The Loralynn Kennakris series Boxed Set

by Owen R O'Neill

  “Pay particular attention to this one,” he was saying in an oily murmur, gesturing at the nearest painting with his wineglass as his fingernail traced a neat line on the thin supple leather across her lower belly to the crease between her upper thigh and groin. “We start the incision here and then move in towards the bone—”

  Lurching awake, Kris put a hand out blindly to brush aside the camouflage canopy above her. As she touched it, the boundary between nightmare and reality resolved. It was just after daybreak. Rephidim’s senile primary had barely nicked the horizon and was casting its first thin bloody light across the top of the rise behind them and over the high ground to the south.

  The taste of blood filled in her mouth too; she rolled on her side and spat into the dirt. The hollow was still full of purplish shadows, pooling beneath the boulders, and the dawn air prickled on the back of her neck where beads of cold sweat ran down her spine underneath her tank top.

  Shaking in the grip of the fading vision, she searched the camp for what might have awakened her. It took a moment to discern Huron and the others in the gloom among the rocks. Huron saw her sitting up, and came over stooped low. Everyone already had their gear on.

  “Whazzup?” The word struggled out through the phlegm in her throat. Hawking to clear it, she spat again.

  “Boots and saddles, Kris. Looks like we’ve got an open engagement online.”

  “Okay.” She shrugged on her combat armor’s torso unit, which she’d been using for a pillow, and slid out from under the canopy. “Did Vasquez call in again? Are we on?”

  “No, but they’re prepping for something over there. Tiernan and Cates ID’d a spot three klicks west of the compound to lay up and see what develops. We’ll know more when we get there.”

  For Tiernan and Cates to scout a spot that far away, they must’ve left near an hour ago. He’d been letting her sleep. She broke open a ration bar and nibbled. “Ya lemme sleep. Didn’t need to do that.”

  “You had a busy night. Be ready in five.”

  Before she could do more than move her head in reply, he was gone.

  * * *

  Their new staging area was a sheltered depression, thick with those squat native trees, behind a modest rise, flanked by an escarpment that offered an excellent prospect of the surrounding area. So excellent, in fact, that Yu declined to occupy it, as being the most obvious place for an adversary to keep watch on. Beyond the rise in front of them was a kilometer of broken ground, split by a ravine, and then sloping up to another one of the many ridges that corrugated the local terrain. Beyond that was the two klicks of the barren flat earth that surrounded the compound.

  Cates and Tiernan lay concealed along that ridge, keeping the compound under surveillance, with Lopez covering them and Gergen on watch, while back in the trees, Yu, Burdette, Perez and Huron were kneeling around a patch of smoothed dirt, on which they were projecting various diagrams and discussing the final details of their approach. Burdette had located the compound’s Achilles’ heel: a utility bunker on a subfloor of the main garage that was directly beneath the outer wall. Whoever the architect was, he must have thought burying the bunker like that made it safe, not realizing a sapper charge could be shot through a meter and a half of anything softer than granite, and the surrounding earth would provide an excellent tamp. With no more than a dull thump, they could breach the bunker, and once inside they’d control the compound’s power and have access to the main garage. Vasquez had reported seeing three low-orbit capable cargo lighters in there, and there were two stairwells and one elevator leading directly up to the residence.

  Once the mole, sitting there assembled and waiting, got them under the fence, that would get them in, but what happened next depended on whether Vasquez already had the package wrapped or if they had to go get him, exactly where the corvette was, what the opposition was up to and what they needed to do about it. Watkins had been especially happy to learn about the elevator. They were easy to hotwire and could then be used to deliver stun grenades, gas cartridges, or any number of other nasty surprises to one or several floors. But all that mattered to Kris was whether they were going to take her along.

  That was clearly not the preferred option, but there was no guarantee Mankho would be cooperative enough to make an appearance at a convenient window, at least on a schedule Yu was happy with. Burdette had a flock of optical dragonflies out, loitering as close to the compound as was safe, with low-power line-of-sight masers linking the video back to Cates, who relayed it back to Burdette over a UWB burst link. If one of the Mankhos appeared, they’d ask Kris for an ID. It wasn’t as good as putting eyeballs on target, but Kris obviously couldn’t be everywhere at once and she had a feeling they were reluctant to let her out of their sight.

