“For the pirates, no, they know where to fly. But for all the rest, successfully navigating there is monumental. It’s clear that the signals of external navigation systems don’t pass through inside. When around the garbage reefs, radars get hysterical every second, the gravimeters go mad, and the telescopes of astronavigation systems work against you; real stars in the central part of Tartar aren’t visible, covered with clouds, and fake lanterns are hung everywhere. One of my old friends invented those flashlights, seemingly a primitive thing, but there, in the center of the cluster, the fake stars work perfectly and pose a serious threat—you can easily get off course and fly into the nearest wolf pit. So, Comrade Ivanova, I'm glad that I'm not responsible for the navigation in our event.”
“But I’ll get some practical material for my doctoral dissertation,” Natasha laughs.
“So it will be very difficult to get inside, but this won’t end our problems,” Commander Severov says, studying Elizabeth’s files. “What forces does Boddicker have in Tartar, without taking into account those fleet units that can approach him in the event of a needed rescue? That will meet us inside?”
“This is a very difficult question, Comrade Severov, and I paid dearly to find out the answer. We tried several times to introduce our agents into his army, but sooner or later, they all died; it’s very difficult to deceive my former boss. It was possible to find out something, nevertheless—as you supposed, Comrade Klimov, at the moment, Tartar has a full cycle of production of spacecrafts, as well as lines for assembling nuclear bombs, which are now being manufactured serially. This was the case even before the Civil War, and now Boddicker has become even stronger; as a payment for his participation, he didn’t take money, but rather rare raw materials and production facilities, something that he had lacked for many years. Honestly, I, with my handicraft workshops, am now weaker than the Fuhrer; the Corporation fed him well. He also has professionals who are able to properly use all this equipment, so his army and navy become stronger by the hour.
Further theoretical calculations and fortune telling can continue, but according to my estimates, there are now hundreds of brand-new Morgan class raiders in Tartar, along with a significant number of torpedo bombers and minelayers. There may be larger ships as well, of which we don’t yet know. The number of combat drones, self-propelled artillery batteries, and laser cannons was calculated thousands of years ago, and has now certainly also increased. His army is estimated at hundreds of thousands, and all of them passed through the combat Changing—you understand what that means. Despite all the losses that Boddicker suffered during my raids, the reserves in Tartar remained untouched, so he could match us in all weapons. Naturally, the defensive squadrons are scattered all over Tartar, but at the signal, they can arrive at the desired point from all sides, even if it takes some time. Perhaps the very time that it takes will be enough for our operation.
Now the most important thing is the Citadel, Boddicker’s fortress, built in the center of Tartar. Many years ago, the pirates of Lord Isaac built their first long-term fortifications in the center of the garbage cluster, using the skeletons of broken ships and colonies. They built without any plans and rebuilt God-knows-how-many times year after year.
Then, when Boddicker took the throne, he invested a lot of strength and resources in his fortress, approaching the task with a certain diligence. I remember that the Citadel was rebuilt and modernized many times, but now according to pre-approved projects, using modern technologies.
Each time I returned to Tartar after completing another job, I discovered that the fortress was changing, becoming even stronger. However, it bothered me little at that time; I wasn’t particularly interested in the work of military engineers. Then, after well-known events, when I conceived the idea of changing my banners and eliminating the Fuhrer, it was only then that I understood the whole meaning of the Citadel. The defensive systems there are simply excellent; I’m telling you this as a specialist in penetrating protected sites and eliminating especially important persons. Despite all my experience and my best fighters, despite careful preparations, we didn’t manage to get to the target, and the defensive system was to blame.”
