He crawled to the grate and pulled himself to his feet, choking on the dust. “I’m here,” he tried to shout, but all that came out was a croaking whisper.
Moments later a pikean sergeant, his fair-skinned face blackened with camouflage paint, appeared through the dust. “Get back and down, sir,” the sergeant said.
Mari had barely moved away from the grate when the sergeant fired several automatic bursts from his rifle. Splinters of shattered metal ricocheted off the slick stones. With a loud crash the grate fell back against the cell wall.
“I’m Sergeant Edwards, sir. General Porras sent us.”
“Porras is still alive?” Mari asked as Edwards helped him to his feet. Only then did he see more troopers in the hall.
“Alive and kickin’ Ukes. Sit down, sir,” Edwards said, pulling off his pack.
Mari obeyed without thinking and Sergeant Edwards pulled a pair of all-size emergency boots out of his pack and slipped them over Mari’s feet. Seconds later he had the bindings comfortably tight. “That ought to hold you, sir. Now for your weapon.”
Edwards thrust a twelve millimeter combat pistol into Mari’s hand, then fastened an ammunition belt around his waist. Mari was startled by the weakness in his arm. The pistol only weighed none kilograms, but it felt like fifty. “Don’t think I can shoot very well left-handed,” he said.
“Then let’s hope you don’t have to. Now listen carefully, sir. We’re going right down this hall approximately eighty meter. My squad is holding the breach there. The company is holding the compound wall. Once we’re through the breach, keep bearing left. Got that?”
“Got it.” Mari felt a surge of adrenal energy that fought against the weakness of his body. “I’m ready.”
“Then let’s go.”
Sergeant Edwards led the way with Mari following him and three troopers behind them. Automatic weapons chattered louder and louder as they moved quickly toward the light-filled breach in the wall. “First team coming through,” Edwards called.
Even through the firing and shouted commands Mari could hear that message repeated, passed on to the men outside. Just as they reached the breach several explosions rocked the outside compound.
“That’s our cover,” Edwards said. “Move out!”
Suddenly they were moving through the breach in the wall. Hands grabbed Mari and pulled him over the rubble. Bullets whined and spat over his head. It was either dawn or dusk, he couldn’t tell which. The dim air was full of smoke and dust.
Pain lanced through his body at a hundred points as Mari followed Sergeant Edwards in a low, running crouch. When Edwards fired to the right, so did Mari. He couldn’t see what he was shooting at, so he just pointed in the general direction enemy fire seemed to be coming from and squeezed the trigger repeatedly. Each recoil of the pistol harshly jerked his arm, and Mari remembered how much he had hated training with the twelve millimeter hand-cannon.
As they reached a second wall, new hands grabbed him and suddenly he was being jerked from man to man. He clung to his pistol. His head swirled. Explosions roared behind them.
“Jump, sir!” a voice commanded.
Mari barely understood what he was doing when he saw the opening to the tunnel and jumped in. A mutilated body lay directly in front of him, smelling of feces and death. The stench struck him like a wall and his knees buckled. Someone grabbed him under the arms and dragged him thirty meters back from the opening. Seconds later the hole filled with troops.
Gasping for breath, Mari checked his pistol. It was almost empty. “Trooper,” he said to the soldier closest to him, “reload this for me.”
The soldier looked startled, but quickly took the pistol and loaded a new magazine. “Have to move back now, sir,” he said as he returned the pistol to Mari. “We’re gonna blow the entrance to the tunnel so the Ukes can’t follow us.”
With the soldier’s help Mari got to his feet, then moved in a low crouch behind him through the darkness. The glowlamp on the trooper’s utility belt cast a faint light on the damp walls of the tunnel, and Mari had to strain his eyes to keep from tripping or running into him. Every time he raised his head too high he bumped it against the hard dirt roof.
Less than a minute after they started, a faint series of thumping explosions shook the tunnel behind them, but the troopers never hesitated. Mari stumbled along behind him, his breaths coming in long, jagged gasps. His broken arm throbbed with miserable pain. His legs screamed in protest against the low crouching movement.
