Geary checked the display of the camp quickly, seeing that the northern areas were almost unmarked by fighting. “Thank the living stars they had the brains to do that and not to resist our Marines in that area. What does safe passage mean? Where do they want to go?”
“Wait one, sir.” Carabali passed on the question, then waited for it to be passed to the Syndics and a reply to come back. “Off-planet, sir.”
“Out of the question.”
“They say if they’re left here, it’ll be a death sentence. The revolutionaries in the city demanded the Alliance prisoners from them, and the guards refused to turn them over without proper orders. The guards claim they held off the revolutionaries until we got here, but with the camp shot to hell and so many casualties when they tried to fight us off, they can’t hope to hold out once we leave.”
“Damn.” Geary turned and explained the situation to Rione and Desjani. “Suggestions?”
“If they hadn’t fought us,” Desjani pointed out with some heat, “they’d be able to defend themselves once we left. Besides, we can’t lift them off the planet. None of our ships are configured for that many prisoners. And in any event we don’t owe them any favors after they did their best to chop up our Marines. They dug this hole for themselves.”
Rione looked unhappy, but nodded. “There doesn’t seem any way to assist them at this point, Captain Geary.”
“Yeah, but as long as they keep fighting, we keep losing people.” Geary sat and stared at the display for a moment, letting options cascade through his mind. One caught his attention, and he focused on it, then called Carabali back. “Colonel, here’s what you offer them. They stop all resistance and we stop killing them. Once we’ve lifted all of our people off, we’ll bombard the approaches from the city while the surviving guards and their families withdraw in the other direction. If anyone tries to hit them while we’re still within range, we’ll provide cover. That’s the best deal they’re going to get.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll pass that on and see what they say.”
Five minutes later, as another flight of Syndic aircraft was torn apart in midair, and two more Alliance bombardments blew apart another surface particle-beam battery and a missile launch site preparing to fire, Carabali came back on. “They agree, sir. They say they’re spreading the word for all of the guards to cease resistance and withdraw with their families toward the east side of the camp. They ask that we not engage them.”
“Agreed, Colonel, unless they start shooting at us again.”
“I’ll pass the word for cease-fire, but we’ll keep a strong force watching them, sir.”
Over the next few minutes the movements of the Marines closing on the center of the camp changed, some speeding up to reach the center quicker and others veering off to form a defensive line between the center of the camp and the enemy symbols, which began appearing as the guards broke cover to withdraw toward the east. Geary zoomed in the view, seeing through the dust filling the air infrared signatures that indicated groups of humans appearing and joining the withdrawal. Switching views again gave him a series of windows showing what was being seen by Marines watching the Syndics pull out. Targeting solutions danced on the Marine HUDs as they caught sight of Syndic guards in light battle armor shepherding civilians with no protection at all through the streets of the camp. Weapons were aimed and ready, but the Syndics behaved themselves, moving with haste, and the Marines held their fire.
He paused in his sweep through the Marine views as a sergeant’s voice crackled. “Don’t even think about it, Cintora.”
“I was just practicing aiming,” Cintora protested.
“Pull the trigger, and you’ll be up on charges.”
“Sarge, they messed up Tulira and Patal—”
“Lower your weapon now!”
Geary waited a moment longer, but Cintora had apparently realized he wasn’t going to get away with anything and remained silent. If the sergeant hadn’t been alert, or had been as angry with the Syndics as Cintora, it wasn’t hard to imagine what would have happened.
Another urgent message drew Geary back to the big picture. “Our recce drones have spotted a third ground convoy en route the camp from the northwest, and what looks like infiltrators on foot closing from the southwest,” Colonel Carabali reported. “Request both targets be taken under fire by the fleet.”
Geary took a moment to look over the combat systems’ firing solution, then hit approve and watched another barrage of kinetic projectiles hurled down toward the planet.
“Sir, the Free Heradao governing council is requesting a cease-fire.”
