When Diplomacy Fails . . .-eARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  Elke tossed another string of squibs, switched from carbine to shotgun with a fling of the slings, and fired low overhead. The bird bomb banged loudly and that part of the wave broke and scattered.

  They walked around a couple of bodies. Fighting had been ongoing here for some time, or it might never have really stopped, just shifted from place to place.

  They came past the front of the car as Elke fired again. This was some kind of incendiary that slammed into a guy’s chest, erupted in white flame, and filled the air with the fried bologna stink of burning flesh.

  Aramis fired left, a short burst. That cleared space for Lionel to slip into formation. Alex heard one burst to the rear, probably from Bart, and one more to right from one of Cady’s men, and he needed to remember their names. Also, everyone was showing fantastic fire discipline, but that wasn’t what they needed.

  “Aramis, what’s the route and rendezvous?”

  “We hit a wall two blocks ahead. It’s partially finished. We can work around to the east.”

  “Straight for the wall then, and left. Don’t run out of ammo, but don’t be frugal if we get crushed.”

  For now, though, this crowd wanted distance. They had respectable clear space, but there was a mostly-hidden rifle, poking from between two kids, held by the man behind them. That was disgusting.

  “Jason, fix that,” he said and pointed.

  Jason swung his weapon as if at some sport shoot, came into line, fired one shot, and the man’s head split. He collapsed dead. The kids jumped back, stared wide-eyed, then ran. Good. Some of these savages trusted in God to keep them dead or alive. It was a convenient excuse to be violent shitbags. Did God tell you to stop? Then he must approve.

  A large eruption behind them was the car exploding. Metal, plastic and body parts of looters tumbled and fluttered through the air. It was company policy, military policy and good tactics not to leave assets for the enemy. Elke really enjoyed asset denial.

  There was sporadic fire here and there, though little seemed aimed their way. Occasional cracks indicated someone in one of those buildings was shooting at them, but not actually shooting them. Still, sooner or later he’d get lucky, though.

  There were abandoned construction tools here, from both the wall and a new block of ugly being built to the west. If the troops wanted to complain about overpaid contractors, they could start with these, who were apparently owned by the SecGen’s brother, and building all kinds of stuff that wouldn’t be needed, appreciated, or allowed to stand long. Generators, a mix truck, several extruders, brace erectors, pumps. The breakage was awful, and the government’s response was to send more.

  Eh. Less interesting than the approaching wall.

  Aramis spoke over net. “Hit the wall, turn east, we’ll have right side hard cover, sporadic on the left. About a kilometer.”

  Alex said, “Cady, I want someone to drop those repeater phones as we go. Flank out about two hundred meters, toss one in a gutter or other convenient place. If they wind up wandering around due to local action, so much the better.”

  “Got it. Give five each to Roger and Adam.”

  Jason handed the sack over to Roger Edge, who dug in, handed some over to Adam Helas, then dodged out of the loose formation and headed west.

  The rest kept running. Alex was in decent shape, and not that much older than the others, he told himself, but dodging through debris, obstacles and potential threats had him well-winded. A rest was in order, but firefights tended to interfere.

  They reached the wall, found an unfinished ditch from construction, and piled in, Bart reaching up to handle Highland and Jessie down. The Medusa wasn’t powered, so he was carrying its weight plus theirs. Once they were down he went back to function checks.

  “Take a brief break,” he gasped. “Water, breathe, check ammo and gear. Jason and Lionel keep watch. Rotate. Reports?”

  Cady said, “All accounted for. I’m getting some tingles of scans.”

  Jason said, “So am I. We won’t be hidden for long. Ma’am, are you still wearing your vest?”

  Highland, bent with hands on knees, twitched and said, “That? Yes . . . and the body . . . armor. God, I itch.” She belched, not quite a dry heave. The day was getting hot, too. Add in the haze around the construction, normal city dust and propellant gases, and everyone was going to have trouble breathing.

