by Tom Hart
Robert was wheezing by the time he reached the top of the keep. The stone stairs were spaced far apart and he soon realised how out of shape he was. Henry was only two years older but wasn't even out of breath. In fact Henry looked like he was enjoying himself.
‘The CIA kept me young,’ Henry teased.
Henry took a look at the comms set up and raised an eyebrow.
‘What?’ Robert asked.
‘It's definitely French but it’s old, 1970s era.’
‘Show me the dish,’ Henry said to the marine Sergeant.
The dish was fixed with two anchor mounts on the edge of the castle roof. It was tucked neatly away so it would not be visible from the ground. ‘It's 1970s too,’ Henry said.
‘Why would someone have pre-digital satellite communications gear on an old castle,’ a marine private asked.
‘I have a few ideas son,’ Henry said. ‘Now you boys go and finish off your search. I want to know what is underground. Any storage cellars or similar. I want you to keep an eye out for anything contemporary or out of place for a castle over 800 years old, especially electrification or wiring okay.’ The marines saluted. ‘Yes sir.’
Henry turned to Robert. ‘Robert could you turn that dial there while I adjust this receiver.’
‘Sure.’
Robert turned the dial and the unit lit up and made a crackling noise. Henry turned two dials on the second unit until the crackling stopped.
‘Okay that's got it.’
Henry pointed to a small green switch. ‘Flick that down for me will you.’
Robert flicked the switch.
The speakers in the unit emitted a soft beep which repeated every three seconds. After a minute there was a single longer beep of five seconds.
‘That's the signal for a successful connection,’ Henry said.
‘How do you know all this stuff?’
‘I used stuff like this when I was younger.’
In the CIA, he didn't need to add.
Henry took hold of the speaker and depressed the button to send a universally recognised flash recognition signal to say he was ready to receive. The return signal was almost immediate. Two short beeps followed by three longer ones.
‘They want me to switch to a lower frequency. Turn that dial back one position thanks Robert.’
Henry repeated his flash signal. The response was audibly louder this time. ‘Standby,’ a man's voice said. The man's accent sounded Japanese. Robert could speak both Japanese fluently, he had been posted to the Australian Embassy in Tokyo early in his career. Another minute passed.
The voice returned. ‘Next packet due at 2300 in two days.’ Robert got the impression the speaker was waiting for a response.
‘Message received,’ Henry said.
‘Re-establish contact to confirm receipt. End transmission,’ the voice said.
Henry looked thoughtful. He turned to Robert. ‘Japanese?’
‘Yes,’ Robert said, from Kyushu province in the far South.’
Henry took a satellite phone from his backpack and pressed a button. ‘CIA speed dial,’ he said with a smile.
A women answered. ‘I need a trace, priority 1. Sending you the co-ordinates now.’ Henry pushed another button on the handset before ending the call.
The phone rang a minute later. ‘Go,’ Henry said.
He listened intently for thirty seconds before hanging up.
Henry sat down and turned his chair to face Robert.
‘It's a French radio made under licence from Marconi Italy. It is hooked up to a 1974 mark III high power satellite transmitter. The dish is a 1973 French made copy of a German designed ultra-compact S band receiver. It was top shelf gear in its day.’
‘Why would anyone use a 1970s radio in this century?’ Robert asked.
‘To avoid being detected,’ Henry said. ‘The CIA had to run this trace manually. Our automated systems don't bother monitoring these radio signatures anymore. They are obsolete. I suspect other intelligence agencies don’t bother either.’
‘Where did the CIA say the transmission came from?’ Robert asked.
‘Southern Japan like you said. It was bounced via a pair of old French weather satellites one over the North Sea and the other in orbit over the pacific near Guam.’
The marines had returned. ‘Sir's you are going to want to see this.’
