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The Code Page 31

by Doug Dandridge


  “And where is the Chief located.”

  “At the reactor site. And be warned.” The ground force commander made a gesture to the pickup that Wittmore didn't recognize, but assumed was to emphasize his words. “He is a fanatic, a true believer in the dictator. He will give his life and those of all his people to prevent you from stopping him.”

  * * *

  “You recorded it I assume,” said Bednarczyk, a troubled look on her face.

  “Of course,” said Wittmore, with a sly look. “I’ve sent it to your com team. I hope you can get some use out of it.”

  “And your plan?” There was really nothing Beata could do. The only thing her force could do from orbit was bombard the reactor site. All that would do was to breach the antimatter stores and set off the detonation that would kill most of this world.

  It actually was a very pretty world from space. Mostly the green of vegetation, some large oceans and a few smallish deserts. There were a number of large cities, many towns and villages, but enough of it was in a natural state to make it a desirable world. The blast wouldn’t kill all of it, but the largest continent would be dead, probably for thousands of years. The weather patterns would change, and much of the life on the other continents and the oceans would go extinct.

  “I still have a Ranger regiment,” said Wittmore, looking off the holo for a moment and speaking to someone else.

  Normally that would be considered insubordination, turning away from a conversation with a superior. Beata didn’t mind. Wittmore needed to come up with something to save this world and its people. And fast.

  “The colonel has been informed that he needs to get his regiment ready and move out within the next ten minutes. I am also organizing some of my heavy troops on the ground to back them up.”

  Beata nodded. That colonel was her ace in the hole, Hunter. If anyone could carry off a mission like this, he was the one. Of course, if he was blown into the sky as plasma when the reactor breached the Emperor would be pissed. Well, he shouldn't have sent him if he didn't want me to risk him, she thought.

  “And the dictator?” Beata wanted that being dead. If he were captured alive, so much the better. But dead would be good enough.

  “I’m getting ready to drop my reserve brigade on his new headquarters,” said Wittmore with a predatory look on his face. “As soon as I get word that the Rangers have penetrated into the reactor complex they will go. No use giving him ideas before we need to.”

  “I agree. And we’re sending the record of the Gorgansha ground force commander out to Fleet Commander Goran. Maybe he can use it to talk some sense into the fools he’s facing.” I can always hope, she thought. If the dictator killed most of the people on the home world he would severely weaken his Consolidation. Killing more Gorganshans in a space battle wouldn’t help anything either.

  “I’m sure the situation is in as good of hands as possible, General,” she said, ready to get back to her main responsibility, the fleet. “You will forgive me, though, if I keep a close watch on your operation.”

  “Of course,” agreed Wittmore, nodding. “I can use all the help you can give me, Admiral.” Wittmore looked away for a moment, then back at the admiral, his eyes wide. “To tell you the truth, Admiral, I am scared as hell.”

  “If you weren’t, I wouldn’t want you leading that force. Bednarczyk out.”

  Beata stared at the reflection of her own face in a nearby blank screen. She was over two hundred years old, nearing mandatory retirement age, but had been given one more chance out here. Her face had its share of wrinkles and lines, but now there were many more. Yeah, she was scared as hell too. This had seemed like such a foolproof plan to take out the dictator and free the Gorgansha people from their own prejudices. To make them the equals of the people of the Empire. She realized now that she had put too many of them at risk. I will never forgive myself if that bastard detonates that reactor, she thought.

  Deep down she knew it wouldn’t be her fault. And that wouldn’t matter at all.

  * * *

  “The warp fighter is within three light seconds of the home fleet, Commander,” announced one of the officers in the bridge com team. “Ready when you are.”

  Goran gave a head motion of acknowledgment. He had second thoughts on sending that fighter that close to the other force, lest they spook the other fleet commander into opening fire. Not as much worry for the fighter. As long as they were in warp the Gorgansha really couldn’t do anything to it. But sitting in normal space, three light seconds from beam weapons that could destroy it in an instant, was a risk.

  There was a wormhole aboard that fighter, transferred from one of the human battleships. He could have used the Klassekian com tech, since they had the tech to pull the images out of their minds and transmit them. The wormhole produced a cleaner image, and he wanted there to be little doubt that what he was sending was real as possible. If they trusted him, which was not a given, since many on those ships saw him as a traitor.

  “We’re ready to transmit, Fleet Commander.”

  “Put me on.” He stood in front of the floating camera that was recording his image and cleared his throat.

  “Fleet Commander Kerg. Warriors of the Gorgansha home fleet. I believe that you have received my light speed transmission. Maybe you have already sent a reply, which of course would not have reached me. I was willing to wait, but events have moved past my original transmission. Things have changed, for the worse.”

  Goran looked down for a moment, gathering his thoughts, before looking back at the camera.

  “I know many of you think of me as a traitor, but my loyalty to our people has never wavered. What I can no longer tolerate is the madman who is our ruler. That dictator has made a horrible decision that puts billions of our people at risk. In fact, he is planning to detonate an enormous explosive device that will obliterate the main continent, killing most of the people on the planet.”

