by Eric Thomson
Zack chuckled.
“Doctrine says the DZ master can arrange them to transmit anything he wants, provided they mark the area correctly.”
“He’s got you there,” Vanleith said, going down on one knee beside his commanding officer. “The markers outlined the DZ magnificently. How’s it going, Zack? One still hanging lower than the other?”
“You know it, Gus.” Decker thumped his old buddy’s shoulder.
“Et tu, sarn’t-major?” Ryent shook his head. “Okay, I get it: non-com mafia. Subject closed and yes, it was funny in a stupid kind of way. Continuing the theme, therefore, what flesh pots do you have on offer, Mister Decker, and why are you wearing the local militia uniform rather than something more appropriate to a Fleet spook?”
Talyn joined their little cluster before Zack could answer, while around them, pathfinders packed their chutes and spread out to cover the perimeter.
“Our esteemed NILO I presume?” Ryent turned towards her. “How are you coping with your rescue project, commander?”
“He has his moments, Kal, but he’s actually pretty good at it when he stops horsing around.”
“Glad to hear. Perhaps one day, he’ll grow up and become an entirely reasonable adult.”
“I am here, you know,” Zack said in a mock wounded tone.
“So you are.” Ryent’s mouth twitched. “You were about to tell me how we’re going to liberate your colleague and his freedom fighter buddies, and also why you’re looking like rejects from the Marengo militia. We thought of bringing you some armor, but the mission parameters were pretty clear.”
“That’s because we’re going to waltz right through the main gate and take it from the inside.”
“This, I’ve got to hear,” Vanleith said, snorting.
“You’re going to love my plan, Gus.”
“The last time you said that we had to run for cover, but I’m willing to listen if the major is.”
“The major would like to listen.” Ryent’s tone signaled that the time for banter was over.
“Yes, sir. Here’s how I see it going...”
Decker went on to explain how he wanted to tackle the assault and when he fell silent, Ryent had to admit the plan seemed sound and unlikely to leave traces the local authorities could follow back to the Fleet. Plausible deniability was one of the pathfinders’ unofficial principles of war. It was a way of life for Naval intelligence operatives.
“You’re sure the sensor grid won’t trip?” He asked, trying to poke holes in Decker’s scheme.
“We found a way to spoof them. I won’t guarantee we found every single one, but the necklace close to the fence is definitely ours. You can move up the squadron through the woods and no one the wiser.”
“Comms?”
“We’ve got a cutter charge on the landline and a jammer ready to turn the airways into white noise on command.”
“How about the relief force?”
“Ten klicks on the other side of the pass. They come in at first light every morning to change the guard detail and always by road. The militia has aircraft, but they’re back at the main base outside Treves. We get in and out before sunrise, and they’ll be looking at an empty camp.”
Decker’s jaw tightened.
“I mean, empty except for the militia pukes who’ll get a taste of what they’ve been inflicting on the prisoners. There’s just one wrinkle to work through. Four out of the five, including Badhorn – that would be our guy - are on the wrong side of walking wounded.”
Ryent grimaced.
“And the orders say we need to keep Badhorn’s cover intact. That means we need a pick-up on site. I had hoped we could hoof it out far enough that the dropships didn’t have to come within sight of the prison. If we were only extracting him, that would still be an option, but I don’t want to try carrying four of them through the jungle.”
“As it happens, the central courtyard is big enough for your four birds. Where are they now?”
“Their glide path should have taken them to the off-shore island you designated.” Ryent turned to his commo tech. “Deran, get a link with Mikado. Have them warn the shuttles that the pick-up will be inside the target perimeter.”
“It’ll take us about an hour to get there,” Decker said, “and maybe another half hour to finish the operation. If your transport can loiter around the area starting in about ninety minutes from now, that’ll keep your time on the ground at a minimum.”
“Your time? Aren’t you coming back with us?”
