by Vance Huxley
Bobby frowned. “Is there a dick or is Sarge in charge of that armour?”
“Wait one.” More muttering followed. “A sergeant in charge with a dick riding his shoulder over the radio. Sarge is bringing up the rest of the Troopers and the armour.” Attic paused for more murmuring from the radio man. “They’re coming in ready for a ruck because he isn’t sure you are a Trooper. He’s reported to his dick and is waiting for a reply.”
Bobby held out his hand. “Bullhorn please, Attic. Sandman be ready in case their dick sends back the wrong answer.” He lifted the tiny speaker and his voice boomed out. “Unidentified scout squad. Tell your sergeant this is a black operation and I’ll show him my ID, but only to the sergeant.” Moments later Attic confirmed the message had been passed.
The sergeant did what Bobby probably would have in the same position. He parked the armour where the turret could cover the whole front of the building with the smoke leaking out of the broken windows and the bodies scattered in the entrance. For long minutes Bobby stood looking at the armour while the sergeant reported in, and Attic told Bobby what he’d reported. “He’s been told to bring us in.”
Attic had barely finished when the turret swivelled to cover Bobby and the loudspeaker on the troop carrier spoke up. “Lay down your weapons and step forward to be identified.”
Bobby spoke quietly. “Attic. What is his Super called? Not dick, his real name.”
“Supervisor Karlsson.”
Bobby raised his bullhorn. “Black operation, above Supervisor Karlsson’s pay grade. Come forward and I’ll show you my ID. Just you, and all you ever verify is that it’s Trooper ID.”
Attic reported that the dick wasn’t accepting that. The loudspeaker on the armour spoke again. “No. Come here or we open fire and identify the bodies.”
“It won’t work like that. Fair warning, if your sniper tries to shoot I’ve got two rifles on him.” Bobby paused. “If your turret moves, you lose it. Corp, show them your answer to armour.”
Bobby heard a muffled yell from inside the armour when someone spotted Sandman, then the sarge spoke up again. “What is that? A one-man cannon?”
“Near enough, and it’ll definitely go through your armour so don’t move the turret to target him. You can still bottle us up, we both lose men, it goes up higher to get more Troopers involved and then it hits the fan. When it gets to the right pay grade you’ll all be told to back off and go home, and I’ll pick up my dead and leave. Your Super will get shite, and will heap it onto you.” Bobby sighed, into the bullhorn so the sergeant could hear it. “I’ve already lost three men and I’ve got wounded from sorting out your shite. That’s enough for today.”
Attic kept quiet, reporting once Bobby had his finger off the bullhorn button. “Beebi, spotter at the rear reports a smoke plume from the direction of target three.”
Bobby called out to the sergeant again. “There’ll be reports of fires in a few moments, big ones. Do you know what this place is?”
“I’ve been told this is a gang fight over drugs.”
“Come and look.” A long silence followed. Bobby knew the sergeant would be weighing it up. If a fight kicked off he’d lose the armour and some men, and if Bobby really had snipers behind him it would be a lot of men. Then if higher really did know all about this the Super wouldn’t take the rap, the sergeant would.
A hatch opened, while another voice spoke on the loudspeaker. “The sarge is coming out. If anyone kills him, I’ll open up and sod that cannon.” A sergeant came out and stood for a moment, looking left and right. Then he started walking, steadily, and Bobby smiled slightly because he’d also got his shotgun on its sling, ready.
Bobby waited until the sergeant stopped a couple of paces away. “I’m going for my ID. Tell trigger-happy to behave.”
“He’s not trigger-happy.”
“Nor are my men, but accidents happen all the same.” Bobby reached into his pocket nice and steady, taking out the slip of plastic. He took a pace forward to pass it over, and the sergeant ran it through the reader all ranks from sergeant up carried as part of their kit. His head came up, startled. “Hush Sarge. No names. I didn’t expect you to recognise me.”
