Havoc

5 Enemies at the Gate

Dred raced for the nearest checkpoint. By the sound of it, they had incoming at three of the four checkpoints. She bit out a curse, and shouted, “Calypso, take some men to the east barricades but be careful of the turrets. They’ll fire through the scrap.”

“On it,” the other woman called back.

She opened her mouth to give orders to Jael, but he was already rounding up some Queenslanders. “I’ve got the west. You’re heading north?”

“That’s the plan. All right, new fish, today you get to fight!” Though she’d told the men who used to belong to Grigor that they’d be on manual labor, no weapons, for a full turn, this was a special circumstance.

If they were smarter, they’d wonder why I’m letting them arm up.

Truth was, they needed the battle fodder. The dumb brutes roared with approval and jogged after her. Their path took them past the armory, and they chose some blades, then she sent them toward the checkpoint ahead. Tam didn’t have to be right at her ear, whispering caution, for her to see potential traps and snares; now it was second nature to consider all the ways people could betray her. Shit way to live, but in some regards, each day was an unexpected bonus. If nothing else, Perdition had taught her to exist in the moment and make the most of each opportunity.

From all over the zone came the staccato fire of the turrets and shrieks of pain. She hoped the sentries had the sense not to get shot. If they ran out of ammo before Mungo ran out of bodies, however—eh, best not to predict the future. When Dred reached the barricades, she saw two guards standing well out of firing range and the towering wall of junk had holes blown through it, all the way to the opposite wall. Dodging the sting of live rounds, she sprinted up and snuck a peek through one of those rents to scope out the situation. Eight big lunks stood behind Mungo himself, eager to mix it up. He was a filthy, hirsute brute with red hair growing wild all over his body, and he bared his yellow, half-rotten teeth in challenge.

“Shut it down,” she shouted to the guards.

We need to conserve ammo.

In reply, the guns fell quiet and junk tumbled from the top of the blockade as Mungo and his crew shoved. Dred shouted orders, and the new fish stared at her blankly. Apparently, Grigor hadn’t specialized in strategy, just mayhem. Never mind, then. The wall came down with a final massive push, and the first of Mungo’s cannibals breached the perimeter. On the other side, bloody corpses assured Dred their measures had helped, but she couldn’t afford to waste bullets on Mungo. They would die easily compared to Silence’s killers or armed mercs.

As the cannibals charged, Dred slapped her chains into the opposite palm and fell into a fighting stance. The first three were injured so bad that they stumbled forward in a slick of blood and dropped to their knees. Their comrades paid them no heed, scrambling over their dying moans to rush at Dred and her comrades. Drool trickled from their mouths, as if they saw them not as an enemy to be conquered but a potential feast.

“Eat this,” one of the new recruits snarled and slammed a blade through the mongrel’s throat.

Up close, it had never been clearer to Dred how degraded Mungo’s subjects had become. Their coordination was off as they swung in wild lurches, teeth snapping, and long strings of frothy spit surging each time they opened their mouths. Are they . . . rabid? Their eyes didn’t seem to focus clearly, and their long, curled nails were encrusted with grime. The new Queenslanders pushed the defense, lashing out with the brutal strength that had been such a pain in the ass when they served Grigor. Since she hadn’t let them drink, they were sober and angry, lots of pent-up aggression to work off. Mungo’s men fell in droves, in no way equal to Queensland recruits. Dred held her own with a lash of chain and slice of her blade. Spilled Munyan blood reeked, as if the men were rotting from the inside.

She lurched backward, stumbling over a pile of entrails, and slammed into the wall. A begrimed fist smashed into the metal beside her head, hard enough to leave a dent. While they might be revolting, they were still killers. Dred swept with her chain, tripping her opponent, and as he struggled to keep his feet, she finished him with a swipe of her knife. The battle was madness all around, a cacophony of threats and screams, snarls and grunts from Grigor’s former recruits that sounded almost like pleasure. A shiver went through her.

This truly is hell.

When his men were nearly gone, Mungo broke and ran. She considered giving chase and decided that was exactly what he wanted. It might even be an ambush, though that could be giving the monster too much credit. Possibly he was all hunger and instinct at this point. Once the dying stopped, she checked the turrets, careful to keep her reaction from the rest of the men. Not much ammo left. I have to check on the other guns and see what we have in storage. The drafted Queenslanders bumped chests hard and slugged each other with roars she recognized from Grigor’s reign. Damn. I wish I knew whether I should quell that. But it’s not like it’s a song glorifying his territory.

In the end, she let them celebrate before saying, “There’s something seriously wrong with Mungo’s crew.”

One of them turned with a look of thinly veiled contempt. “Yeah, they eat people.”

“Medically wrong,” she said icily.

“I read you can get diseases from eating your own kind,” a guard put in.

She turned to him with increased interest. “Really?”

“Yeah, especially if there was something wrong with your dinner’s brain.”

That might explain a lot about Mungo’s territory if they were all diseased and getting worse. It meant they weren’t a threat long term, but in the short term, their actions would be impossible to predict. She made a mental note to ask Tam about it; the spymaster seemed to be fairly well informed about a wide variety of subjects.

