by K S Augustin
Cheloi looked over at him, unwillingly impressed. Despite his long friendship with Wakor and their unspoken alliance against her, Koul was berating his friend’s actions because he was disobeying orders. There were only a few people at such a senior level who would put their orders ahead of their friendships and she felt a twinge of regret for what might have been. Ignoring it, she signalled Rumis with a quick movement of two fingers.
“Rumis, contact Black sector. Ask them what the fuck they think they’re doing.”
“Yes Colonel.”
“I should do that,” Koul cut in. “Wakor will listen to me.”
Which was exactly what she didn’t want. “You’re too worked up Koul and I need you here. Rumis, use the appropriate language. Tell Wakor to follow orders. Go.”
With a quick salute, Rumis left.
“We’re doing quite well in the other sectors,” Cheloi commented, but Koul only snarled silently, his gaze glued to the displays. “Rep Kodnell was right. In less than a day, we’ve achieved more than in the previous three months.”
But Koul was focused on the Black sector, shifting his head to watch the pinpoints of light as the projection rotated. Dots blinked on and off as individual teams advanced, retreated, engaged with the enemy or died.
“If only we could call in our heavy strikers,” Koul muttered. “We’d get the bastards then.”
Cheloi mentally disagreed. The use of heavy military power may have led to a quick victory but not a lasting one. She could see why the Fusion had focused their undermining efforts on Menon. The planet was the ultimate test case of whether they’d get more deeply involved in the whole Perlim affair. The massive brutal force that normally worked in the Empire’s favour was thwarted by the planet’s eccentric atmosphere. What would the Perlim do? Obviously, they continued with the invasion. But when things dragged on, instead of rethinking their strategy, they stubbornly continued with an arrogant belief in their superiority. The Perlim had the same problem with the rest of their empire as they had with Menon IV, if they had the clear sight to see it.
“Unfortunately the strikers are out,” she answered. “The storms play havoc with every type of shielding we’ve tried. Maybe we could have developed an alternative, but it looks like the Emperor has other problems at the moment.”
The only thing that held the Perlim Empire together was their military superiority. Where they couldn’t depend on that, they were doomed to failure. Cheloi was on Menon IV to make sure that the failure came sooner rather than later.
“They wait until we’re distracted before they attack the border, the Fusion cowards.”
Cheloi didn’t want to think that the Fusion’s entire plan revolved around her, but it was hard to come to any other conclusion. The harassment along the Perlim border that Kodnell mentioned was brilliantly timed, giving her the perfect opportunity to initiate the end-game and bring this whole sorry mess to a conclusion. Sapping Perlim energy helped her enormously and while she knew the war would continue to drag on for many more months, this was a decisive moment she could point to and say, “There, that’s when it started. And I helped start it.”
“Take a look at the other sectors, Koul. I want you monitoring Green and Yellow for me. Rumis will take care of Wakor.”
But as she and Rumis walked the perimeter that night, using the time to stretch their legs and clear their minds, it was obvious that Wakor was out of control.
Cheloi breathed in the cooling dusty air and let it out slowly. She was savouring the sensations of her stroll and Rumis’s warm presence beside her, because she could already see through to the end. To a time when she would be somewhere else, far away from the deserts of Menon IV and the heartbreaking beauty of its treacherous storms.
“He’s not listening to anyone,” Rumis told her in a quiet voice. “In the end, even Colonel Grakal-Ski spoke to him but he seems beyond reason.”
And of course he would be. A senior veteran of multiple campaigns. Resigned, if not happy, with his lot as a Colonel. Forced to take orders, not from his hated and more flamboyant peer, Vanqill, but from one of Vanqill’s inexperienced upstart Majors. Oh yes, Cheloi could see how that would bite, and hard.
“Maybe I should send you to Black sector to talk some sense into him,” she said abruptly.
“Colonel?” She heard the surprise in his voice even if she couldn’t see it. And suddenly, as it was with Lith, she wanted Rumis as far away from HQ as she could send him.
“I’ll compile a report,” she continued briskly. “You can go to Black, add your observations, and take them to Central Control’s base at the Five.”
“What about the offensive? Who will help coordinate our efforts here?”
“I have Koul. He is clever and efficient.” There was a thread of dry humour running through her voice.
Rumis was having none of it. He stopped, forcing Cheloi to stop as well.
“Colonel, has my performance as your adjutant disappointed you in any way?”
He was mostly a silhouette against the sky but Cheloi knew him well enough to know the expression on his face. The frown on his wide forehead pulling down straight dark eyebrows. Brown eyes filled with a puzzled hurt.
“Why would you say that, Rumis?”
“If there was any moment during my assignment that my services were needed most, I believe it’s this one. I believe we’re at a critical point in the war and if you’re sending me away on a courier errand,” his tone of voice indicated what he thought of that task, “then I can only conclude that I have somehow failed in my duties.”
Cheloi was silent for a moment. “I told you in the past that an able commander must be prepared to do whatever is necessary, didn’t I?”
“Yes, Colonel.”
“Patch injuries as well as order advances, help cook the evening meal as well as oversee the territory’s budget.”
“Yes, Colonel.”
“Can’t you see this as just another facet of that? Travelling to Black sector is not a picnic, Rumis. It’s a dangerous journey, especially now that we’ve stuck a giant stick in the rebels’ nest. And even you admit we need to do something about Wakor.”
“I do Colonel but, with respect, wouldn’t Colonel Grakal-Ski be the better choice? I believe that if Colonel Wakor listened to anybody, it would be him. And a face-to-face confrontation between them might achieve what distance communications have not. I, on the other hand, don’t have the same kind of relationship with Colonel Wakor. It would, in my opinion, be a futile errand.”
Cheloi couldn’t believe the depth of affection she had developed for her adjutant, which was another sign she was long past retiring from her career. There was an insane desire to blurt out who she was and why he must get as far away from the Nineteen as possible, because she was about to turn HQ into a fission device just waiting to detonate. She even opened her mouth to say something, anything, but common sense kept her mute.
“I wouldn’t want to begrudge Koul his moment of glory at the centre of operations,” she finally told him.
“Then don’t begrudge me mine either, Colonel. If I have served you well these past years, then please allow me that moment too.”
Clenching her jaw, Cheloi turned away and continued walking, her boots crunching rhythmically on the gravel strewn ground.
“Have you heard from your family recently?” she asked, when she once more felt she had control over her voice. “Your sister will be getting married soon, won’t she?”
“Next month. If Rep Kodnell is right about the transport blackout only lasting a month, I hope to be there in time for her wedding. That is, if you’d approve some extended leave for me.”
“You deserve at least that, Rumis. If not more.” Her voice was heartfelt.
“I’ll hold you to that, Colonel, once this offensive is over.”
They lapsed into companionable silence and Cheloi only stopped when they reached the western edge of the camp, just below the lowest point of the mountain’s encircling rim.<
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“Tomorrow will be another busy day, Rumis, and I’m sure I’ve already missed several critical despatches from our sector commanders. Could you do me a favour?”
“Yes, Colonel.” Anything.
“Go back to the tactical room and summarise the most urgent of those pleas, and send them to my office when you’re done. Then you had better get some sleep. I–I think I’ll walk for a bit longer.”
“As you wish, Senior Colonel.”
Cheloi heard his brisk steps as he strode away, receding into the night. Cheloi left the path and scrambled ten metres up the inner slope of the mountain’s rim. She knew the terrain of the camp intimately and had chosen the spot carefully.
When she turned and looked back from the narrow ledge she had climbed onto, the camp was spread out in front of her in all its camouflaged glory. She knew which set of boulders constituted the entrance to the canteen and laundry sections and which tree marked the officers’ entry. She knew where the exits were and the most probable hole Rumis used to disappear into the underground complex.
