Sunday, December 19, 2399, UD
If Saturday had been quiet, Sunday was even quieter. So far, only four cars and a pickup had passed them in almost an hour.
Michael began to worry. The eastern sky was lightening by the minute; the plan he and Yazdi had worked out depended on their getting inside the base well before the day shift arrived. Michael did not want some smart-ass pointing out that truck and driver did not belong together.
Binoculars trained down the long stretch of empty road, Yazdi stiffened beside him. “Might have something here. Stand by.”
It was something: a gray Planetary Defense Force truck, heavily loaded judging by the labored way it managed the gentle slope up toward them. Beyond the truck, the road stretched away empty into the distance.
Yazdi scanned the vehicle carefully. “Perfect. Driver’s alone. No passenger. Road’s clear both ways. Let’s do it.”
The truck ground its way up the slight slope toward them. At the last minute, Yazdi stepped out into the road, waving her arms frantically. The driver took the bait, bringing the truck to a stop with a screech of overworked brakes. While Yazdi ran around the truck to the driver’s side, Michael ripped open the door and climbed up into the cab, one hand lunging for the distracted driver’s throat, the other grinding his pistol into the terrified man’s ribs. Michael did not hesitate, dragging the man bodily across the cab and out onto the verge, throwing him into the low scrub that bordered the road. Standing back he looked down. This was no man. He was more a boy, a skinny boy trembling in shock, eyes frantically hunting for help, hands up to keep Michael back.
“What do you want?” the boy stammered, voice trembling with shock. “Please don’t hurt me. Please.”
Michael ignored him. The plan called for a quick shot to the head to make sure no blood got onto the driver’s gray fatigues, but all of a sudden Michael knew he could not-would not-do it. It would be cold-blooded murder.
“What the fuck’s going on?” Yazdi hissed. “Why haven’t-”
Michael’s hand went up to stop her. “Pull the truck off the road while I tie him up, Corp. Then we’ll hide him in the back. That way they’ll find him eventually.”
“Hey! That’s not the-”
Michael turned on her. “That’s a fucking order, Corporal,” he whispered fiercely, “so do it. Now!”
For one heart-stopping moment, Michael thought Yazdi was going to call his bluff, her hand starting down to the gun in her pocket. But she did not. She stopped, nodded slowly, and went to move the truck.
Michael squinted into the lights that flooded the security post, the peak of his stolen cap pulled well down over his face. Heart pounding, he struggled to keep control as he handed his identity card and the card containing the truck’s movement order out the window.
He had every right to be nervous. His plan for getting into the base was so riddled with flaws that it was barely a plan at all. It was more a series of gambles, with his and Yazdi’s lives at stake. And the biggest gamble of all was that a stolen identity card would be enough to get them into Kraneveldt.
Michael did not care. He had rolled the dice so many times in the past few months, why not do it again? If it did not work out, the fallback plan was simple: They would shoot their way in or die in the attempt.
Michael was relieved to see that the young lance corporal on the security gate looked like a sack of shit. He stood, swaying gently, as he studied the movement order Michael had shoved under his nose; the identity card he ignored. Black bags under reddened eyes spoke volumes about the young man’s lack of sleep. The stupid jerk probably had done back-to-back shifts to give one of his mates a decent long weekend. Well, that act of generosity was one this particular lance corporal would live to regret.
The lance corporal yawned as he waved the movement order and the stolen identity card under a scanner. Satisfied that both were genuine and passing up the opportunity to use what looked like a serious biometric scanner to confirm Michael’s identity, he handed them back.
“Know where to go?” The man obviously did not care.
Michael nodded. He had no idea but was not going to admit it.
Thankfully, the lance corporal told him anyway. “First right, keep going. On your way.”
The boom went up, and the crash bollards sank into the road. Michael eased the truck forward, desperately fighting not to stall the damn thing and trying not to look down at Yazdi. She was jammed down into the footwell on the passenger’s side, mostly-but not completely-concealed by a casually thrown jacket.
“Not far now,” he whispered to Yazdi.
“Thank fuck for that,” she grumbled. “I’m dying down here.”
Michael grinned. “Hang on. Won’t be long.”
He turned the truck into a gap between two hangars, stopping before he came out onto the dispersal area proper. The landers were directly in front of him now; with a sense of relief, he saw that the lower access hatches on all of them were wide open, with the stairs down. Even if they had been buttoned up tight, he still could have gotten in, but it would have taken time; standing around in the open in the middle of a Hammer airbase struggling with a recalcitrant lander door was not how he liked to start his day.
A quick look around confirmed that they were alone.
“Okay, Corp. Out you come.”
Yazdi struggled out of the cramped footwell. “Thank Christ for that. I’ve got no legs left.”
“Ready?”
Yazdi nodded.
“Stick close, and if we’re challenged, keep moving. No running. We’re going for that lander there.” Michael pointed out the nearest lander, its massive shape towering over them, its hull a dirty gray-black. It looked well used.
“Got it. Let’s go.”
Praying that nobody got close enough to see that Yazdi was dressed in civilian clothes, Michael climbed out of the truck. He walked smartly across the dispersal area into the shadow of the ground attack lander he had picked, Yazdi following close behind. The instant they were in, he slapped the door controls to retract the stairs and shut the hatch behind them. Breathing heavily, he and Yazdi stood there waiting while the armored hatch thudded home, the interlocks going in with a reassuringly solid
“Fuck! What a way to make a living.” Yazdi laughed nervously. “I’m really glad that’s over.”
Michael could not agree more. The short walk across the tarmac to the lander had taken five lifetimes, his back rigid with tension as he waited for the challenge that never came.
“Me, too,” he replied. “Come on, we’ve got work to do. Check every compartment. I don’t want to be interrupted. I’ll see if we can fly this thing. Oh, and Corp.”
Yazdi turned. “Yes?”
“If there is anyone, stun-shoot them, then tie them up. Okay?”
Yazdi looked long and hard at him.
“Stun-shoot only. Got it?” Michael said firmly.
Michael took an agonizing, nerve-wracking hour before he was ready to make his move. Sitting in the command pilot’s chair, he worked methodically to match the assault lander’s controls and instrumentation with the intelligence summaries provided by his neuronics. While he did that, Yazdi, who was ransacking the lander for survival gear, kept an anxious eye on the airbase around them, but a Sunday was a Sunday, it seemed. Apart from an occasional vehicle, nobody even came close to the landers, let alone took any interest in them. As for the truck, it was ignored totally.
At last, he thought he had it. He had yet to touch a single control or switch on the old-fashioned panels ranged around
