by Chris Bunch
Very good.
She found a hide a few meters from the nest, laying her blaster on the rock in front of her.
If the sniper was really good, he — or she — would never return to this position.
Riss was counting the shooter wasn’t perfect.
She was right.
Crouched low, just before first light, she saw four space suits moving toward her from enemy positions.
She puzzled, then realized one would be the triggerman, one would be backup cover, one would be a spotter, and the fourth would be, considering the weight of a 13-mm rifle and its rounds, the ammo bearer.
She hoped.
M’chel was utterly motionless as the men found a position, and she saw the long rifle being put together, and its bipod and monopod positioned.
She braced for her rush.
A very large, probably multiple-vision telescopic sight went on top of the rifle, and Riss had seen enough.
Her blaster came up, and she shot the cover man, then the spotter.
The ammo bearer was looking about wildly, and she put a bolt through his faceplate.
The sniper himself had forgotten about the blaster holstered at his waist, was trying to get the big gun around.
M’chel dropped the gun, came across the ground between them in a waddling attack.
She brushed the rifle aside and dove on top of the sniper. Her knife went under his helmet, into the expansion-contraction joint, and through into softness.
The sniper jerked, his heels thrashed twice, and he was dead.
Riss wanted to gloat over the body, wished she was primitive enough to collect ears, instead went back to her position, feeling a great deal better about the world.
• • •
A transport landed, and its passengers and crew were bustled to positions about two kilometers behind the Khelat front lines.
Star Risk now was truly in debt to Hal Maffer.
Somewhere he’d found an entire 200 mm multiple-launch rocket battery, and enlisted it. There were ten launchers in the battery, and a full complement of rocket men.
They went into action that first day, firing ten rockets at a time per launcher.
The rockets were simple solid-fuel devices and had no guidance after they left the tube. They weren’t terribly accurate, but ten of them landing in approximately the same place at a time was impressive. Not to mention lethal if you or your lifter or your pillbox happened to be in that same place.
The ground rocked under the rockets’ impact, and obliterated positions.
Little by little, the Shaoki lines were being driven in.
• • •
The next victory went to Grok.
He and his technicians had been trying to decode whatever secrets were hidden in a burst of what appeared to be static, but failed utterly.
Then Grok rethought the matter.
He had Freddie detail him a couple of destroyers. Against practice, considering Grok knew far too much to be allowed in combat beyond what was utterly necessary, they picked him up and lurked on a position just beyond the atmosphere, trying to get a fix on where that static burst was coming from.
It took two tries, but then they homed in on the signal and found a pair of Shaoki transports nestled snugly into the broad mouth of a cavern, almost impossible to see unless you were right on it.
Grok now knew why the Khelat had been unable to figure out how the Shaoki were able to resupply. The transports would have jumped to a nav point very close to III, picked up the transmission, perhaps triggered by a com on one of their ships, and darted for the surface before they could be detected.
There were antiaircraft missiles around the site, but the destroyers spoofed and then toppled them.
Two barrages of rockets went into the cavern, and, later, four of Wahfer’s cruisers were put in synchronous orbit over the mine’s remains.
That was that for Shaoki resupply.
• • •
“If these Maulers had any brains,” Goodnight said, “they would be starting to think about the virtues of a good, honest white flag.”
Some had brains.
One section did find white, or rather whitish, flags, and began waving them about.
The shot was patched through to the king’s command ship.
Three lifters went out to accept the surrender.
The Maulers — about twelve of them — clambered out of their semiwrecked lifter, hands held high. When they were all in the open, the two Khelat lifters opened fire.
They killed all twelve.
In the shriek of self-congratulations, Friedrich made sure his people had seen the footage.
“Nice,” Goodnight said. “Very nice, indeed.”
Sarcasm dripped from his voice.
“It certainly is,” Riss agreed from her position with the tracks. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before anyone else thinks of a little sensible cowardice.”
“Are you humans entirely mad?” Grok wondered.
“No,” van Baldur said. “Just our leaders.”
“Shit!” Riss said, and that ended the conference.
• • •
Goodnight didn’t need to trigger his battle analysis to know what the Shaoki would do next.
There were only two options: to abandon VI/III and its soldiers and mercenaries, or attempt to reinforce or relieve them.
Intercepted holo-casts from the Shaoki worlds said what that would be: reinforcement.
Shaoki ships swarmed off Irdis, ready for the Grand Fleet Action.
King Saleph said that he was prepared for battle, and told his ships to englobe VI/III.
It was to be a battle of total destruction.
Friedrich von Baldur gently tore his hair, then asked the king for his permission for a “spoiling attack, just in case.”
Saleph, busy moving model fleets in the air around his control room, gave his assent.
Von Baldur asked if he could use his mercenary ships, and possibly Prince Wahfer’s cruiser squadron.
The king was glad to give up the latter for what he was very sure would be a no-action piece of foolery by the mercenaries.
Wahfer had been getting entirely too much attention on the holos of late.
