Desperado (Murphy's Lawless: Watch the Skies Book 2) Page 6

  “Great question,” Stewart replied. “We don’t know. We know they’re not using anything UHF, at least in the bands we can pick up on our radios, but if they’re using something else we’re unaware of it. That’s a risk we have to be willing to accept. Any other questions?”

  There were none, and Stewart continued, “The weapons on the glacis appear to be rockets and maybe some larger guns. We don’t know what their maximum effective range is, but we have to assume they’ll have the ability to reach the road network south of the fields. That’s going to be our primary avenue of approach, as the major’s going to tell you in just a couple of minutes.

  “Lastly, when it comes to enemy forces, remember, we’re going to try to grab some persons of interest or high-value targets. Lieutenant Turan is inside the city working to identify those folks now. We’ll be going after their leaders as hard as we can. Someone has to know what’s going on here and in orbit, too. Those are the folks we want to locate. When it comes to locating and capturing priority targets, make sure you secure them, keep ’em quiet, and, if you can’t get them to the strike team, get them out of the city, and we’ll merge them later. Finally, make sure you’re familiar with this sand table so you can orient yourself once we’re on the objective.”

  Stewart stopped and gestured to Bo, who stood and took the pointing stick. “Great job, Lieutenant. I’ll be covering friendly forces and our scheme of maneuver. I ask you to hold all questions until the end. We’ll take plenty of time to go over this and have time for rehearsals.”

  The group settled more. A few knelt down to study the primitive diagram in the dirt. For Bo, the reminders of sandlot football were almost enough to break his concentration with pleasant yet bittersweet memories of long-dead friends.

  “Here’s how we’re gonna get this done. We’ll be moving in two different groups. Lieutenant Stewart will take the whinnies and their riders and move out this evening by sunset. They’ll move in a big U like we used for the leader’s recon. Be careful not to follow the same route and don’t let anybody track you. They’ll move during the night and take up a hasty defensive position east of the poisonous flora we found about here.” Bo tapped the plateau on the sand table. “Once past them, there are a couple areas for cover and concealment so the lieutenant’s team can wait out the night and into the next day as we kick off phase two.

  “Along the way, Stewart’s going to drop off Sergeant Fahey, Specialist Wright, and their fire team with another radio somewhere in this area here.” Bo pointed toward the southwestern corner of the plateau, roughly equidistant between their current position and the observation posts that would be the primary focus of the whinnies’ mounted assault. “They’ll act as a listening post and relay point. Our radios only have a good range of about six klicks. We might get away with a bit more than that, but it’s too risky to depend on. You guys will man the communications point and relay all the information we need back and forth until the mounted assault is complete. Be ready to rejoin Stewart and un-ass that position as soon as those observation posts get taken out.”

  “Yes, sir.” Fahey nodded. The change in the young man from surly fighter to competent young soldier was nothing short of remarkable.

  Bo pointed at the diagram. “I’ll have the vehicles with me. We’re going to spread out into three sections of five vehicles and try to keep a few minutes of interval between us. The idea is to look like separate caravans until the last section with the technicals moves up. Then we’re going to initiate the assault.

  “Alpha Section, under Lieutenant Cook and Sergeant Cleric, is going to assault the road to the gate. There are switchbacks and the road is tight, so the smaller vehicles will be under his command.

  “Bravo Section will take up a position at the junction of the main road and the riverbed. This is the firing position for the mortars. If the enemy missiles can range them, they’ll move to alternate positions and keep firing. Lieutenant Davis will lead them.

  “Charlie Section is with me. Our goal is to hit the glacis with our heavier weapons and hold their attention. Between us and Stewart’s diversion, we’ll shake them up enough that Cook can punch through the gate. We’ll find a weak spot on the glacis and set charges to blow a breaching hole in the wall. From there, we’ll assault with all of our vehicles and secure the town for the strike team. Focus first on the weapons platforms and whatever maneuver units you see. Once they’re all engaged with us, the strike team will assault. Any questions?”

