"That just might work." Randal was always amazed how Jeni could go from vapid to brilliant in the blink of an eye. "Oh, by the way, I want you to liaise for me with the Korean cell — Lieutenant Shin's people."
"I like that guy - he's crazy," Van Loon said, chuckling. "Though I wouldn't let him give me a shave. He seems a little too infatuated with that knife of his."
"They're calling themselves the Headhunters. Sometimes I worry they might be taking the name literally," Randal said, only half-joking.
“I’ll make contact with Shin tomorrow.” Jeni stood, kissing the top of Randal's head. "I'm for bed. G'night, boys."
After she was gone, Van Loon scooted his ration crate a little closer. "I hear Rickets died last night."
"It was a mess."
"How you feeling?"
Randal shrugged, not sure he wanted to get into it. "It was one thing losing Kimathi and the others. This kid was still in secondary school. I should've been up walking point. I keep thinking over and over what I could have done differently, you know? But what really bothers me is that I should feel all broke up about it, but I can't seem to. Like if I let it touch me I won't be able to keep things together." The words came easily as he spoke to Van Loon, as they always did. He couldn't imagine what he would do without his friend.
"I've told you from the beginning, mate, you're trying to gut through this. God makes a better God than you do. Loosen your grip and leave some room for grace."
Randal chased a pebble absently with the toe of his boot. "I worry sometimes that even if I survive this war, I won't be the kind of person I'd want to be around."
"Don't worry. I'll still hang out with you."
CHAPTER 10
The battlefield is a scene of constant chaos.
The winner will be the one who controls the chaos,
both his own and the enemy's.
—Napoleon Bonaparte
We're surrounded. That simplifies the problem.
—Chesty Puller, USMC
The next month was a mad one for Randal, a constant sense of trying to keep too many balls in the air at once. At least his people were making progress. They'd organized the new cells into squads and positioned them around the city. Newly-minted NCOs fresh from the Sergeant-Major's basement academy were put in charge.
Jeni had assembled an exceptional grassroots network from among the goodwives of Providence. Her intelligence-gathering resources were formidable now. She'd even managed to enlist several New Genevan women forced into clerical or labor roles by the occupiers. These gave her glimpses inside the Abkhenazi war machine. No one paid attention to secretaries or cleaning ladies.
For the time being the supply problem had abated. The Irregulars knocked off one of the enemy storage depots, netting not only food, but also hand-held rocket launchers, small arms and munitions.
While the professional side of life was making gains, on the personal side Ariane was becoming increasingly withdrawn. It was funny, but not until she was absent did he realize how much he liked having her around. She was the first girl he had met that didn't leave him searching for something to say. Other than Jeni of course, but she was just like one of the guys.
Saint Athanasius Academy had been a boy's school. The infantry was basically just a school for overgrown boys with machine guns. Out of sight, out of mind; he'd never really had to deal with females. But now Ariane was often in his thoughts.
He knew why she was pulling away. They'd known for some time where her son was, yet hadn't rescued him. Randal had explained his reasons for waiting: the complicated nature of hostage rescues, the inexperience of the new cells, and the difficulty of relocating over a hundred children. Rational arguments held little weight. He knew she wasn't angry, but he was still the man keeping her child in Abkhenazi hands.
So he was glad to finally deliver her some good news. Standing in the infirmary entrance, he cleared his throat softly.
Ariane set aside the copy of Blake she read by chemlight, a genuine printed book she'd gotten from Pieter. From the darkness under her eyes he thought she wasn't sleeping much. "Come in."
He shook his head, giving her a gentle smile. "I've got planning to do. Just talked to Van Loon and the Sergeant-Major. We've decided it's time to rescue the Janissary children. I thought you'd want to know."
Her nose pinked and she pressed fingers over her lips. "Thank you, Randal. Thank you."
They held one another's eyes, neither speaking.
Randal knew anything he said would spoil the moment, and took leave with an inclination of his head.