Von Baldur, feeling like a very grand admiral, took Grok off III and transferred him to the Pride.
He put a pair of Redon Spada’s scouts near each standard nav point in the VI system, figuring that the Shaoki were as likely to be as lazy as the Khelat when battle was met.
He was right.
One of Spada’s p-boats reported a steady stream of ships pouring out of N-space. They weren’t coming out in any sort of coherent formation.
This had to be the Great Fleet of the Shaoki.
Von Baldur had figured that, too.
Given the fairly high degree of incompetency/inexperience Star Risk had witnessed when they were on the Shaoki payroll, he didn’t figure it was likely the Shaoki Council would fly tight formation and chance collisions.
The Shaoki paid no attention to the small p-boats skittering for shelter, but concentrated on their battle formations.
Von Baldur had more than enough time to position Wahfer’s cruisers above the Shaoki and send for Khelat reinforcements. He was careful, in com, to praise the king’s intelligence and masterly strategic abilities in allowing von Baldur to lurk.
He thought, as he watched the Shaoki move toward III, they were almost stately, even though they were hurtling forward at several times light speed.
If he had a battleship — and he did — the Shaoki could move in a stately manner … if Fleet Admiral von Baldur determined it was.
He felt like he was Nelson at Trafalgar … Togo at Tsushima … Nhrumah at Deneb Four.
But he didn’t let himself get ego driven into a direct confrontation.
Von Baldur sent Wahfer down in a bounce attack. That caused several squadrons to hive off.
Friedrich took the Pride, escorted by a dozen destroyers, in to mop up on
the stragglers, then jumped well before Shaoki heavies could complicate the issue.
About the time he came out of N-space, the Khelat fleet had arrived.
It was a swarming melee.
Inchcape wanted to get in on the action; von Baldur forbade it.
“There’ll be enough blood to drink in a few hours,” he told her.
There was.
The Shaoki command broke, ordered “sauve qui peut,” and, obediently, every man took off for himself.
At that point, von Baldur ordered his destroyers and patrol boats into action.
They assyrianed the fold, holding themselves to one missile, one target, and if that didn’t get him, the next ship would.
It was the only real victory of the VI/III battle.
• • •
“As long as those fools upstairs are dancing about,” Goodnight said, “what do you think of us doing our share for the war effort and all?”
“Good,” Riss said. “Let’s get this nonsense over with. I’ll need to soak for a week to get the dirt off my dirt.”
Riss’s regiment went forward the next dawn, and Goodnight’s storm troops swept on the remaining outpost’s flanks.
That battle was over within the day, hardly a crushing victory, but, like infantry battles, one trudging step forward.
By rights, the Maulers at least, trapped in their hopeless valley, should have surrendered.
But they didn’t.
• • •
Riss, cursing King Saleph’s trigger-happy goons, took one medium lifter and a driver, after plastering the lifter with white plas banners front, rear, and dangling from the autocannon.
She hoped the Maulers would think kindly of her.
If she were in their position, after the murders, she might not have.
And she really hoped she was closing on a Mauler, not a Shaoki, position. She had no idea what they might do, considering the defeat going on overhead.
“Casting, on the standard emergency frequency, that she came in peace, she told the pilot to ease the lifter forward.
No one answered her. But no one opened up on her, either.
Two well-camouflaged chainguns swiveled to cover her, and then the emergency frequency came alive.
“Far enough. Ground it.”
She told the driver to obey.
“One person out, and advance.”
Riss almost grinned. This was one of the formal dances done by every military since spears went out of fashion.
She obeyed.
There was no blaster at her waist, for the first time in many weeks, and she felt naked. She didn’t think about her lack of grenades or even a hideout gun.
Two soldiers came out, keeping out of the chain-guns’ line of fire, checked her for weapons or transmitting gear beside her suit com, and then covered her faceplate with something opaque.
Fingers fumbled at her belt, turned her suit radar off, led her forward.
She felt smoothness under her boots, heard a lock door open, close, and the lock cycle.
Riss was led forward, around a corner, another corner, and a third. She assumed this was misdirection.
A ‘cast came on the emergency frequency: “You can doff your helmet now.”
She obeyed.
The first thing that hit her was the smell.
Riss thought she managed to cover her reaction.
She thought she, and her men, were in sad shape, which they were. But facing her were two women and a man who looked like they’d been dragged, sideways, through the bowels of hell.
The woman, in front, had a plas bandage on one cheek.
“You are?” she demanded.
“M’chel Riss,” M’chel said. “Star Risk, limited.”
“You want?”
“You — if you’re with the Maulers — to surrender.”
“After what they did to our boys,” one of the men said bitterly, “what chance do we have.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Come on,” Riss said. “Mercenaries don’t fight … unless they have to. I’ll give you my own — and Star Risk’s — guarantee. Nothing will happen to you. Hell, if you want, you can even keep your personal blasters.”
The woman stayed expressionless.
“Put her in that chamber,” she ordered.
One of the men obeyed.
