Tommy shrugged. “We’d better.”
He turned his attention to the approaching security troops. He didn’t really want to kill anyone, but he needed to get their attention.
He brought up his rifle and took aim. He didn’t like the idea of shooting at security personnel, or law enforcement, or even military personnel if he could help it, he was not letting them get on board this ship. It wasn’t happening.
Slowly, the security forces creeped up. They used no cover, no concealment, nothing. They obviously thought no one would be looking.
Well, either that, or they were idiots.
Rifles in the hands of the security people raised as they got closer to the ship, which made Tommy very nervous.
“Harley,” Tommy said as quietly as he could. “Ask if you can help them. I want to give them a chance to identify their intentions before we shoot cops.”
The big man put down his rifle, hidden from the approaching men but still within easy reach.
“Howdy,” the big man called out with a folksy charm that seemed out of place in the former Marine who took everything way too seriously most of the time. “Can I help you boys?”
The only answer was a shot from one of the goons.
Almost wishing for the return of chemical weapons, Tommy took aim and fired his weapon.
The round skipped off the plascrete just ahead of an advancing security troop just as the rest of the crew opened fire as well.
Rounds sent the aggressors scurrying back, desperate to find cover, though no one appeared to have been hurt from the fire.
Total time spend? Three minutes.
“That was easier than I feared,” Michelle said, her voice becoming calmer.
Tommy nodded, “It would be. I suspect they’ll make another move before the lock disengages.”
He hated to burst the woman’s bubble like that, but reality is what it is, and he didn’t figure he was doing anyone any favors by pretending otherwise.
Refocusing on the security forces, Tommy watched.
No matter what, this wasn’t good. Yeah, they’d get off the planet most likely, but they’d now fired on security personnel. As he understood it, these were agents of the Armstead government, so they might as well have shot at the police. He had a feeling that this wouldn’t be over when they broke atmo.
Then again, he could be wrong. However, he also knew he wasn’t that lucky.
Down range, the security troops appeared to be arguing with one another. It was unsurprising after such a spectacularly inept approach. After all, did just walking up with guns out ever work in some way that didn’t involve shots fired?
The kicker is, for most folks, simply walking up and asking to board would have been enough.
Of course, Tommy knew he’d have told them to perform anatomically improbably sexual acts upon their own person, but he had reasons for this trip.
Large gates along the fence swung open, seemingly of their own accord, meaning simple automation. Moments later, the security vehicles swung through and presented their side toward Sabercat.
Tommy sighed. They were learning, apparently.
This concern was reinforced after troops poured out from the vehicles interiors and took up a position on the other side.
“I hate competence in my opponents,” Tommy said.
Harley chuckled. “You didn’t expect stupid forever, did you?”
“A guy can dream, can’t he?” he replied before turning his attention back out toward his new adversaries.
Through the gate strode a man with short blonde hair and a business suit that looked awfully familiar, even at this range. Apparently, some people take a pistol in their face personally. Who knew?
Chapter 13
Annoyance. That probably best described Jaxon Marshall at this precise moment. He was annoyed that a rich-boy punk had gotten the drop on him after he’d picked up the chip. He was annoyed that the “specialist” contracted for the job did absolutely nothing to reacquire the item. He was even annoyed at his people who had failed to take out Reilly and his crew in the streets of Armstead. More than anything, though, he was annoyed that these two-bit spaceport security officers hadn’t gotten on the ship.
He ran his fingers through his blond hair and looked toward the ship.
“Sir,” one of the officers said, “you should get down.”
Jaxon snorted his derision. “If they’re not firing now, they’re not interested in firing.”
“But sir-”
“I said,” Jaxon interrupted, “they’d be shooting. It’s not like any of you are actually covered. If I were in there, I’d be taking shots to keep your heads down. The fact they’re not? Think about it.”
He’d heard the Port Authority security officers were incompetent, but he didn’t want to believe it. Now, faced with the reality of it, it was a small wonder there weren’t more off-worlders wandering around Armstead city.
As he looked at the ship on the other side of the tarmac, he couldn’t wait for the chance to get his hands on Reilly. Yes, he couldn’t kill the little punk—the price on his head was too chafing high—but he could cut up his crew in front of him, then maybe work the punk over a bit. No one put a gun in his face and got away with it.
Ordinarily, him being on board his boat would be an issue, but that was handled. It turned out the ship was already locked down. It wasn’t going anywhere. He could afford to wait.
“Sergeant?” he called out.
“Sir?” one of the officers responded. He was an older officer, probably close to retirement, who had a little bit of pudge to him not because he could afford the medical treatments available to the wealthiest, but probably because he normally rode a desk and didn’t really care any longer.
“Why aren’t you firing?” Jaxon asked, his tone friendly.
“Uh…because we won’t hit anything.”
