by Chris Hechtl
She needed a way to get the enemy back on the defense, to give her breathing room and time to recover. Which was why she'd authorized the mission. Quite frankly she thought of it as a suicidal one. The chances of anyone getting back alive were low.
She'd picked her people carefully for it. The mission leader was sick with a bad cough. Her medics had convinced him he was dying of lung cancer. He was a fool, a stooge for believing them so readily. She had three other stooges for the mission—the guy who was sick with the short black hair she had renamed Moe and was the team leader—Larry the curly haired engineer and locksmith, Curly the muscle, Shemp the backup muscle. But it would be worth it if they could hit the right target.
She leaned over and pressed a key on the microphone. “The mission is a go. I repeat, the mission is a go,” she said before her thumb came off the button.
Now it was up to her to do one of the hardest things she'd learned to do. Sit, wait, and watch the fireworks.
<)>^<)>/
Colonel Valenko Kodiak mused about a job half done. It bothered him. He knew it would never be fully done, but he also knew he should be doing better than he was.
His convoy had arrived a few weeks after First Brigade had settled in. He had managed to see his daughter Netia, who had just made staff sergeant in Second Division briefly. He wished he had more time to be with her, but they each had a career and their own path to follow.
Now that Fourth Division was on the ground, he knew they were doing what they did best, on the offense and hitting the enemy hard while the Army's First Brigade and what was left of Second Division kept the home fires burning and covered civilization. He knew it wouldn't last forever though. The good news was, he'd hit on the strategy of keeping his people concentrated and quartering the sectors with enemy activity. He'd send them in and saturate the area, running the enemy down. They couldn't have many more places to hide. Once he had all their toys, they'd be reduced to using improvised weapons and tactics.
It was working. But he was also running out of time. He had a week before his troop had to start picking up the slack from the last of Second Division's Second Brigade and he started to lose them from the offense permanently.
He had yet to get to the head of the snake though. ONI had confirmed, mainly from the few prisoners they'd caught, that General Busche was still alive and in charge. Getting her one way or another was therefore of major importance. Without her guiding hand, the enemy would eventually fall apart until a new leader came out of their ranks.
But finding her was a bitch. The woman was good at staying just one step ahead of him he knew. But she couldn't run forever. One way or another he'd run her to ground and end their game once and for all he vowed.
<)>^<)>/
Part of the problem with the planning was what they had intended to hijack versus what they managed to find available for the job. Moe had scouted the aircraft hangars as well as the air cars. A civilian cargo air car was the optimum vehicle, but since they were commercial, they were always out and about. Setting a trap for one might work … but then again jacking it would be highly public. The general had ruled that out in favor of taking a craft at the airstrip or docks.
There was a problem with that though. Security had been tight; Moe had reported back to the others that the best route was the dirigibles.
Which was a problem, they had to get the cargo up to them. Which meant a freight elevator. Which meant the need for Larry the pickpocket and locksmith. Larry wasn't as committed to the cause as the others were, so he had a limited use. Unfortunately, his role was essential for the beginning stages of the op.
Moe wasn't sure what Curly knew about the op or the end run. There was a GOTH plan as well as a plan to escape if they could, but he wasn't sure how likely escape would be. They'd have to wait and see he thought as they pulled the van up to the docks.
“The dock is clear for the next twenty minutes since everyone is on their lunch break. I'm taking care of the cameras …,” Moe said as he clicked a button on his phone. The app launched a script to a microcomputer; one of the general's people had put in the camera security system. It would replay a loop of the empty dock for the next five minutes before it shut down. “Now,” he said checking the time. “Move!” he barked, motioning for them to get out and hustle.
<)>^<)>/
Larry grimaced as he picked the lock. He was a lock guy, a thief who usually ran with a crew to do burglaries of jewel shops or banks not this crap. But a job was a job he thought. He didn't know how good his so-called partners were. They'd been pretty quiet to him, so he kept glancing over his shoulders until Moe smacked him on the back of the head. “Pay attention!” Moe snarled.
