She began checking them off. “What d’ya think they’re gonna do to that guy?”
Huron took the chair next to hers. “I’d rather not think about it.”
Chapter 24
Frunze (Capital)
Amu Daria, Epsilon Aquila, Aquila Sector
All the arcana of the network’s innards, screen after screen of them; flensed, dissected and displayed in 3D models and reams of code. It made Huron’s eyes water. He knew all about Kris’ talents in this regard, but he’d never watched her work, and it was odd how the years melted off her, especially when she’d squint at a particularly troublesome tangle and the tip of her tongue would appear briefly at the corner of her mouth. She’d explained that pythons sometimes spawned offspring that waited for an opportune moment (for offspring, not for their victims) to reappear. She was busy tracing the python’s spoor and checking for telltale signs of little ones within the starport’s systems. Once she was convinced those were clean, they’d agreed she would irreversibly sever all connections between the starport’s nets and the city’s.
While Kris peered and scrolled and performed unknowable cabalistic deeds, muttering under her breath, Huron took out his xel to contact Colonel Lewis for an update, only to have it light up in his hand. He flipped it open, and the colonel’s visage appeared. She did not look pleased. A bit excited in that dangerous way of hers, but not pleased.
“Did times just get interesting?”
“You could say that,” Min answered. “That advance force we speculated about just popped out from under a storm, and as of now, we have beaucoup butt-uglies bearing down on us.”
“How far out?”
“The way they’re coming on, call it two hours until they’re in bombardment range.”
Two hours was nowhere near enough time to lift their remaining people off the planet. That would take at least five hours maybe closer to six.
“Where are you?”
“Just arrived at the starport. Colonel Yeager’s already on her way.”
“Wait one.” He muted the xel and glanced down at Kris, who was looking up at him with a predatory light in her eyes. “How long will you be?”
She worried at her lower lip. “A bit. Maybe more. I gotta run one last trace and seal shit up.” Her incisors released her lip. “Y’better go.”
Huron tapped Min back up. “I’m on my way.”
“There’s a caravan waiting for you.”
“Very good.” Outside Zamora’s cube, quickstepping down the hallway, he thought about Commander Varis’ info on the composition of the Halith amphibious force. “Do they have air cover?”
“Nope. They’ve got a shield and have been storm-hopping. Nothing born or built can fly in those conditions.”
Interesting. “What air assets do we have on hand?”
“There are some air-breathing fighters and those GEVs down at the port facility.”
“Who’s in charge there?”
“A Lieutenant Colonel Lawford. William Lawford.”
“Can you put me in touch with him?”
“Sure. Nice fella New-UK native. Very stiff upper lip. Don’t call him Bill.”
“I’ll make a note of that.”
“Love to know what’s on your mind.”
“Working on it. You might want to derate your expectations on this one.”
“Oh! Now you’ve got me really excited!”
“See you in five, Colonel.”
“Looking forward to it.”
* * *
From the air, the starport had the look of a badly disturbed anthill, and as Huron approached in the caravan Colonel Yeager had left for him that appearance did not change much. Everywhere, groups of people rushed here and there, some with unidentifiable loads, others carrying nothing but themselves and, from the way they milled about, perhaps a large burden of anxiety. Only two of the six trans-atmo cargo lighters they had were on the ground, surrounded by crowds that marines in combat gear were sorting into long queues for boarding. All available transport seemed to be being pressed into service and the colonel’s fleet of tilt-rotors was warming up behind a cordon at the far end of the park reserved for air-breathing craft.
Touching down by a side entrance to the starport’s main complex, the pilot waited only until Huron was at a minimally safe distance pretty damn minimal, at that before lifting off and speeding away. With no sentries at the double-doors, clear evidence of the chaos that had gripped the facility, Huron let himself in with the code he’d been given and jogged down the wide corridor, deserted and echoing in shocking contrast to the scene outside.
Entering through a final set of security doors into the heart of the main complex, he saw Major Sutton exiting one of the lifts at the back. The man still looked like he should be in sickbay instead of hurrying about, but he moved with a quick, determined stride. Catching sight of Huron, he stopped and saluted.
