STEEL BREACH
Chapter One
Lishun Delta - Mackinof Front
Corporal Karl Sigorski sprinted across the snowy waste and leapt into the depths of a shell hole. Inside the soil was dark, raw, and frozen. What was soil just an hour before had solidified into something as hard and jagged as flint.
"Shit!" he cursed as the rough ground gouged and bruised. The cold slammed into him.
His lips were chapped gray, and no matter how much lanolin he applied they still cracked deep. He'd seen men’s feet so dry that they cracked to the bone. Sentries, if they were caught in a coastal blizzard, were found frozen just hours later.
He tried to scrape the gore from the dead Kadan troopers off of his overcoat, but it was frozen on like fish slime. His fleece-lined leather mittens rasped against the greenish-yellow goo.
Karl hated the enemy. There was no camaraderie of sharing the front, or even an understanding with the dead and wounded. The Kadan were aliens in every sense. They were warm-blooded insects with all the rigidity and inhumanity that came with a bred and born caste system. But they fought like hell.
The sky shifted and the clouds drifted by. Then the snow fell. Great flakes careened from the heavens and piled onto every surface. The rough browns and reds of the crater turned white. Soon Karl was covered from head-to-toe.
He waited, listened, and clutched his rifle tight. His body armor crackled as he shifted in place. He tried to warm himself. Toes first, squeeze and release. Bend the knees. Rock the hips. Clench the fingers. He ran through the drills that kept fingers and toes from turning black.
He was lost. There was no other way to say it. It started simple enough, a little raid to check the lines. They saw something in the distance, a massive structure, something new, and then the Kadan artillery rained down.
The Vasilov line had an anti-artillery umbrella that would intercept most of the incoming rounds, but in the gap between the lines there was no such protection. He heard the roar, took cover, and watched as his squad disappeared under the walls of frozen mud.
The panic hit him when frozen corpses tumbled out from the wall. His friends, dead, were mixed with long dead Kadan soldiers who'd been buried in the never ceasing artillery for years. It was too much and he ran. The white faces of the dead humans looked so similar to the waxy outer carapace of the Kadan.
He couldn't stand to look at the Kadan. They were humanoid, slightly smaller than men, with four-fingered hands. The thumb was slender and lithe, with a razor sharp nail on the end. The eyes were like polished ceramic. Now he prayed they didn't come to investigate. But he knew they would.
"Come on," Karl said through the shivers. He was in the early stages of hypothermia. Soon the shivering would wrack his body and even walking would become difficult. He'd seen it happen, and it made the shivering even worse.
A shape emerged through the snow, then more shapes. Kadan troopers drifted in and out of sight like ghosts in the gusts of wind. They wore slate gray uniforms and clutched rapid fire slug guns. The Kadan favored the same weapon type as the Vasilov, neither nation was technologically advanced enough to field fusion, plasma, or beam weapons in any numbers.
Karl slid lower and grasped his weapon. He slid the wood-stocked rifle up and carefully placed his mitt over the firing pad. They had learned long ago to remove the trigger guard to prevent frozen fingers. They used wood instead of plastic so it didn't freeze to their faces. "C'mon," he whispered, and pushed the rifle's safety.
The bombardment was due. His squad was supposed to return at 0900. The bombardment would begin five minutes later. Then he could follow the sounds of the bombardment and return to his own lines.
The first Kadan crested over the edge of the crater and Karl fired.
The slug punched through the unarmored face and the insectoid fell to its knees and crashed to the bottom of the crater. The report of the weapon shattered the silence where only the wind had reigned. Karl slid lower and raised the weapon. All he had to do was catch them when they crested the rise.
A dull boom roared on the horizon. Then another, and another, soon it was a rapid roar with the firings of the great guns so close together that one was indistinguishable from the next.
Karl threw himself into the crater and curled into a ball.
The ground shook as the artillery slammed into the frozen ground. The patchwork of craters erupted and massive clods of frozen dirt rose into the air. Snow exploded up and it was a blizzard of dirt, steel, and ice.
Karl screamed. He'd been on the edges of the barrages before, but never like this. He felt the shock right in his stomach. The close strikes shook his entire body. He couldn't stop screaming, but the bombardment was so loud, so intense, so violent, he couldn't even hear himself doing it.
Then, the barrage stopped. The last few chunks of dirt fell to the ground and a strange gray haze blanketed the earth. Vaporized snow mixed with dirt and the chemical remnants of high explosives. The air tasted of sulfur and old dirt.
Karl rolled onto his side and stared into the air. He exhaled. The awe of the moment sat heavy on his chest and he simply took in the shock of the moment. He didn't even notice the frigid cold. The only thing he noticed was that he was still alive.
The wind kicked up, as if it too paused when the bombardments arrived.
Karl stood up and cradled his rifle in his arms. He brushed the snow and dirt off of himself, then saw the Kadan trooper and froze.
Its bug eyes stared at him. Its face was covered in snow, dirt, and a sliver of steel poked out through its chest. It shook and struggled but couldn't move. The armor was shredded open and the sticky ichor froze on the edge of the wound.
Karl snapped the weapon up and watched the creature. He felt nothing but revulsion and hate. There was nothing for him to feel pity for. Just as he was about to squeeze the trigger, he stopped. How many more Kadan had survived? He slid his hand away from the trigger. His eyes slid along the edge of the crater and he held his breath.
He waited and watched the alien freeze to death.
The Kadan trooper shuddered several times and finally died. Snow drifted onto its face and the dull eyes cracked as they froze.
Karl crawled to the edge of the crater, gave one last look to his enemy, and set out into the wastes. He had to get back and report the Kadan structure, and hopefully get a hot lunch.
#
Chapter Two
Vasilov Prime - Wharf District Twelve
Tomi Morgan of the Vasilov Reserve Mining Division was dressed in another man’s jacket. Three layers of wool and high pile fleece rumpled underneath a dirty old jacket of beaten leather. Mist beaded up and ran down the creases of the jacket. The air was heavy with moisture and the sea. An industrial lift crept past with a stargate perched in front. A group of men holding picks marched behind, wearing old jackets and worn boots. They followed it into a warehouse without any lights.
Lights flared on the horizon, a deep orange like a volcano in the fog. The roar of the smelters hit a moment later. The smell of steel would come. One more artillery piece grew in the depths of a forge, one more tank, one more weapon.
Tomi stood alone in the orange light. He didn't like what he was doing. It wasn't outright theft, but well, it was illegal. A few gambling debts and then that little run in with Ekaterina... He almost smiled then remembered the debt. He'd never pay that off with a miner's salary.
"Tomi?" a man called from the warehouse.
Tomi gave one last glance to the sky and jogged inside. "That's me."
"I'm Will," the man said without offering a hand. His face was rough and pocked, scored by slag burns. His eyes, even in the dark, were bloodshot and red. A mountain of a nose sprouted from his face, red and rosy. "You're on the rig."
"Who's dis?" a voice croaked from the darkness. A short man hobbled up and grinned at Tomi with waxy yellow teeth. His back hunched with age and one eye was gone.
Tomi shifted and tried to ignore the little man. His eyes adjusted to the dark.
A half dozen ore haulers idled in the middle of the room. They were beaten and banged and one wheezed and hummed like an old horse. At the front was the mining rig. A low slung vehicle, Sigg designed, with arms tipped with cutting bits and processing lasers. It was, thankfully, in good condition.
"Who's dis?" the man croaked again.
"I'm Tomi," he said and held out a hand to the old man.
Laughter broke out from the edge of the room. The others stood around a wire framed electric heater with hands outstretched. "He's gonna shake his hand?" a man laughed.
"Ernst," the man replied quietly and squeezed Tomi's hand. It felt like squeezing an old stone.
Tomi pulled his hand back and rubbed his palm on the jacket.
"Five minutes," Will said. He walked toward a group of men erecting the stargate.
Ernst stared up at Tomi with his good eye. He clamped his tongue between his lips and looked up and down.
Tomi tried to ignore him. He didn't like being here, he didn't like the people, and he didn't see himself doing this ever again. The thought of the SecPolice coming in made him flush in the face. He turned his head and stared outside.
"You're too pretty for this boy," Ernst croaked. "Deserter?"
"What? No!" Tomi hissed back.
"Huh." Ernst stared at the ground. "Boots."
"Boots?" Tomi asked.
"You can always tell a man by his boots. You can get dirty, wear another man’s jacket, slum it out a bit, but ya never hide the boots."
Tomi realized he'd still had on his Mine issued safety boots. They were replaced every three months, the leather on this pair was barely broken in. He ignored the little man and paced toward the stargate.
The stargate was a coal black cylinder of pure carbon with concentric rings of nickel-cobalt. Cabling and tubing draped to the sides where a pack of technicians rigged it all together. A man drove bolts into the concrete floor. A console flickered to life and bathed one side of the warehouse in a dim green light.
A great light blasted on the horizon and it was like a second, minor, sun rose. The ground quivered and the faces of the workmen was suddenly clear. Tomi looked out the door, as did the others. The main stargate, a dozen miles away, had opened to another planet, a planet where it was daylight.
"Get ready!" Will barked.
Tomi jogged over to the mining rig.
Ernst followed close behind. A man called out to Ernst, "Too big to be a monkey, too small to be an ape!"
"Dames, drink or dice?" Ernst said.
"All of the above," Tomi mumbled.
Ernst cackled and dug his dirty knuckles into Tomi's ribs. "Boy! Let me tell ya, you got a sweet conscription exemption don't ya?"
"And if I do?" Tomi said with a glance around.
Ernst leaned close. "Get out! God boy, are you that stupid? If they catch—"
Will came past and cut Ernst off. "They won't, we'll be out in no time, I've seen Tomi work."
"Will I get sick? Is it bad?" Tomi asked Will.
Will shook his head. "Nah, no gate sickness, the other end has a stargate. I'd not do a run without a gate, our equipment'd be fried for an hour. We're rebounding and going into the crust of the planet. Ain't no sickness for us boy. No puke on that jacket of yours eh?"
A pair of men set up a rust streaked rotary cannon and pointed the barrel straight at the center of the stargate.
Tomi watched, wide eyed, and gulped. What the hell was all this? He suddenly felt very much over his head.
Ernst grunted at the gun. "If we get staked just get the hell out."
"Staked?" Tomi replied. He coughed and tried to hide his nervousness.
"If the Kadan get a grip on our hole they'll send their own hole and pinch us," Ernst said and made a mock squeezing motion. "If that happens just run!"
Then it hit Tomi, they weren't just going to some nearby system, they had a link to Lishun Delta. "Shit."
"Get ready!" Will hollered. The men jumped and hopped into the ore carriers. Ernst stood on the edge of the stargate and jammed his hands into his pockets. The technicians pulled away from the stargate and watched the horizon.
Tomi crawled inside of the cab. A pile of cigarette butts lay heaped on the floor between his legs. He hated the smell, it was worst in the mines, the smoke never had anywhere to go. He placed the secondhand control helmet onto his head and ran a quick diagnostics. The helmet gave him a view like he was sitting right on top of the rig.
The inside of the rig was claustrophobic, but it wasn't designed for comfort, just efficiency. Tomi triggered switches, grasped the controls and ran through a ready check. The earphones crackled and hissed.
"As soon as the main gate drops we're going to use that power surge to open our hole. Start chewing right away, the haulers will be right behind you." Will said through the comms system.
Tomi felt warm and wet inside of the cab. He ran through all the systems and waited. His heart drummed in his ears and he wanted to get out. All of this felt like a bad idea, a bad place to be, but the pay, he kept picturing that payoff. A big fat check to level his gambling debts and maybe even earn some affection from Ekaterina.
The girl was a class above him. She liked to slum it up, to lead on the boys and Tomi knew it. There weren't many men who were still behind, most were on the front. They went through the stargates and held the borders. If it wasn't for his exemption he'd be there too, but instead he could get the graces of lesser nobles like Ekaterina. Though it was always in his mind that he would always be a miner unless he served in the military. No one moved up the castes without service, though there were plenty who moved down.
The flaring of light on the horizon ceased as quickly as it started. The stargate hummed and hissed. The nickel glowed and the carbon ring crackled with electricity. The technicians huddled behind the console and ducked under the sparks. Then, with a pop, the stargate opened.
A wall of stone, dull gray with streaks of metal, was flat across the face of the stargate. It was so smooth that the metal shined and glowed a dull orange. The smell of burnt rock filled the air.
Tomi slammed the control ahead and plunged the cutting bits in the wall. It was like he did every day. A stargate would open, the miners would follow a vein, and then close it up for the next day’s work. This time though he was a wildcat, an unauthorized miner who was technically stealing. It's only stealing if you get caught, he told himself.
The cutting bits hammered into the edge of wall. Rotating cutters pummeled the stone and the lasers singed through the edges and deftly sliced out the raw metal. It fell back onto a conveyor and shot out to the rear. A waiting ore hauler captured it all.
Tomi looked to the side. The crew of the rotary cannon slammed the bolt back and settled in behind the gun carriage. Then he was through and inside of an entirely different planet. A contested planet.
He worked the handles and plunged deeper. The air inside of the cabin grew humid, hot, and sweat poured from his brow. He could taste the dirt and salt and wished he'd taken the jacket off. Not much longer, he thought, almost there.
The mining rig ran upwards and chased the vein. The band of nickel narrowed and the mining cutters couldn't keep up. He punched the halt and waited as the chunks dropped down and shot out into the rear. One more hopper to load. One more. He studied the ultrasonic scan, the vein spread out before him just through that pocket of stone.
"Why did you stop?" Will called.
The heat was getting to Tomi. He wiped his brow. "Overloaded the cutters, waiting for it to catch up."
"How long?"
"Minute maybe."
"Pull the plug, get out," Will called back.
Tomi sat forward and slammed the cutters into the walls. "What?" he growled back. "We can still get one more—"
"Get out, we're pulling the plug."
Lights flickered behind the mining rig. The ore haulers scraped against the wall as they exited. Tomi sat in his own sweat and growled. He disengaged the ore chute and diverted the stream into the mining rigs own hopper. Cowards, he thought, a few more minutes, I'll fill this damn thing up and claim it as my own. He wasn't worried about being left behind, the mining rig was even more expensive than the stargate, and he knew it.
Tomi switched off the radio and plowed deeper through the stone. His eyes glinted when the vein of nickel opened before him. He grinned and watched the hopper indicator rise. He didn't feel the heat, or the sweat, or the fear, but just saw the nickel piling in the back. Gambling debts be damned, he'd have enough to gamble to his heart’s content.
There was a crack, a sound like a wooden board snapping.
Tomi stopped and held his breath. He strained to listen and disengaged the cutters. Then the sound came again, a grinding sound, then a pop. Someone else was cutting their way in.
"Shit," he said and slammed the mining rig into reverse. His fingers fumbled to turn the radio feedback on. Sounds flooded in, distortions, feedback, and finally voices.
"-get out! Goddammit we're gonna pull it, I need to know now!"
"I'm coming!" Tomi yelled back and bounced against a wall. He stopped, corrected the path back, and slammed down onto the accelerator. He watched the reverse camera and steered toward the exit.
The rock proof front viewshield shattered into a spider web of crunched glass. Tomi jumped in his seat and cried out. The front camera bank went blank and he popped the helmet up to look.
The nose of a slender cannon poked through the rock wall. A moment later the wall fell forward the and front tracks of an armored vehicle crawled ahead. Two soldiers rushed past the sides, they were humanoid, but the proportions were wrong. They were encased in heavy armor and held rifles that Tomi knew from the videos. Their faces were more like an insects than a man’s with high cheeks and a mouth like a speaker grill. Kadan soldiers.
"Kadan! Kadan!" Tomi cried out and slammed the accelerator into reverse.
Slugs cracked against the front of the mining rig. Kadan troops poured through the gap and surged out. The front ranks stopped, knelt down, fired, and then sprinted behind the next row. Chill air surged through the tunnel, the moisture on the leading edge of the mining rig turned to glistening streaks of ice.
Tomi drove over a crumbling wall and feared for a second that the rig would get stuck. He frantically hammered on the controls and steered clear. A slug punched through the broken windshield and shards of glass hit him in the face. "Shit!"
A second slug punched through the front and one of the mining cutters clattered to the floor, dead. Hydraulic fluids sprayed on the raw walls. Alarms blared in the cab of the rig and Tomi saw he had less than a minute before the hydraulics ran dry. Then, like a beast with no blood, he'd be dead.
"Don't shut it!" he cried out. His greatest fear now was that they'd collapse the stargate. He'd find his exit turned into a sheer wall of stone with his comrades light-years away.
He plowed around a corner and crashed through the thin edge of the rock wall. There, in his rear camera, the lights of the ore carriers shone down the tunnel. He grinned and looked back forward through the smashed glass. The Kadan troops surged ahead and the grin dropped off his face. The leading edge was almost on the front of his rig.
If the mining rig was any less of a beast Tomi would have been dead. As it was the stout little beast was designed to withstand cave ins, explosive gas pockets, and even vacuum breaches. But it was not equipped for combat.
A slug slammed through the broken glass and glanced Tomi's shoulder. He screamed in pain and clutched at the wound. Focus, focus, get out! He squeezed tight and felt the blood. Then he exploded out from the mineshaft and the stout mining rig collided with a half full ore hauler. The reactor drive hummed and spun and the blocky edged tires hopped and squealed. Tomi didn't dare release the accelerator.
The two men manning the old rotary cannon opened fire. Kadan soldiers surged through and dropped in bloody heaps. Blue smoke rose from the barrel and hollow brass casings rained down. There was no tracers, just a raging flame of constant fire dancing from the barrel.
One man collapsed, clutching his foot, then fell silent as a second slug caught him in the face. The other man looked down and when he looked back up a slug whacked him in the throat. He rolled onto the floor with both of his hands squeezed tight on his neck.
Tomi finally let go of the accelerator and, through the adrenaline, heard the words he'd dreaded.
"Get out! They staked it!" Will hollered. His voice sounded hollow, like he was already driving away.
Tomi kicked open the door and fell to the floor on the opposite side of the rig. A pulsing cube was anchored to the front of it. He'd delivered the staking device. He realized that the cannon hadn't fired an explosive round, but a dart with the staking unit on it. "Oh no."
Tomi leaped up and sprinted in front of the mining rig. He grabbed on to the cube, but it was stuck on tight. The lance had bored deep and fused itself to the armored nose of the mining rig. Slugs pinged against it and the rotary cannon opened up.
Ernst stood with both hands on the controls and peered through the narrow slit above the barrel. His short body was hidden behind the protective glacis while the bodies of two dead men sheltered his legs.
