Stand Against The Storm (The Maxwell Saga Book 4)

by Peter Grant

  “That’s fair,” Chun agreed, smiling for the first time. “It’s certainly better treatment than we’ve ever had before on Eskishi.”

  “Then let’s go talk to the rest of your people and make sure they understand what’s going on.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Lieutenant-Commander Bell dropped in early that evening. “I’m on my way back to the spaceport,” he explained. “I thought I’d see whether your new labor group was working out any better than the old.”

  “Much better, Sir,” Steve assured him. He explained the approach he’d discussed with Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear, and the commitments made on both sides. “It seems to be working well so far.”

  He led the Exec out to the makeshift hardstand. “We’re handling two cargo shuttles at a time now, Sir. We’ve got two groups ferrying cargoes from the shuttles as fast as they can. Another group directs traffic inside the depot, makes sure the containers are stacked in the right places, and temporarily covers non-containerized cargo with tarpaulins. We’re erecting plastic laminate shelters as fast as a work party can assemble them and cast plascrete footings. A technical group is setting up workshops and service and support facilities in some of the shelters.”

  Bell studied the bustling activity in the fading light, squinting as the floodlights came on to illuminate the work area. “What if someone gets hurt? With all this heavy equipment and the frenetic pace at which you’re working, that’s no small risk.”

  “Yes, Sir. The Qianjin crews have a doctor and three medics among them. I’ve put them in charge of the sick bay in the administrative building, and tasked them with unpacking and setting up our Medbot units. Those things can stabilize almost any injury or illness, after which we can send the injured person up to one of our ships for more advanced treatment if necessary.”

  “I hope you won’t need them.”

  “That makes two of us, Sir!”

  “Let’s walk over here where we can have some privacy,” the Executive Officer invited, leading him away from the floodlit hardstand. When he was sure they wouldn’t be overheard, he went on, “There’s unsettling news from inland. Local forces had pushed the rebels away from Surush into the interior. They thought they’d pinned them against a range of hills a hundred kilometers away, but when they launched an assault this morning it hit mostly empty air. The rebels appear to have retreated to a stronghold within the hills, but reconnaissance doesn’t show as many of them there as expected. Our Marines are wondering whether a large number of rebels haven’t managed to break contact with local forces and escape, but the Colonial Guard won’t confirm or deny anything.”

  “Where would they escape to, Sir?”

  “That’s the big question. There’s nowhere in particular for them to go, and no major objective for them to attack in the current area of operations. They might disperse and try to blend into the local population, but if they stay together it can only be because they’re planning something. What that might be, we don’t know. If we learn anything I’ll see you’re informed at once.”

  “What about our security, Sir? I have none here – no guards, no perimeter sensors, no area surveillance capabilities, nothing. We’re several kilometers from the nearest assistance.”

  Bell scowled. “I know, and I don’t like it, but the Colonial Guard insists there’s no threat here. Captain Davis has taken them at their word – that’s why he selected this place for the Engineers’ depot. He’s absolutely adamant that we have to stay out of the conflict, because Karabak isn’t part of the Commonwealth and therefore, according to his Department of State adviser, it must sort out its own problems. We’re officially here to provide humanitarian assistance only. I doubt very much whether he’ll approve sending armed Marines to secure your position, for fear of provoking an incident.”

  Steve struggled with discretion for a moment, but annoyance won out. “And if the incident happens anyway, Sir, and some of us are injured or killed?”

  “Then Captain Davis will doubtless reconsider the issue, in consultation with State.”

  The Exec’s dry sarcasm forced Steve to grin, even though his resentment wasn’t assuaged. “I’m sorry, Sir. You can’t do anything about it, I know, so I shouldn’t add to your worries.”

  “Why not? Everyone else does!” They laughed softly together. “There’s something else. The regular dispatch vessel arrived from Karabak this afternoon. It brought news that the third son of the Sultan, by the name of Iskander, has just graduated from their Military Academy. He’s to begin a traditional coming-of-age tour of their colony planets, starting here. He’ll be arriving in a few days – although why they’d let him come into a war zone is beyond me.”

