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.
About half a block down, Aramis said, “Gun’s empty, no spare belts. Clear me a path.”
Alex stood and stepped toward the cab, using the gun mount for a handle, then gripped the cab. Elke and Shaman moved aside. Aramis heaved, and gun and tripod tumbled over the back of the bed to crash on the ground. It might still be functional, but wasn’t likely to come into play against them, and they needed the room and mass reduction.
Alex said, “We need to change vehicles, get to cover or otherwise well-clear the area. Those fuckers on the Springblades are insane, but obviously competent.”
Jason said, “Let’s make a couple more turns and persuade someone else to take this vehicle.”
“That fits our psychology so well. Do it.” He faced Highland and said, “We once paid someone to be hijacked by us. It’s weird, but it works.”
“Start now,” Jason said, as they rounded another corner.
Highland nodded. It seemed to be acknowledgment of being spoken to. She looked to be in shock. If she’d thought them trigger happy before . . .
Elke slipped over the side in a crouching sprint, straightened and entered what looked like a vacant building. Aramis hoisted Jessie over, who crouched and scampered through the doorway after her. He rolled over and down, and caught Highland by the chest and shoulders as she followed. The woman wasn’t in bad shape, but was not young or athletic. Parts of her anatomy, however, were probably deliberately built to fake it. He shuddered.
Four people ran out of the building with Elke behind, prodding with her carbine. Shaman took the rear of the vehicle, Jason the front, and corralled them into it. Bart shouted “Drive, habla, sürücü!” Apparently he knew a little Arabic and Turkish, too.
The whole process took twenty seconds, and the evictees drove madly, lest they disturb the crazy Earthies.
“We can’t stay here too long,” Jason said. “They’ll do some kind of scan, or DNA sweep.”
“Where do we need to get?”
“I would like to get to this area here,” Elke said, and projected a map on a mostly clean section of floor, while pointing.
“Why there?”
“Because I have enough explosives in the area I can simulate my own battle, and tie everyone up for hours.”
“Fantastic. So we should get there.”
Highland said, “I’m very impressed. I’d call it paranoid, but it seems to be very forward thinking.”
Elke looked at her coldly and said, “Next time a professional tells you she needs explosive, or even network keys, or a doccase full of cash, please believe her.”
“I will.” She nodded vigorously. This time she actually blushed a bit.
Shaman asked, “Are we going on foot?”
Aramis said, “Yes, but do we want to pretend to be locals?”
Alex said, “I don’t see that working long enough to bother with. Shoulder up, let’s move. How far can you jog, ma’am?”
“I can handle five kilometers at a normal pace.”
“Good. This will be shorter but a bit faster. Jessie?”
“I did track in school, but it was some years ago. I don’t do as much as I should.”
“Can you run a couple of kilometers?”
“Yes,” she agreed, sounding positive.
“Then let’s go.”
They went out the door, formed loosely around her and let her set the pace as Aramis led.
CHAPTER 23
ELKE HAD TO KEEP CRANING to watch her rear quarter. They were unmolested across the street, and reached the alley. That felt less exposed, but the terrain was terrible, with uncollected rubbish heaped and piled. It wasn’t that it was filthy. It was that it was filthy, unstable and prone to shift and outgas methane, ammonia and rot smells as they clambered around and over. Above them, windows were dark caves that looked threatening even without hostiles.
Highland might be an obnoxious bitch, but she didn’t complain about rough conditions
. No doubt boasting of it would be part of her next level of campaigning.
Then they were through, and onto another street. Traffic seemed normal enough here, though civilians drew back in the face of what was obviously a small military unit. Then someone recognized Highland.
Elke sighed for a moment and grabbed a stink gas grenade. She yanked the cord and rolled it left, then rolled another right, and one straight ahead.
The crowd screamed and drew away, except those closest, who tried to get closer. While not quite as potent as the vehicle mounted dispensers, the stench was so strong it was palpable, as slight whiffs drifted by.
Alex caught what she did before she said anything, and ordered, “Deep breath, sprint forward.”
