When Diplomacy Fails… fc-3

by Michael Z. Williamson

  Highland was wide-eyed again, but give her credit, the trembles didn’t show in her face, nor did she object. She was a world class bitch, but she did have guts.

  After a moment’s pause, Alex said, “Okay, we’re out of here,” and pointed to the door.

  Highland moved okay for a civilian. JessieM was faster. They were still the lag factor on the rest of the team.

  “Elke,” he said, “this building is not to conveniently explode after we leave.”

  “It’s not full of hostiles,” she said. “Why would I waste explosive?”

  “Just so we’re clear. Everyone has water, food bars, a small pack, and we have two rucks of big stuff for backup, plus medical, the jump harness and extra guns.” He checked off and pointed as he counted.

  Probably someone noticed them all piling into the car, meant for five, jammed with eight plus gear. It wasn’t likely anyone would tag them as Highland’s contingent, but only as one more factional group of many. Without knowing whom they represented, most people would leave them entirely alone.

  Aramis navigated by memory. He really did excel at it. When they first formed the team, he’d been just an expendable grunt with an attitude. Brave, tough, but irritating and just muscle. He’d matured, improved and become a crack pathfinder.

  “Destination is fifteen kilometers generally northeast,” he said. “Take any route north to Peace of the Prophet Way, then west. Yes, I said west. We have to go around one of those stupid peace walls.” The glance he shot over his shoulder seemed to be a dare to Highland to argue. She didn’t.

  Bart drove, partly because he was the best in civilian vehicles, partly because he wouldn’t fit anywhere else, nor could anyone sit on his lap without being crushed. He was laconic as always, but took Aramis’s directions and moved them smoothly. It was still most of a half hour before they neared the coordinates Aramis provided. The roads were that messed up. This hole wasn’t colonial. It was a dump.

  Aramis said, “This is the right area. We’re going to need to debark, get seen, then depart before we get too much attention. Do we want to keep this same vehicle?”

  Alex said, “If it works, we’ll use it. If we see something better we’ll take it.”

  Shaman said, “I see a very nice church van. On the one hand, opposition groups will be more likely to shoot at it. On the other hand, they can’t shoot very well, and the allied groups will avoid shooting at it, and will act to defend it.”

  Alex said, “On yet the other hand, it’s fine transport and I don’t care what the locals think. Jason, steal the church bus.”

  “On it. Elke, I need a distraction.”

  Bart braked to a stop right alongside the van. Jason kicked the door, Elke bounced off his lap, he followed. She jammed something into her detonator coder and tossed it, and it erupted in a drumroll of squibs.

  The locals didn’t stick around to determine if it was actual gunfire or not. A woman in a long black robe and hood, with four kids in tow, snatched up two and shuffled quickly for a doorway as the other two kids hung onto her robe, just as Ripple Creek taught its principals to do. In moments the area was clear.

  Jason jammed a wedging bar into the door and heaved. Since they didn’t care if the vehicle survived the ordeal, they didn’t worry about cosmetic damage, and a sheet plastic door was cosmetic. It wouldn’t stop any fire, so it wasn’t a concern.

  Once he had the door open, Alex shoved Highland off Shaman’s lap.

  “Move, ma’am, now!” he said. Aramis unassed from the front, tossing JessieM ahead of him. Bart kicked out of his door and Alex came last.

  Elke’s ass protruded from under the dash, but in moments she’d completely bypassed the control module with a universal one of her own. Most of the instruments probably wouldn’t read, but all they cared about were wheels and motor.

  Or in this case, engine. Diesel engines were easier than most modern electric drives, and that’s what it had. Still, it rumbled and farted to life and Jason looked for instructions.

  “… six, seven, eight, roll,” Alex ordered. Eight including Jessie? Yes, eight. Good.

  Aramis said, “As we head south, we want to draw some attention to ourselves.”

  Alex said, “Everyone loves a parade. Let’s wake them up.”

  Elke fumbled with her window, it didn’t open, she raised her carbine butt and cracked the plastic out of the frame, then she reversed it, fired a burst across a building, and tossed out something that flared incendiary bright for a few seconds, then screamed and banged.

