The Ramal Extraction (35 page)

Cutter broke the connection with Jo. There was a shitload of chatter on all kinds of opchans, one more coded conversation wasn’t going to be noticed in time to do anything about it.

He commed the Thakore’s number.

“Yes?”

“This might be a really good time to throw a few rocks at Rama’s forces,” Cutter said. “Chances are you might get a jump on them.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Rama has gone to join his ancestors. He told his people to sit tight until he got back. They’ll fight if attacked, of course, but it might take ’em a few seconds to get their shit together, and your odds are not going to get better. I’m pretty sure that Rajah Ramal is about to reconsider this war in a new light. I’d guess the terms will be a lot better for an armistice.”

“You found his daughter?”

“We did.”

“Alive?”

“Yes.”

“And Rama is dead?”

“As deep vacuum.”

“Krishna and Shiva and Brahma be praised! I owe you a great debt, Colonel.”

“Think nothing of it. Just doing our job.”

Once the Thakore was off-line, Cutter sat alone in the dark on the scooter, waiting.

Reflecting on the new input he’d gotten from Jo.

Jo saw Rags standing next to the scooter right where he’d said he’d be. She and Indira arrived there.

“Colonel, this is Indira Ramal. This is Colonel Cutter.”

“Nice to finally meet you,” Rags said. “What say we take a little ride?” He nodded at the scooter. “We have a hopper waiting to take you back to your father.”

Indira said, “Is it true? That Rama was responsible for taking me?”

Cutter shrugged. “Evidence seems to point that way.”

She shook her head. “I cannot believe it. He—I never…” She trailed off. She looked as if she was about to cry.

Cutter and Jo exchanged quick glances.

“Best we get moving,” Cutter said. “We can sort everything out once we are back at your home.”

“I’ll collect the others and meet you at the rendezvous,” Jo said.

“Take care.”

“Always do.”

Jo jogged through the forest, fast enough to cover a lot of ground quickly, but slowly enough so she wouldn’t
come across nervous shooters before her senses or transponder warned her.

Wink, Gramps, Gunny, Singh, and Kay had left the camp, and she’d intersect their paths shortly. With any luck, they’d avoid further contact with elements of either army, get to the hopper, and be on their way. Thirty minutes to Mumbaiian airspace, another hour to the Rajah’s, and they were done. The locals could blow each other to bits after that, with J-Corps watching and cheering. It wasn’t CFI’s affair. Not a done deal. Not time to relax yet.

Her strength reserves were still pretty good though she sucked down a bulb of electrolytes and carbohydrates as she moved. Good idea to charge your batteries when you could; never knew when you’d need the juice.

Not far now.

She got a hit on her transponder. Pulled up. Four of them. She took a deep breath, got ready…ah, wait…

XTJC sigs. If they weren’t lying like she was.

She held her carbine ready, stopped, as the four ghosted into sight.

“Who goes there?” came the query. “As if I didn’t already know.”

Jo recognized the voice: Lieutenant Dodd.

Jo raised her carbine one-handed to point skyward. “Evening, Lieutenant.”

Dodd moved closer. “Kind of late to be out for a walk, isn’t it, Captain?”

“I have insomnia.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“Sergeant Hosep here with you?”

“No, the sergeant wanted to come, but he is back at the base.”

“Suffering for our little ruse, is he?”

“Yes, fem, and hating you all the more for it.”

Jo chuckled. “His own damn fault.”

“I know. Man is as tough as a boxcar full of boots but
not the sharpest knife in the case.” She paused. “Well, we have to run. Apparently somebody is blowing things up in Rama Rajak’s encampment, and we need to go see if that’s appropriate and within the local rules of war and all. I’ll say hello for you if I see him.”

“Good luck with that part,” Jo said.

Dodd looked at her.

“I don’t think Rama is entertaining any more callers this evening.”

Kay had the point and was out of sight.

Singh, just ahead and to her right, took the incoming round on his carbine, and while the round blew right through the gun’s action, the combination of that and his armor was enough to stop the bullet from getting through to his body.

At least enough so he didn’t fall down dead.

So much for the fake transponder sig.

Gunny didn’t have a shot—Singh was between her and the shooter, and she looked up to see two more Pahali soldiers in front of her she had to deal with, so she swung her carbine’s muzzle to the left and tapped the trigger, a pair of deuces for each—

Pap-pap! Pap-pap!

By the time she looked back, Singh had pulled his big knife. He charged the soldier who’d shot him.

Gunny flicked a glance at the third Pahali and saw he was fumbling with a magazine, trying to reload.

