Double Spiral War Trilogy

by Warren Norwood

  “Of course not. Do you think me stupid, Xindella?”

  “Totally,” Xindella said with a baring of his blunt yellow teeth. In a few hours the Ukes will take your prize away from you, and you will have nothing left but me – assuming they let you live, of course.”

  “And you,” Janette said. “Now shut up and let me think” Xindella was right. She knew that. But that knowledge and what she should do to change it were totally different matters. For a long moment she stood with one hand holding the opposite elbow and the thumb of the other hand hooked under her chin while the forefinger rubbed her nose.

  Maybe she couldn’t keep Marshall Judoff from taking the weapon. But if she could dismantle it – or better yet disarm it in some subtle way – then she could agree to jettison it in exchange for her life. And Xindella’s life, she thought rudely.

  But what if Judoff demanded Wallen? If she told him Wallen was dead, what would keep Judoff from blasting them to spacedust anyway? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  One thing alone was perfectly obvious to Thel Janette. So long as she had the weapon, her chances for survival were much stronger – especially if Judoff did not know that Wallen was dead. Even so, she thought, it wouldn’t hurt to take a piece or two out of the weapon – just for insurance.

  “Xindella, you’re about to become a mechanic,” she said. “I want you to show me exactly what part of this Wallen was working on before he died.”

  “But Inspector, I told you I know nothing about-”

  “And I told you I need your help – help that could very well save your worthless life. The Ukes don’t have any use for you. Why would they let either of us live after gaining possession of the weapon? They’re not too happy about your role in-”

  “All right, Inspector, all right. Your point is well made. However, I cannot be of much assistance bound as I am.”

  “Then I will free you,” Janette said as she stepped closer to him, “but you must swear by whatever gods you honor that you will not attempt to overpower me and take control of this ship.”

  “I am at your mercy, Inspector. I have no choice but to agree to your terms.”

  Janette reached to release his straps. “Oh,” she said as she hesitated and smiled at him, “there is one more thing you should know. The ship is set to self-destruct if anyone but me tries to pilot it-not that you would do anything like that, of course, but I thought it only fair to warn you.”

  “Thank you, Inspector,” Xindella said with a fluttering sigh when she finally released the straps. “In return for your unnatural kindness I offer you here and now everything I know about the weapon. See that darker panel in the center? Wallen believed that the coupler for the detonator lay behind that panel, and that was the only part of the weapon I ever saw him work a tool upon.”

  “Open it,” Janette commanded.

  Xindella shook his great head. “I don’t know how.”

  “Put your hands on it and find-”

  “Two hours, Inspector Janette,” boomed a voice from the overhead speaker, “until we reclaim our equipment. We hope you have reconsidered our offer to –“

  Janette cut him off with a flip of the bulkhead switch. “We have to get a piece out of this thing, Xindella, so that if they do take it from us, they won’t know what’s missing and won’t be able to make it work. Open the panel.”

  Again Xindella shook his head. “If you insist, Inspector but do not blame me if it cannot be done.”

  One hour later the large brown panel slid aside to reveal one square meter of neatly tangled colored wires running to hundreds of tiny switches and microchips.

  In the center of the tangle was a sealed glass tube partially filled with green liquid. And the liquid was bubbling.

  A chilling wave of apprehension rippled up Janette’s spine as she stared at the liquid and wondered what in the galaxy it was.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  “How far away are we, Mars?”

  “Farther than the Ukes.”

  “Delightful Childe? Did you hear that?”

  “I did, Captain Teeman. How long do you estimate it will take you to reach the Sondak ship?”

  Lucky cocked an eyebrow at Marsha and she said, “About one hundred minutes for us. The Ukes look like they’ll beat us by approximately twenty minutes.”

  “Will that give them time to link up?”

  Marsha nodded. “It should if they have a good Close Maneuvering Pilot aboard.” For a moment she wondered who to care about in all this. Why not just let Marshall Judoff and Inspector Janette fight for the weapon? Why didn’t she want that to happen? Her mind had hardly formed the question when she knew the answer. She wasn’t doing this for the U.C.S or for Delightful Childe and the Neutral Alliance. She was doing it for herself, and for Lucky, and for whatever hope the future held for the two of them. There was no other reason that mattered to her.

