Forge a New Blade (The Laredo War Book 2)

by Peter Grant

  As they drew near the pad, he heard the rasp of rubber on plascrete as the airvan was towed out of its garage. “Hold it, please, Sir,” the guard beside him cautioned, pulling gently at his sleeve. “They’ve got to open the door for us.”

  “Thanks.” Jake knew his voice from previous encounters. I’m sorry, Sergeant, he thought. You’ve always treated me like a human being. It’s a pity it has to end like this, but that’s war. May Almighty God have mercy on your soul… and on mine, too. I’m going to need it.

  There came the sound of a door opening. “Mind your head, Sir,” the guard cautioned, and pulled him slowly forward until he could feel the edge of the seat. “Slide right over, please, Sir. I’ll take this side once you’re in.”

  “Thanks,” Jake said again as he entered the airvan. Good. You’ll be on my left, so your pistol will be between us.

  He listened carefully, trying to position them in his mind’s eye as the Commandant and another guard slid into the rearmost bench seat. That means the row immediately behind us is empty. They won’t be able to reach across it to grab me after they’re belted into their seats. They’ll be beyond arm’s length.

  A single pilot climbed into the left front seat, the airvan swaying gently as its suspension absorbed his weight. As he belted himself in, he asked, “Tapuria, Sir?”

  From behind Jake the Commandant replied, “That’s right, as fast as you can. They want us there yesterday!”

  “Understood, Sir. I’ll climb to two thousand meters, to get above the headwind blowing at low altitude. Up there we’ll have a tailwind that’ll speed us along. We should get to Tapuria in just over two hours from now.”

  “Very well. Let’s go.”

  The pilot activated the power pack, checked the weight gauge, adjusted the angle of the blades of the airfans, then warned, “We’re lifting off.” He poured current to the electric fan motors. With a whine and a sudden unsteady lurch the airvan left the ground, dipping and wavering in the stiff breeze. The pilot turned it to face into the wind, then increased power. The vehicle began to climb steeply.

  Jake asked, “May I have the cuffs removed, please, Sergeant?”

  His escort glanced over his shoulder. “Is that all right with you, Sir?”

  “Yes, go ahead.”

  The Sergeant took a key from his pocket and unlocked the cuffs. As he did so, Jake contrived to slip them over his wrists awkwardly and dropped them on the floor on his right side, farthest away from the guard. “I’m sorry, Sergeant!” he exclaimed. “That was very clumsy of me. I can’t see to pick them up, I’m afraid. Can you get to them?”

  “Sure, Sir. Hold still a moment while I reach over your legs.”

  Jake waited on tenterhooks until the guard bent forward across his knees, reaching down for the cuffs. His right elbow snapped up, then came down hard on the man’s neck, stunning him for a moment as his left hand snaked out and grasped the butt of the pulser in the Sergeant’s holster. Flicking the safety strap off, he drew it, twisting it around as his right hand came over to grab the butt and his left moved to a support position. He lined it at where he judged the pilot’s seat to be and fired six fast shots, spacing them left to right. A cry of pain rewarded his efforts as the airvan suddenly lurched violently, twisting in mid-air.

  “What the hell are you – NOOOOO!”

  He heard the Commandant’s futile shriek of panic behind him as the airvan flipped over onto its back and, inverted, fell out of the sky. His blindness spared him the sight of the ground rushing up at them, the racing fans driving them down to destruction.

  The airvan hit almost at the same angle as a steep downward slope, scraping along the ground. It tore itself into a thousand pieces as it tumbled over the rugged terrain, throwing its occupants and their seats clear of the fuselage, ripping their seatbelts off, breaking their bones against the rocks, shredding their flesh against the scrub and sandy soil. Jake screamed as agony slammed into him like a giant fist… then everything went black.

  He seemed to wake a timeless interval later. Slowly, the unbearable pain began to ebb. In the darkness that was all he’d been able to see for so long, tiny specks of light began to appear. They multiplied until there seemed to be thousands of them, shining like stars in the firmament.