  Alex said, “Catch your breath, ma’am; we’ll be moving again in moments. It’s going to be intense and hectic, but we’ll have everyone tied up shortly.”

  She sounded a bit better as she said, “Tell me again . . . what we’re doing.”

  “We’re going to tie as many hostiles as possible up fighting each other. Then we only have to deal with ones who make a concerted effort to come for you. We’re going to kill them.”

  She nodded while drawing in breaths.

  “Jessie, how are you doing?”

  “Scared,” she said, and the trembles gave it away. She seemed recovered from the running and ready for more. Young, light, unencumbered by gear. Must be nice. And yes, scary.

  “Good. Time to move,” he said. “Bart, Aramis assist Ms. Highland. Lionel assist Jessie. Elke and Jason on point.”

  Jason said, “Always a punishment for being best. Let’s do it.”

  CHAPTER 25

  ARAMIS FELT GOOD, with occasional tingles of fear. These trogs loved their random gunfire, and relied on prayer for hits. Prayer and hits had about the same likelihood of success, but enough millions of rounds meant someone would hit the jackpot. He’d been fragged once in a previous mission, tortured this time . . . he felt mortal. Not good.

  Highland was in that state of mind where she’d try to lag for rest. It wasn’t conscious, and military training taught you to get past that, but she hadn’t had that, so he grabbed an arm with Bart and hurried her along. She was courageous enough. Again he wondered why she bothered posing. He didn’t like the bitch, but she had enough guts if she’d just show those.

  Jessie ran alongside, offering encouragement.

  “Come on, ma’am. We’re doing it. We’re with you.”

  Aramis would have preferred to get Military Trainer on her, but it wouldn’t help. She was working hard.

  The route was as it should be. This wall was farther along than he’d expected, though. Trust the government to get something right at the wrong time.

  “We turn in two hundred meters,” he said.

  Cady sounded angry. “The devil we do. Those crabherders got the berm built.”

  “Aw, shit.”

  Yes, he could see it, past the debris, tools and remains of buildings. The wall was still being built, but the berm used to set it was steep, high and had that cut in the middle, where the wall would go. Some eager crew had run ahead of schedule, probably to wangle for budget.

  “Now I hate contractors,” he muttered.

  “We’ll have to cross it,” Jason said. “Not quite my field of engineering, but if I can find some poly sheets or lumber, we can do it.”

  It was then that a targeted drone zipped over the berm and dove for them with an angry buzz.

  Even Highland remembered her gun, and eleven weapons swung that way.

  Aramis was just behind Jason. Jason was slightly in the lead, and grinned as he got the gun lined up. Then the drone spit itself to pieces, as he heard rapidfire from the Medusa. Bart had beat him.

  “Well done,” he acknowledged. That put him back to the event at hand—combat construction of a bridge while at the top of a berm between hostiles. Aramis wondered how the hell you did that.

  Cady said, “I don’t wish to alarm anyone, but the angry mob is about three minutes behind us and closing.”

  Some sort of projectile wooshed and crashed not far away, and they all dove for cover amidst cable drums and re-rod boxes.

  Elke said, “Recon” and swung her shotgun. The dull sound gave away what she’d fired. The tiny camera snapped photos as it flew, and the computer in her visor stripped away the worth
less ones that showed sky. She thumbed a control, clicked for several, and a moment later they popped up on his goggles.

  Neither resolution, aperture nor size were good, but it was clear enough there was a missile mortar support element on the far side. They seemed to be some local army, but it was hard to tell which and didn’t matter.

  Aramis tried hard to chill the frustration. It wouldn’t help, and they needed clear thinking right now. Active hostiles over the berm/wall. Others closing. Exactly what they wanted, except for being stuck in the middle. Engineering was Jason’s job. They had light support weapons in the Medusa. They had a reinforced squad. Alex was a good leader, what could he do to help?

  Alex said, “We could really use some mortar fire. Elke, any ideas? Charges we can toss?”

  She looked at him, looked at Jason, Jason looked at her, and the two of them took off at a low sprint.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Alex muttered. “Aramis, Bart, keep Witch covered.”

