War Criminals, Gavin Smith [best novels for beginners .txt] 📗

Nothing brought people together like an external enemy that they really hated.

Most of the Offensive, Sneaky, and Heavy Bastards were there in full combat gear, as were a great deal of the support staff and a few new faces. The Armoured Bastards were there in the remaining, still-functioning Machimoi. Cargo exoskeletons had only just started clearing away the makeshift barricades they had been using as defensive positions. It seemed that the Bastard Legion, or at least about two companies’ worth of them, had been ready to repel boarders. She could see the surviving members of the Nightmare Squad milling around as well.

Her dad was wearing the remaining stolen Cyclops war droid. He was busy organising the step-down now that the besieging forces were no longer outside the Daughter. She made for Vido first. She guessed that Golda was still tranced in to the CP at Camp Reisman. Vido was talking to the three Mafia old boys he liked to hang around with. She noticed that they were all in full combat gear as well. As she approached they walked away, throwing casual salutes her way. Vido saluted more smartly as she reached him. She returned the salute.

‘What did you do, Major?’ she asked by way of hello, glancing at the three wiseguys walking away.

‘Ask me no questions …’ he said. Miska suspected it was force of habit.

‘Just tell me this. You had to have net support. Who did you use?’

‘Hypothetically, if I was to do the kind of thing that you’re suggesting, I’d use Zaple,’ he told her.

It could have been worse. Zaple himself was chickenshit. His annoying net icon alter-ego, however, was much less chickenshit.

‘You did good,’ she told him. ‘We got paid, there’s some rewards on the way. We’ll make sure people get to sample the pleasures of Waterloo Station before we move on.’

‘The war’s over?’ he asked.

‘The war is over.’

Miska made her way across the busy hangar deck towards the Nightmare Squad. As she approached she could smell the acrid stench of the same anti-fungal chemical shower she’d had in the airlock before entering. Miska was gratified to see they were all stripping down and cleaning the kit they’d used on Ephesus. A shadow fell across her.

‘Still leading from the front, Colonel?’ her dad asked. She wasn’t sure if she detected disapproval emanating from the Cyclops or not. Miska looked up at him. He used the hand on one of the war droid’s limbs to salute her. She still wasn’t sure she liked that. She opened her mouth to explain it was circumstantial. In the end it required someone with her experience to lead what was, effectively, a special forces op.

‘She has to.’ It was Rufus Grig who’d spoken.

Miska was suddenly very much aware of Mass standing a little way off, watching them.

‘Something to say, Sergeant?’ her dad asked, the Cyclops head swivelling to look at the ex-SAS vigilante.

‘With the best will in the world, we’re not a military force. We’re a well-armed, adequately trained prison gang. Doesn’t matter what rank she needs to present herself to outsiders. If she can’t lead from the front, if she isn’t strong enough, then they won’t respect her,’ Grig continued. Miska was interested to note he said ‘they’ rather than ‘we’. ‘Most of us would kill her as soon as look at her if we got the chance.’ Grig glanced at the Ultra but the prolific serial killer seemed busy spraying fungicide on his equipment. ‘But we like her because she’s always in the shit with the rest of us. Because she’s the most fearless, the craziest of us, and she doesn’t like people fucking with the Legion.’

It wasn’t what her dad wanted to hear. It wasn’t how military command worked, for a good reason. She glanced over at Mass. She remembered what he had said about Red. She might have been in command because of the N-bombs, but she wasn’t the Hangman’s Daughter’s ‘daddy’.

‘Something to add, Captain?’ she asked. Mass took this as invitation to join them.

‘Torricone?’ he asked. That was exactly the conversation she didn’t want to have publicly.

‘What about him?’ she asked.

‘What’s going to happen to him?’

‘What gives you the right to …’ her dad started.

Miska held up her hand and her dad went quiet.

What gives him the right? she thought. Everything that Grig had just said. ‘The UN is going to cut his head open. He’s evidence of sequestration.’

‘And then what?’ Mass demanded.

‘What do you want me to say, Mass? He does us the most use in the hands of the UN. New Sun removed his N-bomb when they sequestered him. The UN will probably give him over to the Barney Prime authorities where he’ll either serve out the rest of his bid, or more likely get freed on appeal.’

‘He needs to die,’ Mass said. Miska wasn’t sure whether Mass was actually angry with Torricone for defecting and for the fight they’d had, or not. Either way this was a power play. He was trying to weaken her position.

‘I’m not declaring war on the UN,’ she told him.

‘Send him,’ Mass said nodding at the Ultra. The Ultra looked up but didn’t say anything.

‘Don’t tell me what to do,’ Miska warned.

‘Sorry, boss, all I’m saying is that there’s a solution if you want it,’ he told her. She could see that a number of the nearby legionnaires had stopped what they were doing to listen. ‘I mean, if Torricone is subject to the same rules as the rest of us.’ Mass was clearly playing to the audience now. She almost told him to learn how to make a quieter power play. Like Vido. But then it struck her that they were probably playing good Mafiosi, bad Mafiosi.

‘Why wouldn’t he be?’ Miska asked, narrowing her eyes. She knew what was coming.

‘Because you’re in love with him,’ Mass told her.

‘You’re way out of line,’ her dad growled.

‘We all know it,’ Mass said.

‘Even if I was, it’s none of your fucking business,’ Miska told him, trying not to think too