by John Ringo
“I have meetings scheduled—” Megan snapped.
“Cancel them,” Edmund replied. “We’ve got the training facility surrounded by a fortified camp, now, with the whole Seventh Legion parked around it. If these things can get through six thousand legionnaires, we might as well throw in the towel now!”
“Oooh,” Shanea said. “More soldiers!” She paused and her pretty brow furrowed. “Six thousand… how long will that take…?”
Herzer had already done the math.
“Two hundred nights,” he sighed.
“Damn,” Shanea muttered. “Not even a year!”
“You could repeat,” Herzer pointed out.
“What’s the fun in that?”
Megan groaned and buried her face in her hands.
“Van Krief, Destrang,” Herzer said as the lieutenants entered the apartment. “Good to see you again. The lieutenant’s pips look good on you.”
“Commander,” Lieutenant Van Krief replied, formally. Amosis Van Krief was a small, heavily muscled blonde with her hair pulled back in a bun to reveal a face all made of angled planes. Small, sharp, nose, square jaw and high cheekbones.
“Hey, Herzer,” Destrang said, waving languidly. The lieutenant was tall as his counterpart was short, with light brown hair that was worn a tad long and long, rangy limbs that were covered with whipcord muscles. Where Van Krief seemed to march everywhere, her face pushed forward as if she were looking for a wall to smash, Destrang could stroll while marching in formation. “It’s got to be bad if you’ve called us for help.”
“Actually, I just recalled that you’d never finished that paper on the Inchon Campaigns and I thought this would give you an opportunity,” Herzer replied with a grin.
At that, Destrang had the grace to look abashed at least.
Herzer had been an instructor at the Officer Basic course when he was drawn out to accompany Duke Edmund to Newfell Base. That was where the new fleet was being formed and as they approached their first real conflict Queen Sheida came to the conclusion that an unbiased and knowledgeable observer was in order. Edmund had tapped Herzer to accompany him and instructed him to pull three of the ensigns in the school as aides. Herzer had chosen Van Krief, Destrang and Tao.
The trio had ended up doing far more than serving hors d’oeuvres. After the fleet commander showed himself to be disastrously inept, Edmund had been put in command of rebuilding the fleet and the follow-on battles that the victorious New Destiny pushed. Van Krief and Destrang had been unwilling participants in the Fleet battles while Tao, who had grown up with horses, rode over half the continent, arriving with the cavalry reinforcements to cap the victory over New Destiny’s invading legions.
“I’ve been tapped with another mission,” Herzer said, letting him off the hook. “The information load is getting too heavy so I asked Edmund for some staff.”
“And what is the mission, sir?” Van Krief asked.
“Come on in the living room,” Herzer replied. “And I’ll give you an initial brief.”
When he was done, Van Krief shook her head.
“Is it just me, sir, or do I detect a lack of enthusiasm?”
“No, it’s not just you,” Herzer said. “I don’t see a good way to win this one. I know I can stalemate it, crash the ship in other words, but I don’t see a good way to ensure we get the majority of the fuel and New Destiny gets virtually none. I’ve got an idea how we can get most of what comes down, but not a way to win. I don’t like half victories. And we don’t have enough in the way of intel.”
“That’s hardly a new phenomenon,” Destrang said, shaking his head.
“And that’s going to be your job,” Herzer said, handing him a sealed envelope. “This is to be delivered to Colonel Torill at War Headquarters, Office of Special Operations. He’s our liaison at Headquarters. He’ll give you your access, including to UFS Intel Group. Get with their analysts. Look for any scrap of intel that might relate to this mission. You’ll be staying in Washan, probably working out of this building.”
“Yes, sir,” Destrang said, smiling faintly. “A capital city tour sounds much preferable to being thrown into the breach in a burning spaceship.”
Herzer grinned at him, knowing that Destrang only half meant it. The lieutenant was one of the few officers he’d met who combined a dilettante’s manner with a real feel for battle. He was as comfortable in the middle of a skirmish as he was at a dinner party. The latter was one of the reasons he’d given him this task, however.
“I understand Tao is on the way as well, sir,” Van Krief said.
“He was up with Second Legion in Balmoran,” Herzer said. “He should be here soon. You will be working on the operations order for the mission. Tao’s going to be courier for the intel Destrang develops and working with the councilwoman’s security detail. Among other things as an officer escort.”
“For the councilwoman?” Destrang asked. “Lucky chap.”
“No,” Herzer said. “For her assistants. You might have noticed that things are a bit confused around here today. We had an attack on the building last night. I’m not sure if it was directed at Megan or because New Destiny got wind we were forming another team. Whichever it was, security has been increased. And that includes for the councilwoman’s aides.”
“Ah,” Destrang said. “Well, bully on Gerson.”
“Herzer?” Shanea asked from the door. “Do you want anything?” She had gotten over her hangover and was looking as perky as usual. If anything, more perky.
“No, thank you, Shanea,” Herzer said.
“Was that one of the councilwoman’s aides?” Destrang asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes,” Herzer said, grimacing.
“Didn’t mention that, did you, sir?” Destrang asked, grinning.
“One of them will be staying here, as well,” Herzer noted. “Meredith is Megan’s political aide. She’ll be staying here to keep an eye on some of the political actions Megan has been pushing.” Herzer paused and frowned, trying to figure out how to put what he wanted to say into words. “You’re aware, in general, of Megan’s background?”
“Yes, sir,” Van Krief said sharply. “We are.”
“Well, all of her… assistants came from the same source,” Herzer said. “You’ll both be meeting Meredith I’m sure.” He looked at Destrang, frowning and shrugged. “I’d strongly advise against setting your lance, Lieutenant. Strongly advise against it. Meredith can kill your career with a word and… she would do so if you gave her offense. Clear?”
“Clear,” Destrang said quietly.
“She can be rather… cold when you first get to know her,” Herzer continued. “And generally stays that way.”
“Clear,” Destrang repeated.
“Just… use your best judgment,” Herzer said. “And speaking of best judgment; you’re both going to be exposed to some very high level information in this job. And Destrang, at least, is going to be moving around people who are not cleared for this information. Don’t be a source, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” the lieutenants chorused.
“Destrang, you’ve been working in intel for the last few months?”
“I’ve been analyzing data from some of the activity in the southwest, sir,” Destrang said. “It’s all been low-level stuff and the position is only classified confidential.”
“Any training on how to avoid giving away information?” Herzer asked.
“Oh, and in gathering it, sir,” Destrang said with a chuckle. “Done a bit of it just to keep in training. You approach a person in a natural setting, give them a tidbit of information that indicates that you know all about what they’re doing then ‘talk shop.’ There are other techniques.”
“How do you guard against it?” Herzer asked. He realized as he asked the question that he had never had a class in information control. Generally, he just didn’t talk about anything that might be useful information.
“Never discuss your job with anyone you don’t know is
cleared, sir,” Destrang answered. “When someone you don’t know is cleared wants to talk shop, talk shop about their job or change the subject. Never admit that anything they say as an assumption is true.”
“Hmph,” Herzer said, wondering how many times he’d been probed over the years. He also knew that one of the first rules of leadership is knowing when to admit ignorance and when not. “Good answer. Keep it in mind in this job. You, too, Van Krief.”
“Yes, sir,” Destrang said.
“How long have you been living here, sir?” Van Krief asked, changing the subject.
“Four months,” Herzer said. “I’ve been assigned to ops working on warplans for the upcoming invasion. And, of course, swaining Megan around to parties,” he added, frowning. “But that’s out the window for the time being. We’ll be leaving sometime tomorrow. This afternoon, I’ll brief in Van Krief on what we’re looking at. This evening I’ve got meetings with command on preliminary plans.”
“And those are?” Van Krief asked.
“When I figure that out, I’ll tell you,” Herzer admitted.
“So that’s what we’re looking at,” Herzer said, gesturing at the schematic that was laid out on the living room floor. “We won’t know where we’re going to dock until we get there. No team can be trained to simply go for a single objective because it will depend upon where they dock. And there are three potential objectives. Which one we strike at first depends on the distribution of our forces.”
“That’s why they went with all soldiers in the first wave,” Van Krief said, nodding at the briefing papers.
“Right,” Herzer said. “And they were going to bore for the control center, no matter what. Unless we’re concentrated near the control center, I’m going to bore for the one spot nobody should care about.”
“Where?” Van Krief asked, sliding her hand over the schematic. “Engineering?”
“Nope,” Herzer said. “Maintenance.”
Chapter Eleven
Chansa waited in the reflection dappled dimness as Reyes strode down the corridor of pillars.
The meeting had been, perforce, in Celine’s domain since it was in person and Celine refused to go beyond the walls of the Nira valley. The chosen venue was an ancient temple, once ruined and now restored to much of its former glory, a building of massive pillars supporting a heavy, and heavily carved, roof. The sides of the building, which was perched at the top of a high bluff, were open to hot, dry winds and the view to the east revealed apparently limitless deserts. To the west was a broad river valley touched by green and crisscrossed by irrigation ditches and which was, again, limited to the west by another bluff and more desert.
Each of the New Destiny council members had claimed broad lands, but Celine’s were relatively limited; she controlled only the Nira valley but it was hers in a way that Frika, for example, which was titularly Chansa’s, was not. He had afforded himself only a brief glance of the surroundings but it was clear that it bore all the hallmarks of Celine’s touch.
Celine Reinshafen was a short woman with dark brown hair and skin that was tanned a light brown by the desert sun. At first glance she appeared entirely normal, except for the Key around her neck. Then, when you looked at her eyes, it was clear that she was no longer of this world. She was New Destiny’s premier designer of “specialized biologicals” which even Chansa had come to call “monsters.” Celine called them her “pets.” It was in Celine’s labs that the orcs and ogres that made up the bulk of Chansa’s forces had first been developed. It was from Celine’s mind that methods for creating the horribly Changed elves sprung, full-blown, as if some latter day, evil, Athena Nike. Thousands of them were being grown in darkness; in tenebrous chambers where weird fungal growths digested noisome refuse to feed the pods. It was from Celine that specialized assassination forms had come, modifications to dragons that made them more effective at combat, all of the monsters that were New Destiny’s weapons in the war.
And unlike Chansa and Reyes, she appeared unprotected by a field. There were times at meetings like this that Chansa considered removing her from the world of the living. Of swiftly drawing his massive sword and cutting her head from her body, a wound that not even Mother would heal.
But he never did. For one thing, he knew he needed her. The Freedom Coalition had been victorious in too many battles to remove any edge. For another reason, he doubted that she was unprotected and he knew in his bones that he, Chansa, would never survive even if he managed to kill her.
Unlike Chansa, who was in powered armor, Reyes was dressed for the weather in a light shirt and shorts colored pink and green. He was a slender, wiry man with a shock of blond hair and a face that was more beautiful than handsome: thin, delicate chin, high cheekbones and full, red lips. He looked like an angel that had just stepped out of a painting by a Renaissance master. Beside him, Chansa looked like a giant troll.
Chansa knew that the innocent face and expression held a mind that reveled in things that made even his skin crawl. The orcs that made up Chansa’s legions were cruel and vicious things but within that cruelty he tried to manage them as humanely as he could. Like Celine, however, Reyes positively reveled in cruelty. Chansa had been required to sack more than one town in the quest to dominate Ropasa. When Reyes took a town it ceased to exist. The men and children were tortured to death and any of the women that didn’t catch his eye were turned over to his Durgar for brutality that made Chansa’s stomach wrench. Those that did catch his eye were, if anything, in worse condition if for no other reason than that Reyes took longer to kill them.
Chansa knew that by siding with Paul Bowman in this revolt, he had chosen the side of darkness. Paul wanted to remake the world and no matter how that was done, it would inflict pain upon those who lived in it. But Paul, for all that he seemed to be going mad towards the end, had, at heart, been a good person. He had wanted to do good in the world. Others of the “first Council” had agreed that the world simply needed a good shaking up to bring it out of its sink of apathy and stagnation before the human race disappeared from boredom.
Reyes and the others that had come into the New Destiny Council after its casualties in the first days of the war, and since, were in it purely for the power. Direct power over humans that they could torment as a child tortures insects. He wished there was some way to simply erase them and start over, along with Celine and the Demon. But they were all he had to work with and, perforce, he used them, as they used him, to satisfy his own ambitions.
As Reyes approached, Chansa noticed that there was a swirling field around him that lifted the sand off the floor and tossed it in swirls of color.
“Very pretty,” Chansa said when Reyes closed. “Good to see you looking well and enjoying yourself.”
“Oh, it’s far more than pretty,” Reyes said, smiling beatifically. “Chansa, Celine,” he added, with a slight bow.
“It’s a grav field,” Celine snapped.
“It is indeed,” Reyes replied, smiling again to reveal perfect, white teeth. “Now that the Freedom Coalition has your protection field neutralizing nannites, I thought it best to create an outer defense. Just to protect against Coalition assassins, of course.”
“Of course,” Chansa said dryly. Paul Bowman had ordered at least one assassination to retain control among the members of the ND Council. Reyes was protecting himself against far more than just New Destiny’s enemies.
“So you want me to retake the fuel ship?” Reyes said, coming to the point. “I suppose I can manage that. I’ve uploaded the schematics of the ship and the weak points are obvious. I also agree with the basic plan.”
“You’ll need to take the control room,” Chansa noted. “Which is going to be where the UFS forces head as well.”
“It’s definitely the UFS that will be used?” Reyes asked. “After Celine’s… efficient removal of their first team, I’d wondered. Ishtar has some… good fighters,” he added bitterly.
“So she does,” Chansa said neutrally. Reyes
and Jassinte Arizzi had been thoroughly defeated by those forces. In Chansa’s opinion, that was less due to the quality of Ishtar’s forces than the bungling of Arizzi. But he wasn’t going to suggest that to one of the generals that had lost. “But we’re certain they will stay with the UFS managing the attack. Among other things, although we got the fighters and techs, the UFS still retains all the base-line instruction materials and training facilities. Dwarven Mining Consolidated is handling all the ground support. They’ll pull together a scratch team. I’d even lay odds on who they’ll chose.”
“Edmund Talbot?” Celine asked. “I am sure I can eliminate him.”
“Not Talbot,” Chansa said. “He’s a bit too old for ongoing combat. No, it will probably be Herzer Herrick. And I’d suspect that the council member will be Megan Travante.”
“Now that is a prize worth fighting for,” Reyes said with a chuckle and a lick of the lips. “I was so put out when Paul’s harem fled. Well, except for one poor, poor soul.”
Chansa bit his lip on what he was tempted to say and nodded.
“Herrick’s Talbot’s number one protégé,” Chansa noted. “He’s trained in a very hard school, extremely flexible and a dangerous opponent.”
“I understand he’s been a thorn in your side more than once?” Reyes said with a slight smile.
“Yes. But you’ll have your Durgar and, of course, Celine has her… additions,” Chansa said. “But I would like to commend your attention to a person of some ability I would suggest you use. Tur-uck!”
A Ropasan orc came from beyond one of the pillars, his head bowed, and threw himself to his hands and knees in the presence of the Great Ones.
“This is Group Leader Tur-uck,” Chansa said. “While most of the orcs that Celine makes seem to have been lobotomized in the Change, this one can actually use his brains for something other than keeping his ears apart.”