Blood of heroes

by Andrew Keith

  "But a lot of these people will be dead by then. Maybe all of us. I'm not sure I can live with that on my conscience, Major." Alex looked away. "Maybe DeVries was right in the first place."

  "If you give it a' up the noo, then the ones who've already died did it all for nothing. You don't want deaths on your conscience, laddie, but how much worse is it tae travel only partway doon the road and then just roll over and give up when things start tae look grim? That would be the real waste. Because if you surrender too soon, if there's nae spark of resistance tae keep the duke and his cronies occupied here, than it may be this rebellion will work after all, and everything we've worked for, everything Grayson Carlyle has ever believed in, could come crashing doon in payment for one lad's delicate sensibilities. Think on that, if you dare, before you talk again of DeVries being right."

  Alex studied the other man's scarred face, surprised at the depth of the anger he heard behind McCall's speech. "I. . . I'm sorry," he stammered. "I guess I didn't think it through. But I told you before, I'm not cut out to be the leader. You should go ahead and take command yourself instead of us continuing this farce of me in charge."

  " 'Tis nae farce, laddie," McCall said. "They willna follow me as they'll do for a Carlyle. You're the ain man who can keep the Legion together in these straits, young Alex. I ken weil that you can do it. But you maun ken it too . . . and 'tis a lesson you'll hae tae learn aye soon."

  "I'll try, Major," he said quietly. McCall's sudden grin took Alex by surprise. " 'Mac' was guid enough in the held, laddie. You sound a wee bit less like some whelp of a cadet when you use it . . . just sae lang as you dinna get too much used tae it when things get back tae normal and you're back in my class at Brander. The cadet who calls me 'Mac' tae my face dies a horrible bluidy death, you ken."

  Alex found himself grinning back at the old weapons master despite his doubts. There was something irrepressible about McCall, an indomitable confidence that made it impossible to doubt his words. As long as Davis McCall still believed the Legion had a future, Carlyle thought he should at least try to take him at his word.

  But it was hard, right now, to picture a day when things would truly return to normal on Glengarry, when he'd be. back to being one of the cadets at Brander, with nothing more pressing on his mind than coping with McCall's next field maneuvers.

  The weapons master turned away then, crossing the floor to greet Freya de Villar. Alex didn't rejoin the party right away. He continued to stand quietly in the corner, alone with his thoughts, sipping his scotch and listening to the snatches of conversation that rose above the general babble from time to time.

  "Well, I'm here to tell you, things didn't look too good just then." That was Dave Clay, standing a few steps away in a circle that included Caitlin DeVries and two of the Harasser tank jockeys, among others. "I mean, the lady was having problems of her own and that Warhammer out-massed me by twenty tons, and the indicator light's blinking on the ankle joint where it was already too damned weak. So I said to myself, 'Dave, my boy, you'd better come up with a good one this time . . .' "

  Alex shook his head slowly. The older cadet was sounding just like the veterans now, telling war stories and waving his hands to illustrate his tale.

  Maybe in the long run it wasn't the gap between rookie and grizzled old-timer that was so enormous, but the one that separated those who followed and those who led.

  * * *

  "Transmission completed, sir," the communications officer reported. I just hope to God the message gets through."

  Captain Rodland didn't reply, but he agreed inwardly with the prayer. After everything the Gray Skull and her crew had gone through, there was still no guarantee that the message they'd brought from Glengarry would do any good.

  The Gray Skull had jumped from Glengarry into the Skye system at the last possible moment, and by some miracle the damage they'd taken from the Free Skye fighters hadn't knocked out any crucial systems. They'd come out of jump fearing the worst, but luckily there'd been no sign of hostile ships close enough to cause any problems. Long-range sensors showed a lot of activity in the system; Free Skye military forces were apparently getting ready to launch still another armada to points unknown.

