When Diplomacy Fails…

CHAPTER 24

Joy Highland should not be in this position. Here she was, dependent on armed thugs who enjoyed violence, and considered her voters expendable.

What was frustrating, aggravating, irritating was that they had been, and were, right. Her own party had turned on her. Her choices were to be a martyr physically and politically, just politically if she wanted to throw herself in front of the train, or trust these contemptuous troglodytes to drag her through a developing nation hellhole, and hope their body count was low enough, and the headlines big enough, to give her the edge. They represented corporate excess, the uncooperation of outsiders, smug elitism, everything her platform stood against. And she was dependent upon them to save her life and her career.

Poor Jessie was cut off from all her resources, and that directly affected Joy’s campaign, too. They were going to take Jessie’s career down with her. Joy didn’t mind playing off against Ripple Creek. That’s what they were for. But her own party, Cruk that slimy fucker, planned to not only take them down, but kill them in the process, and make her a shill.

It couldn’t be Cruk. It had to be Lezt. She’d always suspected Champion’s flyer crash was no accident. If she won this, she’d have him taken behind the Mansion and shot. No, she’d arrange a flyer accident. Perhaps that scary, flaky Sykora could be persuaded to stage it.

She should not be wading through rubble and trash, pulled by the arm like a detainee or child, and cowering from rioting underclasses. She was their savior.

Gunfire made her flinch and whimper. Jessie tried to grip her hand, but she shook it off.

I will not show fear in front of rabble, she thought. Except she was. The German, Bart, pushed ahead with Marlow. That doctor they called Shaman was right behind. The others were somewhere. She wanted all six around her.

She realized she’d completely forgotten her gun. Had they anticipated that? Were they snickering at the politician who wanted to play soldier? Did they know she’d served slop in a mine and minced fish guts to pay for school promotions? Everyone focused on the fact she’d had to pay, rather than earning her schooling on scores, but she’d earned it as much as anyone, with real work.

Another shot jarred her senses, and she realized she had a blister on her left foot. The ball stung and felt wet where it had burst.

She growled and pushed faster. She’d be damned if she’d give up now.

Jason was right, Aramis thought. Once they were in trajectory, they had no way to maneuver. The first one sailed cleanly overhead, about ten degrees down from his view. He raised the web gun, angled it for a good lead, and waited.

A moment later the second came into view, higher up but at the same speed. He shifted, snapped the trigger, realized the slow speed weapon needed more lead, and tried to shift.

The figure hissed out of sight, and the third one arched over before he could make ready.

He sighed, snarled and grumbled, poked his pistol over the ledge and fired, stood, fired again, jumped right, fired again, just to keep their heads down if they’d decided to pause for him.

Two of them kept right on bounding across the roofs. He didn’t see the middle one, and from the spacing of the two remaining, he just might have gotten that one.

He took a wide arc toward the building’s edge, raising his carbine, slinging the web gun, then holstering his pistol. He kept a good point in case of threat, and eased up to the edge.

The shot had caught the man on one of his Springblades, and he’d tumbled over the side while the goo caught on the roof and guttering. It appeared he’d smacked into the wall, but was conscious if a bit disoriented. Hanging upside down by one foot couldn’t help.

The man had dropped any weapon he might have in hand, though appeared to have other stuff harnessed or packed. He was attempting to maneuver a foot into place, probably to try to bounce back up. He might even have a counter agent for the goo, but while hanging over the edge was not the time to use it.

His gyrations brought him eye to eye with Aramis, and he froze. Then he seemed to realize there were spectators below as well. Some of them pointed and cheered, or jeered, and a few small pebbles flew up to rattle against the wall.

“Help me up,” the man asked.

“I don’t think so.” Dammit, why couldn’t he have just fallen and finished it?

“I’m out of the fight and I’m your prisoner.”

“I’m not a combatant and have no way to deal with prisoners.” He really was in an awkward legal position. He was a bodyguard, so armed, but not a combatant, so the Law of Armed Conflict only applied in certain ways. He couldn’t take a prisoner, but killing the man now would probably constitute a war crime.

That voice. Could he…?

“Then just cut me free. I’ll take my chances.”

