by John Ringo
“One you’ve been trying to unscrew,” Mike said. “While I’ve been wasting time killing Posleen. You could have recruited me!”
“That actually never crossed our minds,” Cally said after a pause. “I have no clue why, but it never crossed our minds.”
“You were doing good work where you were,” Tommy said. “I talked with Papa one time about it. He felt you had a career, why drag you into all this crap?”
“I was killing Posleen because it was the only thing I had left, Tom,” Mike said. “If I’d known… God, Cally, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s… ” Cally stopped and shook her head, trying not to cry. “I was going to say it’s okay. But it’s not. I don’t know if it will ever be okay. But I forgive you, okay? I mean, emotionally, I’m having a hard time with it. But I know you couldn’t know. Hell, as I said, your guys were just doing their jobs. They didn’t know, you didn’t know, who you were fighting. And, hell, it was… ”
“I remember,” Mike said. “It was a very strange battle.”
“It was a good day to die,” Tommy said. “I never understood that saying until that day.”
“We also didn’t ask questions,” Mike said. “We should have asked more questions.”
“You ask questions and actually find answers… ” Tommy said and shrugged.
“Ackia,” Mike said, closing his eyes.
“I don’t get the reference,” Cally said.
“The name of R-1496 Delta in the local language,” Mike said.
“Got it,” Cally said, nodding. “If I haven’t said it, Dad, I’m sorry about that, too. When we found out it was too late to do anything. Even if we could have.”
“Well, thank you for rescuing my sorry ass,” Mike said, shaking his head. “You took a risk on that and I appreciate it.”
“We… couldn’t have if you hadn’t had real value,” Cally said, her eyes dark.
“Would you have tried?” Mike asked.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Cally said. “Save the Corps? Oh hell yeah. Try to snatch you out of Fleet Central? Without the help we got?”
“After I’d killed Papa,” Mike said, nodding. “Not sure I’d want that dilemna.”
“No real dilemna,” Cally said. “I thought about it just now and it stopped being one. ‘What Would Papa Do?’ Figure out a way to get you out.”
“Thank you,” Mike said. “Surprisingly enough, you’re not the only person who’s thought that over the years. Less lately, admittedly. Papa was never a large-force commander,” Mike added with a sad smile.
“Wouldn’t have wanted to be,” Tommy said. “Getting paperwork out of him was worse than Colonel Cutprice.”
“So, I’m under the impression this wasn’t a purely social call,” Mike said. “I hope you’d have eventually forgiven me enough to tell me you were alive, but… ”
“Not a social call at all,” Cally said. “There’s a meet going on, soon, between the mutineers on the moon, Fleet and some other factions. You and I and Tommy have to attend.”
“Like that’s going to happen,” Mike said. “Given the situation, I’ll put myself in Fleet Strike’s hands?”
“There’s a new invasion,” Tommy said. “Unknown race. It’s already struck deep into the Federation. The Darhel are freaking out and for some reason so are the mentats. It’s Michelle and her faction that’s arranged the meet. They’re guaranteeing everyone’s safety. Yours, ours, the mutineers. The Darhel’s, for that matter, since they’re open season after the attack on the Corps.”
“They were the ones that helped spring you,” Cally said. “The same mentat we’re dealing with for this meet.”
“Well, I hope I can trust an ally of my daughter,” Mike said, shaking his head. “Who’s going to be at the meeting?”
“Oh, you’re going to love the guest list.”
* * *
Fortunately, it was a big conference table. And the introductions took some time.
“My name, as some of you know, is Mentat Thomas Coates,” Thomas said. He was standing at the head of the table and began the introductions. “General Tam Wesley, Fleet Strike Chief of Staff for Operations. Tir Dal Ron, the Darhel Cooperative liaison for Human Affairs. Indowy Aelool, Clan Leader of the Creen Indowy clan and senior member of the Bane Sidhe. Colonel Glennis Leblanc, Commander Fleet Strike mutinous faction. Admiral Krim Hartono, Second Fleet Commander. Cally O’Neal, commander O’Neal faction of the Bane Sidhe. Lieutenant General Michael O’Neal, Fleet Strike.”
