The Bayern Agenda

by Dan Moren

  Tapper materialized at his shoulder. “We’re ready to go.”

  “Good,” said Page, joining them. “Because they’re coming in.”

  “In that case, exit, stage right.” Kovalic gave a last look over his shoulder at Bleiden’s body, lying limp against one of the bookshelves, and his lips thinned. But there was no time to linger on regrets – they had bigger problems. He looked up and pointed a finger at Tapper. The sergeant touched a blinking icon on his sleeve and there was a deep bass thump that rattled the antiques on their shelves.

  Yanking open the door to the back room, they darted in. Particles of dust were floating everywhere, but, with the exception of the giant gaping hole in the wall, it was hard to say whether the back room was actually in worse shape than before. Wind and snow whistled in from the makeshift door.

  The three men clambered over the rubble that lay in the threshold of the new door, finding themselves in a narrow alley between two tall buildings. In addition to the debris from the explosion, there were five armed response troops scattered about: two of them were down and not moving, apparently flattened by the explosion, while one was staggering to his feet. The last two had their hands clapped over their ears and were shaking their heads slowly. Carbines hung from slings over their shoulders, and pistols were holstered at their waist alongside a standard issue pair of grenades. Their heads were swathed in helmets, balaclavas, and goggles.

  Kovalic pointed Tapper towards the one who was trying to get up. The sergeant jogged towards him, then dealt him a swift kick to the head that knocked him back to the ground. Page had already closed the distance to one of the two standing members of the team, delivering a knee to the gut that doubled the trooper over, followed by a sharp elbow to the back of the neck.

  The last was standing against the opposite alley wall; he’d started to regain his balance, and when he saw Kovalic coming towards him he fumbled for his carbine. But he was clearly still reeling from the explosion’s concussion, and as Kovalic’s hand came around – still clutching the hardcover book he’d been perusing earlier – it clipped him just under the chin, slamming his helmeted head back into the brick wall with a satisfying thunk. Not enough to knock him out, but it would at least ring his bell. Kovalic gave him a kick to the ribs, just to make sure he’d stay down.

  Tapper had already liberated the weapons of the trooper he’d downed, slinging the carbine over one shoulder. He’d also grabbed a comm unit, and was starting to collect the grenades from the other troops as well. Page had likewise stripped another fallen trooper’s equipment, checking the magazine on the weapon before locking it back into place.

  “They’ll localize the explosion any second,” said Tapper. “We’d better make ourselves scarce.”

  Kovalic looked around: the alley dead-ended here, but, as Tapper had said, there was a metal fire escape on the side of the building – so at least the fire code hadn’t been wholly ignored. The last flight was retracted, but with a short jump Kovalic pulled it down, clanging loudly to the ground.

  “Go,” he said, gesturing at Page and Tapper. The two didn’t need any further encouragement as they scrambled up the ladder, Kovalic following close behind.

  It was five stories to the top, navigating stairways that switched back and forth upon themselves as though they were sailing ships taking advantage of prevailing winds. Snowflakes bit at Kovalic’s face, which had already started to numb from the cold. Reaching the top, he swung himself over the small lip that ran around the edge of the roof.

  The roof itself contained an extensive collection of venting pipes, an emergency exit, and – Kovalic let out a sigh of relief – a comm array. Page was already ripping the cover off its junction box. As Kovalic joined them, Tapper took up position at the top of the fire escape, waiting for their pursuers.

  Kovalic hoped to be long gone by the time they showed up.

  “Stay low,” he muttered to Tapper. “Eyes probably has snipers on the surrounding rooftops. No reason to make it easy on them.” The curtain of snow around them made it hard to even see the adjacent buildings, but in a sniper’s thermal scope they’d stand out like a parade float.

  Tapper gave him a dry look. “Not my first dance, boss.”

  “Fair point.”

  “Just go get us our ride home.”

  With a nod, Kovalic went to join Page at the comm array. The younger man had a multitool clenched between his teeth as he twisted a pair of wires together; he looked up when Kovalic arrived, and took the tool out of his mouth long enough to say, “Two minutes.”

