Chapter Twenty-Eight
“So,” Bannor concluded, finishing the breakfast the Crewe had brought to their rooftop conference site, “our best guess is that the target gang is comprised of fifteen to twenty adults. It’s hard to guess gender, but based on size, I doubt more than a quarter are females.
“The original structure is the smaller hovel with the entry. The one they expanded from its rear has much more floor space, and is partially screened by remains of the walls left behind when they broke through the first hovel’s wall and joined the two spaces.”
“And there’s still only the one entry?”
“Correct, Chief. It’s a short dogleg passage, like most of the structures around here.”
O’Garran was scratching the back of his head. “Where do they sleep?”
Bannor shrugged. “All over, in heaps. At least that’s what it looked like in the HUD.”
Peter nodded. “That agrees with what Ta’rel told me. City praakht sleep in clusters to share body warmth, whether in hovels or out on the wastes.”
Newton shrugged. “Not surprising. A dried dung fire is a poor heat source, and most of it will rise up through the vent hole.”
Miles scratched the rear of his skull even harder. “How many were on watch?”
“Two or three,” Bannor replied, “but there were others sleeping nearby. In armor.”
Dora was dubious. “You got that through the walls?”
“No: I got that from how restlessly they were sleeping. Also, when one of them rose to stand his watch, he didn’t have to gear up.”
“I wish we had more intel,” Miles groused.
Duncan nodded somberly. “Me, too. But what I saw in even a well-ordered h’achgai hovel tells me there’s just not a lot of intel to be had. Their life is really basic, mostly because it’s impermanent.”
“What do you mean?” Ayana asked, frowning.
“I mean because there’s a constant threat of being attacked and having to flee, they only invest time in things necessary to their survival. Or which are easily portable.”
Riordan nodded and leaned forward. “Speaking of time, there’s an update from Tasvar. One of his contacts in the black market reports that Eku is going to be exchanged in two days, three at most. So to be sure of rescuing him, we have to act tomorrow. As early as possible.”
Peter sighed. “Well, if we must be prepared by first dark tomorrow, we have much planning to finish in the next thirty-six hours.”
Caine shook his head. “No. When I say we have to launch the operation as early as we can tomorrow, I mean shortly after 2950 hours today.”
Duncan started. “Wait: you mean just after midnight? Sir, we need more time!”
“I agree. Problem is, we don’t have it.”
“With respect sir,” Craig mumbled, “why not wait until the night after? That still gets the job done before the first trade date.”
But Duncan had already recalibrated and was shaking his head. “But what if the black-market intel is wrong? Or is intentional misinformation? And there’s also Tasvar’s warning that the OPFOR might start watching the target area a day early.”
Craig frowned. “Why?”
“This trade is big enough that it might require the actual presence of a real big shot; someone with enough authority to negotiate the price. And he’s going to want to be sure the trade site is clean. So, they’ll have observers in place before any threat force shows up.”
Girten nodded. “So we have to hit the hovel before they start watching it.”
Riordan nodded. “And even if the purchaser doesn’t think of that, Tasvar suspects the gang leader, or whoever is advising him, will.”
“Tasvar thinks he, or his advisor, is that bright?” Dora asked, frowning.
“According to Tasvar, trades between gangs only take place between trusted allies or groups that serve the same vassal. Rarely, a neutral vavasor might host them for a fee.
“But whoever planned Eku’s exchange required that the buyer come get him. The leader’s gang is too small to fend off a determined ambush, and anyone who heard about the offer on the black market could also hear about the trade date. Just as Tasvar did.”
Riordan allowed the following silence to stretch into several long seconds: enough time to digest that they had only eighteen hours left to plan and prepare. Then: “Before we settle on a final plan, any questions about the basics?”
Craig put up a hand. Riordan waved it away and smiled. “Just speak your mind, Sergeant.”
“Sir, I don’t see the logic of entering with the new crossbows out, instead of the guns.”
Riordan glanced at the operation’s CQC lead. “Chief?”
O’Garran nodded. “Girten, in the rush of combat that is almost certainly going to be at hand-to-hand distances, we’ll never have the chance to reload the crossbows. So they’re ‘one and done’ weapons, this time. Besides, we need their lethality to get a fast foothold inside the hovel.”
“They’re more lethal than the guns?”
Miles smiled at Solsohn. “Your turn, Major.”
Duncan, the default weapons specialist, shrugged. “If we fire the survival rifles at the charge level required to match the power of the crossbows, they’ll be single-shot weapons, too. You’ve seen how fast their batteries drain, Craig: they’re built for survival needs, not sustained combat. The older one has zero charges after just three shots that might be incapacitating. The newer models have better batteries and more efficient acceleration coils. But still, they’re drained after five shots that should be incapacitating, and possibly lethal.
“We’ve also learned how to get their helical magazines to hold and feed four different kinds of projectiles. We’ll be loaded with standard, expanding, penetrator, and snake shot.”
“Snake shot?” Ayana echoed.