This… person… was probably one of the ones who’d had him tortured. His voice was familiar, but Aramis had been barely conscious. False memory? Real?

It wasn’t Aramis’s problem and he wasn’t going to shoot the man in cold blood. What the spectators below might do was not his concern.

He turned, located a window on the floor below, and jumped in a dizzying arc, praying the window was open or of breakable paning. The jets did cut in for just a moment, flattening his trajectory.

The window was gone, the frame was not. He crashed through and felt splinters, but it wasn’t critical and he slammed stingingly onto the balls of his feet, tumbled, rolled over his pack, came up with more abrasions and ran for the stairs. He did feel some of the splinters dragging on the fabric of his pants. They must have been heavy pieces to do that.

He went through the outside door fast, weapon ready, right into a group of six locals. He fired bursts right, forward and left, sprinted across the line of the alley, and heard the sound of rocks smacking into walls. They were trying to stone the guy to death ten meters in the air. It might have been kinder to shoot him. They most likely couldn’t touch the goo, but it would weaken in a few hours, if he hadn’t succumbed to cranial pressure by then.

Well, that wasn’t his problem either. However, he wasn’t sure even Caron’s pull could prevent a brain wiping if word of this leaked out. They had to eliminate every one of these fuckers, without a lot of credible or even not so credible witnesses, and play stupid.

He had at least one jump left in the harness, and now was the time to use it. The bladers had correctly decided Aramis was less relevant than whatever they planned to do to Highland.

Stupid fuckers. Had they asked, there was a good chance he’d give them five minutes with her. Actually, no there wasn’t. She might be a sociopathic bitch, but she hadn’t directly tried to kill him, just to use him as a tool.

Still, both of them thought of him as something they could use and discard. That had to be discouraged.

The window ahead was open, or rather, missing, save for a couple of dull shards, and how long had they been here for that weak sun to dull that plastic? He adjusted his run, leapt through, dropped free, and felt the jets engage. He landed in a crouch, stood and ran.

With those damnable peace walls, they should have all had these things from the start. It would have made scaling unnecessary.

Ahead was the waypoint, and between him and it, a crowd. He hoped for one last thrust, sprinted toward them and clutched for the trigger.

One saw him, then ten, then all of them, pointing and shouting and milling about, then moving. He judged the distance, waited until he was sure they were going to tackle him, a half second longer, and punched it while leaping.

Close. Fingers plucked at his boot as he rose, then a cacophony of small arms fire crashed in his ears. He clenched in on himself, knowing they were untrained and incompetent and the odds of them hitting him were astronomical, while his hindbrain feared it anyway. He clutched at something on his harness and dropped it. A stink gas grenade. He underhanded it ahead of himself.

He was starting to arc down, and hoped to make that window. He snapped down the aiming ring, pointed that way and pressed the button again. He raised his carbine, shattered the glass with three shots, and slung it back down.

The jets burped, coughed, sputtered and hissed, and he was in free trajectory.

The wall came toward him and up dizzyingly fast, and he knew he was going to miss the window, but if he was lucky…

He slammed ribs-first into the frame, cracking his chin and knees, and his elbows as they hooked the frame. Crying and tearing and with shocks of pain burning nausea into him, he scrambled up, every touch of his elbows causing him to clench. He thought his sphincters were going to release, and he almost hoped they would. Perhaps that would reduce the nausea.

He tumbled over the sill as more fire was directed his way, some few rounds of hundreds actually making it through the outline of the window.

Inside, eyes peeked from behind a couch, and an elderly couple rose, hands up.

“You’re safe,” he said. From him they were.

He slowed for a moment, took deep drafts of air, swallowed two “instant” analgesics with two swallows of water, and limp-sprinted for the far side, waving to the seniors as he passed through their door. With amusement, he noted the prayer box on the door sill, meant to keep threats out. So much for that myth.

There were certainly a confusing number of these standard pattern colonial buildings around. The locals would know their way, however. He needed speed. He unsnapped the harness and pulled his pack off, too. What was in his pockets would have to do.

He staggered down stairs, ignoring people who ignored him. It seemed all the violent-minded were outside, and the ones inside were meek and fearful.

However, the violent ones were on the far side, so for now he was safe, and the team should be meeting a klick away.

