Victory or Death

by Richard Tongue

  "And the service? Was that a job to you?"

  "That was a duty. There was a war on, I was a trained spacer. How could I not end up in uniform? When they made me an officer, that surprised me. I never really thought of myself as the type to tell anyone else what to do."

  "War does strange things. I think it's more to me."

  "You want to be needed, Maggie. We all do, at least some of the time. That is why I want to stay; if Jefferson is to resume contact with the rest of the universe, someone is going to have to help them with the transition. I have a foot in both worlds, Maggie, and I can help with that. Once the war here is won."

  "You think the Legion will fight, after the satellites are knocked down?"

  "The old pessimist in me admits to that possibility. At the very least, a lot of pieces are going to have to be put back together after we blast Humpty Dumpty down from the wall." He smiled, "I am looking forward to seeing your ship, though. I will insist on that as a minimum."

  Caine walked over, kneeling down in the dust, holding up a rather grim looking brown stick with a bite taken out; by the grimace on her face, she'd been chewing it for some time. With a visible gulp, she swallowed it, then waved it at the two of them. It didn't look particularly appealing. Orlova shook her head, grimacing.

  "Fancy a bite? I can't recommend it."

  "Sloth jerky is an acquired taste," Orlov replied.

  "Neither of you could sleep either, then."

  "Never can the night before a fight," said Orlova.

  Her father chuckled, "That runs in the family. Before the Battle of Barnard's Star, I was hopeless. The doctor gave me all sorts of pills, none of them ever worked."

  Gesturing over at the gang sitting around, checking over their equipment, she quietly said to the two of them, "What do you think?"

  Orlova carefully looked at them, shaking her head. Clark was sharpening his knife, over and over again, honing its edge; he'd already added some new notches for the Legionnaires he had killed the day before. Hawk was the only one not going over a weapon, and he was spending every moment not marching tinkering with his improvised radio. Most of the rest seemed to be spending their time stripping down their rifles, again and again."

  "Point them in the right direction, they'll shoot at the enemy. Don't count on much tactical finesse."

  "I agree," Orlov said. "That need not be a handicap; they will not give up until their foe is beaten."

  "We'll just have to incorporate that into the battle plan, I suppose."

  Looking up at the sky, Orlova said, "I haven't heard any aircraft for hours. By now they must have examined the crash site."

  "Hopefully they aren't waiting for us to move out. That sand was soft; I doubt they can have landed there. Most likely they have a party heading out on foot to take a look at it. By then we should be long gone." Sighing, Caine rose to her feet, "We'd better start thinking about moving out. In exactly thirteen hours, Alamo launches its attack. I just wish we knew what form it was going to take. I can't see how they're going to get past those particle beams."

  "The Captain will think of something," Orlova said. "He always has in the past."

  "Captains usually do," Orlov said, pulling himself to his feet, making his way over to his wife. Orlova watched him walk over and tenderly, quietly wake her up with a few gentle words, none of which she understood. Caine looked down at her, concern on her face.

  "Problem, Maggie?"

  Shaking her head, she replied, "I would have expected someone like Mother. She couldn't be more different. It's...a surprise, is all." She chuckled, "Gives me an incentive to learn the language, I guess. I was always terrible at languages in school."

  "I've spent the last five days longing for the translator on my datapad. I swear when we get back to Alamo I'm going to have Quinn make us some smaller hardened ones."

  "It'll be good to get back in space again, anyway. Not just that, I think; I don't like being confined here."

  "And you don't want to go from being Security Officer on a ship of the line to a waitress in your father's bar."

  "Maybe I could help Papa out when I go on leave," she said, laughing.

  Caine joined in, then said, "It just hit me. You call him Papa and her Mother. Any reason?"

  Suddenly, Orlova's face dropped, her expression suddenly growing serious. She stood up, picking up her rifle, "I liked him." She raised her hand, "End of story. Let's move out."

  "I'm sorry, Maggie, I..."

