The Wolf Worlds

by Chris Bunch

He spat a mouthful of seaweed and waded to the shore.

  "Ready to try it again?" Sofia asked.

  "In a moment," Sten managed. "But first let's have a taste." And he staggered up the beach toward their picnic outfit, with Sofia behind him. With luck, wine, and a certain amount of technique, Sten felt sure he would never have to get near that killer ocean again.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  STEN AND MATHIS walked out onto the floor of the massive hangar where Sten's mercs and the Companions were assembled.

  "People of the Prophet," Mathias roared, and Sten wondered where the extra set of vocal chords came from as his boyos thundered their agreement.

  "Now we strike against the heart of the Jann," Mathias shouted. "Against Ingild. We shall destroy the heresy. We go forth to die for Theodomir and the True Faith of Talamein."

  While Sten listened to the howl of glee from Mathias' legions, he wondered if he was riding another wave of the kind that Sofia had seen him destroyed on. He almost discarded the notion, but over the years, Sten had learned never to scrap that kind of thought. He filed it away to ponder later.

  Than Mathias smiled and bowed to Sten. "Our Colonel. Our leader. The man who has led us in victory. He will now tell us how we shall destroy the falseness—the evil—of contra-Prophet thinking that is the empire of the Jann and Ingild."

  "Aye, Colonel," Alex semiwhispered from behind him. "How you plan ae bein' ae braw hero ae tha, Ae dinna ken."

  Hell if Sten knew, as silence fell in the huge hangar. Hoping for inspiration, he eyed the wall-size sit chart that showed, in multicolor projections, the garrison worlds of the Jann. And then he had what might be an idea.

  And slowly began composing the battle plan…

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  OTHO POURED STEN and Alex another liter of stregg, rumbled a laugh, and said, "No. I don't want to hear it the way you presented the situation to those fanatics. But since you're here, and all…" His voice gurgled off as he downed the liter. Alex followed suit.

  Sten carefully ignored the mug. "Situation, Target—Urich. The Jann shipbuilding world. The only world they've got that can produce starships."

  "Och," Otho agreed.

  "This is our target. We'll take out this entire complex." The plot board hummed into life and the holographic projection vibrated into existence.

  "Urich," Sten continued. "Ship docks are"—he touched a control—"in green. Landing facilities, blue. AA lasers, surface-to-air missiles, and multibarrel projectile weapons in red."

  Otho stood and peered down at the projection. Then belched thoughtfully. "By my mother's beard, but the black ones guard themselves well.

  "Having none of your knowledge, Sten," Otho went on, "and being but a simple trader, I would have no idea of how you humanoids could capture such a place."

  "We aren't. This is another smash-and-destroy run."

  "You'll use nuclear hellbombs?"

  "Negative."

  "If I were a warrior," Otho said, "which, praise the beard of my mother, I am not, I would need a host of Bhor and several planetary cycles to destroy this Jann nest."

  "We aren't going to take everything out," Sten said. "Just this."

  His finger went through a huge, imposing structure in the center of the complex. One kilometer by two kilometers long by one kilometer.

  "This is the engine-hull mating plant. Destroy it, and the whole port's nothing but a yacht repair yard."

  Another control fingered, and the plotting board cleared, then refocused, this time with only the mating plant on the board. A brooding, dark-gray mass.

  Above the projection hung a list of the plant's vital details. Ti-ferroconcrete construction, terra-beam reinforcement. The walls were, at their base, fifty meters thick, tapering to a thickness of twenty meters at the roof curve. At either side of the structure were huge clamshell doors, with control booths centered in the midpoint of each panel.

  "Environment controls, damage controls, and admin are in a long tube, running lengthwise down the plant's interior, halfway up the walls," Sten continued.

  "You're a world of information about this, Sten," Otho said admiringly. "Could I wonder your sources?"

  Alex preened slightly. "In th' propit light, Ah look quite dashin' ae a Jann."

  Otho touched mugs with Kilgour, and they downed the contents and refilled the mugs.

  "I can feel the time-winds touch me," Otho said as he gazed intently at Sten. "What will you require of the Bhor?"

  "Two things. Most important, fifty planetfall lighters, with pilots."

  "Which will be used for?" Otho was growling now.