Dred raised her voice. “Good work, all of you. Let’s get this blood mopped up.”

With luck, the rest of the checkpoints had held as well.

TAM was already some distance from Queensland when the sirens went off. He hesitated, and Martine said, “We can’t turn back. They can drive off the attack without us, and if you’re serious about scouting the other territories, this might well be the best time.”

She had a point. With Mungo’s forces committed to the run at Queensland, they’d be paying less attention to their own borders. “Then we’ll continue on.”

In the old days, prior to the conflict with Priest and Grigor, he would’ve needed to be far more cautious, as there would’ve been other scouting patrols coming this way to spy on Queensland as well. Before, there would’ve been traps and cloak-and-dagger games as he made his way toward his goal. But this time, the corridors were eerily deserted, just scarred metal and old stains marking days long past. Nonetheless, he couldn’t stop checking behind them, as if the ghosts of enemies past might be stalking them.

“You’ve never taken anyone with you before, huh?”

That wasn’t why Tam was edgy, but it seemed best to let her think she had him figured out. Being attracted to Martine didn’t mean he wanted her to understand all his inner workings. “Is it so obvious?”

“You keep looking around as if you expect someone to stop us. But don’t worry, I won’t hold you back.”

She was light on her feet, quick as a shadow as she boosted up ahead of him into the ducts. Tam listened, but he heard only the battle near Queensland before he vaulted up behind her. He used this entrance enough that he’d swept the dust away with his knees. Martine was waiting for him up ahead, where the passage widened.

“Which way, pet?”

Tam raised a brow. “Let’s be clear, Martine. You don’t hold my papers. Even should we come to an arrangement down the line, those private moments don’t bleed over.”

She stepped up to him, dark eyes fierce. Then she smiled and her filed teeth sent a frisson of anticipation through him. “If you’re with me, they will because you’ll never want anything else.”

Damn. Maybe so.

With some effort, he forced a cool expression before deliberately dismissing her confidence with a tilt of his head. He slipped past her, moving toward Mungo’s territory. Martine was quiet as they traveled. Tam didn’t need to warn her that even a whisper could carry a surprising distance, and she was light enough not to make any noise as she followed. He hadn’t gone this way in quite some time; for the last half turn, he had been watching Grigor and Priest.

Hard to believe they’re no longer a threat.

The alliance with Silence had certainly been a devil’s bargain. He’d calculated her treachery though he hadn’t counted on Wills. That mad bastard. In the end, the strategy paid out as he’d expected, and they’d defeated Grigor and Priest with the Handmaiden’s help. Now Queensland stood alone once more in midst of chaos and combat with a new threat burning like wildfire. I’ll reckon a way around it. I always do.

But last time, it had cost Einar his life. Sheer inner steel made him square his shoulders and push forward, ignoring the pain and regret of that mistake. Tam slid down a level and paused. Though he hadn’t heard any fighting for a while, the sounds of a fresh battle reached him. He glanced over his shoulder and gestured to Martine that they’d take a look before continuing on. It was tricky to find a vantage, but he managed and peered through the vent. Down below, mercs squared off against the mongrel horde. He might’ve guessed it was Mungo’s men, as the whole area smelled disgusting: unwashed bodies, stale sweat, rancid meat grease, and scatological effluvia.

The close quarters slowed the mercs, but they fired point-blank, mowing down man after man. Bodies were thick on the ground already. Martine crept up beside him before he could warn her that was a bad idea, and the panel groaned beneath their combined weight. Her dark gaze met his, wide with alarm, then the grille gave way, dropping them into the middle of the battle. He landed on top of a dead body and immediately rolled to the side and drew it up as a shield. Two mercs shot the corpse, so the smell of burning meat filled his nostrils. Martine fared better as she immediately dove away and went scrambling around the corner, with laser blasts slamming into the floor behind her.

Clever girl. Save yourself.

Blade in hand, Tam slashed the hamstring of the nearest mongrel. The wound gushed blood as the leg gave way. Two mercs shot, and his victim jerked, dying. Thanks for that. But now the mercs were sizing him up, trying to decide if he posed a greater threat. In the end, they went for numbers, but Mungo’s men had a description of the Dread Queen’s spymaster, and they didn’t care how many of them died as long as they took him with them. Laser fire painted his vision red, a strobe effect that reminded him of a bar he’d trolled, before everything changed. Before Tarnus.

Before I set things right.

He mistimed a movement in the wash of memory, and the bastard he was using as cover was too heavy for him to haul for long. A blade sliced into him from behind, a solid strike. Another few centimeters, and I’m gone. The pain crippled him. For a few seconds, he didn’t see how he was getting out of this. And then Martine popped back around the corner, her blade sailing in a beautiful arc and slammed into a mongrel’s forehead. The bastard toppled, giving Tam the opening to throw himself forward. A laser burst slammed into his calf as he scrambled toward Martine.

“You should’ve left me,” he panted, as she hauled him forward.

