Despite the flames, cold seeped into Fitz’s bones. Even Jumper had abandoned her. He slept curled at the other fire, Faydra’s pale head draped across his back. She chugged the remaining whiskey in her cup, needing its warmth, but the liquid sent her into a fit of coughing. She was going home without accomplishing her mission. That had never happened to her before. But the one thing that kept repeating in her mind, were Ransahov’s last words. I’ll see to it that you get your ride home. Not you and Wolf. Your ride.
Fitz had the uneasy feeling that Ransahov didn’t intend to let Wolf leave Baldark.
Chapter Thirty
The snow beneath the trees was ankle deep with an occasional drift that overtopped Fitz’s boots. The waterproof fabric of her camosuit kept her body warm and dry, but her fingers were numb and achy despite her gloves. The white fur cloak Ransahov gave her provided camouflage but she could still smell its original owner’s musky odor. Ahead of her, Garion threw up a hand signaling a halt. He crouched, his speckled cape blended into the snow and shadows.
The storm had blown itself out overnight, as Ransahov predicted, and this morning, the sun shown cold in a crystalline blue sky. The thin warmth hadn’t made it to the forest floor, but clumps of snow melted and slid from the upper branches, pelting them as they climbed toward the Imperial base.
Fitz crept to the bearded man and stooped, feeling Ransahov slip in beside her. Garion’s pale eyes searched the open area ahead. A few blackened stumps stood against the white landscape, the last remnants of an old wildfire. Snow piled in drifts over the scattered dead falls. The dark branches poking up reminded Fitz of the burned fingers of the pilots in the transport when she’d pulled the black box.
Garion pointed to the other side. “Just beyond those trees there’s an overlook where we can observe the base. This close to the facility there’s the possibility of a ship appearing with little warning, so we need to make it across the clearing as quickly as possible. There’s a lot of debris, logs and broken branches, to trip you up, so watch your footing. Try to stay exactly in my footsteps.” With one last scan of the sky, he sprinted across the open space, making it look easy.
As Fitz hurried after him, she soon realized it wasn’t like running across the level deck plates of Lizzy’s cargo hold. Logs snagged her boots, and branches seemed to reach out to grab her ankles, but she managed to make it to the other side without planting her face in the snow.
After a few meters of forest, they emerged onto an outcropping overlooking a steep valley. At its bottom flowed a boulder-strewn river. On the opposite side, jutting out of the trees like the prow of a stone battle cruiser, loomed the granite monolith that housed the Imperial base.
With the fur cloak draped across her to imitate a patch of snow, Fitz lay between Garion and Ransahov, studying the sheer rock face through a primitive telescope. The magnification was low and, no matter how steady she tried to hold it, the image blurred and danced.
“Are you sure this is the place?” Garion asked.
She passed Ransahov the scope and pulled out the handheld, bringing up the schematics of the facility. “My ship identified it as a regulation ICC-52/J9 remote detachment. Five levels. The power station at the bottom. Next up is Medical, and then two floors for quarters and administrative offices.” She tapped the screen, enlarging the display. “And lastly, the flight deck at the top. The launch bay is probably where that cliff juts out, hidden behind a force field and holographic projections.”
Fitz pulled up another screen. “The troop compliment for this size remote detachment is a platoon of forty-eight, six squads of eight. In addition to that, there are usually a dozen more—officers, support people and pilots. Two squads are stationed down at the Tzraka breeding location at all times. Every four days, one is rotated out and replaced with a new team. It seems no one wants to stay down in that hell hole for long.” Fitz’s throat constricted as she thought about how close she’d come to being an unwilling guest at the facility.
“That transport was returning from dropping off a new team when they were diverted to the crash site. With the eight we took out there, plus the pilots, and the two squads at the southern location, we could be looking at about thirty-four or so at the base. The only wild card is Tritico. I don’t know how many men he brought with him. The augie I put out of commission would have been his personal bodyguard, but he could have a second one.”
