“We’re friends,” one said in a hurried voice.
The other Angriff spoke into his headset, “We’ve got the girl.”
***
“Joniver, did you hear the sound of gunfire?” Dunston said. “That sound was my men taking out two Guardsmen who were holding Emily. Now let’s go!”
“I see Emily first,” Joniver said. As he spoke, two more Angriff troops rounded the corner with Emily, and she stared wide-eyed at Joniver.
“What are you doing with a gun to your head?” Emily could hardly believe the scene.
Joniver did not waver. He looked Dunston in the eye. “Do I have your word she will come too?”
“Yes! Yes, dammit, yes!” Dunston said.
Joniver lowered the gun, and Dunston walked forward, snatching it from his hand while his men filed out. He looked at Joniver with an intensity Joniver had never seen.
“You touch my gun again, or threaten me again, especially in front of my men, and you will wish for death. I will reach up your asshole and grab your heart, pull it out and show it to you while I crush it with one hand. Do you understand me?”
Joniver surprised even himself. He did not show fear, and stuck his jaw out in defiance. “If it means saving Emily, I’ll take whatever I need.”
Emily was a few meters down the hallway but overheard the exchange. Her heart first leaped into her throat, then melted like chocolate over a fire.
Dunston however, did not melt. He stared at Joniver and walked out the door. As he passed Emily, he said, “Your piece of shit boyfriend better be worth it.”
Emily saw the Angriff troopers working their way down the hallway and looked at Joniver.
She smiled, “C’mon, we need to go, you piece of shit boyfriend!”
“Emily,” Joniver said, walking toward her and a little embarrassed, “don’t talk like that. It makes you sound like one of those mangy mutts.”
She smiled and grabbed his hand as he exited.
***
The atmosphere in the hallway grew more and more tense with each step.
“Boss, we gotta go and I mean now!” Beetle shouted over his headset. “Fertilizer’s about to hit the ventilator!”
There were two Guardsmen en route and if Angriff intelligence reports were correct, they were the shift relief for the guys who had been put to sleep. Finding them not on duty would create significant alarm, to say nothing of finding the two Guardsmen they had to whack. This kind of alarm would wreck the exfiltration.
“What are you ladies doing?” Jones’s voice was on the radio this time. “The systems are rebooting and we have maybe 12 minutes."
“Beetle, take out those two,” Dunston ordered.
“That’s good Boss, but if they fail to report back in about 6 minutes, we will have Guardsmen all over us.”
“Take them out, Beetle!” Dunston punctuated his words with another staccato rhythm. Although he was upset with Joniver, it was Beetle who took the brunt of it right now. Dunston ran to the front of his group and headed toward the stairway access.
The air turned thick. Dunston sensed the possibility of what should have been, could have been, a successful mission devolving into something of a chaotic blood bath. He saw the strain percolate out like coffee and spill over the group. Dunston’s anxiety was well-founded, however. They had seven minutes to get to the exfil, or they might not get out at all.
“Move when you have to, Jones!” Dunston ordered.
“Packing up now. We have five minutes.”
“What the hell happened to the twelve we had just two minutes ago?” Dunston demanded.
“Different processor configuration than we anticipated, and the source code is not stored outside the machine. It’s kept in a partition on the organic bubble memory.”
“English, Jones, give it to me in English!”
“These are not the machines we trained on. We made it work, but they are booting a helluva lot faster than anything I’ve seen.”
“Get outta there and get to the exfil sight. Is the Tri-Fan Plane on its way?” Dunston shouted.
“Affirmative, Boss,” Jones said, and Dunston had his first glimmer of hope. At least something was going the way it was planned, but his optimism was premature.
***
They raced down the stairs and into the passageway. Beetle’s team scouted for trouble in front of the group. They were so crunched for time, Dunston considered taking the train, but if the computers booted faster than Jones predicted, the trains would shut down. They would be trapped. Moving is better than trapped, he thought.