Tomi ran to him because he could think of nowhere else to go.
"Guide the belt!" Ernst said through gritted teeth.
The belt leaped up and down as the rotary cannon sucked in the trail of brass. Tomi stuck his hand underneath and lifted it up and kept it from bucking about.
Ernst grunted. "Now crouch down!"
The rotary cannon shattered the assault. A mound of Kadan troopers lay heaped at the edge of the stargate. The carbon black of the gate glowed a dull orange while the nickel bands chirped and sang.
The air that blasted through the gap was cold, almost beyond cold. The blood of the Kadan troops froze on the floor. Tomi shivered and clenched his teeth. The full burst of the arctic-like wind buffeted on the sole defenders. Ernst tucked his chin onto his chest and seemed not to notice.
Tomi felt the heat from the barrel of the rotary cannon. He didn't dare look into the ammo case. How many rounds had they fired? The brass was already piled to his ankles. Still the Kadan plunged through with that mindless devotion and still they fell.
"The stake?" Tomi yelled.
Ernst shook his head. "It's open now ’til the carbon of the stargate cracks."
More rounds pinged and careened of the front glacis and the body of man on the floor shuddered and shook. Then the firing paused and the leading edge of a low profile Kadan armored vehicle rolled into sight. The front of the tracks was obscured by armored plate and the turret pivoted on a gimbal set within the hull.
"Shit," Ernst muttered, then the tank fired.
The high velocity round punched through the chill air and, amazingly, danced up and over the sloped glacis of the rotary cannon. Sparks and molten metal spalled and fell onto Ernst and Tomi. The tank paused, as if offended, and the barrel pointed slightly lower.
Tomi's vision narrowed and the adrenaline met a wall where blood loss took its toll. He didn't even notice the falling sparks. His eyes were locked on the leading edge of the tank. A part of him wondered if he should feel more. Was this it? It didn't feel like the end, but how does one know?
Ernst slapped Tomi on the good shoulder and cackled.
The stargate cracked and shuddered and the carbon black ring collapsed into a sphere. It hung, a ball of glowing nickel and cobalt, before disappearing with a pop. A two meter long section of the Kadan tanks barrel clattered to the floor harmlessly. The stargate was closed.
Tomi fell back and sat down hard. The air immediately felt warmer and the moist chill of the evening settled back into the warehouse.
The silence hung for a moment and then the Vasilov Protectorate police arrived. Tomi watched, helplessly, as heavily armored shock troops plowed through the walls. They held blocky weapons with bores that spoke of only short range combat.
Ernst still laughed. Tears ran down his face from his good, and bad, eye. They shackled him, still cackling, and hauled him off.
Tomi looked around. A trooper knelt down next to him and attached a field dressing. He called something out but Tomi couldn't hear it. The trooper lowered him to the floor.
A man in a wet trench coat walked through the squads of shock troops and stared at the heap of corpses. On his shoulder was a badge of the Internal Vasilov Police. He looked down at Tomi and shook his head. "Helluva mess, boy, helluva mess."
Darkness slid in like a warm blanket and Tomi closed his eyes.
#
Chapter Three
Vasilov Prime - Barnham Hall
It was not the most historic building on Vasilov Prime, but it was his. Lord Wilhelm Darcy, leader of the Vasilov Protectorate, arrived for work in the morning mist after the drive from his estate. His office would have overlooked the harbors but he rarely opened the windows. Not that the fog usually revealed a view. It reminded him of the intrigues with the Dukes, and his search for the right course through the muck. He'd fought in that mist as a young man, and remembered it as a more deadly thing than most.
The halls of the old stone building were mostly silent. Lord Darcy passed by rigid soldiers, cold shaven marines, and prided himself on arriving before any of the civilians.
A Colonel stood at attention in his waiting room and Lord Darcy paid him no mind. Matilda, his secretary, would decide when that gentleman came in. He entered, tossed a split log onto the crackling fire, and sat. His job was not the mist, but governing the men who lived in it, and on the dozen plans of the Vasilov Protectorate.
At the end of the day he finally found time to study his own data. Meetings dragged on into lunches that morphed into briefings. Now he finally had silence all alone. He'd forgotten about the Colonel hours before.
"Lord Darcy?" Matilda called over the intercom.
Wilhelm sighed and tapped the comm button. "Yes?"
"There is a Colonel Cole Clarke waiting to see you, he says you know his father, Yuri Hemmet."
Wilhelm looked at his desk and sighed. "Send him in."
The door opened and a man in a slightly frumpled Colonel uniform marched in. The man wore his full uniform but the top buttons were open and the cuffs pulled back. His arms were tight and corded with muscle. His skull was shaved, clean and clear. His eyes were brown, dark, with rings hanging beneath. His smile, when it showed, was a crisp line that never broke into a grin.
"Colonel, I served with your father against Duke Martinez in '67. A good soldier he is."
Colonel Clarke saluted. "He sends his regards, Lord Darcy, he still speaks of that coup."
"Attempted coup!" Lord Darcy replied quickly, and with a smile. "How's your father?"
"We haven't talked in quite some time. I know how busy—"
Lord Darcy cut him off with a wave. He studied his desk computer and read through the Colonel’s personnel file. Combat command up until Captain, then a posting as a Military Liaison with the Sigg Worlds. He'd spent the last ten years serving with the Sigg against the Boben incursion. Devilish fighting, he'd heard. Clarke had barely been back for twenty-four hours.
"Colonel, you don't waste any time, do you?"
Clarke handed a sheaf of papers to Lord Darcy.
Lord Darcy ran his twig thin index finger over the columns and rows. His mouth silently worded the figures and his eyes, worn with age and a simple gray, took in every count.
This Colonel is sharp, he thought. Lord Darcy liked paper. At his age the strain of staring at a digital screen was too much. But paper was gentle, smooth, soft. Like a woman’s touch after time on the front. He loved sitting down with paper and tallying his figures.
Wilhelm looked up from the document and gave one glance before continuing to read. He'd already read enough to see what the Colonel wanted him to see. But now it was a matter of making the man wait. Watch this one, he thought, ambitious he is.
"Lord Darcy," Clarke began.
Wilhelm waved his ancient claw of a hand. "Colonel, give this old man a moment to think. I like to come to my own conclusions. But do pour yourself a drink."
Clarke looked down to the paper and stepped reluctantly to the cart and poured himself a drink. He held the glass, but didn't drink.
"We don't have enough troops to win, you say?" Wilhelm asked. Almost treason. Almost. My father would have had you shot, he thought.
"That's correct."
"But we have just enough to not lose?" Wilhelm added as he tapped a column.
Clarke shifted and took a sip. "Correct."
Wilhelm sat back and crossed his arms. "I've had thirty Corps Commanders tell me we can take Lishun Delta."
"They're wrong."
"And a Colonel is right?"
"Yes, I am."
Wilhelm wanted to smile. It’d been too long since someone told him the truth. But still, the truth didn't claim territory or win wars. It was easy to see the failings of a plan, but did he have an alternative?
"If you sat here," Wilhelm patted his chair, "what would you do?"
"Press the Sigg Union for troops. They drove out the Boben on Wismar Prime. With our manpower and their technology, we could squeeze the Kadan off that planet."
A wooden framed starmap hung on the wall, mostly a neglected thing, but it showed the nearby region. A wide swath of worlds were highlighted blue and identified as the Sigg Worlds. A dark gash ran between the Sigg Union and the Vasilov Protectorate, a gravitational effect known as the Vasilov Expanse. No stargate could penetrate the inky depths—as a defensive hold, none was better.
"The Sigg." Wilhelm spat. "Upstarts! Our forefathers were assigned this sector."
"And they secured it," Clarke said.
Wilhelm snapped his eyes up to Clarke. "Colonel, I listen to you as a courtesy to your father, but don't press my hospitality. Vasilovs have a long memory."
Colonel Clarke looked at Wilhelm for a moment longer, then stared into his drink.
Wilhelm already knew all of this, his Corps Commanders couldn't hide it. Nor could he press the Dukes of Vasilov for more troops. Already each of the other worlds had committed at least a dozen Divisions. They held the stargate, they had a foothold, but for how long, he wondered. The Kadan certainly didn't seem able to dislodge them.
It had been a tenuous strike, an assault that, in hindsight, was hasty. Though it had an interesting side effect, no one had attempted to usurp Wilhelm since the war started. None of the Dukes had the power to topple the old Lord, none had the will, but mostly none dared commit the treason that might shift the power. For as Wilhelm told them, if one falls, we all fall. And, he thought, it just might be true.
But what if we could end it? Wilhelm wondered. His age was like a lens, reflecting his life, and he had no doubt that he'd be dead in under a decade. What legacy was that? Die, with an unfinished war? The thought didn't sit well.
He looked up to the Colonel. The man had no hereditary ties to the Dukes, his father was in good standing on the Council, but most of all he had earned his command. A capable man it seemed. "Can you accomplish what my commanders cannot?"
Clarke snapped his eyes up from the glass. He still hadn't taken a drink. "The Sigg Ambassador—"
"No." Wilhelm snapped. "Without the Sigg."
"It would be...difficult."
"But not impossible?"
Clarke strained his words. "No."
"The Dukes will not commit troops to this, nor can I spare any from Vasilov Prime for a fruitless assault," Wilhelm said. He stared down at the reams of paper on his desk. "But..." He picked up a sheet.
Clarke stood, rigid, as if balancing on a wire. He scarcely breathed, not a ripple spread on his glass of vodka.
"This is a thousand men, fresh ones, too," Wilhelm muttered. He let the paper fall onto the stack. "They are yours."
"A thousand?" Clarke whispered.
Three hundred thousand stood on the front on Lishun Delta. A thousand was barely enough to fill in a day’s sick roster.
"You spoke of the Sigg tactics at the War College."
"Yes, but they have a technological advantage, sir, plus they fought the Boben for the last thirty years. Our troops are...well, not of the same caliber."
Wilhelm glared. "A Vasilov trooper is the equal of any in tenacity and courage."
"Yes, but it's the force multipliers, what they lack in troops they make up for in technology and tactics."
"Well then, Colonel, you have your work cut out for you." Wilhelm plucked up the sheet and slid it across his desk. "If you give us an opening, I will order the hammer of Vasilov to descend upon our enemies. But until then, this is all you have."
Clarke picked up the paper and read the columns. "Penal Battalion?"
"I prefer the term 'Redemption Regiment’." Wilhelm sat back and watched the Colonel. "A capable man could do amazing things with those troops."
Colonel Clarke snapped his glass back and emptied it one gulp.
"Ahh, you still drink like a Vasilov. The Sigg didn't change that, eh?"
"No, sir," Clarke said with a slight cough. He read the columns once more. "May I pick my Officers?"
"And have the Dukes clamoring about a coup? No, Colonel, but you may make requests." Wilhelm stood on shaky legs and grasped the edge of his desk. He shook the hand of the young Colonel. "I'm attaching you to General von Aster, he should be receptive, at least. Do Vasilov proud."
"Thank you, Lord Darcy," Clarke said, and saluted the old man.
Wilhelm returned as crisp a salute as he could and watched Colonel Clarke march out.
He couldn't help but feel cynical about it all. He'd designed the system to be rigid, to keep stability, it just simply didn't react well to change. But yet, he felt a touch of hope. What was the worst that could happen? A penal battalion destroyed? They would have been dead men, anyway. They probably still will be.
#
Chapter Four
Vasilov Prime - Lower Ward Military Court, Wharf District Three
It was eight in the morning and Tomi was finally sleeping in the back of a police transport that was taking him from the hospital straight to the courthouse. He'd been up for over twenty-four hours. In that time he'd worked a shift (legally), spent an evening drinking, and then ran a wildcat mining rig that led to a planetary incursion by the Kadan. Now his arm was in a sling, his shoulder felt like it was crushed with a hammer, and when he asked about a lawyer the answer was no.
He sat on a worn wooden bench five minutes later. The room was packed from front to back. A panel of judges heard each case, rendered a verdict, and then sent it to another judge who passed sentence. He watched, his mouth open, as the judges worked with mechanical form.
I'm screwed, Tomi thought. He scooted to the side every time a new man was judged.
Soon Tomi was a few men away and watched the proceedings. The judges spoke clearly, quickly, concisely and never once questioned the accused. They played video recorders for the record, procured audio for the record, and showed police camera footage. There were no witnesses called, no lawyers, no bullshit.
He looked at the men and women around him and searched for anyone else he knew. The room was packed and it was hard to tell, but he looked to be the only one. All processed, escaped, or dead, he thought.
"This is a joke!" A bearded man leapt up and bellowed at the judges. A bailiff clapped him on the shoulders and shoved him down.
Another man in the crowd hollered out, "Hurry up asshole!"
"What is this?" Tomi said.
A man next to him craned his head and spoke out of the side of his mouth. "First time?"
Tomi glanced at him and nodded.
"This is the guilty court, no trial necessary."
Guilty court? Tomi watched the next proceedings. The footage showed the crime, the judges pointed it out, and then the guilt was confirmed. Then that meant...
"But!"
"Yup." The man chuckled and shook his head. "Ain't no use fighting it, just go with the flow."
The man with the beard hobbled over to the sentencing judge, but Tomi couldn't hear what was said.
Soon enough Tomi sat before the three judges. His face was slack and his eyes afraid.
The first judge was the oldest, with streaks of gray in his coal black mustache and a scar on his cheek. The second was bald, clean shaven, and a touch on the plump side. The last had the face of a vulture with pock-marked cheeks.
"Tomi Morgan?" the first judge asked.
"Yes sir."
"Illegal gate activation, mineral theft, disturbing the peace, possession of an automatic weapon, and public drunkenness," the second judge said into his microphone.
The third keyed up the display and footage of the scene filed past.
The three judges watched and each nodded when the footage was complete.
"Objections?"
"No," the second and third judge said in unison.
The first judge clanged a steel ball on an iron platform. "Next!"
"But, but!" Tomi stammered.
"The sentencing judge will hear your comments," the third judge said.
They moved Tomi a dozen meters to the side and sat him directly in front of an elderly judge. The man was thin, almost gaunt. His face had a set of scars, Tomi recognized them as dueling scars. Only nobles dueled. Tomi felt extra nervous.
The elderly judge studied a digital tablet and looked up to Tomi. "A firefight?"
Tomi swallowed hard. "Yes sir."
"First offense, which gives me a bit of leniency young man. Had it been a second, we'd have you shot." He looked at Tomi with serious eyes. "Do you like to fight?" the man asked, in a sincere tone. He leaned closer and raised his eyebrows. "Well?"
Tomi wasn't sure how to answer. On one hand, the judge had seemed impressed about the firefight part, but what if it was a trick? Does he want to hear meekness? Tomi held his breath and thought hard. Then he saw the tiny clip on the corner of the judge's lapel, a regimental tag. Ahh, Tomi thought, a man who earned his nobility. "Only when it's called for, sir."
The old judge cracked a thin smile and nodded. "Penal battalion, two years. You just might find your calling in life, young man. I envy you, I really do."
Tomi was speechless. Penal battalion? "But, but, I have an exemption!"
"Oh yes, that trades and skills exemption was nullified the moment you broke the law."
Tomi couldn't believe it. That exemption had kept him from being conscripted. Now, though, good god, he was going to war.
The bailiff stood Tomi up and gave him a hefty nudge toward the exit.
"I really do envy you, young man. Ah, to be young again!" The old judge suddenly looked invigorated and gave Tomi a salute.
Tomi walked out of the courthouse in a state of disbelief.
#
Chapter Five
VASCOM - 19th Army HQ, Colonial District
Colonel Clarke passed through the familiar halls but felt like an unfamiliar man. It had been a long time since he was inside of the Central Command HQ, since his appointment ten years before to the Sigg as an "advisor". General Davison had sent him on that mission, an effort to modernize the military. Unfortunately, a year later General Davison died on the tundra of Lishun Delta. But Clarke believed in the mission, and finished his tour.
He stopped on the first floor and spent a moment at the tomb of Stephan Vasilov. The simple stainless steel tomb was in stark contrast to the elaborate marble and carved stone arrayed around it. Clarke had seen the videos and watched the combat footage enough to know that a gaudy tomb was the last thing Stephan had wanted.
The original Vasilov had led forty million soldiers in the first major alien war. His armies, instead of returning to an Earth overburdened with refugees and population, were gifted three dozen star systems on the edge of known space. It was a bitter gift.
Stephan judged that only those who served should rule. A new nobility was created, a meritocracy that for a few generations functioned well. Then the nobility was made hereditary and things slid down hill. The nobles squabbled and fought and only a dozen planets were settled. But Stephan's edict that any man could become a noble through valor and duty still inspired men to greatness.
An hour later he sat down in an empty room and stared at the wooden paneling. The room was three stories underground and it was surely concrete behind the old wood. In front of him was a data tablet and a sheaf of paper. He tapped the paper idly, but without the same reverence that Lord Darcy had.
A private pushed a food cart in and snapped to attention when he saw Colonel Clarke. Clarke waved the young man in and watched as the youth laid out coffee, pastries, and a platter of smoked fish.
Colonel Benning stomped into the room. "Clarke? When did you get back?"
Clarke rose and shook Benning’s hand. "A week ago."
"Sigg finally wrap it up?"
"Yes, yes they did."
Benning grabbed a cup of coffee and sat across from Clarke. "Will they be...?"
Clarke shook his head and glanced down.
"Well shit," Benning said. He snapped up a pastry, wrapped it in a napkin, and tucked it into his jacket. "We're stuck right now. The Kadan are locked in tighter than a woodtick on a bull’s ass. They probe, we probe, neither one makes any headway. It's winter now, and damn is it cold."
"How many new positions do we have?"
Benning spoke through a mouthful of pastry. "None, we've reinforced the same ones."
No movement. Clarke closed his eyes and sighed. It was so different from the Sigg where holding positions were few and far between. "The Sigg don't maintain holding positions. Always assaulting, attacking, shifting, flanking."
A new Colonel walked into the room. "But they lack the manpower and artillery that we have."
Clarke turned, he didn't recognize the Colonel.
"This is Baron-Colonel Lucian Devos," Benning said.
Clarke stood and offered a hand but Lucian proceeded to the far end of the table without acknowledging the hand.
Benning wrinkled his nose at Clarke and shrugged.
"You've been away a long time—yes, Colonel?" Lucian said.
"Yes, but it seems like nothing has changed."
Lucian tilted his head slightly and smiled at Clarke. It wasn't a pleasant smile, but a harsh line.