  “You have proof of this,” said Kerg, appearing on a holo. “Or is this just your way of getting us to surrender without firing.”

  “Come now, Kerg. You know me better than that. And let’s face it. If we wanted to we could destroy your force without losing a claw.” He could see that the other commander realized the truth of that statement. “But yes, I have proof.”

  He looked over at the com officer and made a motion with his claw. The male made a head motion and hit a lit panel, sending the recorded conversations, first from the ground force commander, then from the dictator himself.

  Goran waited. It would take some minutes for the conversations to play, then some more for those listening to the transmission to process it and make up their minds. Finally Kerg came back on the holo.

  “I believe you,” he said, a terrified expression on his face. “What do you want us to do?”

  * * *

  “You understand, Colonel? It’s clear. No heroics. Just get in there, kill the security people, and disarm that weapon.” Which amounts to heroics, doesn’t it? thought Wittmore with a mental laugh, looking into the face of one of the most famous warriors in the Empire. And one of the few to actually survive a sacking and reduction in rank.

  “I understand,” said the Duke Colonel Cornelius Walborski, the only citizen to have won the Imperial Medal of Heroism three times.

  Wittmore couldn’t believe that the Emperor had sent this man out here into this backwater campaign. It was well known the colonel was personal friends with the Emperor, having acted as best man at the monarch’s wedding, while Sean had returned the favor. Known to be somewhat insubordinate, Wittmore was still glad to have him, since there was no quit in the man.

  “You have a plan?”

  “I have a plan, General.” And the Ranger officer proceeded to outline what he wanted to do with his three battalions of augmented soldiers.

  * * *

  “We’re ready to go, General,” said Colonel Rebecca Yashenko, the commander of the ad hoc brigade they had put together on a moment’s notice.


  All of the battalions were fully manned. There had not been much need to slot in too many replacements, as no battalion had lost more than twenty percent of its manpower. The troops were all aboard the shuttles that would ferry them to the assault zone, fifty atmospheric fighters waiting on the edge of the tarmac to escort and support them.

  “Wait until I give the word. Colonel Walborski needs the element of surprise if he is to succeed.”

  “You really think that loose cannon is going to do the job, sir?” asked the woman, her eyes twinkling.

  “If any can, he’s the one.” Wittmore had gone over the record of the Ranger, and it read like some kind of bad fiction. Of course, he had also hand selected Yashenko for her position. He needed his best people in place for this mission. If things didn’t go well, they would probably both die, along with all of their people. He didn’t know how the Emperor would take losing his friend, but the monarch knew what it was like to put people in the line of fire.

  “We’ll try to do as well.”

  “Your mission, essentially Colonel, is not as important as his. I want that son-of-a-bitch, but not at the cost of more of your people. If you can’t get to him, fix his position and call up the Fleet, and we’ll drop his bunker on his head.”

  “Understood. We will make an effort to get him so he can be tried by his own people. But we will make sure he doesn’t leave his redoubt without being in custody.”

  Wittmore wasn’t so sure the Gorgansha would want to bring their beloved dictator to trial. They had been conditioned to accept him as their supreme leader, with total power over all aspects of their lives. Maybe, if they were handed the evidence that he was as much their enemy as any outside power, the Empire might be able to get the majority of them on board. There would still be loyalists, of course. Enough to free him? Not if he was spirited away to an Imperial battleship.

  * * *

  “What is the status of our fleet? Have they engaged the enemy?”

  The male in charge of the bunker’s com section looked decidedly uncomfortable. The smell of blood in the air was one reason for that discomfort, and the thought that he might add to the odor. A servant hadn’t moved fast enough to suit Gonoras’ mood, and the dictator had taken his head.

  “The fleets are still boosting toward each other, my Lord. No sign of a missile engagement yet.”

  “What in the hells is that fool waiting for,” growled the dictator. “I should have ordered Kerg to return to orbit. I should have ordered him to fire on the human ships that are here.”

  The staff looked at each other, exchanging doubtful glances, careful that the dictator didn’t notice. Any missiles fired at the humans near the planet were just as likely to hit the world, the larger target.

  “There is only one thing to do,” said Gonoras, getting up from his throne and starting to pace the chamber. “Get Chief Zalemes on the com.”

  “My Lord,” said the male who was in charge of the Secret Police, the enforcement arm of his administration. The male had a bland look about him, or as much as any member of the predatory species could have.

  “Prepare to trigger the reactor.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” said the male without a change of expression. “I give my life willingly.”

  “When I give the order, trigger it. If you don’t hear from me within half an hour, trigger it. If the humans attempt to take the facility, trigger it. Understood?”

  Gonoras felt a shiver of fear run up his spine as he said the words, but he kept his expression neutral, as befit a cold-hearted ruler who had no care for himself. Actually, he didn’t want to die, and if there was any way out of this situation that kept him alive and in charge, he would take it. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be any way he could retain his position. If he couldn’t be the leader, and the only other option was captivity and possibly execution, he would take as many of his people with him as he could.

