War To The Knife

by Grant, Peter

  “That’s exactly what I’ll do in a little while,” he promised. “Well done, all of you.”

  As they worked, the two techs had been busy with their own tasks in the service tunnel. Now they too came down the branch tunnel and into the basement. Both wore electronic consoles strapped to their chest. They straightened as they entered the room, and came to attention as they saw Jake waiting.

  “Everything’s ready, Sir,” one reported. “We’ve placed ten of the new assault nanobugs on either side of the explosion zone in five sets of two, each pair set five meters further down the service tunnel from the next. They’ll interdict this branch tunnel from either side. Anyone trying to get in here through the tunnels will find thirty poison darts waiting to meet him no matter which side he comes from. The bugs are on timers. They’ll activate five minutes after the bang.”

  “And they’re far enough away from the explosions that they won’t be damaged by them?”

  The tech adopted an expression of injured innocence. “Would I make an elementary mistake like that, Sir?”

  Jake had to smile. “Sorry if I hurt your feelings. It’s my job to check and double-check these things.”

  “I guess it is, Sir. Don’t worry. I haven’t screwed up that badly since the last time.”

  “And when, precisely, was the last time?”

  “Last week, I think, Sir,” he retorted with a cheeky grin.

  “Oh, great! I feel so much more confident now!” Everyone in the basement chuckled softly.

  The other tech said thoughtfully, “I suppose it’s too late to point out that once those bugs activate, not only will no-one be able to get in here through the tunnels, but we won’t be able to get out through them either?”

  Jake heaved a sigh. “I’m afraid that’s unavoidable. The enemy also has identification modules, so if we programmed the bugs to let people through if they’re wearing one, we’d leave ourselves vulnerable to being taken from behind. The only way to guard against that is to disable the bugs’ identification program so they’ll shoot at anything moving, no matter who or what it may be.”

  The man shrugged. “Oh, well. It’s not like I had anyplace else to go.” Another quiet rustle of amusement ran around the room.

  “Don’t worry,” Jake assured him. “Those of us who try to escape through other tunnels won’t be close enough to the bugs to activate them.”

  “Can we tell whether the shuttles are on time, Sir?” another asked.

  “I’m afraid not. We could have the traffic control computer display their transponder codes instead of ignoring them; but anything we display on the backup console here will also show up in TrafCon, where the Bactrians can see it. We have to take it on trust that our comrades captured the eight shuttles they were after, and refueled and rearmed our two existing birds at Caristo. All being well…” – he consulted his watch – “they’ll be leaving Del Mar pass shortly.”

  “And your son in orbit, Sir?”

  “They’ll be setting up to dock with the space station in about an hour from now. With any luck the station won’t see them coming until they’re aboard. They’re scheduled to hit Orbital Control at precisely the same moment that our attack begins at the arena and we blow the connection to TrafCon. After that they’ll have to deal with the ships nearby.”

  “There’s no way we can know whether they’re doing OK up there, is there?”

  “No. The same objection applies. Any information we call up down here will also be visible to the enemy. We have to run this operation according to a strict time schedule, and trust that everyone’s adhered to it. If anyone’s late or out of position, it’s going to be their problem.”

  March 31st 2850 GSC, 09:40

  SPACE STATION

  Dave felt as if his heart would hammer its way right up his throat and out of his mouth. He watched dry-mouthed as Tamsin cut the gravitic drive so as not to cause interference with the space station’s much larger drive. She switched to reaction thrusters and eased the shuttle closer to the gaping maw of the station’s docking bay. Her eyes scanned her console, trying to spot any indication that the Bactrians had detected her.

  “It seems to be working,” she said in a half-whisper. “Stealth technology doesn’t make us invisible to radar – only harder to spot – and we’ve been close enough for the past half-hour that they can’t possibly have missed us with the honking great radar on this station. That means the program Jake put in planetside must have kept our transponder beacon from showing on OrbCon’s displays. Even though their radar must have picked us up, they still don’t know we’re here.”

  “Let’s keep it that way as long as we can, OK?”

  “You can say that again!” she assured him as she conned the all-black craft out of the glare of sunlight, unimpeded by atmosphere, into the shadows of the docking bay. Twenty airlock stations confronted them, most empty. Three were filled by cutters and two by cargo shuttles, standard space station commuter craft. Fifteen bays were empty.

  Tamsin half-turned towards Mac, who was sitting at the WSO station. “Which airlock, Mac?”

  “That one.” He pointed. “It’s farthest away from the Docking Bay vestibule reception desk. If anyone’s on duty there, they’re least likely to notice us arriving at that gate.”

  “We’ll take them out first thing if they’re there,” Dave promised. “Have you deactivated the alarm that announces something’s engaging the docking mechanism?”

  “It’s already done. We should arrive silently, unless Tamsin has a rush of blood to the head and rams the damn thing.” Soft, tense laughter came from the soldiers seated on either side of the cargo area behind them.

  “I’m leaving it up to the automatic docking program,” she assured him. “I haven’t docked in space in over three years. After that long out of practice, if I tried to do it by eye I’m sure I’d hit something.”

  “Let’s not,” he suggested with a grin.

