Gears of War: Anvil Gate (10 page)

Baird did feel lost without Cole, and he didn’t need to admit it. But he felt more disoriented by being teamed with Dom. Things worked certain unspoken ways in four-man squads, and it was always Marcus and Dom, or Cole and Baird, or even Cole and Marcus, but rarely Baird and Dom. Baird couldn’t make small talk with Dom even before all the shit with his wife, so he had no idea how the hell he was going to manage now.

Dom wouldn’t expect him to, of course. Baird could retreat into the socially inept smart-ass role he’d built for himself. It solved a lot of problems.

“Dom, just tell me why we get all the job-shadow kids,” he said.

“Because we’re the number-one pirate-slaying team.” Dom was all weary patience. He seemed to have withered into middle age in a matter of months. Life had finally kicked all that perky optimism out of him. “Look, Sam’s been a Gear as long as you have. You went through all this crap with Bernie, too, and now you kiss her ass. Just grow out of it before Sam does some special Kashkuri needlework on you.”

“She’s not going to put any of her frigging tattoos on me.”

“Not talking about ink, Baird …”

“What?”

“Ask Hoffman. A chat we had once, about some of the things he saw in Kashkur during the war. Nasty.”

Baird was instantly consumed by morbid curiosity. “You’re just trying to freak me.”

Dom shrugged and said nothing. One of the Gorasni crewmen diverted the conversation by greeting them with an outstretched grimy hand. Baird hesitated before taking it, then jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Sam.

“And this is Private Byrne,” he said. “She’s here to cook and swab the decks.”

Sam clenched her jaw. It wasn’t for effect; it was too brief. Baird could see that she didn’t want him to know he could get to her, but it was too late for that. Now he knew the trigger. He’d use it when he had to.

It was just self-defense, nothing more. He wasn’t bullying her.

“Corporal Baird likes hospital food,” she said. The Gorasni looked her over and didn’t make it to eye level. “And
you’ll
learn to like it if you check me out one more time, Indie boy.”

The guy bowed with a flourish and indicated the foredeck. “Our humble ship is yours,
duchashka
. I shall keep my unworthy eyes to myself.”

Baird reminded himself to stop assuming the Indies didn’t understand what was being said to them just because they gabbled away in their own language most of the time. Despite himself, he almost liked their attitude. And the trawlers weren’t going to spend weeks away like factory ships. Baird decided it wouldn’t be so bad being stuck in this tub for a couple of days if the Gorasni provided some amusement. It was a run-down boat. There’d be plenty of interesting new Indie stuff to dismantle and fix, and he could lose himself in that for hours. CPO Muller was in charge. He’d let Baird nose around even if the Gorasni crewmen didn’t like it.

Yeah, a bit of diversion. But I’d rather be capping assholes back on the island
.

The boat vibrated as it picked up speed and made its way out of the basin into open water. The sun was coming up, the overnight
rain had stopped, and the thinning clouds showed all the makings of a nice day. In a couple of hours, they’d be on station in the fishing grounds to keep a watch on the small trawler fleet in case of another pirate attack. All in all, it was a routine day.

Baird leaned on the control panel in the wheelhouse and scanned the horizon through binoculars. The Gorasni helmsman just looked at him, nodded silently, and went back to staring dead ahead at the bow with one hand on the wheel. Sam had taken up position on the gun mounted on the foredeck without being asked. Dom wandered up to chat with her for a while and then came back inside to check the radar.

He leaned on the console next to Baird. “Don’t you think it’s kind of sick that we’re taking care of those Stranded guys until they’re fit enough for Trescu to beat the shit out of them? Because that’s what’s going to happen.”

Baird shrugged. “Yeah. Total waste of medical resources. And are those assholes in the same ward as our guys? Now that
is
sick.”

“I meant—ah, forget it.”

“What? What did I say?”

The Gorasni helmsman grunted. “Waste, all right. Better to ask them questions while they still
hurt.
”

If Dom wanted a discussion on rules of engagement, he’d picked the wrong time. “Okay, I’ll leave you and your new buddy to discuss morality,” he said. “I just think it’s
wrong.
”

“Don’t mind him,” Baird said to the helmsman. “He’s the nice guy. I’m the realist.”

