Right then, Shaman said, “Incoming.” His voice was trained, and conversational. The team triggered on it and moved. Aramis jumped forward with Bart. He heard Elke tackle Highland, Jason open the door, and Alex call for backup as Elke stuffed the principal into the ARPAC.
He could see the projectile falling, and his sphincter puckered. From its trajectory, it was dense and brick-sized. Then he caught a slight reflection off a protrusion, probably a fuze. So it was more than a brick. It was a large grenade or small block charge.
Once the hatch closed he leapt over to the front wheel, rolled backward while tucking his carbine, and dropped behind the mass of the engine and wheel. Bart chewed up dust to his right with a thump of a landing.
Whatever the projectile was, it far overshot and went behind something, then popped with a cracking noise. Had it squibbed and failed? Or was it gas? There were two more in the air, and he’d IDed the point of origin, even as his goggles blinked a location. There was the dirtsucker.
That detached feeling hit him as he stood, clambered up the ladder and switched the cannon to manual. It was more important to take out the source than hide. Someone was starting to move the vehicle, so he swung the gun, splayed his legs, guessed at point of aim and cut loose a burst. It was high, he adjusted, and shot again.
The shooters realized he was targeting them and dodged, first back, then upon realizing the first burst was overhead, toward him, and right into the second spray. Three bodies tore, disconnected limbs flailing, and their launcher shattered.
Jason fired a long, stuttering string that crossed both remaining projectiles. They broke up and fell… oddly. Liquid? Green?
He kicked the hatch and dropped inside, as Bart shimmied up through the rear hatch, cursing in German. At least he presumed so. He didn’t speak German, and he couldn’t hear the man anyway, over Highland’s total meltdown.
“You murderous fucking mercenary retards! You egotistical male jerkers! And you… AFRICAN! You worthless bunch of-”
She was cut off as Shaman slapped a contact patch on her throat. She turned and smacked, connected only with his armor and harness, and started to slur.
“You weren’th hiredh to dop me, youuu…” and trailed off. She was still awake, but very lethargic. It must be a fast-acting tranquilizer.
Jason said, “Jessie, I’ll connect the external antenna to your MoodMod in a moment. What are you going to send?”
Her voice trembled and cracked as she said, “Uh, that we were attacked and had to defend ourselves, but no one is hurt.”
“Very good. It’s important that you send that message first.”
“Okay,” she agreed, sounding unsure. She waited for his nod of assent, and loaded the comment.
Aramis sweated and buzzed from adrenaline and leftover fear. It was always a rush to survive combat, even when it was one-sided. He looked quizzically at Jason, who signaled over to Alex, who looked around at everyone and replied.
“They were shooting paint canisters with bursting caps. Green paint.”
Oh, shit.
“They were political agitators?” he asked.
“Yes. And you opened fire with an autocannon.”
In half a second, scenarios ran through his head. Jason or Elke had enough connections to get him out of the system fast. Caron would stand up for him. He wouldn’t get brain wiped. He might do a decade in prison. He did have that stash of money for emergencies that they couldn’t seize because he’d hidden it on Salin and Grainne. The company would back him up; he’d acted in good faith.
Alex said, “You acted in good faith, and fast. It’ll take paperwork and lawyers. You’re covered.”
Under his breath, Bart muttered, “And maybe the stupid hippies won’t do that again.”
From the driver’s compartment, Elke said, “Don’t hurt my hopes.”
Jessie at least seemed sympathetic.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “Oh, my. This is not going to be good for.. anyone. Was anyone hurt?”
Aramis decided he shouldn’t answer that question. He was surprised to realize he really didn’t give a shit about the fucking morons who’d put pyro charges on projectiles and thrown them at a cabinet member. Pyro. Projectiles. That’s what he needed to ensure was in any statement. He’d feared for her life and acted to protect it. Damn the bitch for attracting such idiots, either for or against.
Jessie said, “I don’t know what else to say.”
“The Minister is unharmed. You can say that. Don’t say where we’re going next.”
“I don’t know where we’re going,” she protested.
Yeah, that was probably intentional, Aramis thought with an inward smirk.
Pyro. Projectiles. Potentially explosive threat.
Did Caron have that much political pull, and would she use it? She did owe him her life, but she’d paid in cash for that service. She didn’t care what anyone thought of her, but was she willing to spend that kind of political capital for a boink buddy?
Could he egress the system alone if it went sour?
Jessie stuttered as she very quietly said, “I need to find a restroom. Is there…?”
Alex said, “No, there is no bucket aboard. I can pick one up for next time. You’ll need to hold it another ten minutes.”
She nodded. Then they hit a bump and she flinched.
Alex pulled a hush hood. He was probably talking to the military, or relaying a message to Corporate first, to get the lawyers primed. There’d be an investigation. At least Elke would have video for his side of things.
Alex pulled the hood and said, “We’re going straight back.”
Elke said, “Understood.”
“We will unload before the gate, and the guards will inspect our weapons. Drop me at Base Operations. I need to talk to them.”
Aramis didn’t like the sound of that.
The rest of the ride was smooth enough, but just the hammering dread he felt made it feel worse than actually getting wounded. Chills, shivers, flushes, roiling bloodflow in his ears-massive shock.
Politics was scarier than combat.
He followed Jason’s lead and slipped out magazines, cycled the actions and locked them open. He carefully started to rise for the autocannon, but Bart reached up and took care of it for him.
At the gate, Elke lowered the ramp. The sentry was three steps up before it clattered on the ground.
“Show me clear weapons,” he said, very firmly, very intently, with his right hand on the grip of his carbine and his finger twitching near the trigger. Aramis cautiously bent both weapons to show the open chambers.
“Do not load them again without orders,” he said, and crabbed down the ramp sideways, keeping an eye on the team.
Through all this, Highland sat silently, but not tranked. It had obviously worn off.
Elke rolled up in front of Base Operations, and Alex slipped out the side hatch. Jessie looked very miserable and very uncomfortable. Highland looked furious.
Elke maintained exact base speed limit as she rolled into the diplomatic compound. Jessie looked almost nauseated as she staggered, body clutched tightly, toward the latrine. Aramis felt nauseated. He needed to drain, too, but that wasn’t it.
CHAPTER 8
Alex stepped into the OPS building. He had legality on his side, but that rarely mattered to military officers, especially Infantry officers or Staff officers, and this would involve both.
A master sergeant stood waiting, and said, “In there, sir,” while pointing. He was polite enough, and didn’t sound any more bothered than any NCO whose bosses were pissed, so this was probably just a staff matter. That helped, a little.
He knocked on the door twice, firmly, waited three seconds, and walked in.
Captain Das was seated there, and seemed neutral enough. With him were Colonel Stack, the Facility Commander, and Colonel Andronov, the Operations Officer. They both bore professionally blank expressions, the kind that presaged formal actions. Stack was barrel chested and clearly a bred soldier. Andronov lean and bald.