The Battle of the Hammer Worlds hw-2 Page 21

  “No questions, okay? Now, we hoped there were survivors from the lander, and we’ve had patrols out to pick you up before the bad guys did. There were two of you, right?”

  Michael nodded.

  “And your partner?”

  “She’s dead.” Michael’s voice was flat, unemotional. “Head injury when we crashed. Internal injuries, too. She didn’t make it.”

  Uzuma nodded sympathetically. “Pity. If we’d gotten to you a bit earlier. .” His voice trailed off into silence. “Anyway, it was not to be. You were too far away. You’ve done well. The Hammers are pretty upset. You gave Kraneveldt a good going over, and the Hammers still can’t work out who it was.”

  Michael looked surprised. “Surely they’ve got us on their security holocams.”

  “Apparently not. You kept your head down, which was good. That cap-nice touch. There’s holovid of you getting into the lander, but from too far away to identify you. They’re blaming us, which is good because I really, really wish we’d done that job.”

  “So glad to be of help,” Michael said ironically. “Since you haven’t beaten the shit out of me despite having me by the balls, I’m happy to accept that you’re the good guys-”

  “Trust me, Michael,” Uzuma interrupted emphatically, “we are the good guys.”

  “Fine. So what’s the plan?”

  “Ah, well.” Suddenly Uzuma was evasive. “The plan. Umm, well, let’s say the plan is for you to trust me. There are some people who want to meet you.”

  “That’s it?” Michael asked incredulously. “Trust you? Meet some people? That’s the plan?”

  “Yes, Michael. Trust me. Believe me when I say that it’s the best plan. In fact, it’s the only plan, so I suggest you go with it.” Uzuma stopped for a second. “You know, I quite like you, Michael. So I would hate to have to kill you, which I will if I have to. You can trust me on that, too.”

  Michael flinched.

  His face softening, Uzuma leaned forward and patted Michael on the knee. “Enough. Two days will see us at the drop-off point. We move out in an hour.”

  Saturday, December 25, 2399, UD

  Branxton Ranges, Commitment

  Michael blinked as the black hood was removed. The sudden glare made his eyes water.

  “Sit down, Michael. Please.”

  Michael did as he was told, sitting in a battered old chair. The man opposite him was in his late twenties, though his eyes were the eyes of a man twice that age, bottomless and dark brown, set deep under dirty black hair. Michael’s nerves jangled. There was something about the man that was deeply unsettling, a barely concealed intensity. No, it was not intensity. It was ferocity, a single-minded purpose to which everything would be sacrificed. This was not a man to cross; this was a bad man to have as one’s enemy, Michael decided.

  Michael waited. He had learned. Asking these people questions was a waste of time. If there was something he should know, he would be told.

  The man looked at him thoughtfully for a long time before speaking. “I’m Mutti Vaas, Michael, and I’m happy to see you. Luckily for you, you’re now in the hands of the NRA.”

  “Ah,” Michael said, “the New Revolutionary Army. Your man Uzuma said that’s what he belonged to. No details, though. So what the hell is the NRA? Didn’t feature in any intelligence summary I’ve ever read.”

  “Later,” Vaas said brusquely. “Now, some friends of yours asked us to look out for you, and when we heard about the Kraneveldt business. .”

  Michael’s mouth sagged open in astonishment. If Vaas and his men had been asked to look for him, his message to the embassy in McNair must have gotten through! A tiny seed of hope began to grow somewhere deep inside.

  “Who? Who asked you?” He had to know.

  Vaas put his hands up. “Don’t ask, can’t tell. Sorry. But I do have some good news for you.”

  “I hope so. What news?”

  “Well, we’re going to get you out of here. Next week probably. We’re going to hand you over to your own people. They’ll arrange to get you off-planet.”

  Vaas’s words were so understated, his voice so matter-of-fact, that nothing registered at first. When it did, Michael’s heart pounded as he absorbed what he had been told. Hardly daring to breathe, he looked Vaas right in the eye.

  “Off-planet? You’re kidding me, right?”

  “No, I’m not.” Vaas’s voice brooked no argument. “Off-planet. That’s what they say. How, I don’t know. Not my business.”