  In the meantime, she had nothing to do but sit by herself and wait. How long was the question. Yu preferred to have the corvette in position to provide support—Wojakowski and Donnerkill were up there with the assault shuttle in 5-minute ready mode—and the ideal time for that was forty-five minutes from now. Cutting the power, hijacking a lorry, and blasting your way out of the garage, leaving behind a nicely timed EMP charge to roast all the compound’s electronics as you boosted clear, was all well and good, but it was not to be compared with the comfort of having a shuttle inbound that could lay down suppressing fire on undesirables.

  On the other hand, their latest info put the number of undesirables at between sixty and eighty, a manageable number, so that comfort was not essential. What was essential, of course, was getting a line on Mankho, and Vasquez had sent no more than a hold status update half an hour ago, meaning there was nothing new to report. She was still in a subspace below the main residence, which Kris, when asked, opined was a little unusual. Mankho liked to keep his new girls handy, unless maybe he had other business.

  Other business. Kris knew about the failure of the Lacaille raid and she also knew—better than anyone—that what had beaten Mankho on Nedaema was really just dumb luck. Whatever else she was feeling that AM besides twitchy and nauseated, it sure as hell wasn’t lucky. She glanced over at Gergen, posted maybe fifty meters upslope and still almost impossible to see unless you knew what to look for, and barely caught Burdette saying, “. . . got a situation here.”

  A short conference ensued. Gergen rose to a crouch and took off northeast with his SAW. Perez went off with Fireteam Alpha a moment later.

  Fuck. I knew it.

  Kris dug her boot heel viciously into the dirt. The op had blown on them.

  Fuck’n knew it.

  Yu, Huron, and Burdette had their heads down, intent on some new data that was streaming in. She wondered if she dared get close enough to eavesdrop. A minute crawled by. Another minute. Then Huron looked across at Yu and asked, “What do you advise?”

  Yu was conferring with Burdette but Kris heard his answer clearly as he turned back: “We pull out.”

  Vision darkening with molten churning in her gut, she clamped her jaws shut in an effort not to scream. Going through all that shit—coming all this way—for nothing.

  Fuck that.

  * * *

  “I think we got a situation here,” Sergeant Burdette said, just loud enough for Kris to overhear the last four words, as an alert from one of her dragonflies lit up her xel.

  “What is it?” asked Sergeant Major Yu, in an unruffled voice.

  “I’m picking up signals to the northwest. Vehicles inbound.”

  “Make?”

  “Can’t say for certain, but could be lorries.”

  Yu pinged Cates, who was positioned the farthest north. “Rachel, we got incoming. You seeing anything north of your position?”

  “Negative. Nothing in sight. Shall I send eyes up high for a peek?”

  “Affirm. Make it quick.”

  “Wait one.” Then: “We got a flock of air-lorries inbound. I count six—no, scratch, make it seven. Coming low along the north road. At the speed they’re making, they’ll be at the front door in seven
, eight minutes.”

  “Cargo or personnel?”

  “Looks like both, but I can’t get a good read on the last three. The four out front are five-tonners, though. You want video?”

  Burdette, who was listening, shook her head.

  “Negative. I’m sending you Benn. Tap up Marko but otherwise keep low, good quiet, until Benn relieves you. Then haul ass back here, but don’t report in until Andie or I ping you and then voice only.”

  “Roger that.”

  Yu clicked over to Gergen. “Benn, unknown vehicles inbound from the north. Post up to Marko and relieve Rachel. Take your SAW but do not engage.”

  “Yessir. I’m on it.”

  “Sam,”—turning now to Perez. “Take your people and move out east. See how badly they’re stirred up over there. Ping us when you’re in position. Andie, anything from Vasquez?”

  “Negative. Next scheduled ping-back is twelve minutes.”

  “Break protocol. Tell her to expect visitors in six minutes. How soon can we get a shuttle down if we need it? Forty-five minutes?”

  “Forty-two. If the IADS is offline.”