With the local battalions deployed elsewhere, she knew there were only enough details to watch outwards from the rim, not inwards. Anybody observing her from below would think the territory’s commander was merely taking a break, pondering the resources available, glorying in the obvious superiority of the Perlim, perhaps even gaining inner strength from the sight of its expansiveness cocooned safely within the embrace of a collapsed mountain-top.
Cheloi snapped her ‘scope down to make sure nobody was aboveground who shouldn’t have been, then knelt, ostensibly to adjust the hem of her trousers. She had already slipped into the defence junction room a few hours ago and flicked a small switch, turning off low-level error reporting. Now she had to execute the second part of her ploy. Scrubby weeds hid her fingers as she pried open the cover of one of the mute-shield projectors that dotted the inner slope at regular intervals.
Each projector had a backup unit and, together with all the other projectors, they formed the dome-shaped mute-shield that kept HQ secure. Should one of them fail, a crack would appear in the blanketing shield, enabling any scanning rebel sensors to find them. With quick movements, Cheloi snapped the major and backup relays and replaced the cover.
Then, standing once more, she brushed her hands on her trousers and headed back down the slope.
Day 1,575 of the War:
The rocking of an explosion woke her early the next morning.
Fuck, that was fast!
Cheloi was up and dressed in minutes, sprinting down the corridor to the Tactical Room while she buttoned her tunic.
“What’s happening?” she demanded as she skidded through the door.
“Our perimeter’s been breached,” Rumis told her tersely. “The shield is down. We don’t know how.”
At the other end of the room, Koul was shouting orders into a comms unit, his voice loud but steady. Another explosion shuddered through the complex and a shower of sand fell on the equipment consoles. Impervious, the projection in the room continued to revolve.
“Attack is mostly by artillery but one of our watchtowers notes a break-in by a small band along the western side of the camp.”
Hand-to-hand combat in the middle of an artillery’s target zone? Cheloi stared at Rumis. Their attackers were insane as well as committed. But something like this was just what she was expecting and she didn’t have time to ponder rebel tactics at the moment.
“Who’s the closest to us?” she asked.
Rumis would have the answer at his fingertips and he did. Her respect for him, calm even under direct attack, increased. “Colonel Pish has three platoons within twenty minutes’ skimmer range.”
“Koul,” she shouted above the occasional percussive thump. “Contact Pish. Get him to divert one, or more if he can spare them, of his platoons here as soon as possible. Tell him we have a small incursion and are under artillery fire. I’m going to check the communications junction for signs of sabotage.” She lowered her voice. “Rumis, get the backups going. Re-establish that shield perimeter as quickly as possible. Manufacture one of those bloody units yourself if necessary, but get it going.”
Both Rumis and Koul nodded quickly as Cheloi left the room. The explosions became more frequent. Even through the earth, Cheloi felt the thuds of their answering weaponry vibrating through the ground. She headed for the junction room in a hurry, yelling at soldiers to get armed and get out of the way as she ran.
She reached the room in question and punched in her access code, steadying herself against the rough wall as the heavy door slid open and another tremor shook the ground. There was nobody inside. There shouldn’t have been. Quickly, she locked the door behind her. The equipment stored here, bank upon bank of slim tall boxes of electronic wizardry blinking green and blue, was supposedly fail-safe.
Cheloi switched on the illumination and started scanning the metal cases. Somewhere, there should be…yes, there they were. The external communications units. She unclipped the side of the unit and swung open the front hinged cover. Three thick bundles of cables, gleaming silver in the light, snaked through the case’s interior, edging aside narrower tubes of white light. She didn’t know what any of the cables did but, then again, she didn’t have to.
Stepping back, Cheloi pulled her blaster out in one smooth movement and fired it into the centre of the box. Sparks rocketed out for a second, and she put her hand up in front of her face to protect herself from the glare and incendiary flashes. Loud pops and sizzles filled the air.
“I think we should—what the hell do you think you’re doing?!”
