Junkyard War, page 15
I grinned and made sure she saw it. “Yes. I considered betrayal. Yes. Jolene created a back door into the armor function. You will obey orders. Copy?” The little psycho didn’t like me laughing at her. I could see her calculating possible responses. A fight between us would be fun, so I rubbed it in a little and said, “You want a fight, Mina? Little Girl will give you one when this is over. For now? I’m your commander. You. Will. Obey. Orders. Copy?”
“Copy. Commander,” she replied.
Her tone was full of vengeance, and I understood that the only reason she hadn’t killed me yet was because of a title she didn’t think I deserved. That made two of us knowing I didn’t deserve to be in charge.
Mina assisted Camilla as she shifted Evelyn in her arms, and helped her adjust her armor’s antirecoil and partial, non-combat hardening. Camilla could now carry her burden without effort, and Mina could protect them both. Mina looked at me, calculation hot in her eyes. Adjusting the position of her weapons and drawing a blaster, Mina set it to wide range. She drew another blaster and set it to pinpoint accuracy at six meters. I wondered if she would shoot me, but, without a backward glance, Mina took point, her weapons covering the exfil.
“Open general channel,” I said. When Jolene complied, I said, “Mina. Once Objective One is on the way up the air shaft, you will return to our twenty. Jolene will assist if a cat is not available. Copy?”
“Roger that, Commander,” Mina said, nothing of her previous emotions in her tone.
“Jagger, Jacopo, and I will join the team at the entrance to the nest, as laid out for the Op. Spy?” I looked at the cat. She was bleeding from bite wounds to her shoulders and haunches. So was Maul. Spy was standing with a rat in her fangs, and the rat probably weighed twice what she did. “Don’t eat that. It’s poisoned with nanos. Can you fight?”
Spy took the question as a challenge to her prowess. She dropped the rat and hissed at the insult.
“Good. Call your clowder. We need all the cats at the entrance to the nest. Mateo. Release the Maarsie mini-flyers. Get them down the air shaft before Camilla and Evelyn get there.”
“Roger. Maarsies deployed,” Mateo said. Maarsies were Mobile Aerial Attack Reconnaissance Swarm-bots. A full battery of the tiny flying weapons had been found in the Simba. Each could deliver poison, gas, or an explosive with pinpoint accuracy.
I gave my team the Move out hand signal, and took point at the left of the hallway. Jacopo was at our six and to the left. Jagger took position between us, to our right, in a staggered line that allowed either one to shoot ahead or behind without hitting each other or, hopefully, me. We headed out, shooting stray rats as we went. The cats were in front, leading us.
Some minutes later, Mina stated that she was heading back to join her team, trailing a cat. She sounded mildly amused. I wondered if a cat would be a good pet for Mina, soothing her, giving her something to love, or if she would kill the cat. I was betting on the latter possibility.
The cats rounded a corner, whipped back, and raced toward us. Rats lock-stepped down the hallway after them. The cats leaped to my shoulders, claws digging in. I tapped my suit, raising scales for footholds. Mateo and Jacopo moved in front of us and opened blaster fire, boiling the rats alive.
Spy and Maul watched the action avidly. I was glad they didn’t have fingers to pull blaster triggers. But then, cats had uncanny abilities to figure things out. Someday they might even steal a blaster. I should keep watch for missing weapons.
We shot rats for far too long.
Mateo said, “Objective One is confirmed safe at the top of the air shaft. Repeat. Objective One is confirmed safe. Camilla is returning with a contingent of cats, including Notch.”
Notch was Tuffs’s mate and the number-one fighter cat. I hadn’t been aware he was with Mateo in the Simba. “Nobody tells me anything,” I muttered—and blasted three mega-sized rats in an open doorway behind us. They twitched and died, their little rat eyes on me.
The cats dropped to the floor. I figured that meant there were no more rats nearby.
“Mateo,” I said, “Maarsie ETA to the nest?”
“ETA is three mikes unless they encounter resistance.”
“Three minutes confirmed,” I said.