Before the two could continue, the staff streamed in. More Colonels, Under-Colonels, a pack of Majors, a few civilians and lastly General von Aster. The General was a wire thin man with only half a nose. He'd left the other half on Lishun Delta.
The room snapped up from their chairs and just as quickly were waved back down by von Aster. He snatched up a cup of coffee, plopped an oversized bagel onto a plate and sat down. The chatter in the room picked back up until von Aster neared the end of his breakfast.
"Morning," von Aster said, gulping her coffee. "Ops, how's it look?"
A plump-faced Colonel named Beaubien tapped a dataslate in front of him. "The stargate did a 250 millisecond open about an hour ago. We're still processing the data."
"LISCOM have priorities?" von Aster said.
"Negative, sir, a single infantry probe went out."
"Results?"
Beaubien studied the slate for a moment. "Single survivor out of a squad."
"Hmm," von Aster said. "Well, could have been worse. Useful?"
"We have some scans, Colonel Bray is still processing." Beaubien nodded to a man sitting across from him.
"Well?" von Aster said to Bray.
Bray cleared his throat. "They've added another layer of entrenchments. Concrete reinforced ceilings, maybe some pop-up emplacements."
"Anything unusual?" von Aster said.
"No sir," Bray said.
Clarke sat and watched the staff meeting progress. Not much had changed from when he'd sat in on these meetings years before. In fact, other than the gray hairs on his head, it could've been the exact same meeting. He studied the faces and saw some looked content, almost relaxed, while others seemed intense.
The meeting moved to logistics and then the topic settled firmly onto Colonel Clarke.
General von Aster spoke, "We have a new battalion commander, Colonel Cole Clarke, recently returned to us from advisory duties at the Sigg front."
All heads turned to Colonel Clarke. The Sigg front was still hot news, especially the news of the victory.
"He'll be taking command of our penal battalion," General von Aster added.
The staff was silent. Glances went between the Colonels in the room, the other battalion commanders.
Colonel Clarke sat and felt the eyes on him.
"General," Baron-Colonel Devos said loudly. "Those troops were promised to me for the spring offensive!"
Colonel Clarke looked across the table and saw Colonel Benning hiding a smirk behind a coffee cup.
"I believe Colonel Clarke is going to put them to some use Colonel," General von Aster replied. He looked down the length of the table at Baron-Colonel Devos. Devos seemed at a loss for words.
He stammered out and half-rose in his seat. "But they're prisoners!"
"Yes, Baron, and they're my troops," General von Aster said in a tone that declared the topic was done.
Devos glared at Colonel Clarke and sat down slowly. His fingers were tight, white, and his face a rosy shade.
"Colonel Devos, you'll release those troops to Colonel Clarke tomorrow. Understood?"
"Baron-Colonel, if you please, General," Devos said.
General von Aster tilted his head slightly and licked his lips, like a prize-fighter before a match. "Very well, Baron-Colonel."
Devos raised his chin and stared at Colonel Clarke.
"Dismissed," General von Aster barked. He remained sitting while the staff filed by. He raised a finger at Colonel Clarke as he passed and waited until Baron-Colonel Devos walked by. "Brief me on your plan and the Sigg front in my office, Colonel Clarke."
"Yes, sir," Colonel Clarke replied, and took a bit of satisfaction seeing Devos's face turn another shade of red.
The inside of the headquarters looked the same as when Colonel Clarke was assigned to the 8th Army before transferring to the Sigg Worlds. It was an orderly array of concrete walls and steel piping, all painted the same shade of olive drab and khaki brown. He walked through the corridors, past rooms bustling with activity, and past others that were quiet like cloisters. Finally he came to a steel riveted door with a soldier wielding a plastic stocked assault rifle. The Corporal snapped a salute and opened the door.
Colonel Clarke stepped past the Corporal and entered into a Spartan office. On one wall a single screen ran from ceiling to floor with organizational charts laid out. On another wall a live-map replayed the drone feeds from the previous twenty-four hours on Lishun Delta. It showed that even though the planets were eight light-years apart, the data still moved. The floor was, oddly enough, polished wood plank. The furniture was simple, cheap, with the hard edges so common in every military establishment since Caesar called the shots.
General von Aster emerged from a side room with his jacket slung over his shoulder. "Sit, Colonel," he said, with a hand beckoning to the couch. "I'm ordering breakfast. Hungry?"
"Yes sir, thank you." Colonel Clarke wasn't, but he knew better than to refuse a meal from a General.
Clarke hadn't known General von Aster but he knew the man’s reputation. The General was the only Army Commander without a noble title. Though he was plagued with an unlucky reputation and that, coupled with the lack of title, made him a black sheep among the other Generals. He also had a knack for tactics, though little opportunity to put it to much use.
"So tell me Colonel," General von Aster said after calling in the meal order. "What the hell are you going to do with a penal battalion?"
"May I?" Clarke said and motioned toward the screen.
General von Aster nodded and sat back with his arms crossed.
Clarke keyed up his dataslate and transferred a heap of data files. He broke them up into a tiled display and keyed up a picture. An armored vehicle filled the screen. It had low sloped armor plates and was shaped like an elongated rectangle, but instead of the tracks being low to the ground they ran almost to the top of the vehicle hull. A single cannon protruded from the top on a slender arm. A hatch was open on the rear and infantry was exiting the vehicle. The entire hull was scored with gunfire, shrapnel, and failed impacts.
General von Aster glanced at Clarke, but didn't say anything.
Next a video file popped up and a buffering icon flashed on the screen. Clarke glanced at von Aster to make sure he was watching. Then the video started.
The sky was a low gray with the ebbing light of either morning or evening. It was hard to tell. Digits flashed on the bottom and the viewpoint rose up a dozen meters off the ground. Then the armor came into view, hidden and tucked into a dozen positions. It blended in almost perfectly.
"Sigg drone?"
"Yes sir," Clarke replied.
General von Aster snorted and Clarke didn't know if it was a good sign, or bad.
The feed continued and the drone spun. The view drifted and the camera stabilized on a flat plain, hammered and smashed. There was nothing but tossed dirt, torn earth, and cracked anti-armor emplacements. There, a dozen kilometers away, artillery rounds exploded in the sky. An artillery defense system hammered every single incoming round.
"They're not going to cross that?" General von Aster mumbled and leaned forward.
The armor pounced out of the cover and just as quickly disappeared into the tortured landscape. The low vehicles careened into one shell crater, hunched on the edge, and leapfrogged across the landscape. Each was only above the crater edge for a split second before dropping down into the next. In a hundred meters they were coated with the same slimy mud as the no man’s land. With the exception of the motion, they were indistinguishable.
A few seconds later the Boben defenders opened fire.
Defensive positions returned fire on the advancing armor. Rounds impacted and sprays of mud and dirt rose into the air.
General von Aster shook his head. "The artillery is gonna get em..."
Colonel Clarke turned back to the screen and smiled.
The tanks seemed stuck, caught in a wall of defenders, when the drone shifted. It marked out a dozen emplacements and then each one disappeared in a explosion that expanded out and collapsed in.
Anti-aircraft fire studded into the air from the Boben fortress. White tailed rockets flared for a split second and kinetic batteries shattered the sky. But nothing fell to the ground.
The tanks roared out from the craters and surged ahead into the gap. Twenty seconds later the craters they'd inhabited exploded into a new landscape as the Boben artillery landed exactly where they weren't.
General von Aster watched intently with a little smile on his face. "Give me some narration here, Colonel. What the hell just happened?"
Colonel Clarke couldn't help but smile back. After watching Vasilov maneuvers for years, the Sigg strike seemed absolutely fantastic. He felt the same way when he'd started working with them and made it his duty to learn. "There's another wave behind this with anti-emplacement vehicles. They launch a single missile vertical and it slams straight down into the defensive position. Another layer behind that uses rotary-turbine gunships that can fire over hills and contours to strike the heavier targets."
"Hmm," General von Aster said.
Then the armor surged ahead again and continued the slog through the hellish landscape. A mine exploded under the front of one of the tanks. It lifted up and set down as a massive explosion ripped through the front. A drive wheel careened through the air just past the drone. The rear hatch popped open and a dozen men streamed out the back and took cover.
Two of the armored vehicles darted closer and took in the survivors. Smoke poured into the darkening sky. Raindrops plopped down and the drone struggled in the wind.
Someone knocked on the door and General von Aster shouted, "Not now!" His eyes never left the screen.
The assault continued ahead with the armored company never halting for more than a few moments. The artillery came in waves, most fell behind, but some hit it head on. Two of the armored vehicles fell to artillery, one was hit by a Boben emplacement that fired at the last moment. But still, they surged ahead.
Once the drone swung to the side and gave a quartering view of the wasteland. Column after column of the armored vehicles were racing across. Burning wrecks marked that some columns suffered worse than others. Darkness settled across the landscape and the spectrum shifted and the drone lit up everything in gaudish colors.
"My feed is about to go down, sir," Colonel Clarke said.
General von Aster nodded and leaned closer.
The closer the troops came, the more intense the defensive fire. Finally the tanks halted on the edge of the craters and slowed the advance. The slender barrel on the top of the vehicle, which until now hadn't done anything, popped up above the edge of the crater and fired a rapid burst.
The tanks moved slower, in more coordinated jumps, and advanced. The Boben emplacements hammered fire between the advancing vehicles but the defending turrets couldn't track well enough as one tank jumped ahead and then the next.
There was a flash, a massive crash that overloaded the screen speakers, and the drone slid down toward the ground. It spun and fought to control the descent. The last images it showed were the infantry emerging from the back of the vehicles and taking position. Then the screen went black.
"You know how to tease an old soldier, Colonel."
Clarke hoped for a reaction like that.
"But I don't see how that helps us. They're Sigg troopers with Sigg armor and they've been fighting like that for years. So Colonel, what are your intentions?"
"I want to create a Vasilov unit that uses Sigg tactics. General, the Sigg have less population—so each trooper is precious, they have less resources—so each tank is precious, and they have less time—so time is precious. Our ability to toss men at a problem has hindered our development. The Kadan front is a holding maneuver to promote nobles, not a strategy for victory."
General von Aster rubbed his chin and glanced back up at the monitor. "So, why do we have to change?"
Colonel Clarke hadn't expected that question. His worst fear was having a statist for a commander, someone who liked the status quo. "General..."
General von Aster shook his head. "I agree with you Cole, but there's some others who don't. Our system is producing a good many nobles, and the Dukes aren't shooting each other."
"But what happens if the Boben come knocking or the EmFlife, or some other alien race we haven't even met yet? Suddenly our most precious resource is our soldiers."
"The Boben don't worry me, but the EmFlife..." The General stared at the starmap for a moment. "But it all seems futile without the Sigg technology."
Colonel Clarke grinned. "Actually, General, I'm expecting a delivery."
#
Chapter Six
Sigg III - Sigg-Yakuto Orbital Platform
Umi Matsuo stepped aside as the last of the Hellcat armored personnel carriers pulled onto the deck of the freighter. He stood a touch below average height with coal black hair and a crooked smile. His nose was bent and a scar ran from one lip to the bottom of his chin.
The ceilings were overly high, the passages laid out with not quite enough light and the temperature a few dozen degrees warmer than Umi liked, and Umi liked it hot. The interstellar freighter was definitely not manmade.
The rear hatch opened. Kelly Dell popped out and closed it. Sweat poured down her well muscled arms and over lines of tattoos. She had a head of crisp-cut red hair that almost glowed orange. When the hatch locked into place she jogged over to Umi. "You ready, Cap? This place gives me the creeps. You sure they ain't gonna screw us?"
Before he had a chance to respond, a deep bass voice answered:
"You humans think someone is going to take your antiquated, worthless technology."
An alien stepped into the humid cargo hold. He was a Lokeen, a bear like creature that was the first species mankind encountered. He stood almost a meter taller than the average man and his yellow fur was actually a dense layer of sensory cells.
"Well, I..."
"Or maybe you think we're all a race of stoic and honorable caricatures."
Umi crossed his arms and listened to the tirade.
"We're not all the same, you know?"
"I thought you said that all humans were thieves?"
The Lokeen wrinkled its nose. "A generalization!"
"So he's not going to steal our stuff Cap?" Kelly asked.
"Sevel, you're not going to steal this armored division, right?"
Sevel threw up his arms and shook his head.
Umi thought that Sevel had been watching too many human movies, and judging from the theatrics they weren't good ones.
"Humans are trouble enough. What would I do with this," he waved his arms across the hold, "stuff?"
"You could sell it," Kelly said.
"Of course I could sell it! But who's going to buy this junk?"
Kelly shrugged.
Junk. Umi looked over his shoulder at all the vehicles. Two years ago they were the best the Sigg could manufacture. Today they were surplus, an unnecessary burden at the close of an unfortunate war. They were going to scrap them all out, melt them down, and turn them into, well, whatever. Umi felt a connection. He wondered if the politicians and administrators wanted to do the same to all the old soldiers.
Sevel smoothed his ruffled fur and leaned down. "Have no fear, barring any unforeseen encounters, I'll deliver all of this to Vasilov Prime in approximately," he stopped and thought for a moment, "forty-five of your days. Depending on the variations of space."
"I'll be waiting," Umi said, and gave a slight bow.
Sevel’s face broke into a smile and revealed a row of totally flat teeth. He returned the bow with a flourish.
Umi looked serious. He'd never bow, but he loved how the Lokeen just ate it up. Someone had told him that the Lokeen felt a responsibility over mankind, since they "found" them. Though not all of the Lokeen agreed, and for that reason they were a neutral nation, but most importantly, a nation that did not export technology. They were smart enough to know what would happen. Tech transfer to less advanced nations had never gone well. Instead they profited by offering their technologies as a service.
Umi and Kelly walked down the line of low topped tanks, and stripped rotor gunships. The air felt cooler the closer they got to the exit.
"And watch out for trouble," Sevel added as Umi and Kelly walked out of the hold.
"He always says that," Umi said.
They exited the Lokeen starship and took a break on the edge of the Sigg Orbital Station. It wasn't a manmade station but an asteroid, pushed into place by the Lokeen, and bored out and made into a bastion of trade, and secondly as an orbital defense platform.
The cargo transfer area was a giant warehouse space with containers of ores and finished goods. Dense equipment and heavy commodities. The one downfall of using a stargate was that the mass put through it increased the energy draw exponentially. Move a thousand men eight light-years for a couple of megawatts, but send through an armored platoon or a load of iron ore and the energy expenditure burned into the gigawatts.
Kelly squatted down and stretched. Goose bumps popped up on her arms. "I've never seen so many Officers driving tanks before."
"That’s because you didn't, we're 'veterans' now. Remember, this war is done."
"I thought we were mercenaries."
"Contractors. And not until we get paid," Umi mumbled.
Umi checked his tablet and sucked in air through his teeth. "One hour ’til the gate opens." He tapped on the tablet and called one of his men. "Is everyone ready?"
"Yes sir, the troop is lined up."
"We'll be there shortly."
"Aye, Captain!"
Umi tucked the tablet away and shook his head. He wasn't a Captain anymore.
Alarms sounded and the cargo hatch closed up behind them. Umi and Kelly stepped away.
"Right, let's go."
Umi took a dozen steps and stopped. He had a tickle behind his ear and held out his hand in a clenched fist. Kelly halted and her right hand dropped to a place where a pistol should have been holstered.
The station doors were closed and the normally busy cargo loading area was silent. When they had first entered the warehouse they could barely navigate past all of the automated loaders. Now, silence.
Umi studied the rows of cargo containers. His eyes soaked in every curve, corner, and gap. He stepped to the side, the sidestep of a soldier facing a threat. He became painfully aware that his sidearm was packed up inside of a shipping container on a starship.
"Cap?" Kelly whispered.
He pulled the tablet out and keyed it on. He pushed the call button and an error beeped back. The signal was dead. "Shit. The signal is jammed. Stay close, we're going to hold to the edge and get to the main concourse."
Umi knew better than to walk through the center. A platoon of tanks could hide inside. But on the edge at least he'd have one safe flank.
The pair stuck close to the containers on the edge and sprinted while hunching low. It was that awkward run that soldiers learned from years of practice. The wide cargo doors approached, the access panel was split and tore.
A small form dropped down off of a container and sliced at Umi with a straight blade. The creature wore a full bodysuit, tight and dark, a small pack tucked onto its back. In one hand it wielded a simple blackened blade half a meter long and in the other a slender blade with a glowing tip. Its face was covered in a mesh mask.
Umi ducked beneath the blade and punched up.
The attacker hopped back and drove the tip of the short blade straight at Umi.
Umi rolled to the side. Kelly kicked in and drove the attacker back yet another step.
It lashed out with the larger blade and caught Kelly across the bony side of her forearm.
Kelly cried out and dodged a strike from the small blade.
Umi drove a leg into the attacker’s leg. Instead of a cracking of bone there was a thud. "Shit."
The attacker spun, stepped away, and rammed the short blade down.
"Hey!" a voice called out. A gunshot shattered through the air. Umi scrambled back and barely avoided the tip of the glowing blade.
A woman stood with a large bore anti-tank rifle to her shoulder. Bluish smoke rolled from the barrel. A second shell engaged in the action with a heavy clunk.
The attacker fell to a knee, pointed the larger blade at Umi and threw the short blade at the newcomer.
Just as the blade struck the woman, she fired a second round. The weapon roared and clattered to the ground. The attacker flew back like a sledgehammer swung into it. Armor plate and mechanical parts flew into the air and the small mechanical body crashed against a metal container, silent.
Umi sprinted over to the woman. Kelly ran right behind with her hand clutching the wicked wound on her arm.
The woman squirmed on the floor. She was hefty in the shoulders but with extraordinary muscled arms. Blood rolled out of her nose and the blade hummed and crackled in her chest.
Umi dropped to a knee next to the woman. "You'll be all right, look at me, hey! Look at me!"
The woman stopped grabbed onto Umi's wrist with a bloody hand. "Tell them to hold! They must hold! The Emflife are coming!" Her teeth were stained red. Her eyes bored into Umi's.
Umi pulled his tablet out with his other hand and punched up the emergency code. The call went through immediately.
Kelly knelt down next to the tablet. "I need security and medical services to the lower cargo hold. There was an attack, I have a female with a puncture wound to the chest."
The woman screamed and the handle of the blade fell to the floor. The blade itself was gone. Her eyes rolled back into her head and blood poured from her mouth.
Umi tried to hold her down and staunch the wound and then he felt movement under his hands. It felt like a snake was worming through her skin. He fell away from her and yelled. He'd seen the worst in a warzone, but he'd never seen anything like this.