The castle wine cellar, formerly a dungeon by the look of the chains anchored to the walls was lit by a set of three electric light bulbs. A precarious dust covered white cable was strung between the three bulbs. The cable terminated at a rusted metal switch on a wall. ‘We haven't found the power source yet,’ a marine private stated. ‘I’d say it’s running on batteries, we’d hear a generator,’ Henry said.
The cellar was full of dust covered wine bottles. Some so faded they were unreadable. Robert found a few which he could read, 1772, 1814 and an 1809 red. ‘Got to be worth a fortune,’ Robert said to Henry.
‘Why are they still here?’ Henry said to no one in particular. ‘This stuff should have been looted by now.’
‘We had to use charges to blow open three iron gates Sirs,’ the Sergeant replied.
Henry nodded. ‘Let's take a few as mementoes of our visit Sergeant.’
The wine was impressive but it was the coat of armour leaning against the far wall that was incredible. It was over six and a half feet tall and covered in intricate engravings. Pictures of birds and deer, foxes and even a lion.
The armour was bright like it had been polished only yesterday. Not a spec of rust or tarnish anywhere. There were no visible rivets or joins either, it seemed cast as a single piece. That was not something Robert thought would be possible but he admitted he knew nothing about medieval metallurgy.
‘Check this out Sirs,’ a marine Corporal said. He picked the armour up with one hand.
‘Wow,’ Henry said.
‘It's as light as a feather?’ the marine said.
Henry walked to the wall and took the armour from the Corporal. He held it with one arm. ‘Amazing.’
‘Is it plastic?’ Robert asked.
‘It feels metallic,’ Henry said. ‘Light as a feather, can't be more than a kilogram.’
Robert gave it a go. ‘Is it even real armour?’
The Corporal picked up a rusted axe lying on the floor. He tapped the armour on the breastplate. Not a scratch. He hit it a little harder. Not a mark. Robert lent the armour back against the wall and the marine struck it a mighty blow with the axe. The armour didn't even move. The axe head fell clean off. ‘Shall we shoot it?’ the Sergeant asked.
‘Why not?’ Henry said. ‘Got anything armour piercing?’
‘Yes sir,’ the Sergeant nodded reaching into his webbing and removing a magazine. He replaced the magazine in his carbine and took aim from ten metres away. He fired a single shot at the leg of the armour. The bullet stopped dead when it struck the armour and fell harmlessly to the ground. Not a scratch. On close inspection the bullet had splintered and broken into hundreds of tiny pieces.
‘That round can penetrate an inch thick plate of steel,’ the Sergeant said impressed. ‘Shall I try more sir?’
‘Give it a magazine full Sergeant,’ Henry said.
The Sergeant emptied his magazine then inspected the armour. He counted a pile of twenty-nine broken bullets in a neat pile on the stone floor. ‘Not a damn scratch,’ he said shaking his head.
Henry, Robert and the marines left in the Humvee an hour later. The armour sat in the back of the vehicle. Henry believed it was made of a material the CIA would love to know about. ‘Imagine building a tank out of that stuff whatever it is,’ he said.
Two marines had been left behind to keep a watch on the French radio. Someone was using it and when they returned Henry would be the first to know.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
SHADOW WEAVERS
Helena pulled the hood down tighter on her head. She had been standing outside the abandoned warehouse for an hour and w
as drenched to the bone. Why did he want to meet here of all places? A light flickered from the window on the top floor of the warehouse. She removed the antique flashlight from her jacket and flashed back the recognition signal. The Shadow Weavers were a strange people. They always insisted on using vintage technology, supposedly to fool the Invidium Security Forces.
She was growing tired of doing Scarlett's dirty work. It was a dangerous game her Duchess was playing - speaking with Shadow Weavers.
‘Are you alone,’ a man's voice asked from behind Helena. Helena jumped and fought to stop screaming. ‘Of course not David,’ she whispered angrily.
‘Good, let's get you out of the rain then.’
‘About time,’ she snarled.
‘The President has agreed to meet your Duchess in person.’
