by John Carr
Deathmaster Quilland pointed to the ground.”This must be a ruse,” he said, as they banked left to avoid an antique missile.
Stahler fired off an answering missile, and saw a satisfying blossom of flame and smoke rise from a missile battery. Some of the tilt-rotor gun-ships spat bullets, some complex frequencies of sound waves, just beyond the range of the defender’s weapons. Half-a-dozen of the defenders fell to the ground.
According to some captives from Evaskar there was only a company or so of under-supplied city militia garrisoned in the fort. With modern weapons, a battalion of good troops, and plenty of supplies, this fortification could holdout forever. It would take a nuke to put it out of commission.
It was hard to believe that the Haveners had left it almost deserted. He knew this was a backwater, but this strategic travesty was just plain irresponsible.
The winds were not so tricky high over the fort, since they were now well out of the Pass itself. Stahler watched as one of the gunships landed, troops rolling out and into the inner courtyard. There was sporadic fire from the defenders, but the circling gunships returned fire before the Haveners could change position. More missiles flew up, one of them almost grazing a gunship. The return fire was devastating, clouds of smoke rolled through the fort.
As they circled above the carnage, the Deathmaster studied the screens and called out orders in Battle Tongue into a microphone.
“This place is nothing less than a gift to the first well-armed invader,” Stahler said.
“And here we are,” Quilland agreed quietly.
As Stahler watched, more of the tilt rotors landed and discharged troopers. The missile batteries appeared to be silenced, for now. Soldiers dashed into doorways, flew across the courtyards, climbed up sheer walls and towers as they stormed the fortress. Occasional pockets of Evaskar militia returned fire, but as soon as they began to group into fire teams the gunships opened up on them.
Within minutes firing had almost ceased. Organized squads of Saurons now patrolled the courtyards and held the walls of Fort Stony Point. An occasional shot rang out, but for the most part the fighting appeared to be over.
“Objective secure,” came the first reports.
From the time the first Soldier had hit the ground, less than seven minutes had elapsed.
Quilland turned on the ship communicator and reported their success to First Rank Diettinger. He finished with: “Opposition has ceased, First Rank. No prisoners. I’ll leave a company to hold the fort from any cattle counter-attack.”
“Good,” Diettinger answered, satisfied. He signed off.
Quilland said, “Let’s check the lower Pass.”
The rotor swept in ever-larger circuits of the battleground, then broke away to the south. They descended the steep southern slope toward the cattle outposts that guarded the lower end of the Karakul Pass. At the northern end, the Karakul Pass held giant stone and concrete walls, earthworks, even towering wooden gates, to guard the Shangri-La from the nomads of the northern steppes. While at the southern entrance, there were only a few crumbling stone walls and a bunker with half-a-dozen small figures outside, all wearing Sauron battle armor.
Quilland tapped his shoulder.
Stahler carefully piloted the craft through the strong winds, landing in front of the outpost, which up-close was more of a shack than a bunker. About half-a-dozen sprawling blood-soaked Haveners lay still in the dim sunlight.
A young Ranker ran over to the rotor. “Most of them were asleep, Deathmaster. Seven enemy casualties, no prisoners. No friendly casualties.”
“Any sign of alarm in Evaskar?”
“None, Deathmaster,” the Assault Leader answered.
“Carry on.” Stahler turned southward toward the city of Evaskar. It sat atop a series of descending plateaus; its one hundred thousand inhabitants were as ignorant of the coming holocaust as their nearby herds of sheep. Stahler set himself against a fierce chill breeze; Quilland seemed unaffected by the cold. “It’s a good day,” the Deathmaster said, climbing back into the rotor.
They flew up into the orange sky, and the city of Evaskar sprawled out below them. The stepped expanses of ramshackle stone buildings were surrounded by a low rock wall. A wide road leading to the Pass bypassed the city.
“A stone wall,” Quilland muttered, more to himself than to Stahler.
