Got you.
Satisfied, Aliza turned around to retrace her steps to the staircase. At the bottom of the rough-cut stone, she saw the dark-haired boy and two older soldiers. The boy pointed excitedly at her.
Shit.
Aliza spun on her heels and made for the inner thoroughfare and, potentially, the tunnels beyond. She risked a look over her shoulder and saw the two soldiers in pursuit. The entrance to a tunnel appeared between two of the buildings on the inner wall.
Aliza ran for that dark opening.
Aliza discovered she was not in a tunnel, but at the top of a spiral stone staircase that went down into the plateau’s cavern system. At the top of the stairwell, tucked into a winding crevice, was a tight maze of tilting and toppled trash bins. Instead of descending the stairs, she slipped over, around, and past them into the concealing darkness beyond. Squatting down, she pulled one of the mostly empty bins farther back to fully shield her presence. She pulled a loose lid over her, and her head rested on her knees as she waited for her pursuers to—hopefully—pass.
Only a few seconds passed before footsteps approached and raced down the stairs. The soldiers didn’t bother to investigate the bins, either because the clutter looked too tight to wriggle into, or because of the noxious odors of what seemed to be the local equivalent of a composting site. Aliza smiled to herself. For her, the smell wasn’t terrible. She’d smelled far worse in Dachau, after all.
In the darkness under her hood, she glanced at the luminescent hands of her watch. The time was a little after what they called 1800 hours. She took a deep breath and raised her head off her knees to listen and wait. Over the course of the next hour and a half, as the cold, stone floor chilled and seemingly prodded her “fourth point of contact” as Bo called it, only six people used the stairs. They’d come at nearly precise thirty minute intervals and always in pairs. Patrols. Possibly searching for her. And there was no sign that they might relent.
Aliza leaned her head back down and wondered how, or even if, she could escape. Or if Bo’s attack would succeed. Or if, even now, Harvester ships were approaching silently, fatefully through space. In the end, Aliza decided she could only be sure of one thing regarding her existence on R’Bak:
It was better than Dachau. Infinitely better.
She listened for the patrols and hoped for the best.
* * * * *
Chapter Seven
Plateau Above Imsurmik
Moving through the dark didn’t sit well with Lieutenant Johnny Stewart. With a military occupational specialty of 11C, indirect fire infantryman, he’d only had to hump a few night patrols before moving to the battalion’s fire control center. Math came easy to the young soldier, and he was one of the few to really have his talents identified once in-country. Mortarmen still patrolled occasionally, though, and when he’d made sergeant, the cadre had tasked him to help train the replacements—especially in night patrolling.
Each walk through the lightless jungle had been more fearful than the last. During his earliest days as a new replacement to the unit—what the older and more experienced troops called an FNG, or fucking new guy—night patrols hadn’t really bothered him. He was more concerned about how his peers regarded him and not so much about the enemy hiding in the darkness.
But by the third or fourth time he went out on patrol, Stewart was scared to death. The dark and unfamiliar rainforest was full of noises far different from anything he’d heard on the family farm outside of Chattanooga, Tennessee. Stories and gossip ran rampant through the ranks as more and more units were engaged by the Viet Cong under the cover of night.
Mortars didn’t put him as far behind the line as he’d hoped, either. Patrols became necessary. Even as he progressed in rank and started leading his own fire team, Stewart had still disliked moving in the dark.
Light years from Earth and more than a hundred and some years in the future, he didn’t like it any better. When he’d learned mortars were part of the Lost Soldiers’ inventory, he’d volunteered for them. But Lieutenant Colonel Murphy and Major Moorefield decided he was better used with the cavalry. He never thought to ask them why. Being on the front line unsettled him. Having to move through potentially hostile alien plants didn’t do much to assuage his fears. Yet he could focus on the mission at hand by reminding himself that not only was he still alive, far away from Earth, but he was riding an alien creature…or “being,” or whatever the hell it was. No matter how good the stories of his peers had been in Vietnam, none of them would have believed what he was doing now. Moreover, he realized he was good at it.