  Acknowledging Burdette’s caveat with a barely perceptible nod, the sergeant major addressed Huron. “What’s your call, sir?”

  Huron drew a winding curve in the dirt with his finger. “They’re following the north road, right? Why follow a road in air-lorries?”

  “Protocol?” suggested Yu.

  “That’s my guess. Keep the IADS happy. IFF’s no good if you can’t be sure who your friends are.”

  “So maybe this is just a delivery.”

  “Goddamned big delivery though. Capacity of five-ton lorry is twenty-four men.”

  “Packing ‘em in, yeah.”

  “So if we stand pat on Rachel’s numbers, we’re talking a hundred men and over ten tons of cargo. That’s two reinforced platoons with heavy gear.”

  “If they knew we were here, won’t they have ordered up an air strike from Tirana hours ago?”

  “They would—if Tirana’s willing to heed to call.” Huron drew an arc across his squiggle. “No. He must be planning something else. Coordination meeting? Training? Recruiting drive?” Smoothing the patch of dirt, he motioned to Burdette. “Lay out all the data we have—thirty-second ticks, please.”

  They considered it together in silence a while. Then Huron looked up. “What do you advise?”

  Gergen pinged them, indicating he was in position and Cates was on her way back. Yu leaned towards Burdette to verify when Cates would be in a safe transmit zone—about a minute, he estimated, just as soon as she was into that dead ground along the ravine.

  “Well, sir, by the book,” he began, tapping the location of her xel’s display. Burdette nodded in agreement and Yu turned back to Huron. “We pull out.”

  Huron detected an underlying tone in Yu’s manner. “But?”

  “Let’s see what else Rachel can tell us. At my age, I might not be recalling the book right. ‘Fraid I didn’t bring my copy.”

  “Neither did I,” Huron said. “Careless of us.”

  Cates indeed had something new to report: another convoy, this one wheeled, that had broken the horizon a minute or so before Gergen arrived. “Long and slow,” was her assessment. They weren’t emitting, but with Perez and Alpha now in position, Burdette dispatched a dragonfly to investigate. She showed Yu the stills that it sent back.

  “Two dozen we can see. Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes out. We could have three-fifty—four hundred men dropping in on us.”

  Huron regarded Yu with interest. “Having new thoughts, Sergeant Major?”

  Before he could reply, Perez interrupted with a ping. “Got a confab going on the second floor here. Those lorries came in a minute ago. They’ve got loaders running—lots of big crates. Might be equipment.”

  “Not munitions?”

  “Some could be. Unloading a raft of smaller pallets, now. Can’t see any markings from here. Compound’s swarming. Over a hundred’s my guess, carrying light arms. Can’t see the south end, though.”

  “Spot the package yet?”

  “Negative on the package.”

  “Standby, Sam. Andie,”—this to Burdette—“update status on Vasquez.”

  Burdette cycled a xel screen. “They’ve moved her. Antechamber on the first-floor. She’s at ease but not alone.”

  “That’s his personal quarters.”

  “Roger that. But no sign of the proprietor yet.”

  “Plot the second convoy.”

  She did. Yu measured the distance, mentally ticking off individual minutes. Then he grinned. “Yes, sir. I am havin’ new thoughts. I’m thinking we crash this party through the front gate.” The grin widen a trifle, taking on a cheerfully ghoulish aspect. “What’s three more outta three hundred?”

  Huron stretched his mouth the one side. “Y’know, Fred, I’ve always admired your notion of fair odds.”

  “Good to go, sir?”

  “It’s your party, Fred. Go enjoy yourself.”

  “Appreciate it, sir.” Yu consulted the map again. “Have Benn and Marko rendezvous with me here. Let’s see if we can catch a ride.” The three Outworlders, Huron and Burdette both noted. “Prime some dragonflies so you can play operator in case that second convoy tries to call in. Put Wojo on hot standby, but he’s not to hit air with the IADS up. When Rachel gets here, go link up with Sam and keep eyes out for the proprietor. Leave the mole but take Kris with you.”

  Burdette raised her head. “Where is she?”