From above, it was obvious that the city had once been much larger and that buildings and houses had extended for kilometers beyond the stone walls to the south. All traffic into or out of the Shangri-La had to move past Evaskar. Once this city had been the heart of a mighty kingdom, perhaps during the early Imperial rule.
It’s seen some hard times since the Empire left, Stahler thought. But not as hard as some, he added, thinking of bomb-swept cities in the central Valley.
“Return,” Quilland ordered.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Between Evaskar and the mountainside redoubt called Fort Stony Point was Firebase One, the landing site for shuttles, as well as the staging area for the upcoming ground invasion. Stahler studied the firebase, its Landing Zone a clean scar on the ground, its carefully laid out bunkers and buildings as familiar as any and every base camp he’d ever lived in. This time, he thought, it’s different - this time, it’s home.
He had never thought he’d call any place but Sauron home, but Sauron was gone - forever. Damn you all! You culls may have won the war, but I hope it costs you everything!
They circled through the winds back to the air space above Fort Stony Point, where Stahler and Quilland saw smoke here and there, and Soldiers fighting fires. No more cattle to fight, thought Stahler. The Soldiers were using shovels and dirt. Only one team was using a fire hose.
The Deathmaster monitored the Battle-Tongued situation reports, occasionally mentioning some pocket of resistance. Quilland, supremely confident of his troops, only offered advice when he had something to bring to the fight. Stahler was impressed by the Deathmaster’s complete and instant grasp of almost any tactical situation.
“There,” Quilland pointed to a pitched battle that had just ignited. Stahler took the rotor over the courtyard where the small engagement raged, shrapnel pinging against the copter’s fuselage. He caught an updraft and took the rotor away from the fighting.
He checked his display readouts and listened to his craft’s turbines and rotors carefully. “No damage showing.”
The Deathmaster grunted in answer; he was busy checking the readouts himself. Hailing the three teams in the courtyard, Quilland ordered.”Southeast corner, grenade.”
He nodded for Stahler to proceed to the next spot-check on the list, not even pausing to watch the grenade’s devastating effect on the fort’s few remaining defenders.
Occasionally, rifle bullets rang against the fuselage, but the battle for Fort Stony Point was over almost as quickly as it had begun.
“Secure,” came up from the two-man teams, one after another, as they reconnoitered the remaining buildings and fortifications.
“This place is vast, a labyrinth,” an intel Ranker reported.
“Circle the fort once more,” Quilland ordered.
As they flew over the complicated, ring-walled, much-ruined and much-repaired tier of structures, the Deathmaster studied them with the intensity of a Sauron Nightfang eyeing its prey. Quilland had Stahler fly closer here, fly slower there, hover over this or that courtyard. He nodded to himself now and then.
“We can use this,” he muttered.
The Deathmaster often turned to look at the Karakul Pass, which narrowed a third of the way through, dog-legged, then widened and dog-legged again before narrowing to about half-a-mile of bumpy hillocks. The northeastern side was almost sheer, straight up for about ten kilometers, while the southern side gradually ascended though a series of foothills, to the Atlas Mountains looming above.
Fort Stony Point commanded the Pass, yet remained inaccessible to almost any ground force that didn’t have good air cover. Even Stahler co
uld see that, properly defended, this enormous fortification would be virtually invulnerable to attack; certainly by any forces that the beaten and disorganized Haveners could put together.
“It’s a citadel,” he heard Quilland mutter under his breath. Stahler could only agree; he suspected the Deathmaster had plans for it even now.
II
Water had been brought aboard the Fomoria, and Diettinger was sure he had never tasted anything so wonderful. The recycled water aboard the ship was metallic and sharp even to Sauron taste buds. It had been too long since their last planetfall.
It was twenty days since the bombardment of Haven had ended, and the ground forces had firmly established their beachhead. Diettinger was speaking with Deathmaster Quilland planetside. Quilland’s forces had just consolidated their position in a small mountain pass in the northeast corner of the Shangri-La Valley.
“By your leave, First Rank.” Quilland’s image looked fit and well, if a little flushed. Haven’s thin air took its toll, he had reported, until one got used to it. That he and his men were “getting used to” air pressures that rendered human norms delirious was immaterial; they were Saurons, after all.
“Speak, Deathmaster. You seem pleased.”
“I am, First Rank. I have the final report on the settlement area around Firebase One. The hard data is being uplinked to the Dol Guldur, but you asked for a verbal briefing when available.”
“Proceed.”
“The large valley below us, in addition to being almost completely protected by the surrounding mountain ranges, is centered on the equator and thereby enjoys higher atmospheric density than most other areas on Haven, as well as a more temperate climate. As expected, the early inhabitants concentrated their settlements in the Shangri-La Valley. Captives report that females frequently fail to carry children to term in the thin atmosphere elsewhere on Haven. The Upper Valley cattle had established a taxation system for passage when the outlying districts needed to bring their women into short-term leased areas for birthing purposes.”
Diettinger found the information encouraging. Sauron genetic engineering did not extend to providing maximum birthing capabilities among their females; in fact, quite the opposite. With high standards and constant experimentation in gene crossing, Sauron women often had difficulty in carrying fetuses to term. The advanced technology of the Sauron State had dealt with this problem through massive artificial reproduction, exo-genesis programs and embryonic vats. These options were no longer available to Diettinger’s Saurons. He felt he knew what Quilland was getting at.
“I understand your command now occupies one of the major way-stations built by the locals to regulate such access.” Diettinger gestured to the towering structure of natural stone and heavy timbers looming behind Quilland, a stronghold if ever he had seen one.
“Better than that, First Rank, this fortification is the major way-station into the Valley. The air in the upper reaches of these mountains is too thin for most of the cattle to tolerate, save for a handful of passes such as this one. Of these passes, only a few are open during the summer thaw, and of those, only this one is wide enough to allow mass transportation of personnel and trade goods.
“I recommend establishing a citadel here, with material from the Fomoria and most of our troops. There are few heavy elements here in the northeastern Shangri-La Valley, and every scrap of metal we can salvage from the ship will be of great value. It is also close to Firebase One and the city of Evaskar, a trading center we can use for our own purposes. The citadel is located in a position to regulate the flow of cattle to and from the Shangri-La Valley and its critical safe-birth zones. This provides us the opportunity to exact whatever tribute we require while culling the indigenous population as we see fit.”
Diettinger nodded.”It also guarantees us control and access to the entire Shangri-La Valley.” He did not add that his first concern in the matter of tribute would be acceptable female breeding stock. With less than two hundred Sauron females available, he did not have to.
“Proceed, Deathmaster. The Combat Engineer Ranks will be put at your disposal.”
Quilland saluted. Diettinger broke the connection, but before the image faded, Diettinger noticed the flaming eye insignia on Quilland’s raised arm. The need for secrecy was past. Indeed, what cattle had been captured and interrogated seemed only too aware of the true identity of their invaders, though not their reason for taking so worthless a place as Haven. Most thought the Saurons had defeated the Empire and were claiming Haven as spoils of war.
And yet few of the Soldiers had relinquished their insignia. The “pirate” designation they had abandoned immediately, with noticeable relief. But something is in their character that had not been there before, he thought, something the insignia and more rakishly cut tunics was fostering. A swagger, he decided.
Diettinger was not sure if this should be allowed to continue, but, if it helped his Soldiers accept this harsh world, he was not opposed. He suspected it was their way of coming to terms with the loss of the Sauron Homeworld and becoming citizens’ of this new one. A side effect he had noticed was that it ran counter to the old State’s blanket “pro-Cyborg” policies. And anything that diminished the Cyborg mystique among the rank and file was, he decided, perfectly acceptable to him.
Now it was time to consult with Breedmaster Caius.
III
Deathmaster Quilland examined the force drawn up before him, with Fire-base One in the background.
Assault Leader Bohren approached him and saluted.”All in order, sir.”
