Eiferts called across the room. “You still have a shot?”
“Yes, sir.” Tolliver punched the keys, reconfirmed his figures.
“The Station’s over the horizon. Rawlings, power up number three. Use Tolliver’s coordinates.”
Minutes passed while the capacitors of the third laser cannon reached full charge. Tolliver said, “Ready, sir.”
“Fire!”
The lights dimmed again. I stared at the console. One blip began to drop, slowly at first, then faster. In a few seconds it disappeared from the screen.
“Got him! Acquiring new target!” Tolliver.
Now the other blips were moving faster. We locked on target, fired again.
Jameson spun his chair. “Directly overhead, sir! A dozen high above the atmosphere!”
The display from Orbit Station sounded an alarm. Now what? I peered at the screen. “ELEVEN ALIENS OBSERVED OVER WESTERN CONTINENT; ABSENCE OF ORBITING TARGET SUGGESTS MANEUVER RELATED TO VENTURAS BASE.” Though William was out of our sight, he still had a view of the sky above us, and relayed his reports through his comm satellites.
“Eleven? I count twel—”
William intoned, “Inanimate object separating from fish. My sensors show high density, no metal, does not compute as ship.”
I snatched up the caller. “William, what is it?”
An infinitesimal pause. “Planetary debris, I think. Similar composition to the mass the aliens released over Centraltown, but smaller.”
“Good Christ!” My eyes met Eiferts’s as his turned to mine. “Acquire targets overhead! Crash priority!”
The large blip fell away from the others. “Tolliver, coordinates!”
“I need a few seconds for a trajectory.” The remaining fish overhead disappeared from my screen, either from William’s fire or by Fusing to safety.
Agonizing seconds passed. My eyes were riveted to the screen, while the rock approached velocity of eighty-three miles per second. “Locked in! Fire!”
The lights flickered as our cannon tracked the rock hurtling from above. “Where’s it headed?” My hands were tight on the chair.
“Right here, sir.” Tolliver was pale.
Jameson called, “More blips over Western Continent, about a dozen.”
“Be specific. Lock in tar—”
“Got it!” Tolliver’s whoop echoed in the crowded room. The large blip he’d been tracking disintegrated into a spray of tiny dots. Perhaps they were small enough to burn up in Hope Nation’s rich atmosphere.
Samuels shouted, “Another rock, sir. Twice the size of a fish!” Minuscule compared to the one that destroyed Centraltown, but if it landed on our heads...
“Helis from Centraltown report radar contact with fish.”
“More overhead, sir. Looks like two rocks!”
Bezrel, ignored by all of us, huddled at his console. His shoulders shook. I raged inwardly at Admiral De Marnay. Why bring a child who should have been at Academy to—
“Bezrel!”
The boy jumped as if goosed with a prod. “Yes, sir!”
“Can you find the mess hall?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’d like some coffee. Bring it.”
“Aye aye, sir.” He ran to the door.
“One rock gone!” Tolliver. “Seeking other target.”
I would force down the coffee, though my stomach churned with acid. Better the boy have something to do. Only after the middy was gone did I realize I might have sent him into greater danger.
“Sir, one of the Naval helis wants instructions!”
“What?” I tore my eyes from the console, keyed the caller. “Seafort.”
A pilot’s voice crackled. “Radar contact with two fish, Captain. Approximately fourteen thousand feet.”
“Target acquired!” Tolliver.
“Rawlings, fire cannon one!” Eiferts.
“That low?”
“Yes, sir. Do you want us to engage?”
“Who are you? Can you fire a missile?”
“Major Winfred Zahn, retired, sir.” He chuckled. “I’m quite sure I can.”
“Stay out of range of anything they throw. Fire immediately.”
“Righto.”
Tolliver raised an eyebrow at the informality. I smiled, surprising him. How little it mattered.
In the next half hour we broke up two more rocks. Each one was delivered by at least ten fish. Did it take their combined efforts to transport a rock across the void? How did they Fuse an external object? Did they create a shared field?