Reaching the ops center, he sent runners to gather Jeni, Nabil, Lebedev and Pieter for a briefing. Once they were assembled around the table, he distributed hardcopies of the plan he and the Sergeant-Major had put together.
"Pieter, I need a cast-iron watch on the Janissary school for the next few days. That means a warm body with electronic binocs scoping it every second of the day, got it?" Pieter was now heading up the Irregulars' scouting, with Nabil's oversight. "I need to know everything — guard shift changes, static defenses and especially any holes in the patrol routes. Can you handle it?"
His friend huffed, seeming offended by the question. "We're talking about me, Kipper. Of course I can."
"Jeni? Oh, Jeni..." The girl was smoking one of her bidis again. She was lost, watching the strawberry-scented smoke drift away. The stink from the rolled-leaf cigarettes was cloying in the small room.
"Wha—huh?"
"I need your Kitchen Klatch to start putting out feelers. We'll need safe places to relocate these kids once we spring them."
"No worries, ducky. I've got a few contacts out in the country that might be ideal. I'll keep you apprised."
A sneeze reminded him of Lebedev's presence in the corner. The gray little man was easy to overlook. "Sergei, first of all, congrats on the coating for the powered armor."
Lebedev waved it off. "No mentioning it, it vas easy." Easy or not, it was a huge help. The rubberized coating he'd developed for the feet of the LANCER suits muffled the noise they made on city streets. Better, it stopped them from skidding wildly on concrete. The NGDF had overboots for the suits, but they were never issued on the border. No one had planned to end up in Providence.
"Sergei, I need you and your people to cook up a couple of anti-vehicular mines for me. Make them look like debris. And try not to bring the cave down on us when you're doing it."
The Belarusian laughed wheezily at that. "Nu ladno, I am always careful. You will have your mines soon. I have just the thing."
"Okay, everyone look over the plan, and we'll reconvene in two hours to get feedback. When you're done reviewing it, make sure your copy ends up in a burn bin. Are there any questions?"
Jeni waved a hand. "Yeah. What's a Janissary, anyway?"
Randal sat forward, folding his hands on the table. "Back during the Crusades, on Terra, the Muslim Turks used to capture Christian children. The most gifted of these were put into Janissary schools where they were brainwashed and taught a fanatical hatred for anything Christian. It's said that when the Turks finally sacked Constantinople, the Janissaries led the way, slaughtering their own people." He let that sink in a moment. "This is the fate from which we're rescuing these children. This is the nature of the enemy. Let's get this op rolling."
***
Randal trailed behind Nabil and Pieter as evening fell. They were moving through a neighborhood of row houses and condominiums just north of the Janissary academy. The Abkhenazi was giving Pieter an impromptu lesson in scouting. "Just remember the acronym NATE and you'll be fine. . ." he was telling him. "Number of troops, their Activity, the Time you spotted them, and what Equipment they've got. It's easy to get excited and start rambling when calling in a spot report. Keep to these basics unless it's something vital."
For two hours they had reconnoitered the area around the Janissary school. Randal had faith in his scouts, but nothing compared with putting your own eyeball on a piece of terrai
n. Plus it got him out of the Catacombs, which was always a relief.
A woman popped her head out of a doorway down the street and the three Irregulars hunkered down behind a low boundary wall. It was the first sign of life they'd seen on the street. While it wasn't likely she would turn them in, the collaboration of Ariane's father made Randal chary about trusting strangers.
Nabil motioned over his shoulder with a thumb and spoke quietly. "This is a good spot for the northern Security Team during the raid. The stoops of these buildings would give good cover for our shooters, and there are plenty of ground-level windows to snipe from."
"I was just going to say that," Pieter said amiably. "Plus these buildings have sandstone walls. Bulletproof, I should think. That’ll keep down the number of civilian casualties." His voice lost some of its enthusiasm as he caught a dark look from Nabil. Apparently, civilian casualties were not a legitimate factor in the equation.
