by Blaze Ward
“Always wanted to do this,” he said, swinging with both hands.
The material was some sort of safety glass. Silicon based, but covered over with a polymer layer of some sort. It fractured into pieces no bigger than her fingernail, but only a tiny number of those fell into the room.
“Oh? That’s how it’s going to be?” he growled.
Siobhan chuckled as he shifted his stance. Nothing like an engineer thwarted when he wanted to break something.
This blow was flat, aimed at a corner of the now-broken glass, just above the frame. There was a LOT of torque involved, especially as strong as Bok was. And as angry.
This shot took out most of the glass from the bottom half. A reverse blow finished it off.
One of the marines, Siobhan thought it was Gerry, but she couldn’t tell with the helmets and armor, squatted down outside the window, presenting a knee and holding out a hand.
She watched the other five marines use the knee as a step, and the hand up as a brace, and each hopped into the dark room beyond, flashlights on helmets lighting things up as they moved, guns tracking like bloodhounds.
“Sir?” the marine called to her next, so Siobhan went in.
She didn’t bother drawing a gun. If the five in front of her couldn’t handle whatever came up, there was little she could do to help.
Instead, she pointed to an interior door, currently closed. It looked like a utility closet. Felt like one, in any case.
Bok was beside her now, watching the marines clear the building professionally in two pairs.
“What’s in there, you suppose?” Siobhan pointed.
“One way to find out,” Bok smiled.
Siobhan fell in with Bok and his two engineers. He walked right up to the door and tried to turn the lock, but it didn’t move.
“Worth a try,” he said, with a laugh.
One of the engineers rapped loudly on the hinges, visible on this side of the door.
“Yup,” Bok agreed. “Pop ’em and let’s see what we’ve got.”
Siobhan could tell that she’d spent too much time in space, around powered hatches and airlocks. She watched in confusion that turned to awe as the man pulled out a simple screwdriver, drove it into the bottom of the hinge, and popped a pin out the top with his fist. He did the same with the other one, and Bok just pulled the door out of the frame by the handle.
“Ah,” the Boatswain laughed, looking in. “That’s what we’re looking for.”
Siobhan lined her helmet light up with the small closet. Sure enough, an electrical panel filled one section of the wall.
“Security team,” she said over the local radio. “We’ve found the breakers for the building. Stand by while we shut everything off. Emergency lights may come on in your area.”
Bok stepped up and ran one big mitt down the line of breakers, snapping them off with cracks like lightning. Around her, Siobhan watched terminals and comm gear go dark.
“Top, found a motor pool,” a female voice said over the comm. Nakisha, probably.
“Where?” Siobhan answered.
“North east corner, ground floor,” came the answer.
Siobhan managed to be a step faster than Bok and his men this time.
“Tower level secured,” came another man’s voice. Vladimir, she thought. “Building uninhabited. All automated systems appear to be shut down.”
“Join us at the motor pool,” Trinidad’s voice came on the line. “All hands.”
It wasn’t much, when she got there. One smaller sedan, a four-seater that looked like the sort of thing visiting inspectors got hauled around in. The other vehicle was more to her liking.
It was a big, battered flatbed, riding on two, massive banks of repulsors, with a small cab for two people, and a space six meters wide and nearly twenty long in back. Looked like a gray dragon crossed with a barroom brawler. A long, blue tarp was folded up on the bed and tied down, like an opera cape.
“Markus, you drive,” Bok called as they got close.
“I’m rated on equipment this size,” Nakisha shot back across the radio.
“You’ll be in back if you need to shoot at people,” Siobhan overrode the woman’s complaint. “I’m in the cab with Markus, everyone else under the tarp and tie it down loosely enough that you’re covered, but can still shoot if you have to. Nobody fires until Trinidad or I give the order.”
This whole adventure was starting to feel like driving a ground vehicle up an icy hill. Once you got going, it was necessary to maintain your momentum, or you might slide back. CS-405 was in orbit, watching, so nobody could sneak up on them that way, but there was a whole planet of potential trouble down here.
Now, she just had to break into that warehouse without attracting attention.
Burglars (April 20, 402)
Trinidad supposed the city was also called Barnaul, at least until the population got big enough to have two towns. Maybe they just called it The Town.
He didn’t feel like stopping a random pedestrian to ask. People might get the wrong idea, considering his armor. Instead, he kept low, riding under the big blanket like a warm, happy piglet. One with a gun in hand. Nakisha was watching the other side. Their feet were just touching under the blanket so a silent kick could get his attention if trouble broke out.
Trinidad kept his opinions to himself about how much better a driver Markus was over Nakisha. Engineers tended to be careful when moving heavy equipment. Most of the time, Nakisha drove like Death was on her heels and gaining ground.
Barnaul was a dreary place. Or whatever the city they were driving through was called. At least this part of it, anyway. Trinidad could see an area more lit-up, about a kilometer over from the side street/alley where they suddenly halted and grounded the big truck. From the map in his head, that was the main square for town, bounded by the government building, mine offices, and a big department store that served most of the town’s needs.
