Dire : Wars (The Dire Saga Book 4)

by Andrew Seiple

  Surprised bursts of laughter, from my unexpected vulgarity. Just as planned.

  “YOU HAVE!” I pointed at the nearest soldier, then moved my finger around to indicate all nearby. “ALL OF YOU! YOU DROVE THEM FROM MARIPOSA CITY. YOU HOUNDED THEM NORTH TO MALO VERDE, AND YOU TOOK THIS NEAR-IMPREGNABLE BASTION FROM THE REBELS IN A DAY. LESS THAN A DAY!”

  A cheer. Not a big one, but it was there.

  “AND NOW THEY BRING THE US INTO THE FIGHT, LOOMING LIKE A GIANT BEHIND THEIR PATHETIC LITTLE SNIVELLING FORMS. BUT THE US? THEY KNOW BETTER THAN TO FIGHT MARIPOSA! THEY PRETEND TO PROP THE REBELS UP, BUT THE REBELS ARE PAPER! THE US WILL STAND THERE, INEFFECTIVE AND PARALYZED, WHILE YOU DELIVER JUSTICE TO THE REBELS!”

  A bigger cheer.

  “DIRE’S WEAPONS ARE SUPERIOR TO THOSE THEY HAVE GIVEN THE REBELS, LIKE RICH ASSHOLES GIVING THEIR KIDS KEYS TO SPORTS CARS THEY CAN’T DRIVE. THESE DEVASTATORS SHALL NEUTRALIZE THEIR ARTILLERY! THESE GUARDIANS SHALL HOLD THE LINE!” I swept my arm across the Devastators and Guardbots. Should have named the footsloggers something more impressive, but so be it.

  “BUT IN THE END? YOU DO NOT NEED THEM! YOU HAVE THE VERY LAND ITSELF! MALO VERDE’S HILLS AND MOUNTAINS SHALL SHELTER YOU! HER ROCKS SHALL REPULSE ALL INVADERS! WHEN HELD BY A COMPETENT ARMY MALO VERDE IS AN IMPREGNABLE FORTRESS! AND YOU, FRIENDS, ARE MORE THAN A COMPETENT ARMY! YOU ARE THE ELITE! YOU ARE ALL BADASSES!”

  Mixed cheers and laughter. They wanted to believe. They so badly wanted to believe.

  “AND YOU HAVE THE PEERLESS MIND OF GENERAL LUIS RICIO HIMSELF!” I checked to see he was still off to the side, and waved a hand at him. He snapped off a flawless salute, and if I’d thought I had cheers before, they were roaring now.

  “DIRE LEAVES YOU IN HIS HANDS. NOW SHE GOES TO SEE TO HER FACTORIES, TO PRODUCE MORE WEAPONS, MORE ROBOTS TO BOLSTER YOUR RANKS. AND WHEN THE TIME IS RIGHT, SHE SHALL RETURN. NOT AS A SAVIOR, BUT TO PRESENT YOU ALL WITH MEDALS! FOR WHEN SHE RETURNS, YOU WILL HAVE WON! YOU WILL HOLD, AND ALL OF MARIPOSA SHALL STAND WITH YOU, KNOWING THAT AGAINST THE WORLD, YOU HELD THE LINE!”

  The cheers rose to the heavens, and I smiled.

  That might buy a few more days.

  I turned as they cheered, dialed my volume down. Ricio moved up next to me as I shambled to the nearest Devastator, digging the plugs from his ears.

  “Not bad.”

  “THANK YOU. MONOLOGUES ARE A SPECIALTY. GETS A LOT OF PRACTICE IN HER LINE OF WORK.” I kept it to a low rumble.

  “What now?”

  “STICK TO THE PLAN. SHE NEEDS REPAIRS, BADLY. BE BACK IN A DAY OR TWO. HOLD THEM AS LONG AS YOU CAN.”

  “And if the Americans break neutrality? If they join the rebels in the assault?”

  I took a breath.

  He hadn’t betrayed me yet. He was a good man, as they went. Hadn’t turned up anything in the files to suggest he had condoned Corazon’s brutality. And a lot of his troops were probably good men, too.

  “IF THE AMERICANS JOIN THE FIGHT PROPER, NEGOTIATE THE BEST TERMS YOU CAN.”

  That rocked him. He stared at me for a long moment, dug out a cigar, and lit it with shaking fingers. “You’re not going to order us to stand to the last man?”