  “If we do, blame the flight computer on this bird or the docking software, not me!”

  As the shuttle edged closer to the airlock, the tractor and pressor beams of the space station’s docking system engaged it and turned it one hundred and eighty degrees, facing outward into space, then pulled it backwards to meet the docking arms that slid out to receive it. They mated to receptacles in the sides of the shuttle, then tugged it gently towards a trunk that extended from the station towards it. The edges of the trunk slotted over flanges on the outer frame of the shuttle’s rear ramp, then inflated to seal it tightly. A red light above the ramp came on, changed to orange as the air pressure in the trunk equalized with that on the station, then flickered to green.

  “We’re in,” Tamsin whispered.

  “Why are you whispering?”

  “Idiot! It’s because I’m tense!” More soft laughter came from the others.

  “Fine thing, telling your Commanding Officer he’s an idiot,” Dave protested, trying – but failing – to keep a straight face. He turned to the two soldiers at the rear of the shuttle, nearest the ramp. Both were wearing black Security Service uniforms removed from the dead guards at the Matopo Hills. They’d been laundered to remove the bloodstains, and the holes had been patched as well as possible. From a distance they’d look normal. “All right, you know what to do.” As he spoke Tamsin lowered the rear ramp, letting in a noisy whuff of different-smelling air from the space station. As she did so Mac activated the shuttle’s recording module, tuning it to the channel prearranged with Jake some weeks before, ready to accept whatever material his team was able to send them showing the attack on the Satrap and Banka.

  “Yes, Sir!”

  The two walked carefully down the flexible trunk to the airlock, entered it and closed the outer door behind them. The others heard the clunk as the interlocks engaged. They waited in silence for two minutes, clutching their rifles, hardly daring to breathe, the tension rocketing upward until the interlocks clunked again and the outer door opened once more. One of the two came back
into the shuttle.

  “All’s well, Sir. There was one Spacer on duty. We put her down with our silenced pulsers, then checked the security cameras. We’ve locked out all of them except one on the far side of the docking bay, so if someone in OrbCon checks the security system that’s the only feed they’ll see from here.”

  “Well done! Right, everyone out, and let’s get one of these charges positioned.”

  They hurried through the airlock in small groups while Dave and Mac carefully loosened the shock webbing holding one of the nuclear demolition charges in place. They activated its power-assisted cart and steered it into the airlock once everyone else had passed through. They emerged into a brightly lit vestibule, big enough to accommodate several score spacers at once or a mound of cargo for transshipment.

  “Where d’you want it, Mac?” Dave asked.

  “A five-megaton thermonuclear warhead will reduce this station to its component parts no matter where it blows. Let’s shove it in that cargo locker. It’ll be out of sight there.”

  They pushed the demolition charge over to the locker. Mac lifted the cover from the bomb’s operating panel and looked up. “I suggest three-quarters of an hour, no more. If we’re not off the station by then we won’t be leaving anyway. There’s no sense in waiting for a boarding party to disarm the bomb, then capture what’s left of us and take us to the torturers.”

  “Works for me.” Dave’s heart was pounding like a jackhammer again. He’d never been so close to an active weapon of mass destruction before today.

  Mac carefully set the timer, then inserted a key in a lock. Dave took his own key from around his neck and inserted it in a second lock on the other end of the device, far enough away from the first that no single person could operate both at once.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Ready. On three: one, two, three!”

  They turned their keys simultaneously. The mechanism gave a loud beep!, then the timer began counting down. Dave activated another timer on the chest panel of his spacesuit, then watched the bomb’s console as if mesmerized. 44:53… 44:52… 44:51…

  “All right,” Mac prompted. They removed their keys, then pushed the charge into the locker. Mac closed the door on it, slid the padlock through its hasp and clicked it shut, removing the key. He dropped it into his pocket along with his arming console key.

  “What about the other one?”

  Dave shook his head. “That’s for emergency use. If we get away from here, we may need to blow up something else – or ourselves, for that matter, to avoid being captured.”

  “Fair enough. If I go down, don’t forget to take my key.”

  “Or you mine.”

  “OK.”

  As they spoke the two soldiers who’d exited first took the rifles handed to them by other members of the party. They slung them over their left shoulders, muzzles down, then tucked their silenced pulsers inside their waistbands behind their backs with their right hands.

  “All right, lead the way,” Dave instructed them as he picked up his own rifle. “Walk as if you owned the place – you know how SS goons behave.” They nodded. “One of you keep slightly behind the other. As you turn each corner, keep going if it’s clear. If not, the rear person must give a hand signal. We’ll wait until you’ve dealt with whoever’s there.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The others fell into line, everyone in a predetermined position based on their duties. Dave led the spacesuited file out of the vestibule in the wake of the two fake SS troopers.

  The three-minute walk to OrbCon passed in excruciating tension, but without incident. As they passed two side corridors, one leading to the crew quarters and one to the Administration and Engineering sections, three groups of four peeled off from the main body and headed for their targets.

  Dave glanced at his watch as they approached the final corner. Glancing up, he saw the two leading soldiers looking back at him. He gave them a thumbs-up. It was 09:59 precisely.

