by J. F. Holmes
“You got what you asked for!” he said, referring to the one tarnished mark on his company’s record. “We drove WilCorps from your precious mining op, on Ghada! It is not my fault one of the locals took a potshot and killed some junior vice president!” Xiang corporate had been so furious, they withheld payment, demanding the Black Mambas take this job for dirt. He’d accepted, but redemption could take many forms. He took several puffs from his cigar. “You know what I like most about this job, Mr. Zhu?” He didn’t wait for the man to answer. “The battle-within-the-battle.” He pointed towards the jungle. “They’re out there somewhere, right now. Probably having a meeting like this one. Angry because their shipment of weapons didn’t get through, wondering how we knew where they would be.
“They may have gotten away, but they didn’t get away Scott Free, and they’re going to be mad about that. Mad at us. Maybe mad at each other. There’s one thing that people often forget about war: This isn’t some big game hunt where the prey will fight back if cornered, and this isn’t conquering some great mountain or river that is merely an elemental force. Out there somewhere is an enemy scheming and planning to do to us the things we are scheming and planning to do to them. Unlike that mountain or river, they will react to us in ways we cannot predict, and, unlike the big game, who just wants to get away with his life, they are sworn to our destruction. They will come at us in ways we don’t expect and will bring a plan of their own that we will have to counter.”
He stood, towering over Zhu and put the finger of his cigar-wielding hand in his chest. The smaller man didn’t flinch. “Things go wrong, Mr. Zhu. It is the heart of war’s chaotic nature. The winner will be the one who responds best when that happens. Your money is well spent. Despite what you think: the Black Mambas have known only victory. We will bring it to you, even when the intelligence you provide is faulty.” He pushed past Zhu, taking his last couple of puffs on the cigar before tossing it into the jungle below.
Chapter 3
Milo jerked away as the red bark of the Tyllias tree shredded beneath Xiang flechette rounds. He ducked and crawled on his belly along the heavy root system of the massive tree and the thick, clay-like soil it had displaced into a perfect defilade. He risked a glance and saw a Xiang security officer trying to advance through the kill-zone, but a burst of rebel fire shredded his armor and sent him toppling into the brush. He looked Robert Lignal: “Time to go.”
That’s when the jungle exploded. The sing-song zing of rounds zipping in from his squad’s left flank filled the jungle. Milo peered to see something of the enemy but saw only the wild-colored brush being ravaged by the incoming fire. Robert jumped to his feet, pushed Milo to the ground, and sent a stream of automatic fire back at the new threat. Milo got a glance of the mad joy lighting the man’s face, but he found it comforting.
He tried to direct his fire, but there were no targets to shoot at, no enemy to be seen, at all. Quantum stealth! The koosh, koosh, koosh of an automatic grenade launcher added to the cacophony. Their airbursts walking back-to-front across the resistance’s left flank. Robert had found cover behind a tree, talking the head off of a Xiang soldier to his front, but he was lost behind a wall of flame and shrapnel of detonating grenades.
Milo fired through the cloud of smoke and debris. “Fallback!” And they did: by running as fast as their feet would carry them, no coordination, or effort to cover each other. Milo stared in disbelief as his soldiers and friends ran away and left him among the exploding trees with the enemy bearing down on him. It was only when the attackers hit the mines that Milo was saved. Some had been planted high on trees, others at knee-level in the brush, and others were dug into the ground. The screams and groans of wounded soldiers was nearly as loud as the explosions that cast red mist and pieces of torn flesh across the orange and purple foliage.
Milo took his chance, running through the trees, over hills, and through gullies until he found himself in a nearby valley, tucked behind a rotting log on one of the rises. He lay there painting and waiting: nothing. The thunder of sonic booms echoed through the valley, bringing a smile to Milo’s face despite the recent turn-of-events. Fresh supplies from the Witch’s friends had been inbound, those booms meant the pilots had delivered their payloads and were bugging out.