Helena sat on a comfortable armchair while David stood to remove a package wrapped in wax paper. It was shaped like a disc but was ridiculously large. He handed it to Helena. ‘Here, take this.’
‘What is it?’
‘It is a called a record. It is made out of vinyl and is fragile so be careful with it.’
‘What am I supposed to do with it?’
David laughed. ‘Play it, it contains music.’
‘Music?’ Helena repeated confused.
‘Music with a message, the Duchess will understand.’
Helena had no idea how. She dismissed it with the wave of her hand. Shadow Weavers and their strange obsession with music. Music was for commoners.
‘The President has certain conditions,’ David ventured.
‘My Duchess does not entertain such trivialities,’ Helena said proudly. No one would be imposing conditions on the Duchess.
‘You misunderstand,’ David said. ‘This is something your Duchess will enjoy I suspect.’
Helena raised an eyebrow.
‘The President has asked her to ensure Lord Akemi attends the next lunar ball.’
Helena failed to hide her surprise and scoffed loudly. ‘You know very well the Duchess despises Lord Akemi.’
‘I do,’ David nodded with a smile.
‘Why do you make a request when you know the answer will be no?’
‘Because we intend to kill him at the ball.’
Helena raised both eyebrows this time. ‘Well in that case, I think my Duchess could ensure he is on the guest list this time.’
‘Good,’ David said satisfied. ‘Now onto other matters.’
‘Wait a moment,’ Helena stated. ‘You need to show me proof you upheld your end of our bargain.’
David nodded and smiled. He liked this Vofurion. ‘I trust this geo-map will be sufficient?’
‘It had better be, especially for a hundred grams of Triglesium,’ Helena said firmly.
‘The co-ordinates are all there. Their hideout and defences are clearly marked.’
Helena relaxed. This was her primary objective. Get the co-ordinates to the hideout of the Knights of the Abyss.
‘I urge your Duchess to be careful with this, even our forces have experienced difficulties in dealing with the Knights. They do not fight like others, do not underestimate them.’
No chance of that, thought Helena. Just thinking about the Knights made her shudder. They had killed Scarlett's beloved baby brother in a botched assassination attempt on the King, and for that Scarlett had sworn to destroy them.
Despite what the average Vofurion believed the Knights of the Abyss were not some kind of romantically inspired warrior cult who had morphed into a pacifist charitable order. They were a band of assassins.
Their peculiar name came simply from a prominent geological feature of their original Home world called the Abyss. It was in effect a canyon eighty miles wide and ten miles deep.
The Knights were supposedly descended from a mythical race of super humans who used Triglesium to bend gravity with their minds and travel through portals, summoned with the wave of a hand. If there were truly men and women capable of such feats Helena was certain they would be in the employ of her Duchess.
Helena knew her Duchess would not rest until the Knights were obliterated.
To outsiders they were a dilapidated and impoverished group of old men and women confined to the moons of Lancaster. They barely had enough credits to tend to their decaying temples. Or so that was their cover story. They were assassins for hire and they had made a big mistake taking on the Royal House of Elara.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
INCURSION
Colonel Rick Nelson was not the type of man to take things lying down. He had at his disposal nine-hundred Australian army personnel including a detachment of Abrams tanks and one-hundred and twenty members of the 4th Commando Regiment.
Rick found out about the invasion through the American joint headquarters command in Kabul Afghanistan. The US Admiral in command of all allied forces in Afghanistan told Rick personally as he was the highest ranking Australian Officer in country. The Admiral was as frustrated as Rick, he had an enormous arsenal at his disposal but was under orders from the Joint Chiefs to do nothing. The Admiral told Rick that while US forces could not be directly involved in any attack on China if Rick chose to mount an attack of his own the US forces would do everything else they could to assist.
The Admiral told Rick the Australian high command were all dead. That made obtaining authority for an attack on mainland China a lot easier. All Rick had to do was order it himself.