Stewart kept the patrol to the south side of the plateau. Their goal was to drop off the communications post, Sergeant Fahey and Specialist Wright, at an abandoned observation post that the J’Stull—or maybe the roving militia of the week—had once occupied. It was obvious their enemy had moved the actual observation post closer to the city itself some time before. Major Moorefield believed the local militias were complacent regarding security. His observers had seen soldiers atop the plateau but never moving from the city to those posts. Finding how the enemy did so was a critical requirement, particularly without access to aerial reconnaissance. It was crucial that Stewart drop off the communications team at the abandoned position and move forward quickly to attack and seize the two tucked-in observation posts spotted during the leader’s reconnaissance.
As the patrol leader, Stewart set himself in the middle of the formation. His Alpha Team, seven whinnies and their indig riders, took the point. Soon, they would break away from the formation and travel to the far eastern observation post near the escarpment. Stewart would take Bravo Team and move on the first observation post. Stealth and caution were critical for the attack to launch on time and achieve the element of surprise.
About twenty minutes after passing the line of the departure, Alpha Team elements split away for their attack. Stewart led the others forward for another hour before arriving at the abandoned listening post. Without words or ceremony, Fahey and Wright dismounted their whinnies and set up the radio inside the rock-walled lean-to. Wright gestured to their indig support, and the six robed figures spread out into the night and laid down in hasty defensive positions. Stewart climbed down from Olympia and whispered to the others, “Don’t be heroes if something goes wrong. You’re here to maintain communications between us and Major Moorefield. Unless you’re hit, you stay here. Got it?”
Wright’s cherubic face bobbed up and down, wearing a nervous grin. Fahey merely nodded once. “We got it, sir. We’ll stay in touch.”
“You do that, Fahey. We’ll see you guys when this is over.”
Stewart climbed back atop Olympia, and they set off to the east. Forty-five minutes later, they took a position to envelop and encircle the listening post. The whinnies, and the soldiers riding them, were absolutely silent. The J’Stull soldiers, or whoever they were, weren’t just bad at security; they didn’t even bother with it. Three of them were asleep around the remains of a small fire. Stewart watched for several minutes, looking and listening for another guard, someone with enough discipline to actually remain awake. It became apparent there was no one on watch.
Stewart raised his right hand and pointed at the Bravo Team leader, Sergeant Morton, and then to the three sleeping soldiers. Morton’s team dismounted their whinnies and crept forward. With uncanny ease, they subdued the guards. The captured soldiers said nothing; all three hung their heads in shame at being caught unaware.
Stewart stayed back and let Morton lead his forces. The young black soldier from Chicago was on top of the situation, and there was no reason to step in and change the rhythms. Morton ensured the prisoners were gagged, hands bound behind their backs, before allowing his forces to search the objective.
It wasn’t long before Morton called to him in a harsh whisper. “Lieutenant? Over here.”
Stewart made his way through the darkness and immediately saw what Morton’s men had found. Cut into the rock, a staircase descende
d into the plateau itself. Most likely it connected with the tunnel complex behind the city.
“Now we know how they get up here,” Stewart said. “All we gotta be worried about is how often they change the guard.”
Morton grinned. “I’ve got that, sir. We’ll sit here and capture anybody who comes up through it.”
Stewart nodded. “Quietly.”
As they finished securing the objective, Stewart’s radio crackled to life. “Bravo, this is Alpha. We’ve taken down the target. No casualties. No alerts.”
Stewart breathed a sigh of relief. “Did you find any type of entrance from the plateau? A way they get up there to relieve the guards?”
“Roger, sir. There are two towers over here with guidelines for airships. Looks like a hidden landing site. There’s also a worn trail between us and you. We’re betting it’s a straight shot used by the patrols. We found another area where the trail just ends at an unsecured trap door. These guys were amateurs.”
