Junkyard War, page 13
“Ya think?” I said.
Mateo, taking his life in his hands, said, “Actually, Shining, there is no physiological way that you can beat the bishop, as that is a male euphemism for mastur—”
“I know what it is!” I shouted, slamming my fist against the Simba’s track. “I havta pee, and this time I am not doing it into a cup and then throwing it off the side!” I stomped off into the darkness and found a tree.
When I got back, my team had already begun to unpack the ATVs and the weapons. The cats were running all over, searching for rats or squirrels, as there was some actual tree cover with living evergreen leaves. We had shade. I collapsed flat to the ground and guzzled a bottle of water before I dragged myself to my feet again and helped my team.
No one spoke to me. No one sang. It was heaven.
* * *
We had been waiting at the rendezvous site since dawn, for the appointed time—which was supposed to be noon. It was now near sunset, and the clubs hadn’t shown. A long afternoon of planning and worry, and finally acceptance that they weren’t coming.
Spy didn’t offer any intel from the clowders of cats with the other bikers, and turned her head away when I asked what she knew. I figured that meant our cohorts and backup in battle had chickened out. I’d accuse them of cowardice when I saw them again, if I lived to tell them anything at all.
Mateo was hell-bent on rescuing Evelyn, no matter what. Without reinforcements, all our plan options were off the table, so we adjusted our strategy accordingly. Our only alternative was auto bombardment of an exterior blast door by the Simba and similar bombardment of another entrance by Mateo in his warbot suit as a diversion, while the rest of us attempted to enter and rescue Evelyn. My small team would be alone.
Still operating the Simba cloaked and shielded, running silent mode, Mateo was positioned two klicks from the bunker at our six, programing its weapons for bombardment. Amos, Cupcake, and I were in armor, full bodily functions introduced—which totally sucked—helmets on and faceplates down, standing near the access air duct Spy had used before. We had battle screens and the 3D map of the bunker created by Jolene—visible, interactive, and operational on the upper left edges of the helmet faceplates. When the face shields opened, the screens would rearrange to the edge, still visible. We were standing at a triangle position with me twenty meters ahead in the center, the others behind, Cupcake at my left and Amos at my right.
The airduct covering lay at my war-booted feet, along with a clowder of cats. The leaders, Spy and Maul, were wearing full camera and comms sets on their tac vests. The other cats were fitted with GPS tracking devices on collars so Jolene could find them.
“Jolene. You got the bunker’s defensive alarms, cams, and sensors locked down and looped?” She had spent the day copying the intakes and output from every one of the external and internal devices and taking over the security nodes.
“Affirmative. Ready to initiate.”
“Initiate,” I said.
“Copy that. Looping is in place. I am established inside their systems.”
“Okay. No one else is coming—”
“Shining,” Mateo interrupted. “My audio sensors are picking up muted bikes.”
I stopped.
“I count five Harleys,” he said, “all in full combat mode. Jolene has sent them entry coordinates, and they are approaching from the bunker’s five o’clock.”
Tears gathered in my eyes. All the day’s frustration and fury drained away. I had been afraid. Afraid that, once again, the OMW would send me in alone to face a battle and an opponent that was sure to get me killed. And the people I loved.
“Nine more bikes, all in full combat mode, approaching from four o’clock,” Mateo added. “Jolene has provided them with their entry coordinates as well.”
“Update,” he said a moment later. “An additional twenty-three bikes, all in full combat mode, are approaching across the dried-out scrub from the bunker’s three o’clock. And . . .” He gave that weird metallic chuckle. “There are six bikes, all in full combat mode, approaching from nine o’clock.
“All riders have checked in with Jolene. She has recognized and ID’d nine Hells Angels, a mixed party of Black Sabbath and Boozefighters, and the OMWs. The group of six are . . .” He stopped, and I heard the muted bikes over the sunset air now. “The group of six have been given your coordinates. They are Old Man Marconi, McQuestion, and Logan Jagger, with Jacopo Marconi, Mina Marconi, and Camilla Mary Gamble at their six. Jagger and the Marconi kids are armored for war.” If Mateo could have sounded relieved, he would have. “Spy,” he said, “send out your cat clowder members to each of the newly arrived teams.”