  "End of discussion. I mean it. She...let's just say my father was the role-model in the family, and leave it at that."

  "Anything you say." Caine shook her head, "I'm sorry I brought it up."

  "Come on. Let's go kill some bad guys and save the day."

  Above them, the star of Alamo started to slowly move, a thin pencil of light behind it, beginning its path down to the planet.

  Chapter 24

  The murmuring stopped as Marshall and Esposito entered the room. A whole platoon of eager espatiers turned to face them, swinging around on their handholds. Marshall pulled himself to a stop, anchoring himself with a foot, and Esposito made her way over to a control panel, turning on a holoprojector. A couple of others drifted into the room behind them; Midshipman Zabek and Technical Officer Salgada in the rear, and Doctor Duquesne. Quietly, Marshall pushed himself over to her.

  "I've never known you voluntarily attend a briefing, Doc."

  "If I'm going down to the planet, I'd better have some idea what the troops are doing."

  Frowning, he replied, "I don't remember ordering you down there."

  "Maybe I'm just a coward who thinks Alamo's going to fall apart in your death dive. More likely I think I'm going to be needed down there. My orderly's already putting my stuff into Shuttle One, and I'd hate him to be wasting his time."

  "If you want to stretch your legs, Doc, feel free," he said, clapping her on the shoulder. The last group of people drifted in – Dixon leading her fighter squadron; they took a position hanging close to each other in the middle of the room, Dixon insisting on hanging upside down from the ceiling.

  "Good morning, everyone," Esposito said. "For the last five days we've been getting ready for an assault on the planet, and ten minutes ago we completed the maneuver that puts us on our way." She looked at her watch, "In exactly six hours from now, the platoon will deploy by shuttle to the surface of the planet, to take and hold this installation." Flicking a switch, a holoimage of a compound appeared; half a dozen buildings seemingly randomly scattered around a landing strip and an antenna array.

  "What about the defense grid?"

  "Don't worry about that," Marshall said. "We're going to fly right through it to drop you off." He paused for effect, eating up the stares of the platoon, "Alamo will be diving into the atmosphere to release the shuttles, as soon as we're through the plasma sheath."

  That got their attention. A burbling of chatter leapt up from trooper to trooper, eager anticipation on their faces; Marshall couldn't blame them. Planetary assaults were rare enough that the few occasions they had taken place had passed into legend. This was something altogether new.

  "Quiet down," Sergeant Kozu yelled, bringing the chatter to an end.

  Esposito tapped another button, zooming out the display. "I'm afraid we miss the first part of the operation. An assault team already on the planet will be launching an attack on an anti-air missile site to the south, about a mile away, fifteen minutes before we go in. We hope that this will distract the garrison, splitting the defending forces in two. Our primary objective is the communications array; that has to be taken out at all costs. The secondary objective is to reinforce the first assault team, and take and hold the spaceport. We're going to need that airhead."

  One of the troopers, Lance-Corporal Riley, bobbed her head up from the crowd, "Is this a take and hold, ma'am?"

  "Hell no," Marshall roared, "I want that facility captured and our flag raised!"

  The platoon cheered at that, Esposito clapping
him on the shoulder. At the back of his mind remained a twinge of doubt at what he was asking them to do. If the planetary forces – forces they knew nothing about – were able to regroup and counter-attack, this mission could go wrong very quickly.

  "Will Alamo be giving us any support, sir?" Kozu asked, frowning.

  "Not directly, Sergeant. Lieutenant Dixon and her squadron will be launching at the same time as the shuttles to provide aerial support, but they'll only be in the air for, what, Lieutenant?"

  "Four and a half minutes." She chuckled, "Our fighters have the flight profile of a brick, so once we're out of fuel, we're on the deck. We'd really like you to take that runway." That sent another wave of laughter around the troops, and Marshall smiled. They wanted to do this. A catharsis from the helplessness everyone had felt when the shuttle went down; it was leaping all over the ship.