She dragged in a breath tinged with that awful sulfur smell, and put a hand on Jessie’s shoulder to keep her moving briskly. Her eyes teared up as they passed through the fumes in front, but she felt it clear in the slight breeze, and they were soon in another alley, this one less disgusting but narrower, dodging between bins and tubs, piled debris and stacks of crates. It turned to the left and they followed it, then right again.
Aramis said, “We should be coming out onto the Plaza of the Caliph in a moment and . . . wait . . .”
Everyone ahead stopped and Elke moved up close in case she was needed. She checked behind again, hand on a device just in case.
Jason said, “And now we find out just how effective a wall between sectors is.”
Ahead was the broad, glistening curve of the Peace Wall. More trash leaned against it, including abandoned cars and boxes. Above that, it really did look like marble, but that featureless concrete extrusion was impenetrable to anything she carried. She could divot it, but . . .
“Move,” she said, and the team cleared her path, yanking Highland and Jessie aside.
She turned her back to Jason and said, “Spare cassette.” She indicated with her thumb.
“This isn’t a mine is it?” She had on occasion rigged an ammo cassette as a claymore.
“No, it’s loaded with spalling charges.” She took it as he pulled it out, swapped for the one in the weapon, then handed the shotgun to him. “You’re the best shot, make us steps.”
“Understood,” he said. He hefted the shotgun, chose a spot just over an abandoned van, and started shooting.
The charges were designed to punch through block. She’d had in mind opening a large hole by perforating a wall, or creating loops he could snipe through. In this case, the first shot impacted the wall seventy centimeters above the van’s roof, and blew a crater several centimeters deep and roughly conical. It would support a hand or foot. His next shot moved up the wall, then again. By the time he emptied the cassette there were steps within a meter and a half of the top.
“I can’t climb that,” Jessie said.
Aramis said, “Sure you can. Take it one step at a time, don’t look down, and try to ignore the bullets peppering the wall under your heels.” He had the harness from the bag Bart carried, and was stepping into it.
It was impressive how fast the locals had abandoned the area and turned it into a dump. The team was unmolested as they crossed the street, which served as a ring road, as in a walled town in Europe. It was quite clear to within five meters of the wall, then the debris started. The van was a shell, stripped of engine, wheels and seats. The windows were gone, reused no doubt, and likely someone would be along soon for either body panels, sections of them, or to salvage the polymer plate for some other use. In the meantime, it got them three meters off the ground, leaving only five meters above Bart’s head.
“First,” Elke said. It wasn’t that she liked heights. She didn’t want to think about heights, and going first left less time to fret.
The craters were deep enough, though tight on her boots. That could be a problem for Bart and Shaman, with the boats they wore. She shrugged and kept climbing, reaching in with gloved hands, gripping hard and placing each foot carefully. It was like climbing a very narrow ladder with no gaps between rungs.
Also, with incoming fire. She flinched as she heard it. It wasn’t well aimed, nor was it in volume, but she had no cover.
With that distraction, though, she made it to the top of the wall, oozed over and clung there. It was just over a meter wide, it was ten meters down the other side, and there was less debris. The government had insisted there were no spikes atop the wall. Technically, that might be true, but it was very rough and jagged where the polymix had stretched and shifted inside the mold as it set. The nearest buildings were a hundred meters away, and the terrain in between was razed urban rubble. An entire street of buildings was gone.
With a loud hiss of gas jets, Aramis bounced up, facing her.
“This is why they pay us those big dollars,” he said with a grin, as he rolled onto the ledge.
“Yes,” she agreed tightly.
From out of his ruck he drew line, swore as it partly uncoiled and tangled, then got it laid neatly in front of him. He pulled out a clamp that looked specifically made for the corner, and clipped it on the near side. It came loose when he tugged, but after two more sets, it remained in place.
“Down fast,” he said. “The rest are coming.”
She nodded, took the line, wove it over her shoulder, hip and crotch into an improvised abseil, and shimmied over the coarse, abrasive edge. Her brain buzzed and thudded because of that single clamp holding her, but she started walking down. The rope cut into her flesh through the fabric, she desperately wanted to dump the ruck, fearing its mass might push her total past some limit and dismount the clamp. She also needed to pee worse than ever, and the shotgun kept jabbing her heel.