Dunston looked at his watch. They had three more minutes, and he estimated they needed five. He pushed the group as hard as he could through the abandoned walkway. He saw Blueberry and the girl were keeping up - that’s good. He hoped nothing happened to Blueberry. He looked forward to a successful mission, presenting Joniver to North Command. Then I’m going to beat the living shit out of him, Dunston thought.
They were running whenever possible, jumping over the debris and junk in the walkway. They reached the junction with few problems, and both Bravo and Delta headed up the stairs. Once at the top they went opposite the entrance they had used earlier, but the pickers were still a problem. Dunston looked toward the end of the terminal, and he could see through the plate glass windows the lights of their escape plane in the distance. He felt good for the first time. What happened next was just bad luck.
***
Jacob walked through the terminal, his head down and sulking. He had not enjoyed this evening and a morose air hung about. He and his team had been able to respond to the tip, and his mates had arrested the girl, but it was somehow unsatisfying. He thought through what it was he loved about being a Guardsman. He loved the activity and the training. He loved, loved, loved the obstacle course. He loved the competition and he loved the weapons training and practice.
All of those activities were ones he could stay active and in control. The actual practice of patrol was too routine for his tastes. Granted, they had searched for a rebel, but when the girl was identified and they were ordered to bring her here, all interest ceased and boredom set in.
He did his best not to be bored. He knew a bored soldier was a dead soldier. He needed to stay alert, but my goodness! What could happen here? The rebels wouldn’t be stupid enough to attack the Old Airport! I don’t enjoy being a Guardsman, he thought. I enjoy training to be a Guardsman.
He pulled his cap from his head and examined it in his fist. I don’t even like the uniform, he told himself. The red beret slung to one side creates blind spots and the shoulder boards, while impressive, interfere with my range of motion.
Jacob was on break, and when he could, he enjoyed sitting in the warehouse and watching the pickers do their thing. Tonight, with all quiet, he decided to walk up to the warehouse and hang during his break period. He held his beret and pushed himself back in a corner so he could watch the automated warehouse work.
He watched a load of foodstuffs assembled for transport to the compound mess when he heard something out of place. Jacob heard the whirring and whining of the pickers, but he also heard odd mechanical noises. He leaned forward and stilled his breathing - there it was again!
I’m not just hearing noises, I hear voices!
Jacob inched to the sidewall and waited. In a few seconds he spied a group he estimated at thirteen or so reach the top of the stairs and run away from him toward the end of the terminal building. They moved fast, but were limited by the obstacle course the pickers created.
Why have no alarms sounded, he asked himself. He drew his gun and followed the group, being careful to avoid the articulating arms of the pickers. They’ve done a good job of scouting in front of the group, he thought, but there is no rear guard. Good, they are untrained.
Jacob clung to the shadows offered by the sidewalls, keeping the stacks of goods between himself and the group. He saw one main group with one individual following close behind and decided to target the tra
iler. Jacob planned to pull him to the outside wall, question him and find out if this was a threat or a Guard drill.
Jacob cut across an opening in the stacks, waited for a picker to move, then fell in behind the group. He observed his objective was tall and lanky and trailed the main group by twenty meters or so. Jacob timed his steps. When the group lead reached the midway point of the hallway, he made his move on the target.
Jacob ran up behind the trailer, and just as the guy turned at the sound of footsteps, Jacob clamped a hand over his mouth and threw him onto the maintenance platform. His head flopped over the edge, just missing a picker arm as it swept by. Jacob jumped toward the man so he did not shout, but saw a glint of metal come from nowhere and swipe through the air. He felt the warmth of blood on his left forearm, and he fell back. He didn’t see that the man was armed, but he had not been looking for a knife, either.
Joniver swung the sword in wild arcs. Whoever his assailant was, he had moved back into the shadows and out of sight. Joniver stood on the platform turning one way then another, at the same time dodging picker arms as they sailed past. He had no idea what had just happened. This is what I get for listening to Dunston, he thought. Who was that?
There!
