017: Problems on the road

Easy meat.

Captain Paterson ordered her vehicles to a full stop.  The IR spots she'd seen bouncing into the sky as the road rose and dipped were headed their way.  This deep in the Margraf's territory it should be his men and thus safe.  Still, she hadn't been able to hail them on the radio frequencies she'd been given.  Better to wait on their approach than startle them into a fight by driving full speed at them.

Leo looked back at her from the UAZ.  He made an exaggerated shrug, "what to do?"

She held out her hand, level, and waggled it back and forth, "not sure."

Leo searched through his duffel in the backseat, emerged with a tube and blanket, and sat back down.

Llywellyn looked over at him.  "Feeling cold?"

"Da," Leo replied, "I curl up with friend."  The tube of the RPG18 disapeared under the blanket.  "Want to share?"

"Ah, no thanks."

Leo lifted the RPG tube under the blanket suggestively.  "But I glad to see you!"

In the distance, the spots illuminate their targets.  The tail BTR performed a quick halt and covered the vehicles with the turret mounted KPV.  The point BTR slowed and continued to approach.  The gunner stood in the turret hatch and waved as they drove forward.  

The trailing APC kept their vehicles illuminated as the point man advanced to within shouting distance.  Their turrets were centered on the truck.  Katriona smiled through gritted teeth.  Real friendly of them.

"Identify yourself!" came the shout from the leader.  In English.  They knew exactly who they were dealing with.

"Captain Paterson and troops."

The BTR continued to roll forward.  The accent wasn't right for a Pole.  Sounded more Germanic to her ear.  "State your business in the Margrave!"

Damn, right I'm telling you our business or who we're carrying.  "Personal business of the Margraf.  I have authorization papers for travel."  I do know that voice.

The leader halts some 20 feet from the truck, still pointing the KPV at us.  "It will not be necessary to see your papers."

It is that smug German sergeant, Otto something or another.  "I'm to take receipt of your package and provide escort to the Baron for debrief."

Package?  You don't have a clue what we're doing.  Thank god, this isn't a backstab.  This is petty, local politics.  "As I said, we are on personal business of the Margraf and report directly to him.  I would be pleased for your escort to Raciborz."  The sidearm, unbuttoned in the holster, fills my hand.  Just give me a chance.

The sergeant sighs theatrically and leans forward in the small turret.  "Captain, I don't think you understand the current situation, but as tou are an American and not expected to comprehend the subtleties..."

He put both hand on the hatch rim.  A fast smooth draw, my instructor would be proud, and he's staring down the barrel of the heavy .45 automatic.  "Hands up."

He hesitates.  "If you reach down, I will kill you and damn the subtle consequences."  He decides to slowly raise his hands and try to talk his way out.  Before he can gather any headway we all hear the clang of the trialling BTR's passenger hatch slam open.

"Leo!  Do it!"

The crew in the trailing BTR can clearly see things are going to hell.  Their men begin to disembark, but they're all focused on me, my gun and their sergeant.  Leo barely registers as he stands and the RPG tube goes up to his shoulder.  The thin skinned BTR comes apart at the seams as Leo's shot slams into it.  Over the explosion there's a cheery, "Buh-bye!"

Donald and Doc stand in the bed of the truck and sight on the rear hatches of the BTR.  No one is moving.

"Now, sergeant, I want you to inform your crew that you are going to transfer to our vehicle.  They are to remain onboard lest something unpleasant happen to you or them.  You shall be the guarentee of their good behavior.  Do you understand?

He just nods.

"Good.  Please slowly climb down, keeping your hands visible at all times."  He complies, slowly.  He can be trained.  "Doc, please secure our guest and see to his comfort."

I raise my voice.  "I want to be clear.  I don't give a good god-damn about your lives or your political games.  I'm not killing you as a courtesy to our mutual host the Margraf of Silesia.  You better think hard on where you're standing.  Good night!"

We get moving.  Long after we've left, the IR spotlight on the BTR goes on and it swings around to follow us.  It doesn't appear to be closing. 

Doc's sitting, literally, on the sarge.  I've been trying to hail Raciborz.  The hand radio probably doesn't have the range, but they've got some big antennas on that hill.  They'll hear me further out than I can guess. 

Not so easy.