by Chris Hechtl
“He's a commander now.”
“Ah. Well, he and I both like spy and mystery stories.”
“I see. You know you're wanted in some circles for preying on female widows? You were quite the charmer.”
“I know. That's how I lost my arm and leg.” She cocked her head. He snorted. “Haven't you ever heard the expression, it can cost you an arm and a leg?” She nodded. “Well, I found out the hard way that there are some debts you do not want to incur.”
“I see.”
“So, you are a charmer, and you somehow charmed Montgomery to send you back here with what, some tools, credits, implants obviously, and little else?”
“Don't make me laugh. I didn't just get here on my wits, though I admit I am quite accomplished.”
“And humble too,” the wolf replied.
He made a face then shook his head. “I worked on my training on the return here.”
“Sims though …”
“Weren't enough. But they served the purpose, I am here now, aren't I?”
“Yes you are. But I know a little about undercover, about how people live undercover and assume identities. How the lines blur. How you have to play both sides.”
“I can't give you things I don't have.”
“But you have other things. I know you do. You keep them for your own reasons, to get confirmation … to protect a source, or to protect yourself.”
“If you roll up everything I know about, I'm a dead man.”
“Which is why you don't tell us everything. I see. And you don't want to leave …”
“Please. I can follow orders.”
“To a degree,” the wolf retorted.
“Well, technically you aren't in my chain of command. And each time we meet, it is a risk to me.”
“I know. But it also bothers me whether or not if you'd sell me out.”
“No!” He looked affronted and from his thermal profile he was. He was also telling the truth.
“Okay, we'll see. But do try to do better, Lieutenant.”
He exhaled noisily. “As I said before, I can't give you what I don't know.”
“Right,” She drawled. “Then get me something you can give me. And soon.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
<(>~^~<(>
On Friday night Jethro sought out the kittens. He had newly replicated MREs and blankets for them, as well as some other snivel gear he'd gotten from Sabu's locker and kit. Sabu's ghost wouldn't begrudge it, and he could always replicate more. Bast could only replicate clothing in his size and of course military issue which he couldn't give out. The other stuff was a different story.
The Major had helped a lot of people in the slums. Those that could find work had done so. She had done her best to single out the doctors and others in the slums to get them back on their feet and to set them up with practices in that community. She even arranged for them to rent some low rent buildings nearby and used Marine resources to equip them.
One of Moira's latest projects had been Zelma and her school as well as a commune of painters and artists. She had taken a shine to one in particular who went by the name of Goldenwolfe. She was an incredible Neoartist who painted gorgeous images. She had done one of the White Wolf as a thank you for helping her set up.
The police were not welcome in the slums. They had attempted to patrol them, but the Marines made it clear they would handle it. The outworlders were far more welcome than the constables. Even the militia was more welcome than the cops.
Some in the community had tried to get the slums shut down, broadcasting on the radios and in the paper media that they were havens of crime and prostitution. A few had even attempted to besmear the Marines by stating they were normally associated by such riffraff and were condoning the crime.
The Major ignored most of such chatter as if it was beneath her. But when a radio interviewer had gassed on about how she preferred her own kind it had been enough to disgust her into action. She'd used the Marine radio equipment to step on the broadcast. Jethro had heard about it. It had happened on his way down, but he hadn't really paid much attention to it. Apparently the Major had compared the Horathians directly to the human Nazis of the Second World War on Earth, and the Skynet A.I. during the first A.I. war that had followed centuries later. She had compared the slaughter of the Neo and alien communities with the systematic slaughter of the Jews and other races as well as the slaughter of humans by the A.I. She'd then shamed the natives for not helping more before ending her address.
“Thank the Major for what she said,” the dog said, nodding to him.
“You heard?” he asked.
She flicked her short ears at him and then sniffed. “Heard? Are you kidding me? Everyone here heard and cheered.”
“Are you going back with her?”
“I don't know.”
“Is she taking people back with her?” a Neootter asked. Jethro turned to Zelma's neighbor and flicked his ears in a shrug.
“Sorry, I don't know. I doubt we'll have room if we go. When we go. I don't know,” Jethro said. He was fairly certain from some of the historical references the Major and others had dropped that they didn't want to turn Kathy's World or other places into the modern version of Israel. It hadn't turned out well for the Jews in the end; that country had been all but obliterated during the first A.I. war.
Besides, one of the tenants of the Federation was plurality. Of acceptance of others, and tolerance of their beliefs and customs. Of coming together in a democratic group, not being divided by race. That was what the damn Horathians wanted. That wasn't what humans like Admiral Irons or Colonel Forth wanted. The Horathians didn't speak for all of mankind.
“You don't know much do you?” the otter said with a dismissive sniff. She went back into her crate.
“Never mind her,” Zelma said. She saw his expression. “Bad?”
“Bad enough,” he sighed, ears going flat.
Zelma gently took the blankets and food while he talked with the kittens. “What's wrong?” Red asked as she curled into his lap.
“Trust that one to know. She picks up on things well,” Zelma said. Jethro nodded. She'd gotten some help somewhere to elevate and expand her little school and home. It was up a meter off the ground, off the frozen ground.