  * * *

  Flat down on her belly amid those gray-green stalks that grew thickly along the ridge crest, Kris watched the throng milling about through the residence’s second-story window, two klicks away. She knew that window was armor-glass but she has no idea how thick: it could be three centimeters or five or even seven, and she didn’t dare use her scope’s maser to find out. How many armor-piercing rounds to break it? No idea there either. With a three-shot burst, she couldn’t afford to use more than two: if she clipped Mankho with an AP round. it would fuck him up but might not kill him. Were two enough? And only one antipersonnel round at this range? She had to be sure—this one burst was all she was gonna get . . .

  Kris dialed up a five-shot burst: three AP followed by two APS rounds. Zooming her scope to max, she brought up the targeting screen. There were too many people moving about in the room to rely on autolock without retuning it and she didn’t have time to mess with that. Mankho was in there somewhere: she was sure she’d caught a glimpse of him as she crawled up, but then lost him in the swirl of activity. Now one of his doubles was waiting in the back—waiting for what? Who were they trying to fool at this point? Mankho hadn’t left, had he?

  Wait . . . there was a tall skinny red-haired woman off to the far left. She was facing away and appeared to be giving directions—pointing imperiously. No flunky then. Mankho's wife, maybe? The woman turned in profile, and smiled. Yep—Mankho's wife. She’d changed her face again since the pics Huron had shown her, but that was definitely her. Kris could almost make out the re-gen scars of the repeated visosculpts from here. Who was she smiling at? Her husband? Had to be . . .

  Move bitch. Fuck’n move to the right, goddammit—

  But the woman leaned the other way and a man stepped into view. Mankho. He made shooing motions at an aide who approached and turned aside to kiss his wife. Oh that’s just too fuck’n sweet, you jag motherfucker. She zeroed the sight picture and took first pressure to designate the target. As the kiss broke; the reticule pipped and she squeezed the trigger.

  Five trip-hammer blows against her shoulder, inconceivably rapid—a sharp electric snap as something gave way despite the armor—and she was pushed back almost a foot. Through the haze of pain she saw a confused scene of shattered glass and rushing bodies and a lurid red mist that seemed to hang in the air—and there was Mankho huge in the rifle’s scope, black eyes livid, thin colorless lips writhing in silent rage.

  A surge of icy shock cr
ashed through her chest, and then he was gone. Behind where he’d been, thrown into a mangled heap at the foot of the bar against the far wall was a corpse that ended at the middle of the ribcage. A woman’s corpse.

  Oh fuck—! Her vision went gray and then a hand clamped on her ankle and jerked her down the slope. Yelling as the motion jarred her shoulder, she rolled and kicked blindly. The hand slapped the kick aside and suddenly Huron was above her, his face swimming through the splotches of darkness, so furious she didn’t recognize it for a heartbeat.

  “Did you lose your fucking mind?” The deadly hiss sliced through her shock.

  “You were bolting!” Kris yelled, her voice almost a shriek. “You were bolting on the fuck’n op!”

  She thought she saw him mouth Oh for fuck’s sake, and then he was rising, looking left. “Sergeant Major! Call the shuttle down hot—full burn! Ping the corvette with relay to Kestrel—advise Condition One. And get this midshipman down the fucking hill!”

  Out of nowhere, Yu’s powerful arms lifted her. She yelped and scrabbled with her good hand for the rifle she’d dropped.

  “Leave that!” Huron snapped, snatching it out from under her grasp. Then she was being whisked away, every rapid stride down the hill an agonizing jolt. Her sharp labored breathing was loud in her helmet and there was the sound of firing behind them and Yu was talking low and rapid beside her but she couldn’t make out anything he said. After a dizzying interval she found herself at the base of the slope in the copse of those scrubby trees, hugging her right arm across her body.

  “Look at that,” Yu called to Cates, jerking a thumb at Kris, and when the marine came over Kris snarled at her, “Leave me the fuck alone.”

  “Fuck that, ma’am,” Cates rapped out and pushed her down with a hand on her neck. Swearing impotently, Kris felt her rip open a patch on the back of her armor, press something and there was jab in her upper spine that made her yelp and then a fiery numbness went up her neck to her scalp and down the middle of her back; a sensation so wholly contradictory it felt like the ground had dropped out from under her.