  “Yes, sir,” Aramis nodded.

  For now, all they could do was bunker down. That berm was very solid, and they lacked anything with the required punch.

  Aramis was embarrassed. This new army was not as capable as his had been. In less than five years, the entire philosophy had changed with the leadership. They were more geared toward fighting lightly armed rebels than real threats. That came from consensus building rather than competent central authority.

  Still, they were keeping the rebels here well tied up. Though at some point soon, someone higher up would order a heavier engagement, he was sure.

  Some kind of engine roared behind the building. It was a turbine, and sounded military. He got ready to shoot at the driver if he had to.

  It could also be an industrial engine, he realized, as a cement mixer barreled around the corner, leaving tire compound in tracks and throwing debris. Jason and Elke were in the cab, he driving, she on shotgun. Jason braked hard but kept it straight, which threw the doors open to crack hinges against the detents. They bailed out in leaping rolls as it reached zero speed, and took cover as it sped up again, the engine revving in an insane whine. Jason had jammed it in gear, pinned the steering and let the engine run.

  It almost reached the berm when Elke rose enough to key something on her box, and the explosions started.

  The first one lifted the rear of the vehicle two meters off the ground in a dusty slam. The second ripped the drum from its mounts and angled it up and forward while throwing the damaged chassis back down. The third one blew as the truck smashed into the berm.

  As the drum stood upright, a dull whump rippled it, then peeled it into petals from the mouth, turning it into a bizarre metal flower. The contents erupted out the mouth in a volcanic splash of gray ooze, looking like ten cubic meters of fantasy lava, in globs and clumps and a huge fountain. It caused a dark, foreboding shadow as it rose. It reached apogee, tumbled and fell, right behind the berm.

  Twelve tons of concrete “mortar” wasn’t quite what he had in mind, but the wreckage against the berm made a convenient step, and there wasn’t any enemy fire in that area. The steel flower of the blown drum tumbled and fluttered down to land atop the glop.

  “Well done.” Alex couldn’t say anything else. “We’ll need to detour north.”

  Bart took point and let the guns swivel. He chose targets near people but legitimately kept the casualty count low, though there were always collaterals.

  Like that pair with what looked like a crude rocket launcher. It might be effective and it might hit, so he tagged them for a grenade and felt it kick the harness as it launched. It was an incendiary. He was out of the antipersonnel rounds.

  It splashed in sparkly white, ripping one in pieces and sending the other shrieking in basso wails until he fell over and convulsed and stopped.

  “Keep moving,” Alex said. “We’re following.”

  He did so, lumbering along, and something sailed past him. The visor flashed a warning, but it was outgoing, something on a string, so probably Elke’s. That was confirmed when it hit the ground and cascaded in stages, from a first brilliant flare to gleaming fires, to flashing sparks and embers. Something overhead arced into the conflagration at high speed and exploded. She’d decoyed it.

  Bart said, “I think they’ve escalated. Elke successfully shut off this section. The others are increasing fire.”

  Cady asked, “Do we have any idea which faction it is?”

  Jason said, “I’d almost say army, except the fire is almost too good and all lethal. Aerospace Force doesn’t have that kind of hardware. It’s not Marines, in this sector, so it’s a local faction. I’d guess that’s the Sufi. They’re about the best local.”

  “Well, if we can keep that up, we’ve got a semi-professional contact approaching from the north.”

  “Interesting,” Aramis said. “That’s Amala territory, and they’re certainly not anything professional.”

  Helas asked, “Suborned? An elite group? Infiltrated?”

  Elke had some kind of scanner, and said, “Munitions are Croatian. So they may be anyone’s.”

  Jason looked frustrated as he said, “Who cares? We knew it wouldn’t go as planned. Move!”

  They clustered up around Highland and Jessie and ran east in a crouch. After the berm there was a ditch, then debris where annexed property had been demolished. He presumed that was their immediate destination. It was a solid kilometer, and he was already breathing hard, with the weight of the Medusa, and Highland’s drag.

