by David Weber
"Roger, we're . . . way outnumbered." Despreaux put in. She'd been doing her own count, and she didn't like her total. "We've got about fifteen guards in the town, and there are over a hundred Krath."
"It's not good," Pedi agreed. "But it's not quite as bad as it seems, either. Many of the clan leaders brought their families, and many of them are trained as I am. And we have the walls. I will go organize them, get them up here. Can you send a message to Nopet Nujam?"
"I can," Roger said. "But it's an hour's ride from there. Even if they sent the Vashin now, they'd be here too late. Get your battle-ladies. I'm going to find my armor."
"What are you going to do, Roger?" Despreaux asked nervously.
"Try to politely dissuade them," the prince replied.
* * *
"Sor Teb, as I live and breathe."
"Good afternoon, Prince Roger Ramius MacClintock," the head of the Scourge replied, walking up until he was within arm's length.
The Scourge raiding party had stopped and deployed just out of dart range from the walls. There were perhaps a hundred and fifty of them—a mixture of Krath and Shadem raiders. They were lightly armed and armored, but given what they were up against, that probably wouldn't matter.
Except for Roger.
The prince had donned his battle armor and packed along a heavy bead cannon. They hadn't gotten much in the way of ammunition from the spaceport yet, because they'd used most of their carriage for the explosives required to demolish the mountain. But they'd gotten a few rounds for the bead cannons, and his magazine was loaded first with shot rounds, then with solid. If he opened fire, he was going to cover the field in bits and pieces of Krath and Shadem.
"Well, if you know who I am, you ought to know that I don't bluff or negotiate very well," Roger told Teb calmly, and felt a trickle of amusement as the Scourge commander stiffened ever so slightly. Obviously, the Mardukan had hoped that the shock of knowing he'd been identified would throw Roger at least a little off stride.
"You're here on a fool's errand, Sor Teb," the prince continued. "The Sere have been stopped butt cold, and our reinforcements will be here in no time at all. Your army's trapped between our walls and a rising river, and it's surrendering en masse. Any captives you take will be returned, or you won't get your field army back. And if you don't turn around right now, as part of the negotiations we'll add your head to our demands."
"Very brave, Your Highness," the Scourge said with a grunting laugh. "But there are three things you're unaware of. First, given the situation that you and your people created in Kirsti, my head isn't worth spit in the Fire, anyway. Second, we're not here to take captives; we're here to kill everyone we can and loot the town to the ground, then return to the Shadem. I'm not going back to the Krath."
"Well, in that case my last point is that if you don't turn around, I'm going to turn you into paste," Roger said, hefting the bead gun. "I can kill at least half of you before you can make it to the walls. And then I can track down the rest and tear your arms out of their sockets. Oh, and you can't count—that was only two points.
"But I can, Your Highness." The Krath brought his hand around. "My third point is that I have a surprise for you."
Roger had never actually seen an example of the device in the Scourge commander's left true-hand—not in the flesh, as it were. But he recognized it instantly. It was no larger than an old, prespace flashlight, and the principal upon which it worked was almost as ancient as its appearance. Very few things could actually penetrate ChromSten armor, but there were ways around that. Essentially, Sor Teb's "surprise" was a last-ditch, contact-range weapon specifically designed to knock out battle armor or lightly armored combat vehicles. Known as a "one-shot," it consisted of a superconductor capacitor, a powerful miniaturized tractor beam, and a hundred-gram charge of plasticized cataclysmite in a ChromSten-lined channel.
If a one-shot could be brought into physical contact with its target and activated, the capacitor-powered tractor locked it there like an immovable limpet. Then the cataclysmite was driven at high speed down the weapon's hollow shaft in a wad with the consistency of modeling clay. When it hit the armor's outer surface, it spread over it, then detonated. The contact explosion couldn't blow a hole through the ChromSten . . . but it could transmit a shock wave through it, and the inner surface of the armor wasn't made of ChromSten. It was made of plasteel, far tougher and stronger than any prespace alloy, but far less damage resistant than ChromSten. It supported the ChromSten matrix, on one side, and the host of biofeedback monitors and servo activators which lined every square millimeter of the armor's insides, on the other. And the detonation of that much cataclysmite was perfectly adequate to blow a "scab" of plasteel no more than a centimeter or so across off the armor's inner backing.