  Running a hand through his snow-covered hair, Kovalic glanced over his shoulder at the fire escape. Two minutes might be pushing it, depending on how fast the rest of the shock troops figured out where they’d gone. That meant the three of them would have to hold the roof while waiting for pickup, which was made easier by the fact that they had the high ground, and much, much harder by the fact that they were severely outnumbered.

  “Do what you can.”

  Page didn’t bother to respond, just delved back into the mess of wiring. Kovalic returned to Tapper, who was at the top of the fire escape, sitting with his back against the low wall.

  The older man gave him a searching look as he sat down. “What do you think, cap? We’re in it this time, for sure.”

  “Come on,” said Kovalic, nudging the sergeant. “We’ve been in tougher spots before.”

  Tapper pursed his lips. “I can think of maybe one,” he admitted. “But I wouldn’t exactly put it in the win column.”

  “Hey, any fight you can walk away from.”

  The sergeant gave a noncommittal grunt and checked his purloined weapon again.

  Sighing, Kovalic looked up at the sky; between the city lights, the blizzard, and the false night, the sky had turned gray with tinges of pink. On a clearer evening you’d have a nice view of Yalta, the gas giant that Sevastapol orbited – its rings were spectacular. Certainly a hell of a lot pleasanter than a snowstorm.

  “Boss.” Tapper’s hiss broke his train of thought. The sergeant caught his eye, then nodded towards the fire escape. “They’re in the alley.”

  Kovalic looked across the roof at Page. “How’s it going?” he called softly.

  Without turning around, Page held up one hand with a single finger extended, then returned to his work.

  “We’re going to have to buy him some more time,” said Kovalic, grimacing.

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” said Tapper. He hefted two of the grenades that he’d taken from the downed response officer below, then pulled the pins on both and lobbed them casually over the wall. Distantly, Kovalic heard them clink to the ground, followed by an exclamation of surprise that was cut short by a pair of explosions that echoed back up to them.

  Leaving Tapper to watch the fire escape, Kovalic crossed over to Page, keeping his head low. “Page?”

  The younger man pulled a circuit board from one slot, slid it into another, then slammed the junction box closed and handed Kovalic his own sleeve, which he’d peeled off and attached to the box by a pair of jury-rigged wires. The display rippled and blinked but showed a solid signal.

  “Good work, lieutenant,” said Kovalic. He punched in a code and opened the channel, patching it to his earbud. “Skyhook, this is Conductor. Copy?”

  A buzz of static flooded the channel, but a moment later a somewhat broken-up voice cut through. “Copy, Conductor. Three by three.”

  “Roger. This is an abort. Repeat: abort. Immediate extraction required at source coordinates.”

  “Confirm abort.”

  “Sigma nine seven five.”

  “Confirmed. Skyhook en route, ETA three minutes.”

  “Best news I’ve heard all day. Heads up, the EZ is hot.”

  “Acknowledged, captain. See you in a jiffy.” The comm beeped as the link was disconnected.

  Kovalic looked up at his two teammates, but both of them had heard the conversation. “Three minutes to hold?”

 
Page raised his eyebrows. “Not going to be easy.”

  “When is it ever?” Tapper said.

  “Hey,” said Kovalic, with a shrug. “It could be wor–”

  A shot pinged off the brickwork just behind him, sending shards flying in every direction.

  “Down!” All three men hit the deck.

  Kovalic rolled over to look at Page.

  “High-caliber sniper rifle,” the lieutenant said, cool as a frosty beverage on a summer day. “Impact point suggests it came from over there.” He nodded in the direction of the next building over. There was a hiss and a sizzle, and Kovalic saw a shower of sparks cascade from the junction box, which had apparently caught part of the sniper round. Well, they wouldn’t be making any more calls.

  “We’re going to need suppressing fire when Skyhook gets here,” said Tapper.

  “Congratulations. You’ve just volunteered.”

  “And I wondered how I always end up with the best jobs.”

