Itty Bitty Bigger World - A Spot Of Bother

Itty Bitty Bigger World
A Spot Of Bother (about 7 years earlier)

Yabrusk was far behind now. My minor burns had been treated at the regional hospital. For a small fee, the doctor was even willing to make sure that German instead of Russian antibiotics and burn ointments were used, both on my burns and those of the young boy I'd rescued.

His mother was blubberingly grateful. I made nothing of it, except to make sure - in classic Ugly American style - that she would have no further problems with housing, food, and so on. This was not a problem the regional hospital was unfamiliar with, as many of their patients were from several hundred kilometers away and had no local friends or relatives.

Getting back to my road train had been much easier than either myself or my employer had expected. I'd simply hitched with a fuel convoy, self sufficient except for the occasional need to take on and let go personal cargo.

At one brief stop, at yet another tiny village, two men had eyed me hungrily, especially when I opened my backpack and inadvertently revealed that I was carrying two weeks of high energy rations in addition to a satcom uplink and various other hardware.

I stared right back at them, through them. They made comments about Americans and I said nothing. My ride was leaving, so I left. No harm done - or so I thought.

Now I was back in the saddle, driving the oversized tractor of my five trailer road train up a road carved out of the side of a mountain.

The biodiesel engine was running at 80% power, charging batteries and keeping me warm while dragging 230 tons through mud.

Then the satcom went out. For convenience, I was listening to my music collection via satellite link.

It had happened before, but mostly when I was at the bottom of a box canyon or in a tunnel. So I loaded the diagnostics.

"SIGNAL INTENSITY 1420%"

Hmmm. I had time to subvocalize "TACTICAL!" and reach into my backpack before the road exploded in front of my train.

The tractor obediently slugged to a stop, placed chocks and fired spikes to keep the rig from sliding off the edge of the road. Its sensors knew something I didn't. I punched for false-color thermographic and radar.

Nice, someone had created a brand new crater in the road in front of us. How ... thoughtful.

"Alan Anderson, Telstar, calling Securite. Securite, Securite, Securite. Russia Militia, Securite, Securite, Securite."

No luck, not on satcom, not on HF, not on VHF or low band. My smartware was kind enough to inform me - with a 10% vision overlay - that I was being jammed and that someone was in fact using an EMP weapon on my tractor at this very instant. Pointless because the rig was shielded, but potentially annoying if I opened the door.

There was only one thing to do. I retracted the spikes and chocks, shifted into reverse drive (actually a mix of forward and reverse drive bogies, for traction), and starting going back the way I'd come.

And the tractor packed it in. "ROAD BLOCKED BEHIND." More spikes, more chocks, and power to forward bogies just enough to dig in, then lock in place.

I'd missed it, but apparently several hundred feet behind me, a brand new crater had been created behind the road train.

My hand came out of the backpack and my smartware linked with the object in my hand. I folded it open, extended the lower half, and from habit tapped the bottom.

I heard muffled shouting. The tractor thoughtfully translated.

"GET OUT OF THE CAB! GET OUT OF THE CAB OR WE BLOW YOU UP!"

I reached up to the dash, uncapped a red button and pressed it down firmly for two seconds. I subvocalized to my smartware, twice. "Duress. Duress."

Then I opened the door of the cab and let it fly open against the wind. I remained inside the cab.

"GET OUT OF THE CAB! NOW!"

Then I removed my keys from the tractor dash - actually a smart card on a lanyard - and threw it out into the snow.

CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG!

Sparks flew and metal pinged. Someone had opened fire on the open door with an automatic weapon. If even one round got in the open door, this was going to be awkward. As in, bullets ricochet and the only things that would catch a bullet in this cab were my bedding, a couple pieces of expensive electronics, and my own warm and leaky self.

Oh, this was going to hurt. I sealed the backpack, put it on, made sure the object was in my right hand, and ran full tilt out of the cab into the snow.

Note: a road train tractor cab is about 10' from the ground. One normally climbs down. Under enemy observation and fire, that would be suicide.

As I passed through the door, I aimed my body for something other than darkness - i.e. off the edge of the cliff, which would solve my problems rather more permanently than called for - or rock, which would merely hurt like a bastard.

I lucked out and planted myself in deep snow. Unfortunately, face first without putting my face mask on first.

Ow.

Something I'd learned in CalFire training, of all things, saved my face and probably my life.

There is a drill for wildland firefighters called the 'shovel.' You have to leap through a fire front, trusting your protective clothing - which covers everything but your face - to save you from bad burns or worse. You protect your face by putting the spade of the shovel in front of it and shutting your eyes.

I did this with the object in my hands, by reflex.

So when the object banged into my face in a controlled motion, it hurt a lot less than it would have to hit mixed ice, snow and rock with said face.

It still hurt, and stunned me for a moment.

When I blinked and regained awareness, someone was already climbing up into my cab.

So I brought the assault carbine up and gave him the good news, three times in the back. He slumped leaving behind a huge trail of red.

Unarmed? In Russia? Oh HELL no.

This caused a flurry of automatic weapons fire, all over the place, but none of it near me. At least I didn't feel like I'd been shot.

I was starting to feel very cold, however, which would Teh Suck if this fight lasted very long.

I heard more shouting, presumably in Russian, which I did not speak - and no translation from my smartware either. Apparently too fragmented.

So I back-crawled out of the hole I had made for myself, circled right, and hid behind the wheels of my second trailer. Probably wouldn't do any good against IR or thermal, but might be blocked by radar, and if they missed the tracks in the blowing snow, hid me from the Mark I eyeball.

More men crawled up into the cab. They cursed, and cursed again.

Still no opinion from the smartware on what they were saying.

Between the third and fourth trailer was a bogie, intended for use among other things as a survival shelter and a place for 'dead-heads' - authorized travelers, a replacement driver, etc - to travel in. It would be among the first places checked by the hijackers.

But if I stayed here, I would freeze out.

So I did something stupid. I know better. I really do.

But instead, I told my smartware to set my backpack alarm to six second delay, anti theft mode, trigger by pull cord.

Then I flung it into the cab and climbed after it frantically.

Just before I came over the top of the coaming, it shouted "THIEF! THIEF!" in English and Russian at 120 decibels and thoughtfully energized the entire surface, kind of like a Taser, and flashed its integral strobes at 10 million candlepower.

My smartware dimmed my sight and hearing - and it was something I had a lot of training ignoring - but it still sucked.

How do you like them flash bangs? I thought savagely as I brought the rifle up.

Two men were curled in a ball screaming. One had apparently caught the backpack, had it contact stun him through his winter clothing, and frantically push it away while pissing himself. The other was merely terrified by the unexpected.

Their hands were empty, which gave me a problem. I couldn't just kill them.

The folding stock had no strength, so I kicked the terrified man about the head and shoulders while pulling a roll of rigger tape (the American army calls it 100 MPH tape) off its rack. This gave me time to tie him up without having to kill him.

The second man was even easier to subdue, only took a kick or two for him to give me his hands.

I turned on the tractor speakers, which like the lights were not tied to the security system for exactly this kind of situation.

"I HAVE TWO HOSTAGES, ASSHOLES! CARE TO GIVE UP OR RUN AWAY NOW?"

It obediently translated to Russian.

The less shocked of the two said wearily, "It's just the three of us, sir. You shot Dmitri and you've got us."

He paused.

"Please close the door before we all freeze."

"The craters?" I demanded.

"Explosives, sir. Please, the door."

I sighed and closed the door, not taking my eyes off either man.

Now what the hell am I supposed to do?