Fleet Strike headquarters was on land that had formerly been the town of Fredericksburg, Virginia.
Early in the Posleen War some of the ravaging Posleen hordes had jumped the gun on the attack on Earth and gotten in an early lick. The Posleen did not, by and large, investigate their targets before landing. They simply warped in and landed on the most convenient spot. By simple function of orbital mechanics, that tended to be eastern shores.
In the case of this attack, the main Posleen force that hit the US, over four million of the centaurs, had landed around the town of Fredericksburg. In an unbreakable circle. Then most of them attacked inward.
Despite heroic defenses by the Engineering company based in the town and local militias, it had inevitably fallen. The Posleen, however, considered it a hollow victory. Not only had they taken horrific casualties for such a minor mopping up operation, the defenders had set of a fuel-air explosion as their last measure of defiance and gutted the invading force.
A few survivors had been found in an underground hiding places, but the population of the town had been virtually wiped out.
After the Siege was broken and the town retaken, Fleet Strike had built first its primary training center, then its headquarters, on the site of Fredericksburg. Fredericksburg had become, like the Alamo before it, a legend of courage and resistance to the absolute bitter end. Fleet Strike headquarters was its ultimate memorial.
The main headquarters was on Maryes Heights, the former site of Mary Washington College. Across the Rappahannock River was Strike Training Base Fort Fredericksburg. Barracks, rec facilities, motorpools and landing zones stretched for miles around the twin buildings. The main town had been partially rebuilt to last known designs of the buildings. The sole exception was the building which had been used for the fuel-air bomb where a memorial now stood. A scale model replica had been contemplated then rejected on the basis that it was a very ugly building, anyway.
Mostly underground, the upper floors of the Headquarters was a detailed reproduction of Kensington House, the former home of part of the Washington family. The meeting was taking place in what had once been the main ballroom, now recreated with the famous worked plaster ceiling and golden silk-covered walls. Spring light streamed in the floor-to-ceiling windows to illuminate the gathering. It wasn’t illuminating many happy faces.
“I wish to open by formally protesting the outrageous interference in a just quelling of a mutinous faction by the sohon mentats,” Admiral Hartono said as soon as Thomas closed his mouth. “And by referring to a legally convicted criminal by his rank!”
“My job is usually to kill people like you,” Cally said, smoothly. “And the next time I hear any shit out of you, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“There will be no violence in these proceedings,” Thomas said. “And, Admiral, another outburst such as that will result in your being silenced throughout the rest of the proceedings.”
“I protest the nature of this… ” the admiral’s face suddenly turned red as his mouth continued to open and close silently. He waved his arms angrily but not a sound came out of his mouth.
“This is the nature of our current situation,” Thomas said, waving a hand and bringing up a picture of the local arm of the galaxy. There didn’t seem to be any holographic projector involved. “A group of unknown invaders has entered Federation space… ” He stopped at a tap on the door. “Enter!”
“General,” the Fleet Strike sergeant manning the door
said, looking nervous. “There’s a Himmit ship on the landing pad. They’ve sent a request for safe conduct to this meeting. Say that they have information we need.”
“Mentat Coates?” General Wesley said, raising an eyebrow.
“Bring him in,” Thomas said, closing his eyes for a moment. “Only the representative. Tell his companions they need to remain outside. And they can’t hide from me.”
* * *
Mike had seen quite a few Himmit in his time. The purple frog-like beings all looked pretty much the same, though, once they revealed themselves. Well, until he met this one.
Usually Himmit walked on four legs, any of which could be used as hands. They were bilaterally symmetric with four eyes and two “arm/legs” pointed in opposite directions. Their rather large mouth was on their underside. Their skin could assume any background but when they became fully visible they were, invariably, purple.
This Himmit, though, was a biped. Somewhat smaller than normal, its skin was the mottled green of a bullfrog. Instead of having eyes on its back, it had them up front mounted on its shoulders. Still four of them, though, two to either side, the inner ones slightly lower than the outer. The still large mouth was mounted just below where in a human would be a chest, making him look even more scary than normal. And it wasn’t an “it.” There were definite genitally.
“I am Himmit Rigas,” the Himmit said, sitting down in a chair that had been hastily brought from an adjoining conference room. “I have met humans many times before but only as a Scout. My current position is a higher rank, thus the change in my appearance. Cally O’Neal, I greet you warmly.”
“Rigas,” Cally said, smiling and nodding. “Nice new skin.”
“Alas, it is not conformal,” Rigas said. “But in my new position that is unnecessary. Like many others we Himmit are becoming less… hidden.”
“We have never met anything other than a Himmit Scout,” the Tir Dal Ron said, his teeth working. “I was unaware there was a higher rank.”
“You may feel free to take offense, Darhel,” the Himmit said, not swiveling so much as an eye in the Tir’s direction. “As long as you do not do your normal job of interfering in the proceedings. Be aware that we Himmit probably know more of your affairs than you do. It would be unwise to cross me.”
“Each of us represents a separate power in this polity,” Thomas said. “I would suggest that we concentrate upon this new threat rather than past differences.”
“Then you clearly do not understand humans or Darhel, Mentat Coates,” the Himmit said with a hiss that might have been a chuckle. “But the present problem is formidable. Arguably more formidable than the Posleen if… different. I have information that is unavailable even to you, Mentat Coates. If I may tell a story.”
“Right, somebody get me a beer,” Mike said, leaning back. “A Himmit’s about to talk.”
“I will be brief, General,” Rigas said, standing up and walking to the galactic display. “In this region a group called the Hedren Tyranny has encountered the Confederation. The Hedren Tyranny is composed of seven races each bringing a specific utility to the Tyranny. The leaders are the Hedren themselves, who are high-level users of the ability the Indowy call sohon. However, they do not use it for manufacture but for war and control of their subject races. The next highest race in the Tyranny are the Imeg, also users of sohon. Some of the Imeg act in lesser capacities but their leadership are all users of sohon. The Himmit have a hard time judging relative ability, but the Imeg are probably the equal of the highest Indowy masters. The Hedren are more powerful.”
“That really sucks,” Mike said, shaking his head. “If I get the info right, Thomas alone shut down all the weapons in the Second Fleet and on the moon. Presumably from Earth. And as far as I know, none of the Confederation sohon use violence.”
“The Indowy are more or less incapable,” Thomas said. “Human mentats are not so limited.”
“That must thrill the hell out of the Indowy,” Colonel Leblanc said.
“It has been a subject of discussion for some decades now,” Thomas admitted. “Please continue, Himmit Rigas.”
“The Hedren use phased dimensional warp technology for interstellar ship movement,” Rigas said. “But this is not their primary method of conquest. They primarily jump their invasion forces from planet to planet through a mass-based wormhole technology. Thus they can, effectively, teleport from one mass to another across interstellar space.”
“Interesting,” Thomas said. “I can see the theory, but the implementation… ”
“I’m glad you can see the theory,” Mike said, spitting into a cup and pulling out a can of Skoal. “It sounds like magic to me.” He began to tap it down thoughtfully.
“We Himmit do not have the ability nor understand it,” Rigas admitted. “But we know that it requires enormous energy. Once that energy is expended, however, the mass that is transferred is inconsequential. We assume that the Hedren have something to do with it, but that is an assumption.”
“Yes, the energy budget would be large,” Thomas said. “Be aware that I am in contact with other mentats, human and Indowy. Others will explore this ability.”
“The functional effect is that the Hedren attack by porting in a vast quantity of war-making forces in one jump,” Rigas said. “A force functionally equivalent to a Fleet Strike Corps or even Army with supports to include local defense ships and material supplies for fifty days of combat. Generally, they will infiltrate a system with stealthed warp-ships as well. These destroy things like communication satellites and critical space installations then guard the ley-line tranfer points to prevent reinforcement and to cover follow-on forces. The other ships jump up off the planet to support ground forces and any mop-up that remains in space. It is possible, obviously, to jump more than one group. However, the power requirements are as I said vast and it is generally some time, up to an Earth month, before there is another attack.”