She had the shot now, but Singh was almost on top of the
guy, his knife cocked, and Gunny could see that he’d get there in another heartbeat. It was gonna be tight, and even as she lined it up, she saw she would be a hair slow, Singh would be in the line of fire again…
was
in it—

She eased off the trigger and lifted the muzzle, which was okay because—

Singh faked high, then skewered the guy in front of him, shoved his grandfather’s knife at an angle under the man’s armpit as he raised his arm to block, just over the top of his armor’s cutout.

The blade went in to the hilt—

The soldier dropped his useless carbine and reached for Singh’s knife with both hands

Didn’t expect to get stabbed out here, did you?

Singh twisted the blade as he pulled it out. He thrust-kicked the wounded soldier with the heel of his right boot, hit him in the low ribs, and knocked the man sprawling.

Gunny saw the blood pumping from the fallen man’s wound.

Hit an artery—

Singh kneeled and cut the man’s throat. Still on his knees, Singh did a quick snap down and to his right and slung blood from his blade. He resheathed it. He picked up the dying man’s weapon, took the magazine pouch from the man’s belt, and attached it to his own. He pulled a fresh magazine out of the pouch, locked it into the carbine, and thumbed the bolt release, chambering a round. He did a 360 sweep, looking for new targets. He pulled the gun’s muzzle up when he came to Gunny.

He did it all easily, matter-of-factly, as if it were a drill.

Gunny grinned. “Way to go, Singh.”

She waved the advance jive. He nodded.

They continued their run through the woods.

He was gonna be okay, the kid. That was a fine combat encounter, the knife, the gun, the reload and scan. If they made it back to the transport and got back to base alive, it
was gonna be a good story over drinks. And one Singh could tell to his kid someday when he passed the knife along to him or her.

She glanced back. Where the hell was Wink? He was supposed to be right behind them.

“Ease up,” she said. “Wink? Where the fuck are you?”

Gunny and Singh were doing okay up there clearing the forest, and Wink didn’t have much to do. He heard her com.

“Two hundred meters back, Gunny. Be there in a few seconds. Don’t go slow on my account, I’m just enjoying the scenery here—hello?”

Then he came across a stray picket of his own…

He had the advantage when he saw the Pahali soldier.

Wink knew who his friends were; the soldier, if his transponder was working, probably thought that Wink was one of his own. Since Gunny and Singh had been shooting up ahead, maybe the transponder trick wasn’t working, but this guy wasn’t pointing his gun at Wink.

Against the rules of war, to fake a sig that way, but this wasn’t CFI’s war, was it? The rules didn’t apply to them—both sides would shoot them if they had a chance.

All he had to do was raise a hand and wave at the soldier in greeting. The man would automatically return the wave, and at twenty-five meters, it would be an easy shot.

That was the smartest thing to do. Also the safest.

Save for his running activity, his heart rate was relatively slow and steady, there was no bubble of adrenaline popping in him. He wasn’t afraid, and given the situation, he should be at least a little bit nervous.

Again, the perils of an adrenaline junkie’s habituation. You needed a little more to spark it if you went to the edge a lot, and this one soldier thinking he was a buddy wasn’t gonna spike anything.

So Wink yelled: “Hey, Pahali! Welcome to Balaji!”

The soldier started as he realized what Wink had said. The transponder was wrong! This was an
enemy
!

Time seemed to slow down:

The Pahali began to raise his weapon…

Wink waited.
Not yet…

The carbine’s muzzle came up, oh, so slow…

No…Not yet…not yet…

Now!

Wink snapped his own carbine up and point shot.

The Pahali soldier’s carbine went off maybe a quarter second later, and the round blew past Wink’s left ear close enough for him to hear the whine and feel the wind of its passage—

Wink’s shot was better. The round blew through the Pahali’s armor and the man collapsed.

Wink’s heartbeat went up a hair. He felt a little surge of excitement, but…

Not enough

“What the fuck are you doin’?” Gunny said, coming up behind him. “Why didn’t you just shoot the sucker?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Doc, you are gonna get killed, and it will be a shame because then we’d have to break in an FNG, and that will be a pain in the ass. You need to think of us.”

“Says the woman who practices her fast draw against an already-drawn gun?”

She shook her head. “Different. Let’s go. The hopper is most of a klick that way—”

Then they heard Kay toggle her com and say: “Why are you here? Has the Rajah sent you?”

“What the fuck?” Gunny said. “Sent who?”

“Go see,” he said. “I’ll collect Gramps, be there right behind you.”