IronStar

by Hallman, Grant

  Behind the three-meter high earth dam, four days’ pent-up flow of the Upper Geera, by now spread out into a shallow lake a kilometer wide and six long, gathered itself and gushed through the openings. As the last log came out of the dam, four torrents of water two meters high and five wide cascaded with a roar through the openings, merged into one, and raced down the nearly-dry riverbed between the dam and the city. The flow frothed and spread and settled into a speeding, seething flash flood, waist deep but with eight million tonnes of pent-up water coming behind.

  “Always surprises me when it works the first time!” called Wai'thago cheerfully, wrapping the last of the log chains around the shaft of a winch. Trading salutes with the big blacksmith, Irshe reined his horse around and began racing his Warmaster’s latest surprise down-river.

  At the east end of the small lake, a point of land contained the shipwright’s docks. From the southernmost watchtower on the point, Kirrah stared out into the blackness through her gunsight’s night-vision optics. Three hundred meters to the southeast, she could make out the steamship and barges bridging the Geeratha. A column of men was visible in her gunsight, crossing the river and then trooping southwest over the second wedge of land, between the Geeratha and the South Geera. They were gathering on the east bank of the South Geera, six or seven hundred meters upstream from the main O’dai camp on its opposite shore.

  That force represented virtually every horseman she could muster - a mix of Talamae heavy and Pavattan medium cavalry and Wrth raiders, all together four hundred seventy-five riders. They were strengthened by eighty archers and almost four hundred pikemen, with strict orders to lead any advance and probe the air before them with pikeshafts. Theirs would be the only warning anyone had before running onto a section of nanowire. Just upstream from the men, three more steamships lay moored in the South Geera. Beneath her watchtower, two members of the star-throwers’ guild stood ready.

  Now if the damned river will just cooperate before the moons start rising… yes, there it comes! Audible even from the twelve-meter height of the watchtower, the Upper Geera, still and silent the past four days, was coming alive with chuckles and gurgles. In a minute it was a gush; in three, a muddy torrent was pouring into the lake, already noticeably raised by the scuttled barges blocking its outflow at the west end. I hope Captain Og’drai called this right…

  In fifteen minutes, the south shoreline of the lake was visibly encroaching on the circular peninsula which the O’dai force had called home for the last fifty days. By twenty minutes, the engorged outflow from the Upper Geera had overwhelmed the normal northerly currents from the other two tributaries, and was carrying their flow as well as its own, southwest where it was cutting into the by now only centimeters high bank at the eastern end of the O’dai position. The combined flow began pushing a tongue of water thirty meters wide and a few centimeters deep across the flat plains behind the O’dai. The lake level continued to rise, a centimeter every few minutes. Now half the peninsula was a sheet of shallow but rapidly spreading water. Shouts were rising from the enemy camp as men woke to waterlogged blankets and squished out of their tents to find themselves in the center of a giant puddle.

  “Now,” Kirrah tapped the tower guard. The other woman softly struck the larger of the tower’s two alarm bells with a padded stick, and four low gongs rolled into the still night air. At the point of land just across the Upper Geera from Kirrah’s tower, Do'thablu’s men pushed one of the laden barges into the rising water, lit a long fuse and released the vessel into the rapid flow. Tethered by three hundred meters of rope, the barge was guided southwest with the current until it grounded on the east edge of the barely-submerged O’dai-held peninsula. A few tense moments later, the burning fuse lit flares in the bottom of the barge, and a demolition charge exploded with a tremendous flash and boom that rolled far across the starlit plains. Fourteen thousand liters of volatile dappa-oil spewed from the shattered barrels, forming a green-and-yellow fireball thirty meters across that climbed into the still night like a monstrous flower. Under its glaring bloom, burning oil covered the water in a spreading ring of fire.

  Another thick plume of oil was already flowing from the other three barges, as Do'thablu and his men smashed open barrel after barrel and dumped their contents onto the rapidly flowing water. Thrown brands quickly set the mess aflame. The turbulent crosscurrents picked up the rapidly spreading oil and carried the flames straight into the flooding O’dai camp. Pandemonium broke out. O’dai soldiers ran north and west to escape the oncoming conflagration, splashing through the sodden not-grass. Some plunged unawares off the level plain and down the submerged bank of the flooded lake, where they floundered in the deeper water. Kirrah called down to the man and woman from the star-throwers guild:

  “Red and red! Go!”

  “Red and red, yes, Warmaster” came the reply. In a few seconds the fireworks tube beneath her made a chuff-sound, and a brilliant red star spread and hung across the sky. Then another. When the second flare burst, the three steamships anchored up the South Geera swung sideways in the current, nose to stern. In a few heartbeats, ramps were laid across and the forces massed on the east bank began crossing to the west bank, landing directly south of the O’dai camp. What had been the O’dai camp, Kirrah reflected with a feral grin.

  The burning oil was still spreading its tentacles, sheets of green-and-yellow flame as high as three men in places, engulfing men and equipment as it passed. One long arm curled around the south side of the enemy camp like an ardent lover, hundred-meter long blazing loops of it coming loose to writhe in the currents among the panicky soldiers. Tents and supply wagons were already ablaze, horses were running in every direction through the ankle-deep water, and here and there men were screaming and running like living torches set out to light the hellish scene.

  “Red and white, go!” The next two signal flares lit the scene in brief carmine daylight, and at the signal, the three ships bridging the South Geera opened fire with their mortars, ranging on the disorganized enemy.

  So far, so good - time for the next move… Kirrah and Peetha scrambled down the tower’s ladder and out onto the adjacent docks where the four remaining steamships and a number of cargo boats loaded with men were bobbing and swaying in the turbulent currents. Captain Og'drai was fairly dancing to be off. The two women splashed through the shallow water rising at the shore-end of the wharf, ran down its length and onto the deck of the Flowerpot II.

  “Captain, you may cast off.”

  “Thank you, Warmaster!” A wave to the first mate started the process of getting under way. “I had to keep letting out our mooring lines! This is the highest I have seen the lake since that spring when I was seven, after the heavy snowfalls we had all winter.”

  “And you correctly remembered the currents, bless you. I was hoping the southwest flow would carry our oil into their camp, but it is most gratifying to see it actually happen. Thank you for your advice, Captain. Now let’s finish the job.”

  “With great pleasure, Warmaster! Forward and portside mortars! Fire at opportunity! Helmsman, give us a tour of this victory. And do keep us out of the path of the flames, Agga’dai. If you scorch my paint you will redo it yourself!” Four muffled explosions marked the first mortar volley away. Another volley followed almost immediately from the steamship pacing them on the port side, the one they had insisted on christening the ‘Kirrah’s Victory’. As the other two steamships pacing them to starboard came into range, they too joined the bombardment.

  Archers and pikemen in cargo boats under Lieutenant Rash’koi’s command began crossing the swollen lake. Half a kilometer to the south, more explosions pounded the battered O’dai encampment, and flares lifted into the sky from the three ships on the South Geera to light up the killing zone. South of the O’dai camp, Kirrah’s night-vision gear revealed her cavalry already spreading into disciplined skirmish lines and cutting down the few stragglers fleeing in that direction. On her left forearm, a small blue light began t
o flash.

  Chapter 37 (Landing plus one hundred thirty-six): Ironstar

  “Don't ever take a fence down until you know why it was put up” - Robert Frost, 20th century A.D. poet; United States of America, Terra

  “What is that, Warmaster?” Simultaneously Kirrah noticed the unit’s Attention alarm vibrating on her forearm.

  “Peetha! That’s… that’s…” With unsteady fingers, she touched the tiny flashing blue light on her wristcomp and watched data flow down its backlit screen:

 
  < Signal format SD channel 1, assurance (99+)

  < Signal type RNS standard hail.

  < Signal consistent with orbital source (range unknown)

  < Signal bearing 305->308 by 025->029

  <

 
  <

 
  < Do you wish to override security status (Y or N)?

  Kirrah tapped an emphatic “Yes” on the keypad. The wristcomp replied:

 
  < Warning: Hostile detection of this signal is possible.

  < Do you accept recommended mode?

  Another keystroke, even more forcefully this time, “Yes”.

 
  < BROADCAST IN RANGE OF POSSIBLE HOSTILE DETECTION.

  < Final warning. Proceed (Y or N)?

  Enough already! They’ve come two hundred lightyears for me, and I’ve waited months for this moment! There’s no way I’m gonna stand here and have them not see me! Do it! Kirrah tapped the “Yes” key, watched the screen configure itself for “Incoming Message”. Her finger paused unaccountably over the “Accept” button, as though paralyzed.

  This changes everything, doesn’t it, Lieutenant? Thought we had more time playing Admiral, didn’t we? Or was it more time playing Mother? Or was it more playing with Irshe? With a nearly audible slam, Kirrah closed the mental door on her roiling thoughts and stabbed the Accept key. Peetha looked sharply and Captain Og'drai jumped noticeably as a clear male voice poured immediately from her suit’s internal speakers:

  “…um Navy vessel Argosy, general hail, general hail. Any vessel any personnel, please respond. This is Regnum Navy vessel Argosy, general hail, general hail. Any vessel any personnel, please…” Her fingers steady now, Kirrah touched the one key she had never used since landing: the Transmit button. Her voice surprised her by coming out steady and clear.

  “Argosy, this is Lieutenant Kirrah Roehl, RSS ID seven seven six Yankee Hotel Papa one three five two niner Kilo, status active. Damn! it’s good to hear you guys! What took you so long?” Kirrah’s companions were staring at her as though she’d gone mad. Her face was smiling so hugely she thought it might split, tears were streaming freely down her cheeks. In the distance, the crump! of mortars mixed with screams of the dying and the frantic shouts of the few O’dai officers recovering their wits enough to try to rally their men. The automated hail cycled a few more seconds, then the same voice, obviously live and sounding a bit startled, broke in:

  “Lieutenant Roehl! Where, I’m… It’s a pleasure to hear your voice! Please key your rescue beacon, I’ll get a fix…”

  “Negative beacon, Argosy! There are Kruss on-planet! Maintain micropulse mode. And watch your six, there may be more Kruss up there! I say again, Kruss in-system.”

  “That’s understood, Lieutenant, thank you. We are LOS, can you give me a bearing? Wait one, we’re nightside, coming up on what looks like a fire, right on a wide spot on a river… ‘Eyes’ is trying to make sense of it, it looks like the river’s burning, and there’s flashes all around…” Kirrah looked up to see the stars shining down.

  “Peetha, Og'drai, look up! There! See that one star, it’s moving! The Regnum has arrived!”

  “Argosy, say again, Lieutenant?”

  “Argosy, Roehl - sorry, I was speaking with some friends. In another language. The fire, yes, that’s mine. Things are pretty busy right now, we’re in the middle of a shooting war. Uhhh, look, I’m going to have to get back to it in a minute, lives are on the line here.” My lives, lives I carry in shee’thomm, damn! this is inconvenient timing! “Argosy, recommend we re-establish contact on your next orbit. You have my coordinates, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Negative, Lieutenant Roehl.” A deeper, more mature woman’s voice this time. “This is Admiral Lucinda Dunning, commander Task Force Two. You have my undivided attention. To say nothing of half the bridge and most of the ship. And NavInt Trailway. Whatever’s going on down there, we’re not losing sight of you. Breaking orbit now. We will hold this position skyside. Lieutenant, in ten words or less, will I be sorry for sending immediate assistance? I have a Landing Assault Shuttle and some idle Marines available.” Kirrah swallowed, trying to shift gears between her roles.

  “Ahhh… no Ma’am. Definitely not sorry. I’m leading a local human force, against another larger human force backed by Kruss technology. The Kruss are already active with the locals.”

  “Understood, Lieutenant. We will expedite. How long can you hold out?”

  “Hold out, Ma’am? We’re, ah, that is, we’re winning, Ma’am.” A brief pause.