  Putting his stern face on, Marshall turned back to the platoon, "You've got a grand total of forty-five minutes to knock out that antenna complex. I don't want it captured, I want it blown up. Alamo's apoapsis is going to be barely high enough to get out of the satellite's targeting threshold. Once the complex is destroyed, those satellites just become some unusual pieces of space junk. Kill them before they can kill Alamo. Unless you want to live on that dump."

  "Hell no, sir!" a voice yelled out from the back. "I just got my bunk the way I like it!"

  Esposito turned off the holoprojector, drifting forward, "Most of you have fought together before. You know how the game works. This time the stakes are the survival of the ship and everyone on board. I don't have to give a long speech; let's just get the job done. That's all."

  The troops slowly filed out of the room, Kozu drifting forward to talk to Esposito. Marshall moved across to talk to Dixon, tapping her on the shoulder. She spun around, a joyful smile on her face – everyone seemed too damn eager to get going with this one, to the point that it was beginning to bother him a little.

  "Damn, skipper, you had me fooled. I thought this mission was going to be boring!"

  "Can you do it?"

  "Hell yeah," she said, clapping the nearest pilot on the back, "This squadron's good, and we've been getting ready for a good scrap. Jack's boys are doing a bit of work on the fighters right now, trying to bolt some sort of wings on."

  "Jack?"

  "Lieutenant Quinn, skipper," she rolled her eyes. "That guy knows his stuff. I just wish I could be up on the bridge to watch the ride down. That's going to be something special."

  Marshall smiled, "Try and keep the squadron in one piece, Lieutenant. We might need it later."

  "Oh, hell, don't worry about that, boss. We'll be fine."

  "Good hunting, pilot."

  "You too, sir!"

  He turned around, looking for Esposito; she was standing in a corner, quieter than the rest of the exuberant crowd, looking over plans of the compound again. She didn't notice him drifting up behind her at first; he watched her intense concentration for a moment before making himself known with a gentle cough. She jumped a little in surprise.

  "Sorry, sir, I didn't see you there."

  "My fault." He looked at the plans on her screen, "Working out the attack plan?"

  Nodding, she replied, "I'm meeting with the squad leaders in an hour to go over the details. Want to come?"

  "No, but you should probably invite Dixon."

  "Already done." She looked up at him, doubt creeping into her eyes, "I really wish we had some more intel on this place, sir. We could be facing anything from a squad to a regiment down there, and we don't even know what they are armed with."

  "Their tech level can't be that high. We spotted a couple of biplanes flying over the desert."

  "Primitive bullets still kill, sir. And we're talking about the people with particle beam defense systems."

  Frowning, Marshall looked down at her, "If you think this can't be done..."

  "Hell, sir, we can do anything. You know that, we've done it before. I just don't like the stakes, that's all."

  "Nor do I."

  That brought a little smile to her face, "I'm glad it isn't just me, skipper. Don't worry, we'll get that job done. I take it you want the place garrisoned?"

  "I want that place held, Ensign. We're going to need a planetary base, and it's the only spaceport."

  "I'll try and make sure it isn't blown to bits."

  Reaching into his pocket, Marshall pulled out a datapad, hesitating slightly before passing it to her, "In the event Alamo is destroyed, here are my final orders. I suspect you're more likely to come out of this mission in one piece than we are."

  She took the pad, nodding as she placed it in her pocket. "I'll see it's done, sir."

  "Your promotion is in there. Don't get your hopes up, you only get it if the ship gets blown up. That order promotes you to Lieutenant, puts you in charge of all surviving Alamo personnel, and gives you orders to head for the wilderness and hide. Rescue will be coming; in about five months a Triplanetary ship will find our beacon at FL Virginis and come looking, and we're going to put another one in high orbit here to tell them what we're doing."

  She smiled, "I get promoted if I screw up? That's not exactly normal, sir."