  “I suggest that you close with them at the fastest safe speed,” Delightful Childe’s voice said from the speaker. “Perhaps your approach will slow them down enough to prevent their linking with the Sondak ship.”

  “And what if they blow us from space, partner?” Lucky “Seems to me like we ought to brake harder and stop away from them.”

  “This is no time for caution, Captain. Since I cannot reach their position for another five or six of your standard hours, you must do everything in your power to prevent-”

  “The only thing we have to do is survive,” Marsha cut in. And your idea sounds foolhardy and stupid to me.”

  Lucky saw the determined look on her face and felt a sudden rush of love for her. Regardless of what happened here, he knew he never wanted to be separated from Marsha again. “She’s right, partner,” he said softly, then repeated, “She’s right.”

  “But you have the laser cannon!”

  “Against a Uke cruiser?” With a slight shake of his head Lucky turned to Marsha and whispered, “What now, Mars?”

  “Suppose we tell Marshall Judoff that we won’t interfere, but as representatives of the Neutral Alliance we demand the right to observe?”

  “Captain? Citizen Yednoshpfa? Is there something wrong?”

  “No,” Marsha said too loudly. “Switch to standard frequency seventy-seven. We’re going to try to talk to the U.C.S ship.”

  “But why?”

  “Switch and find out,” Lucky said before resetting Graycloud’s ship-to-ship transceiver. “Go, Mars.”

  “Neutral ship Graycloud calling U.C.S. ship Enaha. Graycloud calling Enaha-”

  “This is Enaha. What do you want?”

  “Request permission to speak to Marshall Judoff.”

  “Understood. Wait one.”

  During the long pause that followed Marsha thought once again about the strangeness of her situation and the confusion of her loyalties. She reached over and stroked Lucky’s hand.

  “This is Group Leader Kuskuvyet.”

  “Group Leader, we need to speak to Marshall Judoff.”

  “I am in command here, traitor. What do you want?”

  As Marsha clenched her teeth, Lucky answered. “Group Leader Kuskuvyet, we understand that you are going to take the weapon from the Sondak ship. We also understand that we cannot stop you. But as the representatives of the Neutral Alliance we demand the right to observe the-”

  “You have no right to demand anything.”

  “Very well, then. We request your permission to observe the transfer of the weapon.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “Uh…” Lucky knew he had been caught.

  “For the purpose of seeing that no violence is done,” Marsha said. Even as she spoke she realized how foolish she sounded.

  “And if we refuse? What will you do then, traitor?”

  “Align the neutrals with Sondak.” Delightful Childe’s voice signal was clear and strong.

  “Who said that?” Kuskuvyet demanded.

  “Just another member of the Neutral Alliance, Group Leader.”

  Kusk
uvyet’s answer came surprisingly fast. “Very well. Graycloud may maneuver to within two kilometers and observe the transfer. Any attempt to interfere will result in your prompt destruction. That is all.”

  The transceiver buzzed with the static of emptiness. “That’s better than nothing,” Marsha said as Lucky turned their transceiver off, “but I’m not sure why we’re even bothering with this.”

  “Because it fulfills our agreement with Delightful Childe. Once Kuskuvyet has the weapon, we can knock the spacedust off our engines and get out of here, Mars.”

  As Graycloud braked to a slow halt ninety minutes later, Marsha and Lucky could see the coupling device leading from the Enaha like a long tentacle to Janette’s ship. Just as Marsha adjusted the focus on the viewscreens, a flash of fire consumed the center of Janette’s ship. A quick series of explosions followed, spreading up the coupler to the Enaha. Then a second series of explosions ripped the Enaha apart.

  Marsha and Lucky stared in horror as thousands of fragments from both ships flared out into space.

  “Sheiss and tensheiss, get us out of here, Mars!” Lucky finally shouted. But it was too late. Already the smallest of the fragments were pinging off Graycloud’s hull, and there was no way they could accelerate away from the waves of debris.

  Instinctively, Marsha flipped the switch that sealed all the inside hatches. “Strap in!” She buckled her own straps, grabbed Lucky’s hand, and prayed as Graycloud shuddered under the impact of a larger fragment

  “Hold on, Mars,” Lucky whispered with a forced smile on his face. “This is going to be a nasty ride.”

  AUTOMATIC WEAPONS FIRE CHATTERED OVER her head as Rasha’kean crawled slowly up the narrow slimy trail that twisted through the underbrush toward the head of her company.

  30

  The wound on her neck throbbed. Her muscles ached. Her wet uniform had plastered itself to her body and chafed every joint. Her feet itched and burned with fungus that left them red, raw, and oozing despite the medics treatment and her constant attempts to keep them dry and clean.

  Dry and clean. That would be nice, she thought with a damp shiver. About three days of sleeping warm and dry and clean somewhere off this nasty wet planet. That was all she wanted. But she kenned she was a long way from enjoying anything like that.

  The weary look she saw on Denoro’s mud-speckled face as Rasha’kean crawled up beside her almost made Rasha’kean smile. Was it possible that her X.O. was finally feeling the fatigue that had weighed down the rest of Delta company for the last ten days of heavy fighting in this jungle? “Have you spotted them?” she asked in a low voice.

  Again a rattle of bullets chewed up leaves and branches over their heads. They both hugged the ground as the shower of water and debris spattered their bodies.

  “No,” Denoro said, looking up after the shooting stopped, “but they’ve sure as stars spotted us.”

  “How’s the hand?”

  “Still good enough to hold my rifle,” Denoro said, flexing her fingers around the wad of bandages. “Takes more than a giant thorn to put this grunt out of action.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, Denoro, because we ca’not let these Ukes hold us up. If those new damned communicators ha’not died in this humidity, we’d ken if the rest of the legion is behind us like they’re supposed to be. Now we just have to assume they are and break out of here.”

  “Agreed, Colonel. The only question is, how?”

  “We cut our own trail.”

  “Through this tangle?” Denoro asked with a skeptical look on her face. “The Ukes will hear us for sure.”

  “But they’ll have to cut their own trail to get to us and then we’ll hear them.”

  Denoro smiled grimly. “Just might work – ‘specially if we hack it out twicet fast as they do.”

  “Right. Now to begin with, I think we should split the company. Recon’s exhausted, so they ca’not take the lead. I’ll take Third and Fourth platoons as the lead elements and we’ll cut a two-abreast trail. Once we have it started you follow with the rest of the platoons at spaced intervals. Keep the wounded with First for a while, and Haultcour can bring up the rear with Sixth and Recon.”

  “Why don’t you let me take the lead, Colonel?”

  “Because it’s my turn, Denoro,” Rasha’kean said as she turned herself around. “We’ll stay as close as we can to a heading of three-five-zero from that big tree we passed half way down the hill. Once you hear us go to cuttin’, have these platoons begin driftin’ back down the hill.” When Denoro nodded, Rasha’kean started slithering back down the trail.

  Slithering. Crawling. Fighting, then crawling some more. That seemed to be the pattern the Ukes defense had forced the legion to follow in the daytime. At night the Ukes withdrew to new positions, and the legion edged forward to regain contact. Rasha’kean had grown to hate every minute of it. Only her pride in her company kept her from complaining.

  Fully a third of the company had been evacuated or killed, and there was hardly anyone left without a wound of some kind, either from the Ukes or from the jungle. Yet every day and most nights they forced their tired bodies to do what had to be done, eating on the march, sleeping when they could, but never with anything more serious than casual griping. Only the distant stares she saw in their eyes told her how truly exhausted her troops were.

  Now, as she made her way down the hill, she gave each trooper she passed a quiet word of encouragement or a pat on the shoulder, because she wanted each and every one of them to ken how proud she was to lead them. She prayed that headquarters was right when they told Colonel Elgin this would be the legion’s last major confrontation with the Ukes. Delta Company desperately needed some rest and recuperation time.

  With a shake of her head she pushed that thought away when she saw Sergeant Bradley who had taken over Fourth platoon. It was time to think about their mission, not about rest. Distraction now could get them killed.

  An hour later Third and Fourth platoons had only progressed a sweaty two hundred meters up the hill on their new heading. Every five minutes the two cutters would pass their hackchets to the next troops behind them and take their places at the end of their platoons. Rasha’kean was disappointed by their progress but pleased that so far the company had taken no new casualties. The Ukes had not responded to this new tactic with anything more than sporadic firing over their heads.

  The underbrush thinned as the cutters neared the crest of the hill, and they made faster progress. Staying as close behind their swinging hackchets as she safely could, Rasha’kean tried to see through brush ahead, looking for any sign of the enemy. Every time the cutters paused, she strained past the chronic ringing in her ears to hear any sound of the Ukes cutting.

  Then as two fresher troops took up the hackchets and began their turn at the exhausting work, she stopped them. “Down,” she whispered loudly as she dropped to one knee and signaled the troops behind her to get down. There was something wrong up ahead, but what? What?

  She forced herself to scan the area instead of trying to focus on one thing, and finally she saw it – a pattern. The underbrush grew lower in three irregular lanes that led to the crest of the hill. Rasha’kean kenned immediately that they had to be firing lanes. She had led Delta into a trap.

  As though sensing her discovery, the Ukes opened fire. The air was suddenly alive with the sounds of screaming bullets and chattering guns.

  Rasha’kean pressed herself flat into the wet jungle floor.

  The pungent odor of decay filled her nose like the smell of rotting fish. She wanted to burrow into it, to get below ground and below those awful fragments of death. But she did not. She pointed her rifle up the hill and fired on instinct.

  From down slope she heard troops growling in pain. Delta was taking another battering. But her Third and Fourth were returning fire, blindly sending their bullets up the hill in a desperate attempt to stop the Ukes.

  Firing. Reloading. Firing again. She wanted to tell them to stop, to quit
wasting ammunition, but she could not even stop herself. To cease firing would be like surrendering.

  For seemingly endless minutes the Uke firing chewed up the jungle above them, and their own firing chewed back. Trees shook. Branches split and fell. The air cracked with the rattling sounds of death.

  On it went, and on, like some cacophonous machine with an endless supply of ammunition. The sound rose and fell in deafening waves colored by the cries of the wounded

  A dull whump stilled the wave. Then another and another as the crest of the hill erupted under the mortar barrage. Somehow Denoro had managed to get Delta’s two remaining mortars in action and zeroed in on the hill.

  Suddenly the Uke firing stopped. Rasha’kean could ken by the change in sound. Slowly her troops stopped firing, and the mortars were quiet. A ringing stillness held the air for a long moment before a noisy breeze lurched out of the jungle and twisted through the cordite haze over the battle zone.

  Cautiously Rasha’kean rolled to her side, pushed up on one elbow, and peered up the hill. The area in front of her looked as though some giant scythe had mowed the brush down to a ragged half meter. Here and there the remains of a tree draped in splintered limbs, stood a forlorn watch over the devastation. But the pattern she had seen before was covered by a dense strewment of branches and vines.

  Were the Ukes gone? Or were they waiting for her to make move? Probably waiting. Have to assume they were waiting, she thought, but have to take the initiative. She looked back down the slope and signaled for Sergeant Bradley to join her. Much to her surprise, crawling right behind Bradley was Denoro.

  “How many casualties?” she asked as soon as they reached her side.

  “Eleven new wounds. Two dead,” Denoro said, “Lillian and Carl. Lieutenant Stewart is on the edge.”

  Rasha’kean shook her head. “Good timin’ with that mortar help. We really needed-”

  “Wasn’t us.”

  “Ca’not worry about that now. Bradley, circle fourth up the left to the crest. I’ll take Third to the right. Stay low and be careful. Denoro, you pull the rest of the company up and hold what we’ve got.”