  “EL HOMBRE ÚLTIMO’S BACK IN THE CITY, SO YOU COULDN’T IF YOU WANTED TO.”

  He snorted laughter and smoke, as he drew on the cigar. But his eyes were sharp behind the tobacco cloud, and considering me. Finally he nodded, and stuck out a hand. “It is an honor, Empress.”

  It took every bit of control I had to manipulate the damaged gauntlet without hurting him, but I shook his hand. “KEEP HER BOYS ALIVE, RICIO. WHATEVER COMES, MARIPOSA WILL NEED YOU.”

  He nodded, and I hopped on the Devastator. Hated to pull one away from the lines, but it was the fastest thing here, and I needed to get back for repairs right the hell now.

  But I grinned as I went, and sunk back into my harness. “He smiled.”

  “What?”

  “Dire had the Devastators slaved to his command. All he would have had to do was command them to open fire on her, as she came over the barricades. Would have been enough to shred the suit, in its damaged state.”

  “Except they wouldn’t have fired, because Suru was lurking in them.”

  “Yeah, but he didn’t know that. End result remains the same. He didn’t fire. The prisoner smiled.”

  “Oh, right, the prisoner’s dilemma. So... now what?”

  “Now we start working on the endgame. Because the only way this sordid mess is going to have a happy ending is if Dire pulls it kicking and screaming from this divided and shattered country...”

  CHAPTER 16: DANCE DANCE COUNTER-REVOLUTION

  “Okay. The first thing you need to know is that the CIA has fucked over pretty much every country on this continent and every island in this Gulf at some point or another. United Fruit, the kidnappings in Brazil, that business with the Contras... yeah, those guys? They treat this hemisphere like their personal murder/torture playground. Fuck the CIA! But then... it makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Why have they been so hands off in Mariposa? What’s keeping them from really getting dirty?”

  --Raoul Hernan, freelance journalist and former Corazon propagandist before the regime change

  The factories worked night and day, turning out guard-bots by the dozens. As soon as they stepped off the assembly line they got marched out the door, and on the northwestern road, straight for the front. I kept a token force in the city as a reserve, and monitored the battle through my see-gull drones.

  The hardware I’d given Ricio helped. The Devastators were mobile enough to dodge the artillery, had enough anti-personnel rockets to drive back rebel assaults, and their main guns were powerful enough to punch through the improvised explosive vehicles that the rebels sometimes fielded. A couple got damaged after a rough sortie— the US had decided that my drones were not part of the Mariposan army, and therefore, could be directly engaged.

  A day later, on the major American news networks, I saw the president himself clarify that in a perfectly-timed press release. They did not recognize my government, declared me a criminal opportunist, who was holding a country hostage to further her own megalomaniacal designs. And as I had several outstanding warrants, that had been reactivated after my surprising ‘resurrection’, the US forces were merely serving the course of global justice.

  Such a glorious pile of shit. But it was convincing bullshit. The kill team I’d defended myself against was lauded as heroes, and the slain were laid at my feet.

  “You know,” I remarked, arms buried up to the elbows in my much-abused Brute Suit, “she’s starting to think that future Dire might have a few good points. Just a few.”

  “Well, she made me. Proof she had her head screwed on right at least part of the time,” Alpha replied.

  “Cute. No, she’s thinking about the whole conquering-the-world thing. Future Dire wanted her to start that as soon as possible.” I flipped my hair at the television. “If this keeps up, she’s going to need a few nations of her own, otherwise she’ll never get any peace.” I was joking. Mostly. Although it did appeal, the longer I thought about it. “Have to do it from the shadows, of course. World just isn’t ready for an openly metahuman leader.”

  “After that mess with France, can you really blame them?”

  I shot him a glare. “Knew someone, once, who was devoted to one of the so-called ‘three warlords’. We killed a lot of Nazis together.”

  “Maybe so. But the winners write the history.”

  “Inconvenient, that, if one doesn’t match up to the popular account.” I turned my glare on the television, and the pundits who were screaming at each other, arguing about the American president’s words. Idiots couldn’t read between the lines; or if they could, they turned their brains off to keep the message simple for their followers.

  No, reading between the lines, I could see the shape of it. They’d built the narrative of the evil queen, and the heroic rebels, with the US troops coming to back them up in
their time of need. No need for the truth of the matter, or talk of invisible assassins, or the former king’s own evils. This story would end only one way.