Then the woman was still. The writhing movement under her skin stopped, in several places slivers of metal poked through the skin. Her hand fell to the floor and a small medallion dropped.
Umi, his heart still hammering in his chest, knelt down and scooped it up. On one side was stamped IX, and on the other an image of the planet Earth. A fresh hairline crack ran like a tectonic plate from pole to pole.
"What the hell just happened. Cap?"
"I don't know, Kel," Umi said as he stood on shaky legs. He turned and looked at his would-be assassin. "But I think our contract just got more interesting."
Chapter Seven
VASCOM - 19th Army HQ, Colonial District
"VASCOM came back with your Officer requests," Major Peach said as he handed a data slate to Colonel Clarke. Clarke took the tablet and studied the list.
General von Aster looked up from his desk over a set of dirty reading glasses. "Peach, send me a copy, please."
"Yes sir."
Colonel Clarke ran down the list and mouthed names he knew and nodded to himself. He had a few, a select few, but not nearly everyone he wanted. He'd aimed big when he made the list so maybe he'd get half. He reckoned a quarter of his requests went through.
Two of his companies showed no Officers. Throughout the roster names were blank, spots showed a number, but any other details were gone. He'd never seen an org chart like that before.
Colonel Bresowitz shuffled in with a pack of supply Officers on his heels. The old Colonel lost one foot to the cold on Lishun Delta, and a leg to the Kadan. "Gentlemen."
"Breso, you have good news?"
Colonel Bresowitz sat with a wheeze and sighed. "I spoke with three contractors and the best we can hope for is to match the ammo. Stevitz wants to refit the Sigg guns, KolbenStat will make the ammo, but isn't interested in spare parts, and the Martinez Group said they'll talk, but they want exclusivity."
General von Aster snorted.
"Are these tanks of yours really that good?" Colonel Bresowitz said to Colonel Clarke. He propped a tablet on his lap and scrolled through the technical blueprints of the Sigg vehicles.
"Show him the video later," General von Aster said, and peered back down at his tablet.
"Yes, Colonel, they have five times the top speed of our armor and can cover a much wider arc of fire, not to mention they have half the profile," Colonel Clarke said.
"Doesn't sound comfortable," Colonel Bresowitz replied.
"No, it's not." Colonel Clarke had spent many a bumpy-dusty day riding in the back of those vehicles. "Will the camp be ready?"
Colonel Bresowitz turned to a Major standing behind him and nodded. "This is Major Bresov, she's your Supply Officer."
Major Bresov stepped forward and saluted. She was a stout little brunette with her hair tied up in a bun tight enough to crack glass. The tops of her ears were gone, a marker among the Vasilov of someone who'd served on Lishun Delta. Her eyes sparkled above a button of a nose. "Colonel, the supplies are en route."
Clarke returned the salute. "Thank you, Major, keep working on getting spares for those vehicles."
"Pardon me, Colonel, but why don't we use the current billets?" Major Bresov asked.
"They're soldiers, Major, not prisoners."
"But—"
Colonel Clarke cocked his head slightly and the force of his look stopped her comment. "I'll not run this unit out of a prison."
"Yes sir."
Colonel Clarke turned to General von Aster. "General, do you know why there are blanks on my org chart?"
"Colonel, those are Officers already assigned to the Penal Battalion."
"Current command?" Colonel Clarke asked.
General von Aster grinned. "No, Cole, as prisoners."
Colonel Clarke stared back down. It made sense. He just hadn't expected it. Instead of a highly trained Officer core he'd have, well, he wasn't sure.
"Legal is getting personnel files as we speak," Colonel Bresowitz said.
A line chimed on the General's desk and he turned away to take the call.
Colonel Clarke felt the weight of his command settling. He'd pictured it with Sigg precision and execution and forgot how the maze of noble bureaucracies bogged everything down. The data he had was incomplete, and what he needed was compartmentalized. It was an outdated command scheme that had functioned so well simply because they hadn't needed to reform it. Now when he tried to push the boundaries, even slightly, the system balked.
"Get me a driver now!" General von Aster said. He stood and the chair clattered behind him. "That was Lady Atzi, the council is coming to order in fifteen minutes. They're going to strip our budget. Let's go!"
Colonel Clarke ran after General von Aster.
The trip through the rain streaked streets took less than ten minutes. General von Aster spent the entire ride calling in favors and bringing every bit of political capital to bear that he could.
Clarke sat in silence and watched the General do his work. The future of his unit hung on the edge of a single budgetary vote. He could handle an enemy on the battlefield, but the political tact required to navigate the council was beyond him.
General von Aster paused a moment. "Cole, is your father on Vasilov Prime?"
Colonel Clarke shook his head. "Negative, General."
The General started back up again and didn't stop talking until the car arrived.
The Council Hall stood in the center of the Vasilov capital on the banks of the Uvik River. The stone walls were stained black, with only a hint of the white granite underneath. Over time the mist and soot from a growing planet had added a quaint tarnish. Some said it reflected the politics within, no one thought it fitting to clean it.
Inside they found a mad rush of staffers, consultants, lesser nobles, and council members. A small contingent from VASCOM stood on the edge of the chambers with their arms crossed. A frail looking old woman stood before the group. Her face was knotted into a frown.
"Took your time, General," Lady Atzi said. Her voice was strong, clear, with just a hint of age. In sharp contrast to the creases that ran through her face.
"Lady Atzi," General von Aster said. "You look—"
"Cut the shit," Lady Atzi replied, and stepped past General von Aster. "You Clarke?"
"Yes, ma'am," Colonel Clarke said. He felt the full weight of the old woman’s gaze on him. He knew the Iron Lady by reputation alone: she suffered no fools and delighted in shredding them when she found them.
She walked up and stood before him. Her lower jaw jutted out and she scowled at him. "You stirred up a nest of hornets, Colonel."
"Ma'am, I had no—"
"You can't just bring in a load of foreign armored vehicles. The contractors called in every council member and noble they own."
Colonel Clarke didn't know how to respond. Of all the issues he thought he'd have, an argument about procurement was not one. He felt relieved and his shoulders dropped a little. He glanced at General von Aster and saw the same look of surprise as he wore. "Ma'am, pardon me, but this is because we didn't go through proper channels for vehicle procurement?"
"Damned right it is. Colonel, if you plan on going any higher in this army, learn who not to piss off," Lady Atzi said. She snapped her gaze to General von Aster. "Nod, smile, and be polite. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am," General von Aster said. He stepped behind Lady Atzi.
"Follow me," Lady Atzi said. She turned and stomped off through the crowded entry hall. The crowd parted like a bull had stormed through the room. She stopped before a group of men and women in suits.
"Hiram Kolben," Lady Atzi said to a wire thin man in a gray suit. "Grab that vulture, Martinez, and have a little chat with General von Aster and Colonel Clarke here. I expect you gentlemen to come to an agreement. I'm going inside to meet with the council. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am," Colonel Clarke and General von Aster said in unison.
Hiram grew a pained smile. "Of course, Lady Atzi."
Lady Atzi didn't wait for anymore of a reply and stomped her way into the council chambers. The atmosphere in the entry hall changed as more of the council left. Only the staffers remained and idle conversation popped up everywhere. Everywhere except where Colonel Clarke stood staring at Hiram Kolben.
Hiram was several inches shorter than Colonel Clarke, but his shoulders were massive. In college Hiram had played rugby, lots and lots of rugby. It was said that his tactics on the rugby field translated quite well into the defense industry.
"Those should have been Vasilov tanks! You can't just buy equipment from another nation and ship it in!"
"You don't have the armor I need," Colonel Clarke said.
"Then we make it, my family has been proudly serving the Vasilov military for—"
"Enough," General von Aster said. "It's done, can you supply us with ammo and spares?"
"My offer stands, just the ammo. I'm not retooling my factories for this, this circus!" Hiram's hands flexed and his cheeks burned a rosy red.
Another voice spoke from behind. A soothing, cooling tone with a touch of an accent. "Martinez Group will supply the spares, but such a retooling will be expensive."
"Pablo," Hiram said with evident scorn.
Pablo Martinez stood like an aged matador. His jet black hair was oiled tight to his skull. Hard cheek lines jutted from his face and his brown eyes were the only soft thing on his face. He walked gently, leaned in while listening, and spoke with his hands and his voice. "Hiram," he acknowledged.
Hiram's posture changed. He placed his hands behind his back. "We too will have to charge tooling fees. This can, uh, be waived provided the order is large enough."
"I'm sorry, General, but we cannot waive the tooling fee, so much to be changed over for the Sigg designs." Pablo took on a hint of smugness.
"Call off your dogs," General von Aster said. "Colonel Bresowitz will conclude this."
Hiram looked to Pablo. Pablo glanced between all three.
"Very well," Pablo said. "But don't expect parts next week."
"Or even next month, there's a good deal to be retrofitted," Hiram said.
"You have plenty of time," Colonel Clarke said.
The four men stopped speaking and became aware that most of the crowded hall was silent and watching them.
Colonel Clarke shifted uncomfortably and waited for the General to take the lead out. He never felt comfortable with the politics and the wrangling. He'd watched his father through the years and disliked everything about it. For that matter, he disliked his father, too.
General von Aster gave a crisp nod to the two contractors. "Gentlemen." He turned and walked away.
Colonel Clarke followed suit.
"Colonel?" Pablo Martinez said.
Colonel Clarke halted and looked over his shoulder.
"How did you acquire a division of armored vehicles?"
"The old fashioned way," Colonel Clarke said, and continued after General von Aster.
Five minutes later they both sat in silence in the car. Colonel Clarke watched the city pass by and marveled at how little it had changed. The mist parted from time to time and revealed the deep brown hills that rose around the city.
"That was close, Cole, damned close."
"Am I over my head here, General?"
General von Aster turned and looked at Colonel Clarke. "No, this just isn't a fight you're used to dealing with. Leave the politicians to me, we've just stirred up a nest of hornets, is all."
"Lady Atli owed you a favor?"
"No, Cole, now I owe her one."
"Thank you, General," Colonel Clarke said sincerely. He knew how screwed he'd be without a good commander.
"Colonel, how did you acquire those vehicles?"
Colonel Clarke leaned back. "I bought them for scrap value."
General von Aster opened his mouth and shut it again. "What?"
"The Sigg are doing what they call a force reduction. They decided to keep the newest vehicles and are scrapping the rest. I cashed out my retirement, sold my holdings, and, well, bet it all."
"Scrapping?"
Colonel Clarke sighed. "Yes, sir, scrapping."
"You should have bought more."
"One more favor, General."
General von Aster looked up suspiciously.
"Can we find some room in the budget for some, uh, Sigg consultants?"
General von Aster relaxed. "That's it? Not an issue. But are they consultants or...?"
"As long as they don't fight, no one can call them mercenaries."
General von Aster shrugged. "Wouldn't bother me a bit, rumor is the 13th Army hired some Caledonians."
"Thank you, General."
"But Cole, no more surprises?"
"No sir," Colonel Clarke replied, and sincerely hoped the surprises were done.
#
Chapter Eight
Vasilov Prime - Northern Industrial District
Tomi Morgan shivered in the rain at the end of a line of prisoners. The shackles on his wrists reminded him that this wasn't just another train ride. He stared at the man in front of him and watched the rain run down through the man’s buzzcut hair.
A chubby-faced Sergeant stepped out from the control room. "Ten more minutes!"
"He said that ten minutes ago," someone said.
"I'll give him ten minutes of my foot in his ass," someone else remarked.
Chuckles broke out through the crowd.
"Shut up! Who said dat? Shut up!" a Corporal stalked down the line of prisoners. He wore standard issue rain gear and carried a stout club.
No one answered. The Corporal stalked in between the rows with the club leading the way. He passed by drunks, drug addicts, old men, women, the young, and those that just looked broken. A few stood in finer clothes and they, like Tomi, seemed the most distressed by it all. Tomi stood at the end of a line of uniformed men and women. The soldiers before him stared at the ground in silence.
Now a clatter broke out down the tracks and the screeching of steel on wet iron announced the movement of the train. The portly Sergeant stepped out of the control room with the rail crew close behind. He waved to the Corporal and stepped to the edge of the track. The engine pumped past with a hum of electric motors. Behind that came cargo car after cargo car. The screeching rang out again and the cars stopped.
The track workers slammed open the aluminum doors, then the march began. They shuffled in slowly, each line of prisoners into a car, and the doors closed.
Tomi walked slowly, hesitantly, and felt the tug of the shackles on his wrist. The cargo car loomed ahead like the dark maw of a beast. He took a breath, put his head down, and entered. The sound of the rain clanged above him and he was thankful that, for now, he was dry. Then the door closed and he was surrounded by darkness.
Someone sighed in the car and another man started to sing.
"Gonna brave the line—to do our time—so that we can dine with duke. Gonna brave the line—so that we may find—the better hangman's noose." The voice was just above a mumble, but loud enough that it echoed through the car.
Tomi pushed his back against the cold metal wall and tears ran down his face in the darkness.
The train clattered and sang. At every junction a bang woke them. At every stop the train car came alive with the cargo peering out through the tiny slits at the side of the door. The air grew colder, they ascended, then descended. They stopped once and offloaded the civilian prisoners.
Tomi shivered the whole time and kept to himself.
They finally stopped. Light exploded into the car and the soldiers streamed out in a line, with Tomi at the end. He rubbed his eyes and squinted hard. The others shuffled around him and groaned.
They stood on a white gravel siding. Low hills rose in the distance. They were topped with craggy rocks, and seemed to be just tall enough to keep the grass growth down. Closer, at the base of the hills, stood a massive structure.
Tomi squinted at the building. Warehouse? Yes, he thought, it is, a warehouse for people. He'd spent the trip thinking about what a penal soldier was. He had no idea of his duties, his tasks—what did it mean? He assumed fighting, but this, well, this wasn't what he expected. Not that he knew what to expect.
The train pulled away. Finally the last of the cargo cars passed by. Then only the wind stirred in the valley. A dozen men stood in body armor and wielded long armed clubs. Their faces were set and they observed the prisoners.
A Lieutenant stepped up to one of the prisoners and spoke in a low voice. The prisoner turned around and nodded. He held out his arms and the Officer released the shackle. The prisoner walked down the line and released the rest.
Finally he reached Tomi. "Where's your uniform?"
Tomi looked up at the man. His lapel was missing any markings, but the rip in the fabric showed that he was once an Officer.
"I, uh, I don't have one."
The Officer shook his head. "Lost it? They'll dock you for that."
"I never had one."
The Officer stopped and looked back at Tomi. "Civilian?"
"Yes."
"Yes sir."
"Yes sir," Tomi replied quickly.
"They'll get you gear issued once we're inside. At least they should."
A thin mist dribbled out of the sky, almost too light to be felt, but soon the prisoners were wet. With the mist came the wind, and then the day grew worse.
Tomi shivered again and fell in line behind the rest of the prisoners. They set off down the rough cut gravel road. The guards—he assumed they were guards—walked a few meters to the side. The guards didn't seem bothered by all the prisoners. Where could they go? Run, to where? Tomi wondered why they bothered with guards at all.
A man stopped and retched hard. Vomit sprayed onto the ground. The smell of raw alcohol wafted through the air. Others retched down the line. Tomi stopped and grasped the man under the arms.
"Get up, Corporal!" a guard said.
The Corporal heaved again and his entire body shook. The guard cracked Tomi across the back with the club.
Tomi almost dropped the retching Corporal but just managed to hold on. The Corporal stunk so bad that Tomi could hardly stand to hold him.
"Thanks," the Corporal mumbled and heaved once again.
And so went the march through the mist. Tomi marched with the sobering Corporal leaning on him. Half of the column was afflicted with some sort of withdrawal. Men shook and shivered, a woman stumbled and cried, and one man shook like gripped by a terrible palsy.
The gate opened and a chill air blew out. It smelled of soap. They marched inside and directly into a receiving room. More guards stood idly, above on iron walkways, and at the doors. Finally they broke them into groups, men went one way, women the other.
Tomi stood in front of the Corporal and looked up at a set of guards on the walkway. One cradled a rifle and the other held an electronic amplifier.
The Corporal slouched against the wall. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with tears. Strings of yellow bile ran down the front of his uniform. He was stout like a little barrel with legs. "Fuck," he mumbled and spat.
There was a screech and the soldier on the walkway adjusted the amplifier. "Sanitation in one minute."
The men grumbled and started stripping off the dirty uniforms.
Tomi followed suit and then marched into the next room. There they were sprayed with lukewarm water, then doused in foam, ordered to wash, and finally sprayed once more. The sanitation ended with a mist that was scented like oranges but tasted like rancid meat.
Tomi shivered the entire time. It reminded him of a summer he spent working at a slaughterhouse. The sides of beef rolled on an assembly line and were blasted with water. Blood and dirt sprayed everywhere but, at the end, the meat was clean. Then it hit him: this was just the same, he was the meat being prepared for the butcher.
"Out, out!"
They streamed back into the room and the clothing was gone. Only the boots remained. They shivered in the cold air until a man pushed in a cart. He wore a plain set of khaki fatigues without any rank or identification. He didn't speak, but walked out again immediately.
A man stepped to the cart and started calling out sizes. One-by-one the men retrieved uniforms. Tomi stepped into an odd-sized medium. The socks were warm and he hopped around the wet room trying to find his boots.
He didn't see them anywhere. They were his boots, earned in the mines. By damned some dirty son of a bitch wasn't going to steal them. His eyes darted around the feet of the other men and he realized they were gone.
"Someone took my boots!" he said. He looked around, expecting someone to say something.
"Hey!" the corporal he'd helped earlier said loudly. "We've a man with no boots, can we have a pair?" He turned to Tomi. "Size?"
"But, my boots!"
The corporal looked down. "Size, uh, 46!"
"Someone took them, they were mine!" Tomi protested now, angrier. The rough treatment and lack of sleep hit him hard. He was downright ornery.
The corporal stepped close and laid a hand on Tomi's elbow. "Calm down mate, it ain't worth it. Just a pair of boots."
"But they're mine! Someone took them. A thief! Thief, I say!"
And then, faster than he thought possible, two guards rushed in and thumped him. It wasn't personal, or even particularly violent, just an impersonal beating. He staggered to his feet and shook his head.
The corporal steadied Tomi. "Stick by me now, eh? I gotcha, mate."
