When Diplomacy Fails…

CHAPTER 23

Elke had to keep craning to watch her rear quarter. They were unmolested across the street, and reached the alley. That felt less exposed, but the terrain was terrible, with uncollected rubbish heaped and piled. It wasn’t that it was filthy. It was that it was filthy, unstable and prone to shift and outgas methane, ammonia and rot smells as they clambered around and over. Above them, windows were dark caves that looked threatening even without hostiles.

Highland might be an obnoxious bitch, but she didn’t complain about rough conditions. No doubt boasting of it would be part of her next level of campaigning.

Then they were through, and onto another street. Traffic seemed normal enough here, though civilians drew back in the face of what was obviously a small military unit. Then someone recognized Highland.

Elke sighed for a moment and grabbed a stink gas grenade. She yanked the cord and rolled it left, then rolled another right, and one straight ahead.

The crowd screamed and drew away, except those closest, who tried to get closer. While not quite as potent as the vehicle mounted dispensers, the stench was so strong it was palpable, as slight whiffs drifted by.

Alex caught what she did before she said anything, and ordered, “Deep breath, sprint forward.”

She dragged in a breath tinged with that awful sulfur smell, and put a hand on Jessie’s shoulder to keep her moving briskly. Her eyes teared up as they passed through the fumes in front, but she felt it clear in the slight breeze, and they were soon in another alley, this one less disgusting but narrower, dodging between bins and tubs, piled debris and stacks of crates. It turned to the left and they followed it, then right again.

Aramis said, “We should be coming out onto the Plaza of the Caliph in a moment and… wait…”

Everyone ahead stopped and Elke moved up close in case she was needed. She checked behind again, hand on a device just in case.

Jason said, “And now we find out just how effective a wall between sectors is.”

Ahead was the broad, glistening curve of the Peace Wall. More trash leaned against it, including abandoned cars and boxes. Above that, it really did look like marble, but that featureless concrete extrusion was impenetrable to anything she carried. She could divot it, but…

“Move,” she said, and the team cleared her path, yanking Highland and Jessie aside.

She turned her back to Jason and said, “Spare cassette.” She indicated with her thumb.

“This isn’t a mine is it?” She had on occasion rigged an ammo cassette as a claymore.

“No, it’s loaded with spalling charges.” She took it as he pulled it out, swapped for the one in the weapon, then handed the shotgun to him. “You’re the best shot, make us steps.”

“Understood,” he said. He hefted the shotgun, chose a spot just over an abandoned van, and started shooting.

The charges were designed to punch through block. She’d had in mind opening a large hole by perforating a wall, or creating loops he could snipe through. In this case, the first shot impacted the wall seventy centimeters above the van’s roof, and blew a crater several centimeters deep and roughly conical. It would support a hand or foot. His next shot moved up the wall, then again. By the time he emptied the cassette there were steps within a meter and a half of the top.

“I can’t climb that,” Jessie said.

Aramis said, “Sure you can. Take it one step at a time, don’t look down, and try to ignore the bullets peppering the wall under your heels.” He had the harness from the bag Bart carried, and was stepping into it.

It was impressive how fast the locals had abandoned the area and turned it into a dump. The team was unmolested as they crossed the street, which served as a ring road, as in a walled town in Europe. It was quite clear to within five meters of the wall, then the debris started. The van was a shell, stripped of engine, wheels and seats. The windows were gone, reused no doubt, and likely someone would be along soon for either body panels, sections of them, or to salvage the polymer plate for some other use. In the meantime, it got them three meters off the ground, leaving only five meters above Bart’s head.

“First,” Elke said. It wasn’t that she liked heights. She didn’t want to think about heights, and going first left less time to fret.

The craters were deep enough, though tight on her boots. That could be a problem for Bart and Shaman, with the boats they wore. She shrugged and kept climbing, reaching in with gloved hands, gripping hard and placing each foot carefully. It was like climbing a very narrow ladder with no gaps between rungs.

Also, with incoming fire. She flinched as she heard it. It wasn’t well aimed, nor was it in volume, but she had no cover.

With that distraction, though, she made it to the top of the wall, oozed over and clung there. It was just over a meter wide, it was ten meters down the other side, and there was less debris. The government had insisted there were no spikes atop the wall. Technically, that might be true, but it was very rough and jagged where the polymix had stretched and shifted inside the mold as it set. The nearest buildings were a hundred meters away, and the terrain in between was razed urban rubble. An entire street of buildings was gone.

With a loud hiss of gas jets, Aramis bounced up, facing her.

“This is why they pay us those big dollars,” he said with a grin, as he rolled onto the ledge.

“Yes,” she agreed tightly.

From out of his ruck he drew line, swore as it partly uncoiled and tangled, then got it laid neatly in front of him. He pulled out a clamp that looked specifically made for the corner, and clipped it on the near side. It came loose when he tugged, but after two more sets, it remained in place.

“Down fast,” he said. “The rest are coming.”

She nodded, took the line, wove it over her shoulder, hip and crotch into an improvised abseil, and shimmied over the coarse, abrasive edge. Her brain buzzed and thudded because of that single clamp holding her, but she started walking down. The rope cut into her flesh through the fabric, she desperately wanted to dump the ruck, fearing its mass might push her total past some limit and dismount the clamp. She also needed to pee worse than ever, and the shotgun kept jabbing her heel.

Ten seconds later she was on the ground. She crabbed sideways two meters, hunched down and unslung her shotgun.

This area was a bombed-out mess. There were few people, and fewer as those people realized armed troops were encroaching.

There was no cover, though. This had been the other byway of a large road, and the crumbled remains of a curb were nine meters ahead. Another ten meters or so led to shorn foundations and infilled basements, with some structural steel projecting upward. Clumps of weeds were reclaiming the land. The hundred meter gap to the nearest buildings didn’t reassure her. That was a short range for rifles, but a long range to run.

She felt better once Jason zipped down next to her. Highland was lowered but managed to walk herself rather than drag. Jessie kicked a bit but came down, though her expression indicated complete terror. Horace dropped a bit too fast and grunted as he landed. Bart landed hard enough to create seismic waves, but seemed unbothered. Aramis looked graceful.

“Lowering,” Alex said in her ears. She looked up to see the rucks. They still had them? Good, but still.

Then Alex slid down last. He stretched until his feet reached shoulder height for Bart, who stood underneath to support him. Then, reaching far up, he cut the line. He hopped free, Bart caught him and slowed his descent in a squat, and they were all down, with hard cover behind.

He said, “This won’t stop the springblades, if they’re determined.”

“No, but it will stop that round of allies, temporarily.”

“Aramis?”

Aramis said, “Twelve degrees from magnetic north, we’ll shelter in that building for a quick reassessment. Move in three teams.”

Aramis always got a bit of thrill from the chase. It was probably a bad habit, but he preferred it to the alternative of crippling fear.

This, though, was a bit more than a chase. They were in the middle of three angry groups who’d shoot even if they didn’t know who Highland was, and especially if they did, with at least one group of assassins following. They were using the battling factions as a shield against the hit team, who were using the factions as concealment to get closer. All in all, this would be hilarious to watch happen to someone else. Aramis had a starring role, though.

He shivered briefly. Death was no longer the worst thing that could happen. If it came down to it, though, he’d kill as many as he could and save one round. It was for damned sure the army wouldn’t save him without political prodding, which Alex couldn’t do anymore, Highland was unlikely to, and Corporate was unable to. This was some serious shit.

Still, gloves off meant he could shoot back, and the threat level wasn’t any greater than before. He, they were just aware of it now. That was the difference.

Elke and Jason went first, coaxing Jessie with them. He and Bart took Highland, and he had to admit, she bore up reasonably well. She wasn’t Bishwanath, who’d been an actual veteran. She wasn’t Caron Prescot, who could have been a spoiled brat but turned out to be a very courageous woman. She was far better than most politicians or celebrities, though.

The building was structurally sound, and had a few panes of well-crazed polycarbonate left in it. There were even small sections of carpet and a couple of chairs inside the lobby. It had been some kind of small office building, probably rather high in rent, in its past.

The rest came over in a dodging, shifting rush, and they had cover and concealment again.

Alex said, “Aramis, map.”

He laid down his phone and pulled out the plastic roll.

“We’re here,” he said, pointing.

“This is a less nice neighborhood.”

“That’s understating it, but we’re separated by the wall and by culture. This is an Amala area.”

Highland said, “We’re in Amala territory? They’re very antagonistic to me. Why did you do this?”

“They won’t look for you here, and it was the safest physical location under the circumstances. We’ll be moving constantly.” He said. He did want to keep her involved and mentally busy.

Shaman asked, “How are we going to maneuver the hostiles into place?”

Aramis said, “I’ve thought of that. Look here.” He pointed at the map.

“We’re here. The Amala are hostile. If we flee east we wind up in moderate Sunni territory-fairly safe. They hate the Amala. North is Sufi. They don’t like her but won’t go out of their way to attack. Northeast, at that point just a kilometer away, is Covenant of the Lord, and they are crazy and will try to attack both us and the Amala, if we can goad them into it. That will draw the Sufi in to keep their border secure if nothing else, which yields a three-way fight, which means the military has to show up to break it up. While that’s going on, we can be active against those Security Agency guys.”

Highland said, “You are seriously proposing to start a war?”

It was fun to tell her, “The war has been going on here for fifty years. I just propose to escalate it.”

She was definitely insecure now, completely out of her comfort zones.

Alex said, “If we can tie them all up, they’ll prefer each other to you. That’s the survival strategy. And now it’s time to move.”

“But-” she sputtered in protest as he took her elbow and “suggested” she move. She was on her feet and walking before her brain shifted gears.

Alex said, “Elke, Jason, find us transport.”

The two strode faster and pulled ahead.

The building filled a block. Their route through it was circuitous, due to rubble from collapse. It also had a complicated floor plan, having been refitted several times since its original construction. Owners changed, uses changed, factions changed… he stepped over the remains of a block wall, then through a framed doorway in an extruded wall barely in evidence. At least they’d have cover, concealment and distraction if attacked here.

Ahead, Elke and Jason walked out into sunlight. The red glow resembled that of a perpetual sunset.

The rest of them reached the door a few moments later, to find the two had acquired a box van. A man hurried away, and Aramis was fairly sure he was pocketing a large wad of scrip as he did so. Likely some bullion was involved, too.

They clambered aboard through the side hatch of the cargo box, and the stench hit them. This was a trash hauler of some description. It smelled of rot, piss, moldy socks and putrefying something. He gagged, and sat Highland down on a seat. It was quite literally a wooden dining chair, old style, well-scarred, stuffed into the corner.

The one opposite was a dilapidated office chair, unpowered. Both might clean up as valuable antiques, if anyone bothered, and if any potential buyers would care.

They all gasped for breath. The box was enclosed, hot, humid and some of those fumes had to be toxic.

Bart said, “I will open the back enough to kick trash out.”

Alex said, “I’m not sure on doing that.”

Bart said, “I am. The vapors are not safe. I smell mercaptan, sulfides, some alkynes. It must go.”

Alkynes? Really? Or was he lying just to make sure they could clear some out, because it smelled that bad? Either way, Alex didn’t protest.

Aramis clutched at Highland’s chair as Jason took a corner fast. He didn’t complain because there must be a reason, but Highland almost slid off the chair into a bag of goo.

Bart and Shaman kicked and shoved stuff out, using boots and carbine muzzles. No one wanted to touch anything.

Then a round came through the box, up high, downward angle from the rear.

Alex shouted, “Unass and take cover!” as Aramis grabbed Highland’s arm and moved for the rear, or tried to. Jason braked hard, and he was pinned in place. Then braking stopped and he bounded toward the rear, tangling, dancing, and just avoiding a leaking puddle of diapers, canned peas and something really nasty.

Shot from high rear had to be the BuInt assholes on the Springblades. They were really pissing him off, and it was personal.

“Someone take Highland,” Aramis said, and grabbed the bag slung over Bart’s shoulder. “Keep the vehicle moving. I’m going up to delay those chasers. I’ll catch up on that.” He pointed at the bag.

“How?”

“I did go to the Mountain School.”

Highland said, “Thank you for that,” with a somber expression.

It took him a moment to figure out her meaning.

“Huh? Lady, I don’t plan to die. I’m going to tangle up at least one of them, and they’re more interested in pursuing you than me.” He clutched the bag and bailed out the side.

Aramis lit out at a sprint, amused and revolted that Highland thought he’d risk himself as a decoy for her. He had clear orders on what he was required to do, and deliberately hunting BuInt Paramils wasn’t on that list.

He was doing it for fun.

He realized it was cocky and potentially lethal, but it was necessary, and he was up to it. Yes, it was grandstanding, but the payoff would be huge.

Yes, those black dots were them, and if they could make small arms shots at this range… shit. They were Jason’s quality. Though it could have been luck. Or it could have been a piloted shot. Or massively processed.

The rest hustled off, and that feeling of being a bug on a plate hit him. No one here was a friendly, and faces poked out of windows as they realized he was alone.

So much for donning the gear here. He shouldered the bag and sprinted in a crouch. He turned the corner, found the door, yanked and it came off its hinges. He shrugged, shoved and kept moving. The stairs were nothing but debris-covered concrete, and he found the best way to ascend was to just move his feet flat and kick stuff out of the way. He heard glass tinkle and crunch and was glad for the armored soles on his boots.

The top landing was secure enough. There were no signs of occupation, and he’d hear anyone below. Time was short. He had to get on the roof, and luckily the hatch was half askew anyway. He paused just below to catch his rasping breath. He had time if he was fast, so he stepped into the harness, then yanked straps around until it fit, hoping he had it correct.

In the shotgun seat, with a shotgun, Elke realized Aramis was correct. It was getting violent, and almost certainly propagating. She wanted to fire a recon round, but unless someone else shot first, she was reluctant to draw attention to herself. They had no drones.

At the corner, Jason stopped again, shouted, “Now!” and the rest bailed out of the back with Highland and Jessie. As soon as they were clear, he drove off again.

Then someone did shoot, and she realized she couldn’t fire a recon round. The remaining shells were all cratering charges, because she hadn’t swapped cassettes.

No problem, then. That man over there was about to get a lesson in potshots. She raised the gun, got the arc, snapped the trigger. The report struck her earbuds and was dissipated, but was unfiltered as a shock wave against her face. As the recoil bit her shoulder, the charge blew a perfect ten centimeter hole through his midsection. He looked surprised as he sat down, slumped at an odd angle because his spine was gone, along with his heart, then collapsed in convulsions above the hole, while his lower two thirds remained limp and meatlike.

That would teach the fucker.

More shots sounded, and she grinned. Now she would get to teach lots of lessons. That was exciting.

Ahead of them a squad of irregulars deployed on the sidewalk. They must have been waiting for some kind of action, and as eager as she. Now, where were those tubes? There. She pulled one from her harness, slid it over the muzzle, and carefully fed the gun back through the window.

“Don’t start a war if you can’t take a joke,” she mumbled, chose her target, thumbed the selector and clicked the trigger.

Her chosen cartridge was an overpowered blank to act as a launcher and igniter. The large muzzle charge elevated the recoil to a sharp jab, but that meant it was working. If she’d called it right, they were eighteen meters away. The projectile arced deeply, being several times more massive than a standard shell. At fifteen meters, it fuzed.

She was quite proud of that piece of improvisation. The tail fuze hit a triple charge that ignited, split the case and dispersed in a cone.

The powder puffed before deflagrating, like a beautiful flower petaling open. The cloud was a dark gray with perfect twisting swirls, then a flash that coned and roiled so as to form a perfect base ring. It reached about three meters wide, imperfect due to the ground, the building, and four bodies inside the fireball, convulsing then screaming. One ran like a chopped chicken, his robe billowing into smoky flames. The others just rolled around in a tangled, darkening mess.

Jason said, “Pocket thermobaric?”

“Yes.”

“Damn, woman. That’s sexy.” He glanced and grinned between steering around obstacles.

“I knew you’d care.”

She loaded a second one, and paused. Much as she’d like to torch a few, they were retreating. She didn’t want to waste ammunition.

However, that group over there, with what looked like a machine gun… she swung, snapped and felt the shoulder sting. This one upset her. The charge was a bit asymmetric and favored the lower arc. They all still burned, but thrashed around clutching and beating at their shins.

“Impact,” Jason said calmly, and someone thumped off the left quarter.

She saw others, and there were too many. His last turn had taken them out of sight of her previous targets, so the thickening crowd had nothing to judge the situation.

“We’re going to get swarmed,” she said.

“Yes. We need to get back to the others. We’ve done enough distraction. Hold on.”

Bart was probably a better limo driver, but Jason did just fine with heavy vehicles. He swung violently left, and the truck leaned crazily, but didn’t roll. There were multiple thumps of bodies being hit and thrown, and much more gunfire. One cracked through the open window, and punched a hole just above Jason’s head.

“Shit, that was from street level,” he said. He was observant.

“Stand by,” she replied, while digging in the front of her vest. Somewhere there… got it. She held it out the window, snapped loose the lanyard, snapped the lanyard free, and tossed.

“Faster,” she said.

He clenched and stomped and they accelerated at the best rate the lugging old vehicle could manage.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Distraction. Check behind.”

She couldn’t see much from where she sat, but she knew what it was doing. It was flammable gel with a surfactant to disperse it. It wouldn’t burn for long, but it would cover most of the width of the street while it did, and of course, lead to injuries and possible ignition of other items. The popping of ammunition cooking off seemed to suggest so.

“Very nice,” he said. “Revolting, even.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll slow at this corner. You bail out, cover me as I bail out, we’ll proceed across and down that alley.”

“Understood. I have an alley load ready.”

“Good. Hopefully we won’t need it.”

“Well, you hope so.” She most certainly wanted to use it. It might be unnecessary, or even a bad idea, but she hoped otherwise.

“Turning, braking,” he said.

She popped the door latch as he came out of the turn, and brake momentum threw the door forward to slam against its detents. She hopped out at a sprint, dug her heels in to slow, and swung in an arc checking for threats.

He jumped out, stumbled, cracked his chin on his knee, stumbled again, rolled and recovered. She charged out, snagged him by an elbow and guided him at a full combat run.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

In the alley, she sought a nice pile of debris and pulled him down next to it. She twisted and sat hard, put a hand under his thigh, and let him fall almost to the ground before snatching her arm out. He grunted and starred with glassy eyes. He had a bad abrasion on his right cheek, blood seeping around grit. There was bruising underneath.

“Will you be okay?”

“Yes, I can move now,” he said.

“We’re fine for a few seconds. The crashed truck is drawing attention.”

“How far do we have to go?”

“A few blocks, depending on where they took cover.”

“Then let’s at least walk. I want distance from our last known location.”

“Good.” She helped him to his feet and they started a brisk stride.