That worked like magic. Enraged zhee from across all the inland settlements have been marching for the Soob. My job was to oversee a joint force of Black Leaf mercenaries and Kublaren allies as they visited the zhee settlements and made sure there was nothing left for them to come back to.
A week was allocated for that. But then the situation in the Soob changed. Some kind of plan to destabilize the city went better than expected, and Big Nee took a gamble that he could flip the local tribe against the zhee and House of Reason loyalist government. It worked… until it didn’t.
So now forces in the Soob are getting hammered. Hopper among them.
You following so far?
Good.
That leaves my team plus Pikkek and some koob warriors he’s personally selected to make for the Soob and provide relief to an element trapped at the Kublaren history museum. That’s approximately twenty fighters, most of them koobs, being sent in to stem the tide of zhee, Rep Army loyalists, and their koob toadies.
Hence… close air support would be nice.
But at least Big Nee hooked us up with our own fleet of repulsor-powered ATVs. I’m racing through the Kublaren hardpan at nearly two-hundred kilometers per hour, the wind trying to pull the air out of my lungs unless I angle my head down to take a breath. Any shifting dust feels like tiny needles as we scream through it, so I’ve got my “tactical scarf” pulled up over my face like a bandit ready to clean out a bank for every last credit.
It’s thrilling. Although from the way Lana is gripping my waist and trying not to fall off, I’d guess she’s formed a different opinion. Sucks riding on the back.
It isn’t lost on me that twenty of us are too few for what we’re ostensibly supposed to do and I’m fully expecting Surber or Nilo to give last-minute instructions once we link up with Hopper. But that’s something to worry about when it happens. For now, anticipating any variations in terrain is enough. Every dip or raise in elevation is magnified by the speed, and while only a minor course correction is needed to move around the natural topographical variations, you have to actually see them in enough time to react.
“More donks ahead,” Easy calls out. “Nine o’clock!”
A slow-moving caravan of old, smoking trucks rumbles through the scrub, sending up a blooming cloud of dust in its wake. Not the first one. Since we’re moving over twice as fast, we catch up and zip past almost before they have time to figure out who we are.
The koobs in our outfit make it pretty obvious, though. Holding on with one hand, they fire their slug-throwers into the caravan as we zip past. I see a few of the donk trucks swerve, but I’m not sure they hit anything. At least the koobs seem happy about getting some shots off.
By the time the donks respond and pull their old, rusting rifles to take shots at us, we’re long gone. I don’t hear the report of their weapons and I don’t hear any bullets snapping nearby. But it doesn’t hurt to make sure the others are all right.
“Everybody get through there all right?”
“Yup,” answers Lash.
Since no one else offers a different take, I go with that.
“Pikkek, how about your team?”
“My team, ki’k… is your team-ah, Mookta Carter. We… k’kik’k… are living.”
That’ll have to do.
“Copy that. I counted four technical trucks in that column. Anyone else?”
“Four trucks,” confirms Lana, “and I’m pretty sure I saw some donks with RPGs riding.”
“Me too,” says Abers.
“Roger. Calling it in now.”
I key the comm for Brisco. “Brisco, got something.”
I have fully surrendered any semblance of comm discipline.
“Watcha got, Carter?”
“Another zhee caravan. You got location ping?”
“Even better. Got visuals. Yeah… I see the caravan.”
“Confirmed four technical trucks mounted with repeating blasters or equivalent. Visual confirmation on RPGs.”
“Do you know how many?”
“Sorry. Forgot to pull over and count.”
“Okay, easy. We’ve just been burning through missiles snuffing out these zhee columns. Trying to be selective with what we have left in case we need them in the city later.”
I want to ask why they’re not already being used in the Soob if things are as hot as Brisco made it sound earlier. But then, it’s clear that while Nilo has a vision, it isn’t accompanied by the soundest military strategy. He’s clearly learning as he goes along.
Still, what he’s managed so far is remarkable. I shouldn’t take that away from him. The Republic tried for years to get Kublar unified. Big Nee is on the verge of doing what all those legionnaires, soldiers, marines, and tax credits couldn’t do.
That’s saying something.
“I just call it in, Brisco. You press the button.”
“Yeah, I know. Okay. We’re gonna wipe ’em out. My drone will stay with you to the Soob, but this is the last of its ordnance.”
“Copy that.”
“Hey, Carter.”
“Yeah?”
Brisco lowers his voice, like he doesn’t want to be overheard by whoever is around him. “It’s bad in there, man. Be careful.”
I grit my teeth. “Thanks.”
45
The Soob is burning when we reach the outcroppings. Specifically, the Green Zone is on fire. And the docks. And the spaceport. And the ZQ.
So, all of it, I guess.
Only the fires are just part of the chaos. Not the final act. There is still fierce fighting happening throughout. Explosions balloon above the skyline, climbing up the façade of multi-story buildings erected by real estate speculators. Windows shattering with each concussive blast.
A lot of fortunes have been lost today already. But I’m thinking a lot more are about to be made before the day is up.
There’s no checkpoint or city defense to slow our progress. The fighting is still too fresh and intense to allow for that. Or maybe the army,