They streamed out and walked into a cell filled with bunks and low tables. There were no chairs. The bunks were covered with a red rubber mattress and at the head of each was a pile. Wool blankets, a crisp white pillow, a set of sheets, and a small toiletry kit. Tomi sat on the edge next to the corporal.
"I'm Mick."
"Tomi."
"Not army are ya, mate?"
Tomi shook his head. Thanks Mr. Obvious, he thought.
Mick sighed and shook his head. "That was one hell of a drunk."
"You drank and got tossed in here?"
"Mickey boy got drunk three weeks ago, left his duty station, got into a fight with the police, knocked out a woman, lit a train car on fire, then came to in the back alley of some Vasilovian shithole," a man sitting on the table called out.
"And I don't remember a single bit of it!" Mick added with a touch of pride.
The soldiers laughed a grim sort of humor. They started trading offenses. Some wouldn't speak of the charge, others did. Drunkenness, fighting, and vandalism topped the list. One man was accused of bribery, another for skimming off the supply depot stocks. Tomi kept his mouth shut, this wasn't his place. He didn't fit in. The uniform was like someone else's glove.
"What, uh, what do we do?" Tomi asked Mick.
Mick looked up at Tomi with bloodshot eyes. "If we're lucky, they'll have us dig ditches, or load things. If we ain't, we'll go to Lishun and dig up explosive mines in the permafrost or run out and clip razor wire."
"Is this a punishment or a death sentence?"
"It's the Army boy!" a man replied and laughed. "It's always a punishment with a chance at a death sentence."
"Form up, two minutes!" a guard called from above.
Tomi did his best to imitate everyone else. He still didn't have boots.
Two minutes later two guards and a Captain walked in. The Captain wore a high collared jacket and a low brimmed hat. His face was crisp with a clean nose, and full ears.
"The Army has found you incapable of functioning within a proper unit." His voice was loud, with a hint of a crackle in his voice. "Your time here will begin with re-education. You are animals. Stupid animals. Animals to be retrained."
The soldiers stood with impassive faces. Tomi shifted uncomfortably, no one had ever talked to him like this. He felt the weight of the man’s voice and felt an urge to correct him. He certainly wasn't an animal.
"You!" the Captain said to Tomi. The Officer stomped across the room with the guards close behind. "Where are your boots?"
"Captain, he—" Corporal Mick said.
The Captain focused his eyes on Tomi and pointed a finger at Mick. "I asked this man. Where are your boots?"
"A thief took them."
The Captain blinked quickly as if surprised by the reply. "Sir? Did you forget a 'sir'? Are you deaf?"
Tomi opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. "No sir."
"Then why did you not answer my question with Sir?"
"I, uh, I forgot, sir."
"What's your rank, prisoner?"
"I'm a civilian, sir. And about my boots, sir?"
"Oh," the Captain said with a smile. "About your boots. Sergeant, this man lost his boots. Educate him." The Captain turned away from Tomi. "Everyone else double speed into the hall. Go, go!"
The prisoners exploded into action. The sounds of moving men echoed through the cold halls. Calls, orders, barks, and commands followed behind.
Tomi stood and shifted his feet. He looked at the Sergeant. He felt uncomfortable, beyond uncomfortable, he knew something bad was coming. A smile broke across his face.
"Run."
"Pardon?"
"I said run!" the Sergeant bellowed.
Tomi ran the only way he could, out.
The Sergeant cracked him on the bottom with his club.
Tomi shrieked and ran faster. He turned a corner and ran past hundreds of men and women. They stood in groups of a hundred. The only sound in the entire hall was Tomi panting and the thump of the Sergeant chasing after.
They ran out the end of the hall and then the Sergeant called, "Halt!"
Tomi gasped for breath.
The mist drizzled down the walls and soaked the gravel around the perimeter of the building.
"You're going to run around this building," the Sergeant said as he fished a wooden pipe out of his jacket. He blew on it and a bit of ash sprayed out. "Until I decide it's time to go inside. If I think you're too slow," he tapped the pipe on the club handle and gave it a knowing nod, "I'll beat you."
Tomi shifted in his socks. He eyed the gravel. It wasn't the crushed sort, but the type that would be found in a river bed. Smooth, almost like peas.
The Sergeant plucked out a wad of tobacco and tapped it gently into the pipe. He struck a match. It hissed and flickered in the wind. He puffed slowly, rhythmically, and the fragrant blue smoke wafted into the air. "Run," he said through clenched teeth.
Tomi ran.
The first lap he picked his steps gently, carefully. His socks balled up and his feet chilled. He panted and coughed in the wet air. The bland concrete walls passed slowly by. Tomi had never run this far in his life. When he turned the last corner the Sergeant was still puffing on the pipe.
Tomi stopped.
The Sergeant looked up from the pipe and grabbed the club. "I didn't say stop."
Tomi ran. And he ran. His legs ached, his feet burned, then went numb. The tiny pieces of gravel bored into the soles of his feet. His mind rebelled, all he could focus on was the senselessness of it. He had no boots! How could they ask him to run? Anger gave way to rationalization, and that was followed by reluctance. He accepted his fate.
His lungs burned. His thighs felt like knives jammed into them. With every footfall the pea gravel felt like burning hot balls of iron. He tried to stop, take a breather, but then on the backside the Sergeant "encouraged" him to continue with a crack of the club.
On it went. Tomi fell, stumbled, wheezed, and just when he thought he couldn't do anymore the Sergeant would appear and strike him with the club. He was alone in his ordeal, no one could watch, no one could see, it was just him and the pipe-smoking Sergeant.
The day grew dim, the mist slid down out of the sky into a streaming rain and finally the Sergeant halted the run.
Tomi could barely stand. His legs quivered and tears mixed with the mist. He'd never known physical pain like this. The exhaustion was total, physical, mental, and emotional.
"Attention to detail," the Sergeant said. He tapped the ash out of his pipe. "Now get back to your platoon."
Tomi shuffled back just in time to meet up with the rest of his group. Corporal Mick took one arm while another soldier grasped the other. They sat him on the edge of a bunk and Corporal Mick jammed a hard wheat roll into Tomi's hand.
"Eat it," he whispered. "Quick."
Tomi devoured the roll and by the end barely had the energy to chew.
"We'll get you some boots in the morn," Corporal Mick said. He helped Tomi out of his wet clothes.
Tomi let out a deep sigh and pulled the coarse wool blankets up to his chin. He was so tired he didn't have a chance to think about the day and sleep pulled him into darkness.
#
Chapter Nine
Lishun Delta - Mackinof Front
The stargate crackled and hummed. The packets were ready for the daily dump. The collated data for multiple armies sat in high powered antennas. Today was a day for a data dump, not a day for supplies or troops.
General von Kessel walked out into the icy air. His face was chapped from the dry air and his collar high to his cheeks. Even staff Officers suffered the frigid weather.
The men tending the transmitters saluted and returned to work.
"On your call, General," an Engineer said. The man rocked from side-to-side and slapped his hands on his jacket.
General von Kessel waited as long as he could. They would be expecting the signal back on Vasilov Prime. He looked up into the sky and knew that shortly after the gate opened would come the bombardment. "Very well, sound the alarms."
A mournful wail rose into the sky. All throughout the complex men and equipment scurried for cover. Then the artillery interception batteries, or umbrella, slid into place and the crews uncovered the multi-barreled interceptors.
The goal was for the high-explosive charges to impact with every single artillery round that came into range. The system was beautifully efficient. At its core was an array of quantum computers, the only thing capable of coordinating the cannons. At any moment they might track, and intercept, ten thousand projectiles. They had, according to the manufacturer, the capability to handle 100,000.
"Send it," General von Kessel said.
The gate erupted with static and a crackling sound. The snowflakes hissed on the outer edge until the superconducting carbon and nickel matrix flared. There was a popping sound and as suddenly as it started the gate wound down. Pools of water formed under the structure as the ground warmed.
"Acknowledged!" an Engineer shouted.
A cargo hauler leapt into action and pulled the stargate into a bunker.
"Everyone in!" General von Kessel said. He waited until the last soldier stepped inside and then he too entered the bunker. There was a fear on him like something was waiting to pounce. There is, he thought, and it's coming.
Lishun Delta - Mackinof Front - Firebase Delta
Corporal Karl Sigorski huddled at the bottom of an access shaft and prayed. The wailing of the alarms assaulted his ears. He kept his mouth open and waited. Even the frigid air was an afterthought.
"How long?" Private Sedan asked. Her voice was high, tight, strained. Her teeth chattered as she spoke.
A distant booming sang like drums on the horizon. It was a cascade of thunder. A great rolling of stone sounds mixed with the hard edge of steel.
"Now."
"But the umbrella will get it, right?"
Karl didn't answer. He swallowed once, twice, and waited for the shockwaves.
There was a sound like a chainsaw ripping into steel. It sang through the sky and echoed into the trenches. A moment later explosions rippled through the sky. The explosive slugs from the umbrella collided with the artillery rounds and detonated them one-by-one.
But as the hail of artillery came closer, the weight of the barrage sagged the umbrella.
None of this was a surprise to Karl. He adjusted himself and kept his eyes closed. It wasn't uncommon for a Kadan shell to slip through. Those once in a blue moon lucky shells. Or unlucky, depending on where you were.
The sound grew deeper. Larger artillery rounds exploded against the umbrella.
Bits of loose gravel and stone fell on top of Karl. He brushed them off and opened his eyes. Everything shook like a giant stomped inside of his eyeballs.
The sounds shifted and rolled and took on a bass tone. The larger of the rounds, massive mortars and liquid explosive charges, illuminated the sky.
A tinkling sound, like a thousand windows of shattered glass, rolled across the ground. Then tiny bits of shrapnel rained down, devoid of energy, and now just bits of scrap.
Karl finally relaxed and unclenched his teeth. His jaw ached. "Well, that one wasn't—"
A new sound erupted. A deep whistle and a hum and then the ground rippled.
"Get up," Karl said. He stood and clenched his rifle tight.
"What is it?" Sedan asked. She wore a nervous smile.
The sound struck again. The umbrella was silent.
"Everyone out!" Karl shouted. He slung his rifle over his arm and climbed up the steel rungs.
Karl's voice echoed down the chambers and others surged out from secure rooms. Soldiers pulled on jackets, loaded weapons, tightened boots, and surged out and up.
"There's no alarm!" someone shouted back.
"Get out! Get outside!" Karl shouted again. He didn't bother to look down. This was different, the sound was unlike anything he'd heard before.
The rumble struck again. A deep explosion rocked the walls.
Karl gripped the rungs as tight as he could.
An earthquake surged through the ground. Chunks of concrete and stone rained down the tunnel. Lights flickered and popped. Cries rang out in the darkness.
"Keep moving!" Karl shouted again, louder. A great fear gripped him and he pulled himself up one rung after the next.
His mind took in the details. This was new. They never got anything past the umbrella. Never. And now three strikes—at least three—and they were deep. Underground demolition? No, couldn't be, they'd have heard it.
Then he was out. He scrambled away from the edge of the hatch and propped his rifle up onto the edge of the trench. Other soldiers slammed weapons down onto the edge and peered into no man’s land.
The space between the lines was empty. The snow was broken in places, small craters marked where shell fragments landed, but there was nothing. Farther out, the snow swirled and danced and drifts grew. The twisted landscape of craters and dirt was a landscape of hell, with snow.
"Where are they?" Karl said.
"Oh god, it's gone," Sedan said.
Karl turned his head and gasped.
Great pillars of black smoke rolled up from the rear. The area around the stargate was devastated. A massive crater was nothing but muddy pulp. Drafts of steam and smoke rose up into the air as the soil chilled. Concrete compartments were broken open like cracked eggs. The entirety of the fortified base of the Mackinof front had been destroyed. All that remained were ruins and the outer trenches.
The whistle sounded again followed by a supersonic hum. A lance of light pierced the clouds and slammed into the crater. For a brief moment blue sky showed through the clouds. A light like a star burned through the clouds for the briefest of seconds.
Cascades of dirt, rock, concrete and steel rocketed into the sky and rained down into the trenches.
"Cover!" rang out from side-to-side.
Karl ducked low. Clods of soil and concrete dropped in clumps and heaps. He didn't want to think what some of the debris was. The moment the dirt stopped raining down he jumped back up to the edge of trench.
"What do we do?" Sedan asked.
"Get ready," Karl said. He propped himself up again and stared down the length of his rifle.
"Watch the line!" a Lieutenant bellowed. "Hold! We have to hold!"
"No shit," Karl mumbled, and thumbed the safety.
Hundreds of soldiers surged up from the depths and took stations all around. The wounded huddled next to the able, and anyone who could handle a weapon peered over the line. A heavy weapons team wedged an anti-tank cannon into the edge of a wall.
"Orbital," Karl said. "Has to be."
He'd reported the structure after the raid. The raid where he walked back alone. They never got a good look at it, just enough to know it was big. His Lieutenant had the scope with the photos and he was buried somewhere in no man’s land. The Intelligence Officer he briefed was sure the structure was just a construction crane. Nothing more. Now he was with a new squad, and he hardly knew their names.
"There!" a soldier cried out.
Karl focused into the distance and scanned his rifle from side-to-side.
The swirling mix of smoke and dust obscured detail. Shapes emerged and disappeared. A heavy machine gun opened fire down the line in sporadic bursts.
"Where's our artillery?" Karl mumbled. The chill wind struck him and he was afraid. The artillery always kept them back. It always held the line. The trenches caught those who made it through, but now... "Shit."
Sedan fired her rifle and the brass clinked onto the floor of the trench. Karl tightened his grip and let loose a round at a shape in the snow.
It fell in a heap and then was lost.
The sound of falling brass erupted all down the trench.
Karl flexed his fingers and pushed his snowmask over his face. It didn't make him any warmer, but kept the wind off.
The gusts blasted the line. Soldiers fired sporadically. Nothing seemed sure of how to proceed. Everything seemed mired in the mist. Orders wavered in the wind, men and women cried out for leadership. In some places it came from the Officers, in others people just stepped forward and took the reins. But mostly they lined up into the wind because that was what they were taught to do.
A line of Kadan troopers surged out of the blowing snow. They fired as they ran and tumbled as they came closer. The Vasilov soldiers opened fire en-masse. Almost the entire line of Kadan troopers fell dead. Some spun about and scrambled away only to be shot by the combined burst. They dropped into craters, behind snowdrifts, some just crumbled up and died.
Karl waited and picked his shots. He pulled in a breath, held it, and squeezed off a shell. One. Two. Three. Shoot. One. Two. Three. Shoot. Again and again, he fired.
All around the soldiers rattled off rounds into the snow. Kadan troopers emerged and fell but more came, more raced ahead, and still they fell. They came like ghosts through the winds and disappeared just as quickly.
"Make it count!" an Officer barked. The man ran down the length of the trench with his service pistol in one hand and a commset in the other. His helmet was gone and he stopped behind Karl.
The firing slowed down to an occasional pop. A higher pitched round sailed over the trench and reminded everyone that the Kadan were still coming. Karl peered at the nearest Kadan corpse and spat. Hate. Pure hate. It was a damned insect, barely intelligent. He wanted to race out and jam his Vasilov steel knife right into it.
The Officer spoke into the commset. "Lishun Command, this is Mackinof Base, we are down, condition black—repeat: condition black. Verify, verify, command word blossom. Blossom."
"Blossom," Karl mumbled. "Ya think they could've come up with something more masculine?"
Sedan didn't look. She scanned with her weapon from side-to-side.
"Corporal," the Officer said to Karl. "Get a rotation going here."
"Yes sir," Karl replied and stepped away from the trench. "In shifts!" Karl hollered. "Sedan, drop down, take five."
"Why?" she asked, her face tight with tension.
"Because we might be doing this for the next few days," the Officer replied.
Sedan dropped down and huddled tight. She pulled her collar up and tucked her chin down into her chest. All down the line others followed suit and dropped into the trench and waited.
A distant boom roared on the horizon. The sound of thunder rolled through the snow. The line grew silent as the soldiers huddled tight.
Karl's teeth chattered and he muttered a prayer. The first one that came to mind, the prayer his bubina taught him years before. She was an old believer, and believed most specifically in a strict home with a quick switch to the behind.
"The umbrella'll get it, right?" Sedan asked. She tucked herself tight to the wall, nudged her body against Karl's. "Right?"
"Cover!" the Officer shouted and ran down the line. "Cover!"
The roaring of the distant artillery grew. The intensity and tempo raced until it seemed to be one giant stream of rounds. Then, the rounds fell.
And the umbrella engaged.
Three batteries held. Three automated cells, part of a chain of a dozen, still fired. The multi-axis multi-turret system danced like it had never done before. Gusts of steam rolled up from the heat sinks. A mound of discarded propellant heaped along the outside. Soldiers pulled at it, making room for more of the spent cartridges. It flooded out almost faster than they could move it.
One of the mushroom-shaped devices balanced on the edge of a crater. Another was crumpled and open, the weather shield torn loose from the orbital bombardment, but it was operational. The third was in even worse shape, mechanics and Engineers crawled over the shattered hull, and it fired in bursts.
Karl screamed. He screamed as the rounds slammed down on the edge of the trenches. The concrete shook and shuddered under him. The only thing he trusted in that moment was the rifle he clutched tight to his chest.
Far above the trenches explosives shell detonated against the incoming artillery rounds. The efficiency was a beautiful thing, the umbrella system operated at near complete capacity and never allowed a single round to pass through the defined zone. The umbrella held.
Something fell into the snow beside him and hissed. Steam rose up and a gnarled steel edge glinted in the gray daylight.
He opened his eyes and blinked at the shrapnel. Cheers rang out throughout the trenches. "The umbrella!"
"Here they come!" the Officer shouted.
A high pitched shot rang out.
The Officer took a step then fell back onto the ground. He squirmed and groaned. A bloodstain spread on his collar.
"Medic!" Karl shouted and knelt next to the Officer. He saw the man was a Major named Hollins.
Major Hollins mumbled and the blood steamed in the cold air. Karl pulled the anti-coagulant packet out from the Major's pocket and jammed it onto the wound. The pressure released the gel and it slid out of the pouch and molded to the wound. Gunfire erupted behind Karl.
"Dammit!" He stood and shouted down the line. "Medic!"
Seeing none, he grabbed Major Hollins by the jacket and tucked him between two white faced privates. "Watch him!"
Sedan fired round after round. The puckered brass shells sizzled into the snow next to her. Karl stepped up to the edge and level his rifle. He was about to make a witty comment, something to inspire her, but instead he fired.
The Kadan troopers rushed forward like a wave of gray. They stumbled and bucked through the trenches and leaned forward into the wind. The mass of troops was unlike anything any of them had ever seen.