Shaking hands groped for the canteen hanging from his kit, trembling fingers turned the lid, and a parched mouth gulped the metallic-tasting water. He blew out a long sigh and leaned his head against the log. The adrenalin in his system was crashing and he felt like he might not ever get up. He closed his eyes and descended into a fitful, unpleasant sleep.
* * *
Abayomi Olatunji strode through the jungle, wearing the same soft black armor over black fatigues he’d worn at the crash site, his HUD-enhanced wraparounds over his eyes. Black combat boots picked their way over the battered and broken jungle foliage: bright purples, reds, and oranges. He stepped over a shredded mass of flesh in a red-and-purple sarape that had once been a rebel fighter. Somewhere to his left a solider moaned in pain, a Xiang soldier.
“Xiang’s people suffered pretty heavily from those mines,” said Corporal Rotimi, his rifle held in that same casual fashion from the crash. “But the enemy took a pretty good pounding, too.”
Olatunji looked out into the distance, as if trying to see a trace of the enemy now long gone. “If only we’d had more than four men dedicated to this patrol.” Both men knew that to be everywhere at once meant spreading their numbers thin. Still: “It was a very hard day for the rebels.”
The one-two bang of thunder echoed across the jungle. Olatunji moved his eyes towards the sky but saw only the underside of the Tyllias umbrella. Sonic booms! “Tell me, corporal: have we any prisoners?”
Rotimi motioned him to more ebony soldiers in faded black gear. They stood over a mess of a human, his features obscured by blood and burned. Olatunji crouched before him and stared hard into his face. The man wore the familiar purple sarape and trousers. He smelled of blood and unwashed human. “I have a proposition for you.”
* * *
The brisk nudge of a boot toe roused Milo from his sleep. His hand reached for the gun at his side, but he didn’t need it. Andie looked down at him, her face drawn with concern and fatigue. “You ok?”
“I survived. That’s more than I can say for a lot of my people.”
She motioned at her battered squad behind her. “Me, too. I think it’s the same, everywhere.”
Milo remembered the sonic booms and what that meant. “The runners made the drop.” Andie nodded. “You gotta admit: we would be nothing without Saundra.”
She looked at her decimated unit. “Yeah, a regular savior.”
Milo studied Andie. “What’s your problem with her? Surely you remember what it was like before she arrived here. Starting fires in the farm and sabotaging trucks? Fighting with stolen Xiang guns with no ammo and no maintenance?”
Andie didn’t move her gaze. “I remember: Winning in spite of the odds, fighting on our terms, at times of our choosing.”
“And we don’t now?”
She glanced back at her squad and dropped her voice. “Now, we fight to keep our aerial supply lines open. Now, we harass patrols, and dig into Witch Mountain.” Witch Mountain was what the crew had grown to call their newest hideaway. It was, for most, a term of endearment, but there was nothing endearing about the way Andie said it.
Milo stood and put his face into hers. “We were just a tease back then, a nuisance. Now, they’re paying attention. Now, they’re fighting back. That wouldn’t be the case without Saundra’s little gifts.”
“Gifts like this don’t come for free. What are the Indies gonna want after this is done?”
“Does it matter? We need their help.”
She reached down and grabbed her bundle, hefting it onto her shoulder. “I guess we’ll see when we displace Xiang if we’re really fighting for our freedom or to serve a different master.”
* * *
Witch Mountai
n wasn’t actually a mountain. It was a long, low ridge covered in the same deep purple and red foliage as the rest of the planet. It wasn’t the largest land mass in the region, but it was defensible, and the growing network of tunnels made it more so, and easier to conceal. The squad disappeared into the hidden hatchway and into the belly of the mountain. They slithered like snakes, the claustrophobic air cooler than the open jungle above. The once-confining tunnels were cramped, stuffed full of crates of weapons and other Indie-donated supplies. It was, Milo supposed, a good problem to have, but it was becoming a problem.
