Chapter 31: A Change of Plan
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Just eight of us now. I worry about Mayfair, but he won't leave ... and Brooks doesn't leave him. Ever. Not even at the word of a God. Which makes me feel just a bit better. Like this crew hasn't completely lost track of reality.
Not my personal ideal - smaller is better. Faster. And if we needed the backup, Brooks at Tz'yak with the strike troops could actually prove useful.
A good argument. Brooks even agreed. But Mayfair won't back down, and Brooks does not leave him. Ever. At least his color is good again, and he's keeping up with the march. The guy is old, but he's tough.
I've been alternating my watch on them with keeping an eyes on the terrain. 160 men against an army may be comic-book fantasy, but the sharp canyon we are skirting now flanks the only possible trail between Amhacutec Inca and the City of Gold. One entrance. One exit. Two cliffs. Killing ground. If Amhacutec gets past us... if he starts his march... then twenty men here could make a difference.
I consider mentioning this to Muwan, but but the time I'm up to him he already has his sat-phone out. I just nod before falling back. Good to see that military education actually took.
Muwan has the lead, since he supposedly knows the turf. Dinah and Dick behind, supposedly guarding Jones. Mayfair and Brooks behind them. Sargent Pau'ah and I have the rear. We could talk - this isn't a silent mission and the man has some Spanish - but except for the occasional warning of local vegetable nastys and the creative curses he occasionally aims at the too-present parrot, we don't have much to say.
Pau'ah is a soldier. He's here because his God sometimes asks for crazy things, and because he's NCO enough to know that crazy or not those things are still going to have to get done. And that the sooner they do get done, the sooner he can get back home and away from the craziness. I can work with that. I have before. But it doesn't give us much in common.
We could discuss the insanity of marching eight men against a city, but...? Pau'ah is just obeying his God. Even when that God marches him to a massacre. And I? I am counting on a few more then eight. I brush my hair back from my eyes as Pau'ah curses again. The bloody parrot does keep flying a bit too low. And I have twice heard a howl from the deep jungle. Which makes ten against a city. It it comes to a fight? I smile a bit at the thought. It's going to be a massacre, all right.
In the distance, a horse nickers.
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We've been four hours on the trail, which puts us two from Inca and company. I should be thinking about tactics. Running over the options in my head. I should. I will. But at the moment the jungle is dull enough - safe enough - that the only thing I can think about is my feet. They hurt. Even with the best hiking boots made - and mine are - I've still done more then eighty miles in the last thirty-six hours. Over broken terrain. I'm fit, yes, but the Bat is an *urban* legend. This isn't part of my training routine.
Mental note: review and update training schedule.
I look at Dick and wonder how he does it. He still looks chipper. He's chatting with Dinah, and listening to Jones, and generally reminding me of the Robin that could somehow fly over Gotham all night and quip at the bad guys and still lead the swim team the next day.
Such strength. But I had best conserve mine. Because tired or not, hungry or not, sore or not, I still have a mission in front of me. That has to come first.
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An hour and a half later when Dick stops. He had spotted an advance sentry. The man is seated up on the cliff side in clear view. He's resting in his cape, comfortable, but alert enough and clearly watching the road. Lucky for us we aren't *on* the road.
I nod at Dinah. She takes the man out with a drop. Flawless head shot. She rolls him, searches the body, and comes up with a military issue radio. Turned off. One point for our side. A real tactician would have instructed the man to leave the line open, and just possibly have had a warning. The hit was too fast for the man to speak, but an alert listener might have heard the scuffle and the thud. But Gomez and company are civilians at heart, and they followed the manual. Kept the switch on 'standby' to save the battery.
"Leave him?" Dick asks, breaking the silence.
I look at the man. I consider what I saw of Amhacutec Inca's force. Not large. Gomez was putting his faith in weapons, not numbers. This man was probably the only sentry between here and Amhacutec's city. Turn to Captain Muwan, holding up the radio. "They may have a check in system. They may not. It would be good to know."
He understands me. "Sargent Pau'ah speaks Quechua."
I strip the man, cuff him, and roll him under some brush. The day is warm enough. He'll live.
Pau'ah puts on the uniform, tucking his own cape around the fallen sentry. Good man.
Normally spy duty is rather risky, but I gather the Geneva convention doesn't apply locally. Whatever uniform, a captured soldier is lunch. More or less literally. Muwan orders Pau'ah *not* to hold his ground. If he is challenged by a larger force, he should retreat. Try to make is back to the Tz'yak forces if he has the chance. Xek'or as a second choice. Back to the city third.