The first wave was just a probe, a test. Then the artillery came in assuming the umbrella was down. Now they sent it all. The weight of the Kadan sledge hammered down.
Karl braced the cold wood to his cheek and breathed like he was taught. Fire. Pause. Fire. One round after the next.
The first shot dropped a Kadan trooper and the insectoid fell forward like a hammer had hit it. The second shot blew an arm joint out of another and it spun around. Someone else finished that one.
Still the wave of Kadan raced ahead. They fired in groups. It was never a single trooper that fired, but a small pack would all halt at once and fire in unison. It worked surprisingly well. The Kadan would fall, but one or two of the Vasilovs would fall, too.
More soldiers surged up from behind the line. They were stained brown with mud and already it was freezing into a waxy sheen. A machine gun crew set up next to Karl.
"Hurry up!" Karl said to them.
Sedan fell back and dropped to the bottom of the trench. Her helmet bounced and spun on the ground with a single crease through the top. She looked up at Karl with wide eyes.
A Sergeant Major ran by and hoisted her up. "Off your ass, private!"
Karl laughed and resumed firing. He picked his shots and fired. A clock could have been set to his timing.
All down the line it continued, a cathedral of gunfire with an organ of steel. The Kadan ran into the wall and dashed themselves in a desperate bid to finally crack the Vasilov line.
The commset crackled and the two privates looked between each other. "Corporal?" one said to Karl.
Karl was too focused. He snapped round after round.
"Corporal!" the private blurted out again.
"What?" Karl snapped at the man.
"Comms, you're the rank here, eh Corporal?" The Private had a wild look in his eyes. The bolt of his rifle was half-cocked, a slug of rock was jammed into it.
Karl reached over, ripped the debris loose, and stepped off. "Focus! Take your time."
The commset crackled, beeped, and tones sang out. Karl scooped it up, huddled against the wall and cursed his bad luck. Now he'd have to pull the glove off to authenticate. He bit the tip of his glove, tasted leather, and popped it off. Immediately the cold air searched his barely warm fingers and he punched in his auth code.
The commset glowed green. Karl tucked an earbud in and hissed. It was cold, damn cold.
"—all lines stay in position. Take every third soldier and have them go to the east flank, repeat, every third to the east flank." Karl struggled to get the glove back on. He didn't worry about the message, he was the east flank.
"Again, incoming armor, all anti-tank units to the east flank. Every third to the east flank. East flank, do you read? Major Hollins?"
"Hollins is down," Karl said. "We're holding." He glanced up at the firing troops and at the wounded lying around him. Were they? He wondered if they could. It was never like this before.
"Roger east flank, hold that line."
"Where is the fallback line?" Karl said.
"There is no fallback."
Karl sighed and blew warm air into the glove. He felt it burn and slapped the glove hard against his leg. No fallback, great.
Major Hollins struggled to his feet and leaned against one of the Privates. He beckoned at Karl and clutched the commset. "Hold the line," he said to Karl.
"Yes sir," Karl said. He took a step back. He could see a hundred meters in each direction. At the end, the trench took a curve and then moved farther. This was his zone, he'd never found himself in charge of so many.
"Armor!" a voice called out. The anti-armor battery popped off a shell. A massive cone of snow erupted behind it before settling down into a sheet of white.
Karl didn't step up to the wall but instead ran and shouted. "Pick your shots, work in pairs, one rests, one shoots!"
"Corporal! We need rounds!"
"I'll get it!" Karl replied and discovered that his job wasn't to fight, but to keep everyone else fighting. He grabbed a pack of wounded men who could still move. They ran into the supply bunker and he sent them out to refill the lines. He paused before rushing back out and stared at the massive stacks of ammunition. He nodded and scooped up a bag of grenades. Then he set back out.
The wind slammed into him once he left the bunker. Almost every soldier stood at the line and fired. The only ones who didn't lay dead or wounded. He pressed coagulant packs into bullet wounds and stripped supplies from the dead..
More soldiers came and the trench line grew crowded. The anti-tank cell had toppled over and a team struggled to right it. Karl gave a hand, helped the barrel up onto the edge of the trench and finally got a good look.
The drifting snows had heaped higher but it fell no longer. Now the full extent of the assault was visible. Almost as far as he could see were Kadan troopers supported by Kadan armor. The armor was sloped in the front with wedge packs on the side. Low turrets on either side jutted out. Almost all were burning.
He stepped down, turned, and was slammed into the ground. A hot sensation spread through his back. He gasped for air and gulped, but nothing came. Arms grabbed him and drug him away. They stripped his jacket off, it was burned almost completely through on the back.
The anti-tank gun spewed black smoke. It was topped over backwards with the breech on the floor and the barrel pointed into the sky. The composite shielding and hydraulics burned intensely.
A Sergeant rushed up and spoke to Karl.
Karl watched the Sergeant's lips move but heard nothing but a tinny ringing. Someone put a dead man’s jacket onto him and he stood on shaky feet. The Sergeant ran past with more NCOs spreading out. Then the ringing changed and slowly Karl could hear.
"Hold the line! Draw bayonets! Hold the damn line!" The Sergeant stomped down the line and slapped soldiers on the back and spoke in a confident tone.
Karl pushed himself to his feet and rushed to the edge of the trench. He fumbled to draw his bayonet and realized he had no rifle. He'd lost it when the AT gun blew up. The pain shot through his back like little steely knives coming in, but he pushed past it. Then he saw over the edge.
A line of Kadan troops rushed forward with thousands more right behind. The machine guns blazed into them but it wasn't enough. They fell in clumps, in droves, in packs, but more filled the ranks. Then the grenades flew out and even more fell. The armored insectoids fell to the ground and the sickly yellow ichor blasted everywhere.
Karl leaned down and picked up a rifle and pushed it to his cheek. Cold, damn this thing is cold. Shoot! He squeezed a round and dropped a Kadan. Then he fired again and missed. Again, hit. Again. Hit. He caught movement in the corner of his eye and saw a huge group almost at the Vasilov trench.
Men and women cried out and fired as fast as they could. Grenades flew but the massed point of Kadan troopers were too many. They clashed into the trench and for the first time in years, it was hand-to-hand combat.
Karl dropped the rifle, drew his blade and ran toward them. The little sword was almost like a Roman Gladius, stout, thick, with a chisel point. It was designed to puncture the Kadan exoskeleton.
The Kadan fell into the trenches. The nearest Vasilov soldiers ran, wild-eyed and filled with fear. Others inside the trench fired at the Kadan but the breach was made.
A Kadan trooper spun, dropped to a knee and pulled out a stubby nosed weapon. The barrel bore was large enough for a man’s head. The trooper fought to engage the weapon.
Karl ran straight toward the Kadan and held his knife up at eye level. He ran like he never ran before and in a second covered the last few meters. The Kadan trooper raised the weapon, but just before it fired Karl slammed the blade into the creatures chest.
Karl rolled forward, tumbled with the trooper, and snapped the blade out of the leathery chest. The yellow goo ran down onto his arm and Karl wanted to vomit.
More soldiers rushed in and fought alongside Karl. But for every Kadan they killed, more rushed in.
Then a new sound came, a deafening roar, a horrible booming, and a shuddering in the ground.
Karl through for just a second that the orbital was back, but then he recognized that sweet sound. Allied artillery. Someone, somewhere, had gotten some artillery to fire. It wasn't the massive barrage of the past, but just a steady rumble.
Karl dodged in under a Kadan and stuck his blade into its abdomen. A man dropped dead next to him and Karl stabbed the offending Kadan. A hot searing pain stabbed into his leg. Karl spun to face a Kadan. It had plunged a bayonet into his calf. He screamed and grasped at it. His mind was lost in fear and pain. All he wanted to do was get away.
The Kadan leaned forward and glared at Karl with its multi-faceted eyes and then its head exploded. The creature tumbled and Karl screamed as the blade fell out. His fingers shook and he fought to smash the coagulant pack against his leg. The cold air tore at the open wound and he felt the blood icing up. The coagulant burned for a moment and then the wound was sealed.
Fresh soldiers rushed forward. Karl struggled to stand. He hobbled to the edge of the trench with one hand on the coagulant patch. He was dizzy with pain and the effects of the coag patch. But he had to look, had to see, had to know if they finally broke the charge. He heaved himself up next to the body of a Kadan.
The wave of Kadan troopers fell back. Artillery shells exploded through the Kadan ranks. The rounds fell sporadically, but it was enough to dull the charge.
"Why can't we fall back to LISCOM?" a Private said to Karl. He didn't look fearful, but feral.
Karl shook his head. "And then what? If we don't hold them here, they'll take LISCOM and then they'll be on Vasilov Prime."
The Private whimpered and slumped down.
Karl grabbed a dead man’s rifle. He hobbled off and prayed again, but this time he prayed that the orbital didn't strike again.
#
Chapter Ten
Vasilov Prime - Northern Industrial District
Heavy was the rain, heavy and dense. It fell in sheets and splattered into even the covered areas. Cargo cars stood idle in the train yard. Work crews raced between open ended warehouses and the dark maws of the cars. They moved great cases, crates, containers, and cylinders.
Colonel Clarke stood under an awning right at the line where the rain splattered. He was soaked right through his rain jacket. The day wore on him, but at least he had plenty of time. The last packet received from the Mackinof front showed that all was quiet.
A fat civilian bus rolled up on the edge of the train yard. The door opened and the horn honked, but no one got out. The police at the gate didn't look eager to step out and speak. The horn blared again.
"Captain Louis?" Colonel Clarke said.
"Sir!" Captain Damian Louis replied. The Captain was just young enough to look eager for command, but not so young that people thought he was a noble. Captain Louis was from farm country, and was built like an ox. The other Officers joked that they could still smell the manure.
"Go see if that's our guests."
Captain Louis sprinted out through the driving rain. He stopped at the bus and waved toward the Colonel.
Three dozen men and women rushed through the rain. They all toted heavy packs. Some hunched over under the weight while others stood like they didn't even notice. All of the packs were Sigg issue, covered in pouches, and in stark contrast to the simple styles of the Vasilov.
Umi Matsuo slowed his pace and walked right up to Colonel Clarke. He moved to salute and then caught himself and instead grinned and extended a hand. "Colonel, good to see you!"
"Captain Matsuo. We ordered some beautiful Vasilov weather for you."
Umi dropped his pack with a grunt. He sighed and ran his hand through his water-soaked hair. He slung off a handful of water. "We ran into some trouble, Cole."
"Customs?" Colonel Clarke said. He raised an eyebrow, it wasn't unheard of for foreigners to run into problems. He thought of Baron-Colonel Devos and frowned.
"I was attacked with Lieuten—err, Ms. Dell—on Sigg Orbital."
"Attacked? Boben?"
Umi shook his head. "I'm not sure. We'd just finished loading up Sevel when we came out and then it attacked."
"It?" Colonel Clarke said.
Other Vasilov Officers stepped up along with the Sigg. All eyes were on Umi. The rain fell in one last gust and then let up to a light drizzle. The silence that remained gave an eerie feeling and the chill air set in.
"It dropped down, a little thing in a black bodysuit. It had two blades. We kept it at bay for a second but it would've had us. Then a woman came in with a damned RPK-23."
"An anti-tank rifle?" Colonel Clarke said. His eyes grew wide. "In an orbital station?"
"She missed the first time and hit a container of cobalt ore, then the second round connected. It threw a knife at her, but it wasn't like anything we'd ever seen. The blade turned into liquid and grew inside of her until it, well, until she died." Umi's eyes looked strained and he sighed.
Colonel Clarke didn't know how to respond. It was one thing to order a man into combat, but to be attacked by an assassin was something else entirely. "Who was the attacker?"
"Not he, but it. It was a cybernetic organism of some sort. In about five minutes it oxidized into a pile of basic elements. The damnedest thing, just poof, a pile of rust."
Kelly stood behind Umi and wore a heavy arm brace. She nodded along as Umi told the story.
"Security came in, then the SigInt boys swarmed it with the research wing but there wasn't a damned thing we could find."
"Who was the woman?"
Umi shrugged. "No clue, she came in from the Caledonian Worlds earlier that day."
Colonel Clarke chewed on his lip and narrowed his eye. He didn't like it, not one bit, but what the hell did it have to do with them? A coincidence maybe?
"And Colonel, the last thing the woman said was: tell them to hold, they must hold. The Emflife are coming."
"Well, they're holding, nothing new on this mornings dispatches from any of the Lishun bases. Emflife, eh? I though that was some ancient story told to keep naughty aliens in line." Colonel Clarke looked at the faces of those watching him and Umi. They didn't look fearful, or scared, more curious than anything. "No use worrying about something we can't do anything about," Colonel Clarke said.
A whistle sounded and the train cars clanged.
Major Bresov stepped under the awning and pulled her rain hood down. She saluted Colonel Clarke and gave a glance at the Sigg mercenaries. "Colonel, the train is leaving."
"Thank you, Major, get everyone loaded." Colonel Clarke turned to Umi. "Are your, well, your associates ready?"
Umi gave a slight grin and glanced at the motley crew behind him. "Consultants?"
Colonel Clarke snorted. "I prefer mercenaries, now let's go."
"Load up!" Umi said.
They loaded onto cargo cars and tucked in wherever it was dry. Umi stood with Kelly, Major Bresov, a pack of Captains and Colonel Clarke. They swayed from side-to-side as the train car surged around corners.
"Colonel?" Umi said above the clatter of the steel wheels. "Why are we taking a cargo train?"
Colonel Clarke smiled a thin smile and leaned in close. "It's a surprise."
Umi's eyes lit up and a wide smile grew on his face.
If there was one thing good Officers loved, it was a surprise inspection.
#
Chapter Eleven
Lishun Delta - Mackinof Front - Power Distribution Node #4
"There it is, Captain," Engineers Mate Zedun said. He pointed at a frost ringed computer screen that blinked rapidly. "The stargate is buried under a hundred meters of, well, whatever is left of the command bunkers."
Captain Wyse shivered and peered at the screen through his own frosted breath. Deep. Too deep. He knew there was no way they could dig it out. "Wait, this is diagnostics?"
The rumble of artillery and the hum of the Umbrella above cut the conversation. The room of technicians and Engineers all froze. The sounds hung like a guillotine's blade, scarcely a man breathed. Then it stopped as quickly as it started.
"They're testing us," Zedun mumbled.
"Focus, soldier, are these diagnostics?"
"Da," Zedun said. "Why?"
"It's still operational."
Zedun and the other technicians perked up. The men stood and they all came close to the half-smashed computer console. They all spoke at once, arguing, cajoling, speaking, in the way that only Engineers can do.
Zedun leaned close to the screen and shook his head. "It's functional but structurally unsound. It'll collapse as soon as we open it."
"But how long?" Captain Wyse said.
Zedun licked his chapped lips. Already stubble grew on his face. He looked to the other technicians but no one said a word. "Fifty, maybe eighty milliseconds."
"Long enough for a data packet?"
Zedun fumbled with a pack of cigarettes and drew out a crumbled white stick. He lit it with a cracked match and inhaled deeply. The sparkle of the ember seemed so out of place in the cold. "Yes."
"Get it ready, I'll get Pavel on the cell."
"Pavel," Zedun snorted, "Colonel'd have your ass. No one calls him Pavel."
"Well, then don't tell him," Captain Wyse said.
He ran through the cloud of cigarette smoke, out of the room, and tore a commset out of a Lieutenant's hand with a nod for an apology.
"Get me Colonel Paksh! This is Captain Wyse!" he yelled into the handset.
"The Colonel is disposed, I can pass—"
"He needs to know this, now! It's about the stargate."
There was silence on the other end. A hissing and crackling zoomed in and out. Captain Wyse prayed that the same thing that was jamming the long distance comms wouldn't affect the short range. They hadn't been able to reach any of the other Lishun Delta bases. Lately it seemed the interference was getting worse.
"What?" a voice said.
"Colonel, this is Captain Wyse, the gate is operational, we can get a single data packet out. But the gate will be destroyed if we do." Captain Wyse shifted and squeezed the commset. The rumble of friendly artillery reassured him that there was still some fight left.
"Operational?" Colonel Paksh's said. "Do it! Tell them we can't hold unless we get more. We need more!"
"More what, Colonel?"
"Everything. Give them as much data as you can. Go!"
Captain Wyse sprinted back into the makeshift stargate control room. The Engineers still huddled over the screen. They stood in a cloud of cigarette smoke and frosted breath.
"Get it ready!" Captain Wyse said. He pushed himself through the men and knelt before the console.
Zedun and the other Engineers creaked into action.
Captain Wyse pulled his hands out of his gloves and set his fingers onto the icy keyboard. God it's cold, he thought, and typed as quick as he could.
Mackinof Command is destroyed. Line is holding, need reinforcements. Orbital bombardment, has not struck since 12 hours ago, repeat, orbital bombardment. 80% casualties. 3 functional umbrellas. Stocks running low. Send ammo, troops, and equipment.
He paused and felt the chill work into his joints. What else? He tapped a quick key and dumped the latest drone feed. They had a few drones circling but the data was spotty, he hoped that VASCOM could sort it out. Finally he hit complete, watched it encrypt, and hit ready.
"Zedun, status?" Captain Wyse asked as he pulled his gloves back on. He slammed his hands on his legs to get the blood flowing.
Zedun leaned away from a half smoked electrical cabinet. A single screen wore a spiderweb of cracks, but under it the information still flowed. "Ten seconds, on your call, Captain."
Captain Wyse shivered. The gate was the only way off the planet but there was no way they could ever hope to dig it out. If Mackinof fell, the Kadan would have a straight line right into the flank of LISCOM.
The electrical cabinets hum and shook. They creaked and the room grew just a touch warmer. Condensation iced up on the edges and the carbon wrapped cables relaxed.
Down in the depths, a hundred meters beneath the deepest chambers, the reactor hummed its timeless hum. It had a permanent stargate a few millimeters in diameter with a direct link to the weak star in the Lishun system. The star heated the coils and powered the reactor with molten lithium. It was a simple reactor, a reliable thing of Engineering beauty.
"Ready, Captain," Zedun said. He held his gloved hand over the emergency power switch. It would be a full electrical surge.
"Go," Captain Wyse said.
"Halt!" a new man shouted at the entrance to the Engineering room.
Captain Wyse spun around. He clenched his gloved fists. "Who the hell!"