“Free Heradao? Weren’t they just the Heradao governing council before?”
“Uh, yes, sir. It’s the same circuits they called on last time and the same transmission ID.”
Geary glanced at Rione. “Any idea what the name change means?”
She looked frustrated. “Probably not a lot. They may have merged with another group of rebels and picked up the ‘free’ from that, or they may have decided ‘free’ sounded better, or there may have been a turnover in their leadership. Or it could be something else. In any event, I wouldn’t assume the name change has any significance for us.”
“You’ve talked to them, though. Are they worth talking to again?”
“No.”
Desjani raised her eyebrows in surprise. “A short and straight answer from a politician,” she muttered too low for Rione to hear. “The living stars have given us a miracle.”
“Thank you, Captain Desjani,” Geary said. “Madam Co-President, please inform the Free Heradao governing council that we will engage any threat against our ships or our personnel on the surface or any forces heading toward the POW camp. If they refrain from posing such threats, we will not strike at them.”
“Sir, we’ve got another problem.” Colonel Carabali looked unhappy, which was a clue that this was a major problem. “My screening forces on the west side of the camp are picking up signs that highly trained enemy forces in maximum-stealth gear are trying to infiltrate past my Marines. Detections are fleeting and small, but our best estimate is that we’re facing perhaps a squad of Syndic Special Forces commandos.”
“How much of a threat are they? Are they just scouts?” Geary asked.
“Their mission profile and some of the signs our gear has picked up indicates they may well be equipped with hupnums, sir.”
“Hupnums?” It sounded like some whimsical creature in a fairy tale.
“Human Portable Nuclear Munitions,” Carabali elaborated.
No wonder Carabali was unhappy. Geary checked the time line. “Colonel, it looks like you’re getting close to being able to pull out. Even if those Syndic commandos manage to plant those things, they’ll have to set the timers to give them time to get free of the blast zone. Why can’t we get out of there well before the timers set off the nukes?”
Carabali shook her head. “Sir, I trained on Alliance hupnums, and everyone in my group, instructors included, believed that the timers on the hupnums were fake. We reasoned that any target worth sneaking in a nuke would be too valuable to risk failing a strike and perhaps having the nuke taken by the enemy during the time required for an individual to egress following planting the weapon.”
Geary stared at her. “Are you saying you assumed the nuke would go off as soon as it was armed?”
“Or very soon afterward, yes, sir. I assume the Syndics would be even more inclined toward that logic, sir. We have to presume the hupnums will detonate immediately after they’ve been placed and armed.”
That blew Geary’s time line all to hell. “Recommendation, Colonel?”
“I’ve diverted two of the shuttles on their return trips long enough to pick up two Persian Donkeys. With those -”
“Persian Donkeys, Colonel?”
Carabali looked surprised that he didn’t know the term. “Mark Twenty-Four personnel grouping simulators.”
“Which do what?”
“They . . . e
ach simulate a large group of personnel. Each Persian Donkey uses a variety of active measures to create the illusion of many people. Seismic thumpers create ground vibrations appropriate to a crowd moving around, infrared bugs generate heat signatures all over the place, other bugs create audible noise, transmitters generate a level of message traffic and active sensor activity matching that of a military force around the site, and so on. For someone using remote nonvisual sensors, the Donkeys make it look like plenty of people are in a location.”
He got it then. “You want to fool the Syndic commandos into thinking their targets are still present until it’s too late for the Syndics to hit the real evacuation.”
“Yes, sir,” Carabali agreed. “But I need to keep a screening force in place, and by the time I get everyone else lifted, those commandos are going to be close. We can slow them down, but we can’t stop them.” An image appeared on Geary’s display, showing the colonel’s tactical planning screen. “I’ll put the Donkeys here and here, with any line of sight to them blocked from the directions the Syndic commandos are coming in. I’ll need to have platoons of Marines here, here, and here.” Rough, bent arcs formed of individual Marine symbols flashed into existence. “Right after my last evac shuttle lifts, three shuttles will ground at these spots along the edge of the landing area closest to my people. At that point the last three platoons run like hell for the shuttles and boost out of there. The Donkeys will be set to self-destruct immediately afterward.”