  "You'll land the unit. Then you and your pilots will provide supressing fire."

  "No." Otho pushed his mug away and hunched, beetling face now locked in merchant/skeptic/negative expression. "Perhaps you do not understand the Bhor position," he growled. "Admitted, we are not fond of the Jann and, when possible, find an excuse to alter their existence cycle. But we are still only minor body parasites to them.

  "And while we admire your cause, Colonel, we must be… your word I believe is 'pragmatic' about the situation.

  "Sometimes the cause of righteousness does not win, as I am sure you are aware. And if you lose… and by the fortune of your fathers survive, you and your soldiers will merely lick your wounds and move on to another war.

  "But we—the Bhor—must remain to reap the wrath of the Jann.

  "We will convoy you and your forces, Colonel, quite willingly. We will even provide resupply. Both functions are those of a merchant. But join your war?—No."

  Alex purpled and was about to say something but Sten quickly shook his head. "I understand, Otho. You do have your people to worry about."

  The hulk looked puzzled, then relieved. As Otho reached out for the mug, Sten added quietly, "Your people—and your ancestors."

  Otho glowered and took his hand off the mug.

  "My apologies, Otho. Now if you will excuse us…" Sten stood and Otho rose also, moving slightly reluctantly toward the port.

  "We have our own streggans to fight."

  And before Otho could react, Sten eased him out. Came back to the plotting board.

  "Ae m' gran' said, y'catchit more haggis wi' honey thae vin'gar," Alex said, with mild admiration. Sten frowned then shrugged and sat back down at the table.

  Then, swinging a computer terminal down from the ceiling and eyeing the plotting table's holography, he began writing his operations order.

  The port slid open and Otho loomed in the way.

  "Your streggans indeed! By my father's icy buttocks!"

  He stalked back to his half-finished mug, drained it, refilled it, drained it again, and then growled, "If the Bhor must take sides, then at least we must have all information," and hovered over Sten's terminal…

  OPERATIONS ORDER 14

  EYES ONLY. DISTRIBUTION LIMITED TO FOLLOWING OFFICERS AND CONCERNED INDIVIDUALS. ALL RECIPIENTS TO SIGN RECEIPT THIS ORDER. ALL RECIPIENTS TO ACKNOWLEDGE RECEIPT ON ACCEPTANCE. OFFICERS INVOLVED ARE DIRECTED TO READ THIS ORDER IN PRESENCE OF ACCOMPANYING GUARD. NO COPIES PERMITTED. UPON COMPLETION THIS ORDER TO BE RETURNED TO ACCOMPANYING GUARD FOR RETURN THIS HEADQUARTERS. Distribution: STEN, OC. BN-2 SECTION, FFILLIPS, QIC FIRST COMPANY, VOSBERH, QIC SECOND COMPANY. Note: Eyes Only: Involved indigenous personnnel (committed Bhor tac/air personnel, Command structure, MATHIAS' COMPANIONS) will be verbally briefed by OC. This order is not to be discussed in their presence.

  Situation:

  Since the first operational commitment of FIRST STRIKE FORCE, now operating in conjunction with MATHIAS' COMPANIONS, Intelligence estimates of a high order suggest that JANNISAR command elements and hierarchic elements of INGILD's theocracy have accepted a defensive posture. Destruction of THE CITADEL, a primary part of JANN morale, must be considered a factor, as well as this conflict, which has lasted for several generations, and now is entering an active phase.

  The above have produced not only tactical inertia on the part
of the JANN but a significant increase in officer suicides among JANN ranks. Four systems previously lightly garrisoned by JANN patrol wings have been abandoned as JANN elements regroup in force on main garrison worlds. Intel-estimates suggest a JANN offensive will be mounted in sixty Standard days (estimate plus-minus: four days). Such an offensive will most likely be directed either at NEBTA or SANCTUS. Such an offensive will not be allowed to occur.

  The mission:

  The operation against THE CITADEL was effective in partially destroying esprit among the JANN. This operation will destroy the JANN ability to physically patrol systems under their control. The target world is URICH, the center of JANN fleet activity. (See FICHE A for Planetary Details of URICH.) FIRST STRIKE FORCE, operating with MATHIAS' COMPANIONS, will force a landing on URICH and destroy as completely as possible URICH's fleet support, ship construction, fuel, and maintenance capabilities.