“Two off-worlders arrived on Marengo to conduct legitimate business. Those same two will leave Marengo via Valeux spaceport, their business concluded. The bastards might get wise to our involvement if we simply disappear with you and maybe then they’ll start thinking it was a Fleet op and not a mercenary raid on behalf of the Garonne rebellion.”
“Sensible precaution from your point of view, I suppose. If you change your mind, there’s always room for two more.” Ryent rose to his full height. “Let me brief my troops and we can be on our way. Deran, you heard the chief. Tell the Navy ninety minutes for the dropships.”
TWO
“Where the hell did you get that thing?” Ryent watched Decker and Talyn dig a battered military skimmer with Marengo militia markings out of the undergrowth.
“There’s not a quartermaster sergeant in the galaxy who doesn’t have a price. This one came cheaper than I expected.”
Decker tossed a branch aside and heaved the vehicle around.
“Mind you, the kind of entertainment he likes is pretty cheap on Marengo, especially for a militia puke.”
“What kind of entertainment is that?” Vanleith asked.
“Trust me, Gus, you don’t want to know. This shithole is one self-immolation away from turning into a three-dee copy of Garonne, and then we’ll be pulling Marengo freedom fighters from someone else’s stockade, just to balance things out. Fucking Senate might want to keep a closer eye on colonial matters so we don’t have to yank their dicks out of the grinder all the time.”
The bitterness in Decker’s tone didn’t surprise anyone within earshot. They’d all felt the same way at one time or another.
“And we’re here to help keep the crap from spreading,” Ryent said, “so let’s get going, folks. Marengo isn’t going to slow down its rotation to accommodate us, and the shuttles are going to be inbound on schedule. Decker, it’s your show.”
“Roger that, Major. We’re ready.” Zack jumped into the driver’s seat and switched on the power plant. He grinned at Talyn and patted the passenger seat.
“If you’re ready for a little fun, hop in. Otherwise, I’ll do it by myself, and you’ll miss out on what promises to be a wonderful session of militia bashing.”
When she’d settled in beside him, Decker gave the major an ironic wave and set off towards the stockade on a narrow road hemmed in by thick vegetation on either side.
He knew there was a squadron of the toughest Marines in the galaxy behind him, waiting for his signal, but damned if he could pick up the slightest trace of their presence, be it through his night vision gear or the sensor he’d propped up on the dashboard. He felt unaccountably proud of that. The bastards wouldn’t know what hit them.
“Is the IFF working okay?”
“It’s working, though I can’t guarantee that we’re sending the right codes,” Talyn replied.
“If that quartermaster dipshit sold us the wrong ones, I’m going back to rip his guts out and turn them into guitar strings, while they’re still attached to his stomach and asshole.”
They emerged from the forest into a wide glade, and there it sat, brooding under the starlit, moonless sky. The stockade might have been primitive by most standards, but it had one redeeming feature: it was well hidden from the few Commonwealth officials who roamed Marengo.
“Nothing stirring,” Decker whispered. “It’s quiet. Almost quiet enough to give me a bad feeling about this.”
“Stop the dramatics and r
emember to brake before we slam into the main gate. Unless they’ve been tipped off, and that’s pretty unlikely, the guard shift is half-asleep, happy they don’t have to patrol the jungle at oh-dark-thirty.”
Zack brought their skimmer to a halt a bare meter from the main entrance to the enclosed compound. On either side, a compacted earth berm topped by opaque fencing faded into the darkness. They knew from their earlier recon that a double barrier system encircled the camp, with some nasty automatic devices between the inner and outer fence. Sensors festooned the perimeter, but these were now in thrall to Talyn’s spoofer.
“I hope you remembered to power up the jammer, ‘cause we’re on.”
“No worries.” She glanced down at the pad in her lap and tapped its screen. “And the land line’s now cut.”
A querulous voice rang out.
“Who are you?”
