Fourth Vector Ch. 26

"The problem for the Javans is that they never forgave the Tyroleans for rebelling during wartime. Over the last decade, tension between the two groups has grown thicker, exploited by us of course with our payments. Even though the Tyroleans provide a sizeable percentage of the Javan Armed Forces, there is a heavy degree of mistrust between the two groups that is threatening to boil over."

"I had no idea things were that bad there," said Krupin.

"The Javans don't let a lot get out," said Popov. "They tightly regulate news coming out of Tyrol but over the course of the last six months, open violence has spilled out against signs of Javan authority. Mail carriers are ambushed or killed. Construction personnel are hassled. When the Javans sent troops into the region to quell the growing unrest, they started to be jumped as well."

"I take it that's where we come in?" asked Krupin.

Popov nodded. "Indeed. My network of men in Tyrol help to funnel the meager amounts of coin that we can spare to the Tyrolean leaders. It helps them to pay for food, goods, and weapons against the Javans. Ever since the current rebellion has started, we've been providing significant financial assistance to them. As much as we can spare, that is."

"What do you mean by that?"

Popov sighed. "I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel to get funds to them. We have several small groups there but they're no army. They just can't support a formation that big with the lack of funds from the Javan government and what we can manage to get them. I've already asked the emperor for more coin but he won't increase our budget. Until then, they'll be nothing more than a small thorn in the Javans' side."

Krupin pursed his lips in thought. "What would it take for that thorn to become a dagger?"

Popov raised his eyebrow. "Considerable amounts of coin. A thousand gold pieces would be a good start but more than likely, we would need a constant flow to keep this up."

"You have it," said Krupin as he pulled out a notebook from his desk. He began to scribble something on it before ripping it out and handing it to Popov.

"What is this, sir?"

"Your gold," said Krupin. "Take that to the third floor treasury and present that note to the clerk. You'll have to pass two additional security checks, one of which involves me giving verbal permission for you to take it. We can't just have anyone walking out with gold, you know. But that should get you started."

Popov's mouth dropped open as he scanned the note in front of him. "This is such a large amount, sir. I'm just . . . shocked to see it being doled out so easily."

Krupin locked eyes with the spy. "I want you and your men to make Tyrol, and Java, bleed. Pay off anyone you need to and get them all the weapons they need. Turn that thorn into a dagger for me and let's see if we can manage to heavily wound the Javan dragon."

Popov nodded and moved to stand. "I'll get started right away, sir."

*****

All the lights were off at the store, even the two street lights that occupied opposite sections of the lot. Trevor Downing preferred it that way after all, especially for these kinds of meetings. Secrecy was key to keeping the Javans from figuring out what was going on. After all, he'd seen one too many friends dragged away during the evening hours by Javan authorities, often never coming back.

Trevor went to the front of the store and locked the door, taking note of the nearly empty streets. At this late hour, most of the working crowd would have long made it to their homes. The only people still out were drunks or teenage kids looking for a thrill. In a later hour still, another class of people would be out on the streets but he was getting ahead of himself.

He had to meet with the agent first.

Agent was a funny name for a spy but it mattered little to Trevor what the Ruthenian spy wanted to call himself. If it made him feel better to be referred to as an agent, so be it. As long as he held up his end of the bargain.

Trevor moved along the empty aisles of his grocery store until he came to the backroom. At this point in time, it was nearly empty, the stocking run for this week would come tomorrow so the shelves were bare. He moved to the loading dock and flipped on one of the lights over the entrance, the pre-arranged symbol that he was alone and able to talk.

Trevor then pulled out a cigarette and brought it to his lips. His hand trembled as he lit it, the stress of the situation making him anxious. He knew that if anyone saw what was about to happen, he'd be executed right now. There would be no trial or any deliberation. A swift and sure bullet to the head would end the problem, or at least that's how the Javans treated any Tyrolean troublemakers.

Trevor lived in the town of Amboy, a small mountain town in the heart of Tyrol on the Javan continent. He managed the grocery store behind him and had taken it over when his father was beaten to death years ago by a Javan tax collector. His ancestors had fought the Javans in many wars, often dying for the cause until Tyrol was ultimately overwhelmed by the enemy's superior numbers. Now he had a brother and two cousins that fought for the Javans, doing what Tyroleans did best—fighting.