Saundra was waiting in a large open room several meters down the tunnel. The vault was two-and-a-half meters wide, a meter-and-a-half tall, and three meters long. Battery-powered lamps illuminated the place with a dingy yellow glow. Like the access tunnels, it was crammed full of crates and boxes. She was wedged between two of them, her back against a muddy clay wall. Her right leg lay straight out in front of her left was drawn up to her chest. She wore the familiar sarape over dark cargo pants and boots and a broad grin. “Great score, this time, Milo! Two more cases of screening drones, two cases of Dynar AL-3 flechette rifles with ammo, and ten demon claw personal rockets.” She tossed the data pad in her hand to the dirt floor with flourish. “Plus another delivery thirteen standard days out, at LZ Sierra-three at twenty-three-thirty, local time.”
“And then what?” said Andie.
Her smile fell a little, and she studied Andie for some kind of explanation. “What do you mean, ‘then what’?”
Andie gestured at the boxes filling the room around them. “We’re just a small outfit. We don’t need all this.”
She gave Milo an inquiring glance. Milo shrugged in return. Saundra looked back to Andie. “You’re right: this is just a tiny outfit. If we’re going to start doing the real damage to Xiang, we’re going to need to upsize.”
“Upsize?” said Andie.
“Upsize,” said Saundra. “We are only one of several movements working to overthrow Xiang. Correct?”
“We,” Andie looked at Milo and back at Saundra. “You’re talking about uniting the resistance movements here? That’s not something you wish into existence.”
“You need replacements after this op.”
“And who’s fault is that?” said Andie. “They were waiting, in ambush. Tore us to shreds!”
Saundra didn’t flinch. “Your squad looked to be intact enough.”
Milo glanced at Andie, trying to make sense of the expression he saw there: Surprise? Outrage? Guilt? He tried to shake off the last notion: “Andie’s right: keeping our distance makes us safer. Besides, they have their own command structures. They’d never take orders from us.”
Saundra frowned. “You sell yourself short, Milo. In war nothing is so important as a united command. I can think of a good candidate to unite it under.”
Milo considered this and smiled. “I suppose you do.”
Chapter 4.
Milo stood on a rocky ledge on the west face of Witch Mountain, looking down into the valley. Most of his squad had returned over the last three days, Robert Lignal among them. His face had been diced up and burned in the grenade attack, but the tough son of a bitch had stood his ground. That was more than Milo could say for the rest of the survivors. “I was thinking about giving Lignal his own squad.”
Saundra stood next to him, the humid breeze brushing raven hair against her cheek. “I don’t know about that one. He’s tough, a good soldier, but the stories I hear! Is he really that reckless?”
“Blood thirsty is a better word, but yeah, he’s a real berserker in battle.” He remembered staring in disbelief at the rest of his squad while Robert hung tough in the shrapnel and fire laden air. “I’m growing to appreciate him, though.”
“Then, perhaps you can find the man a special role, but we’re not all suited for command.” Milo nodded at the wisdom in that. “You should probably ask your XO about this stuff, though.”
“Andie and I aren’t of one mind these days.”
“It’s me. Isn’t it?”
He glanced at her and saw no reason to lie. “Partly. I don’t think she cares for the direction we’re taking, as a whole.”
“She’s jealous.”
The comment caught him off guard. “What?”
“I’ve seen it before. You guys had your little crew and your private little war. You were crusaders, standing up to the Man.” She leaned closer and touched his forearm. “You can’t tell me you spent all this time in the wild jungle without…some wild times of your own.”
Milo felt his cheeks flush and turned his back to Saundra. This time he did lie: “It’s not like that.”
“Not anymore, I suspect.” Her words stung. “It’s none of my business. I can see it bothers you.”
He looked at the earnestness in her bright blue eyes framed by her windswept black hair and realized for the first time how pretty she really was. “We were supposed to conquer the world together, but she’s having a hard time with all of this.”
“Of course she is. You’re about to be the face of the resistance while she stands in your shadow, wishing for a days when you two huddled under a different lean-to every night. You’ve outgrown more than this little fighting cell, and she’s figuring that out. I think you are, too.”
She touched his shoulder and motioned down the mountain, and the journey that awaited him.
