Gears of War: Anvil Gate

by Karen Traviss

  The bottle went back and forth a few times in silence. The night was pitch-black, so clear and moonless that Bernie could pick out the navigation lights of the radar picket ship about fifteen kilometers away.

  So I’m grounded. But it’s because he cares. Can’t have it both ways. It’s not forever, is it?

  Eventually the pinprick red and green lights in the distance swapped sides, and Bernie thought she could see the mast light. Whichever ship was out there had turned 180 degrees. Then her perspective shifted, and she realized she was looking at something else entirely; it was two ships a long way apart, but almost aligned. The mast light belonged to something else. She couldn’t tell if it was background or foreground.

  “Vic, can you see that?”

  He squinted. “Don’t worry. It’s a ship.”

  “I know that. Don’t ours always run with nav lights?”

  Hoffman grunted and fumbled in his pocket for his earpiece. “Control? Hoffman here. Who’s monitoring inshore traffic? I want to know what’s under way due south of the channel buoy.”

  The pleasant haze from the moonshine evaporated from Bernie’s head as fast as it had settled. She snapped back to full alert and put in her earpiece.

  “The radar picket’s diverted to intercept an unidentified craft, sir. Unarmed cabin cruiser, thirty meters, not responding to challenges. Do you want me to patch you through to the ship? It’s Scepter.”

  “Yeah, and check that Captain Michaelson’s aware.” Hoffman grumbled under his breath. “We’re not exactly on a shipping lane here.”

  “Refugees?” Bernie asked. She put the stopper back in the bottle. “People do pass by here from time to time even if they don’t land.”

  “That’s another complication we don’t need.” Hoffman looked away for a moment. “Control? Thanks … put him through … Lieutenant, what’s that vessel doing?”

  Bernie eavesdropped on the channel again. The voice sounded very young. “Sir, we’re coming alongside now. She appears to be drifting. I can hear her engines on idle, but there’s nobody on the bridge. Wait one while we get a searchlight on her.”

  “You make damn sure she’s not booby-trapped with a few tonnes of explosive,” Hoffman said. “This isn’t a good week for maritime safety.” He turned to Bernie. “Don’t we ever learn anything about Stranded?”

  The CO of Scepter came back on the radio. “Colonel, the vessel’s holed above the waterline—there’s a four-meter chunk out of her bow. The deck’s buckled, too. Can’t see much else until it gets light, but she’s taken a pounding. No visible charring or smoke damage yet.”

  Bernie found herself going through a checklist of trouble. Pirate attack? No, they’d take the ship too, if only for scrap and cannibalization. Collision? It was a big, empty ocean, but then people did stupid things in ships. Maybe the screw had fished up another Lambent life-form and blown a hole in their cargo hold. They’d have abandoned ship in a hurry, just like she had. Nobody stopped to shut down the engines when they were trying to get away.

  “I think it’s deserted, sir.”

  The radio popped slightly as another call sign joined the net. “Michaelson here. We’re scrambling a couple of Ravens—don’t board until they’re on station. Like the Colonel says, it might be another Stranded surprise party.”

  “I’m going to armor up,” Bernie said. She could hear the Ravens starting their engines. If there was going to be trouble, there was always the chance that there’d be coordinated attacks from the land side. “We’re never going to have that chat about Anvegad, are we?”

  “Oh, we will.” Hoffman got to his feet and dusted down the seat of his pants. “Let’s get this squared away first. I’ll be in CIC.”

  By the time Bernie had done the round-trip back to the sergeants’ quarters and put her armor on, more Gears and sailors had emerged from the messes to watch from the jetty, although what the hell they thought they could see in the middle of the night was anyone’s guess. One of the Gorasni men was talking to Baird as if they were old buddies. Bernie headed for the CIC building for no better reason than wanting to know what was going on, and found Hoffman talking via the loudspeaker to Michaelson in Sovereign. He had both hands flat on the chart table and he didn’t look up.

  “Might have been caught by the current, of course,” Michaelson said. “It probably wasn’t heading this way.”

  “Got light from the Raven, sir.” That was the CO of Scepter. “We’re boarding now.”