“I guess someone’s awake in the guard hut,” Zack said loud enough to be heard by whatever microphones were pointed at them. “A good start.”
“Major Yang and Warrant Officer Klebs from the Inspector General’s office.”
“Inspector General? At this hour?” Outrage mixed with incredulity.
“You know what they say: no one ever expects the IG.” Decker let out an evil laugh. “We do our best business when folks don’t think we’ll show up.”
After a moment’s silence, a different voice came on.
“I’m Captain Beore, officer of the watch. May I ask for your ID and orders?”
At least he had the presence of mind to be polite. It was the same everywhere in the galaxy, no matter the organization. Never piss off the IG.
Decker and Talyn held out small data wafers and waited for the unseen guards to scan their fake IDs.
“Here you go, Captain. Take your time and match them with our ugly mugs; security’s always the first thing we check whenever we visit our victims – sorry, I mean the unit we’ve been detailed to inspect.”
As he spoke, Decker felt the tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and he knew that the pathfinders were creeping up to the stockade, unseen by either the spoofed sensors or what few eyes looked outwards.
He had to fight the urge to turn his head and scan the low brush on either side of the road. Talyn, who’d also felt the presence of the assault force, did her best to look like a bored and increasingly irritated field grade officer.
The IDs must have passed muster because the gate slid aside with a tired rasp, revealing an inner barrier, also opening wide. They now had a direct route into the darkened camp. A few shadowy figures stood to either side of the entrance, weapons slung over their shoulders.
Decker gunned the skimmer’s fans, and a horrible screeching noise erupted, followed by the sound of blades disintegrating. The vehicle lurched forward, almost throwing both operatives through the windshield and came to rest across both gates, effectively jamming them open.
He jumped out, cursing loudly in the local patois at the infernal gods that had made the motor pool give him a defective piece of crap. Three guards rushed up to take a closer look at the scene.
“Can you believe it?” Decker shouted angrily. “Why does the militia always get crap the National Guard doesn’t want any more? Now we’re stuck here until the bastards in Larolle can send up a mobile repair team and you know how lazy they are.”
Talyn climbed out of the grounded skimmer and calmly walked up to the cluster of guards surrounding an increasingly unhappy Decker.
“Perhaps,” her voice cut through his rant, “we should move this wreck out of the way so the gates can close. We’ll investigate the motor pool soon enough, Mister Klebs.”
Zack snapped to attention.
“As you wish, Major.”
He turned to the guards.
“You heard her – let’s get your camp secure again.”
Pointing at the surprised men, he barked, “You three, on that side, you three on the other and get ready to heave.”
They were anxious to comply and didn’t notice Talyn stroking the screen of her small pad. It would take a few minutes for the watch in the control room to figure out all comms were jammed, but they’d not need much longer than that.
Nightmarish shapes emerged from the brush on either side of the road and silently ran towards the open gates. Further shadows came out of the wood line to join them.
Without warning, Talyn and Decker each struck a guard hard in the midriff and then on the back of the head. They fell down, out for the count, with no more than a brief grunt of pain. That sudden, unexpected attack was just enough to ensure the remainder didn’t hear the pathfinders behind them. Seconds later, they’d joined their comrades in unconsciousness while Marines flowed through the gateway and spread out across the compound.
“The ops center is over there,” Decker pointed at a small building when Ryent stopped beside him to get his bearings, “and the guard barracks is the one beside it. The other two huts are for the prisoners.”
Captain Beore must finally have figured out something was wrong because a siren rang out over the stockade, but the garrison never stood a chance. The Marines quickly rounded the militia troopers up, disarmed them and shoved the disoriented men into small boxes reserved for prisoner punishment.
Decker and Talyn entered the ops center after the pathfinders had secured it, to find Beore sitting on the ground, hands bound behind his back, a mixture of shock and anger twisting his face.
Zack squatted down beside him and grinned.
“No one ever expects the IG to not be the IG, eh?”