  Kovalic looked over at the fire escape. Tapper’s grenades had evidently thrown them into a bit of a disarray below, given that nobody had tried to come up and over yet. Still, they couldn’t count the rest of the armed response troops out of the fight. The net was being drawn fast.

  Which was fine, as long as they weren’t in it when it closed. Bleiden’s intelligence might have been scant, but it was going to live or die with them.

  “Two minutes. Page, hold off the sniper. Tapper, on three, suppressing fire into the alley.”

  “Copy that,” said Tapper.

  Sucking in a lungful of air, Kovalic steadied himself. “One… two… three.”

  Page lifted his weapon, and sent a series of bursts in the direction the shot had come from. Simultaneously, Tapper and Kovalic popped over the low wall and fired down into the alley, the shots singing against the bricks and metalwork. A few muzzle flashes signaled return shots, but at this range and angle they were little more than blind fire.

  After a few seconds, all three men slid down with their backs against the wall again.

  “How long on the clock?” Tapper asked.

  “Minute and a half,” said Kovalic. “We should be able to see him.” He scanned the sky in the direction that he was pretty sure was south, but the storm made it hard to see more than a few meters off the roof. The snowflakes kept flying into his eyes, refracting what little illumination there was from the streetlights below and the one flickering star above.

  Star?

  “Heads up! One o’clock high!”

  Tapper and Page’s heads both swiveled to follow Kovalic’s glance.

  “You sure that’s him?” the sergeant asked.

  “If it isn’t, then we are in a hell of a lot more trouble.”

  As the light came closer it resolved into a pair of points – two headlights – blinking rapidly on and off, in a very specific pattern. The whooshing noise of the engines was audible now, reaching them at a delay, given the craft’s speed.

  “That’s him,” said Kovalic. “Sergeant, the signaling laser if you please.”

  Tapper fumbled in his bag, then pulled out a small device about the size of a pen, and flicked it on and off rapidly, in the same pattern that the ship had blinked its lights. The headlights blinked again in confirmation.

  “Suppressing fire again,” said Kovalic, circling a finger in the air. “Let’s keep the area clear for him. One… two–”

  He never reached three, as a brilliant column of light descended from the heavens, piercing through the gray veil of snow and striking the incoming ship dead center. A fireball ignited in the sky, sizzling through the snowstorm. A moment later the sound of the explosion and the accompanying shockwave hit, blowing back Kovalic’s hair even at this distance.

  And then, in its wake, a sound of emptiness so loud it almost threatened to deafen him.

  “Holy shit,” breathed Tapper. “I thought the fake transponder–”

  Kovalic swallowed, his mouth suddenly parched. “They must have found out from Bleiden.” Though how he knew, Kovalic couldn’t imagine.

  From below came indistinct shouts and the rattle of feet on metal.

  “Boss,” whispered Tapper, “they’re coming. We need to go.”

  Go? Go where? Their escape route had just been blown out of the sky. If IIS had identified the ship before destroying it, they’d have all the IDs his team had used to get on planet. Which meant they needed new ones – and that meant time. And a place to hole up.

  He took a deep breath. Roll with it, he reminded himself. First things first: getting off the roof.

  “Page,” he said, catching the lieutenant’s eye. “How far to the next roof?” He nodded in the direction opposite from where the sniper had taken his shot.

  The younger man shrugged. “Three meters, but it’s down. Doable.” More challenging, it meant jumping the alley where the troopers – and their many weapons – were currently hanging out.

  Kovalic nodded at him. “You first. Tapper and I will cover for you.”

  Page didn’t question the order, just nodded and got to his feet. Crouching, he got some distance from the edge of the roof and then looked at Kovalic expectantly.

  With a nod, Kovalic raised one finger. Then a second. Then a third. At the third finger, Page took off, sprinting for the edge of the roof. As his foot planted on the low wall, Tapper and Kovalic swung their guns over the side, and fired off a few bursts towards the alley.