Oftentimes, war-making was the only way to earn a living in backwards and broke Tyrol. Every spring, legions of Tyrolean teenagers signed up to be soldiers or marines, fighting with their traditional enemy as the only way to escape an otherwise poor existence. Trevor didn't blame them one bit. After all, he'd spent a good portion of his early twenties in the Javan forces, even rising to the rank of sergeant before he was discharged shortly after the Desert War. Figuring that he'd seen enough death to last a lifetime, he went home to Amboy and tried to live a peaceful existence at the family store.

But the Javans didn't know how to be peaceful. They also hadn't figured out how to treat the Tyroleans in a respectful manner ever since they overran the region a hundred and fifty years ago. Theirs was a story of excess and brutality that made the region flare up every so often in rebellion.

Now was one of those times.

Trevor was halfway finished with his cigarette when he saw the figure approach him. His face was covered although it was dark enough that he wouldn't have been able to see him anyway if it wasn't. The figure didn't acknowledge him at all and simply walked up the metal staircase and entered the store. Trevor watched the area where he came from for any signs of intruders, but seeing none, he promptly finished his cigarette and followed the man inside.

The warehouse was dark, just like their meeting specified. Trevor could only see a vague outline of the man after his eyes adjusted to the lack of light but both of them preferred it that way. If either of them were caught, they wouldn't have to lie about what the other man looked like.

"A lot of the paint on the side of your building is chipped off," said the agent, using the code phrase they'd come up with.

"Perhaps you'd like to give me an estimate," said Trevor, replying in the way he was supposed to.

The agent nodded at having completed the greeting. "Perhaps another time. Any issues from the last time we talked? Any visits by the dogs?"

Trevor shook his head. "The Javans don't come by here. As far as they know, I'm just a simple grocer."

"Good, let them continue to think that," said the agent as he dug into his pocket. He produced a bundle of coins and tossed it to Trevor. "Here!"

The bundle made a jingling noise as Trevor caught it. "What's this?" he asked.

"What you've always been asking me for," replied the agent. "More coin."

"I thought you couldn't spare anything for me."

The agent shrugged. "Orders have changed. My government has become a lot more loose with their purse strings now. You've been asking for more, so I'm sure you can get quite a provision of rifles with that amount."

"This will really help the Movement," said Trevor. "You have my thanks."

"Just make the Javans pay," replied the agent hastily. "There's a convoy moving tonight. I don't need to remind you that most of the Javan traffic through Tyrol moves at night now."

Trevor grinned. "In thanks to our work, I'm guessing. They were too easy to kill in the broad daylight."

"That they are. This particular convoy is guarded by an entire platoon of Javan soldiers," said the agent. "They won't go down easily."

"What direction are they coming from?" asked Trevor.

"North, along the road to Bushing," said the agent, citing the Tyrolean town just fifteen miles away. "They'll be arriving in about three hours."

"Not in Amboy," said Trevor with a chuckle. "But in the afterlife."

"Either way, make sure they don't get here."

"What are they carrying?" asked Trevor. "What's in the convoy?"

"My contact didn't say, but you'll have about five trucks that are on their way. The soldiers are on foot. The whole thing is moving slowly because of the terrain." The agent let out a deep breath. "Shouldn't be any problem for you or your men, I'm guessing?"

"Not for my boys," said Trevor. "Most of them fought for the Javans at one point. They know how to fight."

"Fought in the Desert War I'm guessing?" asked the agent, his tone changing to one of disgust.

"Does it matter?" shot back Trevor. "I've killed enough Ruthenians to last a lifetime because of that war. That was then and this is now. The Javans are the enemy now."

The agent seemed to think this over before ultimately nodding his head. "Indeed. Make good use of the supplies whatever they are. And when you're done, make sure you give the signal."

"I remember," said Trevor. "Two overhead lights above the back dock means we killed them all. One means some of them got away." Trevor then sneered. "No lights means we're all dead."