“Okay, okay, geesh!” Larry said sheepishly. He was glad he had a head of brown curly hair to take some of that blow. It still stung though he thought.
“And hurry the hell up,” Moe snarled.
“Right,” Larry muttered as he finished picking the lock. He undid the shackle and then threaded the chain out. “Done,” he said proudly as he pulled the gate open and stepped aside just in time for Curly and Shemp to move past him with dollies loaded with the first two barrels.
“Don't just stand there, move it,” Curly snarled as he set his barrel down gingerly, then tipped it forward so he could slip the dolly's blade out from under it.
“Cameras are off for another … two and a half minutes,” Moe said.
“That's the longest you could get the loop set up for?” Curly demanded as he came out with the dolly. Shemp and his dolly were hot on his heels.
“Don't look a gift horse in the mouth,” Moe growled.
<)>^<)>/
Ghost thought about it and then checked the status board. Aces High … no. Baker's Dozen … no. Bermuda's Baby …. hell no. That left Crystal Wind. She nodded. Captain Quill it was she thought as she took off at a trot for his dock slip. He was due in pretty soon. If she got there on time, he might have a message or packet for her to hand deliver for him. He had a weakness for cats she knew.
She dropped to all fours and sped up, ducking and weaving between the legs of the larger people. She even stopped to give a pregnant elf a ride to the small elevator chutes before going on. She nodded to a flatfoot, a local law enforcement officer. He tipped his bobby hat to her and then she was on her way with a wink and a nod.
He knew the score no doubt. As long as she minded herself and didn't get too grabby, she could work the docks. But if reports came in of things missing, she'd been warned she'd be the first one he saw. Hence her being on the up and up.
<)>^<)>/
Larry shook his head as he got to the van. They should have just done it on the ground. It would have been cleaner, simpler, but the general's orders had been strict. She wanted maximum devastation, max spread, and max panic, so, air. Air was risky he knew. But, no risk, no reward.
His name wasn't even “Larry.” If his mother ever found out the general had renamed him the name of her hated uncle … he shook his head as he got the lock open and opened the doors wide and then charged in to muscle the next barrel to the edge. He eased it down onto Curly's dolly just as he arrived but then had to turn for the second one while Shemp rallied at him to hurry up.
“I'm goin, I'm goin!” Larry growled back.
“Careful with the explosives, dummy! You want us to go kablooey?! That's dynamite!” Shemp warned, one handout in warning.
“Right,” Larry drawled. “Look, I can go slow and steady or fast and …”
“Just give it here,” Shemp snarled.
<)>^<)>/
Captain Quill settled his ugly craft into the dock without incident. “Nary a bump,” he murmured. He jerked his head to his crew to get to the unloading. He grinned when he noted the dock master was on break. That made it even easier for him. He busied himself with creating a second set of waybills so they wouldn't notice some of his cargo and charge him for it.
Unloading was rather fast; he had a light load for the return trip. He'd
tried to scare up more but his was a special ship. She could only handle packages in a certain size range.
Crystal Wind was a hybrid of the cargo bay off a ground lorry, a gondola for the cab from a dirigible, a pair of high mounted wings on each corner with engine nacelles on the tips … landing gear, fuel tanks in drums, and an assortment of other gear to make sure she flew.
She wasn't pretty he knew, but she was good. And up until the bastards had passed new air-lane laws, she'd been nimble and had allowed him to nip in and around traffic rather fast to get to his intended destination. That had changed though. He wasn't happy about it, but a few tickets had shown him the error of his ways in a hurry.
“When you are done unloading, take a quick lunch, boys,” the captain ordered. “We made good time, and the next cargo isn't supposed to be here for another … hour,” he said checking his pocket watch with a grimace.