With more than sufficient power to blast the scab right through whoever was wearing the armor it came from.
It was, in many ways, a suicide weapon. The maximum range at which the tractor could be activated with any chance of a successful lock-on was no more than five or six meters, and the odds against a successful attack rose sharply as the range rose. That meant that just getting it close enough to hurt someone in powered armor was problematical, but there were more than enough other drawbacks to it.
The one-shot's grip was specifically designed to contain the late cataclysmite's explosion, but it often failed. And even if it didn't, if the tractor failed to lock tightly to the target, back blast from the face of the target's armor would normally kill any unarmored human in the vicinity. Not to mention the fact that when the tractor lock completely failed, the one-shot became an old-fashioned chemical-fueled rocket with all the thrust it would ever need to blast right through a human body, or at least rip off the odd hand or arm. But when it worked, it let someone without armor take out an armored opponent.
Sor Teb had proven how fast he was in Kirsti. Whether or not he was actually faster than Roger was no doubt an interesting point, but not really relevant at the moment. He had the advantage of surprise, and unlike him, Roger was trying to do two things at once. He'd already begun to raise the bead cannon when he recognized the one-shot, and his own weapon's movement distracted him ever so slightly as the Mardukan brought the one-shot flashing towards him. Even if it hadn't, the physics were against him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
"Fuck!" Despreaux threw her rifle to her shoulder. "ROGER!"
She tried to find Sor Teb, but as soon as he'd fired, the entire Scourge party had started sprinting for the walls. And Teb was no fool. He'd disappeared into the mass, vanishing beyond her ability to pick him out of it. So she chose one at random in frustration and put a round through his chest.
"Modderpockers!"
"What happened?" Cord shouted. "What happened?!"
All he'd been able to see was that there'd been a bright flash, and that Roger was on the ground. His armor appeared intact from this distance, but he wasn't moving.
"One-shot!" she snarled. "It's a short range anti-armor weapon. No good above a few meters' range, and a bitch to use, but if you hit, it can take out armor." She scanned the oncoming Scourge, this time looking for someone who seemed to be in charge. She found someone who was waving, which was good enough for her, and punched out another round. Her target went down and disappeared under the charging feet of his fellows, and she took an instant to fix her bayonet as the attackers reached the palisade.
"Is he alive?" Cord demanded, then shook his head and raised his spear. "We should have gone to negotiate, not him!"
"Too late for that," Despreaux shot back, and lunged across the palisade. The Shadem had leapt onto the shoulders of two other Scourge, but he tumbled backwards as the half-meter of steel punched through his throat. She spun in place as another head came over the wall. This one let go and grasped at his face as her slash opened it up from side to side, but it was the butt-stroke that got rid of his ugly mug.
She worked the bolt and fired from the hip, blowing a third raider back from
the top of the palisade.
"Too late for that," she repeated, "but if he lives, I'll kill him!"
"Worry about whether or not we'll be here to kill him," Pedi advised as she took off the head of a Shadem who'd been pinned against the inner face of the parapet by Dogzard. Cord might not be able to move with his wonted speed and power, but at least he was wise enough to admit it to himself, and he moved behind his benan, covering her back without getting into her way.
"Good point," the Marine muttered, as she sought out a target further down the wall. "Damned if we're not going to have to kill them all."
"I'd heard you were having problems with that," Cord said through a grunt of self-inflicted pain as he drove his spear into the throat of a veiled Shadem who'd tried to sneak around Pedi's flank.
"I just got over it!"
* * *
"Mudh Hemh is under attack," the Gastan told Pahner evenly.
