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.
Vaas 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
“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.”