He saw a familiar gray Neocat come around the corner and grinned as he snapped the cover of his brass watch closed and then put it away. “Just the lady I wanted to see,” he said, pulling a credit chit and a small package out of his pocket. “Can you handle one on either end?”
“Sure,” Ghost said with an ear flick as she came upright and stepped out of the way of the crew. She was careful about that; never get in the way of the crew or that'd piss the captains off and you wouldn't have any work.
“What do you have, where does it go, and when does it need to get there by?” she asked.
“I always liked a lady who liked a challenge,” the captain said as he pulled a second and third package out of his pockets. “Now, this one …”
<)>^<)>/
“Perfect. I didn't think we'd catch a break, but this airship is perfect,” Moe said as he pointed to the far-most occupied light dock. A commercial lorry that looked like a bastard conglomeration of engineering bits was sitting there on the edge of the dock with clamps around it to keep it secure in the winds.
“Larry, cover the door. Keep the elevator here,” Moe said in an urgent whisper as he pointed down to the deck. “Curly, be ready to move with that first load when I call you. Shemp, take that load and follow,” he ordered.
“Roger,” Shemp said quietly as he maneuvered the dolly with the load. It looked like a normal barrel.
When Moe rounded the corner he smiled indulgently to himself. The captain was there, as was his copilot and engineer. They seemed to be eating sandwiches while going over the ship to check it. Good, they were distracted. His hand went into his right jacket pocket.
“You the load? We'll be ready in a second,” Captain Quill said as he took a hurried bite of his sandwich and then went back to zip tying the wires back to the overhead. He swore under his breath at the untimely interruption.
“I thought my guys were going to meet you halfway with it,” he said.
“Well, plans change,” Moe said as he got to the guy.
Captain Quill turned, puzzled as the guy in the uniform and jacket moved in and then there was a soft bark. Something hot and painful slammed into his stomach and up into his chest. He gasped, bending forward, one hand clutching at his aching abdomen. His knees buckled and he fell to the deck spitting blood. A second shot to his ear finished him off.
The copilot saw his boss go down and tried to lunge past them. Shemp was ready for it; he caught the thin guy. “Where do you think you're going, eh?” he demanded as he wrapped a garrote wire around the guy's throat and pulled with all his strength. The guy kicked and tried to get away but then he blacked out. A moment later his body voided itself.
Shemp dropped the wire. It had cut into the body's throat. He went to unravel it. “Leave it,” Moe ordered.
Shemp looked up and grimaced. He wiped the prints of the wooden dowel handles, then kicked the body to the side to get his load in.
Moe turned and whistled as he moved the other body out of the way.
Curly came with the second load as Shemp took off for his second. There were six loads in total, three for each man. When they got them to the outside of the ship, Moe nodded. He pointed to Larry and then Curly.
“Help us clean up. Fast. Don't dump the bodies; someone will see them. Get them on board,” Moe ordered. He coughed.
“You OK?” Larry said, concerned.
“Just work,” Moe ordered. He coughed again into his hand. According to the Horathian medics, he had some sort of cancer that was eating him from the inside out. He was a goner, but he wanted his death to mean something for the cause. That was why he'd taken the job on.
“I'll check the cab. Check the captain's pocket for a key while I'm at it,” Larry said as he sprang to the gondola. He wanted his part to be done and over with as soon as possible now.
<)>^<)>/
“OK, my job is done. I'll be going,” Larry said as he stood up straight. He was a little nervous. Moe had said the cameras outside the docks had been jigged, but he hadn't said anything about the ones inside the elevator or in the corridors. He was already planning on doing a full makeover as soon as he could. He was even considering shaving his head like that guy Curly Joe had done or maybe a wig, yeah, get a wig …
“What's your hurry?” Shemp said from behind him just as he grabbed a handful of curly brown hair and yanked Larry's head back. Something sharp and painful stabbed its way into the back of Larry's neck. It bored into his brain and wiggled, snapping his spinal column.