“Who the fuck are you?” Beore demanded.
“How cute.” Zack patted him on the head. “It still growls even though it’s totally screwed. We’re just some private contractors hired by concerned families to liberate folks held illegally by your government, son.”
He rose to his full height again and waved at the Marine sergeant by the door.
“Make sure he’s in the nastiest box they have. If he stumbles a bit along the way, I won’t be overly sad. I watched him use prisoners as practice dummies for what he thinks is proper aikido.”
“Will do, chief.” The pathfinder grabbed Beore by the arm and hauled him to his feet.
Talyn pointed at a bank of expensive consoles against the far wall.
“Shall we cost the militia a bit of money?”
“You have some explosives hidden away in that ugly uniform?”
“Always.” She held up a small device. “Don’t you know it’s a court-martial offense to go on a mission without a little something to turn big stuff into small stuff?”
“Good. I didn’t think my stash of detcord would be enough.”
Something caught Talyn’s attention, and her head snapped around to stare at one of the screens.
“Shit.” She studied the readout. “We have company coming. They just tripped the sensors covering the pass.”
“Militia?”
“No – pizza delivery.” She made a face at him. “Of course, the militia.”
“It’s too early for a watch change.”
“Five points for stating the obvious, Zack. They might have picked up Mikado or the shuttles, or maybe the battalion commander had a pricking in his thumbs.” Talyn tapped her communicator. “Grey Goose, we need to get out in the next couple of minutes, or we’ll have to expend some ammo.”
“Shuttles are about to land. We’ve got the detainees ready to load.”
Decker stuck his head through the open doorway and listened.
“Yep, they’re right above us. Ryent and his boys will be okay, but we won’t have time to blow this place up and still get out from under the relief column’s nose.”
“I think that we might have to reconsider the plan and hitch a ride with your buddies. Ulrich won’t be happy, but it beats spending a few weeks dodging patrols in the jungle only to show up at the spaceport looking like we were raised by wolves.”
Zack shrugged.
“I never pass on the ch
ance to avoid walking. C’mon. They’re loading. If we don’t want to get left behind, we have to move now.”
She nodded, then quickly armed the explosive package and tossed it over her shoulder at the consoles.
“Ten-second detonator. Time to go.”
Once out in the open, they ran towards the shuttles, two of which were already in the air while the other two were preparing to raise their ramps.
“Hang on,” Decker shouted, “we changed our minds about leaving with you.”
They scrambled into the last shuttle and realized there was nowhere left to sit but on the floor. A stocky figure removed his helmet and laughed.
“Can’t stay away, can you, Zack?”
“It’s your charm that keeps me coming back, Gus.”
“Strap yourselves in.” The sergeant major nodded towards restraints hanging off the forward bulkhead. “We’ll be flying hard, and you’re not exactly dressed to bounce around.”
“Considering the renegades you have driving your crates, I’m going to agree just this once.” Decker staggered when the craft lifted and banked hard to follow its companions on a steep path towards orbit and the waiting Q-ship.
He grabbed hold of a jump strap and wrapped his other arm around Talyn’s waist to keep her from sliding towards the rear.
“Or you could stand there for the entire flight, looking like a caveman ravishing his intended.” Vanleith shrugged. “Your call.”
“I’ll just wait until the cowboy in the cockpit finishes learning how to drive this thing before I move.”
THREE
“Your rescuees are housed in a segregated passenger pod. They haven’t had a chance to see much of Mikado during the transfer, so I think it’s safe to say they have no idea the Fleet rescued them.”
Captain Stodola pointed at the image on the conference room’s main screen.
“As you can see,” he continued, “we’ve got them in separate cabins, each tended by one of my medical staff. You agent is in my real sickbay where my surgeon will give him his full attention. He’s in pretty bad shape, but you’ll be able to speak with him shortly. No one, present company excepted, knows who he really is, so I’d say his cover is still intact.”