Those apartment blocks made great cover and boundaries. There was no fighting or rioting on this side. People noticed his gear and guns and shied away, but it was unlikely any of them would either start trouble or say anything. He walked briskly but without racing, kept his ears open for any pursuit but deliberately did not look back. He tried to blend in, as best he could in battle gear. Though the Catafract camo would help with that, since it had no color of its own.

He avoided shoving, stepped aside when possible, and most people were surprised to encounter him, which meant he was doing his job right. He knew he was close when the crowd thinned rapidly and disappeared, while the buildings turned drab, damaged, cratered. Just like that. This was an abandoned zone.

He got a very faint ping from Elke. She had power dialed way down, which meant they still expected active threats. The Bladers were somewhere nearby, and were both a direct threat and an intel leak.

He saw Elke ahead, just peeking from a corner. He made the hand signal that he was not under duress, and went past. It didn’t matter much; the next doorway entered the same space, but it was habit. You never went straight to your cover.

“Got one,” he said as he dodged in.

“At least two left then,” Shaman said.

“How are we doing?”

Jason said, “How are you doing? You’re as much of a mess as I am.” Jason was bandaged and sprayed. Wow. It looked like impact trauma and rock rash, though. A fall, probably.

“Ran out of fuel, crashed into building. On with the show.”

Alex said, “We plan to stage from here, and get to that point you noted, three blocks from here. Shoot a lot, hard cover, wait for fight. What’s the plan after that?”

“Kill them all,” Elke said.

“Who are we staging with?” he asked.

Right then, a voice came through his headset on company freq.

“Welcome, welcome, Playwright, to the show that never ends.”

Alex breathed relief. That was good news.

“Jacqueline, where are you?”

She giggled in his ears. “Really? I can see you. We’ll be over in a few moments.”

From outside he heard a hum, and looked out the window, startled. Cady and her team zipped around the corner in a beat up Mercedes. She waved with her left hand out the passenger window, while her right held a machine pistol, probably an iOrd.

The odds were still ridiculous, but with backup, he felt better. Though he blushed at not having tagged them as they came into the area. The locals might be incompetent, but Highland’s foes were not. They had to know everything that went down.

Cady bounced out like a dancer, followed by two of her team, Lionel and Marlin.

“Okay, so now we have twelve. That’s only half as pathetic.”

Aramis said, “There are only two of the Agency guys on Springblades now.”

She raised her eyebrows and said, “That doesn’t mean there aren’t others somewhere, on or off Springblades. And where did they come from?”

Alex said, “True, but those were a fantastic recon advantage, and intended to corral us. Now we are corralling the opposition, or will be shortly. As to where, we figure the administration sent them.”

She looked surprised. “That’s fascinating, and a bit disturbing. What do you have in mind?”

“How good is your driver? Bart and Jason are both excellent.”

“As is Lionel, you know. Do you mind local hostile casualties?”

Highland snapped, “Yes!” as Alex said, “No. Hostiles are fair game.” Inside he grinned. Active combat meant she no longer gave orders. It was almost a fair trade.

Cady said, “Well, we have one vehicle. We’re going to be a clown car with guns.”

Aramis said, “I’m okay with that. Get me there and we’ll make it happen.”

Alex said, “Slow down. Aramis, details.”

The man turned and looked a bit surprised, probably still groggy from his impact.

“Oh, sorry. Okay, we’ll be between three warring factions. There’s lots of cover. We stir up shit, throw it in all directions, then duck. We see who shows up to take care of the Minister, and our best people,” he pointed at Elke and Jason, “ice them.”

Alex said, “That’s your plan?” as Highland said, “That’s your plan? To use me as bait?”

Aramis turned to her and said, “Ma’am, you’re what they want. There isn’t any other bait to use. If we wait, they get you. If we step out, they arrange an accident or incident, and then blame that faction-you can bet it will be one you favor-and move on.”

That was it concisely, and Alex saw no reason to offer additional comment.

She stared, though, and he saw her facade crumble. Her lips trembled, and while she didn’t cry, the fight went out of her.

She spoke, but it was inaudible. He could read her lips. “I can’t do this anymore.”

He said, “Our job is to keep you alive, ma’am. We can do it. Just stay with us.”

