by Alma Boykin
O’Neil waved a hand. “Commander, that’s a lot of ‘maybes,’” he challenged. “Can’t you give us specifics?”
“Not without better images and knowledge of just who is operating the equipment. These units are like armored vehicles, Captain. As your Aethelstans are different from Reapers from Rhinos from Magogs, so is powered armor.” As she spoke, Lieutenant Cluj sent a new picture onto the screen. This one showed a metallic silver and red set of bipedal armor with a bulbous head. “This is from Germany?” Rachel asked.
“Yes, ma’am. It came as a data burst. A group of GDF vehicles were attacked near a Luftwaffe base in western Germany, not far from Frankfurt. The Bundeswehr is fighting two of these.” Sheep started to add something, then shook his head and fell silent.
“Well, I take back what I said about not flying,” Rachel managed a weak chuckle. “This is a light scout unit that does have limited flight capabilities, using LOX rockets. The fuel is carried there,” and she circled what looked like a backpack with her pointer. “It probably carries a small plasma weapon in the ‘arm’ packs and very good intelligence and communications computer packages. Not much shielding, however, and thinner armor because of the weight considerations. Sir?” She turned the briefing back to McKendrick.
After a few more words, McKendrick in turn passed the briefing to O’Neil. The average-looking English officer posted a detailed new transportation list and Rachel cringed. It was too complicated and she wondered how they were supposed to get re-organized, loaded, and then over to the continent and re-formed with such a crazy plan. If there was a logical pattern in the mess, she didn’t see it. Nor could she find herself on the chart. Apparently she wasn’t the only person to have a few qualms, because RSM Smith looked as if he’d just reached for a tulip and found a stinkspike instead. Well, if need be I can transport myself.
As soon as the briefing ended, Rachel swam upstream through the departing soldiers to reach “Officers’ Row” at the front of the auditorium. Everyone had clustered around Lieutenant Cluj. The Serbian officer looked grim. “General von Seelandt just asked Vienna for all the help they can provide. His troops are falling back and evacuating civilians as they go. The last word from General Esterházy is that the Polish branch is to join with the closest Bundeswehr and American regulars to form a blocking force between the Harz and Berlin, in case the city has to be evacuated. The Scandinavians will also move in to hold the area north, toward the Baltic.”
Obviously puzzled, McKendrick frowned over the top of his glasses. “General Esterházy?” He didn’t have to fill in the rest of the question.
“Graf-General von Hohen-Drachenburg disappeared when his convoy was ambushed and is presumed captured or dead,” Lieutenant Cluj reported. Everyone gasped or blinked at the news, and he continued, “All three vehicles burned, and the Germans have not yet been able to determine how many bodies and whose they are. Until positive proof of General von Hohen-Drachenburg’s survival and freedom turns up, Lieutenant General Esterházy is in command of the GDF.”
Outwardly, Rachel just nodded. Inside, she screamed: no, he couldn’t be! Unfortunately, he probably was, the Wanderer snarled to herself, brutally blunt. Joschka was supposed to be beyond that sort of risk, but the odds had caught him at last. Rachel felt her heart go cold. She’d never told him that she loved him and now it was too late.
Something broke inside her and the barriers Rachel had imposed on herself melted away. A hardness and rage—so cold that it burned—enveloped her, turning her grey eye to ice. The humans around her had never seen it, but her Azdhagi soldiers would have recognized Commander Rada Lord Ni Drako’s battle fury. Later, she would mourn and wail her grief to the endless stars. Later, she would pay proper tribute to his soul. Now was time for vengeance. The enemy, whoever they were, would regret the price they would pay for the life of Joschka von Hohen-Drachenburg. Of that, Lord Ni Drako was sure. You have killed the man I love, Rada informed them, and you will pay dearly. And when I finish, I will sow your bones with salt, burn your ancestral altars and make your crime known to every lineage, that your forbearers may be damned to the endless cold. The ritual curse came easily and Rada imagined the unknown enemy recoiling as an Azdhag would. Then she shut her pain away, banking the flames so that they could serve her later.
Cluj was continuing and Rachel dragged her thoughts back to the present. “Captain de Alba is unable to return before our scheduled departure because of a developing situation in Spain.” The Serbian officer gave McKendrick a pleading look, but found no help, so he finished the updates with, “General von Seelandt also sent word that the enemy has captured several towns in the area and appears to have taken the adult residents captive. He didn’t know what had become of the children.”
Captain ben David suggested, “Probably left them behind since children can’t work or travel quickly.”
With that hopeful thought, the group began to disperse. “Captain O’Neil,” Rachel stopped him. “I seem to have missed something. Where am I traveling?”
“You’re in with the rest of the medical support staff,” he sniffed, turning on his heel and striding off.
“Actually, you are traveling with the scouts, ma’am,” a new voice said quietly, and Rachel turned to see RSM Smith tipping his head towards Colour Sergeant Tony Lee and the men and women clustered around him.
“Thank you, Sergeant. As usual, the NCOs save the day,” she smiled before drifting in the indicated direction.
“. . . and bring extra ammo, as much as you can carry,” Lee ordered. He turned to the Wanderer. “Anything else you can suggest, ma’am?”
She thought back over the years. “Yes. If you have a sidearm or favored personal weapon, bring it, regulation or not.” Lee reinforced her suggestion with a nod and the group scattered for the moment.
Rachel trotted to her quarters and changed into a combat-sturdy version of her usual clothes, followed by her serious body armor with camo cloth over it. She ran through a full checklist before she loaded her belt and pockets, slid a second knife into her boot, and grabbed up her helmet as well as her medical kit and black satchel. She pulled a heavy-duty sword cane out from its hiding place beside her bed-nest and hurried off to load up with the scouts. She was carrying about twenty kilograms of gear, including two rifles, but her gut said that she’d need every bit. God be with us she prayed on the go. Because I fear we need it desperately! Before she left her personal quarters, she also added a new accessory. It was foolish, but she felt better as she looked in the mirror.
“And you will remain here, Przilas,” McKendrick informed his executive officer.
The American frowned, respectfully. “Ah, Headquarters is calling for our full compliment, sir, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they are. But someone has to keep the back door open, Tadeus, in case we need it,” McKendrick informed his executive officer, “and you speak fluent French.”
The other man’s green eyes went wide. “Yes, sir. Where will the back door be?” The redhead noted the American’s mental jump and applauded Przilas’s quick study.
McKendrick tapped a place on the map screen. Przilas noted the small town’s name—Dunkirk. “That’s not a good omen, sir.”
“Better there than Sedan,” McKendrick pointed out as he finished signing off the last orders.
“True. Good for us, not so for our foes,” Przilas agreed.
Two hours later the men and women of the 58th Regiment of Foot crossed the English Channel by air. An hour after that they landed at Rhine-Main air base and started unloading their equipment. Two Bundeswehr officers located McKendrick and his acting executive officer, Moshe ben David, to brief them on the latest developments and inform them as to where the GDF was to report. As Rachel had feared, O’Neil’s complicated loading system had screwed everyone up. Everyone, that is, except for the scouts, who had ignored the new plan and instead used their customary loading schedule.
Lee’s people, with the xenology specialist in tow, moved int
o departure position and began weapons checks and other final preparations. McKendrick noticed and excused himself from the Germans for a moment. “Very good work, Boer One,” he said warmly.
“Thank you, Sir.” After McKendrick went back to his conference, O’Neil sailed up, frowning. Sergeant Lee braced himself but before anything happened, Rachel slid in between the irate officer and the NCO. Neither party said a word, but the logistics officer growled under his breath and stormed off to deal with another part of his self-inflicted headache. “Thank you, ma’am,” Lee murmured under his breath.
The small woman nodded, then walked over to take her position at the general’s shoulder, listening to the news. Corporal Hajo Mikitori observed, “Manx One isn’t acting like her usual self.”
“No, she’s not. Which suggests that we need to be ready for anything—even more than usual.” The tall, thin sergeant returned to making certain his people were squared away and ready to go.
As the British got themselves sorted out, several hundred kilometers to the east and south, General von Hohen-Drachenburg took a last glance in the mirror. It had been a very long time since he’d sported regulation hair, and he decided that the only saving grace was that the short clip hid the gray. He already missed his beard. Well, he wasn’t supposed to be in combat anymore, either, and that had also gone sailing. Joschka turned and walked out of his temporary quarters in the former American armor and air base at Grafenwör in northern Bavaria, almost on the Bohemian border. This was as close as they could safely establish a headquarters for the moment and Joschka frowned. He triple-checked his body armor before trotting from the barracks to the main building, which housed the communication and other electronic equipment.
It had been a very close call. He and Marko managed to evade the enemy and reach the Luftwaffe base in time to watch their attackers leave, apparently satisfied with what they’d accomplished. That in itself set off warning bells, and Joschka hadn’t tried to contact his headquarters. Instead, he called in every favor the head of the Luftwaffe, General von Staufenberg, had ever owed him and got transportation to Grafenwör. By then, Helmut Esterházy had set Joschka’s earlier orders into motion and assumed temporary command of the GDF. Once at the Bavarian location, Joschka reestablished contact with Vienna via landline. Helmut had been preparing to evacuate and Joschka concurred. The still-unknown invaders had effectively neutralized human air-superiority through electronic jamming that interfered with communications, aircraft control, and weapons systems, and it seemed that Joschka’s had been one of the last flights possible in central Europe. After a terse discussion with the secretary, it was decided that Joschka would take command of the human counterattack and resistance, while Helmut Esterházy retained overall planetary command. So now he was here, trying to put pieces together and start fighting back.
Lord, I wish I could get Rada down here he thought as he surveyed the most current situation map. She’d know exactly what to do and how best to counterattack. His years of planning and simulations were no match for her field experience, and Joschka growled. But she had no active commission and the German and Polish militaries would not acknowledge her command. I really should have had her transferred to Vienna. If things continued as they were, though, she might well end up taking field command of the British forces, God forbid.
“My lord General, incoming message from Major Doctor Petra Freulinghausen. She is taking command of the German branch,” the lieutenant handed the page over to Joschka, then backed out of the way as Joschka’s eyes widened. His stomach clenched as he read the message. Von Seelandt’s field command post had been attacked and destroyed with almost no survivors. The medical personnel had been several kilometers away, and so escaped the disaster. Major Freulinghausen, medical officer and now the senior officer, was trying to rally the forces in the field to hold their current position, but they just didn’t have enough people. Instead, they focused on getting the local civilians out of the area and back toward the Polish and Bundeswehr lines forming near Berlin. A battalion of reservists had been on maneuvers in the area, and she’d called them in to help, but that was all she’d been able to accomplish so far.
Joschka frowned as the map updated. The invaders now controlled the airspace in eastern Germany and the ground of the Harz. The British were en route and moving east, and he assumed they’d been spotted. They didn’t have much heavy weaponry or local knowledge, but they did have Commander Na Gael. On the other side of the Harz massif, the Polish Branch and the German Army were setting up as a blocking force while the Scandinavians got ready to move in from the north. Helmut had turned the Austrian Branch loose to join the Graf-General as a reserve, and the HalfDragon considered his options and wondered how long before he was found again and attacked. And he wondered just who they were up against!
After taking longer than Rachel would have tolerated if she’d been in charge, the British formed up and moved onto the autobahn. She stayed with the scouts, keeping watch on the skies above for more of the enemy’s observers. The Luftwaffe couldn’t guarantee air superiority, so the troops moved by ground and hoped for the best. After an hour, Lee tugged on the Rachel’s sleeve and she flipped her radio over to his frequency. “I’ve never been to northern Germany, ma’am. Is it all this flat?”
