The Tetra War_Fractured Peace

by Michael Ryan

  He sipped his wine and said, “I know for a fact there’s a group of Guritain senators there right now trying to make deals.”

  “What do the Rhans have to offer?” I asked.

  “Iridium. They mine and process about a third of the planet’s supply. We obviously want to tap into that.”

  “So it comes down to stealing resources,” Abrel said. “Again.”

  “Jesus, Abrel,” I whispered. “Are you really trying to get demoted or charged with sedition?”

  “It’s okay,” the captain said. “This kind of talk is open now among the ranks. If Command started punishing everyone who bitched, we’d have nobody left to fight.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a bummer,” Abrel said sarcastically.

  “Another round?” the captain asked.

  I looked at Abrel, and he nodded. “The women will be shopping all day. Did you see the report on that salvage claim?”

  “Callie said something. I don’t pay much attention.”

  “We’ve got a ton of offers to buy our shares,” he said. “I told Mallsin to take the best offer.”

  “You think that’s wise?” I asked.

  The captain’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward. “Can I ask about–”

  I interrupted the captain’s question with a short, unclassified answer. “We were part of the group that found the alien wreckage.”

  “Holy shit,” he said. “You’re going to be multimillionaires.”

  “I doubt it,” Abrel said. “The litigation will last twenty years. The lawyers will get most of the money. Lawyers and politicians. That’s why I told Mallsin to take the money.”

  “You guys were on the craft?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Abrel said, nodding his head. “We wouldn’t have a claim otherwise.”

  “What was it like?” He looked me in the eye and winked. “I mean, I’ve heard the reports and seen the pictures. But to set foot on something that historic.”

  “It was just a starship,” I said. “No more interesting than seeing a Gurt starship; well, except for it being wreckage.”

  “I heard that the aliens are ruthless killers and wildly technologically advanced. Probably an exaggeration, but it makes you wonder,” he said.

  Abrel coughed. “It’s all speculation. If they were that advanced and scary, why’d they crash?”

  “True,” the captain said. “But you never know. What if they’re a real threat?”

  “Sure,” Abrel said. “And what if Major Butcher takes over the Ted government and decides to conquer all known planets in the galaxy?”

  “Point taken.” The officer stood and placed a few large credit tokens on the table. “I’ve got places to be, gentlemen. Unless you like to…you know. I have a suite.”

  I shook my head.

  “I’m good, sir,” Abrel said. “We got this,” he said, and picked up the tokens from the table and attempted to hand the officer back his money.

  “No, drinks are on me,” the captain said, and walked away.

  A while later, we ordered a third round of beers and a couple of sandwiches.

  “I’d sure like a chance to kill that guy,” Abrel said after swallowing.

  “That seems a bit harsh,” I said. “Never know. You might like it. I thought you were open-minded?”

  “I don’t mean the captain. I don’t give a shit about people’s proclivities, although I don’t trust line officers who drink white wine. I meant I’d like a chance to kill that butcher.”

  “Major Butcher?”

  “Yeah.” Abrel bit into his sandwich and spoke with his mouth full. “He’s a menace.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t believe all the rumors.”

  “I don’t,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t some truth to the reports. He doesn’t have to be a mass murderer to need a Gauss bolt through his skull. I do know that some of the Teds were guilty of some pretty horrific atrocities. Most of them are dead or became part of the new government and now run things. But this guy…it sounds like he enjoys killing, if he’s still in the field and is now operating on yet another planet.” He took a long pull of his beer and stared at the table for an uncomfortable moment, and then leveled an intense stare at me. “I’m sick of being thrown into battles where I have no idea what’s being fought for. One of the things I liked back there…with the tribe…was their sense of purpose. Like they knew why they were fighting and were willing to die for something besides some abstract oath or sense of duty – they were protecting their families or the tribe’s honor and survival.”

  “I’ve thought about that some as well. Abstract’s a good word.”

