Most of the troopers were off-duty, and had left their weapons in their bunkers, so there was very little in the way of resistance. Some tried to surrender and were immediately shot down. Others, like the noncom who charged Lando with nothing more than a two-pronged fork, died fighting as best they could.
It was slaughter pure and simple but the constructs had little choice. The Il Ronnians who were on duty would be heavily armed. In seconds, minutes at the most, they would figure out what was happening and launch a counterattack.
An attack that would move from the perimeter inward giving the constructs very little time in which to secure the bunkers and take up defensive positions. There would be no time, space, or personnel available to deal with prisoners.
The killing spread outward from the mess hall to the surrounding bunkers. What had been relatively easy became suddenly hard. Warned by the sounds of battle, the Il Ronnians still in the bunkers were able to arm themselves and fought valiantly. These were crack troops, hardened in previous battles, and fighting for their very lives.
Scores of relatively inexperienced constructs died making the mistakes that newbies always make, but a constant stream of reinforcements continued to pour up out of the ground, and rushed to replace them.
But that couldn't last forever. As both luck and circumstance would have it, File Leader Reeg was the one who led the Il Ronnian counterattack. He had been on a tour of the perimeter when the attack occurred.
It took some time to confirm that the attack had come from below, rather than from outside the fence, or from above, but once that fact had been established Reeg organized an immediate response.
An attack from below meant one or more points of entry. The first task was to seal the tunnel or tunnels off and prevent the geeks from reinforcing their initial assault team. That plus the timely arrival of some reinforcements should carry the day.
Reeg found a portable radio, selected the emergency frequency, and gave a long string of orders. Troops gathered, were assigned to ad hoc files, and led in toward the center of the compound.
They found the hole, discovered that it was heavily defended, and placed troops all around it.
Reeg decided that the reinforcements could deal with the hole later, mustered his remaining troops, and attacked the bunkers.
The insurgents had control of the bunker complex by now, but it was a tenuous control at best, and there were some rather stubborn holdouts to deal with. Still, the bunkers had been designed and equipped for a last-stand defense, and that worked in the constructs' favor.
The Il Ronnians came in a series of short advances, some providing suppressive fire, while others ran forward and threw themselves down.
Lando was hunkered down in one of the trenches that connected the bunkers together. He squeezed the trigger on his assault weapon, felt it jerk in his hands, and winced as it ran out of ammo.
It was routine by now: hit the magazine release, ram a new one home, and resume firing. Della and some others joined him but it did little good. The Il Ronnians were experienced, brave, and really pissed off. They kept right on coming.
Cap's eyelids felt as though they weighed a thousand pounds apiece. The wonderful, wonderful alcohol had taken him into deepest darkness where there were no problems, no emotions, and no failures.
He tried to open his eyes, tried to see what the aliens were up to, but couldn't quite summon the energy. Still, he could hear them well enough, and wore a translator. Like the hands that pushed and pulled at his body the words were rough and empty of all compassion.
"Look at this creature. Have you ever seen anything more disgusting? So inebriated that he cannot move. No wonder the humans have failed to expand their empire any farther. They lack the moral fiber necessary to do so."
There was a reply, but it was beyond the range of the translator, so Cap was unable to understand it.
He understood one thing however, and that was the fact that they had placed him on a stretcher of some sort, and were moving him to another location.
Another cell? Another ship? Down to the surface? His heart leapt with alarm and Cap felt his stomach muscles tighten preliminary to sitting up. He could do it now, he knew that, but should he? As long as the Il Ronnians thought he was unconscious, they might say or do something that would provide him with valuable information. He ordered his muscles to relax and spied on the Il Ronnians through slitted lids.
He saw the back of one Il Ronnian's uniform and assumed that another followed just behind.
The auto cart, or whatever conveyance he was on, moved smoothly, and tilted right or left as it negotiated the curves.
The bulkheads had the same tunnellike appearance that he'd observed before and were occasionally marked with alien script.
Then things changed, as the three of them entered what was unmistakably an air lock, and paused while it cycled them through.
And just as the air lock gave itself away through the way it functioned, so did the landing bay, with its vaulted overhead, briskly moving maintenance bots, and space-cold air. They were taking him somewhere. The only question was where.
Sorenson saw utility craft, aerospace fighters, and shuttles pass to the right and left. Interesting. The bay would remain open to space under normal conditions, facilitating the arrival and departure of smaller ships, and forcing the crew to wear space armor. Someone, either he or someone else, was deemed important enough to pressurize the bay.
Cap felt the cart slow. He opened his eyes a little bit wider and saw a smallish shuttle with an Il Ronnian officer standing next to it. One of the same officers that he'd met before. The one the others called "Teex." Sorenson closed his eyes as the Il Ronnian approached. His translator made the conversation intelligible.
"The human remains unconscious?"
"Yes, sir."
"Load him in the rear and be quick about it."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Cap felt himself sway back and forth as the surface under his back was lifted free of its undercarriage and handed in through the shuttle's rear door.