  Fahey raised his hand again. “What if those missiles are more capable than we think they are, sir?”

  Bo grunted and let a sly grin cross his face. “Well, then this could be the shortest attack in history, Fahey. But who wants to live forever?”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Six

  Imsurmik

  At first, Aliza couldn’t figure out what was bothering her. For the last several nights, sleep hadn’t come easy. So, instead of lying with her eyes open in a stuffy room filled with sleeping women and children, she rose and donned her clothes. Outside the domicile, the morning air was already warm. The sky above was almost totally clear, with only a few clouds dotting the distant western horizon.

  Aliza moved through the town and followed one of her many routes, all designed to provide intelligence without seeming as if she was spying on anything in particular. But the most noteworthy detail that she noticed repeatedly as morning wore toward noon was the changed mood of the populace. The festival the night before had gone well, though it had been quieter and more reserved, and it had ended earlier than normal. The crowd of revelers had also been smaller. Aliza didn’t know if that was because many of the migrant farmers had decided to leave the city and press north, or if it was due to the influx of tribal militias. As the sun continued its progress across the sky, they continued to enter the city in a constant trickle of small bands, as if seeking their fortunes in beat-up, thrown-together vehicles.

  The bazaar, once the central place in town for commerce and trading, now appeared to be an arms market. The different factions traded and sold weaponry next to stalls filled with produce, precious stones, and other wares. It was an odd sight, but Aliza decided it was normal when the Sear approached. As she made her way through the streets, she spoke with several people whom she knew, at least in a passing way. Many of the older inhabitants behaved as if nothing was wrong regarding the change in the town, but Aliza could tell it was different, and not necessarily for the better.

  The smiles were gone. The open arms and welcoming faces of those who she’d met were closed under their thick, sun-protective paint. Tension and fear filled the air. The presence of weapons, something that had been uncommon on her arrival, wasn’t the only visible change. The locals feared those gathering there. With the approach of the Sear, they expected—even welcomed—the storing of resources for both survival and defense. Yet it seemed like none of the citizens wanted it in this manic fashion. For whatever reason, they had appeared much more at ease before the soldiers arrived. Aliza couldn’t help but wonder if it was a fear of the Harvesters, too.

  By afternoon, she had estimated that the strength of the collected militias now stood at about two thousand five hundred, but without any clear commander or cadre. A few small bands possessed true leadership, but the others just appeared to be looking for work or hoping to be noticed. Still, there were enough of them that she feared Bo and the others would not be able to take the town, and she’d be trapped inside or have to take her chances crossing the wastes alone.

  That line of thinking was nothing new. After having been a prisoner, Aliza always considered her options and tried to find places where she could retreat should the need arise. Along with her daily information collection, she started searching for those places.

  It would have been easier without her tail, however.

  As she returned to the bazaar, and the shadows started lengthening, Aliza realized she was being followed. Tracking her every move was a young boy, only twelve or thirte
en years old. He kept to the deepest shadows but was always there. The boy reminded her of a young Ben Mazza, having the same dark hair and dimples. He’d have been cute if not for the fearful and wary look on his face. When he walked, it was all a motion of gangly arms and legs. He almost looked ungraceful and frail, yet he’d done a good job with his surveillance. Aliza didn’t know how long the boy had been following her, but once she reentered the bazaar, she identified him and became certain of his intent.

  As to who would want her followed, that wasn’t in question. Waornaak, who she gathered was a warlord of a medium-sized element of about two hundred and fifty soldiers, had disliked her since she’d run into him. He’d probably dispatched the boy to follow her and gain intelligence. To her knowledge, she hadn’t given up anything. She hadn’t seen him during the previous night’s festivities, and he hadn’t been part of the group at the thermal pool for the harvest. Her report to Bo had been unobserved. Which was a good thing, because of how it had unsettled her.

  “We’re coming in soon,” Bo had said. “I figure you’re in the top of the ninth inning right now. I’ve got your relief pitcher standing by.”