  They turned the final corner. As they did so, the second soldier flipped his hand outward, then down next to his left side. There were sentries on the doors leading to OrbCon, as Mac had predicted.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?” they heard a puzzled voice call from further down the passage.

  “We’ve just arrived,” Dave heard one of his soldiers reply as they kept walking, closing the distance between them and the sentries.

  “Wait a minute! We weren’t warned to expect any SS traffic! What – unphf!”

  The speaker’s voice died away in a grunt of agony as the two soldiers drew their silenced pulsers from behind their backs and put two rounds apiece into both sentries, their weapons making popping noises that, even suppressed, sounded like thunder in Dave’s apprehensive ears. They must have heard something inside Orbcon, even if they didn’t know what it was!, he thought desperately as he rounded the last corner and broke into a run. Even now the operators would be getting to their feet, looking at each other, wondering… His pace was made shambling and awkward by his spacesuit, its helmet bouncing behind his back. Furiously he redoubled his efforts as he unslung his rifle.

  “Come on, people! Let’s go!”

  March 31st 2850 GSC, 10:00 – Tapuria

  LAREDO ARMY SHUTTLES, APPROACHING THE ARENA

  Brigadier-General Allred sat in the second pilot’s chair. Behind him his shuttle’s crew was tense, ready for action, weapons braced on the floor and held upright in their hands. Gloria clutched her medical kit, ready to establish an aid station as soon as she could find a suitable place.

  The General peered up through the viewscreen. They were hugging the ground, lined up directly behind the Bactrian shuttle formation three kilometers ahead. It was straightening out of its final turn, perfectly positioned to overfly the stadium in precisely one minute. A group of twenty shuttles led the formation, followed by ten more, then twenty, then ten, then a final group of twenty.

  “Are all our shuttles in the right formation?” he asked his pilot.

  She glanced at her console display. “Everyone’s spread out at the correct intervals, Sir. We’re set to drop as soon as Lieutenant-Colonel Carson clears those buggers out of the way for us.”

  “Then stand by, because in a few seconds all hell’s going to break loose!”

  ~ ~ ~

  OLD TRAFCON

  Jake crouched against the corridor wall, looking up, counting tiles in the suspended ceiling. Seven, eight, nine – yes, that puts me clear of the wall between the basement and this passage. If the bang blows down the wall, it won’t land on top of me. He focused on his helmet visor as he flicked off the safety lock on the plunger, then grasped the firing handle, eyes glued to the time display. 9:59:57… 9:59:58… 9:59:59… 10:00:00.

  As the final second vanished into history Jake rammed the plunger down. Instantly a thunderous roar erupted from the connecting tunnel. The door to the basement room blew open, a cloud of smoke and dust billowed through it, and dozens of ceiling tiles collapsed onto everything in sight, including him, bouncing off his helmet and shoulders. He ducked and covered until they stopped falling, then rose, coughing, and sprinted round the corner to the secondary control room. He burst through the door to find that no tiles had fallen inside.

  “What’s happening?” he called urgently.

  “We’re live, Sir!” Quincy answered, not looking around as his fingers flew over the console. “I’ve activated the feed to orbit and initiated Phase One of the attack. Every airborne vehicle squawking a transponder code beginning with 08 or 09 has just been designated an enemy target.”

  Jake gave an evil grin. “Then let’s see how many of their own the Bactrians can shoot down for us, shall we?”

  “You’re on, Sir!” He pressed a key. “Phase Two activated!”

  ~ ~ ~

  TAPURIA

  Six missile batteries, each with four launcher vehicles carrying eight missiles each, plus twenty grounded assault shuttles, each with four missiles under each o
f their two stub wings, protected the airspace over and around Tapuria. Their three hundred and fifty-two missiles were backed up by a dozen laser cannon plus the plasma cannon on each shuttle. According to the carefully-crafted Operations Order for the Satrap’s visit, in order to prevent confusion or error all anti-aircraft units had switched off their local sensors and been placed under the control of TrafCon’s systems. The huge domed radar antennae atop three hills around the capital city all fed their data to the central supercomputer. It could scan, detect and classify hundreds of targets at a time, and target them much more efficiently than local control if necessary. However, it hadn’t had to deal with a real enemy target since the antennae were installed almost three years before, after the previous ones had been destroyed along with the city of Banka.

  Suddenly, as the Phase One computer program was activated, every one of the eighty assault shuttles over the arena was squawking a transponder code that identified it, no longer as a friend, but as a foe. Even as the computer digested this unprecedented situation, the Phase Two program was activated by TrafCon – actually from the secondary console in the basement of the old TrafCon building, but that was irrelevant at this stage. Engage the enemy! Weapons free!

  The artificial intelligence system digested its new instructions and acted on them faster than thought. With so many hostiles, all terrifyingly close to the person designated as its primary defensive priority, there was no time to lose. All across Tapuria missile launchers began to vomit their warload. Every shuttle’s fire control system was instantly activated, receiving its targets’ details from the central computer via datalink and passing them to the missiles beneath its stub wings. A split-second after the missile batteries began firing, the shuttles joined them.