I hand him the radio, which he sets beside our own sat-phones. Wise. Even if something happens to him, we will probably hear the scuffle through the paired speakers.
I ask Mayfair to monitor. He knows all the languages, and it's another excuse to keep him in the center of the march. He may be tough, but he's still old.
At my shoulder, a parrot screeches.
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Silent running now. We've covered the last two miles of green and are tucked under a stone ridge just over the city proper. Actually well inside the city, to judge by the bits of stonework sticking up from the foliage. Jones says these were the ritual baths. Which were not restored because... they apparently aren't in fashion any more. My opinion of Amhacutec drops another notch.
There are four sentry posts. Double manned and clearly visible. Guards, not pickets. Easy enough to take, but we are evading instead. It isn't the foot soldiers that matter.
Amhacutec Inca is still holding court over by the fire. Gomez is with him, and this time he has a pile of paper. Mostly maps. Modern stuff. Fancy hat number two is fussing around the cropped-off pyramid. The knife still there. That's good. The cooking fire is not. That's bad. When an army closes the mess, they're ready to march.
Still, that's Savage's problem. If it becomes a problem. I'm here to see that there isn't a problem.
I slide over to Jones.
"Jones?" I nod at the display before us. Knowing the culture, he should see more then I do.
"Curicamarca." He taps on a carving on the rock wall beside us.
It's all scribbles to me. I could send it over to Oracle to translate, but? "That's bad?"
"It means City of Gold."
City of Gold? I thought that was Savage's place. Normally unimportant. It would not be the first time that two opposition governments gave the name of the capitol to two separate cities. But if Jones thinks it's important enough to mention first?
So? I don't say the word, but he hears me.
"On a bet? I'd guess this was the big city, back when the Inca were in power."
Again - I gave him the unspoken so?
Jones turns his attention back to the city below. "From the carvings on that altar, Amhacutec Inca doesn't need to take the city before deadline. He can run *his* sacrifice here, and march on Savage as a crowned king." He points to a vine-wrapped trellis work tucked between the main tents and the pyramid. "I'm betting that's what that is for."
Vine wrapped wicker work walls, palm leaf roof, wooden floor. No furniture inside except a rough bench roped to one wall. Like a really fancy gazebo - or cage. It looks like it would hold a cat. but.. it's empty. "Can he be sure of catching a Jaguar? At this date?"
Now Jones gives *me* the look. "He doesn't exactly need a cat, Wayne. That may be why they went to the villages. 'Willing' volunteers for the post of temporary royal."
"And when they didn't get anyone, they burned the village?"
"Or they burned the village after they grabbed whoever they wanted." He turns his attention back to the camp. looking for... whatever. Something only he could catch. From his expression, not something good. "Children are traditional. Handsome young men are good. Or there's always the classic RKO 'virgin sacrifice'."
"I thought you said?"
"Bad news, Wayne." His hand reaches automatically for his whip belt. " I said they didn't *eat* people. I didn't say they didn't *kill* them."
Bad. I agree with that. Very bad. but...? "He still needs the knife?" I ask.
"More then ever." Jones answers, not moving his eyes from the altar. "Amhacutec knows he's pushing the legitimacy thing as it is, using this abandoned city. But he has an army, which counts. With the knife - he might pull it off. Without it? He's just another front man for the 'Spanish'.
"Good."
I wave my crew over.
"Same basic drill as last time. From the north. Jones - you and Captain Muwan clear the sentry on that point. Brooks and Mayfair? You hold this point?" I hate to make it a question, but those two are not entirely my men. At least not in their minds. To make it easier, I add. "We need a clear escape route." And, they understand without my saying, a local speaker will have the best chance of understanding of whatever orders are being given to stop us.
Mayfair nods and checks his rifle. Situation understood. Protection he wont take. Orders he will.
I turn to my own people. "Dinah, you have Gomez." She clicks up her earring and scans the surroundings for her launch point.
"I'll take the prince, since he's low and guarded." I continue. "Dick, you have feather head and the knife." I reach into my backpack and pullout some high strength confusion bombs I had Savage's lab whip up. A variation of the Scarecrow venom, although these simply leave the target confused and uncertain, rather then specifically fearful. Bigger and weaker then I could have managed in Gotham, but for a 1950's lab? Savage has good people.