Which was true, of course. They couldn’t see Reilly, nor any of his crew. He understood that at least one member of the crew had confronted the first tactical team that approached, which resulted in the shooting, but none were visible now.
Still, he hated just sitting there. He wasn’t a patient man.
** ** **
I am not a patient man, Tommy thought to himself.
It was true. He hated this sitting here and doing nothing. A quick check of the time on his pad showed just ten minutes had passed. This fact elicited a groan.
Michelle looked at him, her fear seeming to return with the inaction, and raised an eyebrow in question.
Tommy shook his head, indicating it was nothing.
Carefully, he peered over the top of the crate and readied his rifle.
“Boss?” Harley asked. “What are you doing?”
Tommy looked at him and grinned mischievously. “Hide and watch.”
With that, he pulled the trigger. To call his shot “aimed” was far too generous a term. While he’d pointed it toward a particular target, he took no great care to hit it. At a hundred and fifty meters with a decent wind blowing, it wasn’t an automatic by even the best marksmen without at least a modicum of effort. Effort was one thing Tommy didn’t attempt to put into his shot.
A second later, the satisfying smack of the round hitting one of the vehicles became the signal for a whole lot of hell coming back his way.
While he was confident none of the security troops could actually see him or any of his crew, he didn’t like being shot at particularly. It had happened before and, based on recent history, it would happen again. It didn’t make the situation any more enjoyable.
What was pleasant was knowing one important thing. Now they would be concerned with whether they’d be shot at or not safe behind their barrier.
“Great plan,” Harley grumbled as the shooting died down.
“Oh, you know good and well why I did it,” he fired back.
The big man just shook his head. Of course, he understood it. He had to have. Like Tommy, however, it didn’t mean he liked it.
Total elapsed time? Ten minutes.
** ** **
“See, sir?” the security officer said. “You should really get down.”
Jaxon sneered at the man. “If he was going to hit me, he would have. Either he’s not aiming or he can’t hit someone this far out,” he said in the most condescending manner possible. Intel indicated that Tommy Reilly was a terrible shot without the bells and whistles of a high-end precision rifle, and it was unlikely he had one. There wasn’t really any reason to be afraid.
“That may be, sir, but it’s my rear if you get hit,” the officer fired back.
He rolled his eyes and knelt down. Yes, he knew all about how to use cover. He’d had years of practice at it, prior to his current employment.
Pondering his military days, he realized just what he needed to do. “Sergeant?”
“Sir?” the sergeant replied.
“You have an AGV in your inventory, correct?”
The sergeant nodded.
“How quick can you get it here?” Jaxon asked, a malevolent smile crossing his face.
** ** **
Long minutes of silence stretched until the tension felt like a rubber band about to snap. The only thing worse than being shot at, in Tommy’s estimation at this moment, was waiting to be shot at. It was a position he reserved the right to modify the next time the tarmac became a two-way range.
He hadn’t felt it necessary to pop off any further shots, hoping his point had already been made. Since there’d been no further incursions, it seemed to have done its job well enough.
“Merde!” Michelle said, terror making her voice quiver.
It was her turn to keep an eye on the security troops, but five minutes was the most anyone wanted to watch a half dozen men who wanted to kill them. It was about to be his turn in a few, but the hacker’s comment elicited him to peek just a bit early.
The low growl emanating from outside didn’t hurt either.
A quick look, however, made him reconsider that whole “didn’t hurt” thing. This was going to hurt, and probably a lot.
“Harley?” he asked, but the big man was already looking.
“Deermo,” Harley replied in a low voice when he recognized the AGV.
The AGV, or Armored Ground Vehicle, was the spiritual descendant from the halftrack of World War II on Earth and the Armored Personnel Carriers from the decades following that conflict.
The AGV used by the Armstead military wasn’t familiar to any of the crew of Sabercat, but that was kind of irrelevant. It was big, it was mean, and coming this way. Technical specs were mostly irrelevant since it was highly unlikely they had any weapons that would take the blasted thing out as it made its way through the gates.
It also happened to have anti-personnel weapons on its robotic turret.
“Well,” Tommy muttered, “things certainly got more interesting.”
Cody let out a chuckle that held no hint of amusement, not that Tommy could blame him.
Tommy hit the intercom and said, “Adele, fire everything up. The second the moment hits, I want us off the ground. No delays.”
“What is that thing?” she asked, apparently having seen the AGV through the forward viewport.
“Something that wants to have us for breakfast. Fire her up!”
Troops began to pour out from behind the meager cover of the security vehicles and making way toward the AGV.
Recognizing it as his best chance, Tommy began firing at the security men before they could reach the safety of the AGV.
Not waiting for orders, the rest of the crew in the cargo bay joined in, adding their fire to his.
Several of the security troops jumped back behind the relative safety of their security vehicles cover, but most continued on.
One man fell, grabbing his leg, his weapon forgotten on the tarmac. Another man grabbed him, dragging him back toward the vehicles.