I opened my face shield and wiped my face. I was not going to meet warriors with tears in my eyes.
“Logan Jagger’s small group has just joined with Charles Whip and the presidents of the Boozefighters and the Sabbath. The leaders are moving to your twenty and have signaled that they are to be placed on a dedicated comms channel with . . .” He stopped again and started laughing. Mateo’s metallic laugh was always disconcerting, but this time it carried more than a hint of mockery. “With Commander Shining Smith.”
I stopped moving. My armor, reacting to my shock, went into hard mode, and I had to disengage the shielding and hard-mode functions in order to actually breathe. Commander Shining Smith? What the . . . The largest biker clubs in the US were placing themselves under my orders? “No. No way the leaders of biker clubs are putting themselves under the command of a female, made-man or not.”
Mateo laughed again. “Privately, Jagger said the leaders initially agreed with the battle plan we sent, but later bitched about who was to lead the advance team, coordinate the actions of the main teams, and have first access to the weapons and the power source. Since your stated objective was to rescue a prisoner, and you have no intent to take any spoils or resources, that makes you a neutral party, Little Girl. They decided you should go in first because of that neutrality and because the first one in was the most likely to die. They also wisely decided that Jolene—who they think is human—and I would coordinate comms, and their warlords would follow your advance team after you have established a secure position.”
“Yeah. Let me stand the greatest chance of dying. That sounds more like it.”
“Commander Shining Sugah,” Jolene said gently on a private channel. “Your suit is registering stress and increased blood pressure.”
I laughed, which sounded of tears more than amusement. “Yeah. Stress.” I wondered if it was weird that I wanted to talk to a sentient, sapient AI as if she was a counselor or a girlfriend or something. “Jolene, I smell like a sweating hog, my hair looks like it’s been soaked in engine oil, I’m wearing military armor created to die in, and—Bloody hell. I have no command experience. Why should I be commander? Even as a token die-first female.”
Her voice changed, dropping some of the Southern drawl. “Eventually, Shining, you’ll remember that you climbed into a Mama-Bot and fought off its Puffers, breaking them to pieces. You’ll remember that you killed Perkers, slowbots, repair-bots, and then survived the PRC’s nanobots. And you left the mini-sized nuclear weapon in place, which killed the Mama-Bot. And you got out alive. All when you were twelve. You were able to amass a huge arsenal, which they know but can’t prove. You brought them together. You created all this. All of it. Without you, there would be nothing here today and Warhammer would take over the world. Eventually, you’ll realize that because of who you are inside, you are a queen, even without nanobots. Accept the warriors who want to fight at your side, even if you are a sacrificial lamb.”
I wiped my face again and blew out the words, “Bloody damn. Open the general channel.” The ambient noise changed—an undertone buzz of muted bikes, like wind in a rainstorm, though I scarcely remembered such a thing from my youth.
“You are live,” Jolene said. “Tap your mic when ready.”
I took a breath and let it go. I tapped my mic to the general channel with my gloved hand. We needed to talk, make sure we were on the same page, assure each other of mutual cooperation. But we needed to get the attack under way, too, before Warhammer’s defensive systems bypassed Jolene, saw us, and turned their weapons on us. So while I had to do a commander’s speech, I skipped the formalities.
“This is . . . This is Little Girl. I welcome you all to a little bit of hell. You were sent the schematics. Each of you accepted a level of the bunker to infiltrate and an objective to secure. You have instructions on how to approach your assigned entrances, and Jolene will hack the security systems in each teams’ location as needed.
“Look around. You each have one or two cats. Let them go in front of you. They’ll warn you of the positions of land mines and other passive explosive devices. They will also assist you in finding your entrance without setting off alarms.
“The moment my team is in position and the lead cats have the rats in motion as a diversion, Jolene will open access doors. Your cats may know before you do, so watch them. Access doors will stay open for thirty seconds. Get in fast, and get to cover. Then, when instructed, proceed according to the schematic on your Morphons, or for those of you in the new Dragon Scale, on your helmet faceplate readouts.