  “Dead Dire,” I muttered, letting the angst roll over me. For all of two seconds, then I got back to work.

  “How’s it looking in there?”

  “In a word? Shitty. In three words? Really fucking shitty.” I soldered a few last connections, and ran the tester over the completed circuit. “It’s weird to say that this suit wasn’t made for this kind of punishment, but it wasn’t. It was meant to withstand fights, then go back and get serviced for a few days before it saw new usage. The repair bots were more of a ‘huh, I might get stuck away from a lab for a while.’ afterthought, than a mainstay. She’s hurting.” I ran my hand down the side of the armor.

  “We need to finish this. Got an exit strategy?”

  I blew air through my lips. “A lot less of one now that those warships showed up. They’ll be patrolling the lanes around Mariposa. Watching for her to fly away. Probably checking outgoing ships as well. Not that we’ve had a huge amount of cargo ships arriving, since the war started.” Couldn’t blame them for being cautious. If I’d been so inclined to requisition a cargo ship, that’d be a ton of raw material for guard-bots and various other things. I was running low on raw materials, and if I started cannibalizing for recycled metal, I’d panic the populace. And right now one good riot could do a hell of a lot of harm.

  I was kind of surprised that Maestro M hadn’t kicked something off there, already. A part of me hoped that the nuke was his last move before he buggered off to go pester other villains. But I knew I wasn’t that lucky. He’d turn up again, and it’d be painful.

  I wondered what it would be next time. A hostage tied to train tracks? There weren’t any in the country, but I didn’t think that would stop him. Maybe he’d kidnap Señor Acertijo and lower him into acid. He was that kind of guy.

  “Huh,” Alpha said, and interrupted my train of thought.

  “What?”

  “It’s the middle of the night and there’s lightless yachts out on the bay.”

  “That is weird— wait. Are they painted black?”

  “Let me get the See-gull a little nearer... yeah. It’s pulling up across from the northern shore. Tucking into a little cove.”

  “The smugglers are still running.” I shook my head. Devotion to profit, even during trying times.

  It also made me wonder if the Chamis had returned. I missed Escala, though our last meeting had been less than amiable. Missed Mally, and Gulam, and the men and women of the tribe. I supposed that with little need for scouts in the mountains, Damiano had let them sneak back home. I bit my lip. No way to tell with the See-gulls. The canopy was thick, even if the rockets had scarred patches of it pretty badly. And they’d be able to tell the bird-like drone wasn’t a bird, even in the middle of the night. They were that good. I’d perhaps meander over there in the morning.

  “They’re loading something onto the boat. Can’t get close enough for a good look.”

  I grunted, and got back to my work. The Fusion generator was about the only part undamaged, thankfully. I was glad I’d put it on my back, unlike some power armor specialists I knew. Seriously, who goes around with their main energy source right in the center of their chest? Just gives the big bruisers something to punch. Like weak points on a video game boss.

  Heh. Endboss. At least the marines were taking me seriously.

  I paused, mid-solder.

  Perhaps I was looking at this wrong. I was trying to find the happy ending in this mess. Trying to figure out a scenario where I could best react to the Maestro, to the US forces, to the Rebels...

  But reacting was a hero’s game. I was a villain.

  “She is Dire,” I muttered, and somewhere within me I felt cold fire flare.

  “Huh. The boats are headed back across the bay.”

  “Oh?” That caught my attention. Were the smugglers so close, then? I’d always figured them for outsiders, and the stop at the Chamis village only one of many in the Caribbean.

  “Yeah. They’re docking at one of the vacation resorts. Aqua Bay? That’s what the sign says.”

  “Interesting.” Had to be some complicity there. I remembered how suspicious they’d seemed, back when I was talking to my late, lamented Minister of the Interior. Too clean, especially compared to all the other foreign-owned companies on our soil.

  Remembering the Minister’s death made me growl. Julian, that had been his name. Poor Julian. The CIA had killed him, in their failed attempt on Ricio.

  Well. I needed to shift this dance. Needed to take it from reactive to proactive. Needed to step up and be a proper supervillain. Who better for a first target? The spies were the eyes of the United States in Mariposa. Put them out and I’d have an easier time against the Rebels and the US forces.

  “Alpha?”

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “Let’s go own some murderous bitches.”

  “I thought you’d never ask!”

  We discussed plans into the evening, while I finished repairs. The suit was battered, but not broken, and neither was I.