The two commanders had moved to the battlements to observe events. For a time, the battlefield had been absolute chaos as the Krath army mutinied en masse. Now its commanders were restoring some order, and a formal parley had started. The initial negotiations had been unspoken; groups that were armed and came within weapons' distance of the walls were engaged. Those who threw down their arms were allowed to huddle near the walls, still at a distance, but well away from the rising floodwaters.
Other groups, more foolhardy or desperate to retrieve their belongings, had been caught by the rising water. A few of them huddled on scattered outcrops of higher ground, but most had been swept away by the flood. The total who'd been lost in that fashion was small, but it had been intensely demoralizing, and it was after the first groups disappeared into the hungry waters that the Krath had actively started to surrender.
With the first recognized heralds on their way, and the Krath throwing down their arms, it seemed the war was over. Before the walls of Nopet Nujam, at least.
"Talk about snatching victory," Pahner said, looking to the rear. The red distress flags above the town were evident . . . as were the struggling figures on the walls. "Damn it."
"We can't get word to them to surrender," the Gastan said. "That will take too long."
"Roger will be fine," Pahner replied. "Despreaux will make him put on his armor, and nothing the Krath have will get through that. But the rest . . ."
He leaned over the edge of the battlements and looked around until he spotted a human.
"Turner! Find Rastar. Tell him to take all the Vashin to Mudh Hemh; it's under attack! Spread the word!"
"This is most unpleasant." The Gastan lowered his binoculars. "They're burning my town. If they think this is going to improve negotiations, they are sorely mistaken."
"Worry about that after we find out who's alive and who's dead," Pahner muttered.
* * *
"Erraah!" Despreaux butt-stroked the Krath so hard in the face that it smashed her rifle, but it didn't really matter. She was flat out of ammo . . . and just about out of time.
"Son of a vern!" Pedi yelled as she blocked a strike from a Shadem staff. She drove forward in a windmill of steel that ended in a kick which sent the Shadem stumbling back over the edge of the wall. His intestines slithered after him.
"Pedi!" Despreaux gasped, and threw her broken rifle past the Shin like a spear.
Sor Teb blocked the missile with one of his swords and snarled.
"I'm going to enjoy sending you to the Fire, you Shin witch!" the Scourge commander told the Gastan's daughter. He was just about the last Krath on the battlements. But, then again, they were pretty much alone, as well.
"You'll have to manage it first," Pedi said, and darted forward.
From Despreaux's perspective, the engagement was nothing but a vortex of steel. The sound of the swords grating on each other sounded like so many sharpening steels in action, and neither combatant was paying attention to any of the other battles going on around them. They were in a focused, private world of steel and fury, and as Despreaux watched the deadly, flashing blades, she realized to her amazement that Pedi's reflexes were just as extraordinary as Roger's or Sor Teb's.
They broke apart for moment, as if by mutual consent, just as Cord limped up to them, and the shaman shook his head.
"Wrist! Keep your wrist straight!"
"Thanks," Pedi panted. "I'll keep that in mind."
"No, I was talking to him," Cord said. "His technique is awful. Your wrist is perfect, darling."
"Darling?" Pedi looked over her shoulder at him.
"I'm sorry," he said. "It just slipped out."
"I'm going to feed you, your boyfriend, and your get to the Fire," the Scourge panted.
"You talk big," Pedi replied, focusing once more on the task at hand. "We'll see who's going to the Fire today."
"Yes, we will."
Sor Teb gestured with his left false-hand. Pedi's eyes flicked towards it for just an instant, and that was when his right false-hand moved. It threw a handful of dust into her face, and he drove forward right behind.
Pedi flung up a false-arm. She managed to stop most of the powder, but some of it still took her in the eyes and mouth, and she buckled as instantaneous pain and nausea ripped through her. But she still managed to drop to one knee, and she drove upward with both swords as the Scourge's downward cut sliced into her shoulder.
Sor Teb looked at the two swords buried to their quillons in his stomach and coughed out a gush of blood.