Ten seconds later she was on the ground. She crabbed sideways two meters, hunched down and unslung her shotgun.
This area was a bombed-out mess. There were few people, and fewer as those people realized armed troops were encroaching.
There was no cover, though. This had been the other byway of a large road, and the crumbled remains of a curb were nine meters ahead. Another ten meters or so led to shorn foundations and infilled basements, with some structural steel projecting upward. Clumps of weeds were reclaiming the land. The hundred-meter gap to the nearest buildings didn’t reassure her. That was a short range for rifles, but a long range to run.
She felt better once Jason zipped down next to her. Highland was lowered but managed to walk herself rather than drag. Jessie kicked a bit but came down, though her expression indicated complete terror. Horace dropped a bit too fast and grunted as he landed. Bart landed hard enough to create seismic waves, but seemed unbothered. Aramis looked graceful.
“Lowering,” Alex said in her ears. She looked up to see the rucks. They still had them? Good, but still.
Then Alex slid down last. He stretched until his feet reached shoulder height for Bart, who stood underneath to support him. Then, reaching far up, he cut the line. He hopped free, Bart caught him and slowed his descent in a squat, and they were all down, with hard cover behind.
He said, “This won’t stop the springblades, if they’re determined.”
“No, but it will stop that round of allies, temporarily.”
“Aramis?”
Aramis said, “Twelve degrees from magnetic north, we’ll shelter in that building for a quick reassessment. Move in three teams.”
* * * *
Aramis always got a bit of thrill from the chase. It was probably a bad habit, but he preferred it to the alternative of crippling fear.
This, though, was a bit more than a chase. They were in the middle of three angry groups who’d shoot even if they didn’t know who Highland was, and especially if they did, with at least one group of assassins following. They were using the battling factions as a shield against the hit team, who were using the factions as concealment to get closer. All in all, this would be hilarious to watch happen to someone else. Aramis had a starring role, though.
He shivered briefly. Death was no longer the worst thing that could hap
pen. If it came down to it, though, he’d kill as many as he could and save one round. It was for damned sure the army wouldn’t save him without political prodding, which Alex couldn’t do anymore, Highland was unlikely to, and Corporate was unable to. This was some serious shit.
Still, gloves off meant he could shoot back, and the threat level wasn’t any greater than before. He, they were just aware of it now. That was the difference.
Elke and Jason went first, coaxing Jessie with them. He and Bart took Highland, and he had to admit, she bore up reasonably well. She wasn’t Bishwanath, who’d been an actual veteran. She wasn’t Caron Prescot, who could have been a spoiled brat but turned out to be a very courageous woman. She was far better than most politicians or celebrities, though.
The building was structurally sound, and had a few panes of well-crazed polycarbonate left in it. There were even small sections of carpet and a couple of chairs inside the lobby. It had been some kind of small office building, probably rather high in rent, in its past.
The rest came over in a dodging, shifting rush, and they had cover and concealment again.
Alex said, “Aramis, map.”
He laid down his phone and pulled out the plastic roll.
“We’re here,” he said, pointing.
“This is a less nice neighborhood.”
“That’s understating it, but we’re separated by the wall and by culture. This is an Amala area.”
Highland said, “We’re in Amala territory? They’re very antagonistic to me. Why did you do this?”
“They won’t look for you here, and it was the safest physical location under the circumstances. We’ll be moving constantly.” He said. He did want to keep her involved and mentally busy.
Shaman asked, “How are we going to maneuver the hostiles into place?”
Aramis said, “I’ve thought of that. Look here.” He pointed at the map.
“We’re here. The Amala are hostile. If we flee east we wind up in moderate Sunni territory—fairly safe. They hate the Amala. North is Sufi. They don’t like her but won’t go out of their way to attack. Northeast, at that point just a kilometer away, is Covenant of the Lord, and they are crazy and will try to attack both us and the Amala, if we can goad them into it. That will draw the Sufi in to keep their border secure if nothing else, which yields a three-way fight, which means the military has to show up to break it up. While that’s going on, we can be active against those Security Agency guys.”
When Diplomacy Fails . . . Page 30