In the shadows Joniver saw movement, but he was suddenly steamrolled, tackled like a wild animal trampling a man. The force of the bullrush was so fierce, Joniver dropped his sword. He swung an elbow into his assailants back as he was driven off the platform and rammed into a supply stack. Joniver slumped to the floor, wheezing to regain his breath. He moved to get up fell but dropped suddenly to the floor as a picker swung past just centimeters from his face.
Joniver stood up again but the attacker jumped him, forcing him to the maintenance platform with his forearm underneath Joniver’s chin, pushing his head back and to one side. He heard his assailant’s voice, “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
Joniver struggled in vain to put up a fight, but the stronger assailant sat on Joniver’s chest, pinning both his arms with his knees. Joniver wrenched in an attempt to get his own legs high enough to kick the man’s head, while Joniver’s head hung over the picker track. He could hear the swooshing sound of the arm as it traveled toward him.
“Who are you?” the attacker insisted.
Joniver craned his neck and cut his eyes, looking for the picker arm he could hear but not see. The attacker pulled Joniver’s head up to miss the passing picker by what felt like millimeters.
Swoosh! Swoosh! The arms swung by heedless of the two young men so close. He put Joniver’s head back down on the track.
“Who are you?” Jacob demanded.
Joniver was losing consciousness. He was not sure if it was a lack of air supply from his throat being crushed, or if the man now on top of him was cutting off blood flow to his brain. Regardless he felt light headed and knew he would pass out soon. At least Emily would be safe, he thought, and his eyes went dark.
Just then, there was an audible thunk, and the man sitting on his chest lurched forward and slumped unconscious on the platform. A hand reached down pulling Joniver and his assailant from the path of the arm as it swung by.
“Come on!” Genevieve said. “He thought we had no rear guard.”
“Yea, whatever,” Joniver said and jumped to his feet. He had never met Genevieve, but he couldn’t help thinking he was once again rescued by a woman. Together they pulled the Guardsman onto the platform away from the picker arms.
Genevieve turned toward the exfil and Joniver followed, when he remembered his sword. “Wait!”
He stepped back and picked it up. As he did so the position of the man’s head on the platform caught the outside artificial light as it cut through the stacks and landing squarely on the attacker’s face.
Joniver froze. What he saw was like looking in a mirror. This guy looks just like me, he thought. How is that possible?
Wait, he remembered what Hunter said about a half-brother. He stooped over the form and tried to remember the details of Hunter’s soliloquy. He said I had a half-brother, and Hunter had him. What did it mean, “He had him?” Could it be he had him in the Guard? Could this be the guy?
Joniver took his mirror’s arm and pulled him into a sitting position. He slung the soldier’s arm over his own shoulder and grunted as he lifted him onto his back in a fireman’s carry. He then snatched up the sword and turned toward the center of the hallway.
Two Angriff troops came back at Dunston’s order. They recognized Genevieve. “Tired of driving around and decided to do some real fighting?” one Angriff asked with a grin.
“Shut up, you asshole,” she said.
The other Angriff saw Joniver with the Guardsman. “Blueberry! What in the hell are you doing?”
Joniver did not understand the Bishop/Blueberry code name, so he could only wonder what the Angriff Trooper meant. “He’s coming with us,” Joniver said.
“No, he’s not. He could be carrying a tracer.”
“Then strip him and find out if you need to, I’m bringing him.”
“The boss isn’t going to like it!”
“He’s coming with us or I don’t go!”
This trick is getting old, one Angriff thought, but they, along with Genevieve, Joniver and the mirror ran toward the end of the terminal, dodging pickers as they went. They arrived in less than two minutes and welcomed the site of the plane landing. When they reached Dunston, he acknowledged the Angriff, gave Genevieve a hug, and just stared at Joniver.
As Joniver carried his load toward the plane’s ramp, the look on Dunston’s face said it all. Here we go again, he thought. Damn Blueberry!