“Keep moving, troop,” a voice behind him said when Mari slowed to stick the pistol in his belt. “We’ve got to get the general out of here.”
Mari would have laughed if he could have. Whoever was behind him obviously didn’t realize who he was following. But Mari clenched his teeth, and quickened his pace as instructed.
Each mechanical step was a lesson in pain. Each ragged breath was an insufficient claim for oxygen. Time became meaningless. Only movement was important. Keep moving, keep moving, his mind commanded. Somehow his body obeyed.
The trooper in front of him stopped without warning and Mari ran into him.
“Easy, sir,” the trooper said. “We’re almost there.”
“Where?” Mari gasped.
“Exit,” the trooper said simply. “You can stand up now.”
Mari tried, but his muscles screamed in protest. His knees gave way and he collapsed onto the damp floor. Moments later two troopers grabbed him and pulled him up.
“Just a few more steps, sir. Can you make it?”
“Yes,” Mari said hoarsely. Amazingly his body again complied with his commands. Ten more steps and they were out of the tunnel. Twenty steps beyond the exit a skimmer sat in the twilight, its engines whining in readiness. Before he knew it he was aboard the open skimmer with six or seven troopers. Then the skimmer lifted and headed out into the growing darkness.
Clinging to the seat brace with his good hand, Mari finally realized with amazement the extent of what happened. He had been rescued, by Porras’s pikean troops – those same troops Mari had despised so much. Now there he was riding with them as they chatted happily about what they had just done. Three of their number had been killed, and seven more wounded, but they had accomplished their mission.
As the skimmer bounced gently through the dark over the rough bottoms of dry gullies and across low, rocky hills, Mari wondered how the driver could see where they were going. The man seemed to have a sixth sense about the terrain. For the first time in Mari’s life he regretted how he had always treated the pikeans before – even Giselda. They might not be the smartest human ethnic group, but the courage of these pikeans at least, was undeniable.
Suddenly the skimmer slowed to an abrupt stop beside a rocky embankment. Mari could hear running water close by, and overhead the stars of galaxy center shone like a bright cloud through the thin haze of Sutton’s atmosphere. He shivered with cold, then shuddered with pain.
“General Mari?” a figure called from the darkness.
It was General Porras. Mari recognized his voice. “Here,” he said as he climbed slowly from the skimmer.
“Bless the stars! How are you, General?”
“Battered, sore, and damned grateful, Porras.” Mari stuck out his left hand. “Those are fine troops you command.”
“Only the best, sir.” Porras accepted Mari’s awkward handshake, then immediately said, “You’re freezing, sir. Let’s get you inside.”
Mari followed Porras up a wide path, then through three heavy blackout curtain into a large, low-ceilinged cavern crammed full of equipment and supplies. In an alcove off to one side he could see a bank of manned radios, its operators all busy. At the far end of the cavern troopers were loading crates into several old freight skimmers. “Incredible! How did you manage to save all this?”
Porras laughed as he led Mari to a small area walled off by boxes. “Some of it was already here. We started transferring supplies, equipment, and ammunition to hidden depots right after
the Ukes hit Roberg. Figured the Ukes would get to us sooner or later, so we decided to be ready for them.”
“Excellent planning, Porras. I’m frankly amazed.” Mari sat on one of the bunks in the cubicle, and almost immediately a trooper appeared with a mess box full of steaming food.
“As soon as you’ve eaten and rested, sir, I’d like for the medics to check you over.”
“Yes. Of course,” Mari said around a mouthful of savory meat. “But right now I’d like a report on our status.”
“I can give you the details after you’ve rested, sir, but you might as well know that we’re in pretty grim shape. We have roughly one hundred eighty thousand troops of one sort or another operating on the planet, most in units of five hundred or less. About half of those are really civilian guerrillas and various militia units, including a local artillery battalion you might have heard pounding in your neighborhood.”
“Good sounds,” Mari said. He swallowed a chewy lump of sweetbread and added, “Gave me hope. Numbers sound much better than I expected.”