  Scepter went quiet for a long time. All Bernie could hear was the occasional aside from Michaelson to one of his crew, and the intermittent chatter of helicopters as someone at the incident location switched a mike on and off. CIC was silent. The three junior officers on the night watch sat listening, and that ten minutes—Bernie checked the rusting metal face of the wall clock—felt like it dragged on for days.

  When Scepter’s CO suddenly came back on the radio and broke the silence, everyone flinched.

  “Sir, there’s nobody on board,” he said. “There’s stuff scattered everywhere, and what looks like blood on the bulkheads, but no bodies. No obvious signs of firearms being used, either. I’m not sure what to make of this, but—well, the rummage team says there’s a tree trunk rammed through one of the transverse bulkheads, at an angle from the main damage.”

  “Say again?” Hoffman said.

  “A tree.”

  “Damn, we should have sent a bot to relay images. What do you mean, a tree?”

  “I haven’t seen it, sir, but PO Hollaster says it’s like a gnarled trunk of a creeper, only much thicker, and it’s splintered at the bottom like it was torn off. No roots. And the hole in the bow is caved in, suggesting a shaft punched through it and up through the deck.”

  Bernie could see that everyone else was just as bewildered as she was. She couldn’t even begin to imagine a logical explanation for that. She waited for one of the NCOG people to suggest something technical known only to seagoing types that would clear up the whole thing for the landlubbers, but they said nothing.

  “Well, we’re rather short of wooden warships these days,” Michaelson said at last. “So there goes the only possible theory for a freak collision. I’m damned if I can explain this at the moment, gentlemen, so let’s get off that ship, tow her to the two-kilometer anchorage, and have another look when it’s light.”

  Hoffman scratched his scalp with both hands.

  “A goddamn tree?” he said again. “A wooden beam? A battering ram?”

  “Am I the only one worrying about the blood and absence of bodies?” Bernie asked.

  “A tree,” Scepter’s CO said. “Really. It’s some kind of weird tree.”

  CHAPTER 8

  It is in the best interests of the region to have a stable and secure Vasgar. For that reason, and that reason alone, the Union of Independent Republics will send a peacekeeping force to provide support and protection for the Vasgari people to enable them to resolve their constitutional crisis without foreign interference.

  (DANIEL VARI, CHAIRMAN OF THE UNION OF INDEPENDENT REPUBLICS, IN THE 62ND YEAR OF THE PENDULUM WARS)

  HOWERD COMPANY, 26TH ROYAL TYRAN INFANTRY, FORWARD OPERATING BASE TYRO, WESTERN KASHKUR—32 YEARS EARLIER.

  “They’re running late, Fenix,” said Colonel Choi. He sipped his tea. “I expected them to invade weeks ago.”

  Adam Fenix checked out the aerial recon pictures, trying to pin them flat on the wall while the permanent, infuriating wind snatched at the paper. Tyro was a collection of temporary huts clinging to the slopes of the mountains that separated Kashkur from its neighbors on three sides. At this time of year, the wind never gave up for a moment. If there was a crack in the building, it would find it. It had.

  “So what’s the delay at our end, then?” Adam asked. “If this is from the Furlin border, the Indie cav and heavy artillery could be at the first crossing point tomorrow. These images are about four hours old, yes?”

  “Politicians.”

  “The
Chairman was talking tough about defending Vasgar’s neutrality only an hour ago, on the radio.”

  “Oh, that’s talk,” Choi said. “Not do. And I thought you were one of the great intellects of Tyrus, Captain.”

  Adam took the comment as a joke, nothing more. “I can see we’re going to fling poor old Vasgar from the sled to divert the wolves, then.”

  “Neutrality’s a bitch, isn’t it? No enemies, maybe, but no allies, either.”

  “Hasn’t the interim government asked us for help?”

  “Do we seriously want to be first to walk into a country that’s ripping itself up? No, the Indies can have that privilege. We’ll end up with a whole new theater to fight—that’s a long border to defend. If we just let the Indies walk in, it won’t make it any easier for them to reach Kashkur. Anvil Gate can just shut down the pass and pick off the Indie armor at leisure. All we have to do is stop the Indies moving through Shavad.”