A Major stood with a stubby nosed submachine gun clenched to his chest. The man was wounded, dried blood sat on his cheek like a patch of mud. His face was drawn tight and his eyes looked around wildly. A red ribbon hung on his neck, the Major was also a noble. "Do not activate that gate! It's our only way out!"
Zedun lowered his hand from the activation switch. The barrel of the Major's weapon pointed vaguely in his direction.
"Major, I have my orders." Captain Wyse stood. He let his hands hang at his side. His service pistol was tucked into a leather holster.
The other technicians stepped away from Zedun. Then two more nobles stepped in alongside the Major. One was a Sergeant, the other a Lieutenant. More men flooded in behind them but the Major kept them at bay.
"How deep? We can dig it out, it's out only way out of here," the Major said through chattering teeth.
"Zedun, engage the stargate." Captain Wyse said. His heart slammed in his chest. But he had to get the gate open.
"Do not!" the Major shouted. He brandished his weapon toward Zedun. The frost rimed muzzle pointed directly at the Engineer.
Zedun held his hand just away from the switch. His face was white and his eyes locked on the muzzle of the weapon.
More soldiers surged in past the Major and tackled some of the technicians. The Major was pushed from behind and stumbled ahead.
Captain Wyse slapped open his holster and pulled out a fully automatic KR7 machine pistol. He leveled his arm at the Major and looked down the length of the coal black slide. "Zedun. Engage the stargate."
Then the mob surged in. Men and women, wounded, sick, and healthy, tore into the room. They pushed aside the Major, the Lieutenant and the Sergeant and set in on the technicians. Zedun darted away from the console and raced out the back.
Captain Wyse stepped back with the pistol in front of him. "I'll shoot! Halt, dammit!"
The crowd still pushed inside the room. Soldiers raised rifles and shouted at Captain Wyse. They were wild with fear, but beyond that the weight of desertion was on them.
Someone fired and the room erupted with gunfire. On the far side a pair of the technicians fired from the cover of the door and kept the rioting soldiers at bay. Men and women fell, the Major toppled forward with a bullet hole in his throat. The Sergeant screamed and tried to push himself back into the crowd. But mostly they surged in without any regard to the incoming fire.
Captain Wyse dove behind a panel. A round creased across his legs and he screamed out. The pain burned. He crawled toward the electrical cabinet. Rounds ricocheted around him, pieces of cabinets dropped onto the floor, and then finally he was there. He'd have to stand to reach the power switch.
There was an explosion in the hallway and the mob went wild. More gunfire erupted and soldiers surged into the room. The riot was being subdued the only way it could be. Friendly soldiers fought through the halls.
"Cover me!" Captain Wyse shouted to the technicians.
One of the technicians fell to the floor and sat with his head on his chest. Blood poured out from the top of his head. The other rammed in a fresh magazine and fired on the crowd.
Captain Wyse stood and felt his legs burn. Then his hand was on the switch and he squeezed tight. It resisted his pull and he tugged.
A single round punched through his back and tumbled through a lung. It ricocheted off a rib and exited just next to his sternum. He caught his breath in his throat and dropped to the ground with his hand still pulling on the switch.
Deep underground the stargate flared into stone and rock. Concrete vaporized in an instant and for a brief moment the intensity of a star cleared the way. The data packet flowed through the few cables remaining and, for the briefest second, there was a connection to Vasilov Prime.
After twenty eight milliseconds, the stargate exploded. Forty milliseconds after that, the core of the reactor imploded.
The data console blinked a message: Packet Acknowledged. Then the power went out completely. The chill settled in.
#
Chapter Twelve
Vasilov Prime - County of Essen, Unassigned Land Rights
Colonel Clarke jumped down from the cargo car before the train even stopped. He stepped quick down the low embankment. The Sigg cadre along with the rest of his Officers followed suit. The sun was just a smudge on the horizon, a dirty orange thing half-hidden in the fog.
The Sigg spread out into a fan and walked a half dozen meters apart from each other. The Vasilov, in sharp contrast, fell into ranks and marched.
Colonel Clarke almost told them to do as the Sigg, but he knew his Officers would have to see and learn. "Major?"
"Sir!" Major Bresov said and ran up next to Colonel Clarke.
"Is the XO going to be waiting?"
"Sir, well, the last he said is he'd come in with the detail."
Colonel Clarke nodded. "He's a bit of a cowboy, eh, Major?"
Major Bresov looked around her and nodded with a slight smile. "He was, but don't call him that."
"So he really was a cowboy?"
The train cars finally screeched to a stop. The large penal battalion warehouse sat in the distance. A line of prisoners marched away from it, headed straight toward the rail cars.
Colonel Clarke walked to the center of the gravel platform. The Sigg fanned out and squatted near the edges of cargo containers, empty dunnage, and the remains of an old station.
A drizzle of rain plinked out of the sky and landed squarely on the Vasilov Officers, none of which seemed to pay the rain any attention.
"Are you from Prime, Major?" Colonel Clarke asked.
"No sir, from Wislaus Delta."
"It's nice, yes? I heard the fishing is amazing. Salmon, right?"
Major Bresov gave the Colonel a half-smile. "Yes, sir, salmon. You fish?"
Colonel Clarke snorted. "Some day I'm going to retire with a fishing pole in my hands. Lots of salmon on Wislaus."
Major Bresov just nodded back and watched the Colonel for a moment.
The group of soldiers marched into the loading area. They wore a simple uniform with no raingear. The slight mist soaked them. At the side walked three non-commissioned Officers. One Sergeant and two Corporals. They wore standard issue raingear and carried stubby nosed riot shotguns. They walked up warily and eyed the assembled Officers.
"Detail halt!" the Sergeant barked. The row of prisoners snapped to a stop and stood rigid. The Sergeant stepped up to Colonel Clarke and saluted. He wore the regimental crest of the 11th, Baron-Colonel Devos's unit.
Colonel Clarke returned the salute. "Sergeant, have your detail start unloading. Who is your CO?"
"Captain Kleminski, sir, shall I send for a car?"
Colonel Clarke shook his head. "No, Sergeant, that's not necessary." He stepped past the Sergeant and walked down the line of prisoners. He looked them over carefully and noted the lack of rain gear, how thin they all were, and how more than one wore a hefty set of bruises. He didn't mind some physical reinforcement, they were prisoners after all, but at a certain point it was counterproductive. Then he saw his XO, Commander Ahmed Arap.
Commander Arap wore the largest of the bruises. One eye was almost completely swollen shut. His lower lip was busted open and a thin line of blood mixed with the falling mist. He was a man built like a piece of rawhide: tight, narrow, focused.
Colonel Clarke picked him by reputation alone. Commander Arap told it like it was, regardless of who he spoke with. His personnel file noted him as "not promotable" and "reckless". Colonel Clarke thought the man was a perfect fit for a new kind of unit.
"Commander Arap, step out of ranks, please."
The Sergeant's eyes grew wide.
Commander Ahmed Arap stomped out of the line of prisoners and shook the rain off of his arms. He snapped a salute at Colonel Clarke, marched directly past and gave a sharp undercut to one of the Corporals.
The Corporal fell back into the wet gravel and his shotgun went flying. The Commander leaned down, gripped the Corporal by the collar of his raincoat, and lifted him up until his feet dangled in the air. "You dirty son of a bitch, I've never seen a more disgraceful example of an NCO."
The Sergeant and the other Corporal stepped back and eyed the Commander. They looked between the raging Commander and Colonel Clarke.
"Commander, walk with me, please. The Corporal isn't one of ours." Colonel Clarke walked away from the column and turned to the Sergeant. "As you were, Sergeant."
Commander Arap glared at the Corporal one last time and tossed the man to the ground. He stomped away and fell in beside Colonel Clarke. "Damned fine mess this is, Colonel. It's not a Penal Battalion, it's a goddamn prison. Nothing but bullshit, bumfucking, and bastards." He spat loudly to the side. "When we on our own, sir?"
"Soon, Commander, soon." Colonel Clarke stopped next to Umi.
Umi stood and shook Commander Arap's hand. "Cap—Umi Matsuo, I'm an, uh, consultant."
"Consultant, eh? You Sigg? I'm Arap." Commander Arap said.
Umi smiled a crooked smile. "Sigg, yes."
"How's them Boben?"
"Dead."
Commander Arap grinned and showed a couple of missing teeth.
"Commander, brief me." Colonel Clarke turned and watched the prisoners unload the train cars. No, he thought, not prisoners, they're my soldiers. They moved slow, ponderous, like prisoners, not soldiers.
"We've got drunks, addicts, thieves, peddlers, civilians, a few up on manslaughter and a handful of murderers. Hmm, let's see, deserters, malingerers, some odd-ball crimes, and a group of objectors. Even a pack of all-out anarchists."
"Objectors and anarchists, Colonel?" Umi asked. "How the hell does your military end up with conscientious objectors and anarchists in the ranks?"
"Conscripted, mostly. They're judged and sentenced if they cause mischief. Not much choice," Colonel Clarke said. At one time he thought conscription was the only way to go, but after seeing the Sigg he wasn't so sure.
Umi crossed his arms on his chest and glanced back at the rest of his group. "Helluva way to run an army."
"Yes, Umi, and it's what we got," Colonel Clarke said.
Neither Commander Arap or Umi looked pleased.
#
Chapter Thirteen
Vasilov Prime - Stargate Staging
A Lieutenant walked on the bare grounds and stared up at the stargate. He stood, as other Lieutenants would stand after him, and watched for something to happen. The wind cut across the open space and whipped the puddles into a frothy mess. He stepped around them and paced toward the far edge of the grounds.
The only thing that made him happy was that he wasn't on Lishun Delta.
There was a sound, a crackle and a hiss. The puddles shuddered and ripples rolled against the wind.
The Lieutenant stopped. He stared down at the puddle and his heart beat faster. He turned and raced away from the gate, toward the main command building.
The gate crackled once more and the rim of the massive structure groaned. Steam rolled off the edges. Then, for the briefest of moments, it popped. It was a tiny sound, almost like a ball dropping into the water.
He stopped and held his breath. Did that just happen?
The wind kicked up and the ripples rolled away.
An alarm wailed at the top of the command complex.
The Lieutenant ran and had a feeling he'd be on Lishun Delta sooner than he'd like.
Vasilov Prime - VASCOM
The data packet raced through antiquated systems that were laid out twenty years before. At each station it was copied, cloned, propagated, and sent out to another. Each of the Duchies received it, along with each of the individual Vasilov Armies.
Men and women woke, raced to posts, and took in the data. It was short, brief, with a cut-off drone feed that showed enough to get an idea. The Mackinof Front was falling.
Lord Darcy stomped past the guards and walked into the middle of the chamber. He scowled and almost stumbled on the edge of that damned dais. "Is this true?" he said.
Around him was a circular table with each of the Vasilov Dukes. In the center, Lord Darcy—the People's Lord—stood, a reminder to all that the power went through one man, but by the grace of the others. The room was tight, almost too small, and a marble pedestal stood with a sphere of the Vasilov colonies marked out in steel orbs.
"It's true," Duke Krenshaw said.
"God help us. Can they hold? When can we send more men?"
"Mackinof might have already fallen," Lord Salish said.
"I doubt that," Lady Atzi said. "What are we waiting for? This is a military matter, I move that we commit—"
"All of us?" Duke Krenshaw said.
Lady Atzi glared across the room. "You fool! If Mackinof falls, then Lishun Central Command falls. Then they're here, on Vasilov."
Duke Krenshaw stabbed a finger at Lady Atzi. "Don't lecture me, woman, I served my time there."
Duke Amatin, the youngest of the Dukes, stood. "We have concerns."
The other Dukes watched. Lord Darcy knew them all, had known some of them for over fifty years. Some were good men, others were not. But they all had one thing in common: a desire to remain in power. "The Vasilov Protectorate comes before any individual colony. If Vasilov Prime falls, then this entire sector will fall."
"But if I commit all of my troops, what of my neighbor?" Duke Amatin said with a wave of his hand toward the rest of the Dukes.
"What of other threats? I'll not commit all of my troops!" Duke Krenshaw said. He stood and leaned over the edge of the table. "I'll stand with Vasilov Prime, but well, my neighbors..."
"You coward," Lady Atzi said. The old woman scowled even more than usual and shook her head.
Duke Krenshaw stood and looked offended. He opened his mouth in surprise and feigned innocence. "Were you a man, I'd duel you!"
"Were you a man, we would duel," Lady Atzi snapped back.
A few of the other Dukes smiled but most just watched.
Lord Darcy watched the banter and thought. How much did the front need? Was that damned Colonel right? Once Mackinof was stabilized, they could, well, what could they do? "Each Duchy shall commit one Army Group."
The Dukes erupted in a furor of froth and bile.
Misers. Pennywise and pound foolish. Lord Darcy watched them babble and argue.
"That's double the man power that we have on Lishun now! Why, almost another ten percent of my forces. Would you so deprive me of protection?" Duke Krenshaw pleaded.
Half of the other Dukes nodded in agreement.
"If Lishun falls then it won't matter how many armies you have at home, we can only stand as one!"
"It will take time," Duke Amatin said. "Do we agree?"
"Time is not something that we have the luxury of, I've committed those Armies under Vasilov command, but they are worn troops, on rotation from the front."
"So we have some time," Lord Krenshaw said with a confident nod.
Lady Atzi stood and walked out of the room. Some of the other Dukes stood as she exited, while others regarded her with a scowl.
"Have you seen the drone feed fragment?" Lord Darcy asked.
A few of the Dukes nodded, most did not.
"Time is not something we have. This will be decided in weeks, not months. I implore all of you. Go! Go now! Before it's the doom of us all."
Lord Darcy turned and walked out before the Dukes could babble at him any more. The chamber doors creaked shut behind him.
Lady Atzi waited in the entry hall. "Fools! They don't understand how serious this is."
"No," Lord Darcy said and caught himself before he agreed with her. "But see it from their standpoint."
"I do, and they are worse men because of it."
Lord Darcy wondered where he fell in that judgment.
#
Chapter Fourteen
Vasilov Prime - Penal Holding Facility #5
"We've got about twenty straight up civilians, those will be the tough ones," Commander Arap said. "We don't exactly have a crack core of NCOs to drill them."
Colonel Clarke marched beside his XO. He was wet through, but he didn't much mind. There was a certain feeling to being wet and active. Though he didn't look forward to stopping. "I want a full tally once we move to the camp. We'll have to find the good NCOs and set them to work. The Sigg will supervise, they can make one hell of a trooper in a few months."
"What would they normally do in a Penal Battalion?" Umi asked.
"Learn to dig for mines, or lay barbed wire, or wash dishes, or whatever no one else wants to do," Commander Arap said.
"If they survived," Colonel Clarke added. "That's our job, we're investing good knowledge in these soldiers. I want them trained right."
Commander Arap gave a crisp nod. "Consider it done."
They reached the entrance to the prison building.
Colonel Clarke stood at the main door and glanced to either side. A well worn track circled the building, worn right down to the glacial gravel. "Sergeant, key us in, please."
The doors opened and a chubby Sergeant stomped out of the guard shack. "Hey! Who are—" He stopped and snapped to attention. A pack of guards followed out of the shack a moment later and they too snapped to attention.
Colonel Clarke marched in at the head of the pack without a single look to any of the staff.
The chubby Sergeant, the moment the Officers passed, waddled back into his shack. He snatched up his commset and leaned out to watch the procession march past. "There's a Colonel here!" he blurted into the handset.
They marched into the prison complex. Crowded cell blocks ran along the walls. The prisoners stood up from rubber matted bunks and moved to the barred doors. They didn't just watch, they gawked.
The faces that looked out were worn, drawn out, pale white, and cold. They sported bruises, drunken tics, and the gauntness of addicts. But beneath that they wore tattoos that spoke to deployments, time spent on Lishun Delta, the names of wives, girlfriends and children. Beyond the tattoos was marks that only combat produced. Scars, shrapnel pock marks, and stitch marks. Most missed ears, tips of noses, or at the least had the permanent suntan that came from being frostnipped and wind burnt.
Guards raced on the walkways above, not quite sure how to proceed.
"Open them up," Colonel Clarke ordered. He passed through the space quicker, picking up speed as he walked. His stride was almost a run, a tromping stomp. He'd walked in with a plan to show some bravado with a touch of charisma. Get them smiling, then lead them out. But now, after seeing them all like this, he felt nothing but anger.
A Lieutenant halted on the walkway above. "Colonel, well, I can't—"
"I said open them up! Open these cells or I'll smash them open." Colonel Clarke stood with clenched fists and stared down the line. They were his men, and by god he'd judge them himself. "Open this god damned door!"
"Is that an order, Colonel?" a voice said from above and behind Colonel Clarke.
Clarke spun and glared above him.
A Captain stood on the walkway. His posture put him at the position of attention, but just barely. There was a hint of a smile just hiding on the edge of his face. "This is my facility, I have no orders to release these convicts."
"Commander?" Colonel Clarke said without taking his eyes off the Captain. He didn't like the little bastard. "Provide the Captain with our orders."
Commander Arap stepped away from the rest of the Officers and climbed up a service ladder. His muscled arms rippled at every rung. At the top he pushed past two guards and snapped the orders to the Captain.
The Captain stared at Commander Arap for a few hard seconds and took the orders reluctantly. "A Commander then?"
Commander Arap spat at the feet of the Captain.
The Captain looked down at the spit and slid his foot back an inch. He glared back up at Commander Arap. "An Officer, but not a gentleman."
Commander Arap grinned, spun about, and slid back down the ladder.
The Captain read through the orders. He flipped through each page and then went back to the front. "Very well, Colonel. These orders cover the prisoners, but this is my facility. As such, I still retain command."
Colonel Clarke simply smirked and gave a nod to the Officers behind him. "In ranks, if you please, Commander."
Commander Arap sprinted down the length of the hall and shouted into each of the cells. He assigned each group a letter. "Get ready to move! Highest rank to the front, everyone else line up. Go, go!"
The other Officers followed suit. They ran to each cell and leaned in close. Only Colonel Clarke and the Sigg mercenaries remained in the center.
Colonel Clarke glanced up at the Captain and gave him a wry little smile.
The Captain glared down with his arms crossed and watched. His face showed nothing, but a little tic started on his cheek. He turned his head and spoke to a guard. The guard nodded and spoke into his commset. Alarms blared out and guards poured out of the halls and lined the walkways. Guards with assault rifles.
In each of the tight cells the soldiers quickly lined up into two ranks. At the rear of each line the soldiers propped up those who couldn't walk.
Commander Arap sprinted down the center of the hall and snapped to attention in front of Colonel Clarke. "Battalion ready to embark!"
