The Road to Damascus (bolo)

by John Ringo

  A shudder rippled through Anish’s whole torso. “Okay,” he said in a hoarse tone, “if it’s fish or cut bait, I prefer to fish. God help us all…”

  Amen, Kafari agreed silently, climbing down the rock face she’d chosen as lookout. We need all the help — divine or otherwise — we can get. By the time Kafari reached the valley floor, the truckload of equipment they would need at Nineveh Base had arrived, driving cross country without running lights. The driver who jumped down was a combat veteran from the Deng War. Wakiza Red Wolf had field experience in demolitions and explosives, both of which had earned him a slot on Kafari’s personal team. Pride rang through his voice as he snapped out a crisp salute.

  “I beg to report success, sir!”

  “Well done,” Kafari returned the salute, pleased with his news and even more pleased that he’d remembered to say “sir” instead of “ma’am.” Anish Balin had impressed upon their small band of freedom fighters the importance of hiding Kafari’s identity, including her gender.

  “It’s up to us,” he’d told the assembled strike team, “to protect our commander. We,” he indicated himself and the others who’d gathered in the midnight darkness of his hay field, “are expendable. Our commander,” he nodded toward Kafari, “is not. She is the only person on Jefferson who knows how to cripple a Bolo. If she goes down, our entire cause goes down with her. So does every Granger’s hope of freedom — and maybe simple survival. Let’s be very clear about that, right up front. Does anyone have the slightest doubt left, now, about POPPA’s intentions? Does anyone fail to understand the lengths POPPA will go to, carrying out those intentions?”

  Utter silence reigned. The only sound was the whisper of wind through standing hay.

  “Very good. You all know what we’re up against. Some of us — maybe most of us — will die before sunrise. That’s not pessimism, it’s harsh reality.”

  Kafari spoke up. “I don’t want anybody going into battle under a misapprehension. Things are going to get messy. Very messy. Was anyone here in Madison, tonight?”

  No one spoke up.

  “Well, I was. I’ve been caught in two other POPPA riots. I thought I’d seen the ugliest and most violent face POPPA had to show, but I was wrong. What I saw tonight…” Even the memory made her shudder. “Vittori Santorini has created an ungovernable killing machine that will turn on anyone and anything it wants to blame for its problems. That machine is ripping Madison apart. And you can bet your farms and cow pastures that we — Grangers — are going to take the blame. If we don’t act now, as a fighting force with teeth, it will be too late for anything to stop it.

  “Having said that, I won’t send you into battle under false pretenses. Are you likely to die, tonight? Absolutely. Will Vittori and Nassiona Santorini hunt us down with every high-tech bloodhound they can muster into the field? You bet they will. Tonight’s raids will get their attention in a really big way. Will they order reprisals against innocents? Count on it. Once we start shooting them and blowing them up, they will get flat-assed mean.

  “If you don’t like those odds, if you don’t want to be responsible for setting off that kind of powder keg, you can leave now, no questions asked. Just bear in mind one thing before you make your final decision. The massacre of innocents has already started. POPPA declared war on us, tonight, and that war will spread to every farm, every ranch, every small town on Jefferson.

  “Vittori will slaughter us whether we fight back or not. I can’t tell anyone else what to do, but I intend to go down with weapons in my hands. Here and now, in this field, in front of witnesses — human and divine — I pledge my strength, my cunning, my knowledge, to the total destruction of POPPA and its leaders. And I swear to each and every one of you, if they blow me apart and send the left-over pieces bouncing down to hell, you may rest assured that I will drag as many as I can take down with me.”

  A spontaneous cheer erupted, muted almost instantly down to a whisper, so the sound wouldn’t travel far, but it was a cheer, nonetheless. Then silence fell, a silence that burned with hatred and something else, as well, something that burned hot enough to melt steel. She couldn’t immediately identify it. Whatever it was, it shone fiercely in eyes that never left her face. It was that steady, intense regard, itself, that finally told her what it was.

  Respect.

  Not just for her. For themselves, as well.

  Rough emotion closed her throat.