“I am activating my cats. Spy, Maul. You are a go.”
I triggered the screen that was attuned to Spy. She peeled into the air-duct opening and was halfway down the air access shaft in seconds.
“Spy and her mate, Maul, are wearing tac harnesses with comms and cams. The other cats are wearing only GPS devices so Jolene can track them. All the cats were given access to the floor plans, so your cat team can lead you in.
“My team. To me. We are designated as Alpha, and as first humans to go in. We will clear the way for the others. We are entering through the air shaft you should see on your face shields. For the rest of you, to all teams, good luck, bright sun, and try not to come back with your ass on fire.”
No one laughed. Those were the last words spoken before the Battle of Mobile. That had been a turning point in the war against the PRC.
A few meters behind, Cupcake waved at me, and she and Amos jogged away. They would be coordinating from the surface. The biker teams on site would cover us while we tried to extract Evelyn.
My team walked through the dry grass to me, armored and armed head to toe—Jagger, Jacopo, Mina, and Camilla. I switched my mic to our private team channel, nodded to them, and said, “I’m taking point, going down the air shaft after the cats. You are to stay on the surface until my okay because there’s one nonfunctioning fan in the way, which I’ll have to dismantle. The slope is sharp, about thirty degrees, so I’ll be on a line, head first. When the fan blade and its cowling are out of the way, I’ll secure it and continue down, taking it with me to the next air-shaft junction, where I’ll deposit it. At that point I’ll okay for you to follow. All security cameras and devices in the shaft have been deactivated or dismantled, but the defenses guarding the other accesses are unknown.”
“Won’t Warhammer hear us coming down the shaft?” Mina asked into the comms system.
Smiling grimly, I said, “Our team will access with armor on soft setting. As soon as we’re inside, the cats are going to provide a distraction and draw the rats into the human-occupied parts of the bunker. It should be quite a show.”
They were going to cause enough pandemonium to give me time to free Evelyn. Spy seemed sure she could direct the rats, but then Spy was young and certain she could do anything.
“Once the cats have created some havoc, your assigned access points will open, hopefully without alerting anyone inside, and you’ll move to your designated areas. With any luck they’ll panic and shoot themselves in their collective asses.”
My team laughed. We moved out.
* * *
I secured the high-tensile belaying rope to my armor and activated the Dragon Scale glove that Mateo had programed with a universal, auto-adjusting tool kit, which would fit any size nuts and bolts, both old US and metric.
Just before I ducked in, I glanced back at my team and met Jagger’s amused eyes. I shrugged, feeling odd leading others. I had always flown solo, and command did not come easily to me, but I did understand strategic goals and tactical positions. I was, after all, Pops’s daughter.
“We’ve never worked together as a team. I have point. Jagger, you’re my number one. Once I get the cowling disconnected, order of descent is me, Mina, Camilla, Jagger, and then Jacopo. Jacopo, if Jagger gets stuck, give him a hard kick or two.”
Jacopo’s dark eyes sparkled. Jagger grunted.
“If I go down, Mina will use my body and my armor as a shield to address any situation as needed.” Mina gave a faint nod. The psychopath would do just that and feel nothing using my dead body. She was very catlike in that regard. The best I could hope from her was that she could keep the others alive.
“If I’m out, whoever is left alive proceeds with the mission. Follow the cats’ schematics to the prison level where you will complete Objective One for this team—rescue Captain Evelyn Raymond. The code word for her is ‘Mateo.’ Hopefully she’ll respond to the name and go with you. Objective Two is to kill Warhammer. If you get that far, then clean out the nest and divide the spoils of war according to the agreement.”
I switched my mic over to our main channel, so I could hear what Jolene was saying.
“And then y’all best decontaminate all your clothing and weapons and bodies,” she said on the general channel. “Remember. You don’t have long to clean off the poison before you’ll all get sick.”
“But once Warhammer is dead,” I added, “even if you get sick, you won’t be under her command. You should be safe. Let that be the reminder to kill her.”