American military intelligence conducted a closed briefing session for Rick and his senior officers. An apologetic American Major explained the Australian Navy and Air Force were destroyed and the Army decimated. Only the Norforce and one cavalry troop of ASLAAVs in Tasmania was left intact. The ASLAAVs were hiding in Tasmanian's largest national park being hunted by Chinese attack helicopters. The Major did not think they would survive the week.
Rick had nothing to lose. While he had the authority to order it he put it to a vote anyway. Every man and women under his command voted in favour of the attack. They all wanted to get back at the Chinese. Rick's operation's officer Major Kay believed they had a lot in their favour. ‘They won't expect us to attack their far Western provinces. There are still plenty of militarily significant targets for us there.’
The plan was simple. Fly as close to the Afghan border as possible before crossing to Pakistan as if heading towards the US air base in Kazakhstan. From there the aircraft would refuel and launch a night time incursion into western China.
The most attractive of the military targets available to Rick, courtesy of some detailed satellite imagery provided by US forces, was a Chinese Air Force Base equipped with one squadron of protective Fighters and two squadrons of land-based bombers, together with a small assortment of utility helicopters. Rick knew there was little chance of surviving an attack on more than one target before being overwhelmed.
The Chinese were well-equipped and the size of their forces formidable. Rick and his nine-hundred men and women were a drop in the ocean compared to even the smallest Chinese army formation in any of the three provinces within range.
They set off at dawn. The Americans kindly gave Rick some additional equipment including anti-tank rockets and stinger heat seeking missiles in case any of the aircraft of the target airbase managed to take off. The gear was far more advanced than what Rick's people had.
Rick had his people strip nonessential items from the 12 Hercules aircraft to remove any weight that was not mission critical. This allowed Rick's logistics platoon to accommodate eight additional tons of equipment and ammunition.
The Australian's deployed their parachutes at four-hundred feet, minimising the time to landing. The Chinese air defence radars identified them as they crossed the border but given the proximity to a large Pakistani airbase the Chinese ignored them. It was not unusual for aircraft to be moving in and out of the area at this time. The Americans had suggested the vector for that very purpose.
The Hercules were able to unload and bug out before first salvo of
Chinese missiles were fired. One unlucky Hercules was struck in the port engine. It was able to make an emergency landing in nearby Pakistan but was impounded immediately. The Pakistanis would not be happy to learn an aircraft which had identified itself is a humanitarian flight was in fact mounting a secret incursion into China.
All but sixty personnel managed to land within one square mile of the target area. Those sixty were never found. Rick suspected they landed on the other side of the river and were cut off. Besides, Rick was enforcing strict radio silence until after the attack commenced and his people only bothered to pack short range low powered radios. This was a one way trip. This was evidenced by the GPS units held by each section leader. They had way points for the attack but no pre-programmed escape or evasion routes. Ricks' force had no plan to leave China alive.
After three hours of double time they reached the valley containing the airfield. This airfield was classified as 'sleepy' by US military intelligence. Other than a few search and rescue flights and the occasional interdiction of a wayward Pakistani aircraft the crews got little flight time. US intelligence told Rick the fighters rarely scrambled, the pilots were B grade and the operational tempo of the facility was low.
Rick personally fired the first anti-tank rocket at an SU 27 fighter. He was rewarded with a fireball. Three other teams fired their rockets within five seconds of the first explosion. Each found its mark. As the rocketeers reloaded a mortar platoon opened up with its 82mm mortars. This caused chaos at the base. A klaxon sounded as Chinese soldiers streamed from two grey concrete compounds towards a score of armoured vehicles parked along the tarmac. A salvo of javelin missiles transformed their vehicles into shredded metal.
Sniper teams from the 4th Commando Regiment occupied the high ground atop a low ridge overlooking the airfield. They were busy picking off any Chinese wearing an Officer's uniform. One sniper team had a 50 calibre sniper rifle and was busy rendering safe any jeep or other vehicle presenting a hazard to the attackers.