March of War

by Bennett R. Coles

  A flash of energy crackled across Moretti’s Bulk-suit. Two more struck the Centauri, the energy tickling Katja’s cheeks. The pressure on her throat lessened and she felt herself collapse to the floor. Ears ringing from the impact, she desperately tried to suck air through her windpipe, vaguely hearing a high-pitched squeak with each attempted breath.

  Another blast dropped Moretti to her knees, and then Chang was upon her. The big Terran kicked the Centauri’s bent form. She reeled back but kept her footing, struggling into a standing position and blocking his heavy fists as they came down. He pressed his advantage with a flurry of blows, none of which struck home. Then she unleashed a kick, sending Chang stumbling backward.

  Drawing a heavy baton from her belt, identical to the one her fellow Centauri had wielded, Moretti shuffled forward, raising it to strike. Chang moved in, blocking the expected swing and landing a jab to her face. Moretti took the blow and carried her baton through into a backswing. Chang threw up his right forearm, and the club shattered it. He roared in pain and staggered back.

  Katja grabbed her pistol from the floor and fired twice into Moretti’s back. The bolts crackled over her Bulk-suit and she staggered. Katja fired again, but to no effect. A quick glance told her the weapon was out of charges. She forced another tortured breath into her lungs as she scanned for Chang’s pistol. It wasn’t visible, but another weapon was. The dropped baton lay just a body-length away, leaning against one of the chair legs.

  Moretti glanced back as Katja scrabbled across the floor, but paid for the distraction as Chang’s roundhouse kick smashed into her unguarded ribcage. Moretti staggered to her knees, turning back to Chang as the Terran unleashed a devastating barrage of one-handed blows.

  Katja grabbed the baton, noting quickly that Sheridan was still under the table. Far from cowering, the politician had his personal communicator out and was using it. With at least three Centauri agents in the room, however, Katja doubted any outside help was still standing. As she hefted the baton she saw Shin’s body among the broken glass, her face shattered by an impact trench where her skull had caved in from chin to forehead.

  The baton was surprisingly light, but as she swung it experimentally Katja felt the mass shift down the length of the rod, increasing the force of each swing.

  Moretti was still holding her own baton, but she was in full defense as Chang pressed forward with powerful blows. He was on full attack, Katja knew, which could only be sustained for a few seconds before exhaustion drained his muscles. But Moretti was entirely occupied with defense.

  Diving into a roll, Katja quickly closed the distance and swung the baton into Moretti’s knee. Even through the armor she heard the snap of the joint, and her foe sagged with a cry of pain. Katja tumbled clear and watched as Moretti crashed down on her back, Chang’s great bulk slamming down on top of her. Katja rose up, raising the baton to strike down.

  Moretti’s weapon lashed out, striking Katja’s shin. Katja instinctively staggered back, but snarled through the pain and advanced again. Across the room, Ali al-Jamil burst through the door, Corps assault rifle up at the ready.

  Then Moretti dropped her baton and wrapped a mighty arm around Chang’s body. With eyes burning into Katja’s, she reached for a device on her forearm—the same device which had sent her companion back into the Bulk.

  “No!” Katja swung downward with the baton.

  And smashed the floorboards where a heartbeat before two bodies had grappled. Her chest seared as her entanglement connection to Chang exploded in agony.

  al-Jamil demanded.

  she screamed.

  “Where’s Sheridan?” al-Jamil shouted out loud.

  “Here,” he responded, his reply muffled.

  Katja dove for the Centauri agent lying still near Shin’s fallen form. She pounded at the controls to release the Bulk suit from the body. Sheridan climbed out from under the table and al-Jamil covered the room with the assault rifle.

  “Help me get into this suit,” she shouted. “Chang’s in the Bulk!” The Centauri’s body was a dead weight as she struggled to rip the suit clear. It was an impossible task on her own. Why wasn’t al-Jamil helping?

  “Help me!”

  Lowering his rifle, al-Jamil held her with cold, sad eyes.

  “It’s too late, Katja.”

  “No!” She tugged at the suit, freeing another section of the Centauri’s torso.

  “Katja,” al-Jamil said quietly, “there is no oxygen, no pressure, and no temperature in the Bulk. Sules was dead the moment he went in.”

  “He was my partner,” she snapped.

  He held her gaze for a moment, then nodded past her to the other casualty on the floor.

  “And Mun-Hee was mine. There’ll be time to grieve, Katja, but not now.”

  He raised the rifle suddenly, then relaxed again. There was the familiar thump of armored police entering the room. She switched the settings on her implanted ID chip to reveal her Special Forces identity, even before the scan washed over her. There was no way she was answering questions in the guise of an intern. Not tonight.

  She sat back, releasing her grip on the Centauri Bulk-suit. She heard al-Jamil speak firmly to the police, heard Sheridan’s voice as well. No one bothered her. After a moment she reached for the baton by her feet and moved toward the pale and injured Centauri agent.

  Somebody was going to pay for Chang, and it might as well be this piece of shit.

  Then al-Jamil placed a firm hand on hers.

  “No, Katja. We need the prisoner.” His voice was soft, but his grip was like steel, and his other hand still held the assault rifle. She took half a step forward, eyes still on the unconscious prisoner, and felt al-Jamil’s fingers dig into her forearm.

  Glaring up at him, she wondered for just a moment if she could take him, but the still point of his gaze cooled her anger, allowed her brain to take control again.

  “Then let’s get this prisoner home,” she said, “and find out how to kill Valeria Moretti.”

  13

  “Are you comfortable in front of the media, Mr. Kane?”

  The captain’s question made Thomas turn, pulling his eyes away from the looming shape of Astral Base One as projected on the bridge sphere. Bowen was on initial approach to the giant station, a dark silhouette against the dazzling backdrop of Earth. The lights of other craft teemed in the orbital space. Apparently at least one of them carried a news crew, and more reporters had been authorized into the base.

  “Not particularly, sir,” he replied. Once, not long ago, he would have jumped at the chance to appear on camera, but journalists were sharp, and had long memories. Thomas didn’t relish the prospect of explaining his demotion on interplanetary news.

  Commander Hu shot a questioning glance down to him. Seated in his command chair next to the busy officer of the watch, he wore the expression of a man concentrating on a dozen things at once. Yet still he had capacity to interrogate his strike officer.

  “The request,” he said firmly, “is to interview the officer who led the initial search of Toronto.” Bowen’s discovery of Toronto, a ship thought lost, had ignited a firestorm of attention back home. The fact that the crew were missing suggested that they might still be alive. At the same time there was the inevitable gnashing of teeth over the fact that the vaunted Astral Force had suffered such a defeat.

  “In that case, sir,” Thomas said carefully, “I think that honor clearly belongs to the executive officer. He led the search—I simply conducted the initial security sweep.”

  Hu regarded him in silence for a long moment, dark eyes revealing nothing.

  “Very well, Mr. Kane,” he replied. “That’s all.”

  Thomas stepped back from the command chair, retreating to the after section of the bridge as the captain called over to the XO. Jack sidled up to him, and Thomas offered a smile to his young friend.

  “Got any plans for shore leave?”

/>   “No,” Jack replied. “I think I might head up to Vancouver to see my folks. They worry.”

  “Yeah, I reckon mine do, too, but they stopped saying so years ago.”

  “Are your parents veterans?”

  “No, I’m the first.”

  “Really?” Jack looked thoughtful. “Something about you suggested a long line of family service.”

  “I think it’s my wife’s money that gives that impression,” he said with a wry smile.

  “How is she?”

  Thomas considered. His wife Soma was absolutely thrilled to be pregnant with twins, but quite irritable at having to significantly reduce her recreational drug habits. She’d been keeping busy, however, preparing the nursery and hiring additional staff, and spending money always cheered her up.

  “On balance, quite content.”

  “She must be due any day, now.”

  “Another month, although with twins you can never tell.”

  “You must be excited.”

  “How so?” he asked.

  “Well, to be a dad.”

  “Oh…” The comment caught Thomas by surprise. His focus had been on preparing himself for the inevitable onslaught of social and financial demands. The way Soma spoke of the impending children, they seemed more like assets than offspring. In fact, when he’d heard the news his first thought had been that the babies would need to be DNA-tested, to prove who the father was.

  “Yes,” he acknowledged. “It’s going to be a big change.” At least there would be more servants around.

  Jack looked at him strangely, and he didn’t like it, so he turned his attention back to Astral Base One. The station filled the entire forward view, the beckoning lights of the docking spar blinking in response to Bowen’s approach. The line officer in Thomas immediately began to assess the ship’s vectors, but he shook off the thought.

  Not my problem anymore.

  “Are you going to see Amanda this time?” he asked.

  If possible, Jack’s face fell even more.

  “No, her ship is deployed. She can’t even tell me which system she’s in, let alone when she’ll be back.”

  “Good for you two, though, making it work.”

  “Don’t get the wrong idea,” Jack said. “When we’re together we’re together, but the rest of the time I’d hardly call it a real relationship.”

  “Shame she isn’t here,” Thomas offered. “You look like you could use a friend.”

  Jack’s face hardened, but he just wasn’t the type to clam up.

  “What’s the point of having friends?” he spat. “Bullshit bad luck can snuff anybody out, any time. For all I know Amanda’s ship took a torpedo this morning.”

  “Jack…”

  “I mean, look how amazing Katja was, and even she got killed. What chance do any of us have?”

  It was too big a question to try to answer, Thomas knew, and it was one every soldier eventually asked. He could try to respond, but anything he said would just be empty words, especially since in his heart he’d accepted his own death months ago. He didn’t know when he was going to die, but he doubted very much that he’d ever have to worry about growing old. Or being a good father, for that matter.

  This war was taking its toll.

  “All you can do,” he said finally, “is look out for yourself and your shipmates.”

  “What about the mission? Aren’t we supposed to sacrifice ourselves and our shipmates to accomplish the mission?”

  Classic Astral Force doctrine. Thomas could hardly argue with the philosophy, but, looking into Jack’s hollow gaze, he knew it was time to share a hard-earned truth.

  “As officers, Jack, part of our job is to know which is more important to sacrifice—our troops or our mission. Every situation is unique, and you have to trust your own judgement.”

  “And what if my judgement’s wrong?”

  “Then the wrong people will die.”

  Jack sighed heavily, closing his eyes and fighting down emotion. Thomas looked forward just as Bowen linked up to the spar for docking. He patted Jack on the arm.

  “We’ll be secured in a minute, Jack,” he said. “Why don’t you get out of here and head ashore. Catch the first flight to Vancouver and forget about all this for a couple of days.”

  “Yeah,” Jack agreed, offering a fist-bump. “Thanks, Thomas. See you in a few days.”

  Thomas lingered on the bridge for a few more minutes, idly listening to the chatter between line officers as shore connections were made and systems began shutting down. The XO hurried past him, face alight with excitement, and through the broad windows on the spar he could see a crowd of civilians gathered to welcome the crew home. Somewhere in that crowd, he knew, was his beautiful wife and her entourage.

  He glanced down at his uniform.

  Time to change out of one role, and into another.

  * * *

  The house had been transformed. An entire section of guest rooms had been redone as a nursery, a playroom, a green room, and a pair of residences for the incoming nannies. Contractors were still finishing off the adjustments, but the baby rooms were ready to receive.

  Soma herself had also transformed. Her sleek, tiny frame had been carrying the baby bump well when Thomas had left on patrol, but now her limbs had thickened and her entire frame widened to carry the massive womb which her belly had swollen to contain. Her face had rounded out and her breasts, he couldn’t help but notice, were enormous. She waddled instead of walked, and sat heavily whenever chance offered her a seat.

  She looked, Thomas realized, absolutely beautiful.

  Soma obviously didn’t agree, and as they prepared for the dinner party that evening she spent twice as much time as he remembered on her hair and make-up.

  “Are you wearing your uniform this evening?” she asked as she applied mascara.

  Thomas was impressed at the new selection of suits she’d bought for him while he was away. His uniforms with their sublieutenant rank, he noted, were pushed discreetly to the far end of the dressing room.

  “No, I want to try one of these gorgeous new suits,” he replied. “Do you have a preference?”

  “I think the dark blue would go nicely with your medals,” she called back, “if you wanted to wear them.”

  Before the war, Thomas would never have worn his military decorations with a civilian outfit, but apparently that had become the style. Quite a few civilians had been honored for various services to the State, and a new galaxy of awards had started appearing at formal social gatherings. As a genuine veteran, Thomas was welcome to display his own honors, even in a civilian setting.

  “Sounds good, darling,” he said.

  As he slipped into the dark-blue suit, he marveled at her subtle ability to discourage him from wearing the uniform, with its rank insignia, while keeping medals and awards prominent. As always, the world just seemed to fall into place according to her advantage. If only, he mused as he made certain his rack of medals was straight against the dark-blue pocket of his jacket, he’d mastered that skill to the same degree.

  Nevertheless, he had his role to play in Soma’s game. He took his wife’s hand and guided her down the hall to the glass-sided elevator which gently lowered them to their waiting cluster of guests. The doors slid open to a hearty round of applause, and Thomas gestured for his wife to precede him into the ballroom. Winters in Longreach never got that cold, but the sun set too early for an outdoor party, so Soma had decided to host a dinner inside.

  She reintroduced him to several Jovian business magnates, all long-time friends of her family, as well as a pair of senior State officials based here on Earth. There was a distinct lack of fops or dandies present, Thomas noticed, suggesting that this particular dinner was intended for serious business. It was just as well. Soma’s dilettante friends and their floozy girlfriends tended to make his blood boil.

  Before long he found himself standing, drink in hand, in a conversation circle with the gentlemen. Then came the ine
vitable question.

  “And what are you doing with the Astral Force these days, Thomas?”

  “I’ve been assigned to Admiral Bowen,” he said easily, adding, “one of our modern cruisers.”

  “Oh, yes, weren’t you the ones who discovered poor Toronto?”

  “Yes, I was on the initial team who searched her.”

  “Damn shame, that business.”

  “I saw an interview today,” one of the Jovian magnates commented, “with a member of the Bowen crew. I think he was the… executive officer? That’s not the captain, is it?”

  “No,” another joked, “that would be the chief executive officer.”

  Thomas joined politely in the chuckles.

  “The XO,” he explained, “whom you saw being interviewed, is the second-in-command.”

  “So you report to him?”

  The idea of being subordinate to Lieutenant Perry made Thomas want to roll his eyes. Time for a mostly truthful statement.

  “Actually, I report directly to the captain.”

  “I see. In what role?”

  Thomas borrowed an expression Jack had used. He’d quite come to like it. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

  “I’m the ace in the hole.”

  The gentlemen all nodded conspiratorially. The cluster of medals on Thomas’s chest spoke for themselves, he knew, and his enigmatic answer would stop any further questions. Each gentleman would now tuck away his own bit of delicious information, having dined with a military man who was more than he seemed.

  “And what about that Centauri terrorist,” someone commented. “Do you think she’ll be captured?”

  The face of a female Centauri spy had been splashed all over the media lately. She was the sole survivor of a failed assassination attempt, and while her co-conspirators had all been killed or captured, she was still at large.

  “I’m sure she will,” Thomas said. “Having been so clearly identified, there’s no way she can escape our borders, and it’s only a matter of time before someone recognizes her.”

  Thomas’s earpiece sounded softly.