“It’s essentially a combination cannister and sabot that carries a small payload out the barrel before falling away. Can be anything from a precision dart to a bunch of small pebbles.”
“And what good will that do?”
Solsohn shrugged. “Maybe nothing, but it hardly requires any charge and sprays objects at—in this case, very ignorant—targets. Might make ’em duck for cover. Might be useless. But it’s a cheap option.”
Dora sighed. “At least ex-Captain Treefrog’s hand cannon has lots of charge.”
Duncan frowned. “It might, depending on how we use it. Which may have an outsize impact on our final plan.”
Peter raised an eyebrow. “In what way?”
“Well, firstly, it is intended to be a real weapon. Which means that it doesn’t have all the different projectiles that a survival situation might require. But it does have a special one that we’ve been studying very carefully. For lack of a better term, it is a high-power smart expander.”
Craig goggled. “I’d like that in English, please.”
Duncan smiled. “The back of the projectile is made of a frangible superdense material: when it encounters a hard enough surface, it shatters into a cone of really heavy granules. The first third of the round is made of a much lighter smart compound that ‘pancakes.’”
Dora rolled her eyes. “Such a big name for a fancy hollow point.”
Duncan raised one eyebrow. “A very, very powerful hollow point which you can control by telling the smart compound how big a pancake you want.”
Craig nodded. “So with all the granules whacking into the back of it, you can dump all the energy on, or near the surface of, whatever you hit.”
“Which,” Bannor added ruefully, “would have been very helpful the last time we used it against the x’qao.”
Duncan shrugged. “Spilt milk, Colonel. We just knew the basics, then.”
“And barely those,” Rulaine added with a somber nod. “I think we might have fared just as well with Ms. Tagawa’s katana, that time.” He glanced at her. Very briefly.
She returned a sly smile. “Possibly . . . although that, too, requires adequate training, Colonel.” As her eyes left Bannor to fix on Riordan, they lost their hint of mischief. “Commodore, I have a question. No: I misspoke. I have a reservation.”
“With what?”
“Our reliance upon short melee weapons, sir.”
Riordan nodded. Although not expert in all of them, Ayana’s training had encompassed the majority of her samurai ancestors’ weaponry. “The floor is yours.”
She glanced wryly around the stone roof upon which they were sitting before allowing a concerned frown to bend her features. “I fully realize the training and skill of Chief O’Garran and Ms. Veriden in weapons with short blades. I am not personally familiar with Lieutenant Wu’s classical Chinese short-sword form, but he seems quite proficient with it. However—”
“Here it comes,” muttered O’Garran with a lopsided grin.
“However,” Ayana persisted, “our enemy has a demonstrated preference for axes and bludgeons of many kinds. This gives them considerable advantages in reach and striking power. I am . . . concerned at that imbalance.”
Riordan saw that Miles and Dora were, as usual, ready to offer spirited rebuttals . . . which is why he nodded toward Peter. “Lieutenant Wu, do you have similar concerns?”
“I do,” he admitted quietly, “but I also perceive advantages that adequately compensate for them. Firstly, the most crucial part of this combat will be the entry: a very tight dogleg designed to constrain the free passage of attackers. In such a space, I believe it is they who will be at a disadvantage. The greater the length of a weapon, the more difficult it will be to wield, especially if it must be swung with force. We enjoy the ability of agility and are largely unaffected by the tight quarters.”
Miles and Dora had initially been leaning forward into Peter’s argument, as if worried that he wouldn’t be an effective advocate. Now, they were sitting back, beaming at each other.
“Furthermore,” Wu continued, “we have agreed that we should keep our weapons on lanyards. I consider a shortsword enough of a bother dangling along beside me, if I am forced to drop it. A longer weapon is not only cumbersome but potentially dangerous. And if, as Chief O’Garran projects, we must shift between melee weapons and firearms more than once, the smaller the former, the more swiftly we may bring the latter to bear.”
Riordan glanced toward Ayana.
She was smiling. “As I said, it was only a reservation. But it warranted mention before we finalized our plan of attack. My only other counsel is to keep moving and parry when you can.”
Girten shrugged. “It would sure be handy if any of us knew how to use a shield. Like the locals.”
Yaargraukh leaned forward. “I must disagree. I do not think wearing a shield works well with our extant skills. Unlike our adversaries in the coming battle, we have many options for attack and defense. But to employ them, we must be able to free our hands quickly, as Lieutenant Wu just observed. The small bucklers we procured will prove useful for parrying, but your species’ wrists are not sufficiently . . . structured to remain unharmed by a heavy blow.”
“If the buckler takes a hard hit, let it fly away,” Dora agreed emphatically. “Better to lose them than break a wrist trying to hold on.” She glanced at Yaargraukh. “Me? I’m worried about Grendel, here.” She added comic emphasis to the name.
Yaargraukh’s eyes protruded in surprise, but his tongue whipped out briefly. “It is a strange human tradition, turning a personal insult into a comrade’s nickname. But I suppose I must make certain allowances for such a weak-wristed species.” His black tongue jetted in and out again.