Another dropped where he was, then lay there unmoving on the hot plascrete.
Tommy noticed none of it, however. He simply took aim, squeezed the trigger, then refocused on another. The only other draw on his attention was seeking the blond man. That was the one who brought this onto his crew, and Tommy took that kind of thing personal.
All too quickly, everyone was behind cover—either that of the AGV or the security vehicles.
“Get low,” Harley ordered.
Deferring to his far more extensive experience in such situations, Tommy did as his first officer commanded and dropped to a prone position and took aim.
Where the AGV differed from its 20th and 21st century ancestors were in how it was propelled forward. While the halftrack had wheels in the front and a tank-like tread in the rear and APCs boasted either wheels or tread, the AGV was a pure ground-effect vehicle.
That meant there was nothing under what was essentially a hovering armored vehicle.
For military specific models, these were usually kept low for various reasons, but this AGV was designed for spaceport security. The thinking behind its settings had been that it might be needed to travel over debris, bodies, whatever. These were things the military models rarely did.
Harley Dane, a former Marine with multiple combat tours of duty, recognized this difference.
Once down on his belly, with his weapon tucked into his right shoulder, Tommy Reilly did as well.
There wasn’t much to aim at, of course, but there was something and that beat the alternative.
As he opened fire, he noticed everyone else had as well save for Michelle. As she was armed only with a pistol that she was shaky with at best, Tommy was fine with that. He knew she could pull the trigger if she had to, but that didn’t mean she could hit anything anyway. Her fire mattered when they were just trying to keep heads down, but not so much now. She might get lucky at this range, but it wasn’t likely.
As a security trooper dropped, his fellows simply left him behind as they continued their advance.
Above, the robotic turret opened out with two Markeson machine-rails, sending hundreds of rounds per minute rocketing toward them at supersonic speeds, rounds that embedded themselves into the bulkhead opposite the bay door.
Still, Tommy and crew fired, praying they could hold them off for just long enough.
Total elapsed time? Sixteen minutes.
** ** **
Adele sat in the cockpit and initiated the launch sequence. On the Harrison class transports, it was now second nature thanks to her time on Sabercat. Right now, she was thankful for that. Only a great deal of practice could override the fear that otherwise made her tremble.
She refused to go to any prison, not again. While Cody and Michelle had their stories—stories no one shared, by the way—she knew they paled in comparison to hers. After all, they were locked up in more or less civilized nations.
Nigeria was not what she considered civilized these days.
While Armstead prisons may or may not be that bad, she simply refused to let someone have absolute control over her life again. She would die first.
With luck, however, it would not come to that. Yes, she had a pistol strapped to her hip, but if the lock was disengaged and the boat was ready to sale, that AGV would not be a real threat. Especially after they broke atmo.
She looked at the clock. Seventeen minutes since this mess started. That meant three more minutes until the lock was gone. Three measly, eternally-long minutes.
The engines were still warming up, but they should go green around the time those three minutes were up, but that didn’t stop her from staring at the indicators, willing them to warm up faster.
Gunfire echoed through Sabercat’s passageways, but Adele ignored it. Instead, she continued to try and will the engine indicator to turn green.
Time does strange things when you’re being shot at while trying to patiently wait for something to happen. At once, it seemed to take forever while also taking no time at all, like some odd temporal paradox.
With everything ready, she looke
d at the clock. Just a few more seconds and there!
Adele pulled the thrust and began dust off…
…
…nothing.
The lock is still engaged, she thought as the weight of failure settled over her.
It had never been a guarantee. Michelle had to write a script based on a system she never examined and could only ask a handful of questions regarding. The hacker had been confident it would work, but it was Michelle. She was always confident when it came to computers.
Adele pulled her pistol out and sat it in her lap.
She was serious when she said she wasn’t going back to prison, any prison. They could take her out the hatch of this boat, but they’d be carrying a body only.
Orisa, she thought, it looks like I will be with you again soon.
Studying the pistol, she knew what to do. It was not particle physics here, after all. One round out of a rail-pistol should do the job just fine.
As she pondered the logistics of her suicide, she felt a presence, as if her deceased love had returned for a moment. It brought a sense of peace.
For an instant, she felt like it was Orisa understanding what needed to be done. No sooner than she thought that, however, she felt obliged to dismiss it. No, her lover would not want her to die, not if there was any other choice.
No, this was ridiculous.
Adele holstered the weapon and took the controls. She was still prepared to end it all, but not until Armstead troops were onboard and heading her way. What did that American once say? Something about not firing until you see the whites of their eyes?
He had meant shooting at an enemy, but it would work for Adele too if need be.
She took the throttle control in her left hand and pushed forward, now adding her will to any thrust of the engines.
Please, Orisa, help us.
As if answering her prayer, she felt the boat lift off of the ground.
Thank you, my dear. Thank you.
Hostile Territory Page 10