  "This isn't a particularly normal operation. This is just a precaution, you know."

  "I know."

  "Everything's going to work out. I trust you; I trust your platoon. I even trust Dixon's Crazy Flying Circus."

  She nodded, "We'll get the job done, sir. We're not going to let you down."

  Marshall saluted; she returned it, "Good luck, Ensign."

  "And to you, sir."

  He turned, drifting out of the room towards the elevator, stepping inside as it whisked him up to the observation level. Really, he ought to be going to his cabin to rest; his orders had sent the senior staff off duty so they would be ready for the dive, but the one who gives such orders rarely carries them out himself. He wasn't surprised to see Mulenga looking out at the rapidly approaching planet, quiet and motionless. Quietly, he slid up behind him, looking at the planet; the great mass of the super-continent was slowly revolving around, the azure seas already looking inviting.

  "Any thoughts, Lieutenant?"

  Mulenga turned for a second, then turned back to the planet, "There are a lot of unanswered questions down there, Captain. I'm looking forward to getting an opportunity to answer them. A terraformed world, designed to fit human specifications; it seems hard to conceive."

  "That alone leads to a lot of questions."

  "For a hundred years man has been carefully probing out beyond his home system, but we've not gone far. War and unrest have prevented us. Now those days are fading behind us, and we can start to see what really lies out here." The stocky astrogator smiled, "I believe you told me once that this was why you were out here."

  "So I did."

  "I presume you are working out how to convince Counter-Admiral Remek to let us continue our explorations?"

  Marshall smiled, "There's enough fuel in this system for us to explore every star within range ten times over."

  "And Helium-3 on the moon, as well." He passed over a datapad, "Our probes have found supplies in plenty. Setting up a refueling station should be simple. That's why you really want this planet, sir, isn't it?"

  "It's the gateway to the stars, Lieutenant."

  "And the people on the surface?"

  "From the little Caine told us, I expect most of them want to be free. Knocking out these satellites will give them that freedom."

  "I only hope it is as simple as that."

  Shaking his head, Marshall said, "It won't be. I know that much. This is the first step in a long and bloody road."

  "Perhaps." He turned his head, "There are those in the senior staff who still disagree with this, sir."

  Chuckling, he replied, "That was obvious in the meeting."

  "They might not agree with you, but they do trust you. This is the right thing to do."

  Growing serious, Marshall looked
down at the deck, "I wish I had the same faith, Lieutenant. It would be so easy to just jump away, leave this one for someone else to deal with." He sighed, "But there is no-one else."

  "Alamo will pull this one off, sir." Mulenga grinned, "And with style." He looked down at his datapad, "I should go and check over our course again. We might be able to pick up a bit more speed if we go lower. And we're still gathering atmospheric data all the time."

  "Fine, Lieutenant."

  "Good night, sir."

  Mulenga silently drifted off into the elevator, leaving Marshall alone with just his thoughts and the stars to keep him company, as the planet slowly revolved beneath them.

  Chapter 25

  Hand over hand, Caine dragged herself up and over the ridge, trying not to look down – and trying even harder not to look at her watch. Alamo was due in at any time, and at all costs they had to reach the missile site before it arrived, but this couldn't be rushed. The frustration was greater when she thought of the gentle, sloping pass they'd spotted just a mile to the east, but Orlova had been quite right; they'd be watching that one closely. This way they would pop up just behind the target, less than a hundred yards away from the enemy. She was presuming that everyone was still following her, but couldn't work up the nerve to look. Her entire being was focused on moving from handhold to handhold, and at all costs, to do it quietly.

  She abruptly found herself swinging out by one hand, dust crumpling in her fingers, and swore under her breath as she struggled to get to another handhold. Finally, she pulled herself onto a narrow ledge, a good fifty feet long, only a short climb away from the surface, and lay on her back, panting. Now she could look down, and she almost cried out as she saw how far she had climbed; it must have been more than five hundred feet of sheer face.