  He seemed to feel a small boy’s hand in his, and hear a wondering voice ask, “How many stars are there, Daddy?”

  He smiled fondly at the happy memory of days long past. “As many as the grains of sand on the seashore,” he’d said to little Dave.

  “How many is that?”

  “I don’t know. No-one’s ever counted them all.”

  The boy’s face had set in determined lines. “Someday I’m going to count them!”

  Looking at the stars above him now, he knew there were far too many to count. He squeezed the boy’s hand and tried to tell him that, but Dave slipped from his grasp. He tried to call out to him, but he couldn’t see him or feel him any longer, and the glow of the myriad stars was coming together, flowing down, pouring into a single glimmering golden stream of light. It grew stronger… brighter… and suddenly he knew with an aching certainty in his heart that his wife and their two youngest children, killed in the destruction of Banka years before, waited for him on the other side.

  He let go of the last of the pain that held him back, and plunged forward joyfully into the gleaming river.

  Rolla: September 15 2851 GSC

  BEAUMONT, CAPITAL CITY OF ROLLA

  “You’re something of a hero on this planet, aren’t you?” Dave asked.

  Lieutenant-Commander Maxwell shrugged as they walked down the street. “I happened to be the man on the spot when a pirate came calling a few years ago. It was the luck of the draw.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard all about it – but after you killed him, you went on to train their spacers to a hair. When his son came looking for evens the following year, they were able to pound hell out of him and send him packing.”

  “All I did was train them. They handled all the hard work themselves.”

  “You’re too modest. The Gurkhas on Gandaki also spoke warmly of you. You seem to have built up quite a reputation among a pretty diverse selection of people and planets.”

  Steve flushed. “Like I said, it’s mostly been the luck of the draw. I’ve been in the right places at the right times.”

  “Oh, all right. If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t embarrass you by asking any more questions.”

  “Good, then I won’t have to run away blushing.”

  “Ha! That’ll be the day!”

  Steve changed the subject. “Here we are.”

  He led the way into the Commonwealth Embassy to Rolla. A security guard signed them in and led them to the office of the Military Attaché.

  “Good morning, Commander, Major,” Lieutenant-Colonel Bonham greeted them, smiling as she rose to offer her hand. “I hope your negotiations with Rolla have been fruitful?”

  “They have,” Dave assured her. “Gandaki will provide the equivalent of a full battalion of its mercenary troops, ostensibly under contract to Rolla to help with its security and train its own PSDF troops, as they’ve done before. In reality they’ll be contracted to Laredo’s Government-in-Exile, and be trained as Spacers by Rolla’s System Patrol Service. The SPS will also provide basing facilities for our ships in orbit around one of the outer, disused planets, out of the way of other traffic. Laredo will pay Rolla for its assistance. I’m very grateful to you for handling the preliminary negotiations on behalf of BuIntel and smoothing the way for us.”

  “It was our pleasure,” she assured him. “Speaking of BuIntel,” looking at Steve, “the latest dispatch boat entered orbit this morning. It brought a personal eyes-only message for you, if you’ll go to the Communications Desk to sign for it.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am. Dave, if you’ll excuse me for a moment?”

  “Sure.”

  They passed a few minutes in small talk until Steve returned. He paused in
side the office door. “Ma’am, may I please use the Embassy’s secure room to discuss something with the President Pro Tem? I’ll also need disposal facilities for an eyes-only dispatch when we finish.”

  “Of course.” She rose. “I’ll sign you in. There’s a shredder with burn facility inside.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am.”

  As they sat down in the small room, shielded against any known form of electronic monitoring or surveillance, Dave asked, “What’s up?”

  “You’d better read this before I say any more.”

  Steve handed him a sealed envelope, addressed to him by name. Dave opened it and read.

  Dear Mr. President Pro Tem,

  Please destroy this letter after reading it.

