by Attila Orosz
“Wilco, wait two,” said the Scout 30S.
So they were coming armed. It would be so much more fun to take them out this way. Like in a real situation. Real soldiers. Real weapons. He would have preferred to have the original order of engagement at will, but he was sure the confirmation would be timely. And it was cleaner this way, off his conscience and not his responsibility. Two minutes. He set his alarm to one minute and thirty seconds. Then he adjusted his eyepiece and began scanning the path.
The alarm soon went off. Three short, barely audible beeps, then it was silent again. They must be near. So they were. The two stumbling figures arrived exactly where he expected them to. One was a black illegal, skinny, his back bent. It limped on one ankle, its shoulder was bleeding. In its hand an army issue convertible sub-machinegun. The invader had stolen a weapon! But what followed was even worse. Clad in dark clothes, carrying a sub-machinegun in his right hand, his left arm hanging loose and bleeding, came the white scum.
He knew of HAs, he knew what they did, and he despised them for that. Helping the illegals to get across the border was enough to enrage a man like him to kill. Even though he was a part of the special operations too, he had never considered himself to be helping the invaders. He was merely following orders. But those ‘agents’ did just that. He would not think twice before pulling the trigger.
The subjects were moving fast.
“Command, this is 30S. I’ve got a visual lock.”
There was no answer. Now what? The subjects were moving rapidly and soon he would lose sight of them.
He tried again, “Command, I’ve got a lock on the contact. Ready to engage. Requesting confirmation.”
Nothing. He tried for a third time, with no answer still. After the third attempt he would engage at will. That was the previous order. If there was no confirmation, nor was his request denied within a reasonable time-frame, the previous order was to take precedence.
He steadied himself. He took a deep breath, filled his lungs, then blew all the air out. He took three slow breaths. Then he adjusted the objective, fitting the focus to the lowered blood pressure that would affect his eyesight. He saw the sharp image of his targets. He felt calm. He was ready.
He felt the trigger and focused on the fingertip. Now find the perfect spot. The targets reached the road and stopped for a moment to look around. This would be it. He drew the final breath before engagement. He had to restrain the adrenalin from entering his blood with a conscious effort. The thrill of the kill must remain delayed.
He aimed at the illegal first, it was the primary target. The AI in his weapon’s aiming system automatically compensated for a precisely calculated projectile trajectory, based on environmental clues like estimated wind speed and direction around the target, the distance of the target, and real-time air movement at his location. All he needed to do was to hold it steady, and fire at the right moment.
He slowly blew the air out and stopped midway, letting the rest of his breath hiss through his barely open mouth. He felt the trigger, squeezed it gently and held it for a moment, right on the spot before it engaged the electric switch.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Captain stormed in to the Colonel’s office unannounced. The Colonel jumped up from his chair, rushing up to meet him half way.
“What is it?” he shouted. “They dead yet?”
The Captain did not mind protocol either.
“I got a report from the Scout 30S, but we could possibly make contact according to the original plan! A delivery unit is in the area!”
“The hell are you talking about?” The Colonel could not immediately process this information.
“One of our transport vehicles passed nearby.” The Captain seemed to hesitate for a moment, then added, “I ordered it to wait in the area.”
“What for?” asked the Colonel, still puzzled.
“On general principles, Sir,” said the Captain. “In any case.”
The Colonel thought about this. A transport vehicle in the Zone could in itself arouse suspicion. Those were usually only used to securely take the deliveries into cargo, transporting them from one point to the other, meaning from the cells in Headquarters to the fast-trains. Their route was technically still in Zone-2 but beyond military lines, so it was never patrolled.
“Does it have any justification to be there?” he asked finally.
“Yes, Sir, it was collecting men and taking them to the shipping point, in preparation for the launch of the last train. They are coming to help with disassembling the operational units.”
“Bloody brilliant!”
The Colonel’s eyes were glowing. This was exactly the sharp thinking he expected from the Captain, and the kind of solution they needed. Now everything was back to how it was supposed to be. Once they capture them, there would be no trace, and he would not have lost a battle before retirement either.
“Is the firing order still in effect?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir. Although… there were complications…”
The Captain once again appeared hesitant.
“We have lost a field squadron, and a drone got damaged. These will need to be explained and, if I may say so, at the moment I’m at a loss as to how to proceed with that,” he said.
“Yes, yes, we will have to deal with that too,” said the Colonel. But only later, he added to himself. Now let me enjoy my victory while it lasts.
“Brief me of the events, Captain, if you will.”
“Sir, the subjects are moving up the marked path as could be expected in a normal situation. The trafficker has managed to damage a drone, which in turn was set to manual control. He lured the drone after himself and ambushed the field squadron 15-FS. All four men of 15-FS perished in friendly gunfire. The subjects survived with minor injuries. Scout 30S has a lock on the subjects now, awaiting orders, ready to engage. Meanwhile the transport vehicle is waiting out of sight, ready to intervene. If I may say so, Sir, we need to act quickly.”
“I see.”
