The air car arrived at sunset and moved into the garage. Wickersham waited with his two men. Three hours later all the lights went out. They still waited until 0400 in the morning. They donned night vision enhancement and moved out. They eased down the hill and through the woods to get within ten meters of the side of the house. There was one window to a room that never had a light turned on. The team had a house plan and knew it was a spare bedroom, unneeded by the couple inside. The windows were wired for an alarm but a recon done during the day had shown it could be easily bypassed. It was on the far side of the house from the main bedroom so any noise should not reach the targets.
The team got into the house and moved through the dark structure toward their target. The main bedroom was off the large gathering room. As the team entered that room from the opposite side, they could see the entrance to the main bedroom on the far wall. The door was open. Halfway across the gathering room, the bedroom door slammed shut. The three men immediately opened fire on the door and the surrounding wall. They rushed forward and Wickersham raised his right leg to slam his foot against the door so they could rush into the bedroom. Instead of his foot smashing open a flimsy interior door, it seemed his foot impacted a bank vault door. Someone had replaced the door with a metal copy. Wickersham felt the impact all the way up to his hip. The sudden lack of progress at the barrier caused the three men to bunch up at the door. A fusillade of fire came from the gathering room near the front door and from the rear of the three attackers. The effective crossfire and the bunched-up targets caused the hit team to be cut down in a few seconds.
The firing stopped, and the lights illuminated. The hit team lay sprawled together in front of the bedroom door. Four police came from the front of the gathering room and two came up the hallway used by the attackers. One of the four was Catherine Putinsky. She approached the prone Bowie Wickersham with her shooter casually aimed at him. She stopped next to him. Although hit several times, he was still barely clinging to life. Putinsky looked down at him. His eyes drifted to her face.
“Hello, Bowie,” she said conversationally. An attempt to focus on her face told her that he had recognized the voice. He was fading fast, but he did hear her final remark. “Goodbye, Bowie.”
Chapter 45
Dietrich took Blue Squadron back to their own patrol area. He couldn’t figure out a way to sell his intrusion into Green Squadron’s patrol area so he didn’t try. He decided to maintain radio silence, file his patrol report at the conclusion of the patrol, and let Hochstadt referee any complaints. He was comfortable with his actions and was content to let the episode play out as it will.
Five days later, Blue Squadron returned to Rosstrappe for a week of in-port time. As required by protocol, Dietrich ensured his first stop was at the Cathedral. He was ushered into Hochstadt’s office late in the workday.
The two flag officers greeted each other formally, and he was pointed to the chair in front of Hochstadt’s desk. He had barely settled into his seat when there was a knock at the door and a young officer poked her head in. She spoke quickly to limit her interruption. “Admiral, just wanted to inform you more orbiting privileges came in. We are now only four short of our original number of access passes.”
“Thank you, Matilda,” she responded and then added, “It’s late. Tell everyone to go home. That includes you. Don’t hang around trying to impress me just because you’re new on the job.”
The young woman smiled and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll pass the word.” The officer withdrew and shut the door quietly.
Dietrich silently pointed his finger at the closed door with a puzzled look on his face.
Hochstadt understood the gesture. “New aide. Started yesterday.”
Dietrich smiled. “You frisk her for weapons?”
Hochstadt smiled in return. “I haven’t yet. Will have to do that before we take her to any meetings.” This was the first time she thought of that incident at Destiny’s without cringing.
Hochstadt now leaned back in her chair. She regarded Dietrich while holding her smile. “You know that we started getting our orbiting privileges back three days ago. They have been pouring in.”
Dietrich shrugged. “We really didn’t do anything wrong, so they couldn’t keep us out for very long. Besides, they want the money we spend on liberty and supplies.”
She nodded in agreement. “Funny thing though. Several of the comms granting us renewed access mentioned you by name and commended your actions. We got your patrol report yesterday. You had marked it ROUTINE and we’ve been so busy around here nobody reads that stuff very quickly. After all the kind words about you, I had it pulled out to see what had happened.” She now arched an eyebrow at him. “Routine? Really? A near shootout with the Commonwealth squadron and Raferty Hawkins as an ally. Routine?”
He tried to look innocent. “It’s routine for Blue Squadron.” He now looked serious. “I couldn’t let it happen, Cindy. Not again. We are better than that.”
She nodded. “I agree. I have no problem with your actions. You did the right thing. We need to show this region we can be the good guys too. In my tours around the quadrant I have been saying that, but your actions speak much louder about our good intentions.” She paused and then shrugged. “Besides, I’m sure Raferty Hawkins will provide us with plenty of opportunities to kill him without having to use his civilians as hostages.”
She reached into her bottom desk drawer and took out two glasses and a quarter full bottle of Adler whiskey. She held up the bottle, and he nodded. She poured two large measures and slid one glass toward him. He waited a second for timing and then caught it just as it was going off the edge of the desk. Not a drop was spilled. She grinned. “You still got it.”
He grinned back. “Never lost it.”
She raised her glass in salute to him. “I don’t know what I would do out here without you.”