  “Oh, oh,” Michael stuttered. “Can I ask some questions?”

  “You can ask, but I have some first,” Vaas said drily.

  “Go ahead.”

  Vaas’s face hardened. “Were you responsible for the attack on the Barkersville police station?”

  Michael tried to swallow, his mouth suddenly dry. He had hoped that whole foul business would be forgotten. He certainly never intended to admit to it now that Yazdi was not there to bear witness against him. “Er, well,” he foundered, taken by surprise. “I. .” He trailed off into silence. What could he say?

  Vaas whistled softly through pursed lips. He nodded. “I thought so. I’ll take that as a yes, shall I? Look, Michael.” His voice softened. “To some extent I don’t blame you; we have a pretty good idea what you’ve been through. But you need to understand something about us, about the New Revolutionary Army.”

  Vaas paused. Michael sat there silent, the knowledge that he had failed a test he should never have failed gnawing at him. Vaas looked at him for a while before continuing.

  “The NRA is not a bunch of psychopathic killers like those DocSec perverts. Chief Councillor Polk calls us terrorists, but we’re not. We have rules, and when you get home, when you get debriefed, make sure your people understand that. We are Hammers, true, but we’re not like the rest of them out there. Got it?”

  Michael nodded his agreement.

  “Good. We have rules, and believe me, I enforce them”-one look at Vaas’s face and Michael was quite prepared to believe him-“and our rules are these. Our enemy is the Hammer government, not the Hammer people. Any Hammer the NRA comes up against in combat is fair game. Don’t care who they are. If they shoot at us, if they attack the NRA, we shoot back. But we don’t kill the wounded, we don’t kill ordinary policemen just doing their jobs, and we don’t kill civilians.” Vaas paused for a moment. “There is one exception. We kill every DocSec trooper we get our hands on. We kill DocSec anywhere, anytime, even if they’re wounded. They get one bullet because that’s all the filthy swine are worth. So at least you got one right,” he said with a faint smile. “But Michael, we do not kill police.”

  Michael felt ashamed, unclean, the guilt flooding back. He could not say anything. There was nothing to say. What he had done would stay with him forever. With a cold, sinking feeling he realized that the deaths back at Barkersville had placed a burden on him that he could never, ever put down.

  Vaas sat back. “Okay. That’s enough from me. You have some questions?”

  Michael nodded, taking a deep breath to help push the puzzled face of Detective Sergeant Kalkov out of the way. “Well, who are you for a start?”

  “I’m the leader of the NRA’s Resistance Council. We’re the only effective opposition to the Hammer government, and you’ll get no prizes for guessing we want to change the way the Hammer Worlds are run.”

  “Oh.”

  Michael must have sounded unconvinced because Vaas laughed. “I know,” he said. “It sounds like bullshit. It’s not. The NRA is a guerrilla army. How big doesn’t concern you. We’re having some success. This part of Commitment, the Branxtons, is ours. Despite all their fancy fliers, landers, drones, survsats, battlesats, and all the rest of their damn technology, the marines and those fucking DocSec psychopaths have learned to stay well away. Took a while and a pile of bodies to convince them, but they got the message in the end. We own the Branxtons, and they know it.”

  Michael still looked unconvinced.

  Va
as stared at him hard. “Your neuronics working?”

  “Of course. If I’m alive, they work.”

  “You can record everything you see?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. If you make a recording, then nobody can say we staged it, right?”

  “No.” Michael was completely baffled. “But what?”

  “A little operation we’ve got planned. I would like to send you along as an observer. I need a living witness to the fact that the NRA is an effective force, that we are not a bunch of psychopathic heretics. So will you record it?”

  Michael shrugged his shoulders. “Of course. Why not? Provided I get out of here, I don’t much care what I do.”

  “Good. That’s settled, then.” Vaas stood up. “Michael, I’m sorry, but I have to go. We won’t meet again before you leave, so good luck. I hope you get home safely. Remember one thing.” Vaas leaned forward, his eyes blazing with a sudden, frightening intensity. “Not all of us are bad. All we want from people like the Feds is help. Give us the tools and we’ll finish those Hammer scum off.”