Geary studied the plan, nodding. “Does that leave enough time for the last shuttles to get clear if the Syndics realize what’s happening and pop their nukes right then?”
“I don’t know, sir. Probably not, but it’s my best option.”
“Wait a moment, Colonel.” He spun toward Desjani and explained the situation. “What do you think? Is there anything we can do with enemy troops armed with nukes that close to our people’s emergency evac?”
Desjani bent her head in thought for a long moment, then looked over at him. “There may be something we could try. I was only a junior officer, but as best I recall it worked at Calais Star System. A situation a lot like this, with the enemy coming right on the heels of the last shuttles out.”
“What did you do?”
She twitched a humorless smile. “We dropped a saturation bombardment timed to cross paths with the evac shuttles and hit the surface just as the shuttles got enough altitude to clear the danger zone.”
“You’re kidding. Dropping that many rocks through the same planetary airspace that your shuttles are traversing? What did the shuttle pilots think of that plan?”
“They screamed bloody murder. The evacuees weren’t thrilled, either. But we can do what we did then, download the bombardment pattern and planned trajectories of each projectile into the autopilots of the shuttles. In theory, the autopilots can weave a path between the rocks and make it up high enough before the rocks start hitting and blowing the surface sky-high.”
He thought about it. He didn’t like it. But . . . “You said it worked at Calais?”
“Yes, sir. Mostly it worked, anyway. Not every rock going through atmosphere sticks exactly to its preplanned trajectory. But at Calais we had a lot more shuttles lifting through the barrage than we’ll be worried about here.”
Mostly it worked. Geary called Carabali again. “Colonel, we’ve got an option to support your final lift.” He outlined the concept Desjani had described. “It’s up to you whether we try it.”
It seemed that he’d finally managed to surprise Carabali. If that was surprise and not horror he was seeing. But the colonel exhaled and nodded. “If we don’t try that, sir, odds are we’ll lose all three birds and the Marines on them. At least this idea offers them all a much better chance. I’ll notify the pilots of the last three shuttles of what’s going to happen.”
“Let me know if none of them want to volunteer so I can canvass the fleet for other pilots.”
Carabali frowned slightly. “They already volunteered, sir. All three of those pilots are Marines. Please inform me when you have details of the bombardment, sir.”
“Will do.” Geary broke the connection with Carabali, leaned back, and took a deep breath. “All right, everybody. We’re going with Captain Desjani’s plan. We need the bombardment as finely timed as possible if those shuttles are going to have a chance.”
“It’s not exactly my plan,” Desjani muttered, then swung into action. “Lieutenant Julesa, Lieutenant Yuon, Ensign Kaqui, pull up the Marine evac plan as most recently amended by Colonel Carabali and run a bombardment plan through the combat systems. We need something that will saturate the area the shuttles have left, and coordinated with the Marine time line so that the bombardment hits within five seconds of the shuttles clearing the danger zone.”
“Captain,” Lieutenant Yuon asked, “what if one or more of the shuttles develops a problem, or gets delayed otherwise?”
“Assume no delays. All three of the last birds have to lift exactly on time, or they’ll die at the hands of the Syndics. I need that bombardment pattern five minutes ago.”
The watch-standers leaped into action while Geary watched his display. On the portion given over to the ground battle, he could see the sudden appearances and disappearances of enemy symbols as traces of the Syndic commandos were picked up by Marine sensors. The Marines were firing on every detection, but apparently not getting hits against the extremely difficult targets moving through an environment full of things to hide behind. As the Syndic commandos snuck ever closer to the landing field, the Marines were slowly falling back themselves, trying to maintain a screen between the Syndics and the center of the camp.