Riss didn’t wait long. This time, she was escorted out as if she wasn’t a prisoner.
“You have a good reputation,” the woman said. “If any of us do.” She smiled, a wintry expression.
“I’m Malleus,” she said. “We did a fast check…. And I remember you actually let Mik Hore walk after he tried to doublecross you.”
“We’re sentimental,” Riss said.
The woman laughed, not humorously.
“And there’s one of us — a man named Erm — who spoke well of you.”
Riss didn’t remember him.
“All right,” Malleus said. “We’re yours. We’re not stupid enough to ask for conditions. Other than our lives.”
“You’ll have them,” Riss said. “Take your personal gear, and leave everything else.”
Malleus nodded.
“We’ll have a transport — or two — down here,” Riss continued. “Tomorrow, if you want.”
“We won’t need more than one,” the man who’d spoken before said.
Malleus’s face twisted, then she regained control.
“By nightfall tomorrow,” she said.
“I’ll need to get on the com,” Riss said.
• • •
Friedrich von Baldur brought a transport down, escorted by the Pride, and two destroyers.
The Malleus Maulers, silent, sullen, and exhausted, filed aboard the transport.
Riss stood beside her lifter, not feeling any particular sense of victory.
When the last mercenary had boarded, one of the two chainguns that had greeted her suddenly elevated to vertical. Everyone jumped, but the gun made no further movement.
Two people in suits came out of a lock.
Riss went to them. She saw, through the faceplate, one was Malleus.
“You keep your bargains,” the woman said.
“We do.” Riss said nothing about the lack of trust, pretty sure if the situation was reversed she would’ve done something similar and been the last man out, with a gun. At least, she hoped she would have had the courage.
Malleus nodded, and without saying anything else, went up the transport’s ramp, into the lock.
Moments later, it lifted away.
• • •
With about half of the final base now unmanned, the Shaoki soldiers began surrendering en masse.
Grinning Khelat accepted their surrender.
Riss, watching, thought their faces looked like dogs in a fowl run.
• • •
“You did not have my permission to treat the foreign soldiers as you did,” King Saleph said, keeping his temper under control.
“What would you have done, Your Highness?” von Baldur said.
“Treat them as the criminals — the murderers — they are,” he said. “Just as I shall treat the Shaoki, now that they have begun surrendering. I will set up prison planets where these fools can expiate their crimes.”
Von Baldur nodded curtly, cut the com.
“Goddamnit,” he complained to Goodnight, who was also on the bridge. “I cannot save everyone.”
The two of them stared at each other, both dumb with fatigue.
And the battle for Shaoki VI/III was over.
FORTY-FIVE
The troops stumbled back to their bases, were peeled out of their suits, and collapsed.
Even the mercenaries took one look at the parade field and exercise yards, said stuff it, later for getting back in shape, had a couple of drinks, were besotted and asleep.
Star Risk, so tired they could cry, did everyone a favor and hired civilian contractors to launder or burn the suits the infantry had worn.
Then, having done their bit, they thought, to prove the imperviousness of leaders, they died as well.
Everyone knew that, with Shaoki VI/III conquered, the next step would be the invasion of the capital, Irdis.
And no one wanted to think about that, because it was guaranteed to be twice the bloodbath they’d just been through.
Eventually, Riss woke up, took a very long bath, looked at her hair, and shuddered.
That would come before anything military. She found a salon, and had her hair cut very, very short.
Style comes second to dirt in a prolonged campaign.
She treated herself — of course, at the Khelat’s expense — to a full massage and facial. Then she found a boutique and treated herself to some new outfits.
Dressed, she considered herself in a mirror, and decided while she still looked like the ravages of hell, in her opinion, she wouldn’t frighten small boys and dogs to death.
Feeling a bit cheerier, and determined to surround herself with many calories, healthy ones that didn’t cause pimples, she headed for the Star Risk barracks.
Jasmine was there, looking impossibly unscathed. Her hair was also trimmed very close.
“I hate you, woman,” M’chel managed.
Jasmine grinned, preened.
“Buzz Goodnight,” King said. “He wants to confer. We seem to have a problem.”
Riss obeyed.
Both Chas and Grok answered the call.
Friedrich drifted in from his own quarters.
“We have,” Goodnight announced, “not just a problem, but a very large problem. We seem to have a case of journalists.”
“So?” Riss said. Unlike many soldiers, she didn’t care about the media one way or another until she’d decided whether or not they were going to get in the way.
“Yes,” Goodnight said with a scowl. Clearly, he was with the military majority.
“A team of four, representing themselves as freelancers, working for some independent outfit I’ve never heard of has shown up,” Goodnight said.
“I figured they wanted to cover the blood and slaughter, which is always marketable, as long as the consumers’ blood isn’t what’s leaking.
“But they didn’t show any sign of wanting to tour VI/III, or more than token coverage of how the Khelat forces are fighting for freedom, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
“What they were interested in, quite intensely, is the maln plantations, which, according to Prince Barab, are just coming into flower.”