“Ha. Maybe not officially but rumours say you’ve got a sponsor, high enough to give me nosebleeds.” The sergeant relaxed, putting out a hand to make a complicated gesture. “They won’t stand down but the fingers are off the triggers.”
Bobby spoke to the side. “Pass that along.” Then he faced the sergeant. “Don’t confirm my name, but there will be rumours. You do know this complex has a drug problem, a big one?”
“Yes, but we always hit the wrong place.” He looked up at the building behind Bobby. “This the right one?”
“One of them. You can have a really quick tour but then it burns. Don’t be downwind.”
The sergeant stiffened so his tapper or buzzer were talking to him. “How many did you hit?”
“Five, all the big ones, and the rest are burning right now. They had protection to keep you away. Are you coming in or can we piss off?”
The sergeant looked wary. “The message from my Super is to keep you here. I told him what you said and he doesn’t care, he wants you taken in or pinned down. There’s backup on the way.”
“No there isn’t, or not yet. I don’t want to kill Troopers, Sarge, but my orders come from higher than a Super and I’m not to surrender to local forces.” Guns had never said that, but there were too many Supers out there who’d love Beebi the Basted to be the victim of mistaken identity and a burst of flechettes.
“That thing really will kill the armour?”
Bobby laughed. “Come and look at the door in here. You know the big drug bosses always armour a safe room?”
“Yeah. That’s why we know we’ve never found the right place. Lead on.” He sighed. “The Super will still insist I arrest you.”
“Just come and look.” Bobby led him to the small armoured room, showing him the twisted steel where Sandman opened the door. He led the Sarge to a corner. Bobby took off his wrist com, indicating for the sarge do the same before moving away. “This room is a dead spot so nobody can snoop on the gang boss, all the safe rooms were the same. Nobody can monitor so they won’t know you’ve taken that off and can’t record what we say. How do we get both of us out of this mess?”
Sarge sighed. “I can’t let you drive away. The dick would put us all up against a wall.”
Bobby smiled. “You can’t seal us in. You’ve only got twenty men and the armour.”
“I’ll have to try.” A smile hovered on the sergeant’s lips. “Did you really top a Super?”
“It’s nearly a qualification for this lot. We’ve got an official name but our boss calls us Beebi’s Bigger Basteds and he really is way above a Super.” Bobby thought about that little smile. “How hard will you try to pen us in?”
The sergeant thought hard. “I can only seal the front properly in case that cannon takes out the armour?”
“Sarge.” Attic put his head round the door. “His dick is talking to the armour and reckons half the complex is in flames. Says the sergeant is off-air and to get ready to break in.”
“Shite! You can listen to our radio?” Bobby nodded and the sergeant shrugged. “I’m convinced, this is a black op and official. If I watch the front very carefully?”
“Don’t come in when it starts burning because we really will torch it.” Bobby smiled. “There really are only four other fires but they are big ones. Those were my orders, to make sure nobody can set them up again. Now get your gear back on before the armour gets chewed up.”
Sarge did exactly what he’d said, set up a defence line to seal off the front of the building. Bobby threw a coat over his uniform before going to see the score of prisoners. “You’ve got three minutes to loot the place, then its gonna burn and Troopers will be crawling all over it. Just head home nice and steady and nobody will be looking for you.”
“Where do we get a fix now?�
�� The man looked terrified, but addiction overcame the threat of death.
“You don’t because the big producers have all closed so you won’t be able to afford what bit of shite is still available. Take enough to get yourself clean over the next couple of weeks. If you don’t get clean, tough.” Bobby looked at the rest. “Now get dressed, load up and run like hell.”
“Ain’t you taking over? Who are you?”
“Beebi’s Basteds. Just pass the word around. Any shite who thinks they can’t be touched might get a visit.” Bobby grinned. “We don’t care if it’s a Pleb, gang boss or a Manager.”
“You’ll get us on that bledrin Taxi, Beebi.” Sudden, the Corp with metal feet, kept his voice low and looked really uneasy.