Stewart agreed and realized he needed to decide on a course of action. The plan originally called for the whinnies under Alpha Team to remain in place at the listening post for extra security. But unless they were missing something, the J’Stull soldiers’ lax approach to maintaining watches and failure to change their routes indicated only rudimentary security protocols. They’d relied on the plants to do their dirty work for them, expecting that no one in their right mind would patrol, let alone attack, at night.
Damn, when did we start acting like Charlie?
Stewart snorted and repressed the smile that threatened to appear on his face. If his forces were to retain the initiative, he’d need the extra combat power of Alpha Team. If the enemy reacted to the loss of their security posts and made a concerted push up from the plateau before the attack on the cache site, more whinnies and more guns were something he couldn’t pass up.
“Alpha Team, we’re going to hold this ground until phase two. Get over here, soonest.”
“Understood. Moving.”
Stewart released the transmit button on the handset for the PRC-77 radio for a couple of seconds before keying it again. “California, this is Fastlane. Relay to Desperado Six, we are in position. All objectives green and no casualties.”
Fahey’s voice came back instantly. “Roger, Fastlane. Message being relayed to Desperado Six now.”
Satisfied, Stewart allowed himself to relax for a moment before moving to secure the objective and build hasty defensive positions. He left armed guards to watch over the dark stairwell into the mountain. If the enemy was going to come, he expected them to come near daylight. When they did, his forces would be ready for them.
* * *
Assembly Area
At the completion of Stewart’s radio call, Bo climbed aboard his vehicle, fully crewed by indigs, and gave a hand and arm signal for a short count. Though the patrol followed strict light and noise discipline, and they moved without any artificial lights, the pre-dawn glow was enough for them to see him, and they proceeded through the battle drill without issue.
Three, two, one.
All the patrol’s vehicles started at the same time. The subterfuge was necessary. One enormous, initial sound made it much more difficult to estimate the unit’s actual strength.
Immediately next to Bo were two small and highly maneuverable vehicles, which comprised the forward security elements. He would place one at the road junction leading from the main road by the river to the southwest of Imsurmik. The other would take the main road east to the road junction southeast of the town and take up a similar position so they could warn the main body of any counterattack coming from those approaches. Bo pointed to each of the vehicles’ commanders and gave them the signal to move out. They crept forward and cleared the patrol base before accelerating to what was a normal speed for vehicles on R’Bak’s roads.
Now the wait begins.
Bo smirked to himself; his wait would only be a few minutes. The idea was to get the two security vehicles out and on their way to their positions before moving the bulk of his force onto the road. At that time of morning, there were no travelers. They had seen no activity on the highway for more than four hours. Everyone with sense enough to sleep was doing so. Moving in darkness gave Bo and his patrol all the leeway they needed.
Five minutes after the security vehicles rolled out, Bo gave the signal for the rest of the convoy to follow him. They left the assembly area across the narrow valley from Imsurmik and pulled onto a road no wider than a logging trail. It was unimproved and rough, but passable if they took their time. Bo knew the first section of the trail crossed several exposed rocky areas and would require about ten minutes for all the vehicles to clear.
If all goes well.
Bo’s plan accounted for the lower initial speed. After his vehicle climbed through the narrow rocky passage, he accelerated toward the first road junction. There, he turned north toward the main road. The distance was only a couple of miles, but Bo kept the vehicle moving at a comparative crawl. Not only were his drivers indigs like the bulk of his three-hundred-fifty-man assault force, but they had just enough training to make them dangerous. While they were capable, Bo didn’t want to risk pushing them beyond their capabilities. Every vehicle in his formation was a necessary asset. They had repaired the three broken-down tactical weapons platforms from Lieutenant Tapper’s raid and added them to the other eight vehicles in the assault force. Weapons of all kinds had been slung on the vehicles, and while they weren’t necessarily unsafe, it was best if they kept their progress slow and methodical during the more troublesome parts of the drive. The time for crazy maneuvers and assault speeds would come soon enough, but only after most of them had offloaded their infantry and were ready for the assault.