  “I see. No, I don’t see. Lieutenant, what is your recommendation regarding assistance?”

  “Sorry, Ma’am. Assistance definitely appreciated. A show of force should put a swift end to this bloodshed. Recommend overflight by your LAS, hundred meters altitude, supersonic, full lights, then come back slow, make a big racket. Be aware, local technology is barely industrial, however Kruss have deployed at least one nanowire and are using some type of smartshot antipersonnel small arms. Full combat armor indicated. And the city, everything north of the river, they’re friendlies.

  “Oh, one other thing, Ma’am, we have a Kruss prisoner, if you could please send a set of proper restraints…”

  “You have a Kruss prisoner. Sounds like you’ve been busy, Lieutenant. Good work. My Marines will be there in… nine minutes. Go win your war. Argosy by.”

  Peetha stared at her. Captain Og'drai’s mouth was open, his neck craned back as he tracked the bright point moving among the stars.

  “Look!” he said. “When the moving one comes close to one of the other stars, they shimmer and turn blue and disappear for a moment!”

  “That is the… the vessel’s engines working. They have stopped their flight over us, they now use their engine to keep from falling.”

  “That tiny star is the Reg’num’s star-ship? That voice came from there?”

  “That ‘tiny star’ is a vessel one or two doi’la long, and perhaps six hundred doi'la high above us. It may have a crew of three thousand.”

  “By my grandfather’s eyes! A ship! A star made of iron! Never did I dream to see…” He broke off as his steamship heeled sharply to avoid a patch of burning oil.

  “This war is over,” Kirrah declared. “Cease firing. Tell Rash’koi-sana'tachk to spare the O’dai near the water. Every life lost from here forward is a waste. Send him down to the west end of the lake, I mean the lake’s old shore, and hold the O’dai there from running off into the night. He is to defend himself, and slay the wielders of nanowire if he sees them, otherwise encircle the camp. Tell him, in a few bhrakkaz, the sky will roar, and the O’dai will surrender. If I could, I would send word to the cavalry, but the oil still burns.”

  The ship’s bell rang a brief code, and the other steamships ceased pummeling the tatters of the O’dai army. Kirrah spared a moment to sympathize with the enemy officers, who were desperately trying to choose between deploying in the shallow water and facing the moving sheets of burning oil, versus bunching up on the few patches of higher ground where the flames could not reach, and drawing fire from the ships’ mortars.

  “Warmaster, I believe if we ran full speed through the flam
es, we could reach the cavalry safely.”

  “Thank you, Captain. Do it.” The Flowerpot II heeled again and built up speed. In a few seconds, they approached the upstream end of the flaming oil slick. Everyone held their breath while the steamship sliced dramatically but uneventfully through the flames, the burning oil pushing to either side as their bow wave swept through. They headed straight for the mouth of the South Geera. Kirrah’s comm chimed and a clear woman’s voice said:

  “Lieutenant Roehl, Argosy Shuttle One, request approach vector.”

  “Shuttle One, Roehl. Come in from due north, request one supersonic pass directly over the fire, then circle and land two hundred meters south, at a point I’ll mark with my beamer. Surface vegetation under twenty centimeters, sandy soil, no problems. Watch for locals when landing, it’s a busy night. I will meet you there. I’ll be embarking with a few guests.”

  “Wilco, One by.”

  Huh, I seem to be switching languages automatically, Kirrah noticed. Now, where were we…

  “Captain, can you sound the ‘Call Cavalry’ on the ship’s bells? We’re getting close to - there they are!” At the low-high-low chimes, the nearest cavalry riders turned and made for the shore. Kirrah stood at the ship’s rail and shouted down to the cavalry corporal.

  “Dakka’tachk! Tell all the forces to circle the O’dai and hold a line! No more attack, just turn the stragglers back. And tell our soldiers Kirrah Warmaster is about to make the sky roar, to frighten the enemy. They are about to surrender!” The man saluted and galloped off into the darkness.

  In a few moments, Peetha, Captain Og'drai and Kirrah stood on the not-grass as a large white charger pounded up and reined in beside them.