  Rodland hadn't lingered any longer than it took to reprogram the Gray Skull's navigational computers and jump again, though it meant arriving at Mizar with the storage cells drained. That had required nearly a week for recharging in space, but fortunately they'd encountered no activity anywhere in this system either. Rodland had been tempted to hook in to the Class B hyperpulse station on Mizar to send out the message to Grayson Carlyle on Tharkad, but this ComStar facility was not one supervised directly by the Federated Commonwealth government. Blake only knew which side of the Free Skye rebellion ComStar might decide to support. The risks were just too great.

  So instead they had made the jump to the New Earth zenith jump point, transmitting the message from here, as originally instructed. The system was another link in the chain of military bases in Victor Davion's effort to establish a loyal military presence in the Skye region, only recendy designated as home to a battalion of MechWarriors from the well-known NAIS academy on New Avalon. The Federated Commonwealth also controlled the ComStar facility on New Earth and it was now part of the government-controlled communications stations that bound the far-flung F-C holdings together. The Gray Skull's sensors had confirmed that the NAIS was still in control here.

  The planet was another likely target for Free Skye invasion, but it was also the Gray Death's best hope of getting word of the attack on Glengarry to Colonel Carlyle and Prince Victor. Rodland could only hope that the message— and the Gray Skull as well—would already be on their way before the separatists turned their attention this way.

  "Maybe we should stick around," Use Martinez remarked as she unstrapped herself from an unused station nearby. "Get in touch with Kommandant Staab and let the NAIS people know what's going on."

  Rodland shook his head. "We've done what de Villar told us to do. The message is on the net, and Colonel Carlyle can decide who else to pass it to. If we start talking with the big wheels here, we could end up getting commandeered by the Federated Commonwealth High Command. If that happens, we don't get to Khaled on Borghese, and that's the only ace we've got left in the hole if the rest of this deal goes sour."

  Martinez studied him for a long moment. "You're right, of course," she said, nodding reluctantly. "It's good to see you putting the Legion first." With that she pushed off, floating through the open hatch to the ladder that led below.

  Rodland stared after her. Carrying out the next part of the mission would get the Gray Skull still further from the Skye rebellion, and that was what really mattered now. Or was it? Thinking back over the eventful week since the Day of Heroes, he couldn't help but want to make sure those men and women back on Glengarry got the help they needed.

  The messages had to get through, and Captain Einar Rodland, late of the Rasalhague Republic Navy, would be the one to see that they did.

  33

  Planetary Orbit, Glengarry

  Skye March, Federated Commonwealth

  7 April 3056

  General-Kommandant Wilhelm Freidrich von Bulow set his hand computer terminal on the desktop carefully, making sure the velcro pad on the bottom of the device caught on one of the holding surfaces properly. Zero gravity was one inconvenience after another, and with the engines powered down while the DropShip Asgard and her consorts rode in orbit around Glengarry each of those petty inconveniences was an irritating reminder that they should have been on the ground by now.

  Instead they were no closer tonight to even getting a toehold on the planet, thanks to the Gray Death's well-laid ambush and the sheer incompetence of a handful of his officers.

  Von Bulow sighed and looked across the table at his aide. "All right. What's next on the list, Johann?"

  Hauptmann Albrecht checked his wristcomp readout. The younger man managed to maintain his parade-ground rigidity
even when it took a lap belt to keep him in his chair. "The matter of the DropShip captains . . . Lippard and Neice."

  "Ah, yes. The gentlemen who left the ground force without fire support because they were afraid of a few missiles." Von Bulow massaged the bridge of his nose, wishing, he could find time for a few hours' sleep. The preparations for the first landing op had taken days to put together. And now he could look forward to putting in even more time trying to come up with a way to redeem the campaign on Glengarry. "Neice has the Raven, correct? The junior officer?"

  "Yes, Herr General," Albrecht responded.

  "Well, he might have shown more initiative, but the decision to withdraw was Lippard's. Put a reprimand in his file and have the political officer look into his background . . . just to be sure." Duke Richard Steiner's political officers, attached to every military unit in the Free Skye Movement's growing military, were supposed to weed out the officers whose loyalty was questionable. Von Bulow had no reason to think the captain of the Raven had acted out of treachery, but the duke might not see it that way. Best to let the PO check the man out thoroughly.