As William progressed along the horizon he lost his view of the fish over Western Continent. Above, fish kept Defusing. We were too occupied taking out rocks to shoot at fish. If we only had all our lasers on-line...No use crying over spilt milk.
“Look, sir.” Two clusters of fish, each herding a sizable mass. “They’re guiding more rocks.”
“I see,” I snarled.
“Cannon two’s targeted.” Tolliver, to Eiferts. “Their rock is a bit lower.”
“Right.”
It took almost eight seconds to knock out the first rock. By the time it disintegrated, the second was well on its way. As we lined up a shot, a third appeared, high overhead.
“Damn them!”
“Amen.” My fingers tore at the chair while Tolliver and Eiferts targeted the laser cannon. Shots were so much easier from a ship, where radar signals were clear and immediate, and the range was short.
I stared at the console. The third rock was launched, while we barely had a lock on the second. “It’ll be close,” I muttered.
“Why in hell won’t that rock break up?” Tolliver pounded his console.
“Denser than the others? Stay on it!”
“We have a lock, sir. What we need is time.”
Our cannon followed the second rock almost to the ground. It broke up a scant six thousand feet overhead. “Where’s the other—”
Jameson. “Targeted! Fire!”
A whomp that shook the concrete deck. Others, in rapid succession. “What in hell was—”
“Fragments,” said Tolliver. “They’ve got to fall somewhere.”
The caller. Eiferts answered, swore. “Ignore the bloody bearing, joey! Give us full power until it burns out.”
“Christ, we’re late! Break up, damn you!”
I held my breath. The mass was streaking downward. What were they throwing, laserproof rocks?
I glanced at the screen. No more were being launched. If we could get this one, we stood a chance.
“There she goes!” Jameson, with a yell of triumph. A large hunk of the jagged rock broke off, disintegrated.
Tolliver cursed. “The puter’s following the wrong piece!”
I shouted, “Go manual! No time!”
Tolliver twirled up the magnification, twisted the fire control. “Where is—Got it! Oh, Christ, it’s—”
A groan. I turned to Eiferts. He looked into my eyes, made the sign of the Cross. I spun my chair to the console.
Jameson said, “Jesus, another rock, far out!”
The door swung open. “Sorry it took so long, sir. I had to brew a fresh—”
The stupendous blast blew Bezrel into my arms. My chair flew backward into the console. The building screeched. Walls buckled. The room went dark. I sat dazed and deafened as debris rained from the ceiling.
Silence.
Someone coughed, gagged. Dawn’s light pierced the shattered wall.
Eiferts lay on his back, an arm thrust over his face. A jagged piece of wood protruded from his chest. His shirt was drenched red.
Bezrel clung to me, whimpering. I rocked, cheek nuzzling the boy’s soft hair as I’d sat eons before with my little Nate. It would be all right. I hugged him close.
It would be all right.
21
TOLLIVER GROANED. BLOOD DRIPPED from his forehead; he wiped it clear of his eyes. The dark red stain sank into the blue sleeve of his jacket. Dust motes drifted in the intense s
ilence of the splintered morn.
“Are you hurt, sir?”
“No. Look to Mr. Eiferts.” I rocked the boy, trying to breathe through the thick choking dust.
Tolliver staggered to his feet, lurched across the room. He knelt at Eiferts’s side, felt for a pulse. He shook his head.
“See who is alive.”
“Aye aye, sir.” He knelt over Jameson. “He doesn’t seem wounded, sir. Just knocked cold.” Samuels was on his feet, gagging. Tolliver made the rounds. “Is Mr. Bezrel gone, sir?”
“Don’t say that!” The boy raised his head. “I’m not dead.”
“Thank Lord God.” Tolliver.
Bezrel realized where he lay, thrust himself clear of me, cheeks scarlet. “I’m sorry, I—honest, sir!”
“It’s all right, boy.” My tone was gruff. I looked about. “Let’s get out before the building falls.”
“We’ll need to carry Jameson.”
“I can help,” I said. If I moved slowly, breathed carefully. The swirling dust made me cough, and my healed incision ached. I bore it.
