Hopper pointed to the man shouting for his ATL by name. “Go find him.”
Van Dop was a good man. Hopper didn’t for a moment think he was sleeping, loafing, or otherwise skipping out on his responsibilities. Wherever he was and whatever he was doing, it was probably important. But Hopper needed him here now and didn’t have time to ping him on comm. He needed to get in contact with Team Nilo. Now.
A mass of koobs emerged from the obscuration of the mirage, triggering a series of shouts from the Team Nilo mercs to keep their heads in the game.
He keyed in his comm for Elektra. “Be advised, scouts have eyes on a large contingent of Kublaren forces southward on 3rd. These appear to be the same ones we armed this a.m. How copy?”
“Copy,” Elektra replied. “We still don’t have eyes on your position, but intel has further retaliation against the zhee holed up in the ZQ as a probable scenario.”
“Roger that. Let them through or…?”
Hopper let the question hang. He didn’t have the manpower to defeat a force this large. Though he was confident he could hold them back until they decided to take alternate routes to their destination if that’s what it came to. Or until reinforcements from Team Nilo arrived should a full-scale confrontation be in the cards.
“No, don’t let them go through,” advised Elektra. “We need this temporary lull in fighting so we can consolidate and prepare for the next phase. Talk to them. Get them to hold off if you can.”
“Talk to them,” Hopper said, his voice making it clear that he was no diplomat and this wasn’t exactly in his wheelhouse. But… he’d managed earlier all right. Maybe the local koobs would be willing to listen a second time.
“They’re our allies,” Elektra said, though she didn’t sound convinced to Hopper’s ear. “Tell them the assault on the zhee should wait until Mr. Nilo can provide more resources—more weapons—to better ensure for success.”
“Copy that. Hopper out.”
He was about to turn around and call for Van Dop again when he heard the man running in his direction. The ATL was buttoning up his BDU trousers and fastening his belt.
“Not a minute of privacy in this unit,” Van Dop grumbled. Then he stopped short at the sight of the Kublaren element marching down the street. They filled the lane and crowded the sidewalk, looking more like an unruly mob than a tactical column of warriors.
But the koobs maintained fire discipline. They were notorious for firing their weapons into the air at random, just to add the noise and clamor of their movements. That they were refraining seemed like a good sign to Hopper.
“I gotta go pow-wow with these guys again,” Hopper told Van Dop. “Big Nee says they’re here for a little more payback on the donks. Our orders are to convince them to wait until we give the word.”
“What if they tell you space off?”
“Well, Nilo doesn’t want them getting past us and into the ZQ. But we don’t have orders to engage. If they refuse, we’ll call it in and see what Command wants. But we need to be ready to defend our position and block their access. I want you on that while I go chat.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah. Keep things friendly. No flexing. They’re our allies now.”
“Riiight.” Van Dop turned and then stopped to pat Hopper on the shoulder. “Be careful, man.”
Hopper gave a nod, then walked up the street toward the advancing Kublaren force. He could see the experimental weapons system that Black Leaf had manufactured. And though word was that everyone in a combat role on Team Nilo would be equipped with one before long, it never sat well with him that they’d handed them over to the koobs the way they did. But maybe that was what it took to get the Pashta’k tribe to turn its collective back on the local government. Until today, the zhee hadn’t caused them the trouble they’d caused in terrorizing the inland koobs. And it was Nilo who provided the means of putting a stop to the trouble in the Soob when the local government seemed unable or unwilling to curb the frothing zhee riots.
Ahead, the throng of Pashta’k koobs halted. Hopper searched out its ranks, looking for the old Kublaren he’d communicated with when his convoy first rolled into the AO. The one who’d put tracer rounds into the zhee corpses.
If that koob was there, he was somewhere in the back. Not traveling at the front of the force. All of these guys looked decidedly younger and stronger. Koob warriors. The type Hopper and the other teams had been fighting inland in the campaign to consolidate allies for this final push.
These koobs weren’t the ones they’d delivered from the zhee. Those hadn’t been warriors. Or if they had, it was a long time ago. Now those weapons, a hybridized version of slug throwers and blasters, were in the hands of what had to be Pashta’ki fighters.
Hopper held up a hand to indicate he had something to say. He smiled, trusting the koobs to understand the expression to be one of goodwill.
He saw the flash of a rifle from somewhere behind the front line of Kublarens. But he didn’t hear the crack. His hand went up to his neck where it felt like he’d been stabbed. A spray of blood flew before his eyes and Hopper dropped onto the scorching surface of 3rd Street.
43
“Medic!”
Van Dop’s mind was racing as he watched his Team Leader take a shot to the neck and drop into the street. His brain was trying to prioritize things. Figure out exactly what happened beyond the obvious—that Hopper had been shot—and also seize the initiative away from the Kublarens.
The members of his team, all combat veterans with experience forged across the galaxy, didn’t hesitate to make that happen. There were no orders to engage the koobs. They didn’t need one.
Blaster fire streaked at the oncoming Kublarens and extinguished itself in the throng