I pass the glass and metal globes to Dinah and Dick. "We gas them first, to cut down the resistance."
Getting three captives back over almost fifteen miles of jungle with an army on our a back would be a... a long shot. But we won't have to move them that far. The Ty'zak troops should be up on the cliffs by now."There was a flat space just past Pau'ah's sentry point." I tell Mayfair and Brooks. "Before we start I'll inform Savage. He'll send both choppers."
No need to say more. Once we make it there, we can catch the helicopter ride the rest of the way. After all, our stealth will *definitely* be over.
No response from the Savage crew. None needed. It's the plan, I'm the man. Dinah starts to tighten her wrist gear. Dick shakes his head.
"Bruce." Dick says. "It won't work."
"What!?" That is Dinah, shocked. Not enough to let her voice rise, but I can still hear the emotion.
Dick ignores her, speaking to me. "That Amhacutec guy is part of it, but I don't think this is his idea."
"Gomez." I growl.
"Will pull something again," Dick finishes. "And it's *his* people who did the burning, while Prince not-so-charming and feather-boy there were still snug at home."
I nod. Amhacutec Inca is a potential tyrant. He is ambitious, power hungry, and morally bankrupt. Also totally willing to discard the actual needs of his people if favor of his own aggrandizement. So? That's normal in many politicians. Without the modern weaponry? The random, massive destruction? Not my problem. Gomez is the root of the problem - and if not stopped will try again.
Dick points to the two main Incas. "We can grab the feather heads and haul them back to Savage, but Gomez is another matter. A man like Gomez can't just vanish. And to charge him and make the charges stick?"
Dick is right. Gomez would be missed. Make that looked for. We have to bring him back to so-called civilization. Where he will walk faster then Lex Luthor on a parking ticket. Indian charges won't hold up very long in a Santa Amoza City court, not against a billion dollars and a government full of cousins. But Dick wouldn't bring it up if he didn't also have a solution in mind.
I sit back. "What did you have in mind?"
Dick reaches for his backpack. "You know, Bruce?" He pulls off his armored shirt, and reaches for his pants harness. "Sometimes it's not how much kevlar you have, Bruce. Sometimes it's the colors you wear that count."
*END CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE*
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Just eight of us now. I worry about Mayfair, but he won't leave ... and Brooks doesn't leave him. Ever. Not even at the word of a God. Which makes me feel just a bit better. Like this crew hasn't completely lost track of reality.
Not my personal ideal - smaller is better. Faster. And if we needed the backup, Brooks at Tz'yak with the strike troops could actually prove useful.
A good argument. Brooks even agreed. But Mayfair won't back down, and Brooks does not leave him. Ever. At least his color is good again, and he's keeping up with the march. The guy is old, but he's tough.
I've been alternating my watch on them with keeping an eyes on the terrain. 160 men against an army may be comic-book fantasy, but the sharp canyon we are skirting now flanks the only possible trail between Amhacutec Inca and the City of Gold. One entrance. One exit. Two cliffs. Killing ground. If Amhacutec gets past us... if he starts his march... then twenty men here could make a difference.
I consider mentioning this to Muwan, but but the time I'm up to him he already has his sat-phone out. I just nod before falling back. Good to see that military education actually took.
Muwan has the lead, since he supposedly knows the turf. Dinah and Dick behind, supposedly guarding Jones. Mayfair and Brooks behind them. Sargent Pau'ah and I have the rear. We could talk - this isn't a silent mission and the man has some Spanish - but except for the occasional warning of local vegetable nastys and the creative curses he occasionally aims at the too-present parrot, we don't have much to say.
Pau'ah is a soldier. He's here because his God sometimes asks for crazy things, and because he's NCO enough to know that crazy or not those things are still going to have to get done. And that the sooner they do get done, the sooner he can get back home and away from the craziness. I can work with that. I have before. But it doesn't give us much in common.
We could discuss the insanity of marching eight men against a city, but...? Pau'ah is just obeying his God. Even when that God marches him to a massacre. And I? I am counting on a few more then eight. I brush my hair back from my eyes as Pau'ah curses again. The bloody parrot does keep flying a bit too low. And I have twice heard a howl from the deep jungle. Which makes ten against a city. It it comes to a fight? I smile a bit at the thought. It's going to be a massacre, all right.
In the distance, a horse nickers.