  “Drive slowly,” she suggested.

  Nothing happened for two minutes, but just as they hit that tick, two vehicles fell in behind and the occupants started shooting at them, badly of course. A pedestrian fell clutching at his leg, and one round punched obliquely through the roof.

  “Don’t stop them,” Alex said. “We want to be followed.”

  “Just roll the dice,” Shaman said.

  He grunted. Enough bullets in the air meant someone getting hit sooner or later.

  “Jessie, now churp the location we left.”

  “The condo?”

  “Yes.”

  “Found condo on west central side, but must leave soon. All supporters meet us… where?”

  “Where we stole the van would work fine.”

  Highland asked, “Are you trying to kill my supporters?”

  “No, ma’am. Any threats will beat them to that location and anyone smart will avoid the resultant firefight.”

  She said, “While most of my supporters run the median, some are.. not too bright.”

  I’m not surprised, and we might be better off without them, Alex thought.

  “They should be fine,” he said. “No more at risk than anyone else here. Elke, do you have a spare feed handy?”

  “I do.”

  “You churp Ms. Highland returning to the BuState gate.”

  “Understood.” Her fingers fluttered for a very few moments.

  “That ties them up in two places. Next, since we can’t hide entirely, I want to bring them closer to us, still split by some margin, so they create multiple trouble zones behind us and near each other.”

  Aramis said, “I can word a press release from us that we’re doing something.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’m not sure. Possibly that we’re vacating the city due to the growing violence? This would be aimed at mass release, not to just the tagged observers.”

  “Do it.” That was rather slick.

  JessieM was getting into it, too.

  “I can do a release either endorsing or denouncing you,” she said.

  “Make it denounced. You’ve left our vehicle and are on foot. Jason, find her a place to transmit it from.”

  “Will do. This is going to be all kinds of entertaining.”

  He bumped his phone, said, “Cady, now’s the time to work on that conference,” then handed it to Elke. “Make this go away.”

  She looped something around it and threw it out the window toward a cluster of adults with guns. They departed, the device banged, and the phone turned into plastic confetti.

  Bart said, “Traffic is blocked ahead. Divert or debark?”

  “We better debark. We wanted a blockage, we have it.”

  Bart pulled to the side and stopped. They rolled out into a square around Highland, with Alex next to her, standing close.

  “We need to present as a social group,” he said.

  “You’re kidding,” Highland said.

  “Watch.”

  Aramis and Elke took the lead, weapons slung behind them, moving slightly closer and suddenly appearing as a couple. Bart got next to JessieM. Shaman pulled back with Jason.

  “I see what you mean,” Highland said with a fake but friendly smile. At first glance, they did look like three couples and a pair of friends. Anyone glancing at them would be unlikely to look again.

  Alex kept multiple views up. Jason had a news feed running on his glasses. He tapped Alex
’s arm and spoke.

  “Boss, it’s working. They’re tangling up with each other and it’s spreading. If they’re in a hurry to get Highland, they’re going to wind up fanning it into a brushfire battle.”

  “That serves our purpose, as long as it doesn’t get out of hand for us.”

  Jason said, “It might. Do you hear it?”

  “The gunfire? Yes, distant, but regular.”

  “It’s been getting closer and there are now reports in six locations. Das says we didn’t get that from him.”

  “Very good. You have him on phone?”

  “No, he gave me access codes for their threat feed. I believe we can trust him, and I’m only on receive.”

  Someone IDed them as a threat, there were shouts, and a couple of half-hearted shots not really aimed in their direction.

  “Do we need transport?”

  Aramis said, “It might be an idea. If we keep changing, they won’t know where our final destination is. Right now, any reports will make them think we’re going to ground. So changing would confuse them more.”

  Bart said, “There is a market a block that way. There are lots of parked cars.”

  “Then we’ll take one.”

  Bart led the way with Jessie, who had to stride fast but kept up with him.