  Anish Balin broke the silence. “As of tonight,” he gestured to include the whole group, “we are the only thing standing between millions of innocent Grangers and POPPA’s guns. Kafari and I fully intend to win this war, no matter what it takes. And the very first thing it will take is making sure Kafari Khrustinova stays officially dead. It’s our job to see that nobody — and I mean nobody — discovers otherwise. If POPPA has even the remotest suspicion that Kafari Khrustinova is still alive, they will turn Klameth Canyon — and every other Granger farmstead on Jefferson — to slag, looking for her. Having made that clear, does anyone have questions?”

  Nobody did.

  They all turned, as if by prearranged signal, to look at Kafari. It was fitting, somehow, that the larger of Jefferson’s two moons scaled the high cliffs at that moment, casting silver light across the fields and the faces of those following her into battle. She looked into each of those faces, into eyes that shone like cold and lethal diamonds in the moonlight, and caught a glimpse of her homeworld’s future. Jefferson’s tomorrow — and all the countless tomorrows that would follow — were filled with blood-feud and death and honor. The others could see it reflected in her eyes, as well as she could see it in theirs. They met her gaze without flinching, met and held it in the moonlight, waiting for her to issue her first battle command.

  “I won’t offer you a bunch of useless platitudes,” she began quietly. “POPPA spits out of enough of those to choke a jaglitch. You know exactly what we’re up against. You know your team assignments and objectives. So let’s not delay this any longer. Alpha Team, you’re assigned to weapons procurement. You’ll strike our first target. Beta Team, go with Anish and wait for my signal. Alpha Team will join you once they have acquired effective weaponry. Gamma Team, you’re assigned to logistics and provisioning. Dismantle Anish’s broadcast studio and transport it out of Klameth Canyon. Pack up everything edible, as well, and start planning where we can get more. Is everyone clear on the plan of attack? Very well. Move out.”

  Her strike teams had scattered into the night, carrying out her orders with smooth precision. As a result, they now had enough firepower to make things interesting. Kafari looked up at the truck loaded with stolen munitions and asked its driver, “Do you have an inventory?”

  “Yes, sir. My squad’s in the back, tallying everything.”

  “Very good.” She strode crisply to the tailgate, where a sixteen-year-old girl handed her a rapidly scrawled list. Kafari tilted it to read by moonlight. “Excellent job, soldier. Neat, complete, and well organized. Let’s go people, arm up and move out.”

  They hauled gun crates and ammo boxes out of the truck, distributing them and loading their weapons for combat. The process went so smoothly, it took less than fifteen minutes to arm the entire group, distribute ammunition, and set up heavier weapons in the various vehicles they would use to hit Nineveh. The moment they were ready, Kafari said, “All right, soldiers, mount up and form a convoy. When I give the signal, move out fast, without running lights. We’ve worked out the probable timing and you all know the dodge-points to use. Questions?”

  Nobody had any. Kafari nodded sharply. “Very well. We should be getting company from Nineveh Base in a few minutes. Toss thermal blankets across your engine blocks to mask heat signatures. Maintain radio silence until further notice.”

  She shook out a thermal blanket for her own truck and flung it across the front of the truck, spreading it out with help from Red Wolf. It wouldn’t make the heat disappear entirely, but it might be enough to escape the notice of arrog
ant P-Squaddies. Once the blanket was secure, Kafari swung herself into the driver’s seat, then waited in tense silence. It didn’t take long. The sound of an aircraft engine rumbled closer. Then she spotted it through her night-vision goggles and worked hard to restrain a whoop of delight. It was a troop transport, not a fighter craft. A wicked grin stretched itself across her face. The self-assured fools had committed a fatal error. They just didn’t know it, yet.

  The big transport flashed past their silent convoy, dropping to land its passengers on the gentle slope where the main entrance road led the way into the compound. She snatched off the goggles to protect her eyes. A blinding flash lit the night, followed by a massive crack of thunder. Another flash silhouetted the bluff and its fenced compound, followed almost instantly by another. Then a fireball shot skyward and the sound of a massive explosion came rolling across the valley like a tidal wave. It splashed against the shoulders of the mountains at Kafari’s back.