"Good," said the agent as he moved closer to the door. "Three hours will go by quicker than you think. Get in position and let me know what happens in the morning. We'll check in again in three days' time."

"Don't you want any of the loot?" asked Trevor.

The agent shook his head. "My payment is knowing the Javans are bleeding." He then left out the backdoor without a further word.

"Cryptic fucker," muttered Trevor under his breath. It was only his third meeting with the agent but they always went the same way. Last week, they'd managed to jump an entire platoon in the evening hours shortly after the Javans' changed their policy. Before that, they took down another convoy running in the middle of the day for safety as well as some construction contractors who strayed too close to the woods. Some of their numbers hated that they targeted those Javans there to help maintain their infrastructure. Trevor mostly shrugged to those charges. They could rebuild a road once the Javans were pushed out.

Freedom had to be attained first.

*****

"Signal our friends on the other side of the road," whispered Trevor quietly to his second-in-command, Gavin Gower, as the telltale sign of marching and lights appeared a good distance down the road from Bushing. Gavin removed the small tool from around his neck and gave three blows into it, listening to the flat sound it produced. To the untrained ear, it sounded like the hoot of an owl, but to those men waiting on the other side of the road, it was the signal they'd been waiting on.

Trevor nodded grimly once he heard the appropriate one blow response from the men on the other side. "Now we wait for them to get into position."

"How many you think you can get tonight?" asked Gavin with a wily grin. "Ten?"

"More than you that's for sure," replied Trevor jokingly. "After all, my ability to hunt Javans is what put me in command of this outfit."

Gavin scoffed. "I'll use that argument against you when I kill more of them."

Trevor chuckled and looked away from his second-in-command and back at the road. He could bicker with Gavin all night if he could but they had a duty to do. And right now, they had to be quiet as the Javans neared. Trevor looked behind around their position to see about a hundred Tyrolean faces, and there were a smaller number of them on the other side of the road. Many of them were like him, simple townsmen during the day working unassuming jobs. Gavin spent most of his day working at the local sawmill. Owen and Reese Bach owned the convenience store in town. Bowen Flint, who was now slipping a fresh magazine into his outdated NT-11, was the town sheriff.

They all had one thing in common—they were tired of being treated like second-class citizens in the Javan imperial hierarchy.

And since this convoy was the only way they could strike back at Javan aggression, they were going to make it pay for moving through their own territory. For its part, the convoy was exactly how the agent described it. There were five trucks moving down the center of the mountain road. They were moving slowly while a full platoon guarded their flanks on foot. The platoon was split rather evenly—about fifteen men apiece on the front, rear, and each side.

They would be no match for Trevor's forces.

"Here we go, get ready to fire," said Trevor as the convoy approached. He wanted to wait until it was too close to miss but far enough away that they didn't stop in the middle of the two forces where they could accidentally fire on each other.

"Steady . . . steady . . . now! Fire!" yelled Trevor.

The first group of rifles roared to life, followed by the second group. Soon, one hundred them opened fire on Trevor's side of the road. They were joined by their comrades on the other side, trapping the Javans between two forces that they couldn't see.

Trevor's first round caught one of their soldiers through the shoulder. He fell to his knees but another shot right through his exposed chest put him down in a hurry before he was able to focus on the next one. Beside him, Gavin focused on the driver's of the trucks, getting off two or three rapid shots through the glass and bringing the whole convoy to a halt.

"Keep up your fire!" yelled Trevor now that they'd been exposed. "Kill all of these Javan dogs!"

There was a whoop and a holler from his side of the woods as the majority of the Javans started to fall. Many of them didn't have enough sense to hit the ground when the bullets started flying. Those men were the first ones to die, making easy targets for Trevor and his battle-hardened men. The ones that were smart enough to get down had little to hide behind. The terrain on this portion of the road was smooth, lacking in tall grass or rocks to shield any kind of defender (which was why this ambush site had been chosen). Those Javans that still managed to fight were soon betrayed by their muzzle flash. The handful that remained were swiftly wiped out.

The shooting petered off once the Tyroleans stopped seeing those muzzle flashes. There was a brief pause in activity as all the men waited for Trevor's signal to approach the trucks. Trevor scanned the area for movement, and despite hearing some of the cries of the wounded, he considered those still capable of fighting were now incapacitated.