  There was at least one thwack as a round struck home on body armor, followed by a grunt and a clatter as the trooper hit the deck. Out of the corner of his eye, Kovalic saw Page land and roll on the opposite roof and then spring up again, flashing them a thumbs up.

  “You next, old man,” said Kovalic.

  Tapper looked like he wanted to argue, but years of taking orders won out and he just gave a silent nod, then followed Page’s example. This time there were plenty of rounds flying upwards, but with both Kovalic and Page providing cover fire from opposite sides of the gap nobody had time to draw a bead on Tapper. The sergeant didn’t stick the landing quite as gracefully as his compatriot, but Page helped him to his feet and the two waited for their commanding officer.

  Kovalic rolled his neck, and then tightened the cinch on the gun’s strap. He crept towards the same place Page and Tapper had started their run, and took a deep breath. Then, counting silently to himself, he pushed off and sprinted all out to the edge.

  The scariest part of making a jump was that moment of commitment: planting a foot and pushing off, floating over the void. As long as you didn’t hesitate, you’d be fine. You just had to trust that you’d make it. It had to be automatic, instinctive.

  Kovalic didn’t think twice as his foot went down and his leg muscle tensed, sending him up and off the edge of the roof, arcing over the alley. He saw the roof of the neighboring building in front of him, and relief washed over him as he realized he’d make it with room to spare.

  And then the biggest bee in the history of the universe bit him right in the shoulder, sending surprise and, shortly thereafter, stabbing pain through his whole torso. A split-second later he dimly registered the crack of a rifle report. Then he was just falling.

  Chapter 2

  Elijah Brody pulled himself up through the cockpit opening, grabbing the ladder rung above him.

  “That was one hell of a ride, doc,” he said, climbing up to the catwalk that led into the simulator.

  Dr Barbara Thornfield stood, arms crossed, her typical appraising look married to barely-contained irritation. Her hair, which just brushed the tops of her ears, had once been blond, but it had taken on a paler, whitish cast with age. The wrinkles around her mouth were quirked in the grimace Eli had gotten to know all too well over the past six months, and her pearlescent fingernails drummed on the sleeves of her white coat.

  “You’re dead, Mr Brody. Again,” she said. “I could speculate about the causes, but let’s just go with the obvious ones: you disobeyed a direct order, not to mention ri
sking your own life and the mission in three different ways.”

  “Only three?”

  “This isn’t a laughing matter, Eli.”

  “How were the vitals?”

  Her lips pursed at his evasion. “Mostly stable. Elevated as expected during the confrontation, with a couple of blips here and there. But I’m more worried about your judgment. You were reckless in there.”

  Eli shrugged. “It was just a sim. There wasn’t any real danger.”

  “We have simulators for a reason – to train you for real life situations.”

  “But if you know it’s a simulator, you’re never going to react the same way,” he said tiredly. They’d had this particular argument at least a dozen times over the past six months, with neither prepared to budge an inch on the subject. They could both probably perform each other’s lines by this point.

  Dr Thornfield sighed. “Eli, the kind of trauma you’ve seen – watching your friends and comrades killed in front of you – it doesn’t just go away, even after five years. You’ve made a lot of progress in the last six months, but my job is to evaluate your fitness to fly for the Commonwealth of Independent Systems, and right now…” She shook her head. “I have concerns.”

  “Look, doc. I’m not a soldier any more – haven’t been for five years.” The slaughter at the Battle of Sabaea had seen to that. “I’m just a pilot. There is a difference.”

  “You flew into the side of a frigate. Pilot or soldier, you’re just as dead.”

  OK, that’s fair. But it was upside down! Well. I was upside down.

  “I’m just saying, I felt a lot better. Minimal panic response, pretty much no nausea.” He jerked a thumb back towards the simulator. “I couldn’t have done half of that if I’d felt space-sick. And as far as taking orders goes, well, I’m just a civilian, doc.”

  The doctor threw up her hands. “And you’ll do as you like. I know. Well, I think we can say we’re done with our session for today.” She turned and started down the ramp to the hangar floor.