  They found a microbus with a rolloff roof, rolled off. It was secured by recognition software, but Jason worked around that by shooting into the module as Elke clipped her bypass unit in place underneath. They jumped in, exposed but with lots of visibility as a tradeoff, and Bart slid into the driver’s seat as Jason took shotgun again.

  “Elke, how’s recon?”

  “I can’t do this very often,” she said with a flare of her eyebrows, but she leaned back and shot a cam straight up. She lowered the shotgun, touched a button and sent the scrolled image to Alex.

  He reported, “Running gunfight north of us, small arms with light support weapons, seems to be a handful of machine guns. The army is west. It looks like they don’t want to engage the existing battle-”

  “Probably politics,” Jason said.

  “-I assume so, and is trying to coordinate counterfire against that incoming rocketry.”

  Shaman said, “That leaves us here with two very hostile snipers and two unknowns with local help.”

  “Do we want to stick it out, fight the mob, or try to meet up with the army?”

  Jason said, “Army is not our friend. They’ll have orders to detain us, probably phrased as ‘coordinate with.’ Staying here means being sniped at their leisure. The local conflict is something we have practice with. Ma’am, we’re going to need to go through that local battle. We’ll be going fast, attempting not to engage, but if we do get engaged, we’ll need to fight very violently to break contact and continue.”

  “I would like a weapon,” she said. “For my own protection.”

  “I don’t have a moral objection. However, what is your training level?”

  “I’ve shot guns on the range. I handled the M Ninety once on a military reaction range.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Tell me honestly, was that mostly for show?”

  “Yes,” she nodded, “but I know which end to point.”

  “Very well,” he nodded, and Jason handed back a spare carbine. Highland checked the chamber and flipped the safety off without much fumbling. “Keep it pointed away from any of us, and do not fire unless one of us fires first. Jessie, what about you?”

  “I’ll sit in the corner of the seat and be very small.” She seemed too scared to be embarrassed.

  “That’s a good tactic. We may need to debark and run, though. Can you do that?”

  “Yes,” she said firmly.

  “I need you to remember that we have to cover Ms. Highland first, and can only cover you if circumstances permit.”

  “Yes,” she said again, her lips trembling a bit.

  “Let’s move. We find new transport, Bart drives, Jason shotgun, Aramis tailgunner, Elke clears the route as needed, and the rest of us cover Ms. Highland and Jessie.”

  Jason said, “An open truck is not my first choice, but we can get that one right there.”

  The truck contained six fighters in mixed camouflage and keffiyeh, with a mounted machine gun and rifles. There was a gunner in the passenger seat and a driver wearing a helmet and looking almost professional.

  “Do it. Elke, chase them off.” Aramis vaulted out and took off at a sprint at that command. Bart led Jason.

  Instantly, Elke grabbed a softball-sized something from her harness and flung it in a high arc. It dropped accurately, popped a tiny chute, and started exploding in a string of vigorous reports. They were not firecrackers, but probably blasting caps. The crew in the bed fled, taking their weapons and leaving the rest of their gear. The passenger unassed, but the driver fumbled as if to shift gears and move.

  Aramis reached him right then, punched him solidly in the side of the head, pulled the door and unceremoniously yanked the unconscious form out. He swung his legs up into the bed, tangled and tumbled over his cannon, then got positioned. Bart scooped up the driver’s dislodged helmet and squeezed in, cursing in German. Jason rolled across the hood. His entry around the door in a twist and leap was far too gymnastic for a man in his 40s.

  Elke tossed another distraction and some smoke. It was thick, yellow and smelly, but probably proof against IR and UV frequencies.

  Alex had one of Highland’s shoulders, Shaman had her backpack, and they ran, with Jessie sprinting behind while shrieking in a whimper.

  Shaman jumped and pressed himself over the bed side, reached down and pulled Highland up by her armpits as Alex shoved her rump. He then turned and grabbed Jessie between her legs and by one shoulder and handed her up to Shaman, then jumped, pressed and rolled in himself.

  “Go!” he shouted, and looked around to get organized.