“The trouble is, sir, not only do the Ukes outnumber us about six-to-one, but we’re having a terrible time supplying our units. We probably have enough ammunition to hold out for a long time, but getting it to where it’s needed, well that’s something else. We’re using everything from captured Uke heavy transport skimmers to civilian lorries and even pack animals. But we’re restricted to night movement in most areas and short of transport everywhere.
Mari set the half-empty food box on the floor and tried to concentrate on what Porras was saying. His whole body ached and his stomach churned against the unaccustomed richness of the food, but he couldn’t rest until –
“However,” Porras continued, “our immediate concern is to abandon this headquarters tonight. After our raids on Esqueleada, there will be Ukes crawling all over the countryside as soon as it’s light. We need to be well gone by then. Better get some sleep while you can, sir. I’ll wake you when you’re ready to leave.”
With a sigh Mari lay back on the bunk. “Thanks, Porras. And thank your men. We can talk about the rest of …” Mari knew there was something else he was supposed to say, but he was just too tired. His eyes closed. A jumbled procession of images crowded his mind, images of fighting and death. Floating above those images was an eerie cloud of peace. His mouth twitched in a smile as he fell quickly to sleep.
* * * *
After receiving Admiral Gilbert’s message delaying their dinner meeting, Henley Stanmorton called on every source he had searching for a story. Much to his surprise, when he called the Cryptography headquarters an aide consulted with Commander Rochmon and then invited him for an interview.
The following morning Henley was ushered into Rochmon’s office five minutes ahead of schedule. “Good morning, sir. It was good of you to see me on such short notice.”
Rochmon smiled. “It’s part of my new job, Mr. Stanmorton, or hadn’t you heard?”
“No, sir. I just arrived from Biery ten days ago.”
“Well, what can I do for you?”
“I’m not sure, sir. I’ve been hearing a lot of rumors since I hit Nordeen, and I’m hoping you might verify some of them – or at least clear out the bad ones for ne.”
“Shoot,” Rochmon said with a smile.
Henley knew that time was precious, so he pulled out his list without hesitation. “Do the Ukes have a new design subspace hunter-killer?”
“No comment.” Rochmon’s smile faded, but he liked the straightforward question.
“Has Sutton surrendered?”
“On the contrary. Forces there are fighting more fiercely than ever.”
“Are some selected polar systems being given lower priority for reinforcement and supply?”
“Negative. Make that absolutely negative,” Rochmon lied.
Henley marked his list and smiled. “This isn’t going to take long, is it?”
“Negative,” Rochmon said, returning his smile. “I don’t have the time.”
“All right, Commander, is it true that Admiral Pajandcan has taken command of Polar Fleet?”
“That is classified information,” Rochmon said slowly, “but I can tell you that she is with POLFLEET.”
“Will she be given that command?”
“No comment.”
“Is it true that some of the fleets are going to be combined under one command?”
“That’s one I haven’t heard,” Rochmon said with a laugh. “Better ask the Joint Chiefs about that.”
Henley sighed. “I tried, but couldn’t get past their staff, much less get an answer.” He wondered if he should ask the last question on his list, then decided he had nothing to lose.
“One more thing, sir. There are a variety of rumors surrounding your headquarters, but most of them even I can dismiss. However, there is a persistent rumor that can’t be dismissed. People are saying that one of your civilian cryptographers has been relieved of duty and is under suspicion of being a spy for the Ukes.”
Rochmon knew that rumor had been circulating, but was not about to give it credence. “No comment,” he said quietly.
“None, sir? If it’s not true, wouldn’t it help to deny it?”
“No comment,” Rochmon repeated. He believed that Bock was innocent, and when his belief was proven correct, he didn’t want anything smirching her record. “I think your time is up.”
Henley rose immediately. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your help.” The look of concern on Rochmon’s face as he shook his hand told Henley the spy rumor was probably true.