“Yes. You could stand on Ben Nevis and not see anything higher until the Urals if the atmosphere didn’t get in the way.” She waved her hand at the low hills and seemingly endless fields and towns around their route. “Aside from marshlands this is prime cavalry country, especially just a bit north of here, and I can’t remember the last century when someone’s army hasn’t rolled over it.” Lee nodded and Rachel noticed the others in their vehicle looking at her curiously. “Yes?”
Corporal Mike Sherman asked, “Were you here for those, ma’am?”
“No. My first war here was the Napoleonic,” she answered easily. “The company I served with was hired to come in and make certain that no one tampered with events. But we were well south of here, in Bavaria and Bohemia.”
A much more current distraction abruptly drew everyone’s attention skyward. Something paced them at altitude, and Rachel adjusted her targeting monocle. “Guess who?” someone half-asked, and one of the other scouts confirmed the guess. As they called in the observation, Rachel tightened the focus on her viewer and switched her audio receiver to random pickup. It skipped through a number of frequencies before she got lucky. The frequency appeared on her viewer, and the woman’s mouth twitched as she listened to the chittering communication and watched the parallel data stream appear on the display mounted on the forearm of her armor.
Rachel switched back to the scouts’ frequency, keeping the enemy as her secondary. “Boer One, Manx One.”
“Manx One, go ahead.”
“Boer One be advised that hostile is gathering telemetry data on all units. Suggest preparation for rapid evasive action: aerial attack.” Rachel found herself working hard to keep track of the three frequencies that she monitored, but her old conditioning and training still held good.
“Roger. Boer One clear,” and Lee passed the information ahead to the command vehicle. Rachel continued to watch the vehicle flying above the convoy and noted that its altitude was starting to decrease.
“Boer One, hostile is descending,” she advised quietly. It took a second before she remembered how to zoom the targeting monocle. Fewmets, I’ll never let myself get this out of practice again! she promised. She dearly missed having her second eye, because she couldn’t view the targeting and data displays simultaneously anymore. “Hostile now one thousand meters above,” she reported. The enemy still made no effort to attack the convoy and Rachel wondered why. After another minute the spy climbed again and turned north-northeast, toward the Harz and away from the convoy’s route. By now they’d turned due north, before cutting east again to cross a low divide near Hannoversch Munden.
The British left the autobahn at the divide, turned up a small road, and stopped at a wel
l-camouflaged parking area. “We stop and refuel here. We’ll get back underway at 1800 Zulu,” Command One announced. With a little help, Rachel got out of the Aethelred scout vehicle and began walking around stiffly, trying to get her blood moving again. “Manx One report to Command One,” came over her earpiece, and Rachel made her way through the defensive laager to the Brutus command vehicle. Several people gave her odd looks as they studied her highly unusual body armor and helmet. She ignored them.
Commander Na Gael found the other officers listening to a major who wore a Swedish uniform but spoke with a clipped Berlin accent. The British soldiers looked grim and Rachel wondered how bad the news was.
Major Halvorsen was brutally clear. “The German Branch no longer exists. There are small groups fighting their way back and trying to evacuate the civilian population of the Harz, but the command structure is gone—General von Seelandt and all of his staff aside from Major Petra Freulinghausen are dead following an attack on the field command post. Because of the threat to the entire GDF command and control, Lieutenant General Helmut Esterházy, the secretary, and the majority of the Headquarters staff have evacuated to the secondary headquarters.” A murmur arose from the British, and Halvorsen continued, “Field control of Operation Heart’s Blood is being run from a secure location until the Central European branch can come into position.”
The xenology specialist studied the map showing the best estimates of the enemy’s positions and strength. “Has a counter jam been tried, sir?” Lieutenant Cluj asked.
“No. We do not posses anything strong enough to cover the area affected,” Halvorsen told him.
“Do you have anything capable of jamming super high frequency?” Rachel asked. “That’s what they’re using for their voice communications. Their scouts, at least, are also using shortwave data bursts.” Halvorsen stared at her and the woman raised her eyebrow in return.