Harry Heron Savage Fugitive

by Patrick G Cox

  Ferghal nudged him and gestured toward the lengthening supper queue. “We don’t want to miss the food, whatever it is.” They stepped to the end of the queue and grabbed their supper trays. When they’d found a place to sit apart from the others, Ferghal picked up the thread of conversation. “When I was their prisoner, I overheard the guards’ conversations more often than they realised. I learned that our officers are kept in separate holding cells from the rates, and they use our TechRates to run their manufactories. Did you discover anything about the rest of our crew from the Daring?”

  “Aye, that I did.” Harry’s expression was hard. “And I learned where they are. When we’re ready and our weapons are thoroughly tested, we will obtain their release.” He looked up as one of the Canids joined them. Gesturing toward an empty seat at the table, he said, “Greeting, friend. Please join us.”

  The big Canid placed a translator on the table and said, “Greeting. We desire to learn how to use the device you use to throw weapons at an enemy.”

  Harry nodded. “Excellent, but we must work in concert, else our enemy may strike against us with even more fury than before. And we will need to manufacture many, many more than we have. Can your people help us do that?”

  The Vengeance dropped out of transit and slowed to join the squadrons of her enhanced fleet. “Impressive array,” Captain Curran remarked to his Executive Commander. “Now that’s what I call a fleet. Looks like the politicians have finally decided whose side they’re on.”

  “Sure does, but it looks like we’ve a large contingent of the North American Union fleet here too. I’m counting five of their starships and at least ten cruisers plus a lot of escorts and smaller ships.”

  “Looks as if half our starships are here. The rest must be spread between other concentration points.” Ben leaned forward and activated the inter-ship communication link as the incoming message signal flashed. “Good evening, Admiral Hartmann, quite a party you have here.”

  “Good to see you, Ben. Everything back to full operation on board?”

  “Fully repaired and fully operational. We’ll be ready to welcome you back aboard whenever you wish, ma’am.”

  “I’ll make the transfer at twenty-one hundred. My Command Staff will accompany me. We have some reinforcements, and I’ll be receiving Admiral Kersage tomorrow so he can meet your team and mine.”

  Ben exchanged a glance with his Executive Commander. Nodding in response to the Commander’s acknowledgement, he said, “We’ll be ready for them, Admiral.”

  “Excellent. I’ll fill you in on the plans once I’m aboard. It’s good to have you back. I was beginning to think you’d be held up somehow and miss the rendezvous.”

  “No chance,” Ben acknowledged. “We told the repair crew that if they dragged out their work, they’d be finishing on passage.”

  The boardroom of the Consortium’s cruising headquarters had all the luxurious appointments of the corporate headquarters they’d had to give up on Earth. The chief executives sat with their respective Directors round the great U-shaped table.

  Admiral Gratz listened as the Chairman’s deputy presented the situation report. Militarily, the conflict was still marginally in their favour, thanks mainly to the support of the Sino-Asian Imperium. But the superiority was wafer thin, and any reverse could throw the balance in the opposite direction.

  “The blockade on raw materials and resources is having an impact, but the Confederation and their allies have found alternative sources. We have our management team looking at the suppliers. Where possible, we will take steps to deal with them.” The deputy continued his briefing, informing the meeting of the initial approaches from a section of the World Treaty Organisation Commission for a truce. He smiled. “I wonder whether the peace lobby will appreciate the irony of having appointed one of our agents as their ambassador.”

  The Chairman interjected. “I doubt it. Mehmet has worked hard to sow defeatism.” The deputy sat down and turned to the Admiral. “What is the state of our ships and troops?”

  “Morale is good, but our reverse at Regulus shook some of our commanders. I have put in hand a range of developmental exercises and evolutions to build confidence and initiative. Our ships have proved to be as good, if not better in some classes, as those of the Fleet and the North American Union.”

  “Don’t you have the advantage of the scan disruptors?”

  “They’ve found ways to see our ships even when screened, so we no longer have that advantage.” Gratz paused. “Brigadier Newton reports that there has been no further contact with Sub-Lieutenant Heron and his merry band of runaways, though there is evidence they’re still on the loose. Her forces have reduced three of the alien cities to burned-out shells, and think they may have killed or injured some of the group.”

  “Is there any indication Brigadier Newton’s tactics are having an effect?”

  “It appears she has it under control, sir, but she reports the Canids have become very aggressive and are using weapons, some of which they captured from our troops, and some they seem to have made themselves, some sort of crude explosive device. The Brigadier’s policy is to drive them away from our installations. She reasons, and I support her view, that we can deal with them once the war is settled.”

  “So we may assume she has the situation under control?” The Chairman paused. “Or should we consider replacing her?”

  “It appears she has it under control, sir, but there are a number of anomalous logins and gaps in the transmissions log from their hypercom transmitter. As a precaution, the transmitter is now completely separated from the rest of their systems. Her AI specialists are working to find the problem, and she assures me the isolation of the hypercoms guarantees there can be no unauthorised access.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that, guarantee or no guarantee. Order her to ensure these ghost logins are traced and dealt with immediately.”

  Harry gathered his crew around him. A mix of humans and Canids, it made a strange group. “Our plan is to capture weapons with this raid, and to cause the Cons as much inconvenience as possible. They will not expect us to attack them at this site because they think we surrendered it, but we must expect them to defend themselves.” He paused. “Grakuna and Rathol will set up the bombards. Once those begin firing, we will strike against their perimeter sentries. Remember, this is to cause them discomfort and to test our weapons in an assault. Do not risk yourselves if they respond in force.”

  “I bet they won’t expect anyone to attack their camp,” said the Coxswain. “They’ll be expecting us to attack their research units.” In his Canid outfit, his appearance was made even more striking by his beard and bald head, and he was barely recognisable as a Fleet Chief Master Warrant Officer, but clearly, he was enjoying being a rogue.

  “I hope they will be taken by surprise, Swain. If our weapons function as we hope, it will be an unpleasant one.”

  The Coxswain grinned. “If those bombards and the mortars work as planned, sir, it will be damned unpleasant for them. We’re ready. Let’s do this!”

  Chapter 21 — Project Ruin

  The Consortium camp had been sited with care, dominating the obvious approach to the small city that their scientists were struggling to examine. Harry studied the perimeter through a pair of captured range finders. “They have patrolling sentries set up, Mr. Winstanley, and an intruder detection system further out.” He handed over the optics. “Take a good look. I think the Command Post is there, in the centre.”

  The Coxswain studied the indicated cluster of vehicles. “Looks like it, sir. You want me to target it with the mortars?”

  “Yes, Swain. Even if you don’t take it out, it will disrupt their response.” He caught a brief flash of light from the ridge on the far side of the encampment. “Grakuna signals he’s ready. We will move as soon as their barrage commences.”

  Moments later, bright flashes signalled the firing of the first of the self-destroying mortar
clusters. Seconds later, more fired with thunderous bangs along the sides farthest from Harry and the waiting assault team.

  Harry and his men ran to the enemy perimeter and were inside the first line of defence before the sentries spotted them.

  Dropping to one knee, Harry aimed his rocket launcher at a troop of soldiers advancing toward him. The rocket ignited and the missile hurled itself from the tube in a shower of sparks, joining several more fired by others in his group. Fitted with a contact fuse, the rockets exploded as they struck armour, vehicles and domes, sending the troopers diving for shelter. Taking cover himself, he hastily fitted a second rocket then peered round the corner and noted that several of the troopers were down or seeking shelter as the Coxswain’s mortars joined the barrage.

  “Set the mines and incendiaries!” Harry shouted to his team. Taking aim with his rocket tube on a pile of equipment cases, he activated the igniter, and the rocket whooshed away. He changed position and slipped another into the tube. The mortar barrage kept the defenders pinned down. Firing another of his missiles at a pair of Consortium troopers sheltering beneath a vehicle, he changed position again.

  A larger explosion hurled parts of a power generator around, and when the noise ceased for a few seconds, Harry heard the whistle signal that he’d been waiting for. Grabbing his own, he blew it, as did his team members in the cacophony of exploding missiles and the scream of rockets. Racing from one scrap of cover to the next, he followed his people to their rendezvous point.

  “Everyone’s clear, sir,” Errol Hill gasped, diving into a hollow almost on top of Harry. “The fuses will go any moment now.” He stopped as dirt and debris spattered down around them. “Bugger, that one was a bit early!”

  Harry’s response was lost in the rolling succession of explosions as more of the charges detonated. Grinning like a lunatic, he leapt to his feet and signalled the others to follow.

  The Consortium Brigadier surveyed the wreckage. “You say they fired explosive shells from a distance? Where the blazes did they get them?”

  “They must be making them somewhere. Pretty crude design, a sort of rocket with an explosive head on it, but effective. We found a few that didn’t detonate, though. We think the fuses failed.” The Colonel offered one of the recovered missiles. “Not very big, but absolutely deadly if it hits a person. Our armour is designed to deflect and diffuse a plasma bolt, not something like this.”

  “Seems unlikely anyone could do so much damage just with these.”

  “They had some bigger stuff as well, charges their people must have placed while the rest held us down with these. They took out our Command Unit and the Commissariat with some sort of shell fired from cover, and managed to carry off a container of medical supplies and another of weapons spares.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the Rotties.” The Brigadier paused. “So that damned Fleet group must be responsible, those savage fugitives led by Heron. Don’t know when to surrender, do they, but there aren’t enough of them to cause this much damage — or have we been losing prisoners as well?”

  “No, we still have all the prisoners we rounded up. According to our troopers, it was the Rotties — at least all the attackers they saw were dressed the way the Rotties dress.”

  “Right. Well, pull our people back for now. I’ll reinforce your unit and put extra guards on all our outposts. I want a full reconnaissance from the air as well. I want to know where the hell these people are hiding, and where they are making these weapons!”