  "And Lippard, Herr General?"

  "The political officer can deal with suspected traitors," von Bulow said harshly. He made a quick chopping motion with one beefy hand. "I deal with incompetents. For the moment, the Anastasia's exec can have the command. See that he knows how and why he got it—and what we expect of him if he's to keep it. This man Lippard, any political connections we need to worry about?"

  "No, Herr General."

  "Then you needn't worry about the formalities too much. Have him shoved out one of his ship's airlocks as an example to the rest."

  Albrecht didn't even flinch. "Yes, Herr General."

  And maybe the next DropShip captain who put his precious ship above the good of the mission would think twice when it came time to launch the next landing, von Bulow thought.

  "There's also the question of the two fighter pilots who broke off without orders, Herr General," Albrecht went on after a moment's consultation with his wristcomp.

  "Names?"

  "Ferguson and Henderson, Herr General. From the remnants of Red Squadron, off the Merkur."

  "Hmph." Von Bulow frowned. That had been his mistake, assigning those two to fly high cover for the landing. He probably should have sent in a larger aerospace contingent to start with, holding the two survivors of the battle with the Gray Death JumpShip in reserve until he was sure they were ready for action again. But all the intelligence reports had checked out, and there was as much humiliation in being the general in charge of an elaborately executed overkill as there was in letting the enemy give you a bloody nose. He'd been sure the vanguard could handle whatever minor resistance the city might offer, but he'd been wrong. "Both new men, if I remember correctly."

  "Yes, Herr General. Freshly assigned from the cadres on Skye. The battle after the jump was the first action for both of them. The veteran in the squadron was caught in the jump wash."

  "The senior man, Ferguson ... he should be taking a space walk right alongside Lippard for running from the battle." Von Bulow shook his head slowly. "But it's a hell of a lot easier to replace a DropShip captain than it is to scrape together trained aerospace pilots. Demotion in grade, a reprimand in his record. And see that his name manages to come up on every shithouse assignment we've got until he's had a chance to show he can do better."

  Albrecht noted the instructions, nodding slowly. "It will be done, Herr General."

  Pulling his own terminal free of the desk, von Bulow called up the list of reminders he had made earlier. "Now, Albrecht, what is the status of the search for the enemy DropShip that escaped the fighting?"

  "No progress, Herr General," the aide replied uncomfortably. "The Raven tracked the ship into the southern mountains. Captain Neice's original evaluation was that she was heading for Halidon. There's a fairly good port facility there . . . you'll remember our discussions of the city as a base if we couldn't land directly in Dunkeld."

  Von Bulow waved an impatient hand. "Yes . . . yes, I'm familiar with the geography. From your choice of words it seems Neice guessed wrong eh?"

  "Yes, Herr General. Lippard refused to allow the Raven to conduct an active pursuit on the grounds that the enemy would have the advantage if it came to flying through mountain passes, and a DropShip wasn't worth risking in that."

  "Lippard again," von Bulow muttered. "I wish I could have him executed twice." He looked up at his aide. "Continue, Johann."

  "Yes, Herr General." Albrecht consulted his wristcomp again. "Unfortunately it seems the mountains in that region are thoroughly laced with heavy metals deposits that make it very difficult to detect a ship on the ground. They must have landed the DropShip in a narrow valley somewhere well away from any populated area, then used camouflage to hide it from visual detection. We are continuing overflights by reconnaissance fighters in hopes of spotting something, but frankly, Herr General, it is unlikely we'll find that ship as long as they choose to remain concealed."

  "Hmph," von Bulow snorted. "That may mean they've set up some sort of prearranged return trip by the JumpShip that escaped. With the right timing, they might evacuate their leaders and a few 'Mechs, run the orbital blockade, and hook up with the JumpShip before we could mount an interception. That means we'll need to maintain a tight watch on close orbit and atmosphere, and keep an eye out for any sign of incoming JumpShips as well." He frowned. "We may need to request some additional aerospace forces from His Grace to serve on picket duty until we can track the ship down on the ground."