It was a difficult decision. That sniper could take them out, it would definitely be simpler. Yet the Captain himself suggested the capture. He was essentially handing him back all responsibility, and the Colonel did not like it. He gave orders to engage, and the Captain did not comply. And now he was being offered a honey pot. He was looking at the Captain questioningly, not trying to hide his troubles.
“If I may suggest, Sir, the Scout would be the fastest solution, but it might require extra effort to clean up the prints from an open road. The capture on the other hand, while not leaving an immediate trace, will generate after-work to smooth things out. This delivery would be very much out of schedule and our usual procedures would need to be circumvented in order to fit the cargo onto the next train, it being the last.”
“Yes, yes, I see that,” said the Colonel. Captain Rickard was right of course, but he had just verified the Colonel’s suspicion. He was shaking off responsibility. Whatever happens, it is up to me of course. Smart move. Smooth as well. The Captain had finally grasped the importance of saving his own arse. Only you will not quite stand a chance when I’m through with this.
The Colonel felt his features calm down. His brow smoothed and his eyes were turning cynical. He knew he was giving away too much, but he did not care to hide it. The Captain might as well expect what was coming. He wanted to play, but he would be playing by the Colonel’s rules.
“All units hold fire,” he said finally. “Proceed with the pick-up, take them into delivery and process the illegal into cargo as soon as they arrive. No mistakes this time. After that, I will brief you about the next steps. We will sort this out like it never happened. I am making you once again responsible. And consider this the last step up on the ladder. Once we are through with this, you will have proven yourself worthy of promotion.”
He smiled, but he knew his eyes remained steel.
“I must tell you, Captain, this is a great relief to me. Good men like you are hard to find. You h
ave proven yourself worthy. I confess, I did not expect you to solve the situation with such expertise. I will personally take care of your advancement.”
The Captain remained silent, but his lips pressed so strongly they turned white, and a small stream of blood appeared in the slit of his mouth. The Colonel did not give it much consideration. He just smiled with a cold, stony smile, while the Captain left the office without even asking permission, issuing orders through his communicator.
“Good. You feel it coming. It will be all the more enjoyable,” said the Colonel to himself, then he went to the door and shut it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“30S, this is Command, answer immediately!”
The communicator threw the sniper off focus. He cursed under his breath before answering. The subjects were moving again, so he had to hurry up if he wanted to finish it. They were at a critical distance already, it would not be an easy shot, and the further away they got, the more room for error he would leave for himself.
“Go ahead, Command.”
“Report your status.”
He could not believe they had to disturb him just to report back. He could have been over with it by now.
“Engaging now.”
“30S, hold your fire, and dismount your position without delay!”
Great!
“Roger that. Should I maintain surveillance?”
“No. Return to your official route. Command out.”
“Acknowledged, will comply. 30S out.”
Scout 30S was perfectly motionless. The order was not what he had expected. He was now watching the illegal move up the road, slowly leaving the range of engagement. A few more steps and he would be unable to guarantee a clean shot, which also meant that his weapon’s AI would not allow him to open fire. He watched the illegal move. It dropped the gun it was holding before and looked like collapsing. Now the white scum ran up to it, caught it, and began carrying the invader slowly out of firing range. One more step…
They were now too far away. He silently applied the safety catch on his gun. He never questioned orders, not even mentally, but it was a difficult thing to disengage when he was all prepared for a kill. He found it easier to simply allow the situation to take such a turn where engagement became difficult or even impossible.
“If you only knew how close you were to it. Lucky plucker,” he muttered under his nose.
He was preparing to dismount his position when he noticed some movement through the eye-piece’s lens. He adjusted focus and turned towards his former targets. He saw an armoured van pull up by them rapidly.
***
Alex was dragging the black man with him now. They had run as fast as they could, but the African was less and less able to catch up, and now he was near collapsing. Since the path came out in the open again, he felt they should be going faster than ever. They were all exposed, he knew they should be running, but it was not possible. The man had spent all his strength and now it was up to Alex to get them back to the HQ alive. They were close. According to the map it must be little more than a mile away; but to carry another on an open road, a mile was just too long. His own strength was slowly slipping away too. He had thrown away the automatic weapon he had captured earlier and was now focusing all his remaining energy on helping the African.
When he had charged the four machine-gun wielding soldiers, that had been his last desperation turned into strength. He had never expected it to work, never hoped he would get out of there alive, but he had been determined to take as many with him as he could. The drone had followed and kept firing. The guards were taken by surprise, and by the time they could react they were caught in the line of stray bullets. He had been shot too, his left arm badly damaged and disfigured, but the four soldiers were practically blown to pieces.
That was the ugly part, seeing these people exploding into bits of flesh, immediately ceasing to be human in shape. Pieces of skin were torn from their bodies, white bone fragments flew, and blood sprayed in every direction until only mutilated corpses remained. He found this more difficult to cope with than when he had pulled the trigger himself, taking two lives away. Those soldiers he had killed, had died as men. They would be buried properly. But those four just ceased being human, their bodies losing composition in front of his eyes. He did not know where to put this in his head, or what to do with it.