The Bolsheviks see the indistinct dark images of massive spherical objects, each with a diameter of a dozen kilometers. The spheres are located close enough to one other to allow them to be connected by a multitude of tunnels, like a dozen small moons strung on multidimensional axial lines. The structure is reminiscent of the Gate of Babylon, but it’s much more intricate—at first glance, it is obvious that this is a military facility designed to repel a serious attack. The spheres are surrounded by numerous garbage reefs and various defensive objects: self-propelled artillery platforms, radar posts, warehouses, and so on. Elizabeth is right; here, in the center of Tartar, the stars aren’t visible at all—only the dangerous fakes are shining.
It seems to Olga that she isn’t in space but in a dark dungeon with a luminous ceiling—this strange impression is produced by the core of the garbage cluster. Here, the vast cosmic distances are reduced to a dangerous minimum, where each sharp maneuver can result in a collision with a garbage reef. Invisible minefields and nets are everywhere, plus thousands of laser cannons that are deadly at that distance. Yes, she is also glad that she won’t have to lead the Bolshevik through this chaos, making her way from the Limb to the core. But she will have enough work of her own to do, Olga is sure.
“This is approximately what the Citadel looks like now. Remember, Boddicker’s fortress doesn’t exist as a single building; it’s a complex of colonies connected by transitions. Each sphere is multilayered. The outer layers, where low-value warehousing and manufacturing are concentrated, serve as an additional layer of armor for central, especially important compartments. The garbage reefs around the colonies are all equipped with their own engines; in fact, they are self-propelled shields, which, at the first signal, are ready to cover the spheres. The number of minefields and anti-torpedo nets can’t be counted; every meter is surrounded by a hundred laser cannons. In the case of a massive attack, all the transitions between the spheres will be instantaneously opened, so each of the spheres will have to be assaulted individually, and no one will be so kind as to tell us where Boddicker is hiding.”
“And the concentration camps—where are they located?”
“In the same place, in the core. The prisoners are kept in the Citadel to destroy any possibility of escape or rebellion; even if the insurgents manage to capture a ship, they can never get to the surface. For the same reason, it’s incredibly difficult to release them from the outside. I was offered such a task several times and had to refuse; it’s simply impossible. But now the camp will have to be taken with a fight—I promised Borgnine that in exchange for New Louisiana, we will try to get his relatives out of captivity. There’s no guarantee that we’ll succeed: the camps and prisons are well guarded after several uprisings. But we must try; I won’t allow this hellish place to exist any longer. I am counting on your help.”
“Let’s see.” Klimov pours cognac for Elizabeth, lights a new cigarette, and continues. “You have drawn an interesting picture, Comrade Elizabeth. Breaking out is impossible. Breaking in is insane. It’s difficult to get inside, it’s even more difficult to get to the core, and if we get through it, then there will be a hard fight against a superior opponent. And we’ll have to release the prisoners from the concentration camps and come back alive. It would seem that the task is impossible. But here’s where we may get lucky: Boddicker isn’t expecting such an attack, considering it completely impossible. Would you kindly tell when the last massive attack on Tartar was that included an attempt to penetrate the core?”
“Local wars have been going on since the sixties, when Boddicker won his place in the criminal world. We were often attacked from outside, but there were few attempts to get inside, especially after we destroyed the first invaders. More often, they use torpedoes. The last serious attempt to attack the Citadel happened in th
e summer of 2065. Yes, it was the last truly serious attack. All following attacks were launched using only torpedoes or by small diversionary groups. Since then, the defensive system has become even stronger, but you are right, it has never been tested in real combat. For three decades, no one has tried to attack the Citadel.
Yes, here is our advantage. Doubtful, of course, but better than nothing. The modern guard of the Citadel has no experience, but there is a false belief that they don’t have to fight in the core since everyone believes in its complete invulnerability. And this means that despite all the efforts of the Fuhrer, many think about the defense as a boring formality, and permanent military training won’t help here. In my experience, even the most perfect system of protection, which for a long time wasn’t seen in real combat, is gradually starting to rust, like rails over which trains haven’t rolled for a long time. They are so confident in their strength that they don’t expect that a team of madmen can appear, capable of doing the completely insane—attacking the Citadel. This means that it will be necessary to deceive them by allowing them to expect the best.”
The meeting between the Bolsheviks and Elizabeth lasts many more hours, during which it’s necessary to discuss a lot of important things. But the most important thing for the Bolsheviks must be discussed among themselves: Klimov convenes the Captain’s Council.
“So, comrades, the war against Tartar, alongside the Red Dawn, is a fait accompli. But in this war, we will have our own special task, our own personal interest. I bring to your notice a special order from the fleet headquarters. We are again under official military service, and we are expecting an impeccable performance of a special task.
“Here is the order, which has been transmitted over the most secure communication line. The headquarters orders the crew of the cruiser Bolshevik to destroy the leaders of the pirate gang, better known as the Space Reich. The primary target is the Fuhrer of the Reich, Richard Jones Boddicker.
“I draw your attention to this assignment: this is not just a bounty hunt, not an operation of mercenaries. We have a particularly important task: we will enforce the sentence of the military court. Boddicker has been sentenced to death for numerous crimes against citizens of the Union, and his prompt liquidation is a matter of honor for any naval crew. This high honor was rendered to the Bolshevik in consideration of our experience. And, as the Bolsheviks are supposed to, we will justify that high trust.”
Olga knows that successful accomplishment of a particularly important task will be followed by large prizes in the form of Stalin’s rubles, awards, and extraordinary titles. But this isn’t the main thing; the main focus for her now is another. Boddicker, like Elizabeth is also a legend, a dark and terrible legend of the space age. And any crew that is able to liquidate him, that crew, every officer in it, will also become a legend. What if she could stand up with the Wasp Queen?
“Since the Politburo doesn’t intend to engage in open war against the Reich, given its links with the Corporation, the elimination of the bandit leader will be carried out in secret. However, this doesn’t mean that we’ll act independently without external assistance. Help will come—serious help. In addition to the Red Dawn, which will go to Tartar with us, we’ll receive reinforcement from the rapid reaction forces; subdivisions of deep reconnaissance and fighters of Dzerzhinsky's division will help us—you know what this means.”
The coming affair is becoming more and more appealing, Olga thinks, evaluating the reinforcements promised by the fleet headquarters. Yes, with the extensive reconnaissance on our side, it’s quite possible to storm Tartar—these are the best specialists in the Union for space diversion operations. And they will act together with the Red Dawn fighters, who have proven their bravery in battle more than once.
“In addition to reinforcements, we’ll receive unlimited material resources for this operation. We’ll have everything we need except time—Boddicker and his minions must be liquidated as soon as possible. The deadline is a week from now.
“Remember, the elimination of Boddicker is a task of paramount importance. We, the naval officers, have finally succeeded in persuading the Politburo bureaucrats and the capitalists behind them of the danger that the Reich represents for all free space. For too long, their eyes have closed to him, due to political circumstances and momentary gains, allowing the pirates to commit outrages everywhere, convincing themselves that they would never dare attack our territory.
“But from the lessons of history, we know well how dangerous it is to sit back and do nothing when a furious dog hating you lives and grows next to your house. For a long time, a mad dog had to be shot; it is only now that they are deciding to do so, though, when he can conclude an alliance with the military junta that heads the Supernova Corporation. Such an alliance of our enemies must be stopped at any cost, so the mad dog must be shot, and the rifle is in our hands. Destroying Boddicker is the number one task; we will be asked only for this result. If the Queen promised to release the captives, then that is her job, not ours. We must get the enemy’s head at any cost. And if necessary, we will exercise justice with a kind word and a gun.”
CHAPTER NINE: WAR DRUMS
“I confirm receipt of the gifts!”
Domcheev adds his electronic autograph, confirming that the urgent cargo is now under the full responsibility of the Bolsheviks. The woman with Major shoulder straps is satisfied with this gesture; the transfer of cargo must be done as soon as possible without leaving any unnecessary bureaucratic footprints.
“I confirm the transfer of cargo. Good luck, comrades!”
The shutters of the lock chamber are closed, the Bolshevik disconnects from the destroyer, and the engines work at low speed. Voronov and Domcheev remain alone in the hold, alone with a stack of armored containers painted in black and yellow stripes and marked with high security markers.
“Olga, let’s begin unloading. It’s necessary to send shells to the guns as soon as possible.”
While the Bolshevik moves away from the rendezvous point, the lieutenant and sergeant check the containers, taking all possible precautions, and then begin to open the heavy locks. After the last bolts are removed, the Marines dismantle the covers, and the Bolsheviks see a pile of main caliber shells with an alert for radioactive danger stamped on the warhead.
“It’s still a week before the New Year, and Ded Moroz has already brought gifts,” Domcheev grinned.
Olga doesn’t laugh. She gives in to temptation and lays her gloved palm on the smooth black surface; the built-in Geiger counter feeling the destructive force hidden inside.
Up to this point in time, she hasn’t had to work with Bolshevik's nuclear arsenal—Olga's duties don’t include direct contact with the cruiser’s weapons. But now everything is changing, and she receives an unexpected replenishment: sixty nuclear projectiles, new ones, just from the factory. It’s a joyful occasion: until now, the Bolshevik has had only a limited supply of special ammunition, each of which had to be purchased with a pile of money. During Olga’s entire service, Klimov used a nuclear projectile just once in the Asteroid Belt. In other battles, they have had to rely on conventional shells, saving the special shots, of which they only had four, and just recently, Klimov managed to get two more on the black market. And now they have sixty all at once, at their full disposal. The cruiser hasn’t had so much ammunition since the First Space War. All right, a new war is coming.
The acceptance of the nuclear argument takes another hour. Olga checks the software of the warheads, synchronizing them with the targeting system of the Bolshevik. Domcheev and the Kuznetsov brothers work on the mechanics. The general conclusion: these are gifts of the highest grade; the support promised from the headquarters wasn’t just empty words. The Bolshevik, meanwhile, is returning to New Louisiana, where the Red Dawn ships continue to arrive.
The movement is constant; some ships arrive, and others leave. The hastily rebuilt New Louisiana has already begun to act as a powerful base, ensuring the uninterrupted
course of an undeclared war. It’s because of this endless stream of caravans that the Bolshevik must return to the station and almost immediately go back into the void, taking under guard one of the convoys.
“There are now more than twenty-five thousand people at the station, and among them there are certainly some of Boddicker's agents,” Elizabeth instructs the crew in the English club.
“We have already revealed two of them—exceptionally well-hidden agents. They don’t remember at all who they were before. They have undergone complete re-recording of their personalities. Plus, they have sincere devotion to me and are ready to fulfill my orders unconditionally. And the recording program, along with built-in long-distance transmitters—at regular intervals, they send everything they have seen, heard, and felt to Tartar over the previous few hours. Of course, the agents reported that the Bolshevik and its valiant crew are still here.
“And, I am sure that there are still hidden agents that haven’t been discovered yet. Of course, we can try to outwit them and remove the cruiser imperceptibly, but I think it will be much more convincing if the Bolshevik leaves New Louisiana in front of them, under the official pretext of guarding the next convoy. Let them guess where your valiant crew will appear later.”
So, they would have to accompany the seven lightweight unmanned transports, going into the void under the control of Uncle Joe. What is the cargo? Weapons, ammunition, fuel, food, and water. And five hundred infantrymen—volunteers, refugees from Earth who have joined the Red Dawn and are now asleep in their landing capsules.
The destination is a permanent colony, Hanoi-2-27, at 3 million kilometers away from Earth, the new ally of the Queen in the Third Radius, now densely blocked by pirates. The garrison of the small fortress has already repelled several attempts to land and is stubbornly carrying artillery shelling, badly in need of replenishment of personnel and ammunition.
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