As I bent to lift the tech a great whomp of power pounded my chest. I pitched on top of the unconscious man. A muffled thud built to a roar. The building swayed. I scrambled to my knees. “Lord Christ, what was—”
“The other rock!” Tolliver was grim.
“Get Jameson out of—”
A tremendous crash. The roof buckled.
“What the—”
A drumbeat of whomps and thuds that seemed as if it would never end. I grabbed Bezrel, sheltered him against my chest. Tolliver crouched over Jameson.
The deadly rain built to a crescendo that hammered the wounded building. Finally it eased, as the debris flung upward by the rock settled back to earth. At length, all was still. The roof gave an ominous creak.
I took a shaky breath, wrenched open the door.
Outside was a landscape of hell. Every tree in the vicinity was in splinters. A pall of smoke billowed across the parade ground. The field had twisted, as if wrenched by an earthquake.
“Sir, the roof may not hold. We have to get the men out.”
“All right.”
We set Jameson on the steps, went back inside. Two of the techs were conscious, one moaning in pain.
Of the seven who’d been in the room, only Eiferts was dead. We left him where he lay; no time for him now. I uttered a short prayer under my breath.
“Where did it hit?” Samuels.
“I don’t know.” I sat unsteadily on the steps. “The first rock took out the cannon. A direct hit.”
“It couldn’t have.” Tolliver squinted at the devastation to the south.
“Why not?”
“We’re still here. If a rock that big struck so close...”
I grunted. “It doesn’t matter. The lasers are out.”
“Look at the administration building,” said Tolliver. Blood dripped down his face.
There was nothing to see. Only jagged stumps of wall were left.
Jameson moaned, began to waken. I said to Rawlings, “Is there a first-aid kit?”
The tech frowned, nodded. “Inside, sir. In the cupboard.”
“Can you get it?”
“I won’t go back there. The roof’s about to fall.”
I pointed to Tolliver. “My midshipman needs a bandage.”
Rawlings said, “Get it yourself.”
I stood abruptly, waited for dizziness to pass. Bezrel said quickly, “I’ll go, sir.”
“Very well.” I glared at the obstinate tech.
“The other rock must have hit farther away.” I spoke to distract Tolliver.
“Much farther.” Abruptly he sat. When Bezrel returned with the kit I wrapped gauze around Tolliver’s forehead. Done, I clapped him on the shoulder. “Are you well enough to get up?”
“Of course.” He stared at the ruins across the field. “Now what?”
“There’s nothing for us here. We have to get back to Central—” Lord God.
Our heli had been on the parade ground.
“Do you swim well?” Tolliver’s smile was crooked.
“Let’s look around.”
“What happened to the personnel carrier? It would save a hike.”
He got up, went around the side of the building. The carrier lay on its side atop a shredded clump of bushes. “On the other hand, it might be easier to walk.”
I let it pass. He was giddy from loss of blood.
I left the two techs with Jameson, trudged with Tolliver and Bezrel across the field toward the smoking vegetation beyond. We came on pieces of our heli. The cab and engine compartment were crumpled as if a giant fist had hurled them across the field.
“Not even a radio.” Tolliver pawed disgustedly through the rubble.
“The base has plenty of callers.”
“Where, sir?”
I frowned at the remains of the admin building. Not there. “There was a dish at the laser building.”
“It’s gone now. And the power is out.” Gingerly he touched his head. “What next, sir?”
“Let’s see where the last rock hit.”
The Venturas Base laser cannon had been mounted on a ridge south of the parade ground to provide a clear field of fire in virtually any direction. As we moved south the ground was warmer. Atop the ridge, clumps of grass still burned. All that remained of the laser cannon were blasted stumps of metal and plastic, laced with jagged ropes of conduit like spaghetti.
Beyond the emplacement the ground had sloped gently for some miles to the sea. We halted atop the shattered ridge, stunned by the panorama of devastation below.
A pall of smoke obscured much of the crater. For as far as we could see, fires glowed with hellish intensity in the subdued, smoky light. The trees had been blown down like matchsticks, pointing away from the crater in great concentric circles. I wondered if flames would spread as far as the groves along the coast. If so, the forest would take generations to recover.
