Henley groaned as he stood up, looking from Archer to the heavy grey sky. “I appreciate that,” he said as he stretched his tired back. “But you know, I think maybe I’m getting too old for all this tromping around, General.”
“I doubt it, Mr Stanmorton. Besides, the excitement of a new battle will take the aches right out of you.”
“I’ve seen enough fighting these two days for my excitement to be as tired as I am,” Henley said before stuffing a handful of the moist, chewy rations into his mouth.
Archer laughed. “Sorry to hear that, because if you’re still determined to stick with us, you’re going to see a lot more. The Ukes aren’t anywhere near being whipped.”
“Oh, I’m determined to stick.” Henley grinned. “But wouldn’t you worry a little if I wasn’t complaining?”
Archer ignored his question. “There’s your skimmer,” he said, pointing to a drab, battered little three-seater. “The driver knows her place in the formation, so all you have to do is enjoy the ride.”
“Thanks, General.” He almost saluted as Archer turned away, then remembered that saluting in the open field was frowned upon. It was a good way to point out the officers to enemy snipers, and sniping was one of the few things the Ukes had shown a high proficiency for these past two days.
With a weary sigh Henley trudged through the mud to the open skimmer and accepted the driver’s nod. “I’m Henley,” he said, offering his hand. “Don’t call me Mister or Chief, just Henley.”
“Squader Nellsson, sir,” the dark-faced woman said, accepting his handshake with a firm grip and a smile that showed straight, even teeth. With her other hand she patted the skimmer’s dialboard. “And this here’s the Lost Divot.”
Taking off his pack and putting it behind the thickly padded seat, he said, “That’s an odd name, Nellsson – I mean Lost Divot, not yours.”
“Don’t know, sir. Comes from an old game called ‘Fore’ my father taught me.”
“You don’t have to call me sir, either. Henley will do fine. So what does the Lost Divot have to do with Fore?” he asked as he climbed into his seat and pulled the restraining straps over his shoulders.
Nellsson laughed. “’Fraid I’d have to teach you the whole game to explain that, sir – uh, Henley. But simply said, it’s a chunk of earth your club knocks out and you can’t find to put back. Anyway, looks like we’re about to get floatin’.”
Henley looked up and saw the leading skimmers begin to rise. The damp air was quickly filled with the whining of tens of skimmers lifting from the ground. “So where are you from?” he asked as Nellsson throttled forward and Lost Divot slid slowly forward toward the middle of the convoy.
“Born and raised on Mungtinez,” Nellsson shouted. She gave him a quick grin. “Service brat. Mother was a pilot in the Flight Corps.”
“Your father?”
“A miner,” she shouted without looking at him. “Died in an accident when I was eleven.”
“Sorry.” He looked at her closely and thought that under the light splattering of dirt on her face she probably attractive in a plain sort of way. “You mated?”
“That a proposal, Henley?” she asked with another grin.
He laughed. “No, just curious. I’m a teller, you know.”
“Saw your insignia. You gonna do a story on me?”
“I might, if you don’t mind.”
“Seems silly, but you can if you want to.” She swerved behind a large transport skimmer and brought Lost Divot to a hovering halt. “To answer your question, no, I’m not mated. Don’t plan to be, neither.”
Henley took out his notebook and flipped to a blank page. “May I ask why?”
Nellsson adjusted the hover before looking at him. There was no grin on her face this time. “’Cause I never found a man I could trust, Henley. They all wanted somethin’ different than I did – somethin’ less. Enough said, okay?”
“How did you get to Sutton?” he asked, veering away from the subject of untrustworthy men. He had no intention of prying into Nellsson’s private life.
Her eyes narrowed. “Came in under General Mari with the first wave of reinforcements just as the Ukes hit us. I ‘bout near bought the planet then, I’ll tell you.”
“How?” He knew the expression and he immediately wondered what had happened to her.
“We were fighting for position on a low ridge the middle of the second day when I caught a hunk of Uke shrapnel in my back,” she said, watching the transport in front of them and lifting Lost Divot to follow. “That’s how come I’m driving this tub ‘stead of leadin’ a squad. Can’t leg it too good, yet.”
“You mean you’d rather be with the combat troops?”
“You’re barrel straight I would, Henley. Even leadin’ a squad of muck-eyed reservists would beat the crud out of bangin’ around in this bucket. As though to emphasize her point, the skimmer bounced over a low hummuck. Nellsson’s grimace of pain lingered even after the skimmer leveled out again.
“Still hurts you, doesn’t it?”
“Most all of the time,” she said simply. “No sense in complainin’, though, ‘cause old Divot’s still better than that hospital bed.” She paused. “Listen.”
In the distance Henley heard the all too familiar sound like rolling thunder.
“Artillery. Somebody’s raisin’ the mud up ahead.”
“You think it’s ours?”
“Don’t rightly know, Henley. But from the sound of it, I figure we’ll find out soon enough. Can’t be more than eight or ten kilometers away.”
Henley stared at the sodden countryside with its grass covered hills and rain-swollen streams and its constant lines of civilian refugees tromping through the mud away from the fighting. His heart went out to those refugees struggling along with their blank faces and their meager possessions on their backs, and part of him prayed the artillery was farther away than Nellsson thought. But washing over and around that prayer was a wave of anticipation that revealed his eagerness to be close to the battle again.
◊ ◊ ◊
Satterfield had been prepared for a Uke attack, but nothing this massive. Cryptography had failed to warn them about this, and now with Dimitri’s attack group fully engaging the Ukes at Sutton, there was little Admiral Pajandcan could do except to follow Dawson’s defense plan and pray it worked. Yet the more she watched and listened to the battles being fought around the planet and throughout the system, the more she doubted that defense plan would hold together.
“Damn,” she said. “There are just too spacing many of them, Torgy.” Her eyes darted from one of Mishel’s screens to another. Each screen showed the Ukes swarming around her ships like gutbirds around a kill. Outside her command station all available fighters were doing their best to keep the Ukes from getting through, yet she knew at any moment their defenses might fail. “Get me Dawson.”
It took Captain Torgeson less than a minute to make contact with Admiral Dawson.
“Looks like you’re holding your own,” Dawson said as soon as his face came on the viewscreen.
“Doesn’t look that way to me.”
“Maybe not, Admiral, but if the Ukes agree with you, they just might let their guard down. We’re almost ready to loose the reserves on them.”
Pajandcan wanted to smile at his bravado, but the grim set of her jaw kept the smile from forming. She feared that Dawson’s reserves would do no more than slow the Ukes down for a little while. “Good. How soon before we see them?” she asked as calmly as she could.
“Less than an hour. I think the –“
“Slime it, Dawson! In an hour I may not have any ships for your precious reserves to rescue. Bring them out now.”
Dawson turned away momentarily as he spoke to someone out of view. “Can’t, Admiral. Half of them are still moonside and –“
“Then send what you’ve got and the rest can follow. Freezing comet tails, man! Can’t you see we’re taking a beating out here?”
The sound of a
n explosion echoed through the corridors of the command station. Simultaneously the deck jerked sideways under Pajandcan’s feet.
As she tried to catch her balance, the gravity system failed. She floated free and slammed upside down and backwards into a communications panel. People and equipment were drifting out of control in the Battle Center. Pajandcan fought to catch her breath.
“Admiral? Admiral? What happened?” Dawson’s voice shouted from the speaker.
“What do you think happened, you dirtsider? We got hit,” Pajandcan yelled as she steadied herself on a handhold. “Launch those reserves!”
“But, Admiral, if you can just –“
“Now, Dawson,” she said more calmly as she pulled herself back to the viewscreen. “I don’t think we can hold out much longer without them.”
“Very well, Admiral. But this isn’t going to give us much of a chance to hit them like we planned.”
“We may not have any chance if you don’t get –“ A second explosion interrupted her as it shook Mishel.
“We’re on our way, Admiral,” Dawson said before the screen went blank.
“Damage reports coming in,” Torgeson said from behind her. “Light so far. They rattled us a little, but except for gravity all systems are up and functioning.”
“For now,” Pajandcan said sharply as she turned to Mishel’s commander. “Dilbeck, time to move to our alternate position. Torgy, alert the fighters and the rest of our ships.” Even as they were following her orders, Pajandcan was thinking ahead. The alternate position was less favorable for communications, but closer to Satterfield and its planetary defenses.
As much as she hated to do it, she clung to a stanchion and wrote out two short messages. The first one was for Admiral Gilbert on Nordeen giving him her most honest assessment of their situation. The second one was for Dimitri at Sutton telling him that they might not be able to hold out much longer.
“Code and send these as fast as you can, Torgy,” she said as she floated over to her communications chief.
“Have to go by relay to Nordeen,” he said as he glanced at the messages.
“They can’t help us much anyway,” she said with a frown. “Just get them there as soon as you can.”
“Will do,” Torgeson said as he hooked a leg around his seat and punched up the coder. “Bad news has a way of traveling faster than good. They should know in a few hours.”
“That’s soon enough.”
“Commencing move, Admiral,” Commander Dilbeck called from across the Battle Center. “All fighters in place.”
Pajandcan watched the screens anxiously as Mishel began its move under Commander Dilbeck’s expert guidance. The Ukes seemed to be hanging back, unsure of whether to attack the Mishel or continue harassing her fighters.
With sudden acceleration Mishel and its fighter escort darted toward their alternate defense position. Much to Pajandcan’s surprise, two-thirds of the Uke fighters broke contact and headed away from Satterfield. The remainder of the Ukes resumed their attack. It looked as though it was going to be a running battle all the way. There were still no reserves, but at least the odds were greatly improved by the Ukes’ inexplicable withdrawal.
26
ADMIRAL FRYE CHARLTOS STOOD on the command deck of the Chaicong and read the message with a growing anger that darkened his already tanned face. “You read this, Melliman. Can you believe it? Bridgeforce wants me to break off part of the fleet and go to Yozel’s aid at Sutton.”
Melliman nodded slowly. “Stripping Yozel’s fleet was a risk we knew we were taking, sir. There’s a message coming in now from Marshall Judoff.”
“Probably volunteering to rescue Yozel and leave us short-shipped again.” Frye shook his head slowly, fighting the bitterness he felt in his heart toward Judoff and Yozel and all the rest of the kyosei. No matter which direction he turned they seemed to be there to thwart him.
It was already obvious to Frye that Satterfield’s defenses were under a killing strain trying to withstand the pressure Tuuneo Fleet was putting on them. Between the hunks, the fighters, and the long-range destroyers, Tuuneo Fleet was pounding half the Sondak ships in the system. Even the arrival of more Sak ships from behind the second moon wasn’t going to cause his forces that much trouble. In a day or two he would have the Saks beaten into surrendering the system or running for their lives.
How could Bridgeforce expect him to give up such a sure victory in favor of trying to salvage Marshall Yozel’s incompetent command? If they had built more conventional ships instead of wasting credits and valuable materials on their vaunted bombship project, this problem would never have occurred. What in the name of Heller’s Fleet was wrong with them?
In a quiet corner of his mind he knew the answer to that question, but refused to face it. There had once been a man named Frye Charltos whose heart and assistance would have immediately gone out to Yozel’s fleet. That man would have wept at the unnecessary loss of life, and done everything he could to prevent it.
But that Frye Charltos had disappeared when the one woman he had loved in his whole life had suffered without mercy and died in his arms, by his hand. That Frye Charltos had died with Vinita and been buried with Tuuneo’s ashes.
In his place, the new Frye Charltos lived for revenge against Sondak, and at the moment he felt only anger and frustration. Yozel was a proven incompetent and should be made to pay for his mistakes. That others suffered with him was regrettable; however, as far as Frye was concerned it was unavoidable.