  “Very economical.”

  “We’ll need everything we’ve got to hold this end of Kashkur.” Choi stared into his teacup. “Is this sediment something I should worry about?”

  “It’s spices, sir. The locals put spice in everything.”

  “As long as it’s not your ambitious lieutenant trying to poison me to create a vacancy.”

  “Stroud wouldn’t bother with poison.” Adam kept a straight face, partly because it was true. “She’d just put a round between your eyes. Very forthright, our Helena.”

  Choi paused for a moment and then bellowed with laughter. “Good-looking girl. Has she said who the father is yet?”

  “No, sir, and I don’t think that’s any of our business.”

  “Must be hard for a woman to leave a small child behind under those circumstances.”

  “It’s hard for a man, too.” Adam went back to the map on the wall and tried to see the swirls of color and contour lines in three dimensions. “I’ll start moving the company down to Shavad now.”

  “Change of plan. You’ll be shutting down the imulsion pipeline and making sure supplies stay rerouted north the moment Furlin crosses the border. Then, if need be, you reinforce the Kashkuri forces in Shavad.”

  The big picture was suddenly clear. “We’re cutting off Vasgar?”

  “Exactly. No fuel—so the Indies are going to have a tough time resupplying. If necessary, we’ll destroy that section of the pipeline and make it permanent. But in the meantime, just implement the contingency plan. Shut down Borlaine and Ecian Ridge, and open the emergency pipeline at Gatka.”

  It was an interesting way to receive a change of orders. Adam saw the map in a whole new light. He’d already started working out the logistics of who and what he’d need to cut the supply—three teams of engineers, three infantry platoons to guard the pipeline hubs just in case the UIR managed to insert special forces—before the very obvious realization sank in. There were millions of neutral civilians who were going to be plunged into even worse chaos than an occupation.

  “Just as well this isn’t later in the year,” he said. “I’d hate to see a Vasgar winter during a fuel embargo.”

  “It’s not going to be too clever in the summer, either. But disgruntled civvies will give the Indies something extra to worry about.” Choi stood up. “Time you got going. I want your teams in place tonight. We haven’t warned the imulsion companies, just in case they talk, so they’re going to be very surprised to see you. They’re going to be losing a lot of revenue.”

  Revenue? Of course. Life goes on. Companies need customers, bills need paying.

  Adam sometimes wondered how he failed to factor commerce into warfare. He’d have to watch out for that blind spot.

  “So we’re commandeering pipeline hubs now, sir.”

  “You got it, Fenix. Can’t rely on civilians to cooperate even in a war. It’s gone on too long. No sense of crisis—unless they’re the ones in a combat zone.” Choi got up and looked out the window, then checked his watch. “Mustn’t keep the chopper puke waiting. He has a tendency to show his displeasure with bouncy landings. I’ll call in at twenty-five-hundred.”

  Adam saw Choi off at the landing pad. The clock was ticking. He had less than a day to roll into three imulsion hubs, tell the operators that they were shutting down an entire country’s supply, and keep that supply shut off until further notice. Military objectives were clear-cut. He approached them knowing he was going to take fire and give as good as he got. But this was one of those operations that was fraught with delicate problems, because it involved civilians, allied civilians.

  If they don’t cooperate, it’s going to get … unpleasant.

  Choi’s aging Tern helicopter dwindled to a black spot against the backdrop of mountains. Adam knew he had an audience peering from the barracks windows and standing around in workshops and doorways. He had to turn around and look. He knew everyone was expecting an order to move down to Shavad to join the rest of the battalion on the front line.

  “Captain?” Helena Stroud walked up to him. “Shall I get the staff and NCOs together for your briefing?”

  Helena was an unnerving combination of a beautiful face, a wonderful actressy voice, and the eye-wateringly profane vocabulary of a drill sergeant. Adam had fully expected her little girl’s first word to be motherfucker rather than Mommy. As Choi had correctly judged, Helena was ferociously ambitious and as hard-charging as any of the men, and Adam didn’t expect her to be his lieutenant for long. Complicated bets were already being laid in the sergeants’ mess back at HQ as to when she would make captain, then major, then colonel, and how many medals she’d be awarded while doing it.

  “It’s not what we thought,” Adam said. “We’re cutting off the imulsion pipeline to Vasgar.”

  He expected her to react as he did; uneasy, and wishing he was doing some clearly defined fighting. But Helena was always up for any challenge.

  “That’ll be a nice change of pace,” she said cheerfully. “We’ll need some clankies for that. Let me see if I can rouse them from their oily slumber. Briefing in the canteen tent, sir, fifteen minutes?”

  “Very good,” he said. “I’m glad you’re relishing this, Stroud.”

  “I’d rather be brassing them up, but a girl can’t always have it her own way.” She walked off briskly in the direction of the company office. “Maybe we’ll get some decent contact later.”

  When Helena said fifteen minutes, she meant it to the second. Adam saw the flurry of activity between the huts as he gathered up his maps and made hurried calls. By the time he got to the canteen tent, she had all the NCOs and officers sitting on benches, the company’s detached squad of 2 REE clankies—men from the 2nd Battalion Royal Ephyran Engineers—with schematics pinned to an easel, and a chalkboard awaiting Adam’s attention.

  It would have irritated some officers, but Adam was already used to Elain’s rigorously organized approach to life, so he simply felt reassured to have a fiercely competent female on his staff. One of the corporals tossed something small and brightly colored in Helena’s direction and she caught it one-handed. She held up a pair of pink knitted baby bootees.

  “Oh, Collins, bless you! That’s a very sweet thought.” She flashed him that luminous smile. “Anya’s nearly three now, but I’ll put these away for her daughter.”

  “Or your next one …” someone said.

  Everyone laughed, including Corporal Collins. “My wife’s a very slow knitter, ma’am. Do what you can.”

  Helena stepped aside to let Adam start the briefing. He clipped the central Kashkur map to the board and penciled circles around the imulsion facilities.

  “We have some asset denial to carry out, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “By twenty-five-hundred tonight, we need to have these imulsion pipeline hubs secured in preparation for shutting them down. Yes, this is in allied territory. No, the imulsion companies haven’t been warned, for opsec reasons. So expect this to be challenging.”

  The assembled Gears looked at him in silence as if thinking through
the likely course of events. It wasn’t what any of them usually did. Eventually someone spoke.

  “But doesn’t it take days to shut down a pipeline, sir?”

  “It takes days to shut down production safely,” Adam said. “All we’re doing is rerouting the flow. “We shut the imulsion spur pipelines supplying the two Vasgari refineries, and reroute the output into the west. That means closing Borlaine and Ecian Ridge, and opening the pumping station at Gatka to divert the stream. Either way, the Indies won’t have access to fuel if and when they roll across the orders, and they’ll have to ship it in, which is going to seriously crimp their logistics.”

  “Technically simple, sir,” said one of the engineers. “But also a big and provocative step to take, because we’re depriving a whole country—a neutral country—of essential power.”

  “The Indies might not think we’d go that far this early.”

  “But the Vasgari power stations run on imulsion too. They’ll lose electrical power in days.”

  “That’s the idea. Let’s get this done, Gears.”

  Adam knew all too well what would cascade out of this. Once Vasgar used up its imulsion reserves, not only would the traffic stop and the factories grind to a halt, but the lights and refrigeration would go off too.

  And the hospital power supplies. And the water-pumping stations. And everything the civilians rely on to live.

  “Doesn’t Anvil Gate get its fuel from the Vasgar side?” Carmelo was one of the transport engineers. “Who’s resupplying them?”

  “It’s all brought in by the same road anyway, so we can just as easily get tankers down to them from the nearest Kashkur depot.” Adam reminded himself that he needed to talk to the garrison commander, just a courtesy to let the man know what was going on in his backyard and that someone was taking care of the smaller detail for him. He’d be busy preparing for the Indie advance. “All they have to do is sit tight and lob some heavy ordnance down on any Indie foolish enough to try to beat history.”