  I respectfully wish to remind you that Lieutenant-Commander Maxwell is an officer of the highest probity. You may trust and act upon anything he has to say to you, or not, as you see fit.

  It was signed by Commodore Wu.

  Dave looked up, frowning. “This is rather mysterious. Commodore Wu simply says I can trust you. I already knew that, so why the reassurance?”

  Steve held out his hand for the letter. “Because something’s come up that may get you the missiles you need; but you’re going to have to delve deep into the murky side of the settled galaxy to get them, and pay out a lot of money without a guarantee of a return.” He took the letter, plus one he took from an inside pocket of his uniform jacket, and walked over to the secure shredder. He passed both documents through the blades, then pressed the ‘Burn’ button, watching through a glass window as flames consumed the shreds of paper until nothing remained of them.

  “You’d better tell me more,” Dave said.

  “Let me give you the condensed version now. If you agree to my proposal, we’ll have an opportunity to talk at greater length on our way to our next destination, but we’ll have to send some urgent messages within the hour to the dispatch vessel before it leaves for Lancaster. There’s one condition. Everything we discuss in here is absolutely, totally confidential. You’ll never disclose it to anyone, not even your wife or your closest associates. It’s literally a matter of life or death, because the organization I’m about to describe doesn’t take kindly to being publicly discussed.”

  “That serious? All right. Based on Commodore Wu’s letter and my experience of you, I’ll agree to that.”

  “Thank you. Have you ever heard of the Dragon Tong?”

  “Only that it’s some sort of criminal organization.”

  Steve suppressed a chuckle. “That’s a bit like comparing the Laredo Resistance to a Boy Scout troop. The Tong is widely regarded as the most dangerous interplanetary criminal organization in the settled galaxy.” Dave’s eyebrows rose. “Through a long series of events that needn’t concern us now, I came into contact with them. They consider themselves under an obligation to me.

  “As you can imagine, an organization like that can do all sorts of things an intelligence service like BuIntel might find very useful. We learned something recently that gave me an idea, but I couldn’t broach it to you immediately. I had to get permission from my superiors. Their message to me said I couldn’t do so as a Fleet officer, because this is far beyond anything BuIntel is allowed to do. I’m therefore talking to you now in my personal capacity, not as an officer of the Fleet, and any decision you make must be taken with that in mind.”

  “This sounds more intriguing by the minute! Yes, that’ll be OK.”

  “Good. We’ve learned the size and scope of Bactria’s latest weapons order from Marano. They’re buying eight heavy patrol craft plus a full outfit of missiles and reloads for them, including extra missiles to upgrade a couple of their corvettes. In total they’re ordering four hundred and eighty main battery missiles, most with thermonuclear and bomb-pumped laser warheads, and the same number of defensive missiles.”

  Dave sat up with a jerk. “They must be paying a fortune for them!”

  “Well… sort of. They’ve paid fifteen per cent up front in cash. The balance will be paid on delivery by means of asteroid mining concessions, including exclusive rights in the Laredo system for the next decade.”

  Dave’s face suffused with blood. “The bastards! Who the hell gave them the right to… no, that’s a stupid comment, isn’t it? Bactria controls the system right now.”

  “Unfortunately, yes, it does. The key is in the timing. Marano has to deliver everything to Bactria by the beginning of July next year, or lose the mining concessions. They’re working day and night to produce everything, and refurbishing some of their own patrol craft and missiles to make up for what they won’t be able to manufacture in time. Their deadline to load everything aboard one of their specialized ferries is the first of June next year.”

  Dave grinned unwillingly. “They’re going to be busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest to make that deadline.”