She shook her head, trembled more, and didn’t even protest when Shaman slipped over and slapped a patch on her neck.

There was uncomfortable silence for a moment. Principals had hesitated before, but Highland projected such bravado it was odd to see it shatter. JessieM looked stunned herself. Even she’d never seen this type of dissemblance.

“And now it’s time to make that call. Who am I calling? Ms. Highland?”

“Oh… call the Liaison switchboard,” she said.

He unshielded his phone, pulled the contact, waited for connection.

“Colonial Liaison Office, how may I help you?”

“Official request for Special Service protection for Candidate Highland, effective today, with a rating of thirty-two percent in three polls.”

“That’s… I’m not sure who handles that.”

“Chief of mission will work. Put him on, please.”

“Stand by.”

Alex pointed at JessieM. “Announce we’re doing it.”

She nodded and pulled her own phone.

Alex wondered if they were stalling to trace. They’d have to move again quickly, but they did have the vehicle.

A voice came on, “Consul Beaumont. To whom am I speaking?”

“This is District Agent in Charge Alex Marlow, Chief of security, contract, for Minister Highland. We are officially requesting Special Service escort and security for her, as of one hundred eighty days from caucus, with multiple polls showing her above the thirty-two percent level.”

“I see. I can relay that to the Executive Office.”

“Please do so quickly. We’re also publicly announcing the request from both her campaign and our official contacts. I need to disconnect. I will be in touch. Out.” He closed the connection and shielded the phone fast.

“Now we wait.”

Cady stepped in and said, “Well, we can’t wait here. They’re moving and closing as we speak, and we need to be at ground zero, not in a bombed-out ruin three hundred meters away.”

Elke and Bart stepped up, gently took Highland’s arms, and guided her. JessieM followed.

Cady said, “Marlin, get the door. Lionel drives, double up in all seats. It’s going to be a party. We brought you a couple of toys.”

They formed up and moved to the car, which had attracted some attention, and their movement attracted more. Highland went along, somewhat numb even before Shaman dosed her with whatever he’d dosed her with. She seemed lucid, but strangely compliant.

It was more than crowded in the car. The front section had driver and Helas and Edge crammed into one passenger seat, almost making out, with guns pointing across each other. That was nothing on the back, though.

Shaman had one side, with Jessie on his lap. Aramis had the middle, with Highland on his, and he did not look amused. Jason had the outside, with Cady on his lap. He looked a bit uncomfortable. Yeah, all of them found a transsexual a bit odd.

That left the open cargo hatch for Cady’s other three, Bart, Elke and Alex, and a large crate already in place. Elke hung back as others boarded, obviously reluctant to be that close to that many people. She really didn’t like people. It took surprisingly little time to get everyone crammed in, and Lionel drove off mildly, but brought speed up fast. Still, five seconds could seem like an eternity, and could be in an actual fight. The whipping air felt good to Alex as they drove in to what they hoped was an ugly melee all around them.

Wow, phrased like that, it sounded insane.

“Open the crate,” Cady ordered.

Alex and Cady’s man Marlin popped the catches and flipped the lid up.

A Medusa Weapons System, and ten kilos of Composition G for Elke.

“Merry Christmas!” he shouted. “Bart, can you possibly skin into this while moving?”

“If you get friendly together, yes.”

Elke leaned far over Alex, snatched the blocks of explosive in a bundle just like a kid with candy, and drew into a ball against Jason’s seat. Alex moved back against her. It wasn’t an ideal spot, but she’d be more comfortable with him than strangers. Cady’s troops scooted right to the hatch lip, leaving Bart an area about a meter cubical for his bulk and the Medusa. There was just no way that was going to work.

Lionel’s voice came from the cabin, “We have potential contacts left, closing.”

“Also right,” said one of the pair crammed into the passenger seat.

“As long as we’re still moving, we’re good,” he said.

Cady leaned back past Jason’s head and said, “If or when the crowd stops us, you work perimeter.”

“Yeah, switch. Until we’re in cover. Do we have cover? Aramis?”

Aramis said, “That corner has a rebuilt booth arrangement.”

“Good. Everyone understand we are not taking a squat hole. Once pinned down, anyone could hit us with a charge and blame others. Movement is our friend.” He turned. “Elke, do you have your special loads and some jubilee fireworks?”