Some things had been a lot easier when the grubs were around. Baird hadn’t had the time—or the option—to think about anything beyond making it through the day alive. He’d been scared shitless. Now he was finding he missed that clarity. What else did he expect? Fighting Locust had taken up nearly half his life. Things were still pretty rough even though the grubs were gone, but in a different, less urgent way.

All I wanted to do was engineering. Join the army or kiss your inheritance good-bye, Dad said. So I gave in. And what did I get? A shitload of grubs while the family fortune went up in smoke
.

And now Baird had come full circle. He got what he’d wished for—everyone thought he was God’s gift to engineering. And what did he feel was missing? Pissing himself with fear. He didn’t
want
to go through all that again. He was just conscious of its absence in a way that made him feel restless. His father would have given him that I-told-you-so smile. His mother would have told him he was congenitally ungrateful.

So what the fuck
do
I want? And why?

Frank Muller came into the wheelhouse. “Oilfish,” he said flatly. “The trawlers have found shitloads of oilfish. All this fuss for a sandwich filling.” Muller’s buzz-cut hair revealed an old white scar running from his left ear to the crown of his head. “Come on, do the magic shit with the radar, will you? Every time we use the comms, it scrambles. Can’t isolate the fault.”

“Shielding, crappy wiring, corrosion.” This was simple stuff for Baird. He loved it when the dim kids watched him slack-jawed like he was performing a miracle. He took a screwdriver from his belt and began removing the inspection panel. “Okay, switch it off. Might need to cannibalize something else when we get back to replace bits, though.”

The helmsman squatted down to stare Baird in the eye. “
Blondie,
” he said. “They call you Blondie because you are blond, yes? Well, I am Yanik, Blondie, and they call me that because I will
yanik
your intestines if you mess with my ship.”

Baird thought an unblinking response would get on Yanik’s best side. “Thanks for the language lesson.” He carried on unscrewing the plate. “I’m
improving
this wreck. And only Mataki gets to call me
Blondie.
”

They really didn’t like anyone poking around in their stuff. Muller leaned over and pointed at Baird. “Give him a paper clip and a ball of string and he can turn this wreck into a fucking racing yacht. Let him do his stuff.”

Yeah. Right. That’s me. I can do anything
.

Baird was satisfied by that. And it was always good to know who was smart enough to understand what he could do. He poked his way into the tangle of cables and began tracing the wiring harness,
working out which cables he could swap over to test where the interference was happening. It wasn’t cutting-edge tech. The hardest part was getting into spaces and rummaging through tool lockers to find parts he could adapt to make new connections. He had to take off his upper body armor to squeeze into gaps, and he realized how naked that made him feel.

When he ran the diagnostics, the radar fired up exactly as he expected. He watched the display as Muller made a test transmission.

“Steady as a
rock.
” Yanik peered over his shoulder. “So, Blondie-Baird, we let you live. For now.” He winked conspiratorially. “Maybe we even let you mess with our ship again.”

Muller watched the screen for a few moments. “Keep an eye on this while I go below to see if the engineer’s strangled anyone yet. If you see anything that wasn’t there before—give me a shout.”

Muller didn’t give Baird any instructions. Even with the radar controls labeled in another language, Baird could work it out from basics. Any idiot could do that. He could see the five points of yellow light flaring and fading every time the radar swept around, showing returns from the trawlers. He could see the clutter generated by waves. A radar was a radar was a radar.

Dom wandered back in. “Glad we got one of our own Marlins stowed. I wouldn’t send Mataki’s dog out in one of their inflatables.”

“I would,” Baird said. The more he saw of Gorasnaya’s remaining fleet—a tanker, a submarine, six patrol boats—the more he realized that the snazzy submarine had been window dressing. All the Indie bastards really had to offer was that imulsion rig. Maybe the frigate had been the jewel of the fleet before the thing sank, but he doubted it. “That animal’s psychotic. They do say dogs take after their handlers.”

The put-down just slipped out, like it always did. It also reopened the topic of the captured Stranded bombers, and where nice civilized people drew the line in how roughly they treated assholes who deserved everything they got.

“I bet Marcus had something to say about it,” Baird said, not needing to specify what
it
was.

“You know Marcus.” Dom shut his eyes for a second as if he’d remembered something he should have done, frowning slightly. “He likes to do the right thing.”

