“Right now we’re providing defensive perimeters for targets of genuine national and military concern. Simply holding our own, as it were. Your ‘few more’ locations would require us to step outside that purview. And if those locations are attacked?”
“You give the fraggers a bloody nose. Self-defense. No problem.”
“I’m unconvinced Congress will find ‘no problem’ with our taking such a role. The honorable gentlemen have not shown themselves well disposed toward the military.” Trahn said, expressing a sentiment with which Tom doubted anyone in the TOC would disagree.
Locke’s face colored. “Drek! What the hell do you want?”
“A clear mandate.” Trahn said simply.
“Martial law?”
“That would be a clear mandate.” Trahn agreed. “However, it would require a Presidential order, perhaps stemming from an appeal by the Federal Capital Chief Commissioner.”
Locke wasn’t stupid. “And you want me to arrange it?”
Trahn gave her his poker face.
“Can you get me a line out of here?” Locke asked. “Sergeant Clay, get Chief Locke a secure line to the Chief Commissioner’s office.”
Locke took up the commo headset. The boom mike concealed her lips as she spoke and the white noise generator blanked out her words, preventing them from escaping the microphone save through the secure line. When she finished, she handed back the headset and said, “Chief Commissioner Ericson is calling the President.”
Trahn nodded. “Would you like some refreshment while we wait? Colonel Jordan, assign an orderly to see to Chief Locke’s needs.”
Locke took only a cup of soykaf, which ended up cooling undrunk as she studied the tactical displays and asked questions Trahn told everyone to answer, “under standard security conditions, of course.” Which meant no one told Locke anything more than they might tell any civilian official whose office was likely to be as leaky as a rowboat after a tussle with a machine gun. The real briefing was suspended as long as she was present. It wasn’t long before a commo tech said, “General, it’s the President.”
“Your Chief Commissioner is a fast talker, Chief Locke.” Trahn said. She smiled grimly at him, but said nothing. Trahn put on the headset and folded the microphone baffle out of the way. Nodding, he signaled the commo tech to open the line.
“This is General Trahn.” A pause. “Good morning, Mr. President.” The conversation went on for some time, with Trahn responding mostly with yes-sirs and that-is-corrects. Once he paused to order a datafeed sent to the White House with a synopsis of the tactical situation. Finally, Trahn spent a long time listening, after which he said, “Yes, Mr. President, I understand.” A pause. “And good luck to you as well.”
All eyes in the TOC were welded to the general as he put down the headset.
“Gentlemen and ladies, the President of the United Canadian and American States has ordered me to assist the civil authorities of the Federal Capital District in restoring order. This is not, I repeat, not a state under martial law. As the President has already declared one such emergency in the case of Chicago, he feels that such action here is not warranted at this time.”
Tom caught Trahn’s slight emphasis on “at this time.” and saw Jordan nod at it. The intel officer was not the only one who suspected that martial law was coming. The President was only putting it off long enough to cover his butt.
Trahn turned to his J-3. “Colonel Lessem, is Plan Charley updated?”
“Current, sir.”
“Then distribute it. Anyone with questions to be on-line in ten minutes. I expect roll-out in thirty minutes.”
And roll they did. Task Force Lessem moved out of Fort Belvoir, heading toward the central Government Zone from the south, while Task Force Kemper from Fort Meade came in from the north. Tom got all of his recon drones into the air, watching for developing trouble spots and surveying the progress of the task forces. He concentrated on Task Force Lessem since they were closer to the rioters. Even with Captain Black, in command of the task force’s armor, keeping his tanks back and letting the infantry afoot secure travel lanes for him, they made good progress. Within three hours they’d swept through Alexandria in the Arlington District and put paid to the rioters’ incipient armored force in a ten-minute battle in the old rail yards. Black’s caution was proven wise when the troops searched the workshops and uncovered a stash of shoulder-launched anti-armor missiles.
“Confederated issue.” Tom observed.
“Could be contraband.” Jordan reminded him. When Tom looked skeptical, he added, “But I doubt it. Let’s hope Johnny Reb is satisfied with supplying arms and not men, because with Trahn concentrating on securing Washington, we don’t have anything looking south.”
The intel officer’s admission disturbed Tom. He knew from the briefing that there was activity south of the border in Virginia. Ignoring that activity was not prudent, but limited resources meant limited options. Fortunately the operation was proceeding so well that the border shouldn’t go unwatched for long.
Unfortunately, almost immediately after the successful action against the rail yard, Task Force Lessem ran into trouble. The force had successfully moved along Jefferson Davis Highway and through the shanty town that spilled off Gravelly Point and huddled around the southern anchors of the Potomac there. The helmeted and armored troopers moved like a plague of beetles, sweeping the streets clean wherever they passed. It wasn’t an apropos metaphor given the outbreak of insectoid magical creatures in Chicago, but Tom couldn’t help seeing the soldiers as he did. Maybe it was the Chicago situation that sparked the imagery for him.
But the Chicago bugs offered no quarter to the hapless people in their way. Here, humanitarian concerns applied. The task force’s tanks and IFVs mounted blaring loudspeakers that called upon the marchers to disperse peaceably and urged them to respect lawful authority, promising no reprisals against rioters who surrendered themselves to military custody. Most of the shanty town’s population simply turned out and watched, but the rioters holding the bridges remained firm behind their barricades. They were well armed and supported by a magicker, and Black’s armor was effectively neutralized by the need to avoid serious damage to the bridges.
When the first tank rolled toward George Mason Bridge, intending to bulldoze away the rioters’ barricades, it simply stopped on the entry ramp as a blanket of darkness rolled out to cover it. The spell dissipated almost immediately, but as troops confronted by unknown magics were wont to do, Black’s command took no action. When the tank became visible again, it was turned around and backing toward the barricades. Presuming the vehicle was under hostile control, Black’s other tanks opened fire and destroyed it.
“We need those bridges cleared.” Trahn said, looking at Tom.
That meant Special Resources. “I’ll take Team One, sir.”
Trahn nodded. “Authorize a flight of Yellowjackets to support Team One, Jemal, but tell them to hang back until needed. We want to keep the provocation down. And warn Archie Lessem that the cavalry is on their way and that he shouldn’t get too anxious about taking the bridge yet.”
Team One had two armored vehicles, Tom’s Ranger Tactical Command Vehicle and a Ranger Drone support vehicle. Neither the command car nor the DSV was rated for frontline combat, and they had no escort, which made going into a riot zone worrisome. In close urban confines, the front line was anywhere the hostiles happened to be holed up. Even a heavily armored panzer was vulnerable to an ambush under such conditions, and Team One didn’t have the infantry support that tankers like Black insisted were necessary for employing tanks in urban environments. But they did have Furlann; the mage’s astral vision was their protection against surprise. Furlann might not be able to stop an ambush, but she ought to be able to give them warning. In fact, Tom was counting on it.
His concerns proved unfounded as they rolled through the quiet streets without incident.
“What’s it going to take to square away their mage?” C
olonel Lessem asked when they arrived at his command post.
“Line of sight to the bridges is what I need.” Furlann said, leaning into Tom’s mike. “The overpass by the Pentagon should do.”
“That was our mage.” Tom said apologetically.
“Understood.” Lessem said. “Your lead, Team One. Go where you will.”
Tom told his driver to position the command car wherever Furlann wanted. He ordered the DSV to pull up within the safety of the Pentagon perimeter and put up an aerial drone; he wanted a picture of the local situation that wasn't subject to override by higher-ranking commanders. Once in position, Furlann propped herself in the TCV command cupola and went into trance. Tom surveyed the bridges via telelink with the drone. All three automotive spans were choked with abandoned cars and debris, and packed with people. The rail span was empty, and missing a ten-meter section. The rioters didn’t have any need to defend that.
“I’ve got her.” Furlann said, coming out of her astral re-con. “Stupid pervert.”
Tom didn’t think Furlann’s last comment was meant to be heard, but he had. “The magicker?”
Furlann began to fuss with her fetishes. “You can tell the colonel that he’ll have a distraction momentarily.”
As Tom passed the word, a fireball blossomed on the central automotive span. Flames engulfed the width of the roadway and licked at the nearby upriver span. Screams arose from the wounded, but those at the center of the conflagration never screamed—incinerated before they ever got a chance. The arcane holocaust consumed living and organic matter, but left untouched the concrete and asphalt of the bridge and the metals and plastics of the vehicles on it. It was an impressive display of thaumaturgic power.
“Gotcha, you stupid git.” Furlann said with obvious satisfaction.
Tom sat stunned, as Colonel Lessem broadcast the order for his troops to advance on the bridges. Black’s armor began to rumble forward as Furlann slid back into the command car’s body and dropped into her couch with a tired sigh.
“What did you do?” Tom asked, for clearly she had been responsible for the devastation on the bridge. She had taken out the mage, or she wouldn't be so relaxed. But she’d taken out more than the mage.
“Fed their spookdancer a fireball through her focus.”
Furlann said matter-of-factly. “She wasn’t fast enough to do anything about it. Her loss.”
“You didn’t have to do that. She was in the middle of all those people. We’re under orders to minimize civilian casualties.”
“Most of those scum were SINless, and if there were any citizens with them, they were stupid and were proving it by backing the wrong side. Better they’re out of the gene pool.”
“You still didn’t have to—”
“You’d rather she pumped one at me and it grounded out in the middle of this nice cozy box?” Furlann snapped. “She was a fragging toxic shaman and she knew I was here. She didn’t have your nicey-nice spare-the-cits compunctions. It wouldn’t have been long before she tried the same stunt on me. I just made sure it wouldn’t happen by feeding her more than she could handle.”
“It was overkill.”
“Overkill is the only sure kill.” Furlann threw her head back and put an arm over her eyes. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to take a nap. Van Dyne with the Pentagon team can keep watch.”
She couldn’t have dismissed him more thoroughly if she’d been a general. Tom climbed up into the vehicle commander’s seat and leaned against the coaming. At the bridges, the troops were forcing their way across, making good on Colonel Lessem’s orders to secure the crossing. Clumps of prisoners were being escorted back toward the Pentagon perimeter and the field command post straddling Army-Navy Drive, just below his position. They were a ragtag, unintimidating bunch, most looking as though they could use a good meal. They marched along dejectedly. Some few looked up at the command car and gave Tom the finger. One looked up and shouted.
“Tom? Tom Rocquette?”
Startled, Tom looked down at the dirty streetrat who knew his name. A soldier laid his hand on the kid’s shoulder and looked to Tom, awaiting the nod to move the kid along.
“Don’t you recognize me?” the kid shouted. “It’s Andy, Andy Walker.”
Andy? The kid did look like the picture Genifer had shown him. But ... “Andy Walker’s dead.” Tom shouted down.
The kid started to protest and Furlann popped the turret hatch. She snarled at Tom and gave Andy a sneering onceover. “You know, Walker, in my expert opinion, that git’s alive. We mages know these sorts of things. And he is telling what he thinks is the truth. So why don’t you two be good boys and take your reunion a bit further away from the vehicle so a girl can get her rest?”
Tom followed Furlann’s suggestion, but not to please her. If this really was Andy, he wanted to know what was going on. He climbed out of the command car and signaled the soldier to bring the kid up the embankment.
“You better have a good story.” he told the kid when they were face to face. “Starting with why everyone thinks you’re dead.”
“It’s a long story.” Andy looked down at the ground, kicking at it. “Look. We’re not involved in the rioting. Honest. We got caught on the other side of town last night, okay? We were trying to get back across the bridge when the tanks showed up. I guess we just were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“That’s true enough.” Andy avoided Tom’s first question while raising more. “Why do you keep saying we?"
“I’ve got a couple of friends with me.” Andy suddenly seemed to realize he was alone. “At least I did.”
