Storm Force: Book Three of the Last Legion Series

by Chris Bunch

  “These beings — I can hardly bring myself to call them women and men — at the bar show their horrible guilt in their bearing, their furtive expressions, and I doubt that the State will require more than a few moments to find them most guilty of all the charges they’re accused of.

  “The four accused are Garvin Jaansma …”

  Garvin tried to look unfurtive as Vishinsk shouted on. The courtroom was huge, with stainless-steel paneling instead of wood. There were few spectators, but many vids, covering the four from every angle. Paired guards with blasters at port arms stood at the two main doors, another pair at the door to the judge’s chambers.

  Vishinsk sat at a high podium, with two flags — Garvin assumed Larix and Kura — and a more-than-life-size holo of Protector Redruth, dressed in the same red-and-black robes the judge wore, behind him.

  Garvin noted in Redruth’s society the judge and prosecutor were combined in a single man, which certainly made matters convenient.

  There also didn’t seem to be any jury present, so Garvin guessed Vishinsk would present the charges, listen to whatever defense was presented, and reach an equitable verdict.

  Garvin was very glad he wasn’t Larissan or Kuran, especially a guilty Larissan or Kuran. Or an innocent one, for that matter. He supposed, from what little Yoshitaro had told him about his past, Njangu might find this sort of “justice” familiar.

  It was tempting just to let everything wash over him, and worry about what, exactly, Njangu had planned. He hadn’t told any of the prisoners anything. Garvin wondered why, then realized Yoshitaro was afraid Miuss would try again, covertly, with his drugs.

  That was quite sensible, and part of standard procedure for anyone without a need to know knowing nothing.

  But Garvin Jaansma liked it damned little.

  • • •

  “I’m most impressed with your performance,” Maev told the assembled noncoms of her special unit. “I think, if your security test goes, in practice, as smoothly as our mapboard trials have, there will be not only medals, but promotions.

  “I think I shall be able to increase that probability, since I’ve been chosen by Protector Redruth to monitor your performance from his private headquarters.

  “I’m disappointed, of course, that I won’t be able to lead you in person. But I have great faith in your ability to make the day of execution one that no one will ever forget.”

  You, not to mention Njangu, and hopefully a whole gaggle of his friends, she thought.

  • • •

  The first day of the trial had been confined to reading the long list of charges, and hearing Judicate Blayer squeaking “Innocent” or “Not to be Proven” to each of them.

  On the second day, Vishinsk ran through the witnesses he would offer, and how he would take the people, step by step, through the nefarious deeds the raiders had committed before they were finally brought down.

  • • •

  Njangu’s final com consisted of one coded word:

  “Go.”

  He shut the transmitter down and sprayed the inside of the phony rock with solvent that’d melt the components into a nice unanalyzable blob.

  • • •

  Judicate and Leiter Vishinsk had just presented the first holo of Kura Four, with skillful animation showing how the raiders had been inserted, when two velv popped out of hyperspace. The single Nana-boat guarding the nav point didn’t have time for a challenge or alarm before missiles blew it apart.

  Seconds later, two transports, four Kelly-class destroyers and seven more velv, with mounted aksai, came out of N-space and drove for Larix.

  The testimony droned on, and court was finally adjourned.

  The four Cumbrians were escorted back to their ACV, booted in, and leg shackles fastened. One of the guards growled something threatening, was backhanded for overstepping his bounds by his warrant.

  The lifter took off, and the three ACVs started back for the sanitarium.

  • • •

  Njangu grounded the lim on a hilltop that gave him line of sight to the sanitarium, less than a kilometer away.

  “What’s wrong, sir?” Goon Alpha asked, weapon coming into his hand, as he scanned the ground around them.

  “Nothing,” Njangu said. “I want to watch the prisoners come in from up here, make sure there aren’t any gaps in our security.”

  He lifted the lim’s canopy, got out, stretched. His bodyguards came out, moved ahead of him, eyes scanning the brush for any threats.

  A gun was in Njangu’s hand, and he aimed carefully, shooting Alpha in the back. As he went down, Beta turned, a stunned expression on his face. Yoshitaro shot him in the neck, corrected his aim and put another bolt through his chest as he fell. He checked the bodies. Both were dead.

  • • •

  “Take over and carry out the simulated attack,” Maev ordered, and the noncom saluted, spun to the waiting Protector’s Own.

  “Weapons ready … all right, like we’ve been ordered, we’re pretending we’re trying to take the Palace of Justice. Come on now, move out! At the double!”

  The twenty-four men, in open formation, trotted down a passageway toward the Palace of Justice.

  Maev jumped back in the lifter and went at full speed toward the sanitarium.

  On the palace grounds, alarms screamed as the running, armed men were spotted.

  • • •

  An infantry officer of one of the units guarding the road between the palace and the sanitarium heard his com shrill, had the receiver in his hand.

  “Sixty Squad, Nair.”

  “The Palace of Justice is under attack!” the com squawked. There was no ID, but Nair recognized his superior’s voice. “Pull back to your transports and proceed immediately to the palace for further orders!”

  “What about the road security?”

  “Diddle the goddamned road! Protector Redruth could be in danger!”

  Nair was shouting orders as he shut off the com, and bewildered men piled out of their weapons pits, ran toward their ACVs as equally perplexed pilots and gunners started the drives.

  • • •

  Security officers were momentarily stunned, then reacted with grim competence. There had been a plot, the goddamned Gray Avengers existed, and they were after the Cumbrians. Thank Redruth the criminals weren’t still in the courtroom. The officers wondered, as they gave orders for full alert and shoot on sight, what had gone wrong with the plotters’ timing.

  Seconds later, high overhead, patrol ships reported unknown ships in-atmosphere. The Cumbrians struck hard, driving through the unready defense.

  Below lay their target, Larix’s Palace of Justice.

  Aboard the lead Kelly, Mil Liskeard watched the ground close, wished the target was that damned Redruth, wished whoever’d given them their targets, who must have some good ground intel, had also been able to find out where the Protector was skulking. Hell, maybe Redruth was right in the center of the target area. Liskeard hoped so.

  “Target … acquired,” his weapons officer said.

  “Fire one through three,” Liskeard said, and three Goddards slashed down toward the Palace of Justice.

  • • •

  The three ACVs in the prisoner convoy were in view. Njangu counted, watched as the lead Ayesha closed on the crossroads guarded with three now-empty weapons positions.

  “And two, and one, and go,” he said, touched the detonator switch.

  The three charges concealed in the sandbags exploded as one, catching the Ayesha as it flew overhead. The ACVs gyros tumbled, and the ship skidded sideways, rolled onto its back, smashed into the ground and exploded.

  The rear Ayesha banked, gun and missile crews coming to full alert, looking for a target.

  The ACV carrying the prisoners dropped, hit hard on the road, skidding into cover behind a stone building just beyond the crossroads.

  The Ayesha sent a rocket into the boiling smoke from the blast, accomplishing nothing, as a pair of aksai ca
me out of the setting sun. Two rockets from each ship hit the Ayesha, and fire balled where it had been.

  • • •

  Dr. Miuss was examining a holo of a human body, its skin stripped away, stimulating certain nerves to see, in slow motion, which nerve centers received the pain impulse first, when the briefcase on the desk across from him exploded.

  The blast tumbled him back through a table laden with glass labware, then into a fume cabinet.

  Nurses were in the lab almost instantly. They thought they were well used to horror, but the man hanging upside down, impaled on a shard of supposedly blast-resistant clear plas, spurting blood as if he’d been razor-slashed a thousand times, sickened them.

  By the time they found a way to get Miuss down, he’d bled to death.

  • • •

  The Goddards smashed into the center of the Palace of Justice. Judicates Vishinsk and Blayer were in Vishinsk’s chambers, going over their notes for the next day’s testimony, when the first missile went off. They had a moment to look up, to feel terror, and an explosion ripped away the roof, and turned them into a red-gray-white mosaic on one of the steel walls.