Bobby turned to answer just as quietly. “No I won’t, because I’ve done some serious thinking about what management really wants. They will want everyone to know what we are, Troopers, so the Plebs don’t think we’re revolutionary heroes. A lot of us are suspected of topping Supers so they’ll use us to keep their own in order as well, and I’m all for making the management nervous. Now let’s get finished and head home. Guns will bust a blood vessel when he hears about it.” That cheered everyone up as the news spread. Guns could be spectacular if he’d been flicked hard enough.
Three minutes later the first squad of Bobby’s men went out through the emergency exit, disguised as civvies again. Five minutes after that, three minutes after the dick at Trooper HQ sent out more Troopers and armour, Bobby left as smoke began to spread through the labs. He glanced up as a Copter swept over the area before sauntering casually away to join the rest at the rendezvous. Bobby did worry about their pass to get out, but the authority on it must have been greater than the one sealing the exits. The guards on the exit might have looked happier if they’d known that being over-ruled saved their lives.
* * *
Beebi’s Basteds were late back to the airstrip for their lift home, very late, but the plane had waited. When the plane landed at the other end the guards on the buses, caught in the glare of the landing lights, didn’t look very happy. Guns had left a terse message to not take any sightseeing tours on the way home. The Super filed onto the plane with his men and left without even knowing who he’d guarded the buses for.
Guns had questions, but in private. “Did you not understand your orders?”
Bobby kept his voice level, and no hint of expression on his face. “Yes, close down a drug producer in that complex.”
“One target, not five. The riots have already started, because the addicts know they’ll not get a fix tomorrow or maybe the week after.” The Area Manager looked more worried than angry.
“It’ll do them good. A few might even stay off the shite.”
Guns glared. “Is that why you ignored your orders?”
“I didn’t. I carried them out, to the full. The spooks didn’t give us the full story because that target was only a part of the organisation, sort of.” Bobby bit back his smile. “I’ve got tape and paper evidence, and discs which will have more.”
“It had better be good.”
Bobby started emptying the first bag onto the desk while Guns took out a disc player.
* * *
Nearly an hour later Guns’s first question wasn’t about the evidence. “Why did they scream, some of them?”
“I needed answers quickly. We didn’t have truth drugs so we used knives.”
Guns flinched. “Who did that?”
“Several men, all volunteers. I asked them to, and watched so nobody got out of control.” Not too far out of control, Bobby amended mentally. Magpie hadn’t been the only one with issues.
Guns sighed. “I’ve had everyone up to a Viscount screaming at me about the property damage and the dead Plebs. Now you tell me it’s just five buildings, all weed farms and labs, and nearly all the dead are gangsters.” Guns shrugged, and a little smile broke on his face. “Actually they haven’t been screaming at me, but the one person who can find me has nearly burned out the wires. I’ll tell him it’s a learning curve.”
“A learning curve?”
“Yes. Nobody has ever let a crew like yours loose to solve these sorts of problems. Today I learned that if your orders give you a centimetre, you’ll take the whole bledrin motorway.” Guns shook his head. “The management have learned that if they want a wolf pack, there might be a bit more blood than expected and you won’t sit and play fetch. The spooks have learned to tell the truth, and to get their men out ahead of you if they didn’t already do that. But as a plus the problem is fixed, and the local Troopers can arrest a shitload of dealers and general bad boys.”
He gestured at the paper and discs. “Even if none of this is clean evidence, the spooks now know who any other contacts are. The Horseman will catch the basteds when they try to contact the new men, those who move into the gap in the market. There will be a cost to the owners, lost production due to riots, with some of the lower management losing bonuses.” He paused and looked at Bobby.
“We did the job. That cost us three men and others will need metal, but we reckon the result is worth it so I’m not going to cry over some dick’s bonus. It’ll teach them to keep their house in order.” Bobby let his smile come. “Once the place calms down, production will go up without so many drugs available to the workforce.”
“I’ll pass that message.” Guns leant back and stretched. “I could kill a drink, but I’ve got to stamp on all the fires you just started. Piss off and join the party.” He finally smiled properly, and then laughed. “If anybody tries to give me too much shite, I’ll offer to send you bledrin maniacs to explain.”