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We've been four hours on the trail, which puts us two from Inca and company. I should be thinking about tactics. Running over the options in my head. I should. I will. But at the moment the jungle is dull enough - safe enough - that the only thing I can think about is my feet. They hurt. Even with the best hiking boots made - and mine are - I've still done more then eighty miles in the last thirty-six hours. Over broken terrain. I'm fit, yes, but the Bat is an *urban* legend. This isn't part of my training routine.
Mental note: review and update training schedule.
I look at Dick and wonder how he does it. He still looks chipper. He's chatting with Dinah, and listening to Jones, and generally reminding me of the Robin that could somehow fly over Gotham all night and quip at the bad guys and still lead the swim team the next day.
Such strength. But I had best conserve mine. Because tired or not, hungry or not, sore or not, I still have a mission in front of me. That has to come first.
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An hour and a half later when Dick stops. He had spotted an advance sentry. The man is seated up on the cliff side in clear view. He's resting in his cape, comfortable, but alert enough and clearly watching the road. Lucky for us we aren't *on* the road.
I nod at Dinah. She takes the man out with a drop. Flawless head shot. She rolls him, searches the body, and comes up with a military issue radio. Turned off. One point for our side. A real tactician would have instructed the man to leave the line open, and just possibly have had a warning. The hit was too fast for the man to speak, but an alert listener might have heard the scuffle and the thud. But Gomez and company are civilians at heart, and they followed the manual. Kept the switch on 'standby' to save the battery.
"Leave him?" Dick asks, breaking the silence.
I look at the man. I consider what I saw of Amhacutec Inca's force. Not large. Gomez was putting his faith in weapons, not numbers. This man was probably the only sentry between here and Amhacutec's city. Turn to Captain Muwan, holding up the radio. "They may have a check in system. They may not. It would be good to know."
He understands me. "Sargent Pau'ah speaks Quechua."
I strip the man, cuff him, and roll him under some brush. The day is warm enough. He'll live.
Pau'ah puts on the uniform, tucking his own cape around the fallen sentry. Good man.
Normally spy duty is rather risky, but I gather the Geneva convention doesn't apply locally. Whatever uniform, a captured soldier is lunch. More or less literally. Muwan orders Pau'ah *not* to hold his ground. If he is challenged by a larger force, he should retreat. Try to make is back to the Tz'yak forces if he has the chance. Xek'or as a second choice. Back to the city third.
I hand him the radio, which he sets beside our own sat-phones. Wise. Even if something happens to him, we will probably hear the scuffle through the paired speakers.
I ask Mayfair to monitor. He knows all the languages, and it's another excuse to keep him in the center of the march. He may be tough, but he's still old.
At my shoulder, a parrot screeches.
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Silent running now. We've covered the last two miles of green and are tucked under a stone ridge just over the city proper. Actually well inside the city, to judge by the bits of stonework sticking up from the foliage. Jones says these were the ritual baths. Which were not restored because... they apparently aren't in fashion any more. My opinion of Amhacutec drops another notch.
There are four sentry posts. Double manned and clearly visible. Guards, not pickets. Easy enough to take, but we are evading instead. It isn't the foot soldiers that matter.
Amhacutec Inca is still holding court over by the fire. Gomez is with him, and this time he has a pile of paper. Mostly maps. Modern stuff. Fancy hat number two is fussing around the cropped-off pyramid. The knife still there. That's good. The cooking fire is not. That's bad. When an army closes the mess, they're ready to march.
Still, that's Savage's problem. If it becomes a problem. I'm here to see that there isn't a problem.
I slide over to Jones.
"Jones?" I nod at the display before us. Knowing the culture, he should see more then I do.
"Curicamarca." He taps on a carving on the rock wall beside us.
It's all scribbles to me. I could send it over to Oracle to translate, but? "That's bad?"
"It means City of Gold."
City of Gold? I thought that was Savage's place. Normally unimportant. It would not be the first time that two opposition governments gave the name of the capitol to two separate cities. But if Jones thinks it's important enough to mention first?
So? I don't say the word, but he hears me.
"On a bet? I'd guess this was the big city, back when the Inca were in power."
Again - I gave him the unspoken so?
Jones turns his attention back to the city below. "From the carvings on that altar, Amhacutec Inca doesn't need to take the city before deadline. He can run *his* sacrifice here, and march on Savage as a crowned king." He points to a vine-wrapped trellis work tucked between the main tents and the pyramid. "I'm betting that's what that is for."
Vine wrapped wicker work walls, palm leaf roof, wooden floor. No furniture inside except a rough bench roped to one wall. Like a really fancy gazebo - or cage. It looks like it would hold a cat. but.. it's empty. "Can he be sure of catching a Jaguar? At this date?"
Now Jones gives *me* the look. "He doesn't exactly need a cat, Wayne. That may be why they went to the villages. 'Willing' volunteers for the post of temporary royal."
"And when they didn't get anyone, they burned the village?"
"Or they burned the village after they grabbed whoever they wanted." He turns his attention back to the camp. looking for... whatever. Something only he could catch. From his expression, not something good. "Children are traditional. Handsome young men are good. Or there's always the classic RKO 'virgin sacrifice'."
"I thought you said?"
"Bad news, Wayne." His hand reaches automatically for his whip belt. " I said they didn't *eat* people. I didn't say they didn't *kill* them."
Bad. I agree with that. Very bad. but...? "He still needs the knife?" I ask.
"More then ever." Jones answers, not moving his eyes from the altar. "Amhacutec knows he's pushing the legitimacy thing as it is, using this abandoned city. But he has an army, which counts. With the knife - he might pull it off. Without it? He's just another front man for the 'Spanish'.
"Good."
I wave my crew over.
"Same basic drill as last time. From the north. Jones - you and Captain Muwan clear the sentry on that point. Brooks and Mayfair? You hold this point?" I hate to make it a question, but those two are not entirely my men. At least not in their minds. To make it easier, I add. "We need a clear escape route." And, they understand without my saying, a local speaker will have the best chance of understanding of whatever orders are being given to stop us.
Mayfair nods and checks his rifle. Situation understood. Protection he wont take. Orders he will.
I turn to my own people. "Dinah, you have Gomez." She clicks up her earring and scans the surroundings for her launch point.
"I'll take the prince, since he's low and guarded." I continue. "Dick, you have feather head and the knife." I reach into my backpack and pullout some high strength confusion bombs I had Savage's lab whip up. A variation of the Scarecrow venom, although these simply leave the target confused and uncertain, rather then specifically fearful. Bigger and weaker then I could have managed in Gotham, but for a 1950's lab? Savage has good people.
I pass the glass and metal globes to Dinah and Dick. "We gas them first, to cut down the resistance."
Getting three captives back over almost fifteen miles of jungle with an army on our a back would be a... a long shot. But we won't have to move them that far. The Ty'zak troops should be up on the cliffs by now."There was a flat space just past Pau'ah's sentry point." I tell Mayfair and Brooks. "Before we start I'll inform Savage. He'll send both choppers."
No need to say more. Once we make it there, we can catch the helicopter ride the rest of the way. After all, our stealth will *definitely* be over.
No response from the Savage crew. None needed. It's the plan, I'm the man. Dinah starts to tighten her wrist gear. Dick shakes his head.
"Bruce." Dick says. "It won't work."
"What!?" That is Dinah, shocked. Not enough to let her voice rise, but I can still hear the emotion.
Dick ignores her, speaking to me. "That Amhacutec guy is part of it, but I don't think this is his idea."
"Gomez." I growl.
"Will pull something again," Dick finishes. "And it's *his* people who did the burning, while Prince not-so-charming and feather-boy there were still snug at home."
I nod. Amhacutec Inca is a potential tyrant. He is ambitious, power hungry, and morally bankrupt. Also totally willing to discard the actual needs of his people if favor of his own aggrandizement. So? That's normal in many politicians. Without the modern weaponry? The random, massive destruction? Not my problem. Gomez is the root of the problem - and if not stopped will try again.
Dick points to the two main Incas. "We can grab the feather heads and haul them back to Savage, but Gomez is another matter. A man like Gomez can't just vanish. And to charge him and make the charges stick?"
Dick is right. Gomez would be missed. Make that looked for. We have to bring him back to so-called civilization. Where he will walk faster then Lex Luthor on a parking ticket. Indian charges won't hold up very long in a Santa Amoza City court, not against a billion dollars and a government full of cousins. But Dick wouldn't bring it up if he didn't also have a solution in mind.
I sit back. "What did you have in mind?"
Dick reaches for his backpack. "You know, Bruce?" He pulls off his armored shirt, and reaches for his pants harness. "Sometimes it's not how much kevlar you have, Bruce. Sometimes it's the colors you wear that count."
*END CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE*