Duke Kornilov jabbed a finger down onto the map, right on the edge of the Kalivostok Defense System. "We'll dig the Warden's armor here. They'll be the ones to destroy any of those spheres that come through."
"M'lord?" General Makinen said.
Duke Kornilov waved him off. "I'll not set good troops on that line. Not with a charge like that. Be sure the engineers dig the new fortifications deep enough to withstand that blast. Now, those tanks go to a minimal crew. The other convicts will—"
"—not be wasted like this," Colonel Clarke said. Anger boiled through him. He clenched and unclenched his hands.
Duke Kornilov looked over at General Makinen. "This is the Warden?"
"Colonel Cole Clarke. 19th Armored Cavalry Regiment. This is not a penal battalion." Colonel Clarke stepped closer to the table and leaned in toward the duke. "My armor is not going to sit on the edge and wait to get blown up."
"Your armor will do as I say. Squire is already lost."
"Now instead of fighting on Squire, you will turn this planet into a warzone?"
"Kalivostok to Squire is the heaviest-defended gate in all of the Vasilov Worlds. If ever we make a stand, it's there! My grandfather nearly bankrupted this world to see that link strengthened, and everyone called him crazy! We'll use that legacy!"
Some of the other officers nodded in agreement.
General Makinen cleared his throat and spoke in a steady voice. "I have another idea that may please both of you."
Hector turned and crossed his arms. "Go on."
General Makinen struggled to stand and hobbled over to the display. He keyed it over to show Squire and then zoomed back so the entire planetary surface was lit up. "The 19th goes in and runs a delaying action through the ridges and industrial complex. It's the only unit we have that can move fast enough and still take a punch. It'll buy us time here. I recommend we hold the gate on Squire, and only fall back to Kalivostok if that complex falls."
"Absolutely not. They'll hammer that area with artillery," The duke said.
"If we keep the battlefield fluid, it won't matter," Makinen replied.
"Of course it will matter," Duke Kornilov said louder. "It's all about that gate!"
"Give me room to maneuver, and I'll do things with these tanks like you've never seen," Clarke said.
Duke Kornilov paused. He blinked his eyes rapidly. One hand slid down onto the butt of the pistol. "You're an insolent commoner."
"And you're a fool," Clarke said.
"Gentlemen!" General Makinen said. "Colonel, you're out of line."
Colonel Clarke took a deep breath and calmed himself. He gave a slight bow toward Duke Hector. "You have my apologies, m'lord."
An elderly officer with the rank of baron stammered and then spoke. "Colonel, if you're so nimble, can't you go in and get out if need be? It would buy us more time."
"You'd like a bit more time, eh Baron Klaus?" Duke Kornilov said, the spite obvious in his voice.
"I see it as prudent. The more time the better," a count said.
"You two are as thick as thieves," Duke Kornilov said. "You want more time to evacuate your assets."
The count smiled innocently and stepped away from the table.
Duke Kornilov rubbed his nose and stared down at Squire. "Very well. But know that if I decide to blow the gate on Kalivostok, you'll have little notice."
"Understood, m'lord," Colonel Clarke said.
Duke Kornilov turned away and then looked back to Colonel Clarke. "Dismissed."
Colonel Clarke locked eyes with the duke and snapped a crisp salute. He turned and had taken a half-dozen steps through the crowd when a lieutenant tapped him on the shoulder.
"General Makinen would like to see you, Colonel."
Colonel Clarke nodded and followed the lieutenant through a side door. They climbed down a flight of stairs, and the lieutenant opened up a steel reinforced door. They entered the simple stone walled office. The lieutenant sat and keyed up a console. A dull hum pulsed through the room.
"The room is isolated. Speak freely," the lieutenant said. He exited the room.
Colonel Clarke just stood and stewed in his own anger. Warden. The word stuck with him. How hard would they have to fight to earn the right to be called soldiers? They're not fighting a war, they're just on the path to losing it.
General Makinen walked through the door and plopped himself down into an oversized chair. He wheezed, and his face was red. Each breath was raspy. "Cole," he said. "You've not got a diplomatic bone in your body."
"He's an idiot."
"He's a duke and, let me tell you, a damned sight better than his father."
"I didn't know him."
General Makinen finally caught his breath. He pulled a paper envelope out from a desk and handed it to Colonel Clarke. "You get onto Squire and figure out what the hell is going on. I need operational intel something fierce. The Kadan should be hitting the outgate, and they're not. I want to know why."
Colonel Clarke hefted the envelope in his hand. Paper orders? "And this?"
"Emergency orders. Things are a bit tense here. Duke Kell has been stirring up some of the nobles. He wants this planet, and he might get it."
Colonel Clarke knew Duke Kell by reputation alone. Power-hungry, aggressive, expansionist, and very charismatic. He seemed to gain more through sheer power of will and personality than most men could bargain. Those who served under him loved him. Those who squared off with him respected him. "In a time of war?"
General Makinen coughed loudly. "Never let a good crisis go to waste."
"Pardon me, general, but that sounds like a bunch of dumb bullshit."
"And it is. But he might be the best shot we have at winning this war."
The envelope suddenly felt very heavy in Clarke's hand. "You would side with him?"
"I'll not lose this planet due to an incompetent leader. If one falls—"
"We all fall," Colonel Clarke replied.
General Makinen nodded slowly. "We're beyond petty politics. This is coming down to survival. They just don't know it yet."
"What of Lord Darcy? What of the other dukes? Damn, Maki, this could be considered treason."
"I can't divulge everything," General Makinen said. His eyes looked tired, haunted. "But I need to know. Will you follow my orders?"
Clarke stared at General Makinen. He'd follow orders, but how far would he go? "What are you asking?"
"Keep fighting. Don't pull back. And if it comes to it, you'll need to secure critical objectives."
"Not from the Kadan, I assume?"
"No, from Kornilov’s forces."
"Maki..."
"It's why you're here. I needed a Vasilov Army unit that I could trust. If this war hits us harder, our social structure will falter. If it fails, we need something to fall back on."
"A dictator? Maki, the dukes have always fought, but not like this."
"This isn't simply a fight, this is our planets falling, our peoples dying." General Makinen stood and thrust out his hand. "Tell me I can trust you."
Colonel Clarke was torn. On one hand, he knew and trusted Maki, but on the other, he took an oath. Stefan Vasilov, the man who founded the Vasilov Worlds on a principal of meritocracy, flashed in his mind. "I'll not be a butcher or a usurper. Leave me out of the politics."
"Cole..."
"No. I'm a soldier. If you wanted a politician, you should've brought my father. Goddamn it, Maki!" Colonel Clarke yelled. He wanted to help his friend. He trusted Maki, but not like this.
The air in the room felt heavy. The electromagnetic buzz was a reminder that dark business took place in dark times.
General Makinen sighed deeply. "I trust you'll keep this conversation between gentlemen."
"I will."
"Now that all of that is past us, let's review what needs to happen on Squire." General Makinen keyed up his display. He laid out areas of interest, columns of movement, and choke points.
Colonel Clarke listened as best
he could, but he couldn't shake the fact that he'd almost agreed to treason. Though what really worried him was that he wasn't that bothered by it.
#
Chapter Nine
Kalivstok III, Kalivostok System
160 Kilometers from the Kali-Squire Stargate
The constant hum of the tracks on the highway made Tomi's headache even worse. It wasn't just the hangover, but the fact that his skull felt crunchy. The only thing that made him feel good was the payoff. A nice, big, juicy payoff.
The tank crested a hill, and vehicles stretched all the way to the next rise. Troop carriers, flatbed trucks, armored cars, and Alpha Company. The Chariot-style tanks rumbled in front of him. Most were the basic package that mimicked the Sigg-pattern tanks. Intermixed were recovery vehicles with gantries hanging off the back, antiaircraft units with portable umbrella systems, artillery launchers, and a few hunter-killer models.
Tomi had hoped to be in one of the hunter models. Jagers they called them. There was something alluring about being a silent hunter, about stalking and killing enemy tanks. The fact that they had a larger cannon also helped. Riga, one of the Sigg mercenaries, was in command of one named Devastator in Delta Company.
There was a blast of sound, and heat rolled through the crew compartment. Someone opened up a panel directly to the reactor cooling system.
"Don't drop mine!" Hess said.
"Hot, hot!" Wellington said.
The smell of cooking food wafted through the tight compartment. Just for a second it cut through the smell of hot oil and welded steel.
Tomi focused on the road and the night. He toggled from night-vision to standard. With all of the headlights on the civilian traffic, it was easier that way.
Puck broke into song. "I like to go swimming with bow-legged—"
"Shut up!" Sergeant Mick said. He was tucked up into the tank commander's pocket. "I'm tryin' to read, for Christ's sake."
"Sergeant! The naughty jar!" Private Vinovy said.
"Shove it up your ass!" Mick called back. A second later came the clatter of coins. "Now quiet, I'm reading."
Vinovy was the newest addition to the crew. After losing Sergeant Nikov on Lishun Delta, they were one soldier light. Vinovy's crime was dereliction of duty. He said he'd just nodded off for a second. He was also a devout Orthodox Catholic. The first thing he brought into Bulldog was a plastic jar. At first no one paid, but Vinovy prayed loudly right next to them until they did. Now everyone laid down the meager price. Puck immediately vowed to use it as drinking money.
Then Vinovy asked the forbidden question. "So, uh, what are you all in for?"
"I got this one!" Puck said. His voice was cheery and excited.
Mick groaned. "Here we go."
Puck pointed first at Hutchins. "Manslaughter!"
Hutchins waved and didn't look like a manslaughterer.
Then he pointed to Hess and Wellington. "Compulsive gamblers. If you ever see them stop gambling"—he let the words hang—"it means they're dead."
The two gamblers looked up from a tablet with a card game on it and then went back to tapping. A pot of stew steamed next to them.
"Next up is Mueller. He's just a plain old thief. The old-fashioned kind."
Mueller shrugged.
"Then we got Bosovitz. Now, he's a special sort. What'd you do, Bos?"
Bosovitz sighed and threw up his arms. "I sold drugs."
Puck snapped his fingers. "Bingo!"
"Actually, I got caught selling drugs. Big difference."
Puck grinned. "And Gous, he's a more modern type. Data theft, blackmail, and a serious porn addiction."
Gous spun his tablet around and flashed a very pornographic picture at Vinovy.
Vinovy, already in shock, just closed his eyes.
"Kallio, our darling medic, was an addict."
Kallio frowned at Puck but didn't offer any more.
"Next we have Sergeant Mick, our dear leader. He got blackout drunk, fought his way across Vasilov, and came to in some shitty little jail. Ain't that right, Mickey-boy?"
"Don't ask me," Mick said. "I don't remember."
"Then there's Waslinski. She's our most modern criminal. She's a virt—a virtual reality addict."
"Well, when the real reality sucks, you tend to find other outlets," Waslinski said. Her eyes still bore the telltale lines from VR overdose.
"I prefer drinking. Which brings us to Sophia; he's just a drunk."
"Yup," Sophia said. He looked like a mild-mannered lawyer with thoughtful eyes.
"Then we have Veriha. Murder." Puck let it hang for a second. "Now he handles our demolitions. Fitting, eh?
"And Tomi, our driver. He got himself caught in a little wildcat mining operation that brought in a company of Kadan troops. The illegal stargate led them right into Vasilov Prime. Nice, eh?"
Tomi called out over his shoulder, "Thanks, Puck."
Vinovy digested the information and just stared at the floor. Finally he looked up at Puck. "What'd you do, Corporal?"
Puck licked his lips, leaned in toward Vinovy, and gave him a fake jab on the chin. "I like to fight."
Vinovy gave a nervous little smile.
Puck cackled and plopped down on the bench next to Vinovy. "You'll mix in fine. Shit, you're practically a saint here."
The crew broke off into arguments and finally tapered off into silence.
"Tomi, how far along are you into this?" Mick asked.
"Uh." Tomi, along with every other driver and tank commander, was tasked to study a list of documents and videos from Colonel Clarke. The first things he'd watched were the videos. They were old—painfully old—tank battles. At various points Colonel Clarke had recorded his voice pointing out aspects of the battle.
Tomi wished he’d picked up on most of it, but the nuances were beyond him. So all he did was focus on how the tanks drove. Where did they go? How did they move? Where did they end up? But most of all, where did they die?
After he'd gotten through the videos, it was text. His eyes would glaze over, and he'd find himself reading line after line and not remembering a single bit of it. Then one day, Colonel Clarke came into the tank and quizzed him and Mick on armor tactics. It didn't go well.
Colonel Clarke told them, "Gentlemen, we have to relearn everything about how tanks fight. I've been accumulating this knowledge for ten years. It's everything I can find about how armor operates. If you don't learn this, people will die. Now learn it."
Comms chatter picked up. Tomi turned the volume up and tried to hear what was going on. Red lights flared in front of him, and he slammed on the brakes.
Bulldog skidded on the slick highway and hopped to a stop. Equipment clattered to the floor, followed by angry yells.
"Everyone halt," Lieutenant Torori called over the comms.
Tomi steered Bulldog back into his lane and sighed. He keyed up his night-vision and glanced to his side. Farmland stretched into the distance. I'm a tank, he thought, why am I stuck on a road? "Can we drive off-road, sergeant?"
"Eh?" Mick said. There was a moment of silence, and then he keyed up comms. "Bastard, permission to go off-road."
"Bulldog, negative. Wait, what? Hold on," Lieutenant Torori called back.
The crew in the rear hurried to clean the mess. Puck swore loudly when he found his dinner crushed beneath Hutch's gear. A second later came the clank of coins in the jar.
Tomi keyed up the crew compartment camera. The rear cabin was thrashed. Only Hess, Wellington, and Gous seemed unfazed by it all. They were locked tight into some game on their tablets. Gous cradled his tablet in his prosthetic arm, a pornographic video still rolling. Vinovy gawked at the display until Hutchins set him to wiping up lunch. Kallio swung in her hammock and ignored them all.
"Bulldog, follow Alpha Company," Lieutenant Torori said.
"Here we go, Tomi!" Mick said. "Well, I won't be able to read now, eh?"
As they sat and waited, the crew compartment grew warmer. The ventilation s
ystem struggled to cope with the smells of thirteen soldiers. Sweat, stale beer, vomit, farts, and yesterday's dinner all mixed in with machine smells.
Tomi peeled off his visual display headset and rubbed his eyes. The headset tracked the movement of his head and allowed him to get a perfect view around the tank, as if he was sitting on the top of the hull. In addition, there were internal sensors that followed his eyes, so he could control the computer system without ever taking his hands off the steering control.
His eyes ached. The top of his head was suddenly cold as the sweat evaporated off. Then he strapped the headset back on and waited.
Alpha Company drove off the road first. The tanks plowed through the soft soil and left dark lines. When the last tank drove through, Tomi steered Bulldog in behind them. It felt significantly smoother as he drove through the dirt. He was reminded of a boat sailing on the sea.
"Open diagnostics, get used to the feeds," Mick said.
Tomi swapped over one eye and keyed up the internal stress sensors. He studied them as they drove and learned how the tank responded to stress. He'd learned the trick back in his days driving mining equipment. Numbers flashed up and down, and he decided that the suspension was nowhere near as rigid as the Sigg armor. He told Sergeant Mick his opinion. "It's too light right now. Once the armor is primed she'll stiffen up."
They drove on through the night. The rain shifted to snow before drifting back into a stiff wind.
Tomi felt the cool air and had sudden memories of Lishun Delta. He could taste the dry air and feel the chill, and suddenly it hit him again. They were off to war. The fear grew as a tiny pit in his stomach, and he shivered. It was the funny taste that bothered him the most, a blood-tin taste.
Fear. He was afraid. The fear didn't feel any different than on Lishun Delta, but it was still something new. He didn't know why. Maybe it was because this time he knew what to expect. All those memories of the Kadan soldiers came back.
One particular memory came. A dead Kadan soldier that they'd propped up in the corner. Someone stuck a cigarette in its mouth and an empty beer can in its lap. Its bug eyes were dead and cracked. They called it the mascot. Gallows humor, Tomi heard it called.
Steel Storm (Steel Legion Book 2) Page 6