"Thank you, Mr. Arap." Colonel Clarke looked up to the Captain on the walkway. "Open the cells, Captain."
"The prisoners will riot!"
"Open these doors, Captain. There will be no riot."
Commander Arap spun about and shouted down the hall, "Battalion, prepare to embark!"
The Captain spoke into his commset. He shook his head at Colonel Clarke and frowned. "Rifles ready!"
The guards with rifles raised them to their shoulders and stared down into the hall. The sound of falling rain clattered onto the warehouse and the air felt thick.
A mechanical shudder ran down the length of the cell block. The doors slammed open.
Colonel Clarke held his breath and stood at the position of attention. He could feel his hands sweating and he hoped, no prayed, that the prisoner would behave like soldiers. This was part of his plan to treat them as soldiers and not as prisoners. He didn't want a wall of meat shields, he wanted those who sought redemption. And for that he had to show trust.
No one stirred inside of the cells. A cough echoed down the hall and someone swore. The sound of the rain hammering on the roof cascaded through the hall.
"Battalion!" Colonel Clarke said.
"Alpha Company!" Commander Arap echoed a moment later.
Colonel Clarke waited a moment, eyed the Captain on the walkway, and spoke. "March!"
"Alpha Company, march!" Commander Arap said.
The first row of prisoners marched out from the cell. A woman led them. She wore an eye patch and had an alcohol-stained nose. Her thighs were like tree trunks and she stomped alongside the soldiers next to her.
And then they streamed out, rank after rank, company after company. They marched, as best they could. The sound of shuffling feet had half a rhythm, but nothing like a disciplined group.
Colonel Clarke watched. He studied the Officers that led each group as they marched past him. They had fallen the furthest and, he hoped, would work the hardest.
A man stumbled past wearing only socks. As he stepped, Colonel Clarke saw that the bottoms were red with blood. The man didn't look like a soldier at all, too thick in the middle with a swagger more than a march. He almost stopped the man, but this wasn't the place.
The last company marched past and the Sigg mercenaries followed behind. The Captain on the walkway was almost red with rage. Colonel Clarke snapped a crisp salute and marched out with Commander Arap at his side.
When they marched out of the main hall, Commander Arap spoke. "They need some polish."
"I'm certain they need a good deal more than that."
They marched out into the rain. The entire battalion stood in ranks, nearly a thousand men and women. They stared ahead with locked eyes. The rain smashed into the ground in cascading sheets, the low mountains in the horizon were totally obscured in cloud.
Colonel Clarke marched in front of them and pointed to the thin road that wandered away from the prison. "You'll march as soldiers, not prisoners. Commander Arap, the Battalion XO will lead you out."
With that, Colonel Clarke stood in the rain and watched as his battalion marched into the distance. Once the last group marched off, he stood next to Umi. They were both beyond soaked.
"What do you think, Umi?" Colonel Clarke asked as he wiped the rain off his face.
Umi shook his head. "I think we better start walking."
A man raced out from the prison and shouted after them. "Colonel!"
Colonel Clarke halted and waited for the man.
The Corporal snapped to attention and handed a thin dataslate over.
"Thank you," Colonel Clarke said and glanced at the tablet. The rain beaded up on the screen and he tipped it so he could read it better.
The Corporal saluted and sprinted back out of the rain.
"Documents?" Umi asked.
Colonel Clarke read faster, his heart beat quicker and he looked up at his battalion marching into the distance. "No, Umi, orders. The Kadan are about to capture the Mackinof Front."
#
Chapter Fifteen
Vasilov Prime - County of Essen, Training Camp
Tomi was at least thankful that the rain stopped. With every step his aching feet squished on the gravel. They were beyond sore. The medic, Kallio, had told him that he'd be okay, but to try and stay off them. Fat chance now, he thought. On one arm a gorilla of a man named Hutchins held on, while Corporal Mick held the other.
They climbed a low ridge in silence. The paced slowed even more until they finally crested the ridge. Then came the order to break ranks and take a ten minute break. All at once they spread into the soggy grass and squatted in clusters. The Sigg stood in a pack at the rear, with the Vasilov Officers huddled tight.
"What they talking about?" Hutchins said.
Corporal Mick turned his head and squinted. "I bet we're lost."
Hutchins squinted at Mick and glanced around. "But we're on a road."
Corporal Mick grinned and Hutchins huffed.
Kallio squatted in front of Tomi. "Show me dem feet, eh?"
Tomi winced and straightened his legs out. The cold, wet, grass drained even more energy out of him.
Kallio snatched up one foot, and turned it from side-to-side. Then she grabbed the next and poked at the heels.
Tomi cried out and tried to pull his feet back.
"Psht!" Kallio hissed and shook her head. "Toughed up gascon, but eh? Mick? Hutch? Give him a hand, eh?"
"I need boots," Tomi said.
"Yah?" Kallio said and walked away.
"Don't worry, Private Tomi, we'll get you boots soon enough," Mick said. He stood and stretched his back. "Get up and stretch a bit, we'll be moving soon."
"But I—"
"Shaddup," Hutch said.
They help Tomi up and braced each of his arms. Then, like a pack of geriatrics, the battalion rose. The order came and they hobbled off, even slower than before. It was a sorry sight, but slowly they walked along.
They marched through a valley that was filled with waist-high colony grass. The next hill was topped with a line of signs spaced a hundred meters apart. Each sign was a red diamond with a black star burst on it.
"Artillery range," Mick grunted.
"What?" Tomi asked.
Mick said nothing until they crested over the ridge. There, on the other side, was a landscape of hell. Shattered trees and low scrub lay in divots and craters. It stretched to the next ridge, fresh craters, old craters ringed with moss, and shattered stones. The road ran parallel and curved away at the ridge.
A low row of a dozen tents and ready fabricated buildings sat in the distance on the edge of the crater field. The ground was sheared clear of any grass around it. Bulldozers, a portable reactor, and several staff cars were parked in a row at edge. A single flagpole rose up at front with the Vasilov flag flapping lazily.
"Home sweet home," Corporal Mick said.
Hutchins grunted and shifted Tomi on his back.
"Make it sharp!" a Lieutenant in a prisoner's uniform yelled as he marched past.
"I should have stayed in prison," someone grumbled from the ranks.
Tomi said nothing and focused on how much his damn feet hurt. Now that he'd been off them, alternating between Hutchins's back and hobbling with Mick, the nerves flared. It was like a thousand hammers drove tacks into his soles. Now he stared at the rows of tents. "Where do the rest of us stay?"
"Eh?" Mick said.
"There's, like, a dozen tents and some funny looking buildings."
"We'll set up our own," a woman with a shaved head said.
"Who are you?" Mick glanced to the woman.
"Sergeant Nikov." She was taller than Mick, almost as tall as Hutchins. She leaned forward like she bore a weight on her back. Her brown eyes were sunk into her head and a kaleidoscope of bruises around her eyes. On her left hand were only four fingers, the pinky was but a stub.
"Yes, Sergeant!" Corporal Mick replied with just enough enthusiasm to keep himself out of trouble.
Tomi tried not to stare, he could tell she was once beautiful. He could also tell she was addicted to Kettle. He shook his head, she'd be lucky to survive.
They marched onto the gravel flat next to the tents. The battalion stood in ranks, not at parade rest, but as a mob. Some sat in the dirt, others leaned on their mates. Everyone looked dog tired.
"There goes the good spots," Sergeant Nikov said.
The Sigg mercenaries broke ranks and walked into the low tents. They didn't even look tired from the march. Three of them broke into a flat-out run and raced into the nearest tents.
"Huh," Hutchins said.
"Words of wisdom," Mick added.
A Lieutenant in a prisoner's uniform stopped in front of Sergeant Nikov. "You, get two soldiers, send them to the supply Officer over there." He pointed toward a large stock of equipment and containers.
"Yes sir!" Sergeant Nikov replied and pointed at Hutchins and Mick. "Go."
They stood with a groan and trotted off toward the supply depot. Dozens of other men and women ran toward the same spot.
The Lieutenant continued. "My name's Lieutenant Juhl, for the time being I'm your platoon leader." He stopped and coughed and looked around uneasily. "First thing, get tents set up. They go there," he said and pointed to a line of blue tipped steel posts. "Make 'em crisp."
"Lt?" Sergeant Nikov said.
"What?"
"I got a man who needs medical attention."
Tomi shivered and his feet burned. He wasn't sure who, or how, to ask for help. It seemed any time he spoke before it ended up in running or beating.
"First inflatable hab, but get back quick. We've got tents to set up."
"Sir," she replied and helped Tomi to his feet.
They hobbled across the gravel.
"I, uh, well, thanks."
"Listen, there's a chain of command. If you have a problem you start at the bottom. Ask me or Mick or whoever is your squad leader. Then we work it out, if it can be worked out. For now just keep your damned mouth shut and do whatever you're told."
Tomi nodded and winced as he struggled up the low steps. They walked into the hab and the air felt a dozen degrees warmer. He wanted to sit down and fall asleep.
A combat medic stepped over and stuck a number patch onto Tomi's chest. He scanned it with a tablet. "What's the issue?"
"Feet," Sergeant Nikov said.
The medic squatted down and poked Tomi's feet. "Ouch, yah, we'll get ya fixed up. Doc is getting the Arnault set up."
"Arnault?" Tomi asked. He had an intense dislike for anything medical.
"ARNLT, Automated regrowth and liquid tissue," the medic said.
"Can he get some painkillers?" Sergeant Nikov said.
The medic gave her a glance and shook his head. "There isn't any."
"The man’s in pain," Sergeant Nikov said, louder. "And you don't have anything?"
"Hey," the medic said and jammed a finger at her. "I don't take shit from an addict. We don't have any, otherwise you dirty fuckers would just steal it all."
Sergeant Nikov stood and balled her hands at her side. The bruising on her face flared and a trickle of blood rolled out of a nostril.
The medics face softened. "Listen, its going to be bad here for a while. You, I mean, a lot of people have to detox. Painkillers ain't gonna help, Sergeant."
Sergeant Nikov stormed out.
The medic left Tomi. The room filled up with a line stretching outside. Tomi's eyelids drooped and he stifled a yawn.
The door snapped open and the medic helped Tomi inside. There was a clutter of equipment with a large vaguely medical looking cylinder in the center of the room. Attached to it was paddles, a tub on the floor, and a full trauma bed in the rear.
"Boot size?" the medic asked.
Tomi told him and sat on a hard plastic chair.
A doctor in a prisoner's uniform stumbled in. His face was a mass of bruises that put Sergeant Nikov's to shame. Dried blood was crusted beneath his nose and at the corner of his eyes.
Tomi wanted to get right back up and run.
"Socks off, feet in the tub," the doctor said. His voice was raw, raspy.
Tomi peeled what was left of his socks off and set his feet into the tub. A cold liquid streamed in and he gasped. Why was it always cold? Everything in a doctor's office was cold.
"This is going to sting."
Tomi remembered what the medic said. No painkillers.
The top of the tub slid shut and clamped onto his ankles. The doctor punched a few keys.
Tomi felt a tickle at first and the water grew warmer. He let out a breath and thought, just for a second, that maybe it wouldn't be too bad. Then a fire slammed into his feet and he cried out.
The doctor watched with indifference on his face. "Don't kick."
Tomi gritted his teeth and squeezed his hands. It was hot, boiling hot, like his feet were on the surface of the sun. Blue light blared out from the edges of the tub. He was sure that the doctor was totally incompetent and had done something terribly wrong.
The blue light blinked out and the doctor yawned. He flipped up the top and the liquid drained out. "Get up."
Tomi could barely breathe. The pain slowly slipped away. He looked down expecting to see charred stubs and instead was greeted with a set of suntanned feet. The burning was still intense, but the hot nails of agony were gone. He looked up at the doctor.
"Your epidermis was flooded, electrified, and baked with ultraviolet light," the doctor said. "Now get out."
Tomi stumbled out the door and into the arms of the medic.
The medic handed him a pair of crisp gray toned boots. "Go easy on it for a few days, you're on light duty 'til Saturday."
Tomi sat down on a crate of supplies and squeezed his still burning toes into the boot. "It, well, it's too tight!"
The medic shook his head. "No, you're too fat. In a few weeks they'll be perfect."
Tomi laced them up as tight as he could and stepped out into the afternoon mist. The tents were rising up like mushrooms on the gravel plain and he rushed off to help. Or at least as quick as his tender feet would allow.
#
Chapter Sixteen
Lishun Delta - Mackinof Front
"Get ready!" Karl shouted down the line. He ran behind the soldiers and hopped over crumbled bits of wall and snowdrifts. His lips burned and his teeth chattered. Where was his relief? Son of a bitch, he thought, probably sleeping.
Men and women huddled just below the top of the trench. The booming rumble of the distant artillery was never ending. The bombardment hadn't stopped in two days. It ebbed in intensity before slamming back later, like waves rumbling onto the rocks.
"Hey! Sebinski, up, e2h?" Karl said, helping a man to his feet. "Get your mask on, your nose'll freeze off."
He looked down the line. He recognized the details of his squad. A bullet hole in Sedan's helmet. Pachinski's black face mask. Delles's hunched shoulders. The cut of Wallas's jacket in the Palov style. Farther down he saw a group from the planet Kamchatka in their longcoats with high collars. Mixed through were soldiers whose names he didn't know yet. At the end of his trench was Corporal Ivanov, in two overcoats, staring around the corner at the remnants of the 67th Guards.
The wind kicked up and a wall of white flowed over the top of the trench. Everyone huddled low, Karl tucked next to soldier and waited. The gritty snow was in his mouth, his ears. He held his glove over his mouth just so he could breath.
He wanted to sleep, to close his eyes and just get a couple of minutes. They were beyond tired, he could see it on how they moved. Worst of all was the hunger. You can bear the cold, he thought, with food in your stomach. But now a cold pit grew in his stomach and the shivering was worse.
The wind stopped. The line of soldiers brushed off. The drifts in the trench steeped higher.
"Sergeant Sigorski! Sigorski!" a voice called from down the trench. More voices echoed the call.
"Here!" Karl called out.
Sergeant. He still couldn't get used to the promotion. Nor did he particularly like it. They'd lost so much of the command structure that he had command of a full combat platoon. Well, as full as it could get filled with half-frozen wounded soldiers.
A private stumbled through the snow and saluted Karl. "The Colonel says you're to watch for an opening. Send a runner if you do and seize the contents immediately."
"An opening? A gate opening?" Karl asked. Relief. Food. Escape.
"Yes, Sergeant, we received a ping from LISCOM, they said to be ready. But without a gate on our end it could pop out anywhere nearby."
"What's coming? Men? Supplies?"
The private shook his head. "I don't know."
Gunfire rattled off down the line. Heads popped up for a quick look and more stepped up to fire.
"They're coming in!" a soldier called out.
"Thanks," Karl said to the private and jumped up on the edge next to Private Delles. He gave one look to his commset and jammed it back in a pocket. Still jammed.
Private Delles scanned from side-to-side with a set of telescoping thermal binoculars. One tube was cracked and broken. "One hundred meters, they're coming in clusters."
Karl hopped down and cupped his hands to his mouth. "One hundred meters and closing! Free fire! Watch for a stargate link!"
The word passed down the trench and heads turned toward Karl. The soldiers took position with the rifles.
Karl hopped up on the edge and lay his rifle on the parapet. The visibility was barely fifty meters. His eyes ached from the white. Only clumps of brown broke the landscape, soil churned up in the artillery barrages.
Private Sedan spoke without taking her cheek off her rifle. "A hole out, Sergeant?"
"Hmm." Karl scanned with his rifle. He didn't even know what it would look like. If it came any farther than fifty meters the teams on Vasilov would find Kadan pouring through.
A few rounds popped off. Then more. A machine gun team opened fire in rapid bursts. Brass hissed into the snow.
Karl looked down the trench at the line of hooded heads. No bared faces, good, all have helmets, good, god it's cold. We should drop down, do twos, no, he thought, can't, gotta watch for that damned stargate link.
"Contact!"
Karl broke out of his thoughts and snapped his rifle up tight. He sent a three round burst into a cluster Kadan and soon they fell.
More Kadan surged up. They wore gray-studded armor with snow and clumps of frozen dirt. They stumbled ahead, almost oblivious to the fire coming at them. One stopped and heaved a belt of grenades. It fell to the ground before completing the arc and detonated short of the trench.
Karl fired faster, more brass fell to his feet. They, luckily, had more than enough ammunition. At least for the rifles, he thought. He wanted to call for artillery, but he knew that the surviving batteries were low.
"Break!" a voice shouted, and a soldier dropped down. Then another called out, and another.
"Runners! Ammo!" Karl yelled.
Soldiers raced out of the dark holes with crates of ammo. They stumbled through the drifts and lumped out the ammunition. Calls came for supplies and they darted off.
Karl snapped off a round into a Kadan and tried to keep an eye on his soldiers. Was everyone okay? He hadn't heard any cries yet.
Fifty meters away there was a massive circle of light hovering a dozen meters above the ground. Inside was a gray drizzly sky with construction lights blaring. Crates and containers flew through the gap. They tumbled into the craters of the wasteland.
Soldiers surged over the trench. They sprinted through the craters and strings of wrecked barbed wire.
"Cover!" Karl shouted. There were more than enough troops already over the line. Thank god for the umbrella, he thought. Otherwise the artillery would eat us up.
The Kadan halted, as if unsure of how to proceed. Soldiers crouched behind the mound of crates and fired into at the Kadan. Overburdened troops bumbled through the snow, wide grins on their faces, and tossed the crates into the crater.
"Keep moving! Every third, get up and give cover! Secure those supplies!" Karl hopped down and grabbed one of the ammo runners. "Hit the next trenches, tell them we need more support, now!"
The soldier nodded and raced off.
The rate of gunfire dropped away until only random cracks shattered the wind.
More soldiers raced down the trenches. There was a sizable group huddled on the edge of supply dump. Soldiers ran back and forth, they didn't even wait to get to the edge, they just threw the cases and crates. Then back out with grins on their masked faces.
Karl helped drag it into the trench then sent the ammo carriers down into the dark shelters with it.
"Sergeant, where'd they go?" Private Sedan asked.
"We've got plenty of covering fire out there, they fell back," Karl said. He hauled another crate to the side. The crates came faster than he could move them.
"I got a bad feeling about this," Sedan mumbled.
"Well, time to work that feeling off, go get some crates."
Sedan lowered her head, slung her rifle over her shoulder, and crested the wall.
Bad feeling, ha, this whole thing is a bad feeