Michael had to stifle a laugh. A pair of Brethren, their plain brown cowls marking them out as junior acolytes, emerged from the door. Formless shapes broke away from the shadows and bundled them away.
“One, Bravo,” a voice said. Lieutenant Horta, 2 Platoon, Michael said to himself. “I have two acolytes. They confirm Tango-One and Tango-Two are in the High Temple with the Brethren.”
Michael felt for Moore. The High Temple was huge. It had more entrances than the 385th could cover, and if that wasn’t bad enough, they’d have to pick their targets out of a large crowd of Brethren.
“Niner-Niner, this is One. Fallback Kilo, Fallback Kilo now!” Moore said. Directed at the entire unit, the order sent the 385th pouring through the gate into the sanctuary. Moore’s men ran hard for the temple. They split into six units: four groups to cover the building’s perimeter, one to secure their egress, and a snatch squad to locate and extract Calverson and Malfroy.
Tanglevine hung in the balance. Moore did not have the reserves to deal with any more complications.
“Squatter, this is One,” Moore said to the snatch team. “Building secured. Go!”
The snatch team sprinted through the High Temple’s imposing bronze doors, each a good 10 meters high. They stood open, spilling golden light into the night. The image from the team leader’s holocam flared. Michael blinked in the light scintillating off the gold- and jewel-encrusted walls. Hundreds of voices filled the air with their chanting. The team ran down a passageway parallel to the main chamber. Arched openings every 10 meters opened onto the assembled mass of Brethren. Brethren packed the brilliantly lit space.
“One, Squatter,” the leader of the snatch team said. “In position. We have eyes on Tango-One and Tango-Two. We’re ready.”
“One, roger … Stand by … go!” Moore barked a microsecond after a small explosive charge blew the building’s switchboard apart. Darkness engulfed the proceedings. A brace of grenades skittered across the marble floor and popped into life, spewing gas and smoke in all directions. A volley of flashbangs followed as the snatch squad exploded into the main temple chamber.
Michael would never forget the confusion and fear on the two targets’ faces, which he could see for a split second in the searing flare of the flashbangs. The men stared, open-mouthed. Then the snatch squad was on them, three to each target. They half lifted, half dragged Calverson and Malfroy off the altar steps, out the door, and into the courtyard.
“Niner-niner,” Moore’s voice said in Michael’s ear, “Whiskey, Whiskey, Whiskey, now!”
The 385th needed no encouragement to withdraw. They ran hard. The team tasked with securing their flanks pulled back with them. It’s all going too well, Michael thought as Moore’s men passed through the gate in the second wall. Where were the Hammers? There had to be someone with enough presence of mind to find a way to get a message to the police or DocSec that the Hammer’s most sacred building had just been attacked.
There was. A police drone dropped into orbit outside the walls of the temple complex. It didn’t last long as a missile slashed it out of the sky. The shattered wreck tumbled out of the air, hit the ground, and exploded. The blast stripped the elaborate tiles off every roof and tossed them away in a confetti of shattered terra-cotta.
Breathing hard, Major Moore arrived back at the main gate. Boots sliding across wet paverment, he skidded to a stop where Michael and Shinoda waited.
“Great job, Major,” Michael said, and he meant it. Moore and all the troopers with him stripped off, replacing their marine combat fatigues with DocSec black. Despite himself, Michael shivered at the sight.
“Long way to go yet,” Moore said. “How do I look?”
“I feel like blowing your head off,” Michael said.
Moore chuckled. “We can take it from here. Thanks and good luck.”
“It’s been an honor, Major Moore. Let’s go, Sergeant Shinoda.”
Monday, October 4, 2404, UD
Ludovici commercial district, McNair
They moved slowly, ducking out of sight whenever the microdrones screening their advance warned of a DocSec patrol or a passing surveillance drone. Five kilometers from the temple complex through nearly deserted streets, they reached the safe house. The office on the fringe of McNair’s commercial district was a tired, decaying monument to the economic cost of the Hammer’s commitment to decades of war.
Tucked away behind an abandoned cluster of reeking dumpsters, Michael scanned the area around the building. He spotted a broken crate tossed into the weed-infested remnants of a flower bed “There’s the telltale,” he whispered to Shinoda. The crate was red: The building had been checked by an NRA countersurveillance team some time in the last two hours and was clean.
“Looks good,” Shinoda murmured. “Bavalek, Mallory, Go make sure.”
The two troopers eased themselves out of cover and slid down the road to the building, shapeless blurs oozing and rippling across the cracked ceramcrete. They disappeared, one through the front doors and the other around the back.
Ten minutes later, the doorway shimmered, its frame softening for an instant. Michael waited. Precisely thirty seconds later, the same thing happened.
“We’re in,” Shinoda said. “Let’s go.”
• • •
An hour later, Michael gave a nod of satisfaction “That’s it,” he said. “We’re online to ENCOMM. Okay, let’s see what’s been happening. Here we go.”
The sheet of holopaper Shinoda had tacked to the wall came to life as ENCOMM’s latest summary of operations appeared. The OPSUM was a complex display of icons splashed across the approaches to McNair. “Not going so well,” Shinoda said, pointing to icons marking the NRA’s front line. “Army Group South should have taken Perkins by now.”
Michael nodded. Shinoda was right. Perkins was one of the largest planetary ground defense bases in the McNair basin. It anchored the western end of the Hammer’s front line. The NRA had to take it before any full-scale assault on McNair.
“But look at this,” Michael said. He pointed to the front line between McNair and the Velmars. “Army Group East is way ahead of schedule.”
“Wah!” Shinoda hissed. “They’ve torn the Hammers apart. They’ve already taken Yallan.”
“They have, and I can see why.” Michael tapped the icons showing the positions of the Hammer units defending McNair. “The Hammers have screwed up. They’ve pulled forces away from the Valmars to reinforce the Branxton front. No wonder the NRA’s having trouble taking Perkins.”
“Which changes things.”
“It does. We don’t have as much time as we thought. The way things are going, Army Group East could be in McNair before the end of the month.”
“Maybe, sir, but they’ll have one hell of a job getting across the Oxus River. What’s ENCOMM saying about Team Victor?”
“Wait one,” Michael said. He drilled down though the datafeeds that summarized everything ENCOMM thought it knew about the Hammer’s order of battle. “Last report I got from ENCOMM put them here in McNair, which is why we’re sitting in this dump. Right; here we are … shit! Hartspring’s not in McNair anymore.”
“So where is the scumsucker?”
“Hold on … Okay, a data intercept put Team Victor at Cooperbridge six hours ago.”
“Cooperbridge,” Shinoda said, looking thoughtful. “So where’s the 120th?”
Michael’s finger stabbed at the display. “Here, at Yallan.” He shook his head. “I’d bet my ass that Colonel Balaghi used the 3rd Battalion to take the Yallan planetary defense base. Do you believe in coincidences, sergeant?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Nor do I. Team Victor and Hartspring aren’t sitting in Cooperbridge to do some fishing. They’re there because Cooperbridge is the closest river crossing to Yallan.”
“I agree.” Shinoda paused to study the display. “I think we’ve got two choices, sir,” she went on. “We can go to Hartspring in Cooperbridge, or we can stick to p
lan A and wait for him to come to us.”
“What do you think?”
“I think we should go to him, sir. We know where he is, and we know why he’s there. In a week’s time?” Shinoda shrugged. “Hartspring could be anywhere.”
“Rats and sinking ships?”
“You got that right,” Shinoda said. “Hartspring will cut and run. It’s only a matter of time.”
“MARFOR 21’s dug in around Cooperbridge,” Michael said. “We’d have to get through them.”
“If we could make it as far as Kumasi,” Shinoda said, pointing to a small town 15 or so kilometers short of Cooperbridge and the Oxus River, “that’d be a start.”
Michael thought the options through. Cooperbridge or McNair. Cooperbridge, he decided finally. That was where Hartspring was, Anna was across the river, and Shinoda was right. Hartspring’s time was running out, and he’d know it. If the man had any sense, he’d head for the hills before the mob ripped him apart.
This is not a good time to be one of DocSec’s finest, Michael thought. “Cooperbridge,” he said. “I think that’s our best chance.”
“I agree, but first we’ve got to get to Kumasi.”
There was an awkward silence as Michael and Shinoda digested the awkward fact that they had a serious problem on their hands. “Bloody hell,” the sergeant muttered. “Why don’t we just catch a fucking taxi?”
Michael stiffened. “Now there’s a thought,” he said, a thoughtful look on his face.
“I was joking, sir,” Shinoda said with a scowl.
“Hold on … Where the hell did I put it?”
“Put what?”
“This!” Michael said, pulling a card out of his pack with a huge grin. “It’s one of the cards I used on Scobie’s, and it’s still got over forty-five grand on it. Think that’ll get us a lift to Kumasi?”
Shinoda grinned back. “I reckon.”
“Let’s find ourselves a truckbot and a greedy dispatcher.”
“The McNair Logistics Center is the place to start. I’ll get a couple of our drones over there.”
Ten minutes later, the holovid feeds from the microdrones stabilized. “Shiiiiit! It’s huge,” Michael said.
“It has to be. It supplies the entire Branxton front.”
Michael stared at the screen. “I don’t think this is an option,” he said. “It’s too busy, too complicated. Where would we start? And we’d have to get across town without being stopped, which won’t be easy. I’m not so worried about DocSec—we know they tend to leave marines alone—but without military IDs and proper orders, we won’t fool the military police.”
“All of which was we why decided to wait for Hartspring in McNair,” Shinoda said, glum-faced.
“Let’s stew on it,” Michael said. “I’d like to see if Major Moore has convinced Calverson to cooperate.”
It was the work of seconds to tune into the holovid broadcast net and a few more to find what passed for a news channel. The news anchor—as always with Hammer newsvids, a blond woman groomed to within an inch of her life—filled the screen.
“… a spokesman for General Barrani said. UNMILCOMM has since confirmed that our forces are making a strategic withdrawal across the Oxus River east of the city after heavy fighting around Yallan and Cooperbridge, though they still hold Paarl and the strategically important town of Ahenkro Junction. South of the city, the heretic advance has been stopped on a line from Perkins through Lukhet Junction to Jarrenburg, again after extremely heavy fighting that inflicted what the spokesman said were unsustainable losses of men and equipment on the heretics.
“The UNMILCOMM spokesman went on to say that a counteroffensive would be launched within days but refused to confirm where the thrust of that operation would be. Our military analysts, however, remain certain that the NRA … ah, I’m sorry, I should have said the heretic offensive north from the Branxton Ranges still remains the principal threat to the security of McNair even though there can be no doubt that the heretics are so seriously overextended that their defeat is only a matter of time.”
Michael smiled; he might have imagined it of course, but he was sure a narrowing of the anchor’s eyes had betrayed what she thought of that piece of Hammer self-delusion.
“Meanwhile,” the woman continued, “in other news, Doctrinal Security has reported the arrest of nine citizens; they have been convicted of spreading malicious rumors that our beloved Teacher of Worlds had been kidnapped by a Revivalist suicide squad. Doctrinal Security has told us that they will be sentenced tomorrow. According to our analysts, that crime carries the death penalty. In a holovid broadcast from his residence inside the High Temple complex, our beloved Teacher of Worlds confirmed that he is quite safe and well. He went on to say that all peoples of the Worlds should remain calm and follow the instructions of the temple Brethren. Now was not the time, Teacher Calverson stressed, for Kraa-fearing citizens to rise up against the heretics. The sacred task of defeating those who dared to attack the great city of McNair should be left to our heroic soldiers, marines, and spacers, men who will gladly give their lives to secure final victory. Teacher Calverson …”
Michael chuckled as Shinoda put her finger into her mouth and made a retching sound.
“… also expressed his absolute confidence in the leadership of Chief Councillor Polk and said that it was only a matter of time before the heretics would be destroyed and their souls condemned by the Word of Kraa to eternal damnation.
“However, a spokesman from the Office of the Chief Councillor told us that the situation at the High Temple complex was, and I quote, ‘unsatisfactory.’ Even when asked repeatedly what he meant by that, the spokesman refused to say. He said only that the authorities had asked that a Doctrinal Security team be allowed access to the complex to ensure the ongoing safety of the Teacher of Worlds but that Teacher Calverson had yet to respond to the request.
“In other developments, sources close to the councillor for internal security have confirmed that outbreaks of civil unrest have been reported right across the Hammer Worlds. We go now to our reporter on Faith.”
“Looks like Moore has pulled it off,” Michael said, switching the screen back to the tactical display.
“I’d say so, though Polk clearly smells a rat.”
“He does, but until he gets his hands on Calverson, there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.” He paused. “So,” he went on, “Kumasi. How do we get there?”
“Put the microdrone feed back up … Look at that,” Shinoda said. She pointed at the frenetic activity visible all across the logistics center. “We haven’t got a chance, and look outside the place. The Hammers know how important the place is, and it has the security to match. We wouldn’t even get close.”
“You’re right,” Michael said. “And they’ll be clearing the roads of all nonmilitary traffic, so we can’t make our own way there. I think we’re screwed, sergeant. If we hijacked a flier, we’d be shot down. It’s too far too walk, and I don’t fancy swimming upriver.”
The silence that followed was a long one, interrupted only by the arrival of Trooper Kleber, his always amiable visage split by a huge grin. “Corporal Bavalek’s found an old coffeebot that works, sir,” he said. “He’s cleaned it up, so we’ll have a brew for you any minute.”
“That man’s a hero,” Shinoda said.
“So what’s next, sir?” Kleber asked.
“No change,” Michael replied. “Remain here until the Hammers have been pushed back into the city, then go find our man.”
“Where is he now, sir?”
“Cooperbridge.”
“Be better to hit the bastard there, sir.”
Michael sighed. “That’s what we think, but we’re having trouble seeing how to get there.”
“Easy. Use the river.”
“Use the river?” Michael said, incredulous.
“Yes. UNMILCOMM uses it to ship anything that’s too big to go by road. Heavy equipment, tanks, missile batteries, replacement
power plants, and so on.”
“But that’d be too slow, surely. Must take them days.”
“No, no. The barges are just big catamarans, but they do ten, maybe fifteen klicks an hour. Doesn’t sound like much, but that’ll get you to Paarl and Ahenkro Junction in under a day.”
“I’ll be damned,” Michael said, filled with sudden elation. “That still leaves us with the small problem of how we hitch a lift.”
“Well, there’s nothing I can do to help you there, sir …”
Crap, thought Michael. Why is everything always so damn hard?
“… but Delabi might. Isn’t she from Nawadji?”
“Nawadji?’
“Suburb down by the docks. She—”
The concussion was savage, an ear-shattering blast that took the building and threw it side to side, knocking the three of them to the floor, ceiling tiles raining down on them, the air thick with the dirt and dust of decades. The impact was so powerful that Michael thought for a moment that the place might collapse. Coughing and sputtering, he staggered to his feet, wiping the muck out of his eyes and mouth. “What the hell was that?” he croaked.
Shinoda just shook her head. She could not speak. She stood there hacking and spitting as she tried to clear her throat and lungs.
Kleber dragged himself upright. Like Shinoda, he was doing his best to cough his lungs up. “Kraa!” he said. “That would have spoiled someone’s day.”
“Any idea what it was?” Michael croaked. He tried to get the microdrones back online. The datafeed was dead.
“I’ll go check,” Kleber said.
“I’ll go make sure the rest of the team is okay,” Shinoda said.
Kleber was back barely a minute later. “Looks like our guys took out the ordnance depot out at Sanz. It’s the only thing out there big enough to cause an explosion like that.”
Michael’s mind was racing. The blast would have caused chaos right across the city; DocSec and everyone else would have their hands full. They’d be too busy to worry about a bunch of marines. He took the risk and commed Shinoda.
The Final Battle Page 23