The Deathmaster nodded his agreement. Certainly, they had more than enough forces to take Evaskar, a town protected only by pitiful stone walls and a bedraggled city militia. For the attack, Bohren had two full companies, one infantry and one mechanized, for a total of two hundred and twenty Soldiers.
The mechanized company included twenty-four of the light, two-man Waltimire AFVs. The tanks came disassembled, with engines mounted on a hex-frame. The rest of the tank was built from strong, lightweight tubes which were connected by joints to create individual vehicles best suited for local terrain. For an Imperial force, the tanks would have been larger, used steeper outside angles, and lower profiles to deflect armor-piercing rounds.
On Haven, speed mattered more since expected resistance was fairly primitive. The tubes could be filled with sand or dirt, which strengthened and weighted the chassis, which itself could ride on a variety of wheels or treads. The engines were basic HCT’s, hydrogen conversion-turbine engines, and could drink anything containing the first element for fuel, including water; a real plus given Haven’s thin air and extremely limited petroleum supplies.
Typically, Waltimire tanks carried no armor of their own, since they were designed for swift attacks. Pockets opened into slots on the outside frame which were filled with sand or dirt surrounding the body of the tank, sometimes with sheets of flexible Kevlon that unrolled to stiffen along their molecular grain into plate armor. Waltimires were easily transported, even by interstellar ships, and could be bulked up quickly for maximum protection to crew and tank.
Two or more Waltimire frames could be combined into larger vehicles and even armor could be forged for special situations. Quilland doubted armor would be necessary for the attack on Evaskar. It might be needed later when they besieged Fort Kursk, headquarters of the Haven Militia. Saurons rarely conducted sieges, and Quilland couldn’t imagine a situation in Evaskar that would require anything heavier than these vehicles.
Quilland watched as Bohren climbed aboard the lead tank. He wished that he could take charge personally, but administrative details over the arrival of the Dol Guldur had left him little time for anything else. Bohren was a competent, if unimaginative, commander. He would do.
Forty-Four
I
Colonel Nelson Harrigan examined the General with a look that was just shy of insubordination. “We’ve only got three nuclear shots, General. Why waste one on this Diettinger when we coul
d better deploy them to take out this main Firebase of theirs?”
Not for the first time, General Cummings decried the breakdown in Militia command that had given Colonel Harrigan delusions of independence. It’s probably my fault, he thought. Spent too much time at Fort Kursk and not enough at Fornova. On the other hand, there had been no end of crises at Kursk and he hadn’t much time to travel or make needed inspections. Well, I’m paying for it now.
“You overestimate the power of this weapon, Colonel. It’s a tactical nuclear weapon with a quarter megaton blast, not a city-buster. The Saurons have already hardened their staging area. The worst we can do now would be to cost them a few casualties and some inconvenience.”
“Not if we set up a diversionary attack - ”
“Yes, Colonel, and have half our command caught in our own blast!”
“No. But - ”
“Enough, Colonel. If we can take out Diettinger and some of his aides, we can chop the head right off the Sauron serpent. From the transmissions we’ve been able to crack, there’s already a split in the Sauron camp between the Cyborg Super Soldiers and the regular troops. If we can kill Diettinger, there’s a good chance this will break into open warfare. Besides, Diettinger is frighteningly capable even for a Sauron.
“I just wish we had better communications with the Empire. I’d like to know what Diettinger’s been up to in the past half-a-dozen years since our last dispatch. I’m convinced that Galen Diettinger is the key to any long term Sauron success on Haven.”
“So how do we stop this Diettinger’s clock?”
General Cummings pointed to a series of mountains just southeast of the Sauron beachhead. “We’ll put one of the missiles up there with a squad. Then to keep the Sauron’s attention where we want it, we’ll start a counter-offensive against their firebase.”
“Sweet Jesus!” Harrigan cried.”You want to talk about casualties; they’ll be horrendous. Well, maybe not so bad if we use the last of the aircraft in a simultaneous airstrike.”