  EXECUTION:

  This assault will be a combined operation: Initial transhipping to 4 planetary diameters off URICH will be provided by Armed Merchant shipping, to be provided by PARRAL. (Details—FICHE B). These ships will deploy assault and tac/air elements, assume an out-atmosphere orbital pattern, and, on completion of strike, will land on URICH to pick up assault and tac/air elements. Combat deployment will be provided by 50 modified Bhor planetfall lighters. Lighters will be assault armed with available medium-range weaponry (Details—FICHE C), provisioned, maintained, and manned by provided BHOR personnel (Details—FICHE D). Mentioned BHOR lighters will both land second element assault units and provide active suppression of enemy fire. (Details on strike formation and specific tac requirements—FICHE E.) The Main Strike element will be quartered on a heavily modified PRITCHARD-class freighter, ex-MS ATHERSTON (Modification details—FICHE F). This ship will be crewed by volunteers, as well as selected first-strike assault troops. In addition, Command Headquarters will be located on it. The freighter will be lead element, first wave, and will make a direct crash-assault on Target One, the Jann engine-hull mating plant. The freighter will be provided with extensive demolition capability and triggered to detonate less than one hour after strike forces land. In addition, deployed assault troops will provide demolition on selected other targets, engage ground troops, and attempt to aid Bhor tac/air in supression of enemy surface/ air launches.

  COORDINATION…

  And Sten shut down the terminal. "Coordination" on this cobbled-together mess, he thought. First I'm going to take a bunch of Parrel's cholesterol-heavy traders, get them to take us into the heart of the Jann empire. Then I'll manage to offload my surly thugs onto the Bhor lighters, somehow without having a grand melee between the Bhor, my mercs, and Mathias' fanatics.

  If I get away with all that, then I suicide-dive the clottin' freighter—which I still haven't seen—right into the middle of this bloody great hangar, somehow live through the crash, somehow come out shooting, and somehow hang on and be an active menance for the Jann until Parral's ships heave down to pick all of us up.

  This will not work, Sten, my friend, his mind told him. Of course it won't. You got any better ideas?

  Go see what Sofia's doing, his mind suggested. And, since Sten couldn't find any argument with that, he put the security lock on the computer and headed for a grav-sled and Parrel's mansion.

  Maybe I'll come up with something better after a few hours lurking in her grotto.

  Chapter Thirty

  PARRAL SCROLLED THROUGH Sten's latest reports. Everything was going exactly as the man had promised. The series of lightning raids had the Jann reeling. And now the young colonel was preparing for the master stroke: a daring attack to gut the Jann's resolve to continue the war itself.

  Parral chuckled to himself. Yes, he thought, Sten had proven to be a remarkable investment. Of course, Parral didn't believe for a minute that the man would honor his entire contract.

  The young fool. Doesn't he realize I know that when the final battle is won, Sten will do exactly what I would: seize the cluster for myself?

  It was a final move, Parral had to admit, that any businessman would admire.

  He sighed. Too bad. He was really beginning to like the man.

  Parral keyed up the analyses his spies had put together and checked them once to see if any details had been omitted, any scenario untried.

  No, there would be only one possible solution to Sten's forthcoming challenge. He and his mercenaries would all have to die. And as for Mathias? Another misfortune of the business of war.

  Parral also congratulated himself for making sure there could be no possible threat from the Jann—or whatever would remain of them after the final raid. He thought fondly of the powerful armored combat vehicles he had secretly purchased and turned over to his own men. They could crush any attack from any source.

  Parral flicked off the computer, pleased with himself. Then he poured a glass of wine and toasted Sten and the men who were about to win him a new empire.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  STEN THOUGHT THE freighter gave ugly a bad name.

  Pritchard-class freighters were one of those answers to a question no one had asked. Some bright lad, about one hundred years earlier, had decided there was a need for a low-speed, high-efficiency deep-space freighter that also had atmospheric-entry capabilities.

  The designer must've ignored the existence of planetary lighters, high-speed atmo-ships for the more luxurious or important cargoes, and the general continual bankruptcy-in-being of any intrasystem freighter company.