  Aramis had just passed his cannon forward to Jason, who laid it across the battered panel and hood. There were no windows left in the vehicle. Aramis looked quite comfortable in a reclining lounge chair, even if it was half-mildewed, sun-bleached and torn. He did a quick function check of the AA-tripod mounted machine gun in the middle, and leaned back, letting the gun sweep buildings as Bart nailed the throttle. It was a fine sunny day for a drive around the park in a truck full of weapons.

  Aramis said, “Shaman, you take the gun for threats in front. Jason has my cannon.”

  Elke said, “And I have Jason’s squad weapon.” She grabbed a folding carbine one of the occupants had abandoned and handed it to Highland, who had taken a seat between wheel well and cab, legs around one of the tripod supports, leaning against Aramis’s seat. “Spare,” she said.

  Jessie was on the other side, hunched down but apparently still functional. She kept an eye out her side, with occasional nervous glances around.

  Alex said, “Make sure you can debark in a hurry when we have to.”

  Right then, Jason fired a round from the cannon, to clear the route ahead of them. Elke fired a burst in a rearward sweep across the road, because the former occupants had noticed the theft of their transport. They were probably fairly elite by local standards, Alex thought. They all wore new Blackwing work boots.

  Aramis shouted, “Four hostiles on Springblades, rear!” and pointed.

  Alex followed his finger and saw them, or tried to. They were in distortion suits, but the rucks, weapons and Springblade boots were clearly visible.

  “That’s different,” he said.

  Aramis fired a burst, but the range was too great, and moving platform to moving target made it an impossible shot.

  Highland shouted, “What is it?”

  “Springblades, ma’am. They’re those boots parkeur traceurs use for rooftop chases, only in this case, I’m assuming they’re hostiles.”

  Aramis fired a second burst as Elke twitched. She wasn’t in front of the muzzle, but she was close enough to get hit with the pressure wave. Shaman was half-prone, leaning over the
side like the gunwale of a boat, head under the tripod.

  “Scared one,” Aramis said.

  The truck stopped suddenly, as Jason shouted, “Cover, all around!” He was sitting on the console, facing rear, resting his arms on the roof.

  Alex turned to cover the right, Elke had rear, Shaman left, and Aramis swung the machine gun around, holding it at an odd angle where it would eject links into his face, but would cover forward, if Jason ducked in time.

  But Jason stared for a moment, eyes tracking, then raised his carbine almost casually and burped off a burst of five.

  “Got one. Drive!” he said, and everyone gripped hard as Bart took them back to speed.

  Jason shimmied back through and resumed his seat. Over his shoulder he yelled, “If you’re in trajectory, you have no cover, and no maneuverability.”

  Alex nodded, but he was considering that they’d just shot one of the government’s best assassins. Nothing good was going to come of that.

  They turned a corner, and Bart called, “Contact front!”

  They were in the midst of a huge mob, who seemed to be spectators to a small engagement between two rival gangs of ten or so each.

  Then the crowd noticed the truck, and half of them turned toward it.

  Aramis fired a descending burst toward the crowd, Elke dropped another string of squibs, Jason shot a round from the cannon low over the fight ahead, and Shaman casually punched someone in the face with the muzzle of his carbine. He didn’t hit hard enough to knock the man down, but it was enough to raise a bloody welt and dissuade him from climbing into the truck. The rest of the mob suddenly vacated a clear area a good twenty meters in diameter.

  Bart prodded the truck forward, just as a round from one of the rooftop pursuers meteored into the dirt behind them. That caused the crowd to dissipate further, right at the moment they needed all the bodies they could get. There was no expectation that the local presence would dissuade attack, but the mob might soak up a few bullets at least.

  Aramis swung back and fired another burst up and to his left-vehicle right. Bart turned the vehicle left and tried to put a street gap between them and pursuit. The surrounding mob broke up into several little cliques and brawls, but stayed thin enough that Bart was able to weave slightly. He certainly wasn’t the type to swerve for hostile idiots, and he wouldn’t use the horn, either, assuming it still worked.