Right now, Trinidad figured they were in the industrial quarter. Concrete slab walls in all directions, with a marked lack of graffiti, told him he wasn’t home in Aquitaine. He couldn’t imagine this much canvas not attracting some budding talent. Or a busybody government turning it all into murals celebrating whatever they valued.
Buran was too efficiency-minded to waste money on making things pretty. At least this far out on some forgotten frontier, away from the more civilized places, where Scholars might take a different view.
A door opened. A second. Siobhan appeared in his line of sight. She paused to look both directions, and up.
“All clear,” she said quietly.
Meercats boiled out of their den at the words, bodies flowing down the sides of the flatbed, guns pointed all directions.
He had good people.
Trinidad looked quickly around and figured the Director of Photography would probably put his cameras there. Out of the way and with good exposure to all the action. Bad guys would probably come from that direction. Accidental bystander would probably appear around that other corner.
Quickly, Trinidad laid out coverage zones for his people, taking advantage of the script in his head and hoping this turned into a caper instead of a car chase.
Behind him, Siobhan and Bok conferred in quiet tones, safely inside the cocoon of armed men and women with lots of guns. Trinidad tapped Nakisha to join them inside. She was only a First-Rate-Spacer, but that was just time-in-grade. He could see her as a Yeoman in another year, and maybe a Centurion like him, a few after that.
A thought pulled Trinidad into the conversation the inside team was having.
“We’re supposed to do maximum damage to the enemy, right?” he asked quietly.
“That’s right,” Siobhan answered. “Just about to ask Bok for something to set a fire, once we get everyone out we want.”
“Nakisha,” Trinidad said louder, getting her attention. “You’ve got a thermal, right?”
“Yes, sir,” she barked quietly, grinning ear to ear. “Two.”
“There you go,” Trinidad said. “Not enough to burn concrete walls, but more than enough to go all pyromaniac, whenever you want.”
“Perfect,” Siobhan exclaimed. “Bok, get your boys to work opening that door.”
“On it,” the Boatswain said, dragging Markus along.
Trinidad went back to the side of the truck, thought about it for a moment, and climbed up onto the flatbed. He judged heights and distances.
Yeah, that will work.
Markus had parked close to a warehouse wall, just past the spot where they could roll the garage door up and load the bed easily.
“Gerry, up and give me a hand,” Trinidad called, climbing up onto the roof of the cab next.
Gerry was there a moment later.
“What’ve you got, boss?” he asked.
“You brace feet here and hands on the side of the building,” Trinidad said. “I’ll climb your back, and that gets me to the roof to provide enfilading fire if we need it.”
Gerry nodded and leaned against the concrete wall like this was a detective show and he had just gotten busted by the good guys. Trinidad hid his chuckle, holstered his pistol, and went up the man’s back like a boy squirrel chasing a girl in the spring.
From Gerry’s shoulders, he could just reach the top, but not get leverage higher.
“Gerry, I need a hand up,” he said quietly.
Gerry shifted all his weight to the left side and pulled his right hand back. Trinidad felt the palm go under his boot and grip hard.
“Ready?” Gerry called with a grunt.
“Go.”
Gerry’s arm straightened out and nearly shotputted Trinidad onto the roof. The marine wasn’t all that bright, but he could probably take even someone as strong as Bok, seven falls in ten in Greco-Roman wrestling.
“Good,” Trinidad said. “I’ve got the roof. Shift yourselves around some to cover without me down there.”
Trinidad watched for a moment to make sure they had it under control, and then moved to a different side.
The roof up here was slanted maybe five degrees from a center beam. Just enough to cause rain to run off instead of pooling. Probably to keep the dust and sand from accumulating, considering how hot it must get around here. Didn’t look like it ever rained. A meter-tall wall ran around the outside like a balcony railing, providing him a solid barrier in case somebody opened fire. Or a balustrade to land on, in the middle of a good hand-to-hand fight sequence.
Except he’d need a camera up in the air to catch the view just right. Maybe next time.
Hell, if this was going to be an ongoing thing, maybe they needed exactly that, a camera drone, low-profile, that someone could fly around and see beyond corners.
Trinidad made a note to ask Bok to build him something. Or Markus. The crazy redneck would probably see that as a challenge, working with so few correct parts and needing to improvise.
Trinidad took up an overwatch spot with a good view of the approaching main street and watched. The truck was in a side lot, out of sight. Hopefully, out of mind.
Felony Breaking and Entering (April 20, 402)
Siobhan finally understood Trinidad’s nervous twitch, drawing his weapon and checking the charge every few minutes. It gave him something to do while he waited on other people doing things.
She caught herself rocking back and forth while Markus and Bok worked. The faceplate was off the panel beside the door, exposing part of a circuit board and wires, with low voices and a few gestures with tools.
There was nothing for her to do. She almost drew her own pistol to check it, but stopped herself in time. That was Trinidad’s thing. She would just have to come up with her own nervous habit. Flexing every finger in sequence, outer to inner, seemed to soothe her nerves.
Bok grunted a rude profanity. Markus sliced a wire, and the door suddenly retracted into the wall like a starship hatch.
“We’re in,” Markus said over his shoulder.