* * *
Robert Lignal was the first one through the dirty, blanket door. He scanned the shadow-darkened shanty, his hand on the pistol on his hip. His sharp eyes moved from face to face, glancing at hands as they circulated the room. It wasn’t until he’d analyzed every person that the tension fell from his posture and he eased back, holding the heavy curtain aside for Milo to pass.
He strode head up and shoulders back into the room. He’d shed his normal jungle attire for a pair of white-and-purple camo pants and blouse. A soft, short-brimmed hat of the same pattern gripped his head and a Dynar Industries pistol clung to his hip. He draped the long, grey raincoat over the tiny stool that had been left for him and sat.
“We hear you have a proposal.” The man was of South Asian descent with dark hair and deep brown skin. He wore dark brown Shalwar kameez with gold trim and large open sleeves. He did not take a chair but sat cross-legged on an ottoman.
“It’s a pleasure to meet the great Daljeet Virk,” said Milo, trying to recover from the man’s direct, blunt approach. “I have heard much about you.”
“I wish for this meeting to be quick. The longer we stay together the longer Xiang has an opportunity to decapitate the entire insurgency in a single blow. Something I understand he nearly did to you organization last week.”
Milo willed his fist not to clench. He glanced over the faces of Virk’s court, lingering for several long moments on the round face and blue-black hair of Li Kim, son of their one-time leader. “They did. Yet here we all are.” He gestured at Andie and Robert. “They’re scared, because we are hurting them, because we have become strong where they are getting weak.” He should have left it at that but tilted his head and said. “Tell me: when is the last time they lashed at you out of fear or desperation?”
Li’s frown was subtle but it was there. Virk grunted. “We do plenty with what we have.”
Milo glanced at Andie. “Perhaps it’s time to do more, together.”
“Together,” he spit out the word like it was poisoned. “You mean as your pawns.”
“I mean as power-sharing allies.”
“But we would need one leader, would we not?”
Milo stole Saundra’s quote: “In war, nothing is so important as a united command.”
“And I wonder: whose command this would become?”
“We bring the fire power, real potential to damage the enemy.”
“I wouldn’t have you, anyhow. My…intelligence network you’re so impressed with tells me your misfortunes are not so incidental.”
Milo stared hard at Daljeet. “Wh
at did you say?”
The man shrugged and sniffed with a dismissive demeanor. “Word we have is that Xiang has put a group of elite mercenaries on your trail and that they have some kind of mole feeding them info on your every move. Someone in your inner circle.”
Milo balled his hand into a fist. “You’re lying!” But Virk was so calm and so sure, and his information dovetailed so closely with the signs Milo had been reading. His voice lost much of its conviction the second time: “You’re lying.”
Virk made no effort to be convincing. Somehow that made him more so. “I would not have met you, myself, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to see if you were making a serious offer. I see now, you’re not. Get out!”
Milo stood and glared. “I’ll do this on my own, but don’t tell me I didn’t come to you.” He stormed from the tiny shack and stomped off into the jungle without a backwards glance. No one said a word until they reached a clearing in the trees. “Andie,” he said without looking at her. “Take the others to the mountain. Robert and I’ll be along.”
“What? Why? I thought we were all—”
“I said: get back to the mountain. I’ll be along later.”
She drew back from his sharp tone, her face a mixture of surprised hurt and indignant outrage. “Fine!” she motioned at the others. “Let’s go, Pax. Our Lord Commander needs to be alone to pout.”
Milo glared at her insubordination, but said nothing. He needed her to leave. Some things couldn’t be done in the light of day. The two men stood in the clearing for what seemed like hours without speaking. At last, Milo could take it no more. “Are you sure he’ll be here?”
Robert glanced back. “I thought you were the patient one.”
“Not as much as you’d think.”
Robert laughed at that. “Maybe we have more in common than you’d like to admit.”
Milo suppressed a smile. “Maybe.” He let several long moments pass. “You sure he’ll show up?”
“He’ll be here. I’m seldom wrong about scum, and Kim is our kind of scum.”