“My brother was killed,” Jethro said.
Red looked up at him with sad eyes then patted him gently. She nuzzled into his lap more. “I'm sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too,” he murmured, resting his head on hers as his eyes closed. “Me too.”
Chapter 36
Arkangel got the report of General Busche's whereabouts from several of his sources and sat on it for several days as he worked a few people to get confirmation. It was too easy, too … down pat. It bothered him, nagging at him. But it was too promising a lead to sit on for too long; if he didn't pass it on, Locke or some other busy body would and he'd be left holding the bag.
<(>~^~<(>
“This is it. The Baroness has finally slipped up. We've gotten word that she's stopped moving her HQ and has hunkered down for the winter. She is in an abandoned lead laced gold mine four hundred kilometers away in the mountains northeast of here,” Moira stated to the assembled officers and noncoms.
Jethro instantly realized the lead lining would block their sensors. It was a perfect place to hide. Also a bit remote, so hard to get in and out of. But it was situated so that it had a commanding view of the surrounding terrain. Anything approaching up the mountains or through the passes would be noted well in advance. And no doubt the mine had side entrances and exits. Fighting them in the tunnels would be hell.
“Once word gets back to her that we know where she is, she'll undoubtedly move and quickly. We want her; we have surveillance over the area now, both in orbit and with long range drones. They are definitely there,” Moira said as Captain Lyon opened his mouth to object. She put a holo image up of the mine and people near it. She highlighted outposts and fire teams. He looked and slowly whistled.
/>
“Interlocking fields of fire … only the one approach. They've got that valley covered. Getting in will be tough, ma'am.”
“We could assault from above,” Lieutenant Shoo Mi Sung said softly.
“We are. And we're going to do an orbital hit to soften them up before our people get in. That should take out their eyes and ears. From there we're going to borrow a militia asset,” she nodded to Lieutenant Locke and Lieutenant Hawk. “And they will perform a dive to pick off any leftovers. From there the shuttles will do a parachute drop over the area. But only if the LZ is properly prepared. I'm not going to have my people cut down in the air, totally helpless.”
“Yes, ma'am. We'll get it done,” String said.
“See that you do.”
“Ma'am? What about a back door?” Ensign McAdams asked. Lieutenant Chiang nodded in agreement to the question.
“There are possibly many. So, the navy has graciously agreed to provide overwatch of the area before, during, and after we go in.”
“It's the least they can do since they can't give us assault shuttles or attack craft,” Ensign McAdams growled.
“As you were,” Moira said coldly as the others nodded or grunted in agreement. “FYI, the squadrons here on the ground will be flying air support for us.”
“Wow.”
“Yes. Count your blessings and move on.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Good. Now let's get down to the nuts and bolts of the operation. We can't be obvious about pulling people and staging them or they'll figure it out or get mischievous somewhere we uncover. So, we've got to borrow troops from various places. And we're going to turn over some of their duties over to the militia early.”
“That will keep them out of this right, ma'am?” Jethro asked, raising a hand slightly.
“Yes. That's the idea. Now …”
<(>~^~<(>
General Busche got the warning of the attack on her HQ. The spotters outside relayed word through thin cables she'd left out. The tap tap tap of the Morse code was irritating, but it was far better than a giveaway radio transmission. She just wished her engineers could have figured out how to get a proper phone into the setup on either end.
“Ma'am, what do we do?” Colonel Pauling asked. “We've got close to two thousand troops there!”
“Closer to fifteen hundred actually,” the General said mildly, watching the plot. “All a part of my master plan. Implement Operation Odious.” She looked up to him and then to the communications runner. She snapped her fingers to the rating, and he took off.
“Ma'am?” the colonel asked as the rating beat feet out of the area.
“Just do it!” She snarled, eying him. This was no time to get cold feet. She'd already gambled; now it was time to see if the gamble and sacrifice would pay off.
“Yes, ma'am!”
She saw the line get cut. She checked the video feed outside in time to see a blinding kinetic strike tear into the troops outside the cavern. The ice and snow outside the cavern were now a distant memory in a corner of her mind though. The guys who bitched about being out in it now had some heat like they wanted. Pity it was hellfire. “Better expedite it,” she growled as she looked at the clock.
“Yes, ma'am!”
She flipped her implants to another video feed and then primed the self-destruct package. She checked it, then disabled it lest someone trace the electrical signals.
<(>~^~<(>
Once the orbital strikes softened up the targets, it was the Wolf's turn. They had staged the lone attack craft as well five squads of handpicked Marines west of the mines, in fact on the other side of the chain of mountains. They came in over the final mountain and then dived instead of overshooting and coming back in to approach from the east.
Wolf dove head first to the LZ and started firing rockets and rail gun rounds into the two emplacements left as well as the half open mine. “That should keep their heads down!” Dom said with a grin in his voice from the back seat. “Hey String, aren't you going to pull up now?” String? Striiing?” Dom's voice rose in a quavering wail as the main engines cut out. The sponson engines moved and then kicked, moving the aircraft away from the rock face and then moved again, dropping the tail. Then they swiveled a third time facing down and kicked on full burner.