  The Pritchard-class ships were well designed to be exactly what the design specs stated, so well that it was nearly impossible to modify them. Therefore, they trickled down from large-line service to small-line service to system-service to, most often, the boneyard.

  This particular example—the Atherston—had cost somewhat less than an equivalent mass of scrap steel.

  The Bhor had towed the ship to a berth in a secluded part of Nebta's massive equatorial landing ground, and Parral's skilled shipwrights and Bhor craftsmen, directed by Vosberh, had gone to work.

  The Atherston's looks hadn't been improved any by the modifications. Originally the ship had a lift-off nose-cone and drop-ramps for Roll On, Roll Off planetary cargo delivery.

  The nose had been solidly filled with reinforced ferroconcrete, as had fifty meters of the forward area, so that the drop-ramps were now barely wide enough for troops to exit in double column. The command capsule had been given a solid-steel bubble with tiny vision slits, and the bubble was reinforced with webbed strutting. And finally, just to destroy whatever aesthetic values the tubby rustbucket had, two Yukawa drive units were position-welded and then cast directly to either side of the ship's midsection. Steering jets made an anenome-blossom just behind the nosecone.

  "Beauty, isn't it, sir," Vosberh said briskly. Sten repressed a shudder.

  "Best design for a suicide-bomber I've ever seen," Vosberh went on. "I figure that you'll have a seventy-thirty chance when you crash into that plant."

  "Which way?" Sten asked.

  "You pick." Vosberh smiled. Then he turned serious.

  "By the way, Colonel. Two private questions?"

  "GA, Major."

  "One. Assuming that you, uh, miss, and by some misfortune pass on to that Great Recruiting Hall in the Sky, who have you picked as a command replacement?"

  Sten also smiled. "Since both you and Ffillips will be grounding with me on the Aiherston, isn't that a pointless question?"

  "Not at all, Colonel Sten. You see—a little secret I've kept from you—I believe I am immortal."

  "Ugh," Sten said.

  "So the question is very important to me. Under no circumstances shall I turn over command of my people to Ffillips. She is arrogant, spit-and-polish, underbrained…" and Vosberh ran momentarily short on insults.

  "I would assume that Ffillips feels about the same toward you. Major."

  "Probably."

  "I will take your first question under advisement. Second qu
estion. Major?"

  "This raid on Urich. Is there any chance it will end the war?"

  "Negative, Major. We'll still have scattered Jann to mop up—and Ingild to deal with. Why?"

  "I warned you once, Colonel.'The minute that Parral or that stupid puppet prophet he's running get the idea they're winning…" Vosberh drew a thumb across his throat.

  "Mercenaries," he went on, "in case you haven't learned, are always easier to pay off with steel to the throat instead of credits in the purse."

  "Good thought, Major. Answer—as I said. This war has not even begun."

  Vosberh saluted skeptically and turned away.

  "What is that supposed to be. Sergeant?" Mathias asked, staring up at the wood-plas-concrete assemblage in front of him.

  "Yon contraption's ae fiendish thingie, Captain," Alex said. "A' tha' Ah'm supposit t' tell ye is it's som'at nae longer needs t' exist. Ye're trained noo, Captain. Takit y'r squad an' destroy yon device."

  Mathias scowled but obediently shouldered the demopack filled with plas bricks weighted to simulate demo charges and cord that simulated fusing and primacord.

  He motioned his squad forward and, as Alex stepped back, they swarmed up the structure, hesitating at certain key points to lay "demo charges" and connect the fusing and primacord.

  Alex checked his stopwatch and grudgingly admitted to himself that even fanatics can be good. The mockup was actually one of the tube-latches that the raid was intended to destroy on Urich.

  Mathias and his men dropped off the structure and doubled up to Alex. Mathias and one other man were trailing simulated det fuse. Not even breathing hard, Mathias snapped to a halt and saluted.

  "Well, Sergeant?"

  "Ah reckit y'r times fair," Alex said. "Noo. Twicet more an' ye'll hae i' doon pat. Then, t'night, w' comit back an' run th' drill again. Wi'oot light."

  The landing field was scattered with more of these practice structures, and, on each of them, a mixed group of mercenaries and Mathias' Companions rehearsed what they would have to be able to do drunk, wounded, gassed, or blind when the strike force hit Urich.