Chapter 30
The Party Crashers
28th of Seventhmoon, MC 299 (6 Charles 9)
Gornemanz, Wellsley, People's Republic of the Malvinas (South Malvina)
The cellar was a little cramped for fifteen people, but Root figured everyone needed to be in the loop. Normally, operatives like Lapin and his team worked independently of other teams, but due to Root's insistence, he was able to link up with the team tracking Anne's group. That team was led by a man called Belette, whose cover had him posing as an effete hairdresser. Whenever he wasn't putting on the act, however, his voice would pitch down and he sounded like he gargled gravel. It was quite the surprise the first time he revealed his true nature.
A topographical map of the area was spread out on the table, illuminated by a single light bulb dangling from the ceiling.
Belette pointed to some flatlands several kilometers outside the city limits, saying, "Here it fakkin' is, the gorram Vertudo Estate."
It was worth noting that Belette swore like a Sunday sailor whenever he wasn't in character, mincing his curse words in curious ways.
"Five hundred meters of not a dern thing all 'round," Belette continued. "No dern trees, bushes or even some fakkin' sprigs a' scrubgrass more'n a few senches tall. No dern way to approach without 'em knowin'. It's what they fakkin' call a 'soft prison'. You ain't livin' too gorram bad, but you ain't goin' no-fakkin'-where neither."
"But you do have a way in, right?" Root asked.
Belette scowled. He really didn't like an outsider butting into his mission.
"We flipped Carmelita Weisskirch, the bosom buddy a' fakkin' Don Felis' daughter Trinidad. The whole dern prison thing is kept under wraps, so the Vertudos still have their gorram social functions. My team'll go in as part a' Señorita Carmelita's entourage an' see if we can't locate the target an', if possible, extract 'em."
"How are you going to do that?" Root asked.
"I don't fakkin' know," Belette grumbled. "That dern girl's got a head empty as a gorram vacuum tube. Don't got any fakkin' useful intel from her. We've gotta get in there an' see for ourselves. May not get it our first try."
"Any chance of some of us getting in on this?"
Belette scoffed at the suggestion.
"No gorram way. You can't speak Malvinan for spit an' you don't know the customs well enough to fit in. We'd be made in three fakkin' seconds with you amateurs."
Root knew Belette's reasoning was sound, but he didn't want to be stuck doing nothing.
He pointed outside the range indicated by Belette and asked, "Is there cover past here we can use? We can at least be doing observation while you're on the inside."
Belette traced circles as he said, "They've got three sets of patrols every hundred meters, a pair of two-man teams each, staggered so there's no blind spots." He pointed to a photograph of the manor house. "We expect they've got fakkin' sharpshooters in these towers here an' here, which gives 'em dern near 360-degree coverage. You think you can avoid all them fakkin' eyes?"
"You did, apparently," Root replied. "How else did you get this intel?"
"Even if you was to lay low outside the perimeter, what good do you think you can do? We won't have any way to communicate. It ain't like we can carry a dern wireless with us."
"We could communicate by smoke or flares if you got 'em. And I may be out of practice, but I was a sniper in the Legion."
Belette balked at this, saying, "I ain't riskin' my fakkin' mission on a dern used-to-wasit wantin' to relive his dern glory days."
"I'm not tryin' to relive my damn glory days," Root snapped back. "I'm lettin' you know what I bring to the table 'cause I don't wanna be stuck on the sidelines with my thumb up my ass."
Lapin rested his hand on Root's shoulder and said, "Colonel, I can appreciate you wanting to participate, but you really should leave this to the professionals. You haven't been in the field for eleven years. There may only be twelve men patrolling around outside, but there's no telling how many men they have garrisoning the place in total. We're looking at a platoon-sized element at least."
"I'm not saying I can take 'em all on single-handed," Root said. "I'm saying I can help."
"An' I'm sayin' I don't want your fakkin' help," Belette replied. "This is a job for me an' my team an' it's me an' my team that's gonna fakkin' do it."
Root saw that he wasn't getting anywhere like this, so he held up his hands and said, "Fine. This is your party. We'll do it your way."
"Well, who fakkin' knew? You can be reasonable after all."
Sergeant Kranowitz moved like he was about to say something, but Root held up a hand to stop him. No point in expanding the hostilities any.
Returning to the briefing, Belette said, "We should only expect this first outin' to be reconnaissance. If we can get the location of the captives and a better idea of what security's like on the inside, we can make a proper plan for extraction."
"But you'll spring them if you think you can pull it off," Root said.
"It's a big fakkin' if, but, yeah, that's the idea."
Still looking for a way to contribute something, Root told Belette, "If they've really got all the females in our group in one place, you should know Lieutenant Juliard is Second Bureau. There's also a Gandohese women with the Imperials, Azuki Anju. She's a skinchanger. Probably the only reason she hasn't killed everyone in there is because Captain Tsai has said otherwise."
"You care to explain Detrois an' Pardot?" Belette asked. "Weren't no info on 'em in our briefin'." He looked to Sir Willem. "Same with ol' Eisenborg there. They should've shown up on the service rolls, have personnel files."
Root wasn't prepared to reveal Anne's identity. He didn't expect Belette, Lapin or any of the other covert operatives to reveal the information, even if they were captured, but he couldn't be so sure about every man in the room.
"I'm not at liberty to say," Root replied. "It's important you get them out safe."
The realization seemed to dawn on Belette. He may not have had the complete picture, but it would seem he had the basic idea.
"Ah, fakkin' 'ell..."
He closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath, muttering, "God, King, an' country..."