6
THE QUIET PINGING OF MISBARRETT’S bridgecaller woke Captain Ishiwa instantly. It only took him a few seconds to pull on his jumpsuit and less than a minute to leave his cabin and climb to the command deck. “What is it, Bon?”
“Multiple Sondak navigation signals, sir. Headed in our directions. Estimated crossing time, approximately two hours. Estimated firing window, fourteen minutes at minimum speed.”
Ishiwa smiled. “Excellent, Lieutenant. This is sooner than I expected. All crew to battle stations. Slow to minimum subspace speed and prepare to attack. Adjust course for greatest possible firing angle.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
As the crew fitted themselves into their assigned battle stations, Olmis changed from manned ship to an almost living thing. The crowded hunk breathed with an excitement that everyone could feel. Ishiwa knew they were ready. This is what they had been training for. This was the first true test of what Olmis could do in actual combat.
Minutes crawled by as the crew waited with anticipation. On the command deck Ishiwa, Bon, and Kleber monitored the subspace scanners with increasing interest. About half an hour of intense watching, their interest changed to concern as the Sondak blips slowly altered course.
“Do you think they’ve spotted us, sir?” Bon asked.
“No,” Ishiwa answered, “but if they hold that new heading we won’t get much of a shot at them. Increase speed to M-plus-three, Bon.”
“But, Captain, the window will –“
“The window won’t do us a damn bit of good if we aren’t close enough to use it.”
“Speed M-plus-three,” Bon ordered reluctantly.
“I count seven ships,” Ishiwa said as he peered at the screen. “Confirm, Lieutenant.”
Bon leaned closer. “Maybe only six, sir. That trailing blip looks like an erratic echo.”
“Very well, Lieutenant, six it is.” Ishiwa looked carefully at his junior and decided to share the decision making. “Now, Bon, suppose you were leading a Sondak convoy of six ships. Where would you put the most important ones? In the middle? Or the rear?”
“In the rear, sir.”
“In subspace, I think I would, too. Track your targets starting from the rear, Bon. We’ll only have time to fire three missiles, at best, so we go for the last three ships, one missile each.”
“Isn’t that a big risk?”
“It is, Bon. It is. But bet
ter to risk three on three, than to concentrate on only one or two of those ships. If our missiles are accurate, we get three at once. If they’re not, we still might get an additional shot at the last ship in line.”
“By your orders, sir.”
Ishiwa heard the implied disagreement in Bon’s voice and wanted to kick his junior in the tail. This was no time for hidden feelings. “If you think I’m wrong, Lieutenant, enter your objections in the log, now.”
“No, sir. I mean, I don’t think you are wrong, sir. As I said, I just think you are taking a big chance.”
“That’s what we’re here for – taking chances.” Ishiwa turned to his Fire Control Officer. “Chief Kleber, let us know when you’ve locked on targets. When I give the order, I want three missiles away as fast as your people can load and fire. Then I want a fourth ready in the tube in case we need it.”
“Yes, sir,” she said with the flash of a smile.
Ishiwa had argued for dual forward tubes when the fleet engineers had questioned him about design improvements for the new hunks. Now he cursed the shortage of materials and the stinginess of the designers. Olmis might be the fastest and longest-ranged hunk in the galaxy, but with only one firing tube forward and one aft, she, too, had limitations he would have to ocercome to make her as effective a killer as a hunk should be.
The Sondak blips moved almost imperceptibly across and down the edge of the screen marking the slow passage of time. Bon had been right. The closer Olmis got, the more evident it became that there were only six sets of navigational signals, not seven. But six was a far greater number than Ishiwa could have hoped for in their first encounter.
Suddenly he was suspicious. Why would Sondak be sending a convoy in this direction? It was too far off course to be headed for Roberg or Matthews, so that could only mean –
“They’re accelerating, sir!”
“Damn,” Ishiwa whispered. “They must have spotted us. Chief? How soon before you can fire?”
“Ten minutes at the least, sir,” she said without looking up from her scope. “Even then we’ll be shooting through a one-minute window at maximum range.”
Double Spiral War Trilogy Page 30