  “Yes!” she whooped aloud. Cheers broke from the other vehicles. Kafari jabbed controls on her wrist-comm, sending three separate signals on three different frequencies. One signaled her own convoy to move out. Another told Anish Balin to scramble with the bulk of his team. The final message was for the men and women riding seven mobile Hellbores on the top of the bluff. It contained only four simple words: You will be remembered.

  Having said the only goodbyes she could offer, Kafari turned her attention to the mission at hand. Her convoy hit the road at a wicked pace, dictated by Sonny’s probable speed to reach the combat zone. They had spotters out along the whole route, watching for Sonny. It didn’t take long to get the first signal. He’s on the move, that brief set of tones meant. Two minutes later, the second report came in. She tracked the Bolo’s progress in her head, along an imaginary map that showed the two likeliest routes. The most direct route south lay fairly close to the sea. The second, longer route snaked its way along the edge of the Damisi foothills, passing through tiny farming villages, where the streets were too narrow for Sonny to navigate without doing extensive damage.

  Sonny made the logical choice. The moment she was sure, she sent out another coded pulse. Take the landward road! Then she put her foot down and roared north, glancing at her chrono now and again to time the pace. Ten minutes to reach safe harborage… eight minutes… five… three… At the zero-mark, she hit the brakes and turned sharply into a side road that snaked back into Redfern Gorge. The rest of her convoy crowded in on Kafari’s heels, moving forward at a crawl until they reached safety behind a bend in the high stone walls. Kafari did a careful three-point turn and shut down her engine, jumping down to throw the thermal blanket across the engine block again to prevent a heat plume from rising unchecked above the clifftops. Other drivers were scrambling out, as well, killing engines and muffling their own vehicles.

  Silence fell, roaring in her ears like a high wind. She strained to hear, even though she knew Sonny was too far away to catch even the rumble of his engines. She gave a soft-voiced order to the other drivers and fire teams waiting in tense anticipation of the all-clear tones to chime from their wrist-comms. “Suit up. Full biochem suits now and be ready to don the masks the instant we reach the target. I’ll signal you to don battle hoods.”

  She touched her own wrist-comm, giving Anish’s teams the same order, then picked up her suit, liberated with the rest of the Barran Bluff arsenal. She struggled into the biochem body glove, having to yank off her boots and clothes to slide her feet into the tough fabric that sealed her inside a protective shell. She took off her wrist-comm, as well, slid hands into the tight-fitting gloves that were a seamless part of the suit, then slid on her boots, refastened her wrist comm, sealed everything up, and donned her clothes. The only part of her not protected, yet, was her head. She picked up the helmet, which combined the functions of biochem mask — with full protective hood — and combat helmet, setting it on the front seat of the truck, next to Red Wolf’s. Hers was one of the command models, identical to the one Anish would be using. She assisted other team members into their own gear as they waited. Minutes dragged past, eroding into a quarter of an hour, and still no signal…

  Her wrist-comm beeped softly. All clear, the spotter’s signal meant. All clear to launch phase two.

  “Mount up and roll out!” Kafari ordered.

  They were off again at a sprint. The whole convoy rushed northward, intent on the quarry that lay just ahead. Kafari swung into the turn that would carry them across the open Adero floodplain and roared forward in high gear. She could see the lights of Nineveh Base far ahead, shining like beacons in the night. Her convoy began to spread out, executing a crisp maneuver that would encircle the base.

  Kafari knew exactly where the Hancock family was being held. She’d used Anish’s equipment to hack her way into P-Squad security systems and databases, unable to match Sonny’s data-tapping capabilities, but her own skills were more than sufficient for her purposes. Nineveh Base sprawled across two-hundred forty-seven acres and housed five thousand P-Squad recruits a year. There was also a permanent training corps of officers and sergeants, and the service personnel required to feed them, run the laundry, and clean the barracks.