But Bridgeforce – that collection of trembling fear-safes – had decided to delay equipping the secondary fleets destined for the attacks on the rest of Sondak’s polar systems. Now that same Bridgeforce wanted Frye to jeopardize his own success to rescue a political fathead. Such a request was inexcusable – totally inexcusable.
“You were right, sir,” Melliman said, tearing the message off the decoder. “Look.”
Frye took the sheet from Melliman, and as he read Judoff’s message, his anger grew. Judoff was regrouping her ships in preparation for a sortie to Sutton, and her choice of words left little doubt that she would go with or without his permission. “I want to talk to Marshall Judoff,” he said. “Now.”
“Now” took several minutes longer than he wanted it to, but the delay gave Frye the time to bring his anger under control. Somehow he had to convince Judoff to hold her ships here at Satterfield until the battle was won.
When Judoff’s image finally appeared on the communications screen, Frye’s face registered no emotion. “Greetings, Marshall Judoff. I have received your message, but I must tell you it has caused me great concern.”
“And Marshall Yozel’s plight has caused me great concern, as it should also concern you, Admiral Charltos.” Her intense dislike of him dripped from her voice like acid from a leaking disposal vat.
“We are all understandably concerned about the developments at Sutton, Marshall Judoff.” Frye measured his words and kept his tone as neutral as possible, refusing to respond outwardly to her censure. Attempting to persuade her would probably be a wasted effort, but persuasion was the only tool he had. If he ordered her to stay, he knew she would disobey and bring further turmoil to an already fractious command.
“However,” he continued. “I must request that you reconsider this plan of yours if at all possible. Given our current situation here, we need your ships to bring this operation to a successful conclusion before we can consider any attempt to assist Yozel’s fleet.”
“I cannot do that, Commander – I mean, Admiral.”
The slip was intentional, and Frye knew it, but again he held back any emotional response. Let her have her petty spite if that was what she needed. He needed her ships.
“We have an obligation to assist Commander Yozel if we can,” Judoff continued, “and with the ships under my command, we are quite capable of meeting that obligation. Therefore, in response to Bridgeforce’s directive, I am withdrawing my ships and hastening to Sutton.”
> “It was not a directive,” Frye said quickly. “It was a request. However would you consider a twenty hour delay?” He knew that even in his anger he was coming very close to begging her, and he hated her all the more for that.
“Absolutely not, Charltos. My forces have beaten the Saks back. Yours can complete the task and give the U.C.S. the success it needs here.”
Frye’s anger broke. “By the saints, Marshall!” he shouted. “You vowed to support me on this! You said you would follow my orders, so now I’m giving you one. Your ships will resume their attack and stay with us until I –“
“Order refused,” Judoff said with a dark smile. “Fight the Saks with what you have, Charltos.”
Before Frye could answer, Judoff’s image disappeared in a pattern of static.
“She broke the transmission, sir.”
When Frye finally took his eyes from the screen, his jaw was set in a firm line. “I know, Melliman. I only hope she hasn’t broken our surge to victory as well.”
◊ ◊ ◊
The sky was bright green. The walls of the freshly dug pit were mottled layers of red-and-brown clay. Forty-four yellow-shelled Castorians huddled in loudly clacking groups at the bottom of the pit, their claws waving, their sounds meaningless to all but themselves.
As her people chosen to perform this honorable duty lined the rim of the pit, Leri surveyed the Castorians. Somewhere down there was her enemy, Exeter. This was the first time she had ever seen so many Castorians at the same time, and they all looked alike to her. Leri was having a difficult time trying to pick Exeter out from the rest of them.
Yet she refused to start the execution until she saw Exeter and spoke to him. She wanted to spew her hatred onto his back along with the fire that would consume him. She was so intent on locating him that she did not hear the Castorian ambassador, Glights, scramble up beside her.
“Forgive me, Proctor,” he said with a ritual clacking of his claws, “but I must take my leave now.”
Leri detected a nervousness in him and in his voice, even through the translator, but Glights and his emotional qualms were not her concern. “Where is he?” she asked.
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