  He slammed his hand down on the table, surprising me. “If we’re going to get thrown into the shit again, might as well choose which pile we land in, right?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re saying, buddy.”

  “Let’s put in for whatever assignment gets us on the ground fighting the butcher. Why the hell not? You should be chomping at the bit to core him a new one. I mean, you’re mostly human, and if even half the rumors are true, he worked your people over pretty ruthlessly.”

  “What happened to stoic skepticism?”

  He finished his beer, and I could see the alcohol had gone to his head. His eyes moistened and he looked away. “It would be nice to have a reason to keep waking up, you know? That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I can pull in some favors. But I need to run it by Callie. She nixes it, no deal.”

  “She’ll be on board for it, Avery. If you need to, use your shares for leverage. Trust me – you’re never going to see a final payoff worth a shit on that salvage claim. Too many things could go wrong. That’s why I pulled the rip cord and got out. Bird in the hand.”

  Abrel was probably right. If the Teds pulled off some desert magic on Purvas and regional lines shifted…

  The craft could land in any number of hands, and he was undoubtedly right about the lawyers taking the bulk of the fortune, assuming any ever materialized. “I’ll talk to Callie,” I promised.

  “I loved the climate,” he said.

  “What? You’ve lost me.”

  “The climate on Talamz.” He looked around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping. “With the tribe. I have a feeling I’ll take the memories of it to the grave.”

  “You want to go native?” I asked.

  “No. I just want to be part of a team that takes out Balestain so I can apply for residency in Errusiakos-held regions there. Maybe check out Rhanskad. I’d like to retire someday. Assuming…”

  I suddenly understood his interest in going after the butcher, but I didn’t call him on it. He was right that there was merit to having a life’s purpose, even if it was something as arbitrary as trying to neutralize someone you knew little to nothing about other than gossip. Instead, I nodded in my most earnest wise-man manner. “You and me both, brother,” I said. “I’ll see what Callie thinks. Going after this butcher sounds like something she’ll get behind.”

  It turned out Callie had been talking to Mallsin; she agreed with Abrel and Mallsin that it was wise to unload our shares in the salvage claim, as well as trying to get duty back on Talamz, where the odds were better than good that we’d ultimately confront Balestain’s troops, if not the man himself. I made a few calls. There was still a friendly full-bird colonel in Command who was willing to give my request the right kind of priority.

  Nine weeks later, we were on a starship orbiting Talamz.

  “It’s like déjà vu,” I said. Abrel and Mallsin had joined Callie and me for dinner.

  “We’d better not end up in the wilderness,” Callie said. “I’ve grown accustomed to shrimp tacos again.”

  “That moose creature meat wasn’t so bad,” I joked.

  “It was called a losovz,” Abrel said with a scowl. “Try to be more culturally sensitive.”

  “You’re joking, right?” I asked.

  He glared at me.

  I
stared back deadpan.

  He burst out laughing. “You should see your face, Avery. I’m not that uptight. Call them moose. I don’t care. Just don’t use the term catrilla.”

  “Yeah, the joke only works once.”

  “No, he’s serious about the sharbeel,” Mallsin said. “That’s a sacred animal to the Tsalagians.”

  I rolled my eyes. She couldn’t help herself and belly-laughed. Her mirth was so overpowering she nearly choked on a piece of chicken.

  “Some straight man you are,” Abrel said to her.

  “Here’s to success,” Callie said, raising her glass.

  “I can drink to that,” Mallsin said.

  The next day we dropped into the middle of a disastrous offensive. There are many examples in military training manuals of badly run engagements, but none of them were as incompetently directed as the effort to stop Balestain’s bloodthirsty campaign.

  The Tedesconian officer might have gained notoriety for killing humans on Earth. But on Talamz, he had become legendary for killing Rhanskads.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  An enemy never considers himself a villain. Remember this maxim, and it may provide you a way to befriend him. Or to kill him without remorse.