He nodded thanks for the compliment but then shrugged. “Someone else would do it. Probably do a better job than me.”
She shook her head and spoke quietly. “Nobody could take your place with me. Ever.”
He gave her a sheepish smile. “I feel the same about you. Always have.”
She nodded in appreciation. She looked down at her open drawer, reached into it and pulled out a second, unopened bottle of Adler. She looked at her visitor as she placed it on her desktop. “I’ve got an idea, Rick. It’s after hours, and it’s been a long week. Why don’t we just sit here and get drunk?”
Dietrich laughed. “Get drunk? Gee, we’ve never done that before.” Hochstadt beamed in response.
Epilog
The four Flicker crewmembers looked at their ship from the open hangar door. Flicker was back in the darkest corner with several old, dirty tarpaulins covering the majority of the ship. The parts of the fuselage that could be seen were painted a faded white with an orange stripe along the length of the spacecraft. There were stains running down the sides at logical places and, and there were small pools of various fluids on the concrete under these “leaks.” Dirt and dust covered the tarps and the spacecraft. Anyone looking at Flicker would assume she was an old, tired craft stuck in the corner and forgotten. Just one ship among two dozen in this dilapidated hangar along the back row of an old salvage yard.
Dylan Whitlock shook his head in disbelief. “I have to admit I was skeptical, but she looks like a refugee from the scrap heap.”
Scarecrow smiled. “Told you. It is amazing how the paint job changes the whole personality. Went from bad ass black to an old commercial paint scheme that turns our ship into a nobody.”
“A nobody with serious maintenance problems,” added Gabby.
“Let’s hope it stays that way and nobody takes an interest,” cautioned Jazz. She had been the least enthusiastic about this idea. “We lose the ship and Raferty’s next blood contract will be on us.”
Whitlock gave a small smile. “Killian O’Hare running us down. Not a pleasant thought.”
Jazz turned a
nd smiled at him. “You were in her ops section when she commanded Outlaw. She’ll cut you some slack.”
Whitlock’s smile grew wider. “Yeah, she would shoot me last.”
“Nothing will happen,” Scarecrow reassured everyone. Hiding the ship in plain sight had been his idea, so he was a staunch defender of it. He looked at Whitlock. “You know Chief Petty Officer MacLeod as well as I do. No way he lets anything happen to our baby.”
Dylan nodded. He was not happy expanding the circle of those in the know about Flicker, but there was nothing to be done. MacLeod had been a steadfast crewmate for years in the Edinburgh Navy and was still as loyal and resourceful in retirement. His salvage yard on the edge of the Edinburgh border with the Goldenes Tor was a perfect location for changing modes of transportation. The Flicker crew had gotten as close to the Goth home systems as was prudent in the spy ship, and now they would travel by commercial vehicles into the heart of the Goldenes Tor empire.
As they turned to leave the hangar entry, a man approached from the main scrapyard. Whitlock smiled and extended his hand. “Thanks again for the hiding place, Chief.”
The bearded old man in dirty dungarees smiled in return as he reached for the hand. “Anything for you, sir. It was a pleasure to walk through the ship. Never thought I would see the day when something like that would show up here.” He paused and took them all in with his look. “She’ll be safe here. We aren’t important enough to draw official attention from any government outfit, and my people will never hear about what’s back here under the tarps.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Our little secret.” The man turned and gestured toward the front of the large junkyard. “Got my air car waiting. It’s a quick run to the cushion rider station. The next train through will take you right into downtown Gilhooley and the airport there. Go anywhere from there.”
“Sounds good,” Dylan replied. Everyone picked up their bags and followed the old chief through the piles of metal and stacked spaceship parts.
~ ~ ~
Prime Minister Strickland always concluded his meetings with the Queen with a brief update of the Badlands situation and how his government was reacting to it. It was a recent addition to the conversation as the Badlands were never briefed before, but the Queen never failed to inquire so, despite Strickland’s reservations, this subject was added to the agenda.
“The Rialta ambassador has been dressed down by me personally for some fiasco over fighting in a spaceport at a planet named Lorelei. He replied that we are supporting a Marbellan war criminal, but you could tell his heart wasn’t really in it. We are sparring with the Goths over Hawkins having a peer title, over Hawkins and Captain Cassidy having established a base at some place called Agra 2, over trade interference as Measure 200 is enforced and…,” he paused here as he took a breath of exasperation. “And over Letters of Marque and Reprisal.” He looked right at Alexis. “Really, Your Majesty? Letters of Marque and Reprisal? Really?”
She gave him a slight smile. “Yes, really, Mister Prime Minister. You doubt it is in my power to do so?”
He shook his head as he did not want to go too far here. “No, not at all, Your Majesty. I don’t question your authority. I wonder about the effect on the Goths and the repercussions. They absolutely hate it.”
The Queen smiled broadly. “Yes. Isn’t it divine?”
