“Stay behind cover. You have company coming,” he said, retreating into the thickets.
“Where are you going?” Marco hissed, still working his way out of the window.
“Don’t die,” Roen called back and, keeping his head down, rushed into the brush.
“Thanks a lot, arsehole!” Marco shot back.
Roen crawled ten meters into the thick foliage, cut a hard left and doubled back toward the road. The sounds of gunfire erupted, sharp banging noises from Marco’s pistol and the more rapid tick-tick sounds from their assailants’ automatic rifles. Roen hoped the guy could hold out for a little while longer.
He reappeared out of the woods thirty meters from the crash. Hiding behind a large tree, he glanced over the top of a branch and assessed the enemy’s strength: three, no, eight spreading out to flank the car. Roen set his sights on four of them, moving through the rotation a few times. Then he exhaled and unloaded five shots, two of which found their marks. He was able to take down another before he had to duck behind cover.
The branches shuddered as a stream of automatic fire tore into them. He felt the heavy thud of bullets as they punched into the tree’s trunk. Then he heard pistol fire again. Well, at least one of his people was still alive.
Roen turned to the other side of the tree, but was rebuked by a stream of gunfire. They had him sighted. Grimacing, he flattened to the ground and dragged himself to the adjacent tree. He shot off another grouping and took down one more of the assailants, and then he was out of bullets. Roen reached down to his side and realized he wasn’t carrying spare magazines on him. He smacked his forehead.
Duffel bag front pocket.
That left one thing to do. As much as he hated Marco, there was no way Roen was going to leave his guys to take on a group of heavily-armed men just because he was out of bullets. Roen picked up a baseball-sized rock, moved a bit further down the tree line, and sprinted up the bluff, scrambling against the steep incline and loose soil. Over seventy meters from the enemies, it was dark enough and he was far enough away that he was a difficult moving target to hit with an automatic rifle. Hopefully, he could draw some heat away from those guys in the car without getting shot. Then he remembered he wasn’t wearing any armor.
“Crap,” he muttered as dirt kicked up nearby. He reached the top of the hill and dove onto the road as more gunfire trailed after him. Peeking over the edge, he saw one of the enemy giving chase. Well, that was one less attacking his teammates. He hoped Hurley and Ines were all right.
The exchanges continued below as Roen lay in wait for the guy scrambling up the hill. Just as his head came into view, Roen lunged forward and tackled him. Together they rolled back down the bluff, the guy struggling to push Roen off so he could get a shot off, and Roen desperately trying to keep the rifle muzzle away from his chest.
They were halfway down the slope when Roen found himself on top. He swung the rock in his hand at the man’s night-vision visor, once to knock it off his face, and then two more times against his skull. The guy stopped moving. He wasn’t surprised when no Quasing left the man’s body. The Genjix didn’t assign Quasing to scrub missions. Even if it had been a host, though, Roen didn’t care. Most Quasing would only move into an enemy’s body as a last resort. Joining with someone from the opposite faction was practically suicide.
Gasping for air, Roen pulled the body up in front of him as more bullets flew at him. He grabbed the assault rifle, noting its strange make and model, and then returned fire. After his magazine ran out, he dug through the man’s pockets to find more magazines, and then continued to pick off the shadows one by one. The battle seemed to go on forever, until finally there was a lull, the echo of the last round hanging in the air.
“Roen,” Marco’s voice pierced the calm. “You alive, old boy?”
“I think so.” Roen peered over the bullet-riddled body he was using as cover and watched as Marco came out from behind the car and checked the bodies. He scampered to his feet and made his way back down the slope.
Marco was checking the Oldsmobile when he got down there. He looked over at Roen and shook his head. “Hurley died in the crash, and Ines took one in the chest during the exchange.”
Roen slammed the rifle on the ground. “Damn it!”
He had feared that one of his people might not make it out of this ambush alive, but losing both hurt. Badly. It had been years since he had lost an agent, and it still tore at him just as much as the first time.
“Come on,” Marco said. “We have to get going. How far are we from town?”
“Five, maybe ten klicks. By the way…” Roen picked up the rifle again and tossed it to Marco, who flipped it over and studied the markings. “Chinese CS variants. Interpol in the US uses M variants.”
Marco grimaced. “Genjix, and they knew we were coming. We have a leak somewhere.”
Roen’s blood froze at those words. Jill and Cameron’s well-being immediately came to mind. All it would take is one dropped word or a giveaway, and they could have the IXTF or the Genjix at their door. Images of the IXTF hauling Jill away and putting Cameron in… where do they take host children? It wouldn’t be juvenile detention, would it? Certainly not the black ops alien containment prisons that were rumored to be all over the country. He was only a kid! Roen’s hands balled into fists.
Marco gestured at the bodies. “Come on, grab our gear and get our friends out. I want them buried by dawn. We’ve got a bit of walking to do. I want to be in town by first light. Let’s move.”
12 Federal Assembly
From the Persian Empire, the cradle of civilization, I moved west to Greece through a satrap, a Persian governor. It was my vessel who negotiated the alliance with Sparta, shifting the balance of the war from Athens to the Peloponnesian League and escalating the conflict. It was also there that my satrap vessel was assassinated for being a Persian spy.
I stayed in the region for nearly five hundred years, studying human philosophy, culture, and government until a new opportunity arose. I moved further west and joined with several other Quasing as they began to expand their influence from a new empire based in Rome.
Zoras
“Finland can get quite cold,” Vitaliy Laminick mused as Enzo laid out his offer. “And you only offer me the northernmost province. Lapland feels…” he held his hands out in a shrug, “…not enticing. Beautiful, yes, but lacking in useful resources, and I already experience enough harsh winters here in Russia.”
Enzo personally adored Finland and thought the land not only beautiful, but its residents easy to manage. However, when it came to its climate, the country did tend toward the cooler end of the scale.
However, Vitaliy, though on the Federation Council, was not one of the more prominent members in the upper house, and Enzo would be damned if he was going to offer him prized real estate near the Mediterranean. Those parcels were reserved for important people. Besides, Lapland was a relatively large territory. Who did this human think he was?
Dangle the carrot. Vitaliy carries six, but has some influence over a larger caucus. Possibly twenty. That would be significant.
“There is some flexibility, Councilor.” Enzo leaned back, legs crossed as he drank his tea. “However, I am told you can bring six votes. Show me you can bring me more, and I can definitely see opportunities for… an upgrade.”
Vitaliy stiffened. “One vote or six or fifty. I am a member of the upper house.”
Massage his ego a little harder, but offer a threat.
Enzo wiped his hands and stood up. “You are an important man, Mr Laminick, but you are an important man among many hundreds of important men. Your support will be appreciated and rewarded, but know that there are others who would gladly take your place and reap the rewards I offer. Think it over.” Enzo stood up. Just like that, the meeting was over. Vitaliy looked like he was about to protest, hoping to finagle a final concession, then, reluctantly, he stood up as well.