Alex had no actual combat experience. All his was escorting principals to safety, and the only rule of engagement was “keep them alive.” Here, he was very much accountable, easier to predict, and the principal was not under his control. Getting that control risked Aramis’s death.
Still, there was nothing to do but go forward.
Then they were across the street and huddled themselves, trying not to present targets or recognizable military appearances.
Elke came alongside and he asked, “Are we positive it’s this building?”
She waved a scanner. “Yes, I can pick up a second trace, of a secondary chemical. This building.” She nodded.
“What’s in there, officially?”
The captain said, “Paradise Clothing. They seem to make garb for Muslims and Christians both, middle class.”
“Track the owner later. What do we have on intel?”
“Right now it looks like people sewing. I’m reluctant to deploy drones. They’ll be obvious in this environment.”
They’d also be subject to damage and loss, which he’d have to account for. Though that might not be fair. They would be easy to spot. There was little airborne traffic of any kind.
Elke said, “Let me take a scan.” She unslung her shotgun and fired a recon round up past the windows. She scrolled the images on her glasses.
“The quality is not good, and the frame is small, as well as blurred from speed. There are occupants, several, male. There is a lot of debris. I note rags and cloths and possible bloodstains.”
Alex said, “Good enough for me. We’ll kick it and try. We have lawyers if we’re wrong.” He looked at the captain.
Rowe sighed and twisted his mouth. “I don’t like the potential collaterals, but I don’t see how it can get better if we wait. Go ahead and tell your people. We’ll lead.”
Elke rose and sprinted fearlessly, with everyone else playing catch up. She obviously took her buddy’s safety personally.
One nice thing about the shots outside, they offered distraction. The team might be compromised already, or the engagement might be taken as some random interplay. Either way, though, it was noisy. They were quiet. Anyone looking for them should be looking in the wrong place.
They ran to the entrance, and Elke pressed the door switch. It slid, they swarmed through into a very obvious sewing shop. There were gasps but no outright shouts or screams, and several troops raised fingers to lips then held calming hands out. Alex headed up the broad stairs with Elke and Jason each a half step behind, Shaman and Bart flowing through the door and falling in. They moved in practiced, gliding steps that minimized noise. There was still quite a bit of shuffling and clattering and some yelps from the workers. If they hadn’t been compromised already, they were now.
Jason rose up the stairs. There was a bare landing about a meter square, a featureless metal door, needing some kind of signal or having a hidden touchplate for access.
Jason was not minded to be picky. They stacked, Elke slapped a charge against the door, gave a thumbs up. Shaman goosed Jason, he goosed Elke, she fired the charge. Smoke and sparks fled in an arc. Bart managed to fit his bulk into the available space, and kicked the door off the tattered remnants of its hinges. He went right, Elke went left, Jason stepped right across the downed door, hearing a muffled grunt from someone trapped underneath it when it fell. Behind him, a shot indicated Alex had stopped the man’s pain permanently. Yes, there was a weapon next to the corpse. Good kill. Eddying dust roiled up in light from the windows. The hostiles should probably have covered those, but it might have drawn attention. This place was long abandoned.
Elke and Bart were shooting, and he had targets ahead of him. He fluttered his finger on the trigger, pointing as he moved, treating them as moving targets to his subjective stillness. He shot four before any of them could fall. He got the last one right under his raised weapon and high on the chest.
Bart called, “Right blue clear.” Elke said, “Left blue clear,” very calmly. Alex said, “Left red clear.”
That left one man behind a bloody sack that was Aramis, raising a pistol toward Aramis’s head. Jason put a bullet right through the hand and gun, and a second two centimeters past Aramis’ ear, directly into the thug’s right eye. He convulsed with a gurgle and collapsed, his hooked left arm half-hanging on Aramis’ restrained body until he slipped free. Aramis gurgled too, and moaned.
“Right red clear. Babs sweep, Bart run a patrol, Playwright, we need evac.”
Then the Recon team burst right in behind them, and stopped.
The captain stuttered for a moment, then said, “Well done, contractors. Barnes, help with their casualty.”
The combat medic was already three steps forward, his ruck unslung as he reached for gear.
Jason tried not to look at the ruined mess that was his young friend. Elke looked greenish behind her ears and around her mouth, but swallowed, squinted and stayed with it. Shaman ran forward with his pack. Jason decided he’d better at least look and see if he could serve backup.
The man was a beaten mess, though most of his insides still seemed to be inside, and intact. He might have died from trauma, but not from hypovolemic shock. If he’d died. Jason wasn’t sure if surviving this was positive. Gingerly, three people supported him, while one drew a knife and cut the tape restraints. They kicked debris aside and laid him down.
“Alive,” Shaman said. “Pulse weak but steady, breathing labored but adequate, no major head trauma.” He spoke all this as he helped handle the naked body. Aramis had great muscle tone, but it didn’t show now. He was just a flesh-colored mannequin, lacking any vitality.
There might not be major head trauma, but his jaw and cheeks were ugly. It looked like a slightly-reduced form of the ancient Hawaiian execution, with most of the bones broken, to be followed by eye gouging and eventually shattering blows to the clavicles.
He had no idea why that had suddenly come to mind, except that.. ah, right. Shaman now lived in Hawaii. The brain was capable of the most fucked up connections.
But they had him down and in a basket, with monitors. Sergeant Barnes was solidly professional, running an IV line at Shaman’s direction and checking for critical trauma or bleeding in the legs, then for spine damage. Shaman did the rest. Elke and Bart mumbled ill comments and pulled back to maintain a perimeter.
It stank. Aramis had leaked from all ends, sweated, bled. The building hadn’t been too clean to start with. There was now the stench of smoke and explosive debris, and he felt a tickle of dust catch in his throat.
Shaman sprinkled something, said, “He’s stable enough. Let’s depart.”
They backed out, with Elke screening them with smoke against any prying cameras. They left the bodies for the military to deal with. They could claim or blame as they wished.
Jason decided they would find out who was behind this. He’d make calls to acquaintances if need be. Then he’d pay a visit.
Outside, Bart watched with concern as they loaded Aramis into a military ambulance under dim red sunlight. Shaman jumped aboard and said, “I’ll see you on base.” Two troops slapped the doors closed and it rolled, joined in convoy by two Grumblies and an ARPAC.
Without waiting for clearance, Bart slid into their vehicle, as Elke dove straight through the window. Marlow and Vaughn used the doors, but weren’t much slower. He counted four heads, then accelerated before the captain could complain about anything.
They drove back at race speeds, Bart slaloming through traffic, using horn and attitude to clear a route. They had an appointment with Highland, but also to make sure Aramis arrived safely.
Pedestrians here fell into two classes. Those who were very cautious and polite, and those who seemed suicidal. They would ignore the vehicle until it was on them, then skip aside barely enough that he felt the fenders brush their clothes. It would be bad to kill any. It would mean admin and delays.
Behind him, he heard Alex speaking into his phone. “Cady, we’re coming in the back. I want to avoid any military debrief, and get out fast with Highland. I need two people to fill in. Thanks.”
He spoke louder. “We’re changing to suits fast-just clean up with alcohol gel. Lionel and Corcoran are filling in.”
“When is departure time?”