Tolliver pointed to the hillock. “If this ridge hadn’t sheltered us, we’d be dead.”
I grunted. “That’s as may be. Come along.”
“Where, sir?”
“Back to the others, I suppose.”
Hands in my pockets, I trod across the crumpled parade ground. Tolliver was silent most of the way, but when we neared the laser control building he said, “What I’d give for some water...” I tried to hide my shame. He’d been injured, and I’d just led him on a pointless forced march.
When we reached the building Jameson had regained consciousness. He huddled with the other techs, as if for comfort.
“Did the laser building have water?” I faced Rawlings, the tech who’d refused to go inside.
“Used to. Dunno about the pipes anymore.”
I held in my annoyance. “Mr. Bezrel, would you volunteer to look?”
“Of course, sir.” He cast a scornful look at the tech.
“See if the water is on. Fill something. Use your coffeepot, if you can find it.”
“Aye aye, sir.” I fidgeted while he was gone. What would possess me to send a boy into a collapsing building? Yes, he was smaller, more agile, but...I tried to hide my relief when he emerged carrying the dented pot and some plastic cups. We had water, at least for the moment.
“Here, sir.” His eyes were troubled.
I handed the pot to Tolliver. “What happened, Mr. Bezrel?”
His answer was quick. “Nothing, sir.” He hesitated. “The pot was lying near Mr. ... Mr. ...”
“I understand.” Embarrassed, I kicked a tuft of grass, looked around. The long walk had taken something out of me. If we only had the carrier. It didn’t seem damaged. Could it be made to run? It was balanced precariously on its side; perhaps if all of us heaved...
“You men, come here. See if we can right this machine.”
Jameson stood, a bit unsteadily. Rawlings said, “Why bother? There’s no place to go.”
Tolliver put down the water pot, unstrap
ped his holster. He drew his laser pistol, thumbed off the safety. “Permission to execute him, sir.”
I stared into Tolliver’s eyes. Would he know to wait? And if not, did I care? “Granted.”
Tolliver leveled the pistol. Rawlings leapt to his feet. “No, wait, I’ll help! Jesus!”
“Very well.” We were under wartime regs; I ought to warn them. I shrugged. Now, they knew.
After several tries we managed to rock the carrier upright. The door was stuck; I had to slide in from the passenger side. Keys were still in the ignition. I turned them and the vehicle came to life.
We all climbed in. I drove around the base, checking the ruins of the various buildings. We found no sign of Sergeant Trabao or the other volunteers. To the southwest, the base power plant was in ruins.
Though the mess hall sagged, it still stood; the admin building had sheltered it from the worst of the blast.
North along the perimeter road sat the shuttle hangar. Its side wall was cracked, and in places the block had crumbled to rubble. Inside, the shuttle looked undamaged—no, it had been hit. Portholes were shattered by fragments of rock. The airframe was dented, but seemed unpierced. I walked around to the front of the building, tried the huge counterbalanced hangar door. It wouldn’t budge. Looking up I saw the reason: the track on which it rolled was twisted and bowed.
I walked outside to the carrier and slumped on my seat. Now what? We had no heli, no radio, nothing but a carrier and three sullen techs. Without power, how long could we count on fresh water?
With two huge rocks, the fish had wiped out our western base and with it all our groundside firepower. I looked up, knowing I wouldn’t see a third rock until it was right above us. I shuddered. Lord God, if it came, let it be a direct hit. No pain, no fire.
Rawlings followed my thoughts. “Let’s get out before they throw another.”
“Why should they bother? We’re wiped out.”
“Do they know that? And would they care?” His face twisted in fear. “Drive, joey!”
“Where? Into the forest? A rock has as good a chance—”
With a cry of rage Rawlings hauled me out of the carrier, reached for the key.
He died in agony.
Tolliver sheathed his pistol. I doubled over and retched.
“Sorry, sir.” Tolliver’s voice was unsteady.
Prisoner's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 3) Page 35