  P-Squad recruits were housed in the southern quandrant, while officers’ quarters and sergeants’ billets bracketed the recruits, taking up portions of the eastern and western perimeter. The motor pool filled most of the northern quadrant, which had suffered encroachment from Madison’s rapidly growing shantytowns. Security was actually heaviest along the northern fences, to keep poverty-stricken thieves from breaking into the maintenance yards and stripping them of tools, parts, and even whole vehicles for sale on the black market. Guard towers ringed the site, manned twenty-five hours a day by sharpshooters. Weapons depots were cached in the center, as far as possible from any of the perimeter fences. The infirmary, mess hall, and quartermasters’ stores were also located centrally.

  So was Nineveh Prison.

  The cell blocks of the original detention center, used for disciplining troops or holding soldiers awaiting court-martial for criminal charges, had been expanded into an interrogation and imprisonment facility that was already the terror of anyone unfortunate enough to run afoul of POPPA’s displeasure. To rescue the Hancock family, Kafari’s group would have to shoot their way into the most sophisticated prison facility on Jefferson, rescue the prisoners, then shoot their way back out, again.

  Kafari halted the truck at its assigned assault point and used her field goggles to study the base. Despite the emergency scramble, there was no sign of heightened security. She could see the usual complement of tower guards, but no patrols were out scouring the perimeter for potential threats. That was fine with Kafari. There were fewer targets for her guns to hit, with everyone conveniently bunched up in the buildings. Kafari nodded to herself, more than pleased with the situation.

  She gave the signal to don battle helmets and started to put hers on, but Red Wolf interrupted.

  “Time for you to dismount, sir,” Red Wolf said, pausing in the act of fastening his own biochem helmet in place. “Anish would have my cockles for supper if I let anything happen to you.”

  Kafari glanced into his eyes. “Then you’d better watch my back, son, because I’m going in. I’ll play auntie sit-by-the-fire on every other mission we carry out, but Dinny and Aisha Ghamal are family. I will get them out.”

  “But—”

  “No time to argue,” Kafari said as her wrist-comm beeped. “We’re going in.”

  She jammed her helmet on, sealed it against the body glove and hit the accelerator. He didn’t have time to protest.

  III

  I clear Nineveh Base and head south, moving at my fastest cruising speed. At a sustained ninety kilometers per hour, I will be within line-of-sight range of the enemy in thirty minutes. This is a long time for enemy troops to finish looting and escape with their spoils. I cannot help but compare this situation with one of the most famous pre-civil war strikes in Terran histo
ry, at a seemingly insignificant place called Harper’s Ferry. How will Anish Balin compare with John Brown, who also used violent methods to present his argument? The arguments of both men — Brown and Balin — carry logical weight, but were — and are — sustained by a person both reactionary and, ultimately, destructive to society.

  I pick up another transmission from Sar Gremian, this time to the commander of a federal police unit in Gersham, the town closest to Barran Bluff. This message is coded, but I have access to the military algorithms necessary to decipher it.

  “First, shut down the reporters out there. Grab the cameras and lock them up or destroy them. Lock up the reporters, while you’re at it. Then get in there and start shooting at those assholes. Use all available force. It’s critical to make an example, here. Take a party-trained videographer with you. Get some good video clips, something approved news crews can flash as a special report when we’ve contained this mess. And for God’s sake, keep casualties to an absolute minimum. Between the arsenal guards and the strike force, we’ve already got seventy-three dead soldiers, out there, and a whole air crew. The last thing we need is a bunch of cop widows whining on the daytime chats. And whatever you do, don’t tape any footage with the Bolo in it!”

  “Understood, sir. Scrambling all available field units now. ETA Barran Bluff, five minutes.”

  “Good. See to it none of those bastards gets out alive.”

  “Yessir.”

  By the time I arrive, police units have ringed the compound, staying well back, doubtless hoping that the Grangers still inside the compound won’t fire the Hellbores at them. An uneasy stalemate exists, wherein neither side wants to risk coming into the open long enough to draw fire. When I reach visual distance, I lose my main data source from within the compound: every security camera in the facility goes dead, in a well-orchestrated act of destruction. What I have already seen tells me that I am at serious risk of damage, due to the terrain surrounding the compound and the layout of the compound, itself.