"We could do a vacuum assault," Reichardt said in a low voice to Vanessa's side, off-net and not audible to Krishnaswali. "Undock a ship, we'd just make the deadline."
"Too much risk and not enough time," Vanessa replied, momentarily off-net. And reconnected. "General, the containment mechanisms on that reactor ensure it won't go thermonuclear no matter what they do to it. A failure is survivable. If you feel the casualties aren't worth it, best that you back off-we're in the process of gaining control of the space lanes, we can evac all station personnel off on ships or escape pods before the emergency batteries drain and we lose life support."
"Major," Krishnaswali replied with a note of familiar, stern reprimand even past the exertion, "this reactor will take months to replace or repair. I will not allow some fanatical fool to put this planet's primary trading station out of action for that period. A damaged economy will cripple everything the government is attempting to achieve vis-a-vis reforming the Federation. I assure you it shall not happen. "
He disconnected. Vanessa restrained a low mutter. And looked up at Reichardt-a long way up for her, even in armour. His lean, angular face was deadpan, almost nonchalant. As if he'd barely noticed the dried blood from a cut upon his jaw, nor the surrounding carnage, nor the acrid smell in his nostrils. Sandy had described some of the station actions during the war to her. Descriptions that gave some insight into the mindset of Fleet soldiers of any insignia. Reichardt had seen worse than this. They all had. Reichardt seemed to be more than just acting calm. He was calm. Combat-reflex, it seemed, was not exclusive to GIs.
"Damn fool's determined to get himself killed," Vanessa said darkly.
"Cut him some slack," Reichardt remarked. "Can't be easy taking orders from a major. He's got his hero moment, let him take it."
"Officers getting themselves killed is one thing," she retorted. "Getting my troops killed is another. If he's got a problem with taking my orders, he should have spent more time building his combat competency instead of his management style. He didn't have to come along, I told him that."
"I bet you did. Can he do this?" Nodding to the screen.
Vanessa exhaled hard. And gave a sharp shrug, mostly hidden within the armour. "Shit, I don't know. Maybe. That's Spec-Lieutenant Mutande up the three-arm?"
"Yep. One of my best."
"Well, let's make sure they keep talking." It was amazing how calm she felt, considering everything that had just happened. Colours were sharp, smells distinct, sounds crisp and immediate. The whole thing felt curiously out-of-body. Somehow, she was not particularly self-aware-not of her body, her various aches and pains, her fears or concerns. There was just the situation, broad, varied and fast-moving ... and somehow, in an utterly impersonal manner, that situation included herself.
She saw something else upon a neighbouring screen, and frowned at it. "Corona's still here. Any idea why?"
"A lot of people weren't on their ships when the GBS went down. I don't think Takawashi was. I've no idea about your buddy Jane."
"It's a damn wonder they didn't leave days ago ..." as she linked to another specific channel. "Sandy? Captain Reichardt thinks maybe Takawashi wasn't on Corona at zero-hour. If he's stuck somewhere in the fighting, there might be a chance we can grab him. Maybe Jane too."
"For God's sake don't let anyone try and take Jane," came the familiar reply in her ear. "If she goes looking for him, she's mine. "
On the tac-net, one particular dot on board Euphrates began moving, its constant companion staying close to its side.
"That's personal, I take it?" Reichardt remarked to Vanessa.
"Could say."
"Well I hope she makes it. I'm gonna need some people to write to me in my prison cell when this is over."
Vanessa snorted. "I'll send you a cake with a GI inside."
"Will she jump out naked and dance for me?"
"Could be arranged."
"Well now, that'd be dandy."
Sandy took off running down the dock from Berth Four, headed downspin toward Amazon's abandoned Berth Two. Rhian followed close behind, leaving the stricken Euphrates' main access guarded by an advance perimeter-defence squad of Mekong marines, plus a CDF AMAPS that had waddled into position behind a cargo flatbed, twin rotary cannon arms scanning the docks for any sign of trouble. Warning lights flashed, lighting the broad, metallic expanse with strobing red, and a klaxon echoed from the overhead. Smoke drifted lightly in some places, remnants from exchanges of fire, though it seemed nothing combustible had ignited upon the docks.
Sandy and Rhian ran past the bodies of fallen Amazon marines in front of Berth Two, hugging the outer wall and weaving amidst the available cover of the containers. Tac-net showed a promising picture, immediate strategic objectives achieved and perimeters established. Now it was the Fifth Fleet marines forced to regroup from their initial, scattered locations, and figure their next plan of attack. Now that Mekong marines had reached the engineering bays that had been reconfigured for use as mass detention cells, that was going to be a whole lot more difficult.
Reports indicated hundreds of very angry Nehru Station dockworkers moving quickly to help establish defensive barricades with welding and electrical jury-rigs. Some top-side women were setting themselves as human shields, linking arms across hallways and daring marines to shoot their way through. Dockworkers had infuriated Fifth Fleet marines enough lately that they might be tempted. But white collar, urbane Callayan femininity was something else entirely. A visual Sandy had accessed from a nearby Cal-T showed a line of elegant saris and other gowns, dark hair in crimps and braids, and a lot of flashing jewellery. She hadn't recognised what they'd been chanting, but the name of Gandhi-ji had been mentioned, unsurprisingly ... although the problem now seemed to be that they were threatening to blockade all combatants, be they Callayan, Third or Fifth Fleet. Well, fine, she thought as she ran in pounding, armoured steps along the deckplates-just so long as no one breached those lines.
The dock ahead seemed clear of soldiers or civilians as they passed Berth One and headed for Berth Thirty. Corona was at Berth Twentyfive, just beyond the lowest point of the ceiling horizon ahead.
"Cap," Rhian remarked, "I don't understand those women. Don't they want the station back?"
"Not by force they don't." Sandy pulled in beside the raised platform beside the Berth Thirty docks, angling for a good fire position and wary of blindspots ahead behind the space-wall gantries. Heavy pipes wrapped around the massive brace reinforcements, anchoring one end of the docking grapples outside. Rhian raced past, headed for the next available cover-a wall-mounted hose that plunged through the decking. No warships here meant no conveniently arranged containers for cover.
"That's an ideology, huh." Sandy had been trying to explain ideologies to Rhian, on and off. Among other oddities.
"Yes, it is." She hurdled the platform railing, dodged through the security desks and detectors there and jumped the other end, passing Rhian with her weapon ready for surprises. It was a League vessel they were approaching. Jane might not be the only GI they had to worry about. "Remember I told you about Gandhi? He's big on Callay."
"History again."
"Culture, more like. It's the same thing." She kept running until she hit the next major air hose against the wall, and braced.
"You don't agree with them?" As Rhian started running.
"Course not."
"So why tolerate them? We're in charge here."
"Right now they're helping as much as anything." As Rhian dashed past, headed for the Berth Twenty-nine platform. "And besides, where would civilisation be if people weren't idealistic?"
"Even if the ideals are stupid?"
"Who decides what's stupid?" Rhian skidded into cover, and Sandy took off.
"Democracy again, huh?"
"Sure. A conflict of ideals. The stronger ideals win."
"So everything's a conflict. Doesn't that kind of prove your point?"
"Now you're getting it."
&nbs
p; Across on one of the other stations, the Fifth Fleet cruiser Stockholm had pulled free. Already two reaction-warheads had been launched, accelerating all the way. If Stockholm didn't manoeuvre real soon, there wasn't going to be a lot left. Pearl River and Kutch were coming back fast, a strike run if ever she'd seen one. The kind of approach that was to FTL space warfare what the high ground had once been to openground infantry warfare, before infotech and modern weaponry had rendered mere spatial considerations insignificant. Their new flagship out of action, their old flagship mostly destroyed, the Fifth Fleet were wavering, trapped between the conflicting demands of maintaining station occupation on the one hand, opposing the incoming Third Fleet assault on the other, and avoiding destruction by planet-based missile systems on the third. No military commanders, in Sandy's experience, had three hands.
She raced in behind an abandoned flatbed laden with smaller dockside cans, peering about the wall-side end as Rhian came sprinting up behind ...
"Cover!" she announced, fixing upon a sudden appearance from an inner wall hatchway another hundred metres up the curve, directly opposite Berth Twenty-five. Rhian saw immediately what she saw, and kept the flatbed between her approach and the object of Sandy's attention-a squat, bald man in dark glasses and a suit, an automatic weapon in one hand. Not a GI, Sandy reckoned with a visual shift to IR, to judge from the body temperature. Clearly he was covering the approach to Berth Twenty-five. Just as clearly there would be a corresponding guard at the outer wall, covering the entry. A quick flash through cybernetic memory files found no visual match for the face.
"If he's League," Rhian said a moment later, having taken cover at the flatbed's opposite end with a good visual on the target, "then I can't find any match. And I updated all my files a week ago."
"How comprehensive are Embassy files?" Sandy asked, keeping her rifle lowered to present the minimum profile. More proof that he wasn't a GI-he hadn't spotted them yet. Or didn't appear to have.
"I'd recognise the face if he were ISO." Rhian was still nominally ISO. At least until the paperwork came through, anyhow. "Or if he were a part of Cognizant's security party-they were all listed. He's not there."
The man ducked back into the hatchway, located between an Indonesian restaurant and an entertainment parlour, windowfronts awash with garish neon. Probably he was waiting for someone. From his movements, Sandy reckoned they were overdue, or he was impatient to be gone, or both. She snap-stored the image, dialed a new connection, and achieved a time-delay on the link back to Tanusha, via satellite relay now that the other stations' corns had been shut down by Fifth Fleet occupiers.
"Intel," she said, "I need an ID on this man." And sent the image with little more than a thought.
"Hold on, Snowcat," came the reply, after several seconds' delay. "It's not on the available database, l e t me check ... "
"Sandy," came Ari's voice over the top, unsurprisingly, "that guy's FIA. I don't have a name, just trust me, he's FIA, I got a separate list that's not on the main database. You're opposite Berth Twenty-five?"
"Yeah. Looks like Takawashi's been talking to Federal Intelligence. That would explain why Corona's still here."
"Goddamn Fifth Fleet occupation's become a haven for FIA remnants," Ari replied after a two-second delay. "Should have guessed ... look, this is good shit. Can you get some of these guys alive? If we prove the Fifth was in bed with the same FIA guys who've been fucking us the last few years, we'll be clear."
"Jane's my priority, An," Sandy replied with mild reprimand. "We can't let her escape."
"I thought the priority was to retake the station?" Rhian remarked doubtfully. Which was the first time in memory Rhian had ever questioned her operational tactics. One of these days she'd have to start keeping a diary, to keep track of all these momentous developments.
"Yeah, well I'm reprioritising."
"Sandy, get this," came Vanessa's urgent voice, "a captured Fifth Fleet marine says Takawashi and several aides were intercepted and detained up on level four in your sector for acting suspiciously. They were put in detention with about forty other civilians in one of the rooms there. We were just reviewing security tape from around Berth Twenty-five, we see Jane and several others leaving Corona just a few minutes ago. I think they went to go get him ... corn's been shielded in your sector, it might have taken them this long to figure out where he was. "
"I don't want Jane rampaging anywhere near some group of civilians," Sandy replied. Tac-net flashed before her vision, a fleeting rush of station schematics, then highlighting the level four lounge in a residential district. "If she gets into a firefight with guards there it could be a bloodbath ... Rhi, one pair advance, let's go."
She levelled her weapon about the end of the flatbed. Waited several seconds, and then when the FIA man did not appear at his hatchway, set off running. Rhian covered that target, her own rifle tracking left toward Berth Twenty-five ... another man in a suit was crouched there beside hatchway railings, rifle moving as he spotted them. Sandy shot him in the arm. Another two peered around container rims, and she shot them too, an arm and a leg, without breaking stride. Halfway toward the hatchway, the FIA man appeared ahead with weapon in hand, and Rhian clipped his skull with a rifle round that sparked off the doorframe as he thudded limply backward.