  ~ Prime Minister Coj Falnzte

  Major Balestain adjusted his plastakstel armor.

  “Sir,” the heli-jet pilot said as he handed him his helmet. “I’ve logged our flight path as you requested.”

  Sensing hesitation, Balestain eyed the pilot. “But? Speak your mind, Captain.” Balestain slid the helmet into place after removing the plate that covered his face, exposing wounds he knew were grotesque.

  The pilot had the good sense not to look away. “I prefer not to put you at unnecessary risk.”

  “I have confidence in your abilities, Vostieep.”

  “Yes, sir.” The pilot returned to his preflight checklist.

  Balestain watched the officer go over his craft; he appreciated professionalism over all other traits. When he’d finished the preflight, Balestain climbed into the Erru-built 2000-HJ Striker Heli-jet and sat in the commander’s seat. He plugged his comm and CPU-I-19 leads into their respective jacks and entered his security code into the craft’s central computer system. “Tower Command, comm check,” he said.

  “This is Tower Command,” a voice replied.

  “Get me TC Actual,” Balestain said. “This is Viper Squadron Command Actual.”

  “Hold one minute, sir,” the tower replied. “Good flight today, sir.”

  Balestain reviewed the squadron’s strength, ammunition stores, and payloads, and finally pulled up regional maps and the estimated range for the day’s run. He couldn’t help smiling inside the helmet. It was good to be back in the field, whether in a heli-jet, a mecha, or riding with troops in a tracked battle transport. He felt a surge of power and a stirring in his groin.

  “Viper Command,” his comm sounded in his ear, “this is Tower Actual. Good morning, Major.”

  After lowering the volume, Balestain spoke clearly so he wouldn’t be misunderstood. “Tower Actual, today’s mission is going to be run under classified status per order fourteen dash seven dash four. Please verify and acknowledge.”

  “Roger, give me three minutes. Sir, are you requesting blackout status your entire flight?”

  “Affirmative,” he said.

  “Confirmed.”

  The copilot entered the craft. “Good morning, sir. Can I accommodate any special requests?”

  “Don’t let your pilot play that shit playlist,” Balestain growled. “It sounds like a troop of monkeys banging on a log. Gave me a headache the last time that lasted days.”

  “Roger that,” the copilot said. “I have something you might like, sir.”

  “I won’t judge it until I hear it.” Balestain called up a map and shared it with the warrant officer. “Look at the upper quadrant of grid four-F and tell me what you see.”

  “Sir, looks like a residential neighborhood. Except for the dark rectangle. Could be a factory.”

  Balestain nodded. “It is a factory.” He paused. “An important one to us.” These heli-jets and the crews that flew them were configured for the copilot to have control over the weapons systems and payloads.

  “Alpha for the mission, sir?”

  “Not exactly, no. Although your assignment is to make this run appear to go after the factory.”

  “Clarification, sir?”

  “I want you to miss the factory.”

  “And aim for what exactly, sir? Is there a higher priority target on the map? I’m checking now.”

  “The three light-colored buildings.”

  The copilot hesitated. “They’re identified as schools, sir. Is that in error?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sir, can I ask…never mind, Major Balestain. Orders are understood.”

  “Good.”

  The comm beeped, and Balestain opened the tower comm. “Viper Actual, go ahead.”

  “Tower Actual, we’re green across the board, sir. Happy hunting.”

  “Roger that,” he replied.

  The flight went smoothly and uneventfully for the first hour. Then the heli-screen lit up with an alert.

  <>

  “Augre, do you have a pinpoint?” the captain asked the copilot.

  “Got it,” he answered. “Transferred to HJ-4. Acknowledging now. Three, two, bank hard left. Left. Turning two.”

  “Roger. Side-strike-ten-ten,” the captain said.