  “Yes, they are. Let’s get back to the Tong. If you agree, I’ll approach them with a proposal. If they hijack the ferry with all those weapons on board, and offload its cargo at a rendezvous with one or two freighters, that will get you the missiles you need to equip your ships. The shipment will be split three ways. You’ll get two-thirds of the missiles. They come in cells of forty missiles, twenty offensive and twenty defensive, so you’ll get sixteen cells. BuIntel will fit them into some of your Bavaria class ships, and integrate them with the fire control systems we’re giving you from our old Legion class battleships. If you put three cells into each of four ships, plus a similar number of the target missiles we’ve been buying for you here and there, that’ll give you the firepower equivalent of four destroyers. Each ship will be as fast as anything Bactria has, and be far more powerful in terms of weight of battery. With me so far?”

  “I sure am! What happens to the rest of the missiles?”

  “Those will go to BuIntel, along with four of the eight patrol craft. They’re small warships designed for local patrols. They can’t hyper-jump, so they’ll be no use to you in an interstellar campaign, but we can use them for… let’s just call it ‘special operations’. BuIntel will have no official knowledge of their origin, of course. It’ll enter them on its books as payment in kind for dockyard work performed for an unnamed ally – namely, preparing your ships, installing the Marano missiles and the target missiles in them, and integrating everything into your fire control systems.”

  Dave nodded. “That sounds fair to me. What will we do with our four patrol craft?”

  “I reckon you’ll use them to patrol the Laredo system once you’ve taken it back. Don’t forget, the assault transports will be expensive to operate. For routine duties it’ll be much cheaper to use patrol craft. You’ll have a missile cell for each of them. I’m sure you can buy more from Marano or elsewhere once the war’s over, or take unused cells from your bigger ships for them.”

  “All right. What’s the third part of the split?”

  “That’s the ferry itself. They’re very specialized vessels, designed to load other spaceships and carry them between stars. They have to cater for very wide variations in the mass and bulk of their cargo. They have huge ballast tanks and other adaptations to ensure longitudinal stability no matter what they carry, otherwise a hyper-jump would be unsafe. That makes them very expensive ships. The Tong will take the ferry to another planet, where they’ll alter its appearance, re-register it, and either sell it or use it in the course of their own activities.”

  “So it’ll be payment to them for their help?”

  “Partly, but not completely. They’ll only get the ship if the plan works. They’ll have to go to a great deal of trouble and expense to set this up, so they’ll want to be paid for that in advance. I figure you’ll need to offer them a hundred million Commonwealth credits – perhaps more if they insist on it, although I think I have enough influence with them to keep the price down. That’s less than a twentieth of what those missiles would cost if you bought them at commercial prices. However, you may lose it
all if anything goes wrong. There are no refunds in this business.”

  Dave stared at him for a long moment. “You say I’m not allowed to discuss this deal with anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Then how the hell am I supposed to ask my Council to give a hundred million credits to some anonymous organization I can’t identify, for a purpose about which I can say nothing?”

  Steve grinned. “I’m willing to bet you can be persuasive if you have to.”

  “I’ll have to be, won’t I? Let me think.”

  Dave was silent for several minutes, staring at the table. Eventually he looked up. “I’ll go ahead and do this without consulting with the others. There’s no time. Once I explain in broad outline, even without going into detail, I think they’ll agree; and if they don’t, I have a secret account for clandestine projects on which I can draw. I brought an extra twenty-five million Neue Helvetica francs with me in bearer bank drafts in case of need, over and above the funds to pay for the laser cannon. I can use them to give the Tong the equivalent of twenty million Lancastrian Commonwealth credits as a deposit. I can send the rest to any account on any planet they designate once I get back to Neue Helvetica. Do you think they’ll accept that?”

  “If I assure them you’re good for the money, they will.”

  “Thanks. With sums like this being bandied about, I understand why Commodore Wu felt it necessary to remind me that you’re trustworthy!”

  “He didn’t want you to suspect that I was trying to siphon a hundred million credits out of your pocket and into mine.”

  “No danger of that!”

  “No… but in the interests of full disclosure, I’ve got to admit there is something in this deal for me. It’s not money – it’s revenge. It’ll benefit you and BuIntel as well, I hasten to add.”