“So you think we’ll be facing another one of those damn mechanical things in there?” Garion asked.
Fitz glared, ready to unload on him for the remark, but Ransahov interrupted.
“Commander, won’t they be expecting the transport to have returned by now?”
“I think we’ll have a couple more hours before it’s missed. Hiruko planned to take the time to watch my demise in all its gory details, so I don’t think he’s expected back until this afternoon. It might even work to our advantage when they do realize the ship is overdue. They’ll send out a search party, maybe that gunship with a squad on board. That further reduces the number of Imperials I’ll have to avoid when I go in to locate Wolf.”
“We, Commander. When we go in.”
“But, ma’am…”
“Are you arguing with a superior officer?” Ransahov smiled as she said it.
“No, ma’am.”
“Good. Now, what are the chances of you finding a ride home in that hanger bay?”
A ride for the three of us, Fitz wanted to argue. But they’d been over that ground. And over. She didn’t understand why it was so important to the former Triumvir to stay here and not go home to save her own people. Perhaps when Wolf rejoined them, he could apply a good dose of the infamous Youngblood hard-headedness and convince her to see reason. Yig knows, she hadn’t been able to make Ransahov change her mind. Fitz didn’t know how to tell a legend she was wrong.
“That transport is about the largest thing they could get on the flight line and still have room left over for a couple of gunships or flyers. It can reach orbit but it’s not hypercapable, so a larger ship must have brought it into the system.” Fitz studied the handheld’s display again. “I’m sure there’s something there, a deep-range shuttle or a PS-5 Courier. Tritico’s not the type to allow himself to get cornered. He’ll have a way back to civilization.”
Fitz switched to another screen, a diagram of communications and environmental systems at the top of the base. “I’ll go in through the maintenance access here.”
“The old Special Operations trick. You do have the security codes?” Ransahov asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” Fitz wasn’t as confident as she sounded. She’d learned those codes during training, but with the information stored in her computers, hadn’t relied on that memory since. The codes must still be there in some corner of her mind—somewhere. They’d better be.
“I’ll descend through the central lift shaft to Medical and free Wolf. Then we’ll come back up the same way. If everything goes as planned, we’ll be out before they even know we’re there.” Fitz tried not to think of that cardinal axiom of warfare. Nothing ever goes like it’s planned. “That’s why, ma’am, I just as soon…”
“No, Commander. This is the way we’re going to do it. We’ll take control of the landing bay. With a few of those grenades you’re carrying, we can hold off the entire base. The confusion will provide you with a little extra coverage while you go after Wolf. When you two get back topside, we grab the ship—hopefully a heavily armed one—and blow the chuft out of the base on our way out the door. Agreed, Commander?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She sighed. What else could she say?
“We haven’t come across any guards or sentries,” Garion said. “What about electronic surveillance?”
Fitz set the handheld to scan and swept the top of the cliff. “I’m not picking up any emissions, but they could be shielded.”
“They built this base right under
our noses. Could they be so arrogant they think we’re too primitive to be a threat to them?” he asked.
“Tritico’s an arrogant bastard, all right,” Fitz said. “But he’s not a stupid one. You can bet there’s some kind of surveillance out there—human, electronic, probably both. We’re going to have to be careful.”
They crept back from the edge of the outcropping and slipped into the trees. When they reached the burned scar, Garion crossed first. Fitz followed, watching her footing. Half way across the clearing, she heard the unmistakable howl of atmospheric engines reverberating through the trees. She halted, trying to get a fix on their location, and Ransahov almost ran into her.
“The gunship?” the other woman yelled.
“No. Sound’s wrong. Something larger.” Fitz gaged the distance to cover in either direction. Too far. Vibrations rattled the air in her lungs. The ship was almost on top of them.
“On the ground.” She pulled Ransahov down. They tumbled into a waist high mound of snow and broken limbs, branches shifting and creaking as their weight hit them. With their white cloaks they should remain unnoticed—as long as the pilot wasn’t using thermal scanning.