"No," he muttered, raising his off-hand sword.
Cord raised his spear, but before he could drive it forward, Dogzard—who'd had enough of this stupid single-combat and fairness stuff—crashed into the dying Krath's chest and settled matters by ripping out his throat.
Despreaux darted forward and caught Pedi as blood from her shoulder poured out.
"Damn it, why is Dobrescu never around when you need him?" she demanded of the universe.
"Pedi?" Cord went to his knees beside her, ripping at his hated clothing until he tore off a strip and wadded it into an impromptu bandage. "Pedi, don't go away from me."
"I . . ." She shuddered. "It hurts."
"The healer Dobrescu will be here soon," Cord said. "He's a miracle worker—look at me. Just hold on. Don't . . . don't leave me. I don't want to lose you, too."
"You won't . . . darling," she grimaced a smile. "I have too much to live for. You . . . and your children."
"Mine?" he repeated, almost absently. Then grabbed his horns in frustration. "Mine? How?"
"I . . . I'm sorry," she said with a sigh. "You were so hurt, so needing. You came into your season while you were injured. I couldn't stand to watch you in such agony, and you were calling for your . . . for your wife. I— Ahhh!" She panted in pain. "I love you. . . ."
"Look, this is touching and everything, but are you going to let me work on her shoulder, or not?" Dobrescu demanded.
"What?" Cord looked up as the medic tapped him with a foot, then stood. "Where did you come from?"
"I said I don't have much use for civan," the warrant officer replied. "Never said I didn't know how to use one," he added as the first of the Vashin appeared on the walls.
"Oh," he added. "The cavalry's here."
* * *
Roger opened his eyes and groaned.
"Crap," he muttered. His ribs hurt like hell.
"Water?" Dobrescu inquired sweetly. The medic had dark rings around his eyes, but he looked as mischievous as ever.
"Well, since I'm alive, I take it we won." Roger took a sip from the proffered camelback, then grimaced. "What was the egg breakage?"
"Pretty hefty, Your Highness," a new voice said, and Roger turned his head just as Pahner sat down beside his bed. The captain looked as if he hadn't slept in far too long, either.
"Tell me I look better than you two," the prince said, and winced as he levered himself very gingerly into a sitting position.
"Actually, you probably do," Pahner replied. "Doc?"
"Four broken ribs and contusions
, mainly," the medic said. "Which is no big deal with His Highness." He grinned tiredly at Roger. "I kept you under for a day just to keep you out of the way and give your nannies a chance to begin the repairs," he added. "You can start moving around whenever you like."
"It hurts like . . . heck," Roger noted.
"That's good," Dobrescu told him, and stood. "It might keep you from doing stupid things."
He tapped the prince lightly on the shoulder and walked out, leaving him with Pahner.
"You're alive," Roger said, returning his attention to the Marine. "That's good. How are we doing otherwise?"
"Just fine," Pahner replied. "The breakage was bad for the Shin, both in Nopet and Mudh Hemh. But they'll survive. The Gastan is talking about letting some of the Krath settle in the valley, since the Shin own both citadels again."
"The company? Diasprans? Vashin?"
"Low losses," Pahner reassured him. "We didn't lose any Marines, not even Despreaux—who, I note, you haven't asked about. We lost two Vashin, and a Diaspran. That's it."
"Good," Roger sighed. "I was going to ask about Nimashet as soon as I'd asked about business."
"I won't tell her about your priorities," the captain said with a rare smile. "But I'll note that I approve. And at least we've solved the whole problem with Cord and Pedi."
"What problem? I knew something was going on, but I couldn't tell what."
"Ah, you were asleep for that." Pahner's smile segued into a grin, and he shook his head as he pulled out a bisti root and cut off a slice. "The Gastan wasn't all that happy, either, although he wasn't showing it. It turns out she's pregnant."
"Pedi?" Roger asked. "When? How?" He paused a moment, then shook his head, an almost awed expression on his face. "Cord?"