Risking a peek over the top of the wall, Randal could see the woman anxiously scanning the street as if looking for something. Then, faintly, he detected the rumble of vehicles. "Shh. . .hear that?"
Nabil cocked his head and nodded. "Several large ones. They're getting closer."
The trio low-crawled to a nearby alley. It opened to a tree-filled park and a maze of back streets where they could lose themselves if they needed to. A convoy of troop carriers and some crawlers of the sort used to haul livestock came into view down the street, a lone figure in black leading them. Randal noticed it wore powered armor of a type he'd only seen in holos, armor which dwarfed the LANCER suits of the New Genevan military.
"I didn't think the Abkhenazi used powered armor," Pieter whispered. "That thing is enormous!"
"They only issue it to their special forces, the Fist of the Mogdukh." Randal frowned as things clicked together in his head. "And since we haven't seen any sign that they're stationed in Providence. . .Oh, Lord. That must be—"
"Colonel Tsepashin!" Nabil's hiss cut him off. The young Abkhenazi was fingering the trigger of his autorifle, face frozen in a powerful expression that looked equal parts rage and terror. His eyes could have been targeting lasers — they never strayed from the black armored figure. Randal placed a restraining hand on Nabil’s shoulder, afraid he might open fire unexpectedly.
The convoy halted in front of the row houses, and soldiers swarmed from the rear doors of the troop carriers. Rather than running in terror, the woman on the stoop stepped down to meet Tsepashin, and began pointing to the buildings around her. Tsepashin gave directions to some waiting noncoms and soon soldiers were ransacking the neighborhood. In squads they kicked down doors and dragged the screaming residents into the street. It seemed to Randal they were being queued by building. Eventually there were hundreds of women and children held at gunpoint, shivering in the frigid evening air.
Disgust welled up inside him as he watched the collaborator follow Tsepashin down the line, apparently helping to verify that everyone was rounded up. Randal's own helplessness was the worst. Even if somehow he took down the company of infantry there would still be Tsepashin in his near-impregnable armor. Armed only with a flechette rifle, it would be little more than suicide.
"We can't just sit here. . ." Pieter whispered in a disbelieving voice. But there was nothing to be done. Eventually the civilians were all herded into the livestock pens on the back of the crawlers. With dark satisfaction Randal watched Tsepashin snatch the collaborator up by the collar and toss her in with the rest of the prisoners. He could imagine the reception she'd receive.
It wasn't until the convoy started moving that he really believed it was happening. Until then his mind had held on to the irrational hope that something would intervene. Fighting back angry tears, he motioned for the others to follow and slipped into the shadows.
***
Preparation for the assault on the Janissary school took more than a week. Plotting evacuation routes, finding homes for the children, estimating enemy response times, prepositioning equipment - the list of pre-op requirements seemed to grow without ceasing. Even once the prep was done, Randal was left with an anxious sense that something was being overlooked. Nothing in his training had prepared him for such a mission.
As soon as it was dark, sappers began clearing the locations where the security and assault teams would set up. They disabled trip-flares, swept the areas for booby-traps, and estimated the observation span of cameras so they could be avoided. One of the groups was compromised during the process.
The distress call came late in the team's sweep. "Oh man. Base, this is Javitz. Um... Murph just stepped on one of those toe-popper mines. God help me. His foot's all chopped up!"
"Calm down, Javitz," the Commo Officer said soothingly, looking to Randal for guidance. They were operating out of an Irregular safe house, which was serving as the staging area for the mission.
"Tell him to find a place to hole up and then call us with a location. I'll get them a medic." With a flash of guilt, Randal realized he was hoping they wouldn't be taken alive if found. Alive they would be interrogated; dead the Abkhenazi had no reason to link them to a larger operation. his soul was progressively being replaced with a calculator.
At thirty minutes to H-Hour, the Irregulars filtered into position. Circumstances had necessitated dividing the troops into seven teams. It was a command-and-control nightmare.
