“More or less,” I said. “Listening. Drawing conclusions. Letting things settle. You’re all correct. All of you. We need to fight, because if they get away, they’ll know we lured them here, that someone, now their enemy, knows about them and has access to Bug EntNu comms, which, in their minds, would mean that enemy, us, has a Bug ship, which we do not.” I said it with a straight face, willing everyone attached through me to believe that as truth.
Jagger’s lips quirked. He knew I was lying. Cupcake and Amos just stared at me, knowing I was going somewhere with this. Trusting me. That was the hard part. Knowing that if people trusted me, they might die for me.Bloody hell.
“And, yeah,” I continued, despite the lump forming in my chest. “We have video of the scene and the people just like we planned, before the storm twisted on its ass and sat down on top of us. And, if we get lucky and get some useful vid of the fight, we have to film that, to show we did no permanent harm.
“We need to keep the potentially innocent warriors on the helos alive,” I continued. “No killing our own. And we still need someone to make tracks out of the storm immediately after, carrying the vids, and upload them everywhere at once, with a pinned location at this site. And last, we need to scatter.” I hadother half-formed ideas of post battle actions, which included making off with any military stuff the bad guys left behind, and making a tidy profit on some of it. but one step at a time.
“Go on,” Bengal said, flexing his bot-hand.
“I suggest we use what we have,” I said, “the storm, hydraulic fluid, diesel fuel, my earth mover, the Sisters’ cameras, and Jacopo’s shooting skills.” My eyes found the kid in the small crowd. “See if you’re as good as you say you are.”
I had to hand it to him. Jacopo didn’t rile easily. His eyebrows lifted a millimeter higher, a soft smile touched his mouth, his eyes locked on me. His body went liquid smooth, flowing into his shooting stance as if he held a weapon in both hands. His body had just issued a challenge, all the more deadly for the lack of bravado.
I grinned at him. Holding that smooth, killer’s stare.
“Step one,” I said, as if speaking to him alone, “we disable the big earth mover they brought. Step two, we attack the troop transport with hydraulic fluid: Open the hatch and spray five or six liters into the cabin, low pressure spray. The warriors, most of whom probably think they’re working a properly sanctioned Top Secret Op or a peace mission, will immediately be too slippery to do much, their weapons will be screwed up, and they’ll be coughing their lungs out, and trying to get the fluid off their bodies and their gear because hydraulic fluid will break down most anything over time. As long as it isn’t sprayed under pressure and doesn’t penetrate skin, hydraulic fluid isn’t instantly lethal. A good medbay will make them like new. And before you ask, yes, I have that much hydraulic fluid. Enrico already completed Step One. He went inside that Sikorsky and drained their earth mover’s hydraulic lines.”
Enrico tapped the canisters at his feet. I let my eyes leave Jacopo and peruse the room.
Bengal sat into his own sling chair, his bot hand no longer opening and closing as if he wanted to throttle someone. “Then what?” he asked.
I let my grin start and spread, shifting my gaze from Bengal, to Tomika, then to Jagger. I told them my plan.
When I was done, Jagger was smiling. “Thirty seconds, one minute tops, and we’re done?”
I tilted my head. Everyone here knew an OPLAN lasted until the first salvo. Then it all went to hell. Always.
“We won’t have to hit our own warriors? Our soldiers, our military?” Tomika asked, suspicion in her eyes. “I’m talkin’ the grunts,” she added. “Don’t give a shit about the brass.”
I tilted my head again, that equivocal gesture that communicated,That’s the plan. For what it’s worth. She frowned, thinking it through, knowing how well battle plans functioned.
“We won’t be able to see each other work,” Bengal said. “We can’t see where we’re going or where the helos are.”
“It’ll all be about timing,” I said, looking at my morphon. We had been nattering on for an hour. Waste of time, especially with a dead body in the snow that could be discovered any second, but that couldn’t be helped. I could have stood the chatter better in my armor, because that was heated, but I hadn’t brought the charging station. That took too much room and . . . when I started out on this stupid bloody trip I hadn’t been preparing for battle. Or a blizzard. I was frozen. Everyone was miserable.
I said, “Enrico will have to guide us into position. He’s got the spatial awareness and the directional certainty of a ninja.”
Enrico bowed slightly, old school Italian, learned from the Berger chips I had traded to repair his brain, to make him less dependent on me as his queen.
“That’s a fucked up idea and shit for a plan,” Bengal said to me. “But hey, it’ll be fun. I’m in.” He looked over his shoulder and said, “Puta Bella, Chewey, you and One Eye in? It’s not club business. It’s unfinished war business.”
“Stupid question, Boss, respectfully of course,” Puta Bella said. “But yeah, we’re in. Been a while since we had a little fight.”
One Eye cracked his knuckles, audible over a break in the wind. The half of his face that still worked grinned, showing missing teeth. He was scary as hell, but he had three cats on his lap, purring.
“Can’t speak for McQuestion,” Jagger said. “But I’m in.” McQuestion was the de facto general of the OMW. No one spoke for him.
“Enrico? Jacopo?” he asked. “Do you speak for your men?”
I tucked my chin into my frozen collar. That was a loaded question, and it put Jacopo, likely heir of the Marconi chapter, on the line. He might be temporarily working for Jagger of the OMW, but in reality he was a hostage, his safety guaranteed with an HA hostage—the Hell’s Angels’ president’s daughter—who was living and working with Marconi.
If Jacopo displayed too much independence, that would cause problems with the alliance and truce between the two biggest clubs. Too little, and his own men would disrespect him when it came time to vote in a new prez.
Jacopo laughed softly, a bitter tone in the sound, shaking his head, his hawk eyes still on me. “Well played, bitch.”
I grinned. “That’s President Bitch to you.”
“Jeeze.” Jacopo turned to Jagger and said, “Request time off from the Enforcer of the OMW for personal business.”