  Balestain left the internal-external dual-comm turned on inside his helmet even though the pilots in the Viper Squad had their own set of shortcodes that meant nothing to him. The chatter gave him a sense of inclusion in the mission. He liked that things were going well, and he hated being blindsided when a situation went to Golvin. Over many years of commanding troops, he’d learned to hear in their tones whether a problem was an inconvenience or an impending disaster.

  He followed the squadron’s conversations over the all-squadron comm.

  “I have green status on seventeen.”

  “Take two-one-negative-one, fire, fire, fire.”

  “Point.”

  “Green. Seven-Delta, you’ve got a streaker…check, defeated.”

  “I’ve got a radar sweep. Permission to launch HE-P on three.”

  “Granted. Engage. Point-six. Point-five.”

  “Fire on two.”

  “Elevate. Three hundred clicks minimum.”

  “Goddammit!”

  “I have a hydraulic code. AH-oo4. Red-Eight, verify visually.”

  “Visual port. Seventeen or eighteen snake bites.”

  “Bear-team leader, send two.”

  “Nice work, check one-seventeen.”

  “Golvin.”

  “Versus!”

  “Get down. Move ten clicks off…hold…hold…incoming to your port side.”

  “Viper, you have a pair of dragons rising.”

  “Cover my loop,” the copilot said.

  Balestain felt the heli-jet accelerate. He switched to the internal comm and increased the size of the external camera images on his monitor. The forward camera showed a burst of white – they’d flown into a cloud. The craft broke into the clear, and blue sky filled the screen. The rear view showed the cloud receding. A second later, an enemy dragon-heli tailed them out of the mist, and the pursuing pilot followed them as they rocketed upward.

  <>

  A bright burst filled the pop-up window in Balestain’s mission-track screen. He watched the countermeasures explode behind them. Shiny chaff and thousands of nanobeads filled the air like a swarm of locusts. The enemy missile hit the cloud and exploded.

  <>

  The heli-jet dropped like a rock down a mineshaft, all sense of forward movement lost.

  The major’s stomach seemed to slam into his throat as gravity exerted its pull, creating an uncomfortable sense of weightlessness. He clenched his te
eth and moved his view across the monitor windows on his mission-track screen, searching for the enemy. The rearview camera displayed only sky. The heli-jet corkscrewed as it descended, making the giddily spinning views impossible to follow. Balestain closed his good eye.

  “Major, prepare for a hard…shit…you get him, Augre?”

  “Roger.”

  Balestain bore down to keep blood from flooding his brain. In the early days of his career, he’d both passed out and vomited during evasive maneuvers. Neither was a pleasant experience, and he’d learned some effective techniques for avoiding a repeat performance.

  <>

  <>

  “Goddammit, Augre, get that bastard off my ass.”

  “Releasing countermeasures. Firing Wasp-10s. Hold fast…hold, hold, hold… Give me a twist. Bring her to port.”

  <>

  “We’ve got another dragon out there. Find it,” the pilot growled.

  “Roger.”

  The heli-jet was flying horizontally again. Balestain relaxed and opened his eye. The rear camera showed a dragon heli-jet in the distance, like a tiny pixel dancing on a damaged tablet screen. The heli banked in wide arcs as it evaded the pursuit craft.

  “At thirty degrees, Captain,” Augre said. “Sir, you good back there?”

  “Roger,” Balestain said. “Nice flying.”

  “Blue-six, blue-six,” the pilot said.

  Balestain switched back to the all-squad comm.

  “Blue-six here.”

  “Cover my turn.”

  “Roger.”

  “Blum, you have a friendly to your starboard. Shift down…watch your position.”

  “I’ve got a missile lock…fuck me…”

  “Those dragons are fast, Captain.”

  “Is that a newer Erru-made craft coming off the horizon point six-four-niner?”

  “My system is listing it as unknown.”

  “I’m not sure it’s Erru.”

  “The Meckos have something that sleek?”

  “Incoming!”

  “Shit…”