Dora’s surprised smile was big and very bright. “Seriously, though: the only armor he has is that Hkh’Rkh duty suit.” She shook her head. “Not great stuff, and it took a beating after he punched out of his homemade ‘pod.’”
Yaargraukh’s neck circled. “What you call the tower shield is quite adequate, and since I cannot readily manipulate most of your devices, it is an excellent alternative.”
Riordan couldn’t be sure if his exosapient friend’s assessment was simple truth or a purposely misleading reassurance. Either way, there wasn’t much that could be done to improve his level of protection. Which reminded him: “Protect your suits, everyone. Make sure you run the smart resistance setting at maximum. But their functions and features are what have kept us alive so far, so dodge or parry instead of counting on them as armor.” And without them, we can forget about any attempt to return to orbit and repair the ship.
“And the comms?” Bannor asked.
Riordan sighed. He’d hoped that, by the time he had to make this decision, they’d have more information on whether or not Ktor might be monitoring for radio traffic, either in person or through surrogate satellites. But since they remained as uncertain as they’d started, he had no alternative but to choose the lesser of two evils.
“For this operation, the restriction on voice-comms is suspended. Immediate coordination and control is arguably our greatest advantage in the coming fight, and I’m not about to risk any of our lives because of an enemy who might not even be there. If they are and they hear”—Riordan shrugged—“then we’ll all cross that bridge together. Any other questions?”
There were none.
Riordan nodded. “That’s all. Take thirty. Then we start finalizing at the sand table. Start hydrating. A lot.” It always felt awkward saying it to people he thought of as his friends, but he finished with, “Dismissed.”
***
Bannor did not stand until the others were starting down the spiral staircase that ran from the roof to the basement. He turned toward Caine. “Minute of your time, Commodore?”
Caine nodded.
Rulaine waited a beat as the last of the group sank from sight. “Permission to talk freely, sir?”
Riordan appeared ready to deflect that formality, but to his credit, he controlled that reflex. “Of course,” he answered.
Bannor blew out a sigh. “You’ve been pushing yourself awfully hard these last three days. Something on your mind?” Like Elena?
It was as if Caine had heard the voice in Bannor’s head. “I’m not going to lie. Getting Eku back means it won’t be long before he determines if Hsontlosh’s logs are as authentic as they seem.”
Bannor frowned. “So that’s why you’ve been training so hard? You’ve been first in the practice chamber every morning. Last at night, too.”
“And I’d be there all day, if I could.” Riordan’s tone became sardonic. “They say the best therapy is work. If so, then I need as much work as I can get. Particularly since I’m about to lead a rescue that isn’t just a CQC operation; it will be hand-to-hand.”
“I understand the worry, Caine, but you have done it before. Boarding the Arat Kur courier in Barney Deucy, leading insurgents in Jakarta, taking Hsontlosh’s ship, nonstop combat in Virtua—”
Riordan shook his head. “It’s different when everyone on your team is a personal friend. Who could die if you make a mistake. Relying upon a plan based on almost no intel. And where you’re more likely to be a liability than an asset.”
Bannor almost started at Caine’s concluding worry. “Granted that you’re not a trained soldier, but—”
“My timing is off,” Riordan interrupted, eyes pinching.
Bannor leaned forward. “Say again?”
“My timing is off. Virtua changed my muscle memory.” Caine exhaled a bitter laugh. “Almost everything I learned about fighting I learned there, in a body that didn’t exist. And doesn’t exist here, either.”
Rulaine hardly knew what to say. “But you’ve recovered from the inactivity of—”
Caine shook his head. “I had seven kilos more muscle mass than I do now. And that’s after getting some back while I was dragging us around the stars. So the problem goes beyond reflexes; my proprioception has been rewritten. It’s not synced to this body any longer, but the one I left in Virtua. The one I never really had. And despite all the exercise and training with practice weapons, those skills are still off.”
Bannor’s jaw tightened: Tread carefully, here. “Firstly, you are far more capable than you were before Virtua. But besides that, you’re the CO. You shouldn’t be a skirmisher at all. So if we just—”
Riordan’s hand dropped like an axe. “No. My job is to come up with the plan and fit into it, not create a plan that fits me. And here’s why: Look me in the eye and tell me that you expect that after the first thirty seconds, the rescue will still be going ‘according to plan.’” He waited.
Bannor could only shake his head.
“Which means,” Caine concluded in a brutal tone, “that I could become engaged, screw up a simple parry, and leave an opening that gets one of you killed.”
Bannor waited, then: “Sounds like you needed to say all that out loud.”
Riordan nodded. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
Bannor waited another few seconds. “Must be tough.”
Caine frowned. “What do you mean?”
Rulaine shrugged. “Must be tough being the only human who’s got to be perfect. All the time.”
Caine’s momentary surprise became the precursor of a broken smile. “Low blow.”
“My specialty. And: you’re welcome.” Bannor rose. “Ready to finalize that plan?”
“Yeah,” Caine answered, standing slowly. “Yeah, I guess I am.”