Deeper and deeper. Tom turned to the soldier. “Corporal, help this kid find his friends and bring them all back here.” If Andy had accomplices, best Tom have them all in one place before they got scattered into whatever processing and detention Colonel Lessem had set up for prisoners.
In ten minutes the corporal brought the kid back, along with a middle-aged man in a rumpled, casual business suit. As they approached, Andy kept craning his head around as if he’d lost his mother at a mall. Tom heard the man whisper to Andy, “Don’t worry about Kit, kid. She’ll be okay.”
“Who’s Kit?” Tom asked, winning a glare from the man. “The other friend of mine.” Andy told him. “She was with us, trying to get home to Arlington. She must have got separated from us.”
Could Furlann have been wrong? “Your home’s not in Arlington.”
“It is now.” the man said. “The kid says you’re his brother.”
“Half-brother.”
“Whatever. He’s says you’re an okay guy, which I’ll buy because I have to, but I don’t think the answers you want ought to be tossed around out in the street. For the kid’s sake.”
“Just who are you?”
“Name’s Markowitz.” He fished out a business card and offered it. “I do investigations.”
Tom took the card, but didn’t bother to look at it. Anyone could print up cards. “Got an ID, Mister Markowitz?”
“Sure.” He offered that and Tom took it as well. He walked back to the command car, disturbed Furlann’s nap—which disturbed him not at all—and passed the credstick to his sergeant. “Run it through.”
“We’re not part of the Comp Army.” Markowitz said. “We were just trying to get home like good citizens and hide out for the duration, when you stormtroopers came down on us like a drekload of bricks.”
“You were on the bridge.” Tom pointed out.
“Just trying to cross it.” Markowitz said.
The sergeant leaned out of the command car. “Major, this man’s wanted for questioning by military intelligence.”
“What?” Markowitz sounded astonished. “On what grounds?”
The sergeant stone-faced Markowitz.
“I want to know, too.” Tom said.
“Charges are unspecified, sir. Colonel Jordan is signaling that we bring him in. Any associates as well.”
“Well, Mr. Markowitz, do you wa
nt to explain why military intelligence would have an interest in you?” Tom asked. The man scowled at him.
“It’s got to be a mistake.” Andy said. The kid sounded scared. “Tom, you’ve got to help us. This is all a mistake. You’re in the Army. You can help straighten things out.”
Tom began to think he was detecting the distinct odor of shadow drek. Runners were close-knit, sometimes even family, and the not-dead Andy was counted as family by someone Tom counted as family. Could Genifer be involved in shadowrunning? He wouldn’t have thought it, but these were strange times. And how was military intelligence involved in this? Genifer wasn’t averse to pulling on their grandfather’s old connections. Could something have motivated her to step over the line and abuse those connections, something that affected military security? Tom needed to know.
“I think that straightening out is just what this mess needs. You two are going to climb aboard my car, and we’re going to go see about doing that.”
>LOCAL FEED WFDC -[07:02:05/8-24-55]
WFDC NEWS ANCHOR: SHIMMER GRACE [GRAC-A303]
UPLINK SITE: BETHESDA STUDIO, FDC
Grace: “We’ve got NewsNet MilSpecialist Worf Blitzer online with us now. Are you all ready to get the low-down on all those soldier types shooting up the city?” [Query cam angle]
[.Audience response: 96% positive]
“All right! Say, Worf, what’s the story. Who are all those guys in gray and black?”
Blizter: “As you know, Grace, the Riot Command Center has yet to release an official roster of units involved in this suppression mission. Putting together our own roster hasn’t been hard. With the Chicago crisis, there are less than two divisions of combat-ready units left in the area, and most of those are assigned to border posts in North Virginia. To start in the north, both of the remaining battalions of the 101st Air Insertion Division at Fort Meade have left Meade as the core of what is being called the Task Force Kemper. You were just showing shots of their MacAuliffe Infantry Fighting Vehicles moving down Route 95. Those MacAuliffes are effective armored vehicles.”
Just Compensation Page 18