I checked the location of my cat team. They were inside the air shaft, waiting near the grill to the fermentation room. Steadying my warboots on the dirt, setting my armor to super soft and silent mode, I bent into the air duct and let myself slide into the dark, head and one Dragon Scale sleeve first. The shaft was smaller than I thought. I hoped Jagger’s shoulders would fit. I laughed softly at the thought of him stuck partway down, Jacopo kicking him. My laughter carried over the open channel. And I felt the collective response of the cats, of Mateo, Cupcake, Amos, and Jagger—my team. My laughter had been unexpected, oddly joyful, and it had steadied all the warriors.
Activating my telescoping helmet and my night-sight filters, I slid fast into the dark.
* * *
The fan cowling narrowed the air shaft into an opening maybe twenty-five centimeters wide. The rats had done a good job of clearing away the filter and mesh protection, and the cats had shoved the fan blades aside, but the screws I had to reach were on the other side of the cowling, so I was mostly working around a blind corner, my hand often close to a rat skeleton tangled into the fan blades. Fortunately, the Dragon Scale glove had a small camera I could activate.
As I worked, I tried not to touch the skeleton, thinking about the lockstep rats Spy and Maul would be facing. The skeleton had been a big-assed rat. Had to have weighed nine kilograms when alive. And its teeth were still razor sharp, long as my little finger. I hated to think about Spy and Maul taking on a rat. Or a bunch of rats.
With the glove’s camera and implements, it took me only a few seconds to get the cowling and its frame free. Working in a junkyard for so long had given me proficiency with a variety of tools.
“Cowling is free,” I whispered into my mic as I tilted the heavy metal and let it rest across my extended arm. It was in front of me, leading the way down, and I hoped my soft-mode sleeve would keep all the fan’s metal parts from banging against the air duct and alerting Warhammer’s forces.
I released my belaying rope and slid slowly down, my weapons out of quick reach behind me, now depending on the cats to alert me to impending trouble. The adjoining air duct appeared to my side and I used my boots and the rope to slow my slide. Carefully, I jammed the cowling, fan, and rat skeleton into it.
I reached out to Spy. She and Maul were in full fighting mode, their mental connection completely open. I felt their hunting excitement, nearly quivering with happiness. Saw through their cams into the dimly lit room. No rats were visible. Nothing in the room appeared different from the last time they were here. “Way appears to be open and clear,” I said. “Team Alpha, begin descent.”
I slid down, moving faster on the sharp slope. More belaying ropes followed me, sliding around on the metal duct, as my human team prepared to descend. I relaxed the pressure of my feet, which had been pressing on the duct walls, and plunged fast.
Just before I reached the opening into the big, dark room, I slowed and stopped. Stuck my fist camera out through the rat-chewed grating and verified what I knew from the cats’ cams. The room was empty.
Still in the duct, I gave Spy my attention. “Spy, you two can go ahead. Start your rat hunt.”
A sense of pure joy came back to me, and the two cats took off. The rest of her clowder was with the other teams, ready to move in on Spy’s command, working as contact points with her mind.
For this part, she and her mate would be alone.
Following on her sense of joy in the hunt was a feeling I couldn’t quite interpret, but it was maybe the glory of sunset, the wriggling squiggle of dying prey in her claws, the feel of meat protein in her fangs, the taste of rat blood. Spy was in dedicated killer mode.
They bounded for the first cat objective. The rats.
Again using my tool-kit glove, I removed the grate covering and eased it to the floor. I caught the edge of the ductwork to somersault out of the duct and landed silently. “Access point is clear,” I whispered. “Holding position.” The fermentation room didn’t smell nearly as musty to my human nose as it had to Spy’s. The steel tanks showed a thin layer of rust and a lot of dust, and the rat droppings were much heavier than I had expected.
Moments later, Mina landed beside me and to my right. Almost faster than I could follow, she began to quarter the room. Camilla moved to my left. Jagger was slower and louder, but he landed and moved directly in front of me. Jacopo was as silent as a cat, and headed directly toward the doorway we would need to clear into the next room.