  • • •

  “None of you shitheads move,” the guard said, turned in his seat, weapon held ready on the four Cumbrians. “If anybody’s trying to break you out, I’ll have to — ”

  “Knock it off,” the pilot said. “There’s that Leiter … what’s his name, Yohns, waving at us.” Automatically his voice went mechanical: “Watch yourselves. Ramp coming open.”

  Both ramps dropped, and Njangu ducked into the ship.

  “We’re being hit by social misfits,” he said. “Stand by to take off.”

  “Yessir,” the pilot said. “But — ”

  “I’m countermanding my own orders. Come on, man, move! I’ll watch theses bastards.”

  The guard turned to the front, and Njangu shot him in the back of his helmet. The blaster noise deafened Yoshitaro as the blood, plas, and gray matter sprayed across the controls. He shot the pilot, and he slumped forward, onto his instruments.

  The four, even Garvin, gaped.

  Njangu pulled compound bolt cutters from a pouch, quickly cut the four’s leg irons.

  “Anytime, people,” Njangu said. “It’s time to go home.”

  The prisoners were on their feet, pushing toward the ramp. Garvin grabbed Njangu by the arm.

  “Thanks for thinking of us,” he said.

  “See what happens when you try to do something solo?” Njangu responded. “Hope you learned your lesson.”

  Garvin had enough strength to growl, then pushed past, into sunlight, just as a lighter grounded in front of them, and Maev Stiofan jumped out, pistol in hand. The prisoners flinched, then realized the woman must be on their side, since she wasn’t shooting them.

  “We’re going home in that lifter?” Lir managed, then two Kellys were overhead, the armed transports behind them. They lowered, crushing the buildings on either side of the road, and ports slid open. The prisoners didn’t wait for orders, but ran, stiffly, awkwardly, toward the transports.

  “Come on, Maev,” Njangu said. “I want to introduce you to some friends of mine.”

  • • •

  Aksai, velv, and Kellys swept across the government compound, firing with missiles at anything bigger than a man, chainguns at anything on two legs.

  Sometime in the swirling chaos, the last of Maev’s fanatics died, either killed by the Cumbrians or by Larissan security troops.

  A rocket coming from above missed an aksai by a few meters, exploded against a tower and the tower lifted as if it wanted to become a rocket, collapsed.

  “Gotcha, gotcha, gotcha,” Ben Dill said, as he rolled over the top, acquired the Nana-boat that had tried to shoot down the other aksai, blew it apart.

  A voice came in his headphone:

  “All recovery elements, disengage. I say again, disengage and withdraw.”

  “Aw,” Dill whined, “and Ben was just starting to have fun.”

  • • •

  Mil Angara stood on the field at Camp Mahan, watched the formation of ships settle toward him.

  “How long did you say the raid took?”

  “Less than ten E-minutes,” Hedley said. “In, down up, and gone. Just like that.”

  “I heard the report,” Angara said. “And I know all the goddamned tac manuals talk about the virtue of surprise. But I still don’t believe no goddamned casualties.”

  “Actually, there was one. Some crewman on one of the destroyers broke his leg on a missile loader. But, yessir, no real casualties. Probably a bad thing, sir,” Hedley said. “Probably make them flipping overconfident, won’t it?”

  Angara started to snarl, saw Hedley’s grin.

  “Oh yeh,” Hedley went on. “Revision on that casualty list. A certain Cent Ben Dill reports a torn hangnail, getting out of his aksai, and wants another wound stripe.”

  CHAPTER

  16

  Larix/Larix Prime

  “Larix and Kura have taken enough from the brigands of Cumbre,” Protector Redruth ranted into the corns. “This last offense is intolerable.

  “Cumbre has repeatedly refused any peaceful settlements of our differences, and has responded with outrageous force, proving that Cumbre has no intention of respecting our worlds and, in fact, clearly intends to take them over.

  “Not only have we been attacked by these barbarians, but there have been certain traitors who’ve sold out their birthright to the Cumbrians for gold.

  “Now is the day our enemies, both within and without, are to be extirpated!

  “It is with deep regret, but remembering my duty to the men and women of Larix and Kura, I must announce that a state of war now exists between Cumbre and Larix/Kura.

  “From this moment forward, force will be met with force, until our soldiers grasp ultimate victory, and the spoils of Cumbre are ours!”

  CHAPTER

  17

  Cumbre/D-Cumbre

  Garvin Jaansma was awarded the Order of Merit, the Force’s third-highest medal, which he hadn’t wanted to accept, since the raid had been a failure. Njangu told him not to make waves. He himself was damned well going to take his Star of Gallantry, the second-highest decoration, and wear it on his goddamned kepi or maybe tape it on his nose, and Jaansma had best not screw up the ceremony. Garvin backed down, after a bit of consideration, took the medal, and thanked Caud Angara in a very humble manner.

  The other military survivors got Silver Crosses, and the casualties posthumous Bronze Crosses. The enlisted also got promoted a grade. Monique Lir was now Adj-Prem, the highest enlisted rank the Force had, even though her job slot didn’t call for the rank.

  • • •

  Grig Angara, Jon Hedley, and Angara’s staff had finished a quiet meal in a private dining room of the Shelburne Hotel. The room had been swept for bugs, and three security techs lurked unobtrusively outside against electronic intruders.

  “A question about work, sir?” Angara’s III Section, Operations, Mil Ken Fong, asked.

  “As if we’ve been talking about anything else,” Angara said. “Go ahead.”

  “Going to basics, just how are we going to fight Larix/Kura? Have you developed a strategy yet?”

  Angara drank tea and considered his answer.

  “Ideally, we’d be able to mount the old Confederation special: Send a fleet, punt some missiles in to get their attention, tell them they’re going to be good boys from now on, and if the slightest objection came, invade.”

  “All we lack for that to be a flipping option,” Hedley said, “is a fleet. Assorted steel and alloys in shipyards still a-welding don’t generally fight that well.”

  “Not to mention,” the Personnel officer said, “the Force is undermanned for any major campaign. Assuming the old rule holds true, that you need at least ten to one odds to win an opposed invasion.”

  “Ah, but our morale soars and our hearts are pure, which gives us a mighty edge,”
Erik Penwyth said cynically, and there was a ripple of amusement.

  “There is a bit of truth to that,” Hedley said. “Yoshitaro’s reports suggest there’s some conscript sullenness in Redruth’s army. Which doesn’t mean they won’t die well under certain circumstances, or that certain elite elements in the army aren’t brave. Still.”

  “And why aren’t our noble heroes present?” someone asked.

  “This is just one of my unofficial-idea dinners,” Angara said. “I don’t pull people back from leave unless there’s an emergency.”

  “It seems before there’s any kind of invasion, they’ll have to be whittled down somewhat,” Hedley said.

  “I suppose, since I’m not one of those fools who believes strategic air does anything but make big holes in the ground, sir,” Fong asked, “there’s no way we could bash them somewhat, then ignore them?”

  “I don’t think,” Angara said, “that Protector Redruth would accept a bashing, shut up, and mind his own business. He appears to be one of those sea monsters who’s got to keep swimming, or, in his case, looking for enemies, or he drowns.”

  “I agree,” Hedley said. “Let’s face it. Sooner or later, unless they suddenly show up with wrapped presents, and saying they lost our com number and they’re ever so sorry, we’re going to have to go find out what happened to the Confederation. Which means prepared to deal with whatever enemies done ‘em in.

  “And the last thing I want, when we do that, is a flipping open wound like Larix on my flanks.”

  • • •

  Maev had to lean close to Njangu and almost shout above the music:

  “I love it!”

  “Love what?”

  “All this.” She waved her arm around the crowded, dimly lit club. “I can get roaring drunk, and there won’t be any goddamned monitors making sure I’m not thinking anything disloyal; there aren’t any assholes wondering if there’s some way they could back-shoot me and call it a duel; and nobody’s looking to hop in bed with anybody else because it’d help his or her career.” She sighed happily.

  Njangu sipped his wine and stretched like a contented cat. Noise, people, music, good wine … why in the hell did he keep insisting on going into places without any of the basic necessities, especially when the people in those places kept trying to kill him?