She spun around. And confronted Koul in the open doorway. Of course, he would have the access codes. And a good dose of bad timing.
He looked stunned as if even he, filled with loathing for her, couldn’t believe what he saw. There was a moment of frozen disbelief before his training kicked in. With a snarl, he surged forward, knocked the blaster from her hand and threw her up against the banks of equipment. Cheloi’s head hit the metal and she saw stars dance in front of her eyes.
“You bitch,” he growled. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Koul I can explain,” she gasped, as his hands grabbed her collar and started to twist.
But she knew she couldn’t talk herself out of this one. Koul was going to kill her and, this time, he was going to do it himself.
Another explosion rocked them both and Cheloi took advantage of the momentary instability and the slight easing of his grip to deliver a short vicious uppercut to his ribcage. He spluttered and let go of her completely and Cheloi angled her right hand up, past his head before chopping across his face with a downward blow. The force of it sent him to his knees. As he reached for his own blaster, Cheloi stepped up. Grabbing his head with both fists, she kneed him in the face.
That should have been enough for anyone but Koul was tougher than he looked. Wavering but conscious, kneeling and steadying himself with one hand on the ground, he shook his head.
“Koul, you bastard,” she muttered, “why won’t you stay down?”
She grabbed two handfuls of his hair, preparing for another strike, but he moved before she did. As the complex rocked and showered them with more fine sand, he jerked forward and to his feet, head butting her in the chin and sending her bouncing against the cases before crashing to the floor.
“You traitorous bitch,” he hissed, as he crawled on top of her. “I should have killed you the moment I first saw you.”
Koul was a heavy weight pinning her down and Cheloi knew she couldn’t get in a good enough hit, not one with enough momentum to shift him. His legs had also pinned hers, effectively stopping her from kneeing him.
“Koul–”
She couldn’t see him properly. The room’s bright illumination, directly above her head, hurt her eyes. In desperation, her right hand scrabbled around for something—sand, a piece of wire, anything. Her hand curled around the barrel of a blaster. She did
n’t have time to turn it over, so she used it to hit the side of his face as hard as she could.
He flinched and she used the split-second of freedom to bring her knees up and half-shove, then kick, him off her.
“You don’t know when to quit, do you?” she asked, scrambling to her feet. She took her eyes off him for only a split-second, to flip the blaster in the air and catch it again, this time by the grip. She didn’t have time to do any fancy sighting and the weapon in her hand gave her only a split-second’s advantage. She took it, aiming quickly at his body and let off a shot.
Koul, halfway to his feet, collapsed to the ground, landing hard on his knees. The smell of burnt flesh filled the small equipment room. He wasn’t dead. Without a proper aim, she had only managed to drill through his shoulder. Disbelieving, his eyes wide, he looked down at his shoulder then up at her.
With cold eyes, Cheloi checked the blaster settings, eyed down the barrel, met his gaze, and shot him again. This time, when Koul hit the floor, he didn’t get up.
With a muttered oath, Cheloi turned her back on his still-warm body. She flung open the doors of the other cases and started methodically firing into each one. When she was done, she was panting from an exertion that had little to do with physical effort.
It wasn’t necessary, but she couldn’t resist one more effort to muddy the waters. With a grim smile, she put the blaster in Koul’s dead hand, not yet stiff and cold, holstered her own, and hit the button on the side of the wall.
The door slid open again to a cacophony of sound. The emergency lights screwed into the ceiling flashed yellow and a klaxon blared down the corridors. The whole complex was on emergency power. Above it all, she heard Rumis’ voice over the loudspeakers.
“The complex is about to collapse. Evacuate immediately. I repeat, the complex is about to collapse.”
She took off for the Tactical Room, finding three junior officers and Rumis still in there. The relief on her adjutant’s face was palpable when he looked up and saw her. The far part of the room had already caved in, and the apparatus projecting the holographic map was hanging from several cables, dangling precariously above their heads.