north of the bridge was Obsidian territory, and Teledyne held everything to the south. The river was also a chokepoint, as there was only a single bridge over it—whoever attacked first would have to go into the massed teeth of the enemy’s defenses.
We had intel that Obsidian planned to attack in two nights, which meant the Agents would probably infiltrate tomorrow night, to try to destroy the defenses around the southern end of the bridge so their forces could roll through. How did I know that? Because that’s what I was going to do to them, tonight.
I called in the Teledyne combat leaders and went through the plan with them. They were to stealthily move forward to the town at the south end of the bridge, and at 0200, I would hit the defenses at the northern end. Once they saw the attack in progress, they would race forward to engage the Obsidian troops who would be rousing from their barracks. In the turmoil, I would find and kill the Obsidian Agents.
They shouldn’t be hard to find—they would be at the forefront of the battle, killing off our troopers in bunches. Our troops had orders not to engage them, if possible, and to use explosives as much as possible if they were forced to…even if the Agents were engaged with our troops. It sucked to be those troopers, sure, but let’s face it, if they were fighting two Agents, they were dead men and women, anyway. I doub
ted the Agents would get taken out this way—I knew from experience they were too fast—but maybe I’d catch a break.
After wiping out the Agent team, our troops would advance and capture the Gatun Locks, and I would casually steam through on my yacht. Nothing could be easier.
Jimmy and I moved to the head of the line at the canal, which was easy because no one was going through, and we motored on up past Gamboa after topping off our fuel tanks at the tug facility. Until the Obsidian assault, Panama still had a gas supplier. Although the supply lines were cut—another reason to take back the north end of the canal—there was still gas. It was actually Jimmy’s idea, since he was still hoping to end up with the yacht, but it made sense. And it was easier than dealing with Geno Freaks to get it. We also got a box of advanced-ration MREs for our trouble, which was a nice change after all the fish I’d recently eaten. When an MRE is a nice change…your diet really sucks.
I’d also made them give me a dive rig with a wetsuit and a full facemask. It wasn’t that the water was cold, far from it. I was more worried that the Chagres River had been an open sewer since about the time of the Mayans, and I wanted no contact with anything growing in it. An assassin has to have his standards after all, and this is where I drew the line—no wetsuit and mask, no sneak attack by the Specialist. They’d quickly found a set for me after that.
We’d timed our approach so that it was getting dark as Jimmy cruised past, and I slid into the water on the side opposite Gamboa as he continued along to Gatun Lake, where he’d anchor for the night.
I reached the tugboat facility and pulled myself up into one as I got my bearings. There was no one aboard. In fact, there was no one on any of the ships tied up at the port, which seemed wrong, somehow. I’d been engineered to see well into the infrared spectrum, and I could tell—there was no one around. I hated it when things were weird.
Shrugging, I pulled my gear out of my waterproof bag, dressed quickly, and went ashore. I crossed the road to the jungle beyond, headed south toward the bridge, and quickly figured out why I wasn’t seeing anyone—the Obsidian forces were massing at the bridge. Whether our spies had gotten it wrong or Obsidian had intentionally planted bad information to get us to relax, I had no idea. After the third truck drove past with its lights off, though, I had a pretty good idea what was really happening; the attack was tonight.
Which left me in a quandary. Did I try to disrupt the attack, here, or did I try to get back to the Teledyne side to intercept the Agents? As I figured they would already be about their nefarious duties, it made sense to match them on this side of the bridge. When they saw our forces prepositioned, they would quickly realize—like I did—that Teledyne was attacking tonight and would try to neutralize as much of the attack as possible. There was nothing I could do to stop it. I could, however, prevent their follow-on forces from attacking, and if I blew up enough stuff, the Agents would eventually notice and return to deal with me. They may not have known about my arrival, but when all of their toys started blowing up, they’d realize pretty quickly there was a new player involved.
I smiled as I moved silently through the jungle, edging closer to where the attack was massing. I’d hit them on the bridge, from cover, which would greatly improve my odds. I was liking this plan more and more. Teledyne was going to lose a lot of troopers to the Agents, but I couldn’t stop that from happening.
I froze as I transited past a platoon of soldiers; one of them was in the jungle with me. I realized what he was up to—a pre-combat piss—then snuck up on him. He was a big guy—almost my size—so I crept over to him and snapped his neck before he knew I was there. I caught his body as it collapsed and found I’d misjudged him slightly; he was easily my size, if not larger. I had a greater mass, due to my genetic engineering and manipulation, but he still weighed more than I wanted to carry.
However, I needed to get out of the area before they missed him, so I slung him over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry and continued south. It was hard to be stealthy while carrying 230 pounds of Obsidian shit, but I managed. I heard them call for him after a minute or two, but we were well clear, and I knew they’d figure he chickened out and ran off rather than participate in the attack.
I reached the end of the jungle a minute later and eased my way back from the edge to strip the Obsidian soldier. Nothing but the best for the Obsidian boys in the jungle, I saw. He only had his peasant clothes and a couple of pieces of light armor—nothing that would stop a bullet—and one piece of an Obsidian uniform. I shook my head; my skin was tougher than the armor they’d given him, and the straw hat he was wearing could barely stop the sun, much less any of the bullets that would be heading my way. Still, I put it on to blend in and rubbed some of the dirt from the jungle floor on my arms and face to camouflage my white skin.
As I did so, I was almost overcome by the smell coming from the clothes. The guy obviously hadn’t showered in a while, based on the smell, and his clothes stank. He may not have showered in his whole life for all I knew. Hell, I’d been in Amish farm fields that smelled better than he did. Wearing his clothes would seriously impact my ability to use my sense of smell in the attack, but I didn’t have any other choice, so I pulled the button-less Obsidian tunic—the only piece of “uniform” he had—over my shirt and crept to the edge of the jungle.
From my vantage point, I could see the defensive positions at the end of the bridge. They were pretty impressive, with pillboxes holding what looked like two .50 cal machine guns in each. There were also a number of fixed firing positions for troops to take cover behind while they fired. They were out in the open from this side of the barricade, though, and they would be easy to take out if they stood there long enough for me to shoot them.
Which I knew would happen…never. So I needed a better plan.
I looked at the forces massed behind the barricade and laughed. Somehow, Obsidian had found and brought a real, no-shit tank to the party. It was at the front of the assault group, followed by six trucks full of troops and a bunch of other folks on foot. I don’t think our guys on the other side of the bridge had anything to deal with a tank, and I was sure they wouldn’t when the Agents were through with them. I was trying to figure out what to do about the tank when an access hatch opened on the bottom of it and a crewman dropped down, slid out from under it, and headed right for me.
When he turned to yell something back to the tank commander, who had popped out of the hatch on the turret, I slipped behind the tree I was standing next to. The man—the driver of the tank—then walked up to the tree I was hiding behind, dropped his pants, and leaned back against the tree in a sitting position.
I’d thought the previous man smelled bad; this guy was enough to overpower the stench of the clothes I was wearing and cause my eyes to water—from the other side of the tree! What the hell were they feeding these guys? I didn’t particularly want to watch him, but I kept enough of an eye on him to know when he finished. I tackled him as he stood—away from the odiferous pile he’d left—and his pants around his ankle tripped him up. He went down, and I slapped a hand over his mouth while my other arm went around his neck.
He struggled, briefly, but didn’t have the leverage to get me off of him, nor the strength to break my hold. After making sure he was dead, I stripped him quickly. Unfortunately, he was a lot smaller than me, and there was no way his tanker’s uniform—a slightly different color scheme than the rest of the Obsidian forces wore—was going to fit me. I kept my original pants and put his shirt on, even though I doubted I’d be able to button it.
“Hurry up,” the tank commander yelled over the tank’s engine. “It’s time to go.”
“Si! Si!” I yelled back in what I hoped was a close approximation of the driver’s voice, but I doubted he could hear me or tell the difference over the noise. He dropped back into the turret, closing the hatch after him, and I raced from the trees, holding the shirt closed as best I could. I could hear a number of people laughing, and several yelled obsceniti
es at me, but I kept my head down and ran at a normal speed to the tank. I had to let go of the shirt to slide underneath, but by then, there wasn’t anyone who could easily see me.
“Who the hell are you?” the gunner asked as I slid into the tank. I pulled my diver’s knife out of its sheath, and I was on him. The inside of the tank got messy fast—arterial blood does tend to spray—and I had to make quick work of the commander, too, when he reached for his pistol. I knew from past experience that firing a pistol inside a tank was not something I wanted to do or have happen inside one I was in.
After both of the tank’s crewmembers were dispatched, I crawled over and secured the driver’s hatch. It wouldn’t do to have someone crawl through while I was busy. I also checked the other hatches and made sure they were secure. I could hear someone screaming through the headset that had fallen off the commander, but it was lying in a pool of blood, and I didn’t care enough about what he was saying to wipe it off.
Smiling, I slid into the gunner’s seat. Tank operation was one of the things I’d trained for, not because I expected to drive one into combat, but because they were so good at blowing things up. Like now. Whistling a happy tune, I rotated the turret around and pointed it at the trucks lined up behind my tank. No one else was inside the machine with me; therefore, the vehicle was “mine.” If I’d thought the man was screaming on the radio before, I was wrong. The pitch of his voice and the number of curse words per sentence increased dramatically. I decided he must be in the truck behind me.
I lined up the crosshairs on the front windshield of the truck—sure enough, there was someone inside gesticulating like crazy—then looked beyond it. Three additional trucks were in line behind it. I grabbed some hearing protection off a peg, slipped it on, then pressed the firing button.
Boom!
Most of the truck behind me—including the people inside it—disintegrated between the blast and the round going through it. The other trucks, a little further from the blast, weren’t in much better shape. The auto-loader put the next round in the gun as I aimed at the trucks that had been outside the first round’s cone of devastation. They lined up nicely.
The Price of Freedom Page 9