The party didn’t last long because they were all knackered. Magpie had already left when Bobby joined the rest, with Siflis to keep an eye on her because a couple of Troopers had commented about Hood going off with what they thought was another man. When the party broke up and the rest of the squad went to their room, Siflis whispered that he thought Magpie had cried herself to sleep. In the morning she seemed fine, and the subject never came up again. Though the cutting settled one thing. Magpie had no problem with blood or a straight knifing after that.
* * *
After the first mission, the TRRF went on a mission about once a fortnight for six months. They varied from a straight snatch of a crime boss and the killing of another to other strikes similar to the first one. This time they’d only been back three days so their injured were still with the medics and the replacement for their dead man hadn’t arrived. Bobby read the thin file. “This info is real, and we can kill a couple of Supers?”
“Not officially, though if a few turn up as collateral but you save the generators, controls and most of the Supers and Managers, nobody will make waves.” Guns sighed. “Don’t let your men go on a hunt, all right? If they do kill a few you’ll have to give a reason that will fly, to me at least.”
“I’ve got it. What about the buses? Do we travel in them this time?” The location wasn’t all that far away.
“No, you’ll drive to an airstrip and leave by air so you’ll come in from another direction.” Guns pointed at the door. “Get your people organised because this is urgent.”
Urgent was right, the Troopers who weren’t too badly injured were ready to roll inside the hour. “This is short notice so I hope everyone knows who we are, that nobody comes over all official and takes our notsi?”
“The guards for the buses will come with the plane as usual, and you won’t be searched or any crap like that.” Guns glowered. “We’ve gone over that every time you go out, so why do you want to hear it again?”
Bobby sniggered. “Because you’re a bag of nerves before we leave and I’m stopping you from wiping all their noses and kissing them goodbye.”
“Piss off Beebi.”
“We’re gone, Guns.”
* * *
The Area Manager watched them go down the road and yes, his nerves were jumping. He’d bitched about a force like this for years, but ever
y Unit hung onto their best men. Then over two score of hard basteds turned up and no Super wanted them in his Unit. Gunnar smiled. The Supers weren’t all pussies, but a bunch like this would screw up most Units because out there in that housing complex they’d bonded. Keeping them all locked up together, then Beebi walking away from the court case clean, had finished the job. They all thought Beebi the Basted could shite fire and walk on water, and that Supers were just targets once they strayed into the wrong place.
They’d certainly shat fire, and bullets, in a good few places now but today would be different. This time, instead of the usual blunt object, they had to be a precision instrument. Guns laughed quietly to himself at the idea of Beebi and his men as a precision instrument, then hoped they kept the Super count down to a reasonable number. Though if they did this job, Guns knew the apprenticeship would be over. He already had four files that needed a bit more finesse, ones he daren’t give the TRRF until he knew Beebi could restrain them if necessary.
* * *
Bobby explained the job on the way, then they all waited in a car park at the target location while the local management gave his version of the job. “Do not damage anything. I want those filthy basted Plebs out of there without a scratch on the paintwork.” The Manager glared at Bobby. “I expect you to save the management, all of them.”
“Paintwork or Supers, sluur?”
“What!”
“If it’s a choice between a dead Super or a bullet hole in the equipment, which do you prefer? If a Super carks it, there’ll be splatter of course, but that will wipe off the hardware.” Bobby indicated the Troopers with his hand. “I need to let the others know before we go in. Sluur.”
The Manager or possibly Director, hard to tell because they all wore expensive suits, stared at the Troopers slouching nearby. The slouching had become a sort of trademark now. So had the plethora of notsi, blatantly displayed, and the bandoliers and clips of illegal ammunition that festooned every Trooper. He flinched from some of the looks, then looked back at Bobby and flinched again at something about Bobby’s face. “I know about you. You’re not to kill Supervisors.” He hesitated. “Unless it is unavoidable. Do not damage the generators or controls.”