A shadow swept across the clearing and the down-force of the ship’s repulsers slammed into her back, pounding her further into the tangle of brush. Branches crackled and a sharp jab dug into her ribs. Snow whipped into a blinding frenzy in the vortices under the ship’s wings. Fitz squinted against the blast and peered up from beneath her cloak. Barely ten meters above the tree tops, the dark wedge glided through a blizzard of its own making. The engine noise spun down to an idle as the ship drifted to a halt at the far end of the clearing.
Fitz slipped her hand into her pocket, fingers closing around a thermite grenade. She wasn’t sure how much damaged that would cause. If she could lob it into one of the intakes, she might be able to bring the ship down before it opened fire on them. She waited for it to turn back toward them, her thumb poised to flip the cap off the explosive.
The ship hung there in the sky, seeming oblivious to them. Ransahov leaned toward her. “There’s your ride off the planet, Commander.”
Fitz studied the sleek black shape. A Chimera class hypercapable shuttle would certainly do the job, and in style. Only the highest-ranking officials had access to one of those sweet little birds. This must be how Tritico was getting back and forth from Scyr so quickly. If the spy master left, it would remove one major problem, but what if he took Wolf with him? Even if she could find a way to follow them off planet, once the mercenary disappeared into the labyrinth of Internal Security’s fortress-like headquarters, nothing short of a full-out ground assault would ever locate him.
Another jab in the ribs distracted her. The debris beneath her moved.
“What the hell?”
In the space between the two women, a branch the diameter of her forearm burst through the snow, twigs at its end flexing. No, not twigs. Claws. They opened in that distinctive three-toed arrangement she’d seen before. Snow melted and dripped from the row of short saw-toothed spines that ran down the chitinous arm. Tzraka. They weren’t huddled against a mound of snow covered debris, but a sleeping monster.
And the monster was waking up.
“Our body heat is bringing it out of its torpid state.” Ransahov’s single eye widened.
A glance up showed the shuttle still hovering above the clearing. And revealed at least five more mounds similar to the one beneath them. Beside her the claw moved, searching. Fitz scooted away as it reached in her direction.
“We may have to make a run for it and hope the shuttle doesn’t notice us,” Ransahov said.
Fitz nodded. Her muscles tensed, but she stopped as another sound registered on her beleaguered brain. “Wait.”
The Vimana gunship rose above the distant trees, turned toward the north and accelerated away. The shuttle began moving again on what appeared to be an approach to the base’s landing bay.
Counting on the pilot being occupied with his landing procedures, Fitz was up and running before the ship’s tail cleared the treetops, Ransahov hard on her heels.
She blundered into Garion as she entered the cover of the forest, nearly knocking him from his feet.
“What happened?” he asked.
Fitz pushed him ahead of her. “I think we found Tritico’s sentries. Now I suggest we run like hell.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Only Wolf’s eyes moved. His gaze swept the narrow operating suite, locating and cataloging any weapon, advantage or opportunity. The exercise kept him from spiraling into an abyss of anger and despair.
His spike lay on the counter to his right, the metal injector case beside it. From this angle, he couldn’t see if any ampules remain inside, but he doubted it. Von Drager would have removed those for analysis. Any of the various drawers might contain something useful, like a laser scalpel, but when his chance came, he couldn’t waste time rifling them. His first priority would be to secure a real weapon.
He felt good, shaky perhaps and hungry, but he’d pushed through worse and stayed on his feet. His mind was clear, so Von Drager had stopped sedating him against Jan’s explicit orders. He’d awoken earlier to a warm blanket covering him. Jan wouldn’t like that either. Von Drager appeared to have his own agenda. Was it a physician’s natural impulse to keep his patient comfortable, even knowing he’d have to put that same patient down when he outlived his usefulness? Or something else? A mumbled phrase drifted out of the adjoining lab where the doctor entered data. Whichever he turned out to be, asset or liability, Wolf would have to go through him to reach his ultimate target.