  Jessie was keeping good pace, though. She certainly had been a runner.

  The occasional fire increased. Then another drone rose behind them. He heard it, but it had to have already logged them. He turned, sighted, let the #2 gun slap a burst into it, and resumed.

  Alex said, “Bart just killed a drone. Assume we’re compromised.”

  “That wasn’t a military drone,” Elke said. “Do we have a photo?”

  Bart said, “Yes, but I’m not sure how to get it from the system. Is it important?”

  “It might be,” she said.

  “Then I will try.” He was running, would soon have to actively dodge fire, half-carrying a weakened noncombatant and thirty kilos of Medusa. Now they wanted him to do technical work while avoiding debris and craters.

  He thumbed a control, then another. There it was, and then gone. Scheisse. Hopefully not lost. There. He leapt like a 150 kilogram ballerina over a large chunk of concrete. He found the link for network, confirmed it was the one Jason projected from his pack, and sent it.

  “Sent,” he called to Elke.

  A moment later she said, “That’s a Ranco Industries model, last generation. They lost the trials on UN military, but were declined export license. They were a little too good for that.”

  Highland said, “But Blanding was CEO of Ranco before he . . .”

  And she’d been talking to him, at length.

  Alex said, “He was a suspect.”

  Cady added, “He may not be the only one. Alliance? Overlapping?”

  “We can’t know.”

  Highland’s voice was ragged as she hurled, “I want that fucker dead.”

  “Not in our power to do, ma’am,” Alex said as he dropped alongside. He needn’t have. She found renewed energy somewhere and surged. Bart let her move ahead.

  “If you get a chance . . .”

  “We will follow contract, law and rules of engagement. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “Fuck you, too,” she snarled.

  “Cover in there,” Aramis said and pointed. “There are supposed to be tunnels.”

  “Tunnels?” Jessie asked.

  “Power conduit tunnels, more than big enough to crawl in.”

  “I’ll try,” she said. Claustrophobe?

  “That’s our best bet at the moment.”

  A serious, aimed burst of machine gun fire chewed chips from the debris around them. They shouted, shrieked or grunted as they felt minded to. Bart tracked back as best
he could, fired a burst into the building from #1, and followed with a grenade from #4.

  Then he almost smashed Highland into the wall as he turned to go sideways through the door. He paused to let her shift, banged his weapon and his knee, but got through, dragged her carefully past the frame, as Aramis brought up the rear.

  “Must . . . rest,” she rasped.

  Aramis said, “One swallow of water, three deep breaths, and we have to find the tunnels.”

  “Should we split up?” Cady asked. “We can do more damage?”

  Bart wasn’t sure where her advantage came from, but Cady hardly seemed winded. She rolled on the balls of her feet, ready to spring.

  “Down, or up?” he asked, because more than that would tire him. Also, he wasn’t sure about dragging the bitch—either Highland or the Medusa—through the tunnels.

  It was Lionel who said, “Above offers sniping position. Under will be harder to locate. We need to be rats.”

  Alex agreed. “Even though we’re taking the fight to them, we’re twelve, currently ten, versus thousands. We want to instigate, not wave our arms and offer it up.”

  “Through here,” Aramis said. There was a collective groan, sigh, murmur and agreement that moving was better than standing, and they all followed at a jog, which would be easy except for the exhaustion of the previous sprints.

  This had been an office building, perhaps twenty years ago. On Earth it would have been replaced by now. Here, it had apparently become apartments, then offices again, and the structure was weakened by a combination of substandard materials, age and conflict. Yes, if the tunnels were of good depth, they would be much safer than any elevation in this derelict.

  Aramis seemed to know where they were going, and it was impressive how many maps, charts and building plans he could have. It was almost as if he had an inertial tracker in his brain.

  They took a turn, then another. They went through what had been an office but had only broken remains of fixtures and furniture left. The walls had been pried to access the wires and fibers. That led to another door, to a service corridor.