The drone had immediately ceased firing and pulled away. If there was a human operator somewhere, they must have been aware of the mistake. What kind of weapon would be capable of such destruction, he could not imagine. Those drones were apparently not only meant to hunt people down, they disintegrated bodies into unrecognisable pieces, not only killing but completely dehumanising their victims.
Throwing up did not help. The sickness he felt came from somewhere deeper, not from the stomach, but from somewhere inside, somewhere behind his intestines, deep in his being like a small, almost sizeless hole in there that poured out darkness and this sludgy sick feeling. It filled him up, all his body and mind and he could not shake it loose. When he had collected himself, he picked up two of the machine guns and went to look for the African. He found him where he had left him, still crouching behind the bushes, not even raising an eye.
When he put his hand on the man’s shoulder, the other seemed happy to see him. Alex tried to smile, but felt nothing inside. He was aware of the emptiness of his stomach, the bitter taste in his mouth reminding him of vomit. He was aware of the tiredness and the pain in his left arm, where he was hit. He looked down, the arm was bleeding and it had lost its shape. And the world somehow felt just empty.
Then they started down the path which fell into the road again. Soon the African began to lose strength. He picked him up and dragged him along, keeping his arms under the man’s shoulder. He felt no compassion. He was conscious of his duty for his companion, but did not feel anything. His mind had told him he had to keep going, and that if he wanted to keep his humanity, he would make sure the African survived. So he had done his best. But his strength had been failing.
Dragging a man for a mile or so would be the easy part. The difficulty would be not to be killed on the way. And he was sure that everyone was on alert and the whole army was on their tail now. He knew they would not make it, but he was going to do it, anyway.
The wall, the scorched earth, the minefields, those unmanned drones disembowelling people with bullets that were designed to take out vehicles, and the armed patrols firing at anyone or anything that moved; these were all part of a world so sick, he did not want to be part of it any longer. The fact that the very soldiers who killed the innocent had got killed by their own instrument of destruction did not give him any satisfaction. He did not feel avenged. He felt nothing. Being shot now would have been bliss, but he would not give in. Not to those. Not like that. If he was to be killed, he wanted to die fighting. As a man, who clung to his humanity until the last moment, in a world where humanity was not even a concept anymore. So he carried the African for what seemed to be an eternity.
Then he heard the sound of thick tyres on the asphalt. He tried to move faster, but he felt powerless. Still he dragged on, aiming for the trees now. A van pulled up beside them and its side door slid open. A voice was shouting out at him, but he did not understand what it said. He tried to drag the African onwards, but two men dressed in engineers’ overalls jumped out and took the African’s inert body off him.
He watched them put the man gently in the van. He was losing focus, the events and his surroundings becoming dream-like. He struggled to keep his consciousness now. He felt someone lift him off the ground. He looked back and saw the path. It was so close. It felt like he had been going on forever, yet it was only a few steps away. He tried to struggle with the man who had put him in the van, but his muscles would not obey him. His head was pushed down and he was inside. He turned around and saw a bush move in the distance. It had many leaves and a gun. Then it took a human shape and started to walk down the road. I’m halluc
inating. It will soon be over. He heard the engine roar, and felt the world move around him, pushing him from side to side. He struggled to stop the movement, but he could not do anything. Some muffled voices talked. Then silence.
***
When Alex came to his senses he found himself sitting in the van which was just being unloaded. He saw unknown faces around him, all resigned and emotionless, but they wore civilian uniforms. Workmen. Where did they come from?
Nobody said a word, and he was too weak to talk. He saw the African being pulled out of the vehicle. They handled him gently. Then somebody extended an arm towards Alex. He made a vague gesture. Then a man grabbed him under the arms and pulled him out of the seat.
He was helped to his feet. Somebody gave him a shoulder to lean onto. He was grateful. He saw two men carrying the African into a building which looked strangely familiar. There were men…
***
He came to his senses again; he must have slipped away. He glanced around himself. It looked like a hospital. There were tubes sticking out of his right arm. His left arm was missing. A man dressed in white was talking about bullets damaging his limb and serious damage, but he did not know where to put these words. A nurse came and put something to the end of the tubes. He felt peaceful, but there was a strange sickness in this peace. He threw up. A familiar sensation began to occupy his senses now. Suddenly he felt light. The world no longer hurt. He felt free. Oblivion…
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Alex was sitting in a large and luxurious leather armchair, waiting for debriefing. He had been allowed to regain consciousness only that morning, after two days of drug induced coma. He was told it was for his own good. He knew it was true, he felt refreshed and calm.
This was his chance to meet The Man himself, the legend, who reorganised the whole operation of which he had almost become a martyr. He felt thrilled. Gone was the apathy of nothingness, he was full of energy and, more importantly, willingness. He was ready to take on new assignments, in spite of having lost his left arm under the elbow, and even though the doctor had told him that he would need to rest for a couple of weeks, or probably even longer. Two weeks were just enough to not only recover physically and mentally, but to do any complementary training that was required to become an above-the-ground agent. He wasn’t sure such a thing even existed, but he remembered the old lady running the safe house, and he knew that the men picking them up must have belonged to the organisation too.