Tritico.
The knife blade of grief slashed through his breastbone, more painful than Hiruko’s shot. His body could heal a physical wound, but the pain of losing Fitz would stay with him for a long time.
Why hadn’t he told her he loved her that last time they’d lain together? The words had been there, right behind his lips, but he let fear stop him. Fear she’d laugh and say this was only a ship-board fling. Or that she felt the same but her duty would keep them apart. Now that simple phrase would remain forever unsaid.
I loved you, Fitz, but I failed you. I wasn’t there to protect you.
“You must have cared a great deal for the woman.” Von Drager leaned over him and wiped the tears from his face.
“Go to hell.” Wolf couldn’t even turn away.
“Too late, I’m already there.” Von Drager collected the full container of blood and stored it with the rest. Instead of hanging another, he removed the unit from Wolf’s arm.
Something had changed. Were they finished with him? Could he expect Tritico to show up and deliver the coup de gras? Or did they have something worse in mind? Time to make his move.
“Von Drager…”
The other spoke over him as if he hadn’t heard. “Would you like some water?”
“Yes, but I’d…”
“Drink this.” The doctor angled the head of the table up and pushed a bottle with a drinking tube toward him.
He took a swallow and choked. It wasn’t water.
“Slowly,” Von Drager cautioned.
The clear, sweet liquid reminded Wolf of the high-carbohydrate, high-protein concoction marines loaded their power suits’ fluid reservoirs with to keep them going on long deployments. Precisely what his body needed. He gulped it down. As he started to speak, the doctor canted his head toward the monitor mounted on the far wall.
Von Drager moved away, tinkering with a scanner on the counter directly below the surveillance equipment, out of range of the camera. After a long silence, he opened a panel on the side of the unit and pulled a cable free.
“We can talk now.”
“For how long?”
“Could be a couple of minutes or half an hour.” Von Drager clutched the scanner as if it was his sole grip on reality. “Equi
pment breaks down all the time here. The security officer might not be awake, or sober. Morale is abysmal. We haven’t seen a resupply ship or troop rotation in months.” He took a deep breath, raking his fingers through his dark hair before continuing. “Youngblood, I can’t do this any longer. I need to get away from here and you’re the best chance I have of escaping. If I release you, can you get us both out?”
The doctor sounded sincere. If Tritico planned to kill him, he wouldn’t go to the trouble of setting up an escape attempt just so he could shoot him in the back. The last thing the spy master wanted was his old friend loose on the base and gunning for him. Moreover, this looked like his best opportunity to escape. “I’m not concerned about my ability to get out of here, but I’m not sure about taking a non-combatant with me.”
“I’m willing to chance it.”
“I’ll need a weapon.”
The doctor nodded. “I can arrange that.”
“Good. I have a couple of stops to make on the way out. A little unfinished business with Tritico and one of his minions.”
“We won’t have time for that.”
“You let me worry about that, Von Drager. Either we do it my way, or not at all. There’s also the problem of getting off planet, unless you plan on going native.”
“Tritico keeps a PS-5 Courier ship in a secret hanger. It’s his transportation on and off Baldark. Can we both fit into that?”
“Of course, but I hope you don’t mind getting real close.”
The PS-5 was the fastest ship in any human fleet. And the smallest capable of hyperlight travel. The Flying Phallus—as it was called because of its suggestive silhouette—was a single seater, but could carry two as long as the doctor didn’t mind Wolf practically sitting in his lap. He’d be stuck in the cramped cockpit with Von Drager only long enough to reach IAS-23, then he’d turn the doctor and the chufting mess at Baldark over to Kiernan. Afterward, he’d come back and rip the breeding facility apart piece by bloody piece until he found Fitz’s remains. He couldn’t let them put her into the ground. Out in deep space, he’d find a place to leave her where the stars could watch over her.
A Hero for the Empire: The Dragon's Bidding, Book 1 Page 25