His eyes rolled, and he slumped to the ground. Shemp pulled the punch dagger out and then wiped it on the guy's lapel. “I thought he'd never shut up,” he muttered.
Moe eyed him coldly. “Put his body with the others,” he said with a jerk of his head as he continued to wire the bombs together in series as he'd been trained.
<)>^<)>/
The hijacked ship was carefully loaded with barrels of stolen material culled from dentists and doctors’ offices over the course of the past several weeks by various teams. Some of their ill-gotten gains had not even been noticed as having gone missing since they had been taken from the trash. The few that had been taken in robberies had been shrugged off by the local LEOs.
At the core of each of the bombs was a set of civilian grade explosives. Most of it was made out of dynamite that had been taken from people who had lived in the outback as miners or trappers. They'd used it for blasting stumps or mining. The Horathians had other purposes for it however. None of them were alive to miss it anyway.
Moe noted the time. They had another seven minutes before the regular lunch break was up and people started to come back to the docks and work. Their window was closing fast, but it looked like they were ahead of schedule.
All he had to do was finish wiring the batteries, and the rig would be ready to go.
<)>^<)>/
Ghost finished her deliveries quickly. She wasn't even winded. Captain Mace had given her a delivery to go back to Captain Quill, so she eagerly picked up the pace. She saw guys in work uniforms and jackets loading. “Got there just in time,” she murmured to herself happily. Mace's package would prove she'd delivered the first so she'd get a tip from Quill. He was good about that, especially when she hustled. He liked that.
“So, we about done here?” A gruff unfamiliar voice said, making her stop. Slowly she moved forward. The smell of blood made her stop at the open bay door though.
“Just about. The bombs are rigged together. We'll push them out the back, and they'll drop and go off in a sequence. If the winds are right, we'll get ten or so thousand,” Moe said.
“Good. I'll have the escape vehicle ready. Boss lady gave me special instructions on a safe house. We'll need to get out of the city,” Shemp said.
“Is that a fact,” Moe drawled. He turned to Curly. “Get behind the wheel. You're driving this tub,” he said.
“Okay,” Curly said as he finished with the ratchet strap. He cinched it down and then put a pin in to keep it locked in place. He straightened up in time to see a curious Neocat in the open bay door. “Don't look now but trouble!” he said u
rgently, pointing.
Moe turned and saw the cat. He swore. “Get her!” he snarled, lunging for the cat as his right hand dove into his jacket pocket for his pistol.
Shemp's head turned like a turret. He swore and pulled his punch dagger and to throw but the cat scampered off.
He ran into Curly, tangling up with the other man as Moe raced ahead. The duo untangled amongst swearing and followed.
Ghost realized she was out in the open on the nearly deserted section of airship docks. She looked around frantically for a hiding spot. There was no way she'd survive the long stretch of open corridor to the stairs so she yanked the cover plate of a vent off and dived inside.
Moe got to the vent swearing. He looked in, and then snapped off a shot. His .22-pistol round missed. He saw eyes glowing at him fearfully so he shot again. The shot ricocheted in the metal ductwork just as Ghost got to the intersection. The round hit her in the left leg at her thigh, went up through her hip, and then exited her right side, tearing at her innards. It clipped her right forearm as it tumbled past her. She dropped in intense pain as a second shot went high. That one bounced around before it grazed her right shoulder.
That fresh pain spurred her to crawl around the corner and out of the bastard's line of fire. She had to get help, not just for herself, but for others she knew.
<)>^<)>/
“She's getting away!” Shemp snarled as he took a turn looking in the vent. Moe grimaced as he traced his gun around where he had seen the cat go. The duct was too thick for his pistol to get through. Besides, the echo of the shots might have been heard over the fans in the ducts.
“Never mind her. We need to go,” he said, motioning to the others.
“Right,” Shemp said. Moe turned to see the other man was at the stairs. Shemp waved. “See you real soon,” he said with a chipper voice. “Suckers,” he murmured.
“What'd you say?” Moe demanded.