“Not enough for this crowd, but I can make a hole.”

It all gelled.

“That’s the plan. Once blocked, we make a large hole very fast and move into opposite territory, play the escaping victim card, then repeat, then find a dodge while they’re all killing each other.”

Aramis asked, “And the Paramils?”

“Kill them on sight if you can. That’s my interpretation of Ms. Highland’s orders. If they target her, they are enemies of the state.”

It was disturbing to come to that. Certainly, that was a crime. It wasn’t one he approved of. It was too easy to declare someone outlaw and go after them, but in this case, it did seem to fit. Assassination and power struggles from the administration level to bypass elections and courts were certainly not legitimate.

Bart said, “Here they come, the crowd.” Somehow he was half into the gear. The new generation was lighter and smaller than the predecessor, but still a thirty kilo load. His other gear was stuffed under the seats.

Elke seemed to have distributed the explosive, including giving blocks to Jason and Aramis. She handed one to Alex, then twisted and bent to retrieve Bart’s abandoned gear.

Alex turned back to the street. Yes, it was getting packed, and there were thumps as Lionel hit a few, then bumps as he rolled over a few more, and stopped steering. He was going straight forward to use car mass against crowd mass.

That crowd also had taken to running to catch up with them. They were armed with everything from bricks to machine guns, though only two of those so far. He scrunched tighter inside the vehicle’s frame, as the mob started striking the body. A club came close by his foot, but missed.

Across from him, Elke asked, “Now?”

The car jolted over what turned out to be two bodies, the men crippled and dying but thrashing in agony from crushed limbs and torsos.

“Not yet. As soon as we’re slow enough we’re at risk of boarding, take point.”

She nodded calmly. Good. Bad for anyone else of course, but good for them.

A gruesome red smear appeared on the road and grew in proportion. Someone had been hit, stuck underneath and was being dragged and ground away. The volume reached enough the blood started bubbling and trickling.

Bart muttered, “ Scheisse,” and adjusted his weapon grip. Elke fingered something and nodded. Cady’s two men thumbed up and tensed.

Alex judged the speed and the crowd. Clutching hands brushed him as they rolled, and one caught the fabric on his shoulder enough to be noticed.

“It’s now,” he said.

Elke shouted, “FIREINTHEHOLE!”, raised her carbine, dropped her hand to the launcher underneath, snapped the trigger, and the world exploded. Alex’s earbuds attenuated the blast, but did nothing for the shockwave. It seemed to blow through him, punching his guts.

What the hell did she just fire? His head rang, his eyes blurred and refocused, and he twisted out to the street. He caught a glimpse of her unloading an expended…something.

To his left, what had been behind him was a pile of mangled bodies with gaping wounds. Then his brain put it all together. Inside the launcher, she’d fired a block of large bore hunting rounds simultaneously. It was like a machine gun burst, in one concentrated rush. Shit, that had to hurt. Her I mean.

The crowd around the hamburger were in various stages of terror, and so in fact were all those in quite a radius. They’d thought it was a bomb.

“Smoke, distractions,” Elke said in his ringing ears, and huge clouds of thick yellow puked out from several small scattered capsules. That was followed by a string of reports that sounded exactly like a small caliber automatic weapon.

He came around the side to find the door open, Jason and Cady out, dragging out Highland.

“Proceed now,” he ordered, and Jason grabbed Highland’s hand, put it on his ruck and said, “Hold on, ma’am.”

She nodded and followed, clenching one of the straps. She was well-practiced with the procedure and went along as she should. Jason looked back, half-nodded and accelerated to a brisk pace. Cady took right, the others filled in in a large block, and they walked.

The mob didn’t seem sure what to do, but as always, some brave started the infall, and they closed.

Elke tossed another string of squibs, switched from carbine to shotgun with a fling of the slings, and fired low overhead. The bird bomb banged loudly and that part of the wave broke and scattered.

They walked around a couple of bodies. Fighting had been ongoing here for some time, or it might never have really stopped, just shifted from place to place.

They came past the front of the car as Elke fired again. This was some kind of incendiary that slammed into a guy’s chest, erupted in white flame, and filled the air with the fried bologna stink of burning flesh.