Then someone, a crew member perhaps, said something terse, and Sorenson was dropped into place. The impact made his head hurt. He considered sitting up and asking for something to drink but felt sure they wouldn't give it to him.
He felt them put the straps in place. One across his chest, the other over his legs.
He heard them move away and opened his eyes a tiny bit. The shuttle was very small. Two, maybe three rows of seats had been removed to make way for the stretcher, and Teex occupied one of the four positions that remained. The control compartment was forward and invisible behind a sliding curtain.
There was a lengthy wait while the bay was depressurized. Then Cap felt the shuttle vibrate, lift, and move forward. The artificial gravity disappeared a few moments later, letting the human know they were free of the larger ship and on their way.
The shuttle had been under way for little more than a minute or two when the message came in. The pilot piped it over the intercom. There was a speaker nearby. Cap's translator allowed him to listen in.
"I have Quarter Sept Commander Ceeq on freq five, sir."
"Put him through."
There was a pause, followed by a burst of static, followed by another voice. "Teex?"
"Affirmative."
"We have a condition six at Fire Base One."
"How bad is it?"
"Bad, very bad. The geeks found a way to come up through the ground. They took the main bunker complex. The mess hall was full. They slaughtered everyone in sight. Most of your officers are dead. File Leader Reeg launched a counterattack, but that met with strong resistance, and he has not been able to retake the bunkers."
Anger, sorrow, and frustration took turns trying to dominate Teex's emotions. He pushed them back. "Anything more?"
"Yes," Ceeq replied, "we have reports that the geeks are moving up the hillsides. The automatic weapons systems have engaged them but are insufficient by themselves."
"Order Reeg to withdraw to a more defensible position. What about reinforcements?"
"They are loading now."
"Order them to hold. I will return and assume personal command."
"Affirmative. Ceeq out."
"Affirmative. Teex out."
Sorenson felt momentary G forces as the shuttle made a turn and headed back toward the larger ship.
His mind raced a mile a minute as he absorbed the news. A major attack! Lando and Della would be in the thick of it, with Cy and Melissa not too far away, and indirectly at risk. Teex, plus the reinforcements, meant almost certain disaster.
Cap felt the pressure close in around him like an ocean, weighing him down, suffocating him with its thick unbreathable mass. A drink! He needed a drink.
But there was no drink, only the knowledge of what he needed to do, and the desire to do it.
He pulled his hands out from under the strap with surprising ease. The buckle was a simple thing and came loose without difficulty. Weightlessness pulled him upward but the remaining strap held him in place. It came free as well. He floated away. The translator bumped him in the chin. He shoved it down under his shirt.
Then, with the stealth made possible by the complete lack of gravity, Cap gathered both ends of the second strap into one hand. Now came the moment he had been dreading, the moment of conflict, the moment when thought became action.
Teex remained where he was, facing forward, completely unaware of the human's actions. His entire being was engrossed in the problem at hand, plotting strategy, devising tactics, and repairing the damage.
That's why it took him a moment longer than it should have to understand the synthi-leather strap that passed in front of his eyes, to sense the presence behind him, and to bring his arms up.
By then it was too late. By then Cap had placed both of his feet on the Il Ronnian's shoulders, had pulled both ends of the strap in opposite directions, and was braced for the struggle that followed.
Teex did not die easily. He was a warrior, and had been all of his life, so he fought and fought hard. His side arm was in his overnight bag, and out of reach, but nature had given his kind long, sharp talons. They raked down along the lower part of Cap's legs. Blood spurted and fogged the air.
But the effort was wasted, having as it did no effect on the strap around the Il Ronnian's neck. He called for help but nothing came out. It was hard to breathe. Very hard to breathe. And hard to think. Very hard to think. He was doing something wrong. What was it? The harness! Yes! It was the harness that held him in place and gave the human such excellent leverage.
Darkness worked its way inward from the edges of the Il Ronnian's mind, crowding his thoughts, blocking all ambition. His fingers sought the release button, found it, but lacked the strength to make it work. Teex felt the final darkness pull him under.
Sensing the cessation of movement Cap loosened the strap. Nothing. Good. Tiny globules of blood floated past his head as Cap pulled himself down in front of the Il Ronnian's body.
Gun, gun, where was the bastard's gun? He was an officer, wasn't he? That meant a handgun of some sort. A blaster would be best, but a slug gun would do. Nothing. Dammit anyway.
Then Cap saw it, a small duffel bag, stuffed into the netting on the starboard bulkhead. His fingers felt like sausages as he pulled the netting outward and grabbed the bag. He opened it. Yes! A blaster! He kept the weapon and let the bag drift free.
After that it was a simple matter to pull the curtain aside, grab a handhold, and pull himself into the control compartment.
The pilot and co-pilot never knew what hit them. He shot each of them in the back of the head, hit the release on the pilot's harness, and dragged him out of the way. A gentle shove was sufficient to send him through the short passageway and into the compartment beyond.
The pilot's seat felt strange, the controls were different from anything he'd ever seen, but the basics were fairly easy to figure out. Some gentle experimentation confirmed which controls did what. The cruiser loomed large in his heads-up display. A voice flooded the cabin.