Chapter 12
“Who the f-”
“He’s coming with us,” Joniver shouted over the roar of the plane’s engines, “or I don’t go.”
Dunston stormed to the front of the plane’s cargo hold. His anger skyrocketed to somewhere past infuriation and didn’t stop. This kid had lifted his gun - a big no-no for any soldier - embarrassed him with it in front of his men, demanded mission parameters, and had gotten away with it all.
As Dunston went by Jones, already in the hold and prepping the group for flight, he saw the face of his commander and knew something was wrong. He went to the back of the hold.
“I’m Jones,” he said, sticking his hand out to Joniver and then allowing it to linger just a second longer while shaking Emily’s.
Surely this babe is not with Blueberry, Jones thought. If so, it’s a waste of a beautiful woman, and furthered his personal theory that the best looking women go for the guys who are projects. Women give a man’s man like himself very little chance. You’re thinking like a victim, Jones, he told himself.
“Who’s our sleeping guest?” Jones asked aloud. “I hope he’s resting soundly!”
Joniver lowered him from his shoulder, and Jones helped get him to the floor, cradling the Guardsman’s head in his hands. With the Guardsman on the deck, Jones suddenly stiffened and glanced anxiously between Joniver and the unconscious Guardsman and then back again and again. His eyes went wide and his expression flared with excitement.
“Holy shit!” he said and shot toward the front.
Emily and Joniver just looked at each other, puzzled. The Guardsman did resemble Joniver some, Emily thought, but not that much like him.
Jones recognized what Dunston did not, which is part of what made them such an excellent team. He ran up to Dunston’s side and grabbed his arm, “Boss!”
“What!” Dunston’s Scotch-Irish blood seethed through his veins.
“Do you know who we have back there? Who the Blueberry brought with him?”
“No, I don’t know and I don’t give a flying f-”
“That’s the brother!”
Dunston’s eyes narrowed and he stared with doubt into Jones’ face. “What? Are you sure?”
“I think so. They look exactly alike. If it’s him, we’ve struck the mother lode! We- ”
An explosion rocked the plane and
threw equipment across the fuselage.
“We’ve gotta go, Dunston! We’re taking fire!” the pilot yelled from the cockpit.
“If you’re waiting on me, you’re backing up!” Dunston yelled. “I’m telling you go.”
“Is everyone secur-”
“Just go, dammit! I’ll get everyone secure.”
Another explosion at the right rear fuselage.
“GO! GO! GO!” he bellowed. The steel of the ramp drug for a few meters on the runway concrete as the plane lurched forward.
The sound of explosions seemed to engulf the aircraft as shrapnel shot through the plane’s skin. Two Angriff troopers were cut, one in the right upper thigh and one in the left shoulder.
Dunston did not like it. Despite the injuries and holes in the fuselage, he felt they had been lucky.
This is shaping up to be a cluster, Dunston thought, if we don’t get out of here.
He relived the action in the terminal, and now believed he made a command mistake and should have drugged the Blueberry. What the hell, if they did have the brother and if they did get both of them North alive - two very big ifs - it will possibly have been worth it. Command says they need them both, but why? I guess it’s the same reason Hunter has been trying to get them all this time. Together they must have something Hunter needs, now we have them. We need whatever it is they have, but we need it more, I guess. Dunston tried to make sense of it in his mind.
His thoughts were interrupted by two more explosions. They hit too close and the plane rocked.
The pilot had them off the ground, and he was pulling back hard on his yoke, while banking to the south, away from the city and the anti-aircraft battery.
Dunston said, “Everyone get buckled up! Roberts, make sure our guests are secure! Munster, you’re on the Guardsmen with a gun until I tell you otherwise. He goes nowhere without you! If he takes a piss, you hold his dick!” Dunston noticed Emily. “I’m sorry ma’am. I’m not used to having females on a mission.”
She looked directly at him. “Well maybe you should be. And I know what a dick is.”
Dunston just turned away. “Right…” He felt embarrassed, which was rare for him, and he was suddenly needed forward.
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