  He dismissed the chief and looked over at the com officer who was tapped into the bunker defense force.

  “Make sure that everyone is ready,” he ordered, pointing a claw at the officer. “The humans will be coming.”

  “But, they don’t even know where we are,” replied one of the other officers.

  “Fool,” roared the dictator, shaking his fists in the air. “They have taken high ranking prisoners. They will know where we are.”

  The chamber fell into silence. Gonoras didn’t like the feel of the room. These were supposed to be his most loyal people. Were they having second thoughts? Well, too bad. They were stuck here with him, and would live or die along with the dictator.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Regard your soldiers as your children, and they will follow you into the deepest valleys; look on them as your own beloved sons, and they will stand by you even unto death. Sun Tzu

  “Okay,” said Cornelius Walborski, using a laser pointer to highlight the holo table. “Captain Thorswald.” He looked over at the company commander. “Your company will attack the control center. But only after you get the command from me. I don’t want them trigger the device before we get into the heart of the installation.”

  He moved the pointer over a set of chambers to one side of the facility. Unfortunately, that section was only approachable through the reactor complex, and there was no way to get there without being detected. Except through the cooling tower array, on the outside of the complex. The rock walls were thin there, and a maze of pipes penetrated into the reactor. They could get through there, but fast enough to keep the people in the control room from detonating the reactor? That was the question.

  “Captains Johnson and Xee will be going in with me. We will get into the reactor chamber and start disconnecting everything we can find that might give the people in that room control. A couple of Fleet engineering officers will be accompanying us. Make sure to take care of them. I hear they break easily.”

  The officers and senior NCOs laughed, and many a look was turned at the pair of lt. commanders that had volunteered for the mission.

  Cornelius had a total of three battalions assigned to him, nine companies. That had seemed like an unwieldy number, too many for his needs, and liable to get in each other’s way. Another mission had presented itself. A rescue mission, getting the families of the Gorgansha home fleet senior officers out of captivity. They had been sent off on that mission, under the command of Lt. Colonel Studstill, their senior battalion commander. Ready and waiting until Walborski made his move, so as to not alert the Gorganshans to the presence of the Rangers.

  “Any questions?”

  He saw that there might be some, but everyone knew their part, and really didn’t need to know everything about the mission. As long as they did their part, only he and Lt. Colonel Shearen, the battalion commander and his second, needed to know the whole thing. Any more and they might overthink it and their part of the mission would fail. If they took the control room the mission would be a success. If they took out the control leads to the reactor the mission would be a success. If either part failed, but the other succeeded according to the timetable, they would be golden. If not, then a good portion of this continent would be turned into ejecta, rising out of the atmosphere.

  “Then let’s move,” he said in a firm command voice. “And remember. We’re on a timetable. But getting into place without being seen trumps the need to be quick. If it takes an extra five minutes to get in place, it does. Just don’t stretch it any farther please. My wife and kids really don’t want me turned to vapor.”

  There was some more laughter, as well as a few troubled looks.

  Cornelius nodded, then turned away from the table and led the way out of the room he had taken as his headquarters.

  It would have been a beautiful day outside if not for all the smoke in the air. The nearby city was still in pristine condition, though many of the buildings in the distance were stubs, shattered in the battle to take it away from the dictator.

  The colonel broke into a jog, his aug
mented body easily carrying the hundred kilos of equipment attached to his back and waist. He carried as much as his men. On this kind of operation they needed every bit of equipment and ammo they could pack.

  * * *

  “We’re picking up missiles in space, my Lord. Our home defense fleet is firing on the traitor’s force.”

  “Good,” said Gonoras, smiling. “And about time.”

  The dictator didn’t have to ask how they knew missiles were being fired. Grav detection and pulse transmission were old technologies, even to the Gorgansha. There were detectors all over the planet. A number of them could link up and show an image of what was going on in space. Maybe not with pinpoint accuracy, but close enough to give those monitoring it an idea. Unfortunately, the transmission of grav pulse took a much larger array. Ships could pulse due to having massive graviton projectors, the grabber units. But everything in orbit that could pulse had been taken out by the humans.

  “Why in the hells isn’t Kerg sending us reports?” he growled, glaring at his com officers as if they had the answer, or could do something about it.

  “We have detection of missiles from the traitor’s fleet in space as well, my Lord,” said one of the com officers, relieved to have something else to report.

  “How many?”

  “Thousands, tens of thousands. As many as we fired at them.”

  And those missiles would have human tech built into them. They would accelerate at a higher rate, hitting with greater kinetic energy. And they would track their targets through any jamming the Gorgansha could put up, unerringly making the kill.

  “We must punish the traitor and his allies,” growled the dictator, slumping down in his chair. His mind raced as he thought about what he was going to do to all of his enemies. In his delusion he thought his plans achievable, when the only one that had a chance was the one to murder billions of his own people.

  * * *

  “Kerg’s force has flushed a full volley of missiles. On a heading straight for us at four thousand gravities.”

 

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