  "I doubt His Grace will be eager to part with any more forces, Herr General," Albrecht said seriously.

  "True enough. We don't have all that much to work with, and there are plenty of other planets to secure." Von Bulow tapped the side of the hand terminal thoughtfully, turning over the problem in his mind. "The real answer, of course, is to get down to Glengarry's surface in force. Once we've done that, we'll find all their hidden assets and neutralize them. But they're obviously better prepared for resistance than we thought. They took us by surprise this morning, using the double-blind of the governor's negotiations and that story of putting down a coup. I'm beginning to think the whole thing was a lure, from the moment DeVries first contacted us. The story of a fight between the governor and Carlyle's people wasn't the typical sort of bait for a trap, and it threw me off my guard. Devious . . . those people down there are too damned devious."

  Albrecht cleared his throat uncertainly. "Forgive me, Herr General, but I'm not sure the facts support the idea of DeVries being part of the trap. Just before I came in I had a note from Communications. They're monitoring a station in Eastport, a city on the far eastern end of the continent of Scotia, in the district they call Teviotdale. Apparently Governor DeVries and a number of government people loyal to him have turned up there and are trying to reestablish some degree of control over the area."

  "Have they tried to get a message to us?"

  The aide shook his head. "Not so far, Herr General. They only went on the air a short time ago."

  "It could be coincidence, I suppose," von Bulow said slowly. "Or they could be thinking they'll trick us a second time. Eastport is too isolated to serve as a solid base of operations, and they'd love it if we landed there and had to slog all the way across the continent." He chuckled humorlessly. "Even making us waste our time reconnoitering there would buy the bastards more time than we can afford to give them. Well, keep monitoring the situation, but we won't waste any more effort on a lost cause. DeVries had his chance. When we land on Glengarry, it won't be in any spirit of compromise and compassion, I guarantee that right now."

  Albrecht nodded. "I thought that would be your reaction, whether DeVries was serious about surrendering or not." He made another note. "That was all I had, Herr General. Have you any further instructions for me?"

  "Call a full staff meeting in the Intelligence Conference Room at 0900 TST," von Bulow told him. "Pass the word to M
ajor Heinkel that we will want to review updated plans for Operation Trident."

  "Trident. Yes, Herr General." Albrecht's tone was carefully neutral.

  "You disagree with the choice, Johann?"

  "Er . . .of course not, Herr General . . . but I was wondering ..."

  "Go on, Johann."

  "Trident calls for a division of our troops, Herr General. Is'that wise? Concentration of force is one of the first military maxims, and against opponents of the caliber of these Legion officers, it seems to me that we're risking defeat." Albrecht looked uncomfortable, as if he'd said more than he'd intended to.

  "The objection is valid enough, Johann, under most circumstances," von Bulow told him, smiling. "But the intention behind Trident is to saturate the defense. Our chief advantage right now is in numbers. They can't cover every viable landing site in sufficient strength to stop us from getting a drophead somewhere, even if they win one or even two fights along the way. Trident forces them to commit the bulk of their troops to battle, and to take losses they cannot possibly afford, if they want to oppose the landing at all. And no matter how good they are, in the end they'll run out of men before we do, and we'll open up the defense like cracking an egg." Von Bulow returned the terminal to its spot on the desk top. "You see, Johann, the only way to properly use a deep purse is to spend from it until you buy what you want. No amount of tricks or clever strategy can beat out the laws of attrition, as long as you have the will and the resources to stick with it."

  * * *

  "Ah, Carlyle. Come in . . . Baron," said Prince Victor Davion, seated in his Royal Offices on Tharkad.

  Grayson Death Carlyle passed between the two Federated Commonwealth guards at the door and entered Prince Victor Davion's private office. Like the man, the room was spartan, with few outward trappings of royalty. But from this room, or its twin on New Avalon, the affairs of humanity's largest interstellar state were decided.