"Give the signal," he said to Gavin.

The quick hoot of an owl appeared, answered in kind from the other side of the tree line. Both forces came forth out of the woods, converging cautiously on the ambushed convoy. Despite no activity on the Javans' side, the Tyroleans were quiet as they approached the trucks. Several shots rang out through the air as merciful bullets found their way into the wounded. Once the perimeter was secured, then the true revelry began.

"Goddamn, those Javans fell even easier than that platoon we did last week!" yelled out Gavin as he tried to crack open one of the trucks.

"That's because no Javan can stand toe-to-toe against men from Tyrol," said Reese Bach with a wily grin. He bent down low to loot the corpse of one of the dead soldiers, grabbing his watch from his hand.

"That's the damned truth right there," replied Bowen Flint as he pilfered a box from the back of the first truck.

"Looks like we got some food in here! Canned goods," said Gavin as he looked inside the first crate.

"I have clothing over here," yelled Bowen.

"Take only what you can carry," said Trevor as he moved along the trucks. "Stock up and fill your sacks but we can't take the trucks with us nor can we come back for seconds."

"Trevor, why the hell not?" asked Owen Bach. "The Javans ain't going to send any more men through here for a few days. I'd say we drive the trucks into town and we can unload there."

Trevor shook his head instantly. "Yeah that would be real smart. As soon as the Javans find their ambushed trucks in Amboy, they are going to torch the entire town."

"They might already torch the town just because it's the closest one to this spot," said Gavin quietly.

"Maybe," admitted Trevor. "But let's not risk this anymore than we have to. The Javan government believes we're all brigands without loyalties to anyone but our pocketbooks. Let's not give them a reason to question that judgment."

"Like they'd be able to do anything about it anyway," scoffed Owen. "We're the toughest sons of bitches on the entire continent. Let the Javans show up anyway! We'll show 'em what happened to their friends here."

Trevor walked over and put his arm around Owen's shoulder. "You're missing the big picture, Owen. This is only just step one. We need to keep drawing Javan forces down here to Tyrol. The more forces they send, the more we can defeat, the stronger we get. Once we're strong enough, we'll crush the main body of Javans and send them packing back where they came from."

Owen nodded his head reluctantly. "Sounds like a good plan but then what?"

"Then we declare our independence," said Trevor with a steely glint in his eyes. "Tyrol will be an independent country once again. We'll send those corrupt and arrogant fuckers back where they came from and rule ourselves again, just like our forefathers once did."

"Sounds like a dream come true," mused Gavin. "I'd give the world to see the Tyrolean flag flying up high over Amboy. Over every Tyrolean town just like it used to."

"With a little help from our dead friends here," said Trevor while looting some coins out of one of the dead driver's pockets, "we'll make that a reality. We'll make Tyrol free again."

*****

Jack spent the night after the banquet sleeping better than could have been expected. Anyone else might have been worried about his promises to Sorella especially those he still wasn't quite sure he could keep. Despite the distant threat, he slept soundly and with a clear conscience, knowing that he did the right thing for Sorella and ultimately, Java. If the Admiralty wouldn't quite agree to that assessment, at least he would know he did right by the Sorellans.

The situation with Kat also loomed largely in his mind too but after last night's talk with Heron about family, Jack felt like he'd gained more in perspective than he had before. Flush with the prospect of a new day and settling old problems, Jack woke up on the morning of departure truly ready to get back to Picardy.

He was the first one out of bed that morning, leaving both Kat and Abigail to continue to sleep while he slipped out of their chambers and made for the nearest open area where he could get his morning fresh air. That open area took the form of a balcony not far from their room, a great one at that which opened up to the entire city and the bay. The task force still floated out in the deeper waters off the coast and the sun was just beginning its rise over the horizon.

There was something quite refreshing about watching the sunrise that morning, something different than all the times he'd done so back in Java. Any lesser person would have instantly dismissed it as being due to the change in seasons—the warmer rays of the sun were more comforting than those he encountered back at home during the heart of winter.