~ ~ ~
Ralph Morgenstein, Sunrise Regional Director, rode in silence in the back of the shuttle. He reflected on the day. The five major Badlands investors pulling out of Sunrise had started an avalanche of paperwork from other investors dropping out, both here in the Badlands and back in the Empire. It had started three days ago and showed no signs of letting up. The corporation stock was in free fall and people were pulling out of Sunrise projects that had nothing to do with the Badlands. The home office was in a combination of fury and panic. Morgenstein had a good idea who would be a main scapegoat when it came time to hand out the blame. He took a deep breath and looked out the side window. His rented estate house was in sight. After a good night’s rest he’d be back at it in the morning.
“We have the correct security code from the house,” announced his pilot over the intercom. He set up the shuttle for an approach to the front yard. The landing was smooth and professional. Morgenstein disembarked and moved to the house. The shuttle lifted and departed. Morgenstein put his hand against the security pane just above the door handle. He heard the slight click, moved his hand to the handle, and turned it. He pushed the door open. The house was quiet. He had sent his wife back home to the Goldenes Tor after the visit from Killian O’Hare to his office. Since he ordered the retaliation on Argus Colandra, he had kept three bodyguards in his home and three more in his office building at all times.
He peered into the foyer and saw a man walking toward him from the dark hallway leading to the kitchen. He smiled. One of the bodyguards always greeted him at the door after they saw him arrive on the camera covering the entrance.
He stepped into the house and turned to shut the door. As he turned back, the energy pulse hit him just below the navel. With a short yelp of pain and surprise, he fell back against the wall beside the door and slid down it to a sitting position. His hands clamped over the entry wound. There wasn’t much blood as energy bolts tended to cauterize the wound. There was a great deal of pain. Morgenstein had no way of knowing it but that was reason the shooter hit him there. The resulting pain. It was not a killing shot if medical assistance was immediately available for the victim. However, in this case, it wasn’t. Morgenstein looked down at his hands. He wanted to look at the entry wound but couldn’t force himself. If he saw it, that would make it real. He preferred not to know. He looked up instead. Right into a pretty face with a wolf head’s hallie that was bending over him. Just beyond that view was the man who had come up the hall as he had entered the house. As the man came into the light of the foyer, Morgenstein recognized Raferty Hawkins.
His eyes turned back to the face immediately in front of his own.
“How did you get the code?” he asked in a mystified voice.
O’Hare gave him a cold smile. “We hid out and let your guards do everything before we took them out just a minute ago. She spoke softly and slowly as she leaned in close to him. “I told you what would happen if you sent out a hit squad.” She raised her weapon and shot him in the forehead. His brains splattered on the wall behind him.
Hawkins had kept walking the entire time and was now at the door beside the body. He opened it and let O’Hare pass through first. He departed the house and closed the door behind him. They walked up the stone driveway to the front gate.
“Feeling better?” he asked in a light voice.
“Always do after administering justice,” she replied in a matching tone. She glanced at him briefly. “I don’t even feel bad about the three bodyguards.”
“No reason to. They made the decision to fight when we had them cold. Hired thugs.”
“Not very good hired thugs.”
They walked in silence through the gate and turned right to head down the secluded road to their hidden aircar. O’Hare gave a short laugh. Hawkins knew it was a trap so didn’t respond. They walked in silence. Finally, Hawkins couldn’t keep his curiosity in check. “Okay, I’ll step into it. Why the laugh?”
O’Hare smiled at him. “I was recalling your publicity. The Queen’s Hammer.”
“Don’t remind me,” Rafe countered in a weary tone.
O’Hare went on. “You’re the certified bad ass and, outside of those bodyguards, you haven’t even killed anyone since we’ve been back.”
Rafe gave a short laugh. “Didn’t realize you were keeping track but you needn’t worry. That will change very shortly.” He paused and then added. “Time to clean up some loose ends.”
Killian nodded at that. “Works for me. There are lots of people around here that still need killing.”
They smiled at each other.
Glossary
Admin - Administra
tive.
AOR - See area of responsibility.
Area of responsibility - A geographical area assigned to a military unit to secure and control. Commonly referred to by its initials AOR.
ASAP - As soon as possible.
Bogey - An unknown sensor contact. Friend or foe still to be determined. Sometimes spelled bogie.
Bulkhead - Naval term for a wall, in particular the walls of a ship dividing the ship into compartments.
Burgh - Edinburgh solar systems and the natives thereof.
Chairman of the military establishment - Highest uniformed person in the Aurora armed forces. Commonly referred to as the CME, pronounced See Me.
CIC - See combat information center.
CME - See chairman of the military establishment.
CO - Commanding officer.
Cold titanium - A ship at dock or adrift in space with engines secured and generating no power. Slang term is cold tits.
Cold tits - See cold titanium.
Combat information center (CIC) - A shipboard compartment with stations for sensors, communication, shipboard systems monitoring, weapons control, etc. It is the nerve center of the ship. On larger ships, CIC is located near the bridge so the captain can move easily between the two. On smaller ships, CIC and the bridge would be one compartment.
Comm - Communication, communications.
The Queen's Hammer: Pirates of the Badlands Series Book 5 Page 29
