The Gorasni had set up a roadblock. Hoffman could see it clearly, a token effort of branches and a few strands of razor wire across half the width of the paving. It wouldn’t stop a Packhorse. Who the hell did these needledicks think they were?“Stop twenty meters back, Anya, just in case.” Hoffman felt for his sidearm. Common sense said he didn’t need it, but instinct said he did. “If they don’t pull that goddamn junk off the road before we get there, that is.”
As the Packhorse slowed, it was clear the three militiamen weren’t going anywhere. Anya brought the vehicle to a halt. Hoffman got out and strode up to the first Gorasni, a square-looking middle-aged man with sergeant’s stripes on his sleeve.
“Get this off the road.” He was so close he could smell the man’s breath—onions, tooth decay, and whatever the hell these people rolled for a smoke. “I’ll tell you where and when to place checkpoints.”
The sergeant didn’t blink. “Commander Trescu said we were to stop traffic entering this area for the next hour.”
“Commander Trescu can kiss my ass. This road remains open.” Hoffman never reminded anyone of his rank. It was the resort of an officer who couldn’t command. A man had to show his authority. “I’m getting back in that vehicle, and if you haven’t pulled that garbage off my goddamn road by the time I start the engine, I’ll be driving over you.”
Hoffman was pretty sure they understood Tyran well enough to get all the nuances. He marched up to the driver’s side and opened the door.
“Move over, Anya. And get ready to duck.”
From that moment on, he couldn’t back down. He started the engine, engaged the clutch, and moved off. The Indies just stood there. Hoffman accelerated.
If he hit them, it was too bad.
The roadblock loomed in the windshield. His instinct was to brake, but he just put his foot down. The last thing he saw seconds before the Packhorse thumped into the barrier and smashed it to one side was the Gorasni jumping to safety.
He almost expected shots from behind. He didn’t bother to look in the mirror.
“Assholes,” he said. “The next man who calls them Indies is on a charge. They’re not a separate state anymore.”
“Well done, sir.” Anya flicked the radio control and held the mike where he could grab it. That girl could read his mind. “You’ll be wanting this.” Hoffman could hear sustained rifle fire in the distance. It didn’t sound like Lancers. He’d have known if there’d been a contact on that scale anyway, but nobody had given Trescu clearance to deploy men. This had to stop.
“Mathieson? Get Trescu on the radio for me.”
“Wait one.” The link went silent for a few moments. “Sorry, sir, he’s not using the kit we gave him. He’s on his own net. They’ve got a transmitter on board one of their ships.”
Hoffman almost spat. He wasn’t going to tolerate two armies here. If Trescu wanted to play soldiers, he could do it where Hoffman could hear it and see it. Gorasnaya was part of the COG now.
That was the deal.
“Jam it,” he said. “Shut that damn thing down.”
So damn badass.