Four were Security Teams. One would be placed in each cardinal direction to prevent the expected Abkhenazi reinforcements from arriving. The largest of these would be to the north, since the nearest security sub-station was there, barracking two full companies of mechanized infantry. Randal was heading this northern team himself; militia NCOs directed the others.
The Assault Team was tasked with the actual work of freeing the children. Nabil would lead the assault, with Ariane providing medical help if needed.
Overwatching the Assault Team was the Support Team. This primarily consisted of Lebedev's railgun, along with one of the few medium machine guns in the Irregulars' arsenal. One of the diciest times of the raid would be getting the children from the school to the Catacombs. Randal hoped the Support Team would buy them time.
The last group was a mix of Irregulars and goodwives. These waited underground to receive the children should the raid succeed.
At twenty minutes, Randal gave the go-code to Johnny. "Taxi Driver, get us some wheels. Call me when you're up."
Three minutes later Johnny's voice came back across the comset. "This is Taxi Driver. I stole us a fast crawler. It's got this huge bloody trailer on the back."
"Copy that, Taxi Driver. I'm leaving this ComNet. Just standby for your cue from Pied Piper." He switched over to the northern Security Team's net, grinning at Nabil's call sign. He doubted the surly Abkhenazi appreciated a moniker like Pied Piper.
***
Randal watched as one of his snipers pushed open a basement window, clearing his line of fire. The northern Security Team was setting up in the same area the Abkhenazi had depopulated a few days earlier. What was once a working-class immigrant neighborhood was now a ghost town. The houses were darkened, many of the doors still open from when the Abkhenazi tore the inhabitants from their homes. From what Jeni's Kitchen Klatch could piece together, they were rounding up the city's population a section at a time. Randal believed they were only proceeding slowly because military transport priorities outweighed ethnic cleansing. Each day, however, suborbitals were taking people away, likely to labor camps in Abkhenazia.
Ironically, the enemy had hurt themselves by clearing the area. The Irregulars had the run of the place now, with no worries about collateral casualties. Tsepashin had eliminated the very collaborator who might have given warning of the ambush.
Movement atop a row house caught his eye. That would be one of the anti-armor teams. He'd learned his lesson with the scout car. All of the rocketeers were placed to fire either from rooftops or basement windows. Hopefully they would be either too high or too low for the bigger Abkhenazi can
nons to sight on them.
An Irregular set a spherical object on the flat roof of a condominium, one of Jeni's drones. The girl was back at the staging area, nearly a klick away. She was a non-combatant's non-combatant; war for her was a trideo game. Tonight she'd be working electronic warfare, mostly signals jamming and meaconing — the sending of false data or messages to an enemy unit.
Down the street, Lebedev's people were prying open the hatches to a pair of groundcars. They then carried containers out from hiding places, stacking them inside the vehicles. One of the acolytes slipped on compacted snow, nearly dropping his load. Randal's audio pickups caught the soldier's near-perfect Lebedev impression — "Must be careful... Is wolatile!"
Randal allowed himself a breath. Everything seemed in place: the snipers, the anti-armor teams, the flanking teams on either side street, and the spotter by the sub-station. He and Pyatt, finally back in their LANCER suits, would be the shock troops of the ambush.
Then there was only to wait and to pray.
***
Watching Nabil glide in his armor was humbling for Ariane. Granted, the scout suits were optimized for stealth and agility, but there was a predator's stalk in his movements that she could never match.
Putting up a hand for a halt, Nabil crouched against the hedge encircling the perimeter of the school. Ariane and the ten Irregulars took up position behind him. Each carried a snub-nosed submachine gun liberated from the Abkhenazi and equipped with zip silencers. Lebedev's people had concocted them from empty grenade canisters, pipe fittings and cotton batting. There had been no time to test the silencers and everyone was just hoping for the best.
In his other hand Nabil gripped his cruelly curved guldor pichok dagger. The ivory hilt was inlaid with gold, the blade etched with whorls. It didn't seem to Ariane to be from any recent century.
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