  Vaas stepped back; Michael was shocked to see how tired the man was. He looked exhausted, his face gray and drained. He waved a man forward. “Michael, this is Tabor. Please do exactly what he says. We don’t have time for games. Make the recording I want and take it with you. You’ll know who to give it to. Good luck.”

  With that, Vaas was gone. Silently, Tabor signaled to Michael to follow.

  Thursday, December 30, 2399, UD

  Branxton Ranges, Commitment

  “Right, Michael. Briefing time.”

  Michael sat up. About bloody time, he thought. He was tired of sitting around waiting for something to happen.

  “You recording?”

  “I am now,” Michael replied.

  “Good. Okay, here’s what’s going down.” Quickly, Tabor scratched a mud map in the dirt floor of the cave. “This is the road from Cordus-here-up to Merrivale-here. Merrivale is the Hammers’ forward base for operations in the northern part of the Branxton Ranges. The road is pretty narrow, and here”-he stabbed his stick into the map midway between the two towns-“where the valley closes in, is the killing zone. This is where we are going to ambush a DocSec convoy an hour after first light tomorrow. Ten heavy trucks escorted by four DocSec armored personnel carriers. Your job, Michael, is to watch and record what happens. Then we’ll move to the handover point, here”-another stab-“about twelve hours’ hard march west of the ambush site. We move out well before first light. Any questions?”

  Michael sat with his mouth half-open. He had a hundred questions.

  “Yes. How on earth do you know that a convoy-”

  Tabor cut him off. “Can’t answer that, sorry. Next question.”

  “Um, okay. Why are DocSec running resupply convoys by road? Why not resupply Merrivale by air?”

  Tabor nodded thoughtfully. “Good question. Several reasons. Arrogance mostly. We pulled our 2nd Regiment out of this area months ago, and we think DocSec has convinced itself that things are back to normal. The heretic NRA is finally on the run, defeated, demoralized, and dispersed; you know the sort of thing.”

  Michael looked skeptical. “Even so, trucks? Escorted by thin-skinned APCs? They must be mad.”

  “No, not mad,” Tabor said with a shake of his head. “Stupid, yes, though it’s not all DocSec’s fault. Keeping Merrivale supplied by air has been a real problem for them. It’s a big base, and supporting it by air alone has been a nightmare. This is the third convoy they have run and the biggest; if it gets through, they will resume road resupply to ease the load on their air assets. We intend to show them that would be a really bad idea.”

  “Sounds good to me. But why no proper armor?”

  “Lack of armor’s not their only problem. This convoy ought to have close air support, but it will have neither, and that’s because of politics.” Tabor grinned fiercely. “Kraa, I love the Hammer sometimes. We’d be screwed if the military didn’t hate DocSec more than they hate us.”

  “Sorry, Tabor, what do you mean, politics?”

  “When DocSec needs heavy armor or close air support, they have to ask the military: the Planetary Defense Forces usually, the marines sometimes. The powers that be won’t let DocSec have their own. Kraa knows,” Tabor added bitterly, “DocSec’s dangerous enough as it is. Anyway, the PDF hates DocSec and vice versa, so DocSec finds it hard to ask for help, and even if they do, the PDF finds it real easy to say no. This time, they asked, and guess what? PDF said no.”

  Michael shook his head despairingly. What a way to run military operations. No wonder the NRA was flourishing, and long may that prevail, he thought.

  “So the convoy’s on its own?” Michael tried not to sound incredulous.

  “Not quite. When the shit hits the fan, even the PDF has to get off its ass. The nearest PDF base is Perkins, a bit over 200 kilometers away. If they had aircraft on Alert 5, we’d expect a response within twenty minutes. But”-Michael could see that Tabor was enjoying this-“that won’t happen.”

  “Go on, then,” Michael said resignedly. “Tell me why.”

  “Lieutenant General Portillo is the commanding general of the PDF. He hates. . no,” Tabor added after a moment’s reflection, “that’s not right. Portillo loathes DocSec. Seems like the dimwits shot one of his brothers out of hand. Big mistake. Turned out an informer fingered the wrong Portillo. Another family altogether, it seems. What a shame.” Tabor did not look sorry at all. “Anyway, Portillo refuses to keep aircraft on Alert 5 just to bail out some incompetent bunch of DocSec troopers stupid enough to get themselves in trouble. All Portillo will allow is Alert 15, so we will get a response from Perkins, but it won’t be quick enough to save DocSec and its precious convoy.”