The craft came in to a screaming halt a meter off the deck. She hovered there facing the entrance as dispassionate eyes and sensors plotted out motion and heat sources in the fire blackened cavern. Then the weapons lit again, cutting the enemy down.
Dom coughed, chocking back on his urge to vomit. He could see the shuttles coming in overhead. “LZ secure. Make it snappy people, we ain't got all day here,” he growled over the radio link.
“Roger that. Marines away!” a voice replied. A moment later he could see beings jumping from the aircraft into the open night air. One by one they spread out, then their falls were arrested as their parachutes deployed.
“We'll stay here until they are on the ground,” String said coldly.
Dom checked the stat board. The sponson engines were a bit overheated but within tolerances. But they were out of ordinance and down to forty-three rounds on the main guns. “String? You check the ammo? You know we're almost out, right?”
“Yeah, but they don't know that.”
<(>~^~<(>
Colonel Pauling swore viciously as he saw the complete and utter chaos outside. Everyone was dead, and that shocked him by how abrupt it was. They hadn't even tried to assault the site, to check to see if they were militia or not. Just brutal hammering, something he expected from his side but hadn't thought the Feds were capable of. Obviously he'd been wrong. But when he glanced at the General she seemed perfectly calm. “Ma'am?”
“Stick to the plan,” she said serenely, checking the clock and video screens around them.
“But losses so far …”
“Are higher than expected but still within acceptable limits. I regret the loss of the heavy weapons teams and the sensor arrays.” She really regretted the arrays more. She'd thought they would have come in for a conventional drop allowing her people to hit some of the aircraft on the way in. Apparently not she thought. The weapon teams had been manned by a mix of partisans and Horathian troops with implants. Again, she, like the colonel, had thought they would have gotten a shot off but apparently that hadn't been in the cards. It seems that White Wolf was a professional as well.
“Sometimes Lady Luck's grace shines on the enemy. But we'll be the ones standing triumphant when this is over,” she said with conviction, lifting her chin in a show to her watching officers and troops.
<(>~^~<(>
“Go, go go!” the cargo master bellowed as the light changed from red to green. Jethro bound out the back of the shuttle first, making the drop in his armor. When he hit air, he went into stealth and waited on deploying his chute to the last minute.
His sensors were probing, but only on passives, drinking in the video, audio, and infrared feeds from the terrain and cave. Bast processed the information and immediately came up with an updated map. She transmitted it to the shuttle over a laser link then kept it up-to-date as they got closer to the ground.
When the chute did deploy, he dangled there, helpless and exposed for a minute until he was twenty meters above the ground, then he released the chute's harness and dropped soundlessly to the battered ground below.
He dropped to all fours, surveyed the situation, and then stayed on all fours as he ran for the entrance. His job was to get in, assess the situation, and scout ahead. To send back detailed information for the follow-on strike but not to engage if he could help it. Something told him that last order was a bit of wishful thinking on the Major's part.
Jethro bound under the 222 attack craft, dodging through the swirls of hit wash and embers the aircraft and fires kicked up and then into the entrance of the cave. Immediately Bast sensed the cameras and sensor feeds that the fires and weapon fire from the aircraft had missed. She put their locations up o
n his HUD along with their field of view.
As he passed a few of them, he ripped them out. It was simply a matter of reaching them, grabbing and yanking them until the cords snapped and then crushing the remote. He dropped the remains and kept going deeper into the cave.
To those without enhanced eyes, it was dark, but with the active sensors from the attack craft behind him, it might as well have been lit like day. His passives could see everything in crystal clarity.
Arkangel's intelligence sources had led them to what they thought was the mother lode in the abandoned mine, Busche's command HQ battalion. Radio intercepts had confirmed something was there in the cave. The IR signatures outside and the distinct signature of the radar and lidar arrays where they didn't belong, and also the telltale signs of energy weapons had made it clear it was a hostile base. He hoped it was; he owed them some payback. It was time to end the hunt, to capture or kill them and secure the planet so he could return home.
Behind him Jethro could see the IFFs of Captain Lyon's Recon Marine squads behind the aircraft. As they moved in, they took shelter behind some of the rocks near the entrance and the aircraft slowly pitched her nose up and rose up and out of the area.
As the aircraft left, so did some of the clarity of Jethro's sensors. But he still had the last sweeps to go on, plus his own passives. What he was seeing wasn't impressive so far. A lot of rocks and rubble from a partial cave in caused by the weapons fire. Here and there a piece of a body or equipment stuck out, or bits of wood from the structural bracing.
When he got to the corner he slowed and then stopped. His ears swiveled, catching the hints of harsh breathing, the occasional cough from the dust and smoke, and the brush of fabric and boots. The snicks of weapons being readied told him to move and alert those behind him.
He twisted and flattened himself on the side just in time for the first man to scream “Let's go!” and rush around the corner. He wasn't screaming, apparently he thought that would alert the troops, but he did get past Jethro.