Rhian led in, Sandy covering the docks ... tac-net showed her Rhian's view of an empty hallway beyond, and she backed her own way in. From there it was a fast, two-person-shooter manoeuvre along the hall, through several hatchways, then into a broader, more decorative administrative area with carpet on the floor and occasional paintings on the walls. They passed offices with doors flung open, tables and chairs overturned within, coffee and half-eaten meals spilled upon the floor. Then up a stairwell, tac-net giving no reading whatsoever on possible enemy activity here, having no eyes nor ears to access, save their own.
Up four floors, then out into another hall. A display upon the wall gave directions ... it was an exclusive business zone, it seemed, as they passed an open office with transparent dividers and a broad display screen alive with the latest Tanushan news and business stories at loud volume despite the utter lack of audience. A junction then, and what looked like an elevator lobby, with an abandoned service desk and holographic display screens offering a choice of entertainment section, gymnasium or meeting rooms. Graffiti upon the wall opposite spoiled the tranquil order-"Fuck the Fifth," in hasty, black letters.
An explosion, and shooting in reverberating rapid bursts nearby, Sandy and Rhian flattened themselves against available walls. Screams and yells, muffled and of indistinct range, from somewhere ahead. Then a rush of movement, civilians bursting around a corner, suit jackets flying, sprinting to get clear. A woman, feet bare, still clutching her heels as she ran ... one saw the two armoured figures ahead and might have panicked, except that Sandy yelled at them to come, waving a free arm and pointing them onwards to empty hallways she knew were safer.
They rushed past, Sandy and Rhian unplastering themselves from the walls and gliding forward in a balanced, weapon-braced rush. Another two civilians rushed past, barely seeming to notice them. Another, colliding off the corner and falling in his haste, then scrambling back to his feet and continuing. Sandy braced her back to the corner of the T-junction, Rhian to the opposite side, each peering out to clear each other's blind-spot, each seeing instantly what the other saw. Tac-net showed the way toward the shooting, and so Sandy spun about the corner and dashed, Rhian close behind. Several more fast manoeuvres around corners, a smoke alarm blaring now, corridors turning a wash of red, emergency light.
Then a big, important double-door, shattered off its hinges, decorative wood splintered and blackened across the hallway, still smouldering. Several civilians stood coughing and bewildered in the thick smoke, hands pressing cloths over mouths, one crouching to throw up. Sandy and Rhian pushed through the wrecked doors and found pandemonium-a broad, circular table arrangement within a large room, holographic display suspended from
the central ceiling, filled with smoke and sprawled, coughing people ... at least twenty, Sandy reckoned at first glance.
"Need a medical team here ASAP," she remarked to tac-net, knowing someone was monitoring her visual and location, and would figure the rest themselves. She and Rhian fanned out in opposite directions around the room ... against one wall a woman in Muslim headdress had cleared a space and was treating several wounded, tying rags of clothing about bloodied parts, giving directions to frightened helpers. She looked up as Sandy approached, recognition of the CDF insignia dawning past the initial fear at the armoured, visored monster stepping through the smoke.
"I need medical help here fast," the woman said sharply, "this one here has a punctured lung and maybe a kidney, and this one ..."
"It's coming," Sandy assured her. Unclipped and handed off her emergency medical kit from the front of her armour webbing. Turned and caught as Rhian tossed her own across the room, without needing to be told. "Maybe five minutes, just hold on."
Rhian had already reached the rear doorway, this one apparently kicked open rather than blasted. Sandy hurried to join her, and together they moved into the hallway beyond.
"Docks are covered," came Bjornssen's voice in her ear, and sure enough, tac-net showed his squad now occupying her and Rhian's previous position. No one was going to be running straight across to Berth Twenty-five, then. Even Jane couldn't outdraw a Cal-T with rifle already levelled and finger on the trigger. The carnage in the meeting room hadn't been as bad as it could have been, Sandy found time to reflect as she and Rhian continued moving through hallways, angling for the nearest stairwell. Maybe Jane was learning moderation. Or maybe she'd simply been concerned about hitting Takawashi, and any of his FIA friends in attendance. Concerned? Why would Jane be concerned? A suspicious, gnawing sensation tugged at the back of her mind. The feeling that there was something significant going on here that she was missing.
Killswitch: A Cassandra Kresnov Novel Page 42