  That morning, after the first full night’s rest I’d had in days, I directed the See-gulls over the city. A command to the factory brains thinned the smoke production just enough to get clear sight over the streets.

  Next, I suited up into Dorothy’s dress, grabbed a briefcase, and went looking for geographical surveys. Armor of a different sort, this. A lot less claustrophobia-inducing than the Brute Suit.

  A long-disused filing cabinet finally yielded some maps, and I stuffed them in the briefcase, took the tunnel out, emerged near the bus stop, and found my way down to the collaborator's shop that Mitch had told me about, days back.

  Behind me, Alpha did his part, sliding into the Brute Suit and flying from rooftop to rooftop, until he settled roughly five blocks from my destination. Always good to have overwatch, in case the assortment of devices I’d brought proved insufficient to the task.

  A cow bell chimed as I walked into the tiny shop, not more than an inside stall. I glanced around the jars of herbs along the wall with feigned interest. Tobacco and other smokeable substances, by the look of it. A few for ‘medical’ purposes... he’d have the appropriate permits, of course. All signed after a hefty bribe to the official who minded this barrio.

  The proprietor smiled, walrus-like mustache quivering. “Señora? Cómo está?”

  “Good,” I replied, in flawless Spanish. “Got something here for a friend who’s looking to turn over a new leaf.”

  He froze, and watched very carefully as I pulled out a random survey, and laid it on the counter. “Take your time,” I said, snapping the briefcase shut. “She’ll mind the store.”

  He went back through a curtain, and I heard the dialing of an honest-to-god rotary phone. A serious relic; I was rather impressed. Not many of those around, but Mariposa had been gridless for so long that it made sense. I moved around the counter, chuckled at the scattergun tucked in a drop holster under it, and slid into a chair, putting my back to the corner as best as I could. I tapped my forcefield generator, and felt the air shift around me, slightly. A less-powerful model than my standard make, good enough for my purpose here.

  Ten minutes crawled by. Walrus-stache came out with a pot of coffee. I smiled and declined. Spies liked their poison. Shifting a bit, I slipped my hands into my pockets.

  “You are visiting Mariposa, Señora?” My host asked, pouring himself a cup.

  “Yes, most definitely. It’s been a far more interesting trip than planned.”

  “Ah, yes. The troubles.”

  “This land has no shortage of them,” I sympathized. That is generally a safe statement regardless of where you are, I find. No matter how idyllic the place, humans are humans, and things can always be better.

  He nodded, brightening. We made small talk for a bit. I found he had three sons, who never called, the ingrates. No wife, not any
more, and he looked aside for a bit so I wouldn’t see the pain in his eyes.

  I noticed, that alone among the shops I’d been in through Mariposa, this one had no portrait of Corazon on the wall. Didn’t take a supergenius to see his grudge, or how the CIA had been able to recruit him.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, feeling a bit of empathy for this poor middle-aged man, with the balding scalp and the pot belly. Just another guy who’d had more than his share of hardships, but still fought back in his own quiet way.

  “Jorge. Jorge Smith.”

  “Your sons, are any in the military?”

  “One. He fights in Malo Verde now.” He sighed. “The other, he got foolish. I fear he is with the Rebellion.”

  “Ouch.”

  “There was a girl.” Jorge gestured, nearly spilling his coffee. “There is always a girl. Ah, no disrespect meant.”

  “Incoming,” Alpha whispered through my earrings. “White-suited guy and the assassin trailing him, full costume.”

  I realized Jorge was looking at me, a bit worried.

  “Hm? Ah. No offense taken. Two sons on different sides. And your third son?”

  “Paints like a Renaissance great. Art scholarship and a full-ride in Berkeley University.” Jorge beamed.

  “Must have taken some string pulling to get that done.”

  Jorge’s smile shrank a bit. “I know a few good Norteamericanos.”

  “Ah, yes.”

  “And who are you, señora?” He smiled, and took my hand, bowing over it in the old-fashioned way.

  “Ah... to be honest, it is better you do not know. Sorry. For what it’s worth, may your sons return home safe, when all is said and done.”

  “Ah. Of course.”

  The door opened, and the bell over it chimed. Mitch stood there a second, let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. “Dorothy!” He beamed at me, and offered his hand.

  I winced, for the benefit of Jorge, and rose to meet him. “Mitch. Got you that information you requested. But... Doctor Dire’s not too happy. She barely survived the coup a few nights ago. Going to cut losses and get out, if you’re amenable.”