  “If he’s the youngest son, Sir, perhaps they can afford to lose him.”

  The Exec chuckled. “Don’t let him hear you say that! In one sense, though, you may have a point. The Sultanate’s a hereditary office. When the incumbent dies or abdicates, the successor’s chosen from among his or her children – or, if there aren’t any, from among the closest surviving relatives – by a conclave of representatives from the Council of Mullahs, the General and Flag Officers of the armed forces, political leaders and senior business executives. It’s supposed to choose the one best fitted to rule, but I daresay there’s a certain amount of horse-trading involved.”

  Steve grinned. “Uh-huh. ‘Choose me and I’ll make you a bigger General’, that sort of thing, right, Sir?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me, and it probably works both ways – ‘If we choose you, what will you do for us?’ The current Sultan, Suleiman, has three sons and a daughter, so you’re right; they could spare Iskander if they had to. The Governor’s asked us to allow him to visit our ships to see how we do things in comparison to Karabak’s Space Navy, and our Marines planetside to learn how our ground forces operate. In other words, we’re to contribute to his ongoing education. That’ll probably include this depot, although you’re a lower priority compared to combat units.”

  “I understand, Sir. I’ll do my best to have things shipshape here within a few days.”

  “Good.” Bell yawned. “I’ve had a long day, and it’ll be even longer by the time I get back up to the ship and report all I’ve learned to Commander Doibro. I’m glad to see you’ve taken a firm grip on things here. We were concerned when you suspended offloading operations, but after seeing the difficulties you had to deal with I understand you didn’t have any choice. I’ll make sure the skipper understands that.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “All right, I’ll leave you to it. Get some sleep yourself, you hear me? Don’t work yourself to a frazzle.”

  “I’ll do my best, Sir.”

  As he walked the Exec back to his cutter, Steve resolved silently to do whatever he could to improve local security by any and every means at his disposal. He might not be able to call upon the services of the Marine Reaction Force battalion, but the Engineers had their personal weapons and he knew the spaceport had an armory. Barter, cumshaw, scrounging – by whatever name it was known, the practice had been an integral part of military life for generations… and he had an entire stores depot filling up with supplies that could be traded for what he needed.

  June 21st 2850 GSC, early morning

  The five figures sat silently around the scarred, splintered table. A small battery-powered lantern on the table cast dim, giant shadows of their figures against the wall. Three dragged on hand-rolled cigarettes, the smoke curling up around their faces and making the stale air in the unkempt room even more acrid. A sixth person lay on a stretcher against the wall, breath rasping in his throat, moaning every now and again as the pain of his wounds penetrated his drugged sleep.

  Those around the table looked up as footsteps crunched on gravel outside. They halted as a low challenge was answered with a murmured response. The footsteps began again, moving closer. The ill-fitting door squealed against its frame as someone shoved hard against it. It swung open, revealing a short, slim figure clothed all
in black. He pushed the door closed behind him and crossed to the table, pulling out a stool to join the others. Leaning his rifle against the table, he produced a tobacco pouch and papers and began rolling a cigarette for himself.

  The others watched him in silence for a moment. At last one of the two women asked, “Well?”

  He didn’t look up from his focus on the cigarette. “I spoke to seven or eight of Arne’s people. They all confirmed it. He soft-pedaled his part of the assault. When two o’ his teams looked like they were gonna blast all the way through the defenses, he ordered ’em t’ pull back. They swear they coulda captured or killed th’ Governor an’ his Executive Council if it weren’t for that. He told ’em Colonial Guard reinforcements were closing in from behind, and they had t’ get out or be trapped – but there were no reinforcements.”

  One of the men spat on the floor. “What did he have to say for himself?”

  “By then I was convinced he was a traitor, so I wasn’t particular ’bout how I asked him. He eventually confessed he’d been informin’ on us for years. All the time he was helping us plan and organize, he was snitching us out. It’s only because we compartmentalized everythin’ so carefully that we achieved what we did. He couldn’t betray what he didn’t know, but he still told ’em enough to make sure we couldn’t win. Anything he had a hand in either failed when the time came, or hit empty air because the target had moved.” He licked the paper and sealed it, rolling the cigarette between his fingers.

  There was a stunned silence around the table. The older woman husked, “How – how could he do this to us? How could he betray us?”

  “I asked him that too.” The speaker pressed a button on the side of a lighter, waited for the coil inside to glow red, and touched the tip of his cigarette to it. “Remember how he told us his wife and three-year-old daughter were killed in an accident four years ago? Only his wife died. The Security people took his kid from the hospital an’ held her as a hostage. Promised him if he was a good boy he could see her now and again an’ maybe get her back one day. If he didn’t… you know the score.” Heads nodded grimly around the table. “He actually tried t’ tell me I’d have done the same in his shoes. I told him I’d have killed myself and my daughter rather than betray my brothers and sisters.”

  “That’s what you did for your wife back on Karabak, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” He drew deeply on the cigarette, held the smoke in his lungs for an achingly long moment, then let it out slowly, almost lovingly. “They caught her an’ threatened t’ torture her unless I surrendered. I put a bomb in the sewer under the road an’ set it off as her transport drove over it. She’d have understood. That memory made me decide to kill Arne quick in the end, instead of slow and painful like I planned to. I guess he wasn’t as strong as I figured he was. That don’t excuse betrayin’ us, but… oh, hell, I dunno… maybe if I’d had a kid… who knows?”

  “So where do we stand?” The question came from the youngest of those gathered around the table, a blond man in his mid-thirties with a dirty, mud-smeared face.

  The leader began to count off points on his fingers. “We had to take the spaceport, plus enough hostages to keep us safe while we boarded the ship. We didn’t get the hostages, thanks to Arne betrayin’ us. The Security goons told th’ Governor what they’d learned from Arne just in time f’r him ta call in a regiment of Colonial Guards from Karabak. They waited aboard their ships in orbit, layin’ low an’ sayin’ nothin’. As soon as we exposed ourselves by takin’ the spaceport, they landed right on top o’ us. We didn’t have much in the way o’ heavy weapons ’cept what we captured. Our boys an’ girls fought hard and killed a lot of ’em – enough that Karabak had to appeal to the Lancastrians for security help – but in the end they drove us out of Surush.”

  “What happened to our ship?” the younger woman asked.

  “She got the hell out of here, Luna. Orbital Control ordered all ships to move away from the planet when the fighting started. I don’t think they knew about her – Arne hadn’t been told, so he couldn’t warn them – but they must have worried we might capture a cutter or cargo shuttle, then use it to hijack a freighter to get away. Our ship moved off along with everyone else in orbit, then kept right on going towards the system boundary and hyper-jumped away.”

  “Will she come back?” the blond man demanded. “With so much money at stake, that’s a hell of an incentive for Mikael to try again.”

  “Yeah, Métin, but we could only have paid him if we’d taken the Bank of Eskishi. Most o’ th’ hard assets on th’ planet are in its vaults. We didn’t take it, thanks t’ Arne, so they’re still locked up in there. Besides, the Lancastrians are in orbit now with a troopship, two freighters an’ two destroyers. That’s over and above Karabak’s warships. No-one in their right minds is gonna go up against that lot in an unarmed freighter. If Mikael comes back and sees ’em all in orbit, he’s gonna turn around an’ jump right out again. We’ve no way off-planet without him unless we manage to hijack a ship that’s already here, an’ I don’t see us doin’ that with no way t’ reach orbit.”

  “So we’re screwed,” the blond man said flatly.

  “Basically, yeah.”

  “Just like we’ve always been.” A ripple of harsh amusement ran around the table.

  “Yeah, I guess so – but for once, that might actually work in our favor. Eskishi and Karabak think we’re really screwed now, but we’re more dangerous than ever ’cause we got nothin’ left t’ lose. All our weaker people have been killed already. Only the hardest of the hard core have survived this long. They don’t know we snuck away from the hills with so many fighters. The others will hold out as long as they can, to give us a chance t’ hit back an’ avenge their deaths.”

  “How?” The questioner’s voice was bitter. “There’s damn all we can do to hurt them now, ’cept kill a few more of them before they kill us.”

  “Wrong, Orhan. I called Miller in Surush. Guess what he told me? The Colonial Guard’s all out here, trying to pin us down. They’ve left Surush almost unprotected.”

  “What about those Lancastrian Marines and engineers?” the older woman wanted to know. “There are more than enough of them in Surush to make up for the Guards in the interior.”

  “Don’t forget, Meriam, they ain’t supposed t’ get involved in the fighting,” the leader pointed out. “Sure, they’re mounting security patrols in and around Surush, but that’s to stop lootin’ an’ control unrest, not look for us. Meanwhile their engineers are fixin’ the sewage and water plants, not buildin’ or repairin’ guard posts. Th’ Governor asked ’em t’ do that, but their boss in orbit refused. Miller told me he said they can’t be seen t’ be takin’ sides. I reckon that means if we don’t attack them, they won’t attack us. This ain’t their fight, after all. Why should Lancastrians die for a planet that’s not even a member of their Commonwealth?”

  “What if they’re guarding something we need, like the supplies at the spaceport?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. If we have to hit ’em, we will, but why buy trouble if their orders only allow ’em to defend themselves?”

  “So they won’t stop us if we attack Eskishi troops?”

  “I don’t think so. What’s more, the Administration must think we’re broken reeds right now, otherwise they wouldn’t’ve sent so many Colonial Guards inland. They’ve let down their guard in Surush. If we can sneak into the city, bypassin’ the Marine patrols, we can hit ’em real hard where they least expect it.”

  There was a sudden feral stillness around the table as they absorbed the thought. Meriam asked, “D’you think we can get past the Marines? They’ve got all sorts of high-tech gear that the Colonial Guard doesn’t have.”

  The leader rubbed his chin. “I dunno about their gear, but they’re spread real thin. I reckon we can probably sneak through in the gaps between their patrols. All our survivors are battle-hardened an’ know their way around. If we get into Surush, w
e may find a way to get to the Governor. If we kill him it’ll cause chaos, so why not go for broke?” A growl of agreement rose from his audience.

  “I say we do it!” Métin slapped the table hard with the palm of his hand. “We can’t hide from them forever. They’ll have vid surveillance showing our faces, an’ DNA and fingerprints they can match to our prison records. Sooner or later they’ll identify us; so if we can’t escape, let’s die fightin’, takin’ as many of them with us as we can.”

  “That’s the way I see it,” Bairam agreed.

  “What about Ridvan?” The speaker indicated the man on the stretcher. As if to echo his question, the wounded insurgent moaned softly in his restless, pain-filled sleep.

  “How is he?”

  “Bad. We gave him our last ampoule of painkiller a couple of hours ago. It’s already wearing off. He’ll be screamin’ again soon. His wounds are startin’ t’ smell, too. The nearest medical supplies are in Surush, but I don’t think he’ll live long enough f’r us t’ carry him there.”

  Bairam nodded. “And we ain’t got any transport, so carryin’ him would slow us down; and the noise he won’t be able to help makin’ might – no, it would bring enemy patrols down on us.” He stood and walked over to their unconscious comrade, drawing a pulser from beneath his coat. “Sorry, Ridvan. Don’t hold this against me. One of us may haveta do the same for me before long.”

  He aimed carefully and fired one round straight down into Ridvan’s torso. The wounded man jerked and gasped. He took a few more shuddering breaths, then all sound and movement ceased.

  The leader turned back to the others, holstering his pulser. “Any food left?”