  Aliza had closed her eyes and muttered a quick prayer. “The other team has a lot more players now. I’m worried.”

  Bo replied, “Try not to worry, honey. We’re going to get in there and get you. I promise.”

  His words made her feel better, but knowing the attack was coming either that day or evening put her on edge.

  Aliza took her time winding through the remainder of the bazaar, taking time to visit a few of the stalls she frequented. Most of them, though, had gone. She heard conversations among the merchants. As usual, they did not hold back their opinions. Many of the families had indeed moved north. The arrival of the soldiers appeared to have heralded much more than fear and violence.

  “The Harvesters are coming, and once they take what we have, they might even take us.”

  The overheard comment sparked Aliza’s caution and speculation. Would the Kulsian Harvesters do that? Was slavery really something they practiced? Picking up innocent residents and moving them off planet to somewhere else? She believed it was possible. Hadn’t their part-ancestors the Ktor done just that when they abducted her and the others from Earth? Given the Sear and how inhospitable much of the planet would become, moving people off the planet to do the dirty work someplace else wasn’t that far-fetched at all.

  Experience had taught her that the best way to handle such nebulous fears was to calm herself and focus on the things she still needed to do. One was to find the white-haired outsider she’d seen a couple times but had never been able to follow. The second was to locate a spot in the outer glacis that was potentially thin enough or weak enough to be breached. She would wait near that point when the battle was joined, and the cavalry came charging in.

  “When you hear the guns, stop everything you’re doing and move to that safe spot, Aliza,” Bo had warned. “And then wait. If we’re delayed enough so that you can make another report, tell me where you’re going to be so we can try not to hit you.”

  She had laughed. “That would be nice.” But even as she said the words, the mirth drained away. This was serious business. Not unlike Operation Markolet—the night of the bridges. Then, she had moved into deadly enemy fire for only the noblest of causes: freedom. Now, she had found another cause to follow. Right and wrong were not gray, shapeless causes, as her most recent memories before R’Bak had carved into her awareness. Rights must be protected, and those who saw them violated must stop the violators. She would risk her life to do both for those around her.

  * * *

  Just beyond the limit of the actual bazaar, Aliza looked up from a stall selling smoked kr’it and saw the man she’d dubbed “the outsider.” She knew enough about the locals to recognize he did not fit in. While deeply tanned, his features were not so weathered as others only half his age, but who had endured the relentless sun and wind-driven grit of the Ashbands since birth. And, if she had seen another pair of amber-golden eyes like his among the R’Baku, she would surely have remembered them.

  Her stomach twisted on itself. Here was a man who did not merely stand out from the others; he hadn’t been born among them. He was a Kulsian, probably stranded here, and undoubtedly of the greatest possible interest to Colonel Murphy.

  As she continued moving casually among the food vendors’ stalls, she studied him. He wore the same thick paint as the locals, but his was exceptionally ornate. Reflective layers of silver and gold covered his face but were more thinly applied on his scalp. Aliza saw his hair was longer than the natives’ and bright white in the early morning light. This man was no soldier. His clothes and markings marked him as an individual of considerable importance, whose status was evident at a glance.

  She reentered the bazaar in order to keep him in sight, approaching him slowly through the growing late-day crowd. As a new surge of soldiers arrived to trade their weapons and other equipment, the outsider stood haggling with the owner of a booth selling carpets. The woven fibers from the helekaen were exceptionally soft. Carpets like these were luxury items. In her time spent in the bazaar, she’d never actually seen a person buy one. Most came to gawk at the incredible craftsmanship and the beauty of the textiles. This afternoon, though, the outsider was clearly in negotiation to buy a carpet, though she couldn’t quite make out his words. His voice was low, perhaps on purpose, but she heard enough of his dialect to confirm he was not local. He was undoubtedly a person of interest.

  The bickering between the outsider and the merchant went on for a good ten minutes. At the end, the outsider raised a hand, tilted his head to one side and walked away.