  Michael was impressed. For all its shortcomings, the NRA’s intelligence seemed remarkably good. He could only hope the intelligence matched reality.

  “One last question, Tabor.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Are you sure this is not a trap, with the convoy as bait.”

  “No, we can’t be sure. But we’re pretty certain it’s legit. Let’s just say we have good sources. Now, I’ve got things to do, so is that it?”

  “That’ll do for now, thanks.”

  “Good. Remember, we move out well before first light, so be ready.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  “And remember, Michael. This is our ambush, not yours. Your job is to record what happens and get away safely. That’s all. You’ll have a gun, but you are not to get involved. Understand?”

  Michael nodded. “Understood.”

  “I really hope so.”

  Michael watched Tabor disappear into the darkness. He hoped the man was right when he said the convoy was not a trap. If it was not, he could not even begin to imagine what the hell DocSec thought it was doing. Everything he learned about the Hammer reinforced his growing view that never had there been a bunch of people more willing to believe their own propaganda. They seemed to have developed selfdelusion into an art form, a fatal art form.

  Why DocSec had decided to be so stupid he did not much care about one way or the other. Michael had not been completely honest with Tabor. Yes, getting a good neuronics recording was his priority, but he had sworn an oath over Yazdi’s grave, and he meant to honor it irrespective of what Tabor or Vaas or anyone else from the NRA might have to say. He had a score to settle with those black-uniformed DocSec rabble. He could only hope he got the chance to make a start.

  The lead armored personnel carrier appeared from around the corner, its speed quite slow, exactly as Tabor had said it would be, as the green-and-black camouflaged vehicle slowed to negotiate the tight, nearly right-angle turn. Michael watched as the APC crawled up the road, the rest of the convoy following it, tucked in tightly behind. The trucks were like nervous sheep, Michael thought, and the APC was leading them to the slaughter.

  The lead APC closed in on a small chalk mark on the road. The insta
nt the APC hit the mark, two missiles streaked across the valley to smash into its lightly armored sides. A microsecond later, the vehicle, spewing smoke, swung off the road, toppling in slow motion down the slope and coming to a rest with a sickening crunch against a huge boulder.

  The flat ripping crack of heavy machine gun fire as it flayed the rest of the convoy signaled the next phase of the operation. Chips of basalt splintered off the cliff and were whining viciously overhead. The task now was to pick off the DocSec troopers as they struggled to get clear of vehicles slamming to a halt in confusion behind the second APC, which was now a smoking ruin slewed across the road.

  The DocSec troopers spilling out of the trucks had nowhere to run. Every direction they turned, they faced a lethal blizzard of carbine and heavy machine gun fire. In minutes it was all over. The convoy was jammed nose to tail in an untidy, crumpled line of smoking, ruined wrecks strewn along the road, with the bodies of the DocSec troopers lying where they had been cut down. NRA troopers were walking down the line, the flat crack of a single shot now and again ringing out as any DocSec troopers still left alive were consigned to Kraa.

  Beyond the carnage, a thin plume of smoke marked where the surveillance drone had plunged to earth.

  Michael lay there, any temptation to join in completely negated by the brutal, ruthless efficiency of it all. The whole business was over in a matter of minutes; the ambushers already were beginning to pull back. The NRA might be a bunch of raggedy-assed guerrillas, but they could fight, by God. He was no expert, but it all looked pretty textbook to him, with the Hammers first caught between the jaws of the ambush and then, unable to reach cover, butchered where they had been pinned down.

  After the echoes from the last shot had died away, the silence was broken only by the sounds of the river and the metallic clicking of rapidly cooling engines. As Michael panned slowly across the ambush site, he noticed that something was wrong, something was missing. He had not noticed it before, but there were only three DocSec APCs: two at the front of the convoy but only one at the rear, where there should have been two. Before he could ask Tabor where the missing half-track was, the man stood up.