On the field itself, the last liberated POWs were being bundled into shuttles, and Carabali was calling in her other Marines. The two Persian Donkeys were visible on the display, busily churning out indications of large groups of people still near the landing field.
A lot of things were going to have to work right. He hated depending on that.
“Strange, isn’t it?” Desjani asked. “It’s just like at Corvus, dealing with Syndic Special Forces commandos on a suicide mission.”
“I guess it is sort of like that,” Geary admitted.
“You didn’t kill the ones at Corvus.” She turned a questioning gaze on him. “But we’re going to nail these.”
“Right. At Corvus I wanted to underline the futility of the commandos’ effort and deny them martyrdom. Here”—Geary waved at his display—“they’re going to get their martyrdom, but they still won’t accomplish their mission. We will accomplish our mission despite their best efforts, though, making their deaths meaningless. In any event, there’s no other way to stop these commandos except by ensuring they get blown away.”
“Captain!” Lieutenant Julesa called. “The bombardment plan is ready.”
“Shoot it to me and Captain Geary.”
Geary studied the result, fighting down qualms as he saw the trajectories of over a hundred kinetic bombardment rounds intersecting with those of the three shuttles, then saw the pattern hit just as the shuttles cleared the danger zone from the bombardment. “Well, Captain Desjani, let’s hope this plan of yours works.”
“You can call it my plan if it works,” Desjani objected.
Geary hit the commands sending the plan to Colonel Carabali to pass on to her shuttles and transmitting it as an execute order to the ships tasked with being in the right positions at exactly the right time to launch the bombardments. Within moments, the battleship Relentless called back. “Sir, is this plan right?”
“It’s right. We need it executed perfectly.”
“That’s putting it mildly, sir. The Marines are okay with this?”
“They’re okay with it.”
“Very well, sir. We’ll put the rocks where they’re supposed to go and make sure they hit at the right time.”
“Thanks. Reprisal, any problems on your end?”
Reprisal’s commanding officer answered about ten sec
onds later. “No, sir. We’re loading the maneuvers and firing commands into Reprisal’s systems right now. We’ll do our part.”
Geary gazed bleakly at his display. Colonel Carabali was piling into one of the last shuttles on the POW camp’s landing field along with the last Marines on the field. The three platoons holding off the Syndic commandos were still falling back as they tried to slow the commandos’ infiltration toward the landing field. The momentary detections of the commandos showed them getting far too close to the landing field for comfort.
“Here come the last three shuttles,” Desjani noted.
The operations watch called out right afterward. “Final evac shuttles landing in five, four, three, two, one, they’re down.”
All of the Marines in the last three platoons seemed to bolt as one for the shuttles. Geary wondered how long it would take the Syndic commandos to realize what was happening.
“Relentless and Reprisal are launching the covering bombardment,” the combat-systems watch reported.
Geary sat, watching the rocks head downward to where the three shuttles sat, the Marines just now reaching the shuttles and hurling themselves inside. On one side of the display, two time lines counted down, one for the shuttles to get off the ground and the other for the moment of impact for the bombardment. The two sets of numbers were far too close together for comfort.
Dauntless’s bridge was as quiet as he’d ever heard it, quiet in that unnatural way when people waited to see the outcome of a life-or-death gamble.
“The shuttles have to lift within the next ten seconds,” Desjani reported.
“Yeah. I see.” He could also see a few final Marines sprinting toward their craft.
“Shuttle one is in the air, climbing at maximum,” the operations watch reported. “We’re seeing ground fire aimed at the shuttles. The Syndic commandos are breaking cover to engage the last shuttles. Shuttle defensive systems are firing back and engaging protective countermeasures. Shuttle three is in the air. Shuttle two reports a problem sealing the main compartment hatch.” Geary felt his breathing freeze. “Shuttle two is lifting with the hatch open. Speed and protection will be compromised.”
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