“They’re expecting you, Commander. And welcome. Fun times here bedlam ain’t in it.”
“So I noticed” returning a crisp salute. “You’ll get on top of it, Major. And allow me to say that what we owe you is incalculable.”
“I appreciate the thought, Commander. All in a day’s work, really” with a dip of the wizened, gray-haired head. “Now I’m gonna go see about stuffing ten pounds of wool into a five-pound sack before those party-crashers arrive.”
“Get ’em by the balls, and their hearts and minds will follow. It’s not over till it’s over.”
Sutton replied with a wink and smile. “Yep. They might’a killed us, but they ain’t whupped us.”
* * *
Colonel Yeager looked up and sketched a greeting as Huron entered the third-floor conference room that had been pressed into service as a command center. “Thanks for dropping by, Commander. Sorry to ruin your PM like this.”
“No worries, Colonel. I didn’t have any pressing engagements. What’s the latest?”
The colonel beckoned him over to where she and Min were leaning over a chart table. He could see that whatever tension there might have been between the two colonels, the present crisis had abolished it. Min had her battle face on, a characteristic mixture of exuberance and steely focus that always proved good for her friends and damned bad for her enemies. Colonel Yeager shared the concentration, but little of the cheerfulness.
“Nothing very congenial,” she began. “When the word got out, things here became a circus. I sent Major Sutton to deal with that.”
“Yes, I met him on the way in,” Huron interjected. “Excellent choice.”
One side of the colonel’s mouth rose briefly. “He’s the best XO anyone ever had. We’re triaging the medical cases and getting them up to the transports, along with as many support people as we can. The commodore reports both her heavy cruiser are on-orbit, and she’s dispatching their shuttles to us. She’ll send whatever she can when the rest of the squadron arrives, but that won’t be for some hours.”
At least another six hours, Huron reckoned, based on the plot he’d seen before leaving Artemisia. But at least they had the heavy cruisers’ shuttles available now. Shariati’s destroyers would be last to arrive, being farthest out at their picket stations, and while their contribution would be most welcome, it wasn’t as vital.
“We’ve got people mining the harbor entrances and rigging demolition charges in critical areas in case they do attempt a landing. Then we’ll evacuate the docks and the port facility. Once the Doms get within missile range, we won’t be able to use the cargo lighters anymore, so the plan is to disperse our remaining people through this area.” She passed her hand over a mountainous region northwest of the city. “We should be able to avoid entanglements with the separatists there. If we can lift all our people with the shuttles we have, we’re golden. If not, we fall back to Plan Charley-Fox.”
Plan Charlie-Fox (Marine jargon for Plan Cluster-Fuck) was exactly what it sounded like. But no units were going to abandon their comrades. They’d die in their boots first. And
Huron was afraid that was increasingly likely. Although the colonel had the nucleus of a formidable infantry unit, she’d lost the advantage of obscurity. Somewhere out in the High Holy, a Halith invasion fleet was on its way and once they arrived in-system, they would attack the planet with overwhelming strength. Having lost the capital for the second time in twenty-five years they’d leave no stone unturned in seeing to it there’d be no third occasion.
And Colonel Yeager would obviously stay with them.
“Right now,” she continued, straightening up and watching Huron as if following his train of thought and challenging him to say anything about it, “we’re holding the starport with two reinforced infantry companies, a heavy-weapons platoon and an armed engineering company. We’ve got the Rangers, too, if things get really heated.”
From her troop dispositions, he could see the colonel was holding the starport against the separatists, not a Halith invasion. “Thou shalt covet thy neighbor’s transport?”
“That’s about the size of it,” Yeager agreed. “When we pull out, we’ll use them and the Rangers to screen the withdrawal.” Sweeping a hand through her loose hair, she shared a glance between him and Min. “But Colonel Lewis tells me you might have other ideas. You chatted with Colonel Lawford?”
“I did. He seems a very enterprising and competent officer.”
“He is that,” she said with an inscrutable look.
“And he has two Albatrosses down there.” Colonel Lawford had mentioned they’d bestowed that name on the captured Halith GEVs, in lieu of the original designation. He wondered if either of them knew the literary reference. Min certainly did, and hearing it was making her smirk. “He said he’s fueling them and loading them with ordnance, so you could use them essentially as fire ships.”
“He floated that idea, yes,” Colonel Yeager said. “Thought he might be able to figure out a way to drive them into the flotilla and blow ’em up. Maybe slow them down, if nothing else.”
That maybe showed they were on the same page as the gambit’s probable effectiveness. Fire ships had never recommended themselves highly as a tactic since the days of oared galleys and Greek fire, though as a last-ditch measure he supposed it might achieve something. But he didn’t think they were at the last ditch yet.
“I thought we might find a better use for them. He tells me they’re flyable and in principle a single pilot can handle them.”
“Yeah. In principle. I don’t think anyone’s ever tried it, though.”
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
That got her to crack a genuine smile. “You sound like my dad.”
“Thank you. That’s quite the compliment.”
Colonel Yeager shook her head, still smiling. “He always said you were the most naturally gifted flyer he ever saw. And the most ready to try any dumb-ass stunt.”
“That thing with threading the rings of Saturn was not my idea.”
“I don’t think he told me about that one.”
“Oh. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“We can talk about it later. What’s this idea about the Albatross?”
Addressing the chart table, with the Dom flotilla’s last known course and speed and the Albatross’ nominal performance, he laid out his plan in a crisp and succinct manner. “I think that should get us at least another three hours.”
Colonel Yeager eyed Colonel Lewis. “I can tell you like it.”
Min flexed her hands with a suggestive grin. “As dumb-ass stunts go, this one gets my vote.”
That seemed to carry conviction with Colonel Yeager. “Lawford wanted to blow ‘em up anyway. I’ll tell him you’ve got a greenlight on this.” She gave him a salute. “Go kill ’em all.”
Huron returned it with his well-known off-kilter smile. “Let God sort ‘em out?”
The colonel’s parting laugh was short and hard. “That shouldn’t be too tough.”
* * *
“Rafe!” Kris’ shout echoed down the corridor, and he turned to see her running up, face suffused with an angry flush. “I just saw the colonels. What’s this shit I hear about you taking a GEV after the Doms?”
“That’s right” keeping his voice and expression neutral. “It’ll buy us some margin.”
“And you weren’t fuck’n gonna tell me?”
“There wasn't time, Kris. Plans changed.”
She stopped in front of him, breathing hard, but not from running. “Gawd, you can talk shit, Rafe. You’re lucky they don’t know you like I do.”
“You should go with them” still in that calm, uninflected voice.
“What for?” Her flush deepened, and her eyes sparked hot yellow. “So I can hear about how you got your ass shot down after fifteen minutes? That’ll get you top-line.”
“It won’t be fifteen minutes.”
“It won’t be any fuck’n three hours either!”
“Kris . . . They’ve got their hands full here. They could really use your help.”
“Then you go. We both know my people skills suck.”
“Kris, do I have to give you an order?”
“Fuck your orders! When what’s left of you is deep-sixed out there, who do you think is gonna give a shit what orders you gave?”
“There’s Mariwen.” He said it very quietly.
“Fuck you, Rafe! Don’t you pull that shit with me! God dammit!”
He waited until her breathing subsided. But the knuckles of her fists were still white. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Her fists unclenched.
“Thanks” letting a breath go quietly. “Explanations ’ll have to wait till we’re airborne, though. Is that alright?”
“Sure. Fine” the words clipped, but no longer harsh.
“What piece of this d’ya want? Sitting duck or top-cover?”
“You’re better in air-breathing fighters than me. Gimme the duck.”
“It’s yours. Already armed and fueled. Get suited up and meet me in the air.” He swept a hand through the gray-winged hair at his temple. “I’m gonna see a man about an aircraft.”
* * *
Back in a caravan, on his way to the port facility, Huron had the starport’s comms center patch a line through to Lieutenant Colonel Lawford for the second time that PM.
“Nice to see you again, Colonel.”
“Likewise, Commander,” Lawford replied. “What can I do for you?”
“There’s a Commander Loralynn Kennakris on her way to see you. She’ll be taking that Albatross you’re having prepped for me.”
“As your co-pilot?” the colonel asked, perhaps hoping Huron had come to his senses.
“No, Colonel. She’ll be going solo. If you can give her a fast work-up on it, I’d appreciate it. You’ll find her a very quick study.” The colonel said nothing, but his expression conveyed quite a lot. “I’d also appreciate it if you could get a fighter prepped for me. Something nimble with an enhanced air-combat loadout and two external missile pods. ALCM-54s, if you have them.”
“Nothing with ALCM-54 pods mounted can be described as nimble,” the colonel commented.
Huron smiled at the ill-disguised sour note. “Nimble is as nimble does.”
Another officer would likely have been treated to a caustic reply, but the colonel knew Huron’s reputation and merely looked contemplative for a few seconds. “As I intuit you intend something unorthodox,” he offered when those seconds had elapsed, “might I suggest you take a Thumper?”
“A Thumper, Colonel?” Huron hadn’t heard the name; he imagined it to be a New-UK term.
“Perhaps you would know it better as a Thunderbird.”
“You have hogs?” For the name Huron knew it better by was Thunder hog. Designated in the CEF as the AQ-7 Thunderbird and originally used for close support of ground forces, it owed its nickname to its distinctive lumpish appearance; the result of being built around the powerful Avar Industries 40-mm chain gun. It could carry a wealth of other ordinance, too, and was a
sentimental favorite of the CEF marines for its staying power, its suitability to operating in primitive environments and, most of all, its ability to absorb a tremendous amount of damage. In the last decade, however, it had been replaced by new multi-role assault birds, and the last CEF hog squadrons had been retired years ago, and the planes sold on the surplus market. More recently, a couple of companies had started manufacturing them under license.
“We have two, just arrived. Demo aircraft for an order we placed before the opportunity to hire transports arose,” the colonel said. “These have updated avionics and an augmented thruster package. They are quite maneuverable, especially at low airspeed. They will be much better at accompanying an Albatross, and they carry more firepower than anything else we have.”
“Sounds perfect, Colonel. Get one hot, and I’ll drop in directly.”
Chapter 25
Open ocean, Amu Daria
Epsilon Aquila, Aquila Sector
Leviathan taking to the air in a long, slow, ungainly ascent; no more than ten meters over a choppy sea. Alone in this cockpit that was bigger than most cabins she’d lived in. The stick like a log in her two hands. Her fighter could easily turn within the wingspan of this thing, while it required more than a big handful of klicks to do a 180. Ground effect, the aerodynamic principle on which the Albatross depended, worked best over calm water, and it was designed to cruise most efficiently at five meters. The sea state was forcing her to fly at twice that, and she could feel it laboring. If she got hasty and dragged a wingtip in this sea despite the pontoon there to save her from that it was all over.
If things went according to plan, there’d be no need to get hasty or do anything but hold the Albatross in line until they got close enough to the Halith flotilla up ahead to launch the ninety-six missiles it carried in eight huge barrel launchers along its heavily reinforced dorsal ridge. The Doms weren’t using active sensors that would give away their position, and the storm they were running under would blanket their passive sensors for the time being. But that would all change in a few minutes, and the hydrofoils escorting those hovercraft carried a full complement of missiles. If they got a fix on her, those missiles would feast on a 560-ton aircraft, ninety-three meters long, flying a slow undeviating course. The Doms would’ve had plenty of time to modify their IFF systems to recognize her as hostile (in this environment, they could even disable IFF altogether) and ECM and decoys were useless when incoming missiles could deactivate their homing sensors and still hit her by dead reckoning.
The Bonds of Orion Page 24