War Criminals by Gavin Smith (uplifting novels TXT) 📗

‘I didn’t say that,’ Uncle V said. ‘You’re putting words in my mouth.’

‘I’m sorry,’ the interviewer sputtered. Uncle V gave her one of his more disarming smiles.

‘I’m just saying there’s no need to lie. The truth is much more interesting.’

It appeared that the interview was over. Uncle V exchanged some pleasantries and shook hands with the still somewhat frightened-looking interviewer. Miska ran over what she’d seen of the interview. He’d not revealed anything that people hadn’t already known, certainly nothing operational. She wasn’t sure if it had done any good. She suspected that he/they might have come across as a little intimidating but at least their side of the story had been told.

‘We discussed this when you were away,’ her dad told her. ‘Decided it was the way to go.’

‘Vido’s idea?’ she asked.

‘Golda’s.’

Well, he’s getting stuck in, Miska thought.

‘Not the way I would’ve done it,’ she admitted.

‘We did discuss fire-bombing the PR offices,’ her dad told her, coaxing a smile out of her.

‘Let’s not dismiss that just yet,’ she said and it was his turn to smile.

‘My instinct was to say no but we’re a conventional force now, we’re not running black ops. I think the silence was hurting us.’

Miska nodded. They were one big black op but she couldn’t tell her father that.

‘You need sleep,’ he told her. She nodded again. She could have gone on longer if needed, but frankly there was no real gain.

‘They take Badajoz?’ she asked.

Her dad nodded. ‘MACE abandoned the camp. With us gone they were stretched too thin. Their forces retreated west.’

This meant the uninhabited jungle highlands on the western side of the river to the north of Badajoz, that supposedly had no strategic significance, were completely open to New Sun. She desperately wanted boots on the ground, wanted to send the Sneaky Bastards into the north, but there was no way to get them onto the ground without people noticing. She could repurpose the Nightmare Squad but she wanted them hunting Resnick. Besides, she suspected Resnick would head north eventually.

‘There’s one other thing,’ the twelve-inch hologram of her dad said.

She had known this was coming since she’d seen Hinton’s interview.

‘How many deserted?’ she asked.

‘We’ve got about fifty people unaccounted for,’ he told her. ‘Including Torricone.’

She tried to swallow but couldn’t. She was glad that the pressure building up behind artificial eyes couldn’t turn to tears any more.

‘Send me the list,’ she managed.

‘Miska—’

‘I’ve got to get some sleep, Dad. But the list first.’ She severed the comms link.

A few moment later the fifty or so names appeared in her IVD. She battered her fist off the cockpit console, boosted muscle denting the hardened composite material. She had no idea how Torricone had got to her like this. This wasn’t the way she conducted herself, it wasn’t the way she worked. She tried to think of the Ultra. The way she felt about him. Tried to block out Torricone with lust but it wasn’t working. She was furious with him. Not his desertion, his defection, his betrayal – she was angry with him for the way she felt.

Angry enough to kill?

She screamed. Then she sent the codes to detonate the N-bombs in all fifty of the defectors’ heads. There were of course no N-bombs to detonate. Presumably New Sun had already had them surgically removed. A dry sob wracked her frame. It was relief. She pulled her knees up to her chin and hugged her legs.

Sleep had finally come with the help of chemicals. She was less fatigued but she did not feel rested. She was still lying in her bunk on board the Little Jimmy in her PJs, but she had tranced in to Camp Reisman. Outside the CP it was business as usual. Not everybody volunteered for active service but everyone trained. She knew that those who had returned from active service were being left to sleep. They were owed shore leave but even as quiet as Waterloo Station was at the moment, due to Triple S’s offensive, the station still wasn’t a healthy place for the Bastards to hang out.

She would have preferred to have the meeting outside the CP under the awning. This was despite the humidity that simulated the conditions down on the planet within the VR training construct. However, this meeting was better had out of sight of the rest of the Legion for the time being.

The door to the smartcrete bunker hissed open and she made her way to one of the larger meeting rooms. Her dad, Vido and Golda were all sat at the featureless utilitarian table. They stood up and saluted as she entered.

‘Nobody’s watching, gentlemen,’ she told them, as all four sat back down.

‘You okay, boss?’ Vido asked. She just nodded. ‘The interview?’

‘I wasn’t here, you made a call.’ That was all she was prepared to say about it.

‘The deserters?’ her dad asked.

‘Their N-bombs have been removed,’ she told them.

‘You tried …?’ Vido started.

Miska nodded curtly. She didn’t like the look of concern on Vido’s face. Her dad at least had the courtesy to cover his concern. Golda was just watching her, an expression of detached interest on his face.

‘How come so few deserted?’ she asked.

‘We didn’t trust New Sun,’ Golda told her. He looked over at Vido. ‘Words were had.’

‘Mass got into it with Torricone,’ Vido told her. ‘Tuned him up a little but … They probably shouldn’t be in a room together any time soon.’

‘Somehow I don’t think that’s going to be an issue,’ Miska told him.

‘Your FBI agent and the doctor are back,’ Golda said. ‘We’ve kept them awake so they could speak with you.’

A hologram flickered into life over the table. Corenbloom and the doctor were at one of the workbenches in the med bay. The disgraced FBI agent was slumped over the dull grey bench. The doctor had propped his head up on his elbows but even he looked tired. There were four guard droids standing not-so-unobtrusively in the background.

‘Franklyn,’ the