Aramis fired left, a short burst. That cleared space for Lionel to slip into formation. Alex heard one burst to the rear, probably from Bart, and one more to right from one of Cady’s men, and he needed to remember their names. Also, everyone was showing fantastic fire discipline, but that wasn’t what they needed.

“Aramis, what’s the route and rendezvous?”

“We hit a wall two blocks ahead. It’s partially finished. We can work around to the east.”

“Straight for the wall then, and left. Don’t run out of ammo, but don’t be frugal if we get crushed.”

For now, though, this crowd wanted distance. They had respectable clear space, but there was a mostly-hidden rifle, poking from between two kids, held by the man behind them. That was disgusting.

“Jason, fix that,” he said and pointed.

Jason swung his weapon as if at some sport shoot, came into line, fired one shot, and the man’s head split. He collapsed dead. The kids jumped back, stared wide-eyed, then ran. Good. Some of these savages trusted in God to keep them dead or alive. It was a convenient excuse to be violent shitbags. Did God tell you to stop? Then he must approve.

A large eruption behind them was the car exploding. Metal, plastic and body parts of looters tumbled and fluttered through the air. It was company policy, military policy and good tactics not to leave assets for the enemy. Elke really enjoyed asset denial.

There was sporadic fire here and there, though little seemed aimed their way. Occasional cracks indicated someone in one of those buildings was shooting at them, but not actually shooting them. Still, sooner or later he’d get lucky, though.

There were abandoned construction tools here, from both the wall and a new block of ugly being built to the west. If the troops wanted to complain about overpaid contractors, they could start with these, who were apparently owned by the SecGen’s brother, and building all kinds of stuff that wouldn’t be needed, appreciated, or allowed to stand long. Generators, a mix truck, several extruders, brace erectors, pumps. The breakage was awful, and the government’s response was to send more.

Eh. Less interesting than the approaching wall.

Aramis spoke over net. “Hit the wall, turn east, we’ll have right side hard cover, sporadic on the left. About a kilometer.”

Alex said, “Cady, I want someone to drop those repeater phones as we go. Flank out about two hundred meters, toss one in a gutter or other convenient place. If they wind up wandering around due to local action, so much the better.”

“Got it. Give five each to Roger and Adam.”

Jason handed the sack over to Roger Edge, who dug in, handed some over to Adam Helas, then dodged out of the loose formation and headed west.

The rest kept running. Alex was in decent shape, and not that much older than the others, he told himself, but dodging through debris, obstacles and potential threats had him well-winded. A rest was in order, but firefights tended to interfere.

They reached the wall, found an unfinished ditch from construction, and piled in, Bart reaching up to handle Highland and Jessie down. The Medusa wasn’t powered, so he was carrying its weight plus theirs. Once they were down he went back to function checks.

“Take a brief break,” he gasped. “Water, breathe, check ammo and gear. Jason and Lionel keep watch. Rotate. Reports?”

Cady said, “All accounted for. I’m getting some tingles of scans.”

Jason said, “So am I. We won’t be hidden for long. Ma’am, are you still wearing your vest?”

Highland, bent with hands on knees, twitched and said, “That? Yes

… and the body… armor. God, I itch.” She belched, not quite a dry heave. The day was getting hot, too. Add in the haze around the construction, normal city dust and propellant gases, and everyone was going to have trouble breathing.

Alex said, “Catch your breath, ma’am; we’ll be moving again in moments. It’s going to be intense and hectic, but we’ll have everyone tied up shortly.”

She sounded a bit better as she said, “Tell me again… what we’re doing.”

“We’re going to tie as many hostiles as possible up fighting each other. Then we only have to deal with ones who make a concerted effort to come for you. We’re going to kill them.”

She nodded while drawing in breaths.

“Jessie, how are you doing?”

“Scared,” she said, and the trembles gave it away. She seemed recovered from the running and ready for more. Young, light, unencumbered by gear. Must be nice. And yes, scary.

“Good. Time to move,” he said. “Bart, Aramis assist Ms. Highland. Lionel assist Jessie. Elke and Jason on point.”

Jason said, “Always a punishment for being best. Let’s do it.”