“Weapons and TOE?” General Wesley asked.
“Many and varied,” Rigas said. “Infantry is primarily armed with plasma rifles. They are generally transported by anti-grav capable armored fighting vehicles. There are, in addition, tanks better than a SheVa, which the Federation is out of as of the action on R-1496 Delta. Close support aircraft are similar to the Banshee shuttle but a bit better armored and faster. They also have plasma artillery with ranges of over a hundred kilometers. They use a method of battle similar to that once termed ‘air-land battle’, using their strike aircraft and mobility for deep strike and getting inside their enemy’s reaction cycle.
“The most critical part is that all of their systems use a reactive camouflage system similar to that of ours, that is the Himmits. If you don’t have the right vision systems, they will be quite invisible except for effects. Their ships are, also, cloaked. And shielded well enough that all but the most powerful current weapons are useless against them. Not that any of the Fleet units that encountered them could even get a lock.”
“I take it you know the true status of our forces,” General Wesley said, tonelessly.
“Oh, yes, all the Fleet units that encountered them, by intent or accidentally, have been destroyed,” Himmit Rigas said. “Third, Fifth and First Fleet have effectively ceased to exist. Hedren task forces have been hunting down any that were not in their direct path. There are a few ships that fled that are still functional. We can send messages to them if you wish. But, really, your ships are completely wrong for this battle and, except to a certain extent, pointless. The nature of the Hedren have always been that you have to stop them on the ground. It would have been nice if the Darhel hadn’t destroyed 11th Corps. A corps of ACS is about the right unit to fight the Hedren.”
“Pity someone didn’t prevent that!” Cally snapped.
“We found ourselves in a difficult position,” Rigas said. “Preventing it would have required that we reveal resources we still wish to hide. We do not have all of this information from our current reconnaissance of the
Hedren. We have fought them before. Frankly, the less they know of our presence in this galaxy the happier we will be. We will give you all the information support we can, but we will not engage the Hedren directly. Stopping them is up to you.”
“Just to explore the possibilities,” Colonel Leblanc. “How bad is it under the Hedren Tyranny. Because I’m not real thrilled about being under the thumb of the Darhel. If it’s just a matter of switching masters… ?”
“Quite bad,” Himmit Rigas said. “The Tyranny is a very autocratic society. The Imeg maintain a thought-police that seeks anyone who does not accept the Hedren Archons as gods. Living conditions for the majority of the Tyranny are bare subsistence level. They do not eat their enemies as the Posleen tend to, but any race they deem ‘lacking utility’ is destroyed utterly as a waste of resources. Anyone not being productive to the Tyranny and totally in support of the Tyranny is equally destroyed. The Indowy have already been determined to be ‘lacking utility’ and the Hedren are destroying them on all their conquered worlds. Equally the Tchpht. Darhel are still being classified. Himmit they will kill out of hand. Posleen have also been put on their useless list due to the difficulty with distinguishing between God-kings and normals. Humans… Well humans can be slaves as has been proven repeatedly in Human history. Imagine the most repressive and autocratic dictatorship in human history. Now add a theocracy and ‘priests’ that can read your mind and send to death camps any who do not worship the Archons.”
“Okay,” Glennis said. “Glad we covered that. Now how exactly do we kill these motherfuckers?”
* * *
“Colonel Leblanc,” Mike said, nodding. “Nice to see you again.”
The meeting had adjourned. Everyone had to have time to absorb the information the Himmit had provided. Whereas before they had thought they had a serious situation on their hands, now they knew how bad it was. And it was pretty awful. With Fleet Strike gutted, there was really no effective force to fight the Hedren. And with their planet jumping ability, even pinning them down would be hard. Then there was the whole “invisible” thing.