  Despite the extra patrols, or perhaps because of them, Harry’s hit-and-run raids took a serious toll on Consortium morale. He had been right. Small parties equipped with the self-destroying mortar packages stood a much better chance of reaching their target undetected. The Canid teams were exceptionally adept at setting these up, aided by their screening cloaks. They set up batteries of the mortar cakes, as Mr. Winstanley dubbed them, and cleared out of the strike zone. When triggered, these did considerable damage and gave the impression of a major assault. While the Consortium force attempted to counter the assault in one direction, a raiding party infiltrated, seized what they wanted, planted some of their demolition mines, and ran for cover.

  Grakuna expressed his satisfaction to Harry as he surveyed the damage to one of the Consortium outposts. “Your strategy is effective. Our enemy is forced to defend their own dens now, and leave the Provider unharmed.”

  “True, Leader of the Packs, but now they seek to harass your people.” Harry turned to ComOp Hodges. “Signal Mr. Winstanley to withdraw.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” She stood, raised a pair of coloured flags on their sticks, and made a sweep with one. When she spotted a response, she swept the flags in a series of positions on either side of her body. Watching the response, she said, “Message acknowledged, sir.”

  “Well done.” Harry had realised early that they needed the means to communicate quickly and easily between groups when carrying out these attacks. Without the means to use comlinks or to create them, he’d recalled the semaphore system of the British Royal Navy he’d joined four hundred years earlier. ComOp Hodges had proved an apt pupil. She improved on his system and taught the others, drilling them to perfection. Now he had a signaller with each group, and the Canids had learned to use the flags as well.

  Grakuna watched the signaller, and growled his concern. “Our enemy is wary now. They have learned that to follow too closely is to invite a trap.” The big Canid studied Harry. “They seek you. We have heard them declare that you must be destroyed — you and the fox-haired one.”

  Harry laughed. “Then we must take care they do not have the opportunity. I shall look as much like a Canid as is humanly possible.”

  The big Canid managed his version of a smile at this comment, and Harry had a distinct flashback memory to the happy expressions of his faithful dog back home in Ireland when he had been a boy.

  Ferghal’s small team of Engineering Rates had been enhanced by a number of Canids who watched their work and copied it, and even made some improvements. The manufacturing expanded rapidly, and Rasmus took over the supervision of the operation, which gave Ferghal time and space to create a larger missile for defence against the aerial strike craft.

  “I have developed a fuse which will be triggered by a scanner pulse. It is a simple device, and has no electronic signature itself.” Rasmus glanced at a workbench where several small Canids were engaged in detailed work. “I think it will work with Ferghal’s missiles, though we should include a self destructing charge to detonate it when the propulsion ceases.”

  “That would be wise. Is it not possible the new fuse might detonate the charge too early?” Harry asked.

  “Yes, so I have tried to ensure it will need the maximum power of a pulse — the strength it would encounter at close range.” Picking up a completed fuse, he showed it to Harry. “Beautifully made. These people are very dexterous, despite appearances.”

  “A pity then that we must use them to create devices of destruction.” Harry disliked the idea that the Canids had been a peaceful race until pushed to defend themselves and their Provider by the human invaders. “I have it in mind to release as many of our own as we can from their imprisonment camp and to seize some weapons while we’re at it.”

  “That will certainly increase the problems for the enemy,” agreed Ferghal. “What say you, Rasmus?”

  “It will be a risky thing, my friends, and there’s a chance of betrayal if any of those you release decide to play the informer. It will very likely provoke another major strike against our host.”

  Harry nodded. He valued Rasmus’s opinions. “It is a risk we will have to consider. I have discussed it with our host and will do so again before we make any such move. How does the rocket design progress?”

  “Very well, though we still can’t get the height we want. It needs a longer tube, and the stabilisers leave a lot to be desired.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Ferghal inter
jected. “We had one chase us in the last test — it shed its tailfins soon after firing and looped several times before it turned and came after us!” The errant rocket had only just missed them as it tore past to bury itself in the ground close by. They had all been showered in the debris of earth, stones and fragments when it detonated.

  “Not the best thing to happen then,” said Harry, grinning at the image Ferghal conjured. “Can we improve it?”

  “We already have,” said Ferghal. “It’s more stable now, but we need to work on the range. It bursts beneath the altitude of their aerial craft, but never you fear, we will resolve this too.”

  “Then, my friends, I think our chance may come soon.” Harry was encouraged. “My interventions in their AI are having an effect, though they attempt to repair what I do as soon as they detect it. Now I am building in sub-routines that initiate as soon as they alter something. I am waiting for a good moment to launch a coup d’état and take it away from their control — or turn it against them.”

  “We’re approaching dropout,” announced the Weapons Commander. “Prepare to engage as soon as we get a clear lock. The intel is that they have four cruisers defending a repair ship. That’s our primary target. Leave the escorts to Warspite, Doorman, Dresden and Bremen.”

  Danny waited while his targeting screen showed the usual burst of static as the ship transited the singularity. When it cleared, he identified the target and focussed the scanners on the vast bulk of the repair ship. The range was still too great for his batteries, so he tracked and locked on to the target, seeking to identify key installations or openings on her huge hull that would provide an opportunity to deal her a crippling blow.