"Shuttle two-niner-one. I have you vector four, priority one."
Cap glanced around. The comset was obvious as was the seldom-used hand mike. He held it in front of the translator rather than his mouth. "This is shuttle two-niner-one. Affirmative that. Vector four and priority one."
There was a moment of silence, indicating that Cap had violated procedure somehow, and that the individual on the other end wondered why. But the moment passed, and whatever the gaffe was, it would die with everyone aboard.
"Shuttle two-niner-one is cleared for landing."
Cap smiled grimly and added power. Thoughts flashed through his mind. Visions of his long-dead wife, moments with Melissa, the disappointments of a life never quite realized.
Well, this would put it right, would put some sort of meaning into the whole thing, and provide an escape better than alcohol.
The shuttle entered the cruiser's bay at thousands of miles an hour, exploded, and took the Wrath of Imantha with it.
In a fraction of a second the fleet's most powerful ship was destroyed, the three most senior officers were killed, and the reinforcements for Fire Base One were lost.
Time would pass, and still more lives would be lost, but the war was effectively over.
Epilog
Lando stepped out onto the veranda and took a long, slow look around. The sixteen-room villa, the swimming pool, the terraces, the gardens, and the surrounding fields had been the property of some long-dead lord. Now they belonged to him. Well, to them, since Della and he were married now, and had adopted Melissa.
He dropped into one of the human-style chairs that Della had brought back from Pylax, leaned back, and enjoyed the breeze that swept across the hill. It brought no smoke, no stench of ozone, no smell of rotting flesh. Just the odor of wildflowers from the hillsides below.
Children shouted with excitement as they played hide and seek through the gardens. Melissa appeared from behind some shrubbery, waved, and disappeared again.
Lando smiled and waved back.
More than six standard months had passed since Cap had crashed the shuttle into the cruiser's launch bay. An act of heroism that had been patched together through logical supposition and eyewitness accounts from other ships.
The official version was different of course. The Il Ronnians maintained that the crash was the result of an equipment failure, and human officials had decided to agree, since to do otherwise would be to admit that one of their citizens had attacked an Il Ronnian warship. A provocation that might tip the scales in favor of war.
Things weren't quite so rosy right after Cap's death however. The loss of three senior officers, plus the Wrath of Imantha, plus the reinforcements marshaled in her launch bay had been a major blow. But the Il Ronnians were tough. Lesser
officers took command. Help was on the way. It would arrive soon. They must hold until it did. The fighting went on.
But the tides of war had shifted. First at Fire Base One, where the much-needed reinforcements never arrived, and then at lesser fire bases across the land, and Holding Areas One through Five.
One by bloody one, the battles were fought, and the Il Ronnians were defeated.
Meanwhile, and with increasing speed, repairs were made. Repairs the Il Ronnians wanted to destroy but couldn't because it would mean the destruction of the very thing that they wanted to steal: God.
And God healed quickly, so quickly that he was soon able to direct his own repairs, and to summon the drifter. For he agreed with the strategy that the bio bods had devised and was eager to implement it.
And so it was that the ancient spaceship flashed out of hyperspace, inflicted even more damage on what remained of the Il Ronnian fleet, and plucke
d Lando, Della, Melissa, Cy, Wexel-15, and Dru-21 off the surface of the planet.
The Il Ronnians had a big head start, and should have won the ensuing race, but didn't. Unfortunately for them, the courier had departed before the Wrath Imantha was destroyed, so its crew was unaware of the way that things had changed.
Because of that, and the fact that Il Ronnians typically make decisions by consensus, valuable time was lost.
Which is not to say, Lando reflected, that things had gone smoothly at their end. Not at first anyway.
The trouble started the moment they dropped hyper near Pylax. The inquiries had been routine at first, "Pylax Control to unidentified ship, please provide name, registry, and world of origin," but quickly escalated to "halt or be fired on."
This in spite of the fact that all of them wanted to "halt" and none of them wanted to be "fired on."
The problem was that Cy's control of the drifter was tenuous at best and it had an awkward tendency to do whatever it wanted to do. Still, in response to Cy's urgings and whatever influence God had from afar, the ship did settle into an orbit around Pylax.
Some tense moments followed as a pair of destroyer escorts came alongside, were quickly englobed, and brought aboard
even as they tried to fire every weapon that they had.
Only the combination of Della's calm logic, and the drifter's ability to suppress all of their electronic systems, caused the naval officers to listen to reason.
But that was nothing compared to what ensued. Lando was thrown into prison, Melissa was placed in an orphanage, and Della, Cy, Wexel-15, and Dru-21 were interrogated. First by a long secession of underlings, then by the Imperial consul himself. And that was when the table started to turn.
True to the strategy agreed on in advance, Dru-21 represented himself as president pro tem of the newly formed construct government, and Wexel-15 as his second in command.
Confronted by a heretofore unknown race of sentients, and faced with the power of the spaceship they had arrived in, the consul had little choice but to go along with their claims. For the moment at least.
Drifter's War Page 24