March of War

by Bennett R. Coles

  “What the hell?” Singh cried out behind him. Jack just stared ahead at the empty space where his mothership, his home for the past year, had been. This, he realized as a cold pit formed in his stomach, was a problem.

  Alarms flashed, and he spotted several enemy contacts vectoring toward him. He jinked automatically. No missiles inbound yet, but his Hawk was awfully alone out here. He scanned the battlespace—the nearest friendly was the cruiser Admiral Bowen, which was even now engaging the closest rebel ships. Without thinking, he hauled his stick over to point at the blue symbol and tapped in Fleet Craft Control to his own comms.

  “Windmill, Windmill, Windmill,” he said clearly, using Bowen’s callsign, “this is Axe-One, Axe-One, Axe-One, three k off your port quarter, inbound. Request emergency recovery, over.”

  There was only a slight pause before the steady voice of the cruiser’s small craft controller came over the circuit.

  “Axe-One, this is Windmill, roger. I am disengaging hostiles and closing your position. Take delta for port-side automated recovery.”

  “This is Axe-One, wilco.”

  He killed his throttle and angled to starboard, swinging slowly around to match the cruiser’s course and speed as she closed, weapons still peppering the rebel forces as they fell astern. Her charcoal hull was impossible to see against the blackness, but Jack watched the relative vectors converge as he bled off his own velocity and lined up. Just as the dim hull of the Terran warship started to emerge against the background, he felt the shudder of the gravity beams grab his Hawk and start to pull him in.

  Killing his thrusters, he let the computers do the rest of the work.

  As soon as his Hawk set down inside the airlock, he requested a medical team to meet them in the hangar. Receiving acknowledgement, he unstrapped and climbed past the exhausted Singh, patting her shoulder with a smile, then moving toward the troopers. One of them was laid out on the deck, the effects of first-aid packs still bubbling all over the armor. The other two sat slumped against each bulkhead, just pulling off their helmets. Two women, they cast heavy, exhausted eyes up at him.

  “Lieutenant Mallory,” he said, crouching down at the feet of the casualty. “We have a medical team en route.”

  “Sergeant Bunyasiriphant,” the older woman growled before nodding at her peer, “and Trooper McDonald.”

  Jack glanced at the wounds on the casualty, realizing quickly that he had no way of knowing how serious they were.

  “What ship are you from?” he asked the troopers.

  “Admiral Bowen.”

  Jack saw the dents and cracks in the casualty’s helmet, and through the broken visor he could actually see the man’s pale face—and his heart clenched. He pressed his fingers against the man’s neck, then was relieved to feel a faint pulse.

  There was a knock at the side airlock hatch, and he stepped up to open it for the medical team before looking back down at the casualty and speaking.

  “Welcome home, Thomas.”

  3

  Apparently some citizens of Terra thought the war against the rebels was going badly. Parliament didn’t like that fact, but until now they’d only employed gentle measures to try to dissuade those few citizens of their misconceptions.

  A sterner lesson needed to be taught.

  Operative Katja Emmes felt the icy breeze across her uncovered face as she strolled across the dark boulevard. The soft rustle of the snow-covered pine needles masked her gentle footfalls, but there was no particular need for stealth. Her targets were inside the pub just ahead, and even from this distance she could hear the faint voice of the orator, interrupted by occasional cheers.

  This group of dissidents planned to settle upon a name for their movement this evening, and that the footage from their little gathering would be sent out to all the news networks. It was a group just on the cusp of causing real trouble.

  Strolling up to the pub entrance, she noted the attractive young woman minding the door, as well as the two burly men standing just inside the threshold, eyes toward the interior but their attention on the entranceway. They hardly worried her— big men never considered small women a threat.

  Wearing her thick winter jacket, Katja knew she looked almost portly. This made her appear even less threatening, and easily hid the array of weapons tucked into her belt. A black tuque was pressed down on her head, long blonde hair spilling out haphazardly. Contact lenses transformed her dark-brown eyes into brilliant blues, but more importantly they gave her infra-red and quantum-flux vision as needed.

  “Hi,” she said shyly, looking at the woman then peering through the door. “Is this where the meeting is?” Her accent wasn’t perfect, she knew, but it had enough of a local twang to make her sound as if she’d lived some years in Scotland. With all the noise coming from within, she doubted the pub’s greeter even gave it a thought.

  “It sure is,” the woman replied. “It’s already started, but come on in.”

  Katja stepped inside, noting the quick glances from both burly men as she paused to take in the scene. She waited for any sudden or unusual moments from either of them, but neither paid her more than a moment’s attention.

  Noting that many people near her were standing on chairs to see across the crowd, she climbed up on one herself, smiling as a young man offered a hand and then climbed onto the chair next to hers. He grinned back with youthful excitement before returning his gaze to the speaker. Katja peered over the rows of crowded tables to the small stage where a handsome, middle-aged man had just paused in his speech as a new roar of approval erupted from the assembled crowd.

  She clapped absently, scanning the room.

  The man on the stage was one of her targets, a local businessman who had the wealth to fund a considerable smear campaign against Parliament. He was well-known as a generous community member here in Inverness, and was involved in many local projects to help the poor.

  The second target she spotted to the right of the stage—a stern, middle-aged woman who had for years been a State lawyer but who recently had set up her own practice in this, her home town. Her recent articles on the “quasi-legality” of Parliament’s position on the war could become quite embarrassing, if they received wide distribution.

  The third target wasn’t immediately visible. A woman of no significant professional history, intelligence suggested that she was little more than a rabble-rouser capable of using the social networks for recruitment. There were no confirmed images of her on the nets, which by itself raised considerable suspicion. Katja also doubted she would speak at this gathering—her role in the movement was that of connector, not leader.

  Personal devices abounded as people recorded what they assumed was a great beginning to their glorious revolution. Katja reached out tentatively into the Cloud, quietly probing the various accounts for any unusual signals or encryptions. It took several long moments for her to work her mind through the crowded electronic space, but nothing jumped out as odd. She recorded each user ID anyway, just in case Parliament felt it necessary to track any of these people after tonight.

  What was that?

  Among the cacophony of noise, she noticed something different. Something encrypted. It was barely a pulse within the waves of energy, with no repeats. She focused her mind in the Cloud, listening, but detected nothing else. She might have imagined it, but experience with the enemy had taught her more than enough about paying attention to “imagined” things.

  She would need to move fast, as soon as opportunity allowed.

  Target One thundered on for at least fifteen minutes more, rallying the crowd. Katja continued to clap as appropriate, even cheering once toward the very end. His words were socialist drivel, but she played her role of excited naïf, even returning the occasional grins of the kid next to her. But the speech eventually came to an end.

  Target Two joined her companion on the stage just long enough to explain that there would be a half hour of mingling time, when everyone was welcome to come forward and
cast their vote on the three names which had been put forward to identify this movement. She pointed up at the pub’s menu board where the three options appeared.

  The two leaders stepped down, a band took the stage, and a general hubbub of excited chatter rumbled through the room. Katja glanced around again from her perch, assessing the likelihood that she would be able to get close to her targets amid this throng of admirers. Both seemed to be positioning themselves near the bar, where the open floor space gave them room to mingle.

  A hand gripped her elbow, and she almost jerked away. The boy next to her had stepped down and was reaching up to assist her.

  “Can I help you down?” he asked.

  She placed her own tiny hand into his, and stepped down to the hard floor. The noise from the band crashed over them and he leaned in to her ear to speak.

  “Isn’t this awesome?”

  She gave him a shy smile. “It’s really exciting. I’ve never been to anything like this before.”

  “Me neither,” he admitted. “But it’s great to be part of something so worthwhile.”

  “I’ve never met the leaders—I was hoping to tonight, but there are so many people here!”

  He looked over the crowd toward the bar, then grinned again, taking her hand and pushing forward between the tables. She tucked in behind him and followed, letting him take all the notice as they gently pressed through the mass. Soon enough they’d made it past the tables and jostled in among the crowd of admirers.

  He let go of her hand long enough to grab a couple of beers from the line of free drinks being offered on the bar.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “I’m Will,” he said, clinking glasses with her.

  “Kelly,” she replied, holding his gaze and giving him a wink with her right eye. The wink activated her quantum-flux vision and she dropped her gaze, scanning the long wooden panels of the bar for any hidden weapons or devices. There was nothing of note beyond the usual plumbing and cold storage. A glance up to the ceiling revealed the usual network and power connections.

  Target Two was almost within arm’s reach. Katja dropped her gaze again and unzipped her thick coat.

  “It’s roasting in here,” she said, making a show of being hot before taking another big gulp of beer. “I think we’re going to need more of these.” Her pet teenager willingly obliged, downing the last of his own drink and stepping away to fetch more.

  Katja made as if to loosen her coat, and in a quick motion reached inside to her belt. Her palm pressed against a tiny square, and she felt the patch adhere to her palm, then slip free of the belt.

  Target Two was wilting under all the attention of her admirers, her severe face looking less friendly with each person who pressed forward to speak to her. She wasn’t going to last much longer, Katja thought as she slipped through the last row of admirers and right into the target’s face.

  “I know you’re so busy,” Katja gushed, reaching out and clasping the target’s hand in both of her own, “but I just wanted to thank you for everything you’re doing.”

  The patch needed less than a second to take effect, but Katja held on tightly for as long as she could. The target managed a faint smile and thanked her.

  The poison from the patch would leave her dead within six hours, with no visible symptoms. She would appear to have died in her sleep. Nothing could ever be traced back to Parliament.

  Katja stepped back and turned toward Target One, but young Will stepped into her path with another pair of drinks. She had no choice but to stop and accept, and flirt away with the eager pup amid the noise of the band. After a few minutes she noticed that Target One was retreating from the well-wishers, surrounded by a serious group of citizens who appeared to be some sort of inner cadre. Getting close to him now would be impossible.

  Time for a less direct method.

  “I am totally roasting,” she said. “I might just step outside and get some air for a moment.”

  “Yeah, good idea,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Katja sighed inwardly—she should have thought that through better. She needed to shake this kid.

  “Just give me a sec,” she smiled. “I need to visit the little girls’ room first.” He pointed her in the right direction, assuring her he’d be there when she got back.

  It was early enough in the drinking that a line-up for the ladies’ had yet to form and in the sudden quiet, as the door shut behind her, Katja scanned the small room. Three stalls to the left, one occupied. Three sinks, with a lone woman drying her hands. A window was high on the far wall, closed against the chill.

  Ignoring the hand-drying woman as she left, Katja winked on her infra-red to scan the stalls. Judging from the way she was seated, the woman on the toilet wasn’t going to move for at least thirty seconds.

  The door shut behind Katja, and she had her opening.

  Leaping upward, she grabbed the lip beneath the window. Bracing one foot against the nearest sink, she freed a hand to snap the latch up and push the window open. A quick push from her foot and she squeezed her small frame through the opening, clutching the outside of the frame with one hand as she wormed her legs through and let them swing downward. A short drop and she thumped down on the pavement.

  A wave of noise burst from the pub as another patron entered the ladies’ room, but Katja was already out of sight.

  The area behind the pub was dark, dim light shining through a frosted window to her left. No movement among the recycling bins. She pressed up against the cold wall and reached out into the Cloud, searching for any security sensors. Clear. Staying in the shadows, she moved silently along the wall toward the collection of parked cars beside the building.

  All vehicles had an ID beacon that was attached to their owner. These beacons only radiated when the cars were activated, but they were also designed to respond to a direct security query, even when dormant. Katja peered around the corner of the building and quickly interrogated each beacon—the white, luxury sedan belonged to Target One. It was two rows away from her, farthest from the road. Fully exposed.

  She glanced around the parking lot, then swept in infra-red. No contacts—everyone was still inside.

  Stepping out into the dim pool of light cast from the street, she moved with casual purpose through the two rows of parked cars, reaching under her coat again. Against her left hip was a fist-sized metal box, flat on one side and ergonomically rounded on the others.

  Activating quantum-flux, she slowed to a casual stroll and scanned the white sedan. The inner workings of the vehicle were hard to make out, but the ventilation system was by necessity quite large when compared to the intricate electro-mechanical systems. It didn’t take long to spot the main air feed that led into the sedan’s cabin. Its trunking was difficult to access from outside, however, and Katja followed it back to the filters, and then traced one of the smaller ducts which fed air through to the driver’s side.

  She crouched down just behind the forward levitator and reached up under the car’s casing, still gripping the box. In quantum-flux she watched her own hand reach up to bump against the secondary ventilation duct, and saw the asphyxiator clamp on, punching a tiny rod through into the air passage. As soon as it sensed air flowing past the rod, the device would release an odorless, fast-acting poison.

  Target One would be killed within minutes, and the resulting crash would probably be blamed for his death.

  “Kelly?”

  She froze at the voice. It was very close.

  “Are you okay?”

  She withdrew her hand and looked up from her crouch. In the dual input of normal and quantum-flux vision, it took her a moment to recognize Will, staring down at her with a mixture of curiosity and concern. His breath was controlled but quick, like he’d been running and was trying to hide the fact.

  “Hi, Will,” she said, opening her eyes wide and smiling broadly. “I just dropped something and it slid under this car. I got it, though.”

  “I did
n’t see you leave,” he said. “How did you get out here?”

  She stood up, keeping her big eyes locked on his. She casually drew her coat shut as she stepped forward, letting her smile turn playful.

  “I didn’t see you when I came out of the ladies’,” she said. “I figured you’d already come outside, so I came out looking for you.”

  Puzzlement clouded his young features, but his mouth twisted into a sort of smile as he watched her approach. With the quantum-flux still feeding her vision, she had trouble reading his expression, but the slow wink needed to deactivate the sensor would seem very odd.

  He was taller than her, and probably stronger, but if she could get in close she’d have the advantage. She licked her lips and held his gaze, taking another step forward, coming within arm’s reach.

  He laughed nervously, dropping his eyes and blinking twice.

  Something activated inside his skull. Encrypted communications skirted the edge of her senses. He raised his eyes and stared back at her.

  They froze, a pace apart. This was no innocent kid. Via the Cloud she shot a Special Forces interrogation at him.

  Nothing came back.

  His fist flew toward her. She blocked it, but the force knocked her back against the sedan. Staggering against the metal she raised both arms in defense as he lashed out again. Falling onto the car’s trunk she reared both legs and slam-kicked him in the chest. He staggered back but enough of his charging momentum got through to send her sliding off the car.

  Katja crashed down on the ground, rolling onto her back to again block his flurry of blows. He loomed over her, raising one leg to strike, and she kicked out his supporting knee. He grunted in pain and staggered. Rolling backward and onto her feet, she reached for the pistol against her right hip.

  She loosed the weapon and brought it up to aim at his center of mass, but his leg swept round in a kick as her finger reached the trigger. A single shot cracked in the dark air, flying wide. She stepped back out of reach, but he pressed forward again, swinging completely around to deliver another flying kick. Her hand smashed against the cold, hard polymer of the car. The pistol slipped from her grip and clattered down.