  “Yukannak? Silci, please!” the merchant called after him, almost pleading. Aliza quickly made her way toward the merchant’s stall to see what the man had said. The mutterings of disaffected merchants were almost always a clue to their dealings and temperament. In this case, she didn’t care. Aliza had the outsider’s name and his title as an envoy of the region’s Satrap. A careful glance over her left shoulder verified the young, dark-haired boy was still watching her. Which gave her an idea of how to deal both with him and still follow the person of interest.

  While it was tempting to engage the merchant and learn more about her target, Bo and Murphy would have stressed following the outsider. Unfortunately, the boy’s presence made that impossible, at least from a clandestine standpoint. Aliza started toward the stall where the boy was loitering. As her idea crystallized, she hoped the boy would not to be harmed as a result of her actions. He was unlikely to be guilty of anything beyond wanting to earn some coins to keep himself—and quite possibly his family—alive.

  Aliza lengthened her stride as she closed on him, working up some anger. She snatched the boy’s wrist and spun him toward her.

  “Give it back.”

  The boy’s eyes came up, locked on hers, and widened. “What?”

  “I saw you steal it. Taking fruit from a vendor. I am disappointed in you. Your parents will be ashamed when I tell them. Give it back.”

  The produce vendor, a tall burly man, came around the edge of the stall and glowered down at the boy. “You stole from me?”

  Without another word, the boy spun out of Aliza’s grasp and ran for the gate to the Outer City, just beyond the bazaar. Aliza watched him sprint away with quiet satisfaction. She turned back to the merchant, who squinted at her.

  “He stole nothing from your stall,” Aliza whispered.

  “Then why accuse him?” The merchant’s hands rested on his hips as his brow furrowed. He wore a leather-hilted knife but did not reach for it. “Why cause trouble? Is there not enough here now?”

  She knew what he meant. Soldiers had gathered around them. Aliza could hear their murmuring to each other. She let a smile crease her face to put the man at ease. “There is enough trouble here, friend. These soldiers try to have our own watch us.”

  He continued to stare down at her. One cor
ner of his mouth curled. “He spied on me? Or you?”

  “Us,” Aliza replied. “I won’t stand for that. We must protect each other.”

  “We must, sister.” The merchant smiled, showing a menagerie of dirty, crooked teeth. “I will watch for him.”

  “I don’t think he’ll be much trouble now,” Aliza replied and turned to walk away. The crowd of soldiers parted with disappointed whispers. In the distance, Aliza spotted the outsider, and she hurried to follow him.

  This Yukannak, where does he live? Who knows him? Where is he going?

  Aliza tried to quiet the questions in her mind and merely observe him from a distance. He might be no one, but a feeling in her gut made her press on.

  The outsider left the bazaar and made his way toward the dwellings tucked beneath the eaves of the cavern. Aliza followed him at a distance. Soon they approached a staircase cut into the stone. Aliza saw with mild astonishment that the guards who typically manned every checkpoint into tunnels and dwellings were conspicuously absent. It was an opportunity she could not pass up. Careful to stay a good hundred feet behind the man, Aliza followed him up the stairs and among the dwellings.

  If the dichotomy between the Outer City and the Inner City struck her, these dwellings almost froze her in place. While the exterior walls of the buildings were rough, the interior streets and what she could see of the surrounding dwellings displayed opulence on a scale she’d never seen before. The shaded lanes held none of the trash and detritus of the other parts of the city. Everything else on R’Bak was at least somewhat dirty, and yet these dwellings, far inside Imsurmik, were almost spotless.

  There were two streets running the length of the dwellings, paralleling the inner cavern wall in a gentle arc about a half-mile in length. Intersecting streets, perpendicular to the cavern wall, were evenly spaced and framed the predominantly two-story buildings into an orderly array of rectangles. The outsider ducked around the first set of buildings, making for the inner thoroughfare. Aliza came around the same corner and watched him open the door of the second, innermost building and walk inside.