Bo’s command vehicle was about halfway between the first road junction and the major highway when he saw a broken-down vehicle to one side. Two men were standing alongside the road, staring at the unmoving piece of equipment in the pre-dawn darkness. Bo wanted to laugh at the all-too-human response; it was something he might have seen in the early morning hours back in Mississippi around hunting season. One of them, an older bald man with a long white beard visible in the dim light, flagged him down. Bo scrambled out of the top of the vehicle, ensuring he had his sidearm, and made his way to the front fender.
The old man smiled up at Bo with hopeful eyes. When he spoke, Bo recognized his dialect as one of the northern groups from the fertile lands known as the Greens. “Are you going north?”
Bo shook his head. “No, sorry. Imsurmik.”
As Bo hoped, the older man’s eyes widened slightly.
“You as well? I see,” said the old man. “Tell F’hadn that Zeesar gives you his blessing.”
Bo nodded and filed the information away. Every name and potential contact was in play. Still maintaining the dialect, Bo replied, “Thank you, honored one. I will. Do you need assistance?”
“No,” Zeesar replied. “My friends will be along after sunrise. Blessings to you and your force.”
Bo climbed back to the hatch, keeping one eye on the men. Turning his back on them would show trust, but he had none. Zeesar’s friends could very well be an armed force, an entirely different proposition than the occasional tribal militia vehicle. Depending on their path, an organized convoy could target his patrol from behind. Everyone was going to have to be on guard. Their enemies were not only to their front.
Zeesar raised a hand as Bo’s vehicle accelerated away. Bo returned the gesture and studied the disabled vehicle. There were parcels strapped to the rear deck which could have been anything in the darkness. Try as he might, Bo couldn’t help feeling he’d missed something. His plan called for a security force to assist with securing their attack corridor, but those soldiers were not manned or equipped to hold off an attacking force such as Zeesar’s might prove to be.
I need to fix this.
Under the cover of a grove of trees not unlike the baobab trees closer to the town, Bo stopped his ve
hicle. As he waited for the bulk of his force to catch up, he ran the plan through his head one more time.
Lieutenant Stewart was in position and ready to secure the cache site. Doing so would draw some attention there and open up the town for assault. By now, both security elements were in place and ready to take action the minute he and the remaining assault force opened fire on the objective. He had augmented the security teams, too, and Bo planned to send two more vehicles and about fifteen soldiers to each location. They’d have to move fast in order to be ready before sunrise. Once they were in place, the assault would begin.
Bo considered the adjustments to his plan. He’d done as much as he could to minimize casualties and collateral damage, but it might not be enough. He understood Murphy’s intent; they needed to take the town. They needed to find Aliza’s persons of interest. And, if possible, they needed to hold the town, which meant chasing, or scaring away, the various militias inside the walls before they figured out how to coherently fight as a unit. Combatants to combatants, Bo and his forces were outnumbered almost six to one. Undisciplined and untrained militia or not, Bo didn’t like those odds.
As morning twilight rose to the east, Bo wondered what Aliza would be doing that morning, at least until the raid began. Once the attack kicked off, he knew she’d find a place to hide. Or, failing that, a way to fight.
* * *
Mortar Point
Sean Davis adjusted his position atop the rusted vehicle for the thousandth time in the last hour. From where he sat, the entire valley of Imsurmik was laid out below him. For a firing position, it was perfect, except for the intense light from R’Bak’s stars. Even through his dark green uniform shirt, he felt as if his skin was already drying to parchment in the growing heat. He’d grown up in east Texas long before sunscreen was a thing, but he realized a change needed to be made. Davis and the other Lost Soldiers understood the adverse effects of too much exposure. Yet old habits tended to die hard, and he’d rolled his sleeves up above his elbow before dawn. Having felt the prickling intensity of the suns’ rays as the binary pair peeked over the horizon, he now pulled on the cuffs and rolled them back down as he checked his watch.
Desperado (Murphy's Lawless: Watch the Skies Book 2) Page 7