The plan was to get the door to Clarisse’s nest open so that one small group of Maarsies and cats could recon, looking for Warhammer’s warriors and weaponry inside. The Simba and its warbot commander would stay in hiding unless or until we needed it, because Warhammer had thralls in the military, and the military would react in force if they knew about a warbot and a battle tank.
“Team Beta Two reporting. Injured are at the medical ward. ETA to energy room, three mikes.”
“Team Alpha is on the way to the Admin Suites, henceforth called the nest,” I said. “Team Epsilon, your reinforcements will be at the nest in three minutes. As your backup is fewer in number than planned, there will be additional cats and airborne support.” Letting humor into my voice, I added, “Do not shoot your backup.”
A laughing voice said, “Ten-four on dat Commander. Awaitin’ backup, we is.”
We moved through the hallways, weapons at ready-to-fire position. Midway along the stairwell to the next level we came under heavy weapons fire from behind. Our armor hardened to combat defensive on impact, leaving us with a full second of immobility before we were able to respond.
In the first half second, we were hit dozens of times each.
My brain and body sped up as adrenaline shocked into me. There were three humans in the rear camera. Mixed uniforms. In the second half second, somehow, Jacopo was able to pivot and return fire with his wide-range blaster. He moved with eerie, emotionless concentration, a ballet of violence.
The attackers seemed to be expecting blaster fire and in the next second, ducked back around the landing and through the door there. Only one was hit, her arm scorched. Screaming.
There wasn’t time to clear each floor, not while getting this job done in the time frame allowed—before Jolene missed an outgoing distress call and the military commanders controlled by Warhammer could move in and try to retake their bunker. Every second Warhammer lived, our taking heavy fire was a greater possibility.
My suit unlocked, still hardened, but responding to my need to move. I followed Jagger up one flight, glanced at Jacopo to cover the stairwell, and covered Jagger as he bashed through the door, splinters flying. He exited, firing. A woman screamed.
I saw, in that weird slowed-down reaction to battle, Jagger taking two rounds. I ducked under his elbow and fired from down low. Killed the man with her. Or, we did it together. Two rounds from Jagger and a full blaster from me. He was twice dead. The woman was dead too, lying beneath the man. As I watched, her arm rolled to the side and ripped off, where Jacopo’s blaster had wounded her.
I heard a sound from below. Started to swivel. Jacopo fired, wide range with one blaster, and needlepoint accurate with the other.
“Multiple assailants,” Jacopo said, his voice steady and soft.
I dropped to him, landing, and added single bursts to Jacopo’s wide-range side.
Jagger, directly behind me, fired toward Jacopo. Missing him by a centimeter. Hitting the man targeting him from the open doorway. The man had two neat round holes, forehead and to the right of his nose.
I was breathing heavy. Shaking. My armor informed me it was shooting protein, minerals, and sugar into my bloodstream and increasing the oxygen levels in my helmet. Thinking we were done, I almost told it to stop, but a swarm of rats raced through the broken stairwell door toward us. I swung around and opened fire with my blaster set on wide range, saving the ammo in my handguns. Jacopo danced to the side, taking individual shots with his target pistol, picking off the last of the human stragglers. Jagger crouched against the wall, covering the hall and stairwell on that end.
More rats died.
Bengal was right. It was easy shooting. The rats were being mind-controlled and the rat queen couldn’t divide or separate her attention when her teams got into trouble.
Jolene had estimated that there were thousands of rats. I had a mental image of the countryside infested by them, and hoped she wasn’t guessing on the low side. To be smart we probably needed to kill the rat queen ourselves, and not assume the bunker busters would take her out. But I had no idea how one might recognize a rat queen.
I tapped my mic to Spy and laid out the problem to her. As I talked, she walked through another open doorway, her odd eyes meeting mine.
Cats didn’t have to roll their eyes. They conveyed insult and annoyance with their entire bodies. When I stopped talking, she said, “Baaaahr,” which meant, This place is ours. “Mrow. Siss haah,” she added. Mrow Siss meant dangerous invaders. Haah was the sound that meant the junkyard cats—Tuffs’s cats. So . . . Tuffs’s cats are the dangerous invaders. This place is ours.
“So you knew that? And you plan to kill all the rats so they can’t come back and then . . .” Further realization dawned. “Bloody hell. You planned to set up a secondary command center here? Away from the junkyard?”
