Chapter 219: The Road Tax
The supply convoy's officer scrambled back from the Chimera's burst and got himself approximately halfway under his vehicle before dignity reasserted itself.
When the shooting stopped, he climbed out and shouted:
"Are you out of your mind?! Firing on your own people!"
Hans spat over the side of the cupola.
"You're nobody's people. Watch your mouth on our ground, or the next burst goes through your engine block."
The moment the Heavy Stubber had fired, every 109th soldier in the area had dropped into the trench line. Light weapons, heavy weapons, all of it pointing outward at the convoy. If this became a firefight, the outcome wasn't complicated — the convoy had personnel carriers and cargo haulers, the 109th had armoured vehicles, crew-served weapons, and prepared positions.
The supply officer's cold sweat arrived on schedule. These rear-area soldiers were not behaving like rear-area soldiers.
After a pause long enough to reach a decision, he pointed at the crater.
"We need to get through. What happened to the road?"
"Rebel guerrillas last night," Hans said, with the flat delivery of a man reading from a document. "Placed charges. Detonated at 0300."
The officer looked at the crater. It was approximately twelve metres deep and wide enough to swallow two vehicles side by side. He looked back at Hans.
That's a fortress cannon impact.
He was starting to understand the shape of this situation.
"Then fix it. We're on a time-sensitive resupply run."
Every 109th soldier within earshot began expressing opinions simultaneously, loudly and at length.
"Who do you think you're giving orders to—"
"We spent all night fighting off guerrillas and you want us to do construction work—"
"That food isn't coming to us anyway, so why would we lift a finger—"
Hans settled back into his cupola.
"The men haven't received their redistribution allocation in two months. They're not in a position to do heavy labour. We've filed a requisition for engineering equipment. You'll need to wait until it arrives."
The supply officer had the full picture now. He turned left, then right, visually measuring whether his vehicles could drive through the fields around the obstruction.
Hans watched him look.
"Don't. This is our agricultural zone. We've mined the verges against guerrilla infiltration. I won't guarantee you a safe route through the fields, and I won't take responsibility for what happens to your vehicles."
"You—" The officer's voice cracked slightly. "You planned this."
"Every vehicle in your convoy carries approximately a hundred bags. Three bags per vehicle. Sixty bags total. That covers labour costs for road repair and keeps the workers fed enough to do the job.
We're not asking for much."
The officer's face had gone past red into something that suggested internal pressure warnings.
He looked at the minefield signs along both verges. He looked at the crater blocking the road. He looked at the prepared defensive positions and the weapons pointed at him.
One of his own junior officers stepped up quietly.
"Sir. Our families need this food. Let's not lose the whole convoy over sixty bags. Give them what they're asking and get home."
The junior officer was right, and he was also offering a way to accept the situation without total loss of face.
The supply officer said, through teeth that were performing significant structural work:
"Sixty bags. Consider it charity for animals."
Hans raised a hand. A Chimera rolled out from the staging area, carrying a prefabricated iron bridge plate. It dropped across the crater with a heavy clang.
The supply officer stared at the bridge. Ready and waiting.
"I'll be filing a report with the military directorate."
"File whatever you want," Hans said. "Until the directorate puts food on our families' tables, their opinion is noted and set aside.
And remember — three bags, every crossing, every convoy. Anyone who doesn't like it can bring armoured support and we'll have a conversation about whose equipment is harder."
The convoy rolled across the bridge and drove south without looking back.
Hans watched them go, then turned to his soldiers.
"Sixty bags. Split three ways. Get the other battalions' shares delivered."
The soldiers moved with considerable enthusiasm.
[End of Chapter 219]
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