War in Heaven

by Gavin G. Smith

  ‘You’re right. You don’t owe us shit; we owe you. So unless you want money we can’t offer you anything,’ I said.

  Just for a moment her eyes flickered back to me. That was a mistake.

  Morag and Mudge drew on her. Now she had two much smaller automatics pointed at her. When had Morag got so fast?

  Cat just grinned wickedly. ‘Aim for the wounds, boys and girls, because that small-calibre shit is just going to be flattening itself against my armour while I kill Jakob here.’

  ‘Fucking army,’ Pagan said, shaking his dreadlocks despairingly. ‘I suppose having a drink and talking about this before we all decide to kill each other is out of the question.’

  ‘I’m still not hearing a good reason not to kill you,’ Cat said.

  Some of the locals were taking an interest. This wasn’t good. Four obvious outsiders picking on someone who looked like she belonged. People were beginning to edge towards us. So far none of them had drawn guns.

  ‘You stuck up for us. You didn’t raid the node like you were ordered. You must have believed in what we were doing,’ Morag said. There was a kind of pleading in her voice. She really didn’t want this to turn bad. She wanted Cat on board. I was just very eager not to get shot.

  ‘Maybe. But tell me – do you ever think through your actions? The cost to other people.’

  ‘Now wait a minute. We risked a lot. We were trying to help,’ Pagan said. Now he was getting pissed off. He had a point. From our perspective the whole thing had been hard, dangerous and painful from start to finish.

  I didn’t like how the crowd was getting larger and closer.

  ‘“We”? Think further out. I mean did you even get what you wanted?’ she asked. ‘Are you here to ask me to cause more mayhem with you?’

  Mudge started grinning.

  ‘Right again,’ I said. ‘We didn’t think it through enough. We’re trying to make it better if we can. If that’s possible. Cat, you losing your job was pretty much the least of it.’ I could see her finger on the trigger. I wasn’t sure, but it looked like she was starting to squeeze it. ‘But things had to change, and I think you know that. In fact I know you know it because of the decisions you made on the day.’ She was just looking at me now. I couldn’t read her expression but hydrostatic shock from a ballistic injury hadn’t sent my head tumbling through the air, which was good. ‘We’re cunts, I’ll admit that …’

  ‘Good of you,’ she said through gritted teeth.

  ‘But we’re not the bad guys, and I think you know that. You can take it out on us if you want.’ She said nothing but a minute change in her expression suggested she was about to shoot me. I think we’d significantly underestimated how pissed off she was. ‘But you don’t have to!’ I added desperately.

  ‘Cat, please,’ Morag pleaded. I think that was probably more useful than my whole we-are-cunts speech.

  ‘If she shoots you, can I have your bike?’ Mudge asked.

  ‘Fuck you, journo, you’re next,’ Cat said, but I was sure I saw the trace of a smile.

  ‘You’re better off shooting the girl first – she’s faster.’

  ‘Mudge,’ I said exasperated, shaking my head. Pagan and Morag were both smiling.

  ‘What? I’m just saying. It’s tactical advice,’ Mudge said defensively.

  ‘All right. I’ll listen but I reserve the right to kill you later,’ Cat said.

  ‘I suspect there’s a queue,’ Pagan muttered, glancing around at the crowd.

  ‘Okay but before you do, you should know that this job looks like a one-way trip,’ I told her.

  Mudge, who was still pointing his gun at Cat, turned to look at me. Pagan was shaking his head.

  ‘Good negotiating,’ Mudge said incredulously.

  ‘No, she needs to know,’ Morag told him.

  Cat was looking between Morag and me.

  ‘At least you’re honest. I’m going to put my gun up and then you two put yours …’ Mudge and Morag were already holstering their weapons. ‘Never mind.’ Cat lowered the Void Eagle and let it hang at her side. The crowd seemed disappointed. I wondered how much blood in the water was enough for them.

  ‘Are you going to want more shooters?’ Cat asked.

  ‘Depends,’ I said. ‘We need reliable people who we can work with.’

  ‘That could be hard; you did just point out you’re a bunch of cunts.’

  ‘Jake was speaking for himself,’ Mudge said.

  ‘No, he was talking about you as well,’ Morag told him.

  ‘That hurts. There’s just no need for that.’

  ‘How do you guys get anything done?’ Cat asked.

  ‘We wait for a lull,’ Pagan told her.

  ‘Did you have anyone in mind?’ I asked.

  I was exasperated and a little embarrassed about the banter. At the same time it was a good way to wind down the tension.

  ‘Maybe, but as well as a fuckload of money—’

  ‘You did hear him say that this was a one-way trip?’ Mudge asked.

  ‘Which none of you believe.’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ I told her. It was true. I really didn’t fancy my chances on this one. I just didn’t see how we could pull it off and get away with it.

  ‘I’ll want something else,’ Cat told us.

  Cat was enough of a pro to know that we couldn’t brief her until we were in a reasonably secure place. She also wouldn’t tell us what she wanted – for the same reasons, I guessed.

  She agreed to act as a guide for us around the arms and tech bazaars, which were held in large caves or under colourfully dyed tents. Because we were outsiders we decided to stick together while we were buying what we needed. This meant that Cat, Mudge and I were bored stupid while the techno-geeks got their stuff, but once they’d done that we got to buy guns! And other gear we’d need as well. I was a little bothered by how enthusiastic Morag was about buying weapons.

  It was past midnight by the time we left. We found a different place to camp from where we’d been the night before. We ate, shared some more sour mash and then got some sleep. I wondered to what degree we’d been watched and by whom.

  The next few days were spent going through the gear. Where possible we’d bought three of everything. We’d managed to get most of what was on our list, though we’d made a few compromises. We checked everything for bugs and found a few, then stripped down and cleaned everything and tested it. I insisted that everyone familiarise themselves with and test-fire their own weapons. We’d bought enough ammunition to overthrow a small country.

  Morag had picked a BAe laser carbine for her long. Pagan had turned in his old laser rifle for the newer carbine as well. This made things easier as they would need the same parts and took the same batteries. I was surprised by how good Morag was with the carbine. It was easy to hit things with a laser but we were running small-unit drills and, skillsofts or not, she was picking things up quickly. Pagan had said that she pretty much only needed to be told something once, and then she could not only do it herself but also make connections between other things she had learned and how they fitted together. It was something called eidetic memory. It made her very easy to teach.

  Then came the modifications. Going under the knife again. I felt like I had precious little flesh to offer but our bones and musculature needed to be denser. We would need to take nearly constant supplements there to upkeep this process. Ugly reinforcements now stuck out of our spines like dorsal armour on prehistoric lizards. They were supposed to be easily removable, but seeing the metal fused with bone and flesh sticking out of Morag’s back looked so obscene it made me want to vomit. I wanted to tell her to look at what she was doing to herself. Did she want to end up like the rest of us? Mechanical monsters designed to feed a war machine. But I knew her response, I knew her resolve and I think she had her own concerns.

  The final modifications were to our respiratory systems. We had a corrosion-resistant coating sprayed down our windpipes and into our lungs. I
t made us gag and it felt like drowning. We also had heavier-duty, corrosion-resistant filters implanted into our existing systems. Both the coating and the filters would need to be replaced regularly. We were taking a large supply with us. When that ran out we’d have to forage for more. Assuming we lived that long.

  Of course Morag had to have a completely new filter system implanted. Another little cut, another surgical scar and more metal in flesh.

  Cat was already augmented for operation on Lalande. I asked her what high G was like.

  ‘It’s like carrying your own weight around all the time. You don’t get used to it.’

  When we finally got round to briefing Cat, she had already broadly guessed what we were doing and where we were going. We didn’t tell her too much more because we didn’t trust the environment of Limbo enough. However, Cat told us what she wanted.

  We were in Morag and Pagan’s workspace within the Faraday cage. Pagan and Morag had swept for surveillance and found some more bugs. I was considering trying to force Sharcroft to eat them because this was just a waste of everyone’s time. Pagan set up the white-noise generator along with some other electronic countermeasures and we settled down to talk. As we finished with our sparse, broad outline, Cat was flicking through the special forces dossier on the touch screen monitor.

  ‘Your third shooter.’ She handed me the monitor.

  ‘Hey!’ Mudge said, affronted at not being considered a shooter. Cat ignored him. I hoped there wasn’t going to be a problem there.

  Her choice was not what I’d quite expected. He had high cheekbones on a long face and surprisingly piercing brown eyes, though I guessed they had to be implants. The eyes sort of jumped out at you because he looked pretty intense. His hair was styled into short braids and his skin was just a touch lighter than Cat’s. I figured this for a boyfriend until I saw the name.

  ‘Merley Sommerjay?’ I asked. Cat nodded. Mudge tilted the monitor towards him.

  ‘He’s nice.’

  ‘Thanks for your input, Mudge,’ and then to Cat: ‘Brother?’ She nodded. ‘What? Want to see him dead?’

  ‘Reasonably often.’

  ‘I’m not sure about this.’

  ‘But it’s okay for you to go on ops with your best mate and your lover?’

  ‘She’s got a point,’ Pagan said. I ignored the flare of irritation and went back to reading his file.

  ‘A marine?’ I said, glancing at Cat. She’d been US Army and traditionally there was antagonism between the two branches. Cat said nothing. ‘Force Recon, served on Lalande.’

  Force Recon were part of the US Marines Special Operations Command. They specialised in reconnaissance but were often tasked for unconventional warfare. They were a reasonable unit.

  ‘Then he transferred out to the air force and joined the PJs. That’s unusual,’ I continued.

  The PJs were pararescue operators, their job to jump behind enemy lines and perform personnel recovery operations or provide medical aid. It was a difficult and very dangerous job, particularly fighting Them. The problem was that the US and Britain had different definitions of what it meant to be special forces.

  ‘Look, it’s impressive but …’ Cat leaned over and tapped the screen, enlarging part of the information. ‘Oh bullshit,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ Mudge asked, frowning.

  ‘Cemetery Wind,’ I said scornfully.

  Pagan smiled and shook his head.

  ‘Really?’ Mudge sounded interested.

  ‘What’s Cemetery Wind?’ Morag asked.

  ‘Nothing. They don’t exist,’ I told her.

  ‘They exist,’ Cat said.

  ‘They might do, actually,’ Mudge chipped in. He was carefully reading Cat’s brother’s file. ‘What sort of name is Merley anyway?’

  ‘Mudge, it was you who told me they didn’t exist in the first place,’ I protested. ‘You went looking for them and came to the conclusion they were another combat myth.’

  ‘Well yes, that was what I told you.’

  ‘What is Cemetery Wind?’ Morag asked in exasperation.

  ‘They’re supposed to be an ultra-secret military intelligence unit whose job it is to provide up-to-date and actionable intelligence for special forces operations, except nobody’s ever met anyone in it or worked with one. Cemetery Wind’s a code name. They’ve apparently been called the Activity, Grey Fox, Black Light, the Intelligence Support Agency. Their name’s supposed to change every few years.’

  ‘Just sounds like another special forces group,’ Morag said, unimpressed.

  ‘Well yes. Except they’re rumoured to go in first, and sometimes the places they go SF fear to follow.’

  ‘But sometimes someone provides us with solid eyes-on intel before going in,’ Cat said. ‘Look, I mostly served in the US theatre of ops on Lalande, but Merle was all over. He knows the place like the back of his hand.’

  ‘It’s a planet bigger than Earth. How could he know the place like the back of his hand?’ I asked.

  ‘It is bigger than Earth but very little is habitable by humans. Merle’s operated in most of that. He’s even done deep-penetration Nightside recons.’

  Lalande 2 was tidally locked. One side always faced the sun and burned; the other always faced the dark and froze. The Twilight Strip between the two zones was the only area habitable by humans. Even then the colonists lived deep underground to protect them from the corrosive winds of the surface and the worst of the acid-rich atmosphere.

  Born in vacuum, Nightside was not a problem for Them. They based Themselves in Nightside, where it was very difficult for us to reach, and raided into the Twilight Strip. In order to get solid intelligence, some brave souls in heavily insulated life-support suits had risked the temperatures and set up observation posts.

  ‘If he’s that deep in with the intelligence side of things, then did he work for the Cabal?’ Pagan asked.

  ‘Well, you all did at one point or another, didn’t you?’ Morag said. Cat was suspiciously quiet. One by one we all looked at her.

  ‘Pretty extensively,’ she finally admitted. ‘That’s not to say he knew who they were and what they were about.’

  ‘It’s not to say he didn’t either,’ Pagan pointed out. He was not looking happy.

  ‘Mudge? Do you believe in these guys now?’ I asked.

  ‘I did then,’ Mudge said distractedly. He was studying the monitor. He looked up at Cat. ‘He’s very pretty.’ I’m not sure she knew what to say to that. ‘I went looking for them. I got very efficiently bagged. I was held completely immobile in a stress position for a week. Then someone I didn’t hear enter the room came and held a gun to my head for six hours. Completely still. Never uttered a word. I couldn’t hear him or her breathe. I decided to stop looking.’

  ‘You make them sound like the Grey Lady,’ Morag said and shivered.

  ‘Different kind of scary,’ Mudge said. ‘I like him. Let’s use him.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t just want to fuck him?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s my brother,’ Cat protested.

  ‘Maybe, but if he is Cemetery Wind, then they scare me and make Morag shiver. I also like the idea that one of the guns is a little more subtle than you or me,’ Mudge said.

  ‘Morag?’

  ‘I agree with Mudge. It’d be nice to work with someone who can respond to a problem without shooting it a lot.’

  ‘Pagan?’

  ‘I don’t like the Cabal connection. But if he’s an ex-PJ then he won’t be as big a wuss about OILO insertion. I say we talk to him’

  ‘That’s an issue. What happens if we talk to him and either we don’t like what we hear or he doesn’t want to play? He’ll already know too much,’ I asked.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ Cat assured us.

  I wasn’t quite so sure. Family complicated things and there was a very real chance that we might have to put a bullet in this guy’s head. I couldn’t see Cat getting behind that and she was good people. Besides, it would leave us an
other shooter down and we’d have to start again.

  ‘Have you seen where he is?’ Mudge asked as he passed the monitor back.

  ‘Oh for fuck’s sake. A high-security clipper? En route? What did he think was going to happen?’ I said. ‘Well that’s him out.’

  Pagan took the monitor from me. He read the info. ‘What were you thinking?’

  ‘I was thinking,’ Cat said, ‘that aside from the ridiculous amount of money I want paid in advance, getting him out is my price. Either that or I walk.’ Except she knew and we knew that it wouldn’t be easy if she chose to walk.

  8

  The Belt

  The standard-issue sidearm for the SAS is the Sig Sauer P410. It is capable of semi-automatic or full automatic fire and has an integral suppressor. The standard magazine contains fifteen 10mm rounds, though oversized magazines with the capacity for twenty or twenty-five rounds are favoured when concealment is not an issue. When fighting Them the favoured load was an armour-piercing, hydro-shock round because of the effects on Their liquid physiology. The hydro-shock rounds are perfectly adequate when used against humans, but many, like Morag, preferred armour-piercing explosive rounds when shooting at people.

  The P410 is largely a hold-out weapon. It does not have the stopping power of a rifle or a Mastodon or Void Eagle. If you’re using one against a Berserk then your day’s gone horribly wrong. Given enough hits, they will mess up a Berserk or someone with cybernetic augmentation up to the level of a special forces operator, but they are not one-hit-one-kill on someone with decent subcutaneous armour. This is something I was very grateful for when Morag decided to shoot me with hers. I was less pleased that we’d collectively advised her to use a large-capacity magazine.

  Anyone putting any effort into tracking us was going to be able to, but we were trying to stay off the radar. The Brazilian was the closest spoke to New Mexico, but US military shuttles were still not allowed to dock there so we’d been flown to High Pacifica. I had never quite been able to reconcile the view from orbit with the reality of living on Earth. From high above the Earth looked bright, blue, peaceful and, weirdest of all, clean.