Yanik the entrail-remover eased the wheel fifteen degrees to starboard. “This Marcus … enemies do not respect you for doing
right
. They think you a weak fool, and then they
kill you.
”

Yanik could certainly kill a conversation. It turned into a long morning. Sam stayed on the gun, leaning on it with one arm resting on the guard like she wouldn’t give it up to a mere man without a fight.
Amirale Enka
was now in the middle of the fishing grounds, and Baird could see a couple of the fifteen-meter trawlers even without binoculars—little toy-like white hulls with bright red and blue wheelhouses. They seemed to be on a winning streak, judging by the radio chatter with Muller.

One of the boats—
Trilliant—
radioed in. “Jackpot,
Enka
. We’ll be full to capacity in six hours.”

Muller picked up the mike. “Copy that,
Trilliant
. How much catch is that?”

“Close to a hundred tonnes.”

“Everyone better like oilfish, then.”

Baird checked through the binoculars. The nearest trawler was drawing her net, a huge writhing ball of silver. Both the radar and the lookout confirmed a complete absence of pirates. Baird wasn’t heartened by that. If it wasn’t about lack of fuel—and they never seemed to be short of it—then they were just biding their time and waiting for a better opportunity to attack.

“Sam’s going to be disappointed.” He put the binoculars down and checked the radar again. “We’ll have to find her some land-based scum to shoot up.”

Muller took the remains of a cigar from behind his ear and lit it. “See, girls fight dirty. My mother warned me.” The radio circuit buzzed with the voices of trawlermen sorting their catch for the freezer, discussing shale eels and commenting on some fish that had to be from the abyssal trench. “I can’t stand oilfish. Have they caught any lobsters?”

“Imagine having this conversation a year ago,” Dom said. “We’d have eaten the net and been grateful.”

“I still don’t get why they shot up
Harvest
. They need the hulls as much as we do.”

“Do we know how many of the locals have firearms? I know they don’t have—”

Dom was interrupted by a muffled boom like a distant roll of thunder. They all looked around at the same time to see a column of black smoke rising from the sea about five klicks away to the port side. Sam swung the gun around and lined up on it.

“That was more than just a fuel tank,” she yelled. “Trust me on that.”

Muller didn’t give a helm order, but
Amirale Enka’s
motors roared to life as the Gorasni guy simply pushed the throttle hard forward and aimed for the smoke. The collision alarm sounded. The radio net went crazy as the trawlers tried to raise one another. “It’s
Levanto,
” a voice kept saying. “Look, she’s gone, it’s
Levanto
, I saw her damn well go.”

“
Shit,
” Muller said. Crew appeared on the deck from nowhere. “What the fuck’s happening? Who’s out there?”

“Nothing on radar, nothing on sonar,” said the helmsman. “
Nothing.
”

“What if it’s bloody
mines?
” Baird said.

Muller must have thought of that even if the helmsman hadn’t. And here they were, making full speed into what might be a mined area.

“
Enka
to all trawlers, hold your positions,” he said. “Don’t move until we know what we’re dealing with. We’re on our way.” He turned to Baird and flicked the radio to receive-only. “It’s too deep for bottom mines, and I can’t see a bunch of pirates being able to lay tethered ones.”

“What if it’s a drift mine?” Baird asked. “Some shit left over from the Pendulum Wars? Contact mines. A plastic hull wouldn’t save you from that.”

Muller leaned out of the port-side door. “Hey, Lookout—keep an eye open for surface mines. Nothing on sonar, but that doesn’t mean shit in this tub.”

“So we’re heading into it at fifty knots,” Baird said. “Great.” But
there wasn’t a lot of choice. He switched on his radio earpiece and went onto the deck.

Sam gestured imperiously at the wheelhouse. “Dom? Dom, take the gun. I want to go and see this.”

“Leave it to me,” Baird said.

“Hey, I’m the ordnance expert, genius. I’ve done mines. You just drive the rubber boat and leave the explosives stuff to me.”

“Y’know, I prefer Mataki. She eats cats and she’s
still
classier than you.”

“Tough shit. You got me.”

Dom came out on deck and took up the gun position.
Amirale Enka
was almost on top of the trawler fleet now. The boats had taken no notice of the order to stay put. One was chugging steadily toward
Levanto
’s last position, now marked only by smoke hanging in the air, but Baird could see nothing left to burn. There was something bobbing on the surface. It looked more like a fuel slick.