The mercs took a few steps toward them, but the surviving mongrels seized that opportunity to renew their attack, so the mercs swung away and engaged. Two mongrels launched themselves at a single merc and dragged him to the ground, but his mates unloaded. The rifles went full auto behind them. Martine yanked him along despite his wounded leg and the blood gushing from his back.

“Not happening,” she said cheerfully. “I owe you, was my fault we ended up like that. And if I get how these things work, we were on the verge of an understanding, yeah?”

He choked out a gasp of a laugh. “It would be my pleasure.”

VOST strode through the command center, inspecting the facilities. The station was shot to shit, not worth the time it took to clean it out, but the payday had been too much for him to refuse. Resistance has been heavier than we were led to expect, too. But that was nearly always the case with bureaucratic assholes; they drew up mission parameters without regard for real-world conditions. They drew up charts, graphs, and budgets, then expected a miracle from their hired grunts.

He deployed the drone cams to keep track of the patrols. He watched a bizarre three-way battle, and he saw two of the combatants break free and bolt. The fact that they dropped from above told him that they weren’t run-of-the-mill convicts; they had the brains to try and avoid his patrols, but something told him that wasn’t their main motivation. Vost noted their faces as best he could and watched the fight for a few seconds before ascertaining that his men were wiping out the savages armed with blades and spears. A few of the prisoners seemed to be trying to attack with their damned teeth, useless against heavy armor.

Which means they’re completely insane.

Shaking his head, he checked on the mainframe/handheld connection. This room had antiquated equipment, but he plugged in his own gear, interfacing where necessary to update the ’ware. Before he finished the job, his second-in-command, Casto, strode up. He was a tall man with mud brown hair and deep-set eyes. Not even his mother would call him attractive, but he was dogged and persistent, and he didn’t break in battle, no matter how many assholes were coming at him. Vost admired those nerves of steel though he also wondered if the man was slightly brain-damaged. Fear was a normal response, one a soldier had to learn to overcome, hut Casto didn’t seem to experience it. However, he also had a strong sense of self-preservation, and he didn’t take stupid risks. That was part of why Vost had chosen him as his second. He wasn’t likely to risk the men in some misguided desire to be a hero. No, Casto was too selfish for that. Given the option, the man would always choose to live and fight another day.

The lieutenant wore a frown and a thoughtful expression. While the former looked natural on him, the latter did not. “I’m not sure dividing the men so soon was the best idea. These assholes are more aggressive and more organized than they said.”

Vost nodded. Well enough, he remembered the meeting with the Conglomerate drone in his expensive suit and his smooth Rejuvenex face. “They’ve probably devolved into an animal state by now. It won’t be a normal black op. It’ll be easier, I imagine. Just like shooting a bunch of rabid dogs.” Then he’d made an offer so astronomical that Vost hadn’t asked any more questions; he’d simply rallied his men the next day.

But he couldn’t reveal misgivings this early in the engagement. “We’ll clear this place. It’ll just take a little longer than we thought.”

Casto lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “If you say so. Then, shall I take the rest and see how many I can kill?”

Inspiration struck. This initiative would counter the unwelcome surprise that the job might take weeks instead of days. “Sometimes I think you’re smarter than you look, Casto. I’ve already got the morons mowing each other down. Now I need to motivate our guys.”

“What?” Casto was young to be second-in-command of a highly paid merc outfit, and subtlety wasn’t his forte.

But Vost wasn’t talking to him anymore. He put on his helmet and activated the internal communication system. “Attention, all units. I hope you’re keeping track of your kills. Use the helmet cam to document and the one with the highest body count will receive a 25 percent bonus on top of his usual cut.”

An excited, collective “Yes, sir” came back to him, then he cut the comm connection, not wanting to distract the men hunting with wondering if he was listening in. Sometimes he did, of course, but they never knew about it. And he’d go on patrol next time personally, once all the equipment was set up. He couldn’t lead these men if he wasn’t as good at killing as they were. Better in some cases.

“You can go ahead and transfer that into my account,” Casto said with a cocky grin. Then he whipped a quick salute and spun in tight posture to find his squad.

“And then there was one,” Vost muttered.

He hated this part of an op, but since he was the best with the gear—and the mission would suffer from lack of reliable intel—he completed the installation and made sure all tech was shaking hands and playing nice. He whizzed through activating the drone cams and sent them out to map the facility. A few early missteps before they found the tech lab had shown him that the schematics he’d been given were hopelessly outdated. The cons had been inventive in making the station their own; there were traps and hidden defenses all over the place, and if it hadn’t been for the damned expensive armor, he would’ve already been a man down just in setting up the command outpost.

One by one, his screens lit up with preliminary footage from his bots. They showed about what he expected, then he sent out a warning to Bravo team. “There’s mooks on the move, twenty of them. No weapons that can penetrate your armor. Continue as you are, and you’ll be on them in approximately 150 meters.”

“Copy that,” Bravo leader came back. “I can taste those extra credits already.”

He watched as the unit engaged, and the battle was clean, surgical, even. Whoops rang over the comm as the last fell, then the men moved on. He watched as more images came in and wondered why he felt unsettled. Probably because that Conglomerate asshole made this job sound too good to be true.

Things that seemed that way usually were.