“Damn,” says one of Hopper’s guys, a former legionnaire. “Y’all are bathed in koob blood. Must’ve done some KTF today, huh?”
“More like WTF,” Easy says, shaking his head. “Surber had us on body detail all day long from some nasty-ass koob slaughter. Got ’em loaded in that truck.”
“Oh yeah?” the other contractor says. “Was it by the pashtarq flats?”
“You know it?” I ask.
“Hell yeah we know it. We’re the guys that dusted all those koobs!”
I can see the smiles of satisfaction on Hopper’s team. They did the KTF. We did the cleanup. And I can feel the frustration in my team. That’s not how we want to be used by the execs.
Hopper must see the annoyance in my face. He slaps my arm. “Cheer up, Carter. We can’t all be KTF-ing-sexual-tyrannasquids. And somebody’s gotta clean up the mess.”
“Nice to know Big Nee trusts us to clear corpses,” I say.
Hopper shakes his head. “We both know that my team had the easy job. More fun, but it was the easy work. If Surber had you clean up instead of letting those bones bleach, it’s because he trusted your team to get it done right.”
“Or because he hates us,” Easy chimes in.
Abers sniffs in the cold air. “I hear that.”
“What else is new?” I ask, thankful for the chance to have some interaction now that the night has dragged on so long. Surber, Winters, and the koobs are probably passed out inside, sleeping it all off until the morning.
“Just livin’ the dream,” Hopper replies, turning to his boys with a crooked smile on his face. “Set up an ambush on some donks not far from here. One of those biker groups that go out from the temple and shake down villages. Get that ‘make us ignore you’ credit from the locals too far away from Pekk to do anything about it. Dusted maybe ten. Brisco says a few got through to your team, though.”
“We dusted ’em,” I say, feeling a little relieved that we got to take in some of the action.
“Lousy ambush,” Lash says. Not like he’s trying to start a fight, more like he’s offering his professional opinion as a former whatever (I still think he’s Legion). “None of ’em should’ve squirted through.”
Hopper shrugs. “They were flying like rho-bats out of the nine hells once they saw what happened to the lead elements. How you doin’, Lashley?”
“I’m pissed off is how I’m doing, because there’s work being done and I ain’t doin’ it. Didn’t come to this rock to not fight.”
“I hear that, too,” says Abers.
Hopper gives another wide smile. “Something tells me you guys don’t know what’s happening tonight.”
That’s true enough. We don’t.
I take the bait. “What’s happening tonight?”
“As much as I like you personally, Carter, this isn’t a social call. We were mobilized because Surber and the Pekk hoo-ha hammered out some kind of deal.”
“How’s that?”
Hopper shrugs again. “They don’t tell me the details, man. But I know we’ve got an op tonight. My squad and yours.”
I look around at my team, who only hold out their hands. Not that I expected them to have any idea.
“What kind of op, Hopper?”
The smile that forms on the SOAR marine’s face is almost maniacal. “Taking down that zhee temple, bro.”
“Holy sket,” Easy says, and I can tell he’s excited.
I am too.
Those donk scum sacks have been a curse to the indigs and to every other sentient being out here, which includes Big Nee’s operatives and compounds. They’ve raided enough koob settlements that if Hopper hadn’t have told me otherwise, I would have gone to my grave thinking that the dead we picked up earlier today were victims of the zhee who’d moved out here to get away from the relatively restraining hand of the Soob’s local government.
But I’m also concerned. We haven’t been afforded the opportunity to prepare for this op whatsoever. I have a decent kit in my ruck, but that doesn’t mean by any stretch that I’m mission capable. And I’m not sure that any of the other guys are either, especially Easy.
There’s a lot that can go wrong.
We haven’t studied the temple compound—though these are all pretty much built to exacting standards that only vary based on how important the location is deemed to be. Our charge pack supply is okay at best. No explosives. No slicing tech to get us through any sophisticated doors…
“Well,” I say to Hopper, “I hope you’ve got some gear for us in that van because we’re pretty lean at this point.”
Hopper moves to his vehicle, draws a code-gesture with the tip of his finger on the sensor panel, and steps back as the vehicle’s back door lifts open like the back of a combat sled.
I walk around and see crates full of charge packs, weapons, night vision goggles, explosives, fraggers, the sturdy housing of slicer boxes, recon bots… you name it.
Hopper smiles. “Gotcha covered, brother. We’re all set. Just gotta wait for Surber to tell us when to roll.”
I peer over my shoulder, half expecting Surber to be walking in my direction. But all I see are the koobs, who still aren’t paying us any mind. Which tells me they know something is up, too. That they expected Hopper and his team to show up.
So it’s just us who are out of the loop. Again.
Nice.
I take off my cap and grab an NV mask, sliding it over my head and adjusting the synth-strap to get a nice, tight fit over my eyes. This is the one thing I know I’ll need if we truly are going hunting tonight. They fit and look like ski goggles, if you’re familiar with snow sports. Those are big on my planet. Not so much on Kublar, but anyway, that’s how they look.
Everything takes on a mellow green tint that matches the smart-glass they’re made from. These are Legion-grade. Usually that’s just a marketing term used by those arms-related manufacturers who managed to bribe their way or exist far enough
