17
Logan opted to bivouac his crew in the empty militia headquarters. The structure was far too big. The public rooms were intended for squads five times their own size. But if they were successful, the space would come in handy. Plus there was only one main access point, broad double doors at the top of three wide stairs. A second portal was intended for deliveries and protected by the same steel shutters that were locked down over the two front windows. At the rear of the building, a trio of hydroponics sheds flanked the cavern wall. The gardens were full of ripening fruit and vegetables.
They set up camp, prepared a meal, and gorged themselves with the deliberate intent of people who did not know if they would ever eat again.
Logan then set the first teams in place. Their practice sessions had been based around ten teams of four, five on and five off, plus spotters that Logan now set on the headquarters roof, by the Havoc tunnel mouth, and farther along the main thoroughfare. He had intended to use Vance as leader of one shift and Nicolette for the other, but they’d asked to take part in the first series of random strikes together.
Every team was to operate within sight of another, linked all the way back to their headquarters. When they moved anywhere, they would maintain visual contact with the next unit. As he checked their comm links, Logan repeated the words he hoped were imprinted into all their brains. “Our first aim is not to capture every single enemy. We strike, we disappear, we remain safe. And the primary goals of these first sweeps are . . . what?”
Nicolette and Vance responded for their crews. “Sow uncertainty and fear.”
“Hold for my signal.”
Logan now wore three communication rings. One was connected to his teams on an open link. There was no specialized link for his officers—everyone heard it all. They were frontline troops operating in tandem. Logan intended to reward trust with trust. Another comm ring connected to the ship, the third to Linux. All three worked through the same earpiece, which meant his crew could hear Logan code in the ship and ask to speak with Hattie.
When the skipper came online, Logan asked, “Is this a secure link?”
“You think I’d use anything else?”
“I have a message for General Brodwyn.”
“Speak.”
“Everything she fears about Clan Havoc is true,” Logan said. “And more besides.”
“Noted.” There was an instant’s hesitation, then Hattie added, “Good hunting.”
He coded in the link for Linux, and when the old man answered, Logan asked, “All your men are pulled back?”
“As you requested.”
“The merchants’ private guards know to remain inside?”
“They have been warned.”
The link connecting Logan to his team glowed. “Stay ready for my alert. I have to go.”
Vance waited for the line to clear, then reported, “We have identified two Havoc teams working the market.”
“You’re sure they’re Havoc?”
“No question.” Vance’s voice held the languid air of a man who relished danger like another might a fine meal. “I’ve watched them shake down a merchant with my own eyes.”
Nicolette reported in. “A military transport has just emerged from the Havoc tunnel.”
Logan felt a slimy claw grip his gut. “Give me the details.”
“I count fourteen militia armed to the teeth, plus driver and officer up front. Okay, a second transport has now appeared.”
Logan took a long breath. It all came down to this moment. And already his plans were in tatters. “Vance, you are to hold.”
“But they’re—”
“Do not move. Nicolette, wait for my arrival.”
Logan could not be everywhere at once, but he could try. He had kept Sidra in reserve, and when he turned to her now he saw the grin of a feral cat.
“This time,” Logan replied, “we run.”
When Logan arrived at the spotter’s position on the thoroughfare, he found the beginning of one nightmare he had not anticipated.
Nicolette gestured as the third transport trundled past below them. “They’re coming in force.”
“They’ve changed tactics,” Logan realized.
Three transports jammed with armed militia did not make a full-scale invasion. But it was a declaration of intent. Logan fought down a surge of panic as a third transport emerged. The second troop carrier held eighteen plus the driver and officer up front, the third twenty.
Logan coded in his link. “Vance.”
“Here.”
“Bring your entire team back to the forward position.”
“But what about the enemy we’ve identified—”
“Every second counts. Come now.”
“On our way.”
They were positioned on a flat roof fronting the main avenue. A waist-high wall ran around the rim. Behind them were an open-air kitchen, two long tables with benches, and several sleeping pallets. Nicolette was prone on Logan’s left, her head up just high enough to see over the stone lip. “They must have been planning this for a long time.”
Logan turned to Sidra. “Alert all the off-duty teams. Bring them here as fast as you can.”
Logan’s senses were on ultra-high alert and his heart raced, yet he maintained a steady intensity. He noted the relaxed savagery in the Havoc militia’s expressions. They did not expect any opposition. Why should they? Every incursion they had made thus far had been met by silence and retreat. The duke was upping the stakes, pushing Linux harder. Pressing the advantage. The intended message was clear enough. Surrender and survive.
Logan said, “We take the last truck first. Nicolette, your team takes out the driver and officer. Freeze only. Then all the other teams seize hold of the troops.”
She squinted. “We don’t remove them?”
“No time.” Not for binding them or for explanations. “On my mark.” He waited for her to give the orders, then said, “Go.”
At the scrape of footsteps, Logan glanced around and saw Vance and his team fill the space behind. He motioned his second officer forward, then turned back in time to see Nicolette’s top two ghost-walkers reach out and pin the driver and officer where they sat.
The transports were not moving swiftly. Logan assumed their speed was part of the overall strategy. They traveled at hardly more than a walking pace, allowing fear and panic to spread before them. The third truck ambled on for a bit, then veered slightly and finally nudged into the next stall on the avenue’s right side. The officer in the middle truck was alerted to something wrong when the stall’s central pillar gave with a loud crack, and the front awning draped itself over the truck like a dusty blanket.
The second transport halted. The first continued on a bit, then stopped as well. The two officers stood in their respective seats and turned around. They stared back to where the third truck remained trapped halfway inside the stall. There was no motion from it. The second truck’s officer shouted something. The militia began readying to disembark.
“Vance—” Logan stopped in mid-command because Vance was already positioning his teams.
A few heartbeats later, activity around the second vehicle was immobilized. The militia froze as they descended from the rear hold, the driver was fixed in mid-turn, and the officer surveyed everything without protest or motion. Now it was only the first truck’s officer who shouted.
Sidra reappeared beside Logan. “Three teams are here. The fourth was asleep. They’re coming.”
Logan pointed to the militia now spreading out from the first transport, approaching their silent team. “Nicolette, have half your team freeze the troops on foot. When that’s done, send the others down. Start binding them—ankles and wrists.”
When she departed, Logan waved Vance forward. “Have your team take out the first transport.”
Nicolette slipped back into position beside Logan. “Smooth as silk.”
Together they watched as the troops on patrol halted in their tracks, and the first transport became as motionless as the others.
Logan said, “When the soldiers are bound, all crews should start shifting them to the holding pens inside the militia headquarters. After that, we go hunting.”