Spy stared at me, her tail straight up, her ears perked. The tip of her tail went back and forth. Then she showed me her fangs.
“Fine. I’m not arguing. But two things: you really shouldn’t eat the rats unless the queen is dead and burned to a crisp, and Mateo is planning on using bunker busters, so there won’t be anything left for you to take over.”
Spy gave a chuff-puff of sound that meant You are disgusting and also maybe stupid, followed by the equivalent of an unconcerned cat shrug by turning her head away, showing she was bored by the discussion.
Over the general channel, still playing out on comms, I heard Mina say, “Rejoining Team Alpha.”
Shaking my head, I hit the mic back to general channel. “Welcome back, Mina. Take point. Shoot to kill rats and any humans in military uniforms. We are following Spy and Maul.”
The other teams were taking out rats, and the rat parties were smaller and less organized than the earlier attacks. Progress was slower than I wanted but better than the worst-case scenario. With Mina back, we were nearly a full complement of warriors as we approached the nest. I’d take it.
Behind me I heard a faint whirr and saw the Maarsies in the cameras that gave me eyes in the back of my head. “Team Epsilon,” I said. “We are coming up on your six from the stairwell. Once again, I’d appreciate if you don’t fire on us.”
We stepped over a huge pile of boiled rats and into the hallway in front of the nest. The area where we’d have to set up was empty of rats, dead or alive, but there were dead humans stacked near a doorway, one with a security camera trained on it. The camera was a stationary one and seemed to be still active, though I thought Jolene had taken them all offline.
Spy and Maul ran to the pile of bodies, leaped to the top, and sprayed, their stinky urine marking the bodies as their territory. Then Spy started eating the lips off a human.
“Jolene?” I asked, shaking my head at the cats. “Is the camera system active?”
“They wasn’t all stupid, Shining Sugah. They had them some techie types, and seven seconds ago, they managed to seal off parts of the internal security system and switch some of the cameras back on. The energy room and three weapons-rooms cameras are live, so she knows how many warriors guard them. And the cameras in the hallway where you are. I am tryin’ to isolate the changes and—”
I interrupted her. “Jacopo. Take out the cameras on this hallway.”
The boy—young man—pulled what looked like a twenty-two and fired three shots, shattering three cameras.
“Nice shootin’, boy,” Bengal said, swaggering out of a second doorway.
I flashed a hand, acknowledging him, and said, “Jolene, advise all teams to take out the cameras on the floors where they’re positioned. And then along the hallways nearby. Let’s not give Warhammer any assistance.”
“Copy that, Sugah.”
“You got the plastic explosives?” I asked Bengal.
He hefted a bag and asked, “Where you get this stuff, Li’l Girl? This’s primo stuff.”
“Warhammer’s people applied it to my door when she attacked me. I killed them before they could detonate. Then I repacked it. Waste not, want not.”
“My mawmaw used to say dat same thing, she did.” He scratched his chin, his faceplate shoved back and open, showing his dark-skinned face. “I used to laugh at her ’cause she save paper plates and plastic cups, and reuse them. Now we don’ got no paper plates and no plastic. Yo’ cats, they got the ‘waste not’ idea too, eatin’ they enemies.”
I flicked a look at the cats and back to Bengal. “Well?”
He gave me a grin I trusted not at all. “I already put what we needed on the door. I think to myself that I keep this extra. Just in case.” He pressed the bag against his armor. The Dragon Scale rolled out and accepted the bag, securing it with hemplaz loops at his hip.
I knew what this was. It was the first part of the treachery I had been expecting. Testing the waters. If I let him get away with it, it was a sign I was weak. I also knew I had to do this in a hurry, and in such a way that he didn’t lose face in front of his made-men. I hadn’t wanted to advertise Jolene’s control over the suits to everyone, but since Mina knew, it was only a matter of time before they all knew.
I opened my face shield and walked over, smiling, and was vaguely amused when his face tightened. Bengal was brawny and strong, but I’d been using my armor longer than he had used his. I activated parts of my Dragon Scale hardening and antirecoil. I gripped the neck opening of his suit and tugged him to me, slowly, my suit making me stronger than he was. He bent to me and I showed him my sweetest smile. Softly I said, “Jolene. Isolate Bengal’s suit. Harden.”
Bengal’s armor went hard as a rock. His eyes went wide and he said one explosive curse word. I tapped the loops, which released, depositing the bag into my hand.
I looked inside the bag to verify the malleable plastic explosives were really there. Then, I coiled the bag, and without looking, tossed it to Jagger. My eyes holding Bengal’s, I said, very softly, “I’m not badder than you, Bengal, but I’m pretty smart. Now, you can make this look like a big joke, a big game, and redeem yourself in front of the men, or you can act stupid and make me challenge you, and then beat your butt in front of them. Your choice.”
“You making an enemy, Li’l Girl.”
“We’ve never been friends, Bengal. And you challenged me. You made the first move. I’m not an enemy unless you make me one. Decide. Get beat or keep your dignity?”
Suddenly he laughed. It was a real laugh, as far as I could tell, ringing down the hallways. “You yo daddy’s girl through and through. We play this game again, and I be the one winning. How you know I do this thing?”
“You’re a biker president. Deceit is axiomatic.”
“Lemme go, Li’l Girl. We not friends, but I like you moxie. We good.”
I held out a hand to Jagger. “Bag.”
He tossed it to me. I put it in Bengal’s hand. “Nobody takes from me. But I am very generous. Consider this a gift, the first of many, from Little Girl, to my maybe-someday-friend, Bengal of the Boozefighters. Jolene. Release the suit.”
Bengal’s suit relaxed, and he threw his arms around me, slapping my back hard enough to bruise, had my armor not been prepared. “Yeah. You Bill’s girl. When we gone blow this door open?”
I looked down the hallway. It ended, opening to our right to another hallway guarded by some of Bengal’s team. At our left were the sealed doors to the nest, the blast doors that Warhammer had damaged when she first opened them, leaving that crack at the bottom. I looked it over and decided by the scarring and warping, she must have used a rocket.
“Send your team to cover our six and up the stairway and down the next hallway. Then give the order to blow.” By letting Bengal give the order to our mixed teams, I was making him my current number one.
He gave the order and shouted, “Positions!”
Our people darted into safety. Bengal picked me up, which I had not expected. He carried me down the hallway, away from the door, shouting, “Fire in de hole! Fire in de hole!”
I started laughing.
The doors closing the nest off from the world exploded.
Bengal tripped. We went down.
My helmet slammed shut as the blast wave hit us.
Smoke billowed out the open doors.
“Son of a bitch, Bengal,” I shouted. “How much plastic did you use?”
I swiveled to see the cats and the Maarsies dart inside, cats low, Maarsies high.
Men dressed as soldiers and Marines and pilots came pouring out. Covered in blood. Firing combustion rounds. Everything slowed down as adrenaline shot through me like lightning.
Our made-men in biker garb died in the first onslaught. I could practically see the rounds fly and hit. Their blood in fine droplets in the air. Our suits were battle-mode hardened, us in a pile on the floor. I couldn’t adjust my hands to return fire.
It was Jacopo, Mina, Jagger, and Bengal’s armored made-man, Puta-Bella, firing from cover, with Bengal and me on the floor in a knot. Six of us in armor against men and women pouring out the exploded door, firing. And then more from the far end of the hallway. They’d had access to the cameras long enough to create a pincer move.
Jacopo directed fire toward the nest. Mina fired over Bengal’s head and mine.
My suit unlocked. Bengal’s didn’t. I shoved my hands free, but couldn’t reach my weapons. With my tool glove, I fired a drill-bit into the face of an attacking thrall. Then, two more.
But in two seconds, we were outnumbered.
Jagger dove toward us on his knees. Sliding. Yanked me away from Bengal and shoved us both into a room on the side. Jagger fell against the wall, on one knee. I ripped a flashbang from my armor, shouted, “Flash!” and threw it down the hallway.
Jagger rolled into the doorway across from us. The flashbang went off. Giving us all time to recover. Jagger fired his blaster on wide angle into the smoke. Bengal’s suit unlocked.