Nakisha materialized from nowhere, before Siobhan could take even a step, a green and black ghost with a rifle pointed at the floor.
“Me, first,” she insisted.
Siobhan nodded and squeezed a quick fist. Now would finally be the time to draw the pistol.
She left the safety on anyway.
Inside, the ceiling vaulted to something like seven meters. High enough for a second story, but none had been added. Instead, rack shelving dominated the space, full of metal shipping crates that seemed to come in three distinct sizes, the biggest of which looked to be a matched fit for the bed of the truck out front.
Probably a Buran standard she would need to master at some point. She could see stealing the truck by just driving it and a cargo right up the ramp of Anna and flying away. Future raids would be a lot easier if the team came with their own transport.
The blast of cold air in her face was a shock, after the night’s heat. Solid, concrete walls insulated pretty well, especially with cladding on the inside. The air temperature here seemed to be about eight degrees above zero. In her ear, her armor’s system clicked loudly and beeped, letting her know that the cooling system had just changed its mind and cranked the heat up instead.
Proofed against weather, Siobhan followed Nakisha inside.
The warehouse went on forever. Siobhan hadn’t taken long blocks into account when mapping this place, realizing intellectually now that this was two, square, long blocks under a single roof. And this was the smaller warehouse, mostly dedicated to refrigerated and frozen goods, which meant foodstuffs for the most part, plus liquefied gases. She had a note to herself to grab a few bottles of compressed oxygen for welding and such, if they came across them. Also useful to supplement the life support system.
None of the crates were painted with contents on the outside, just bar codes. But she had been prepared for that.
“Find me the shipping office,” she said out loud.
Nakisha moved deeper into the vast space, Siobhan in her wake.
There seemed to be something over there, about midway down this last aisle. At least the shelving ended in a wall of some sort. A walk would be nice, given how her breath fogged in here, but Siobhan wasn’t sure about the dry, metallic taste to the air.
The world’s biggest walk-in refrigerator, although it paled next to the one back on Anameleck Prime where the Navy staged things for Home Fleet. She’d served a quick stint there while originally waiting for the orders that got her to First Expeditionary Fleet.
Behind her, Siobhan could hear Bok and Markus at work on the controls for the garage door. It rolled up suddenly. A few moments later, the flatbed backed in through the door in a welter of roars and beeps, but they were muted at this distance.
Siobhan glanced back as she joined Nakisha at what looked like an interior office block, probably insulated and heated for workers to be in short sleeves. Most of the group was outside or by the door, leaving only Nakisha with her, and Dedra Janowski.
“Door’s unlocked,” Nakisha said. “Ready?”
Siobhan pointed her gun in the right direction and nodded.
The marine pulled it open suddenly on silent hinges.
Warm air bled out.
Yup. Office.
They were through and closed the door quickly. Siobhan’s suit chirped again and went neutral with the HVAC controls. At least until she started moving again and got overheated.
Unlike the Fribourg Empire’s fetish for paper records, Buran was all electronic. The room had no filing cabinets at all, just a series of workstations, plus a long, chest-high counter, presumably where folks came in when they wanted to pick up goods in storage, or drop them off.
Siobhan crossed to one of the workstations and pressed a button on the keyboard. The screen lit up for a username and password.
Crap. Like I’m going to know that?
So much for only stealing good stuff.
Siobhan huffed and was just about to go have Bok start cracking cases when Dedra stopped her.
&nb
sp; “What are you doing?” Siobhan asked as the second woman opened the top drawer, rifled around some, and pulled out a small notepad.
Nakisha Onks was covering the front door, out onto the street, with a mean-looking rifle.
“Here,” Dedra said, holding the pad up. “Try this.”
The pad had random characters scrawled on several lines, all but the last one crossed out.
“Seriously?” Siobhan asked. “Who does that?”
“Someone who hates facing a ninety-day password cycle,” Dedra grinned. “Got a few of them back on the ship. When I’m feeling mean, I cross out a line and add a new one without saying anything. Then they put the wrong one in three times and lock themselves out.”
“You’re evil,” Siobhan noted.
“Guilty as charged.”
But that turned out to be the password for the last person to log in here. The screen lit up.
“What in all hells is that?” Dedra asked, peeking over Siobhan’s shoulder as Siobhan sat and typed.
“Mongolian,” Siobhan said. “Anna’s all Mongolian, these days, so we have to read it as well as speak it.”
She quickly toggled through a few menu items.
“Here we go,” she muttered out loud. “Chickens, cleaned and frozen. One for every pot.”
She selected the icon and watched the screen flip happily to an internal map of the facility.
“Need me?” Dedra asked.
“Nope,” Siobhan replied. “Bok will, shortly.”
The woman nodded and trotted out the front door.
“Bok,” Siobhan called on the radio. “Aisle Four. Section seven. Big container.”
She read the shipping number, waited for his acknowledgement, and went digging for the next container. The chicken was in one of the big boxes, so it would fill the truck, but Anna had an overhead crane that could unload it.
She considered the timing, but things were looking good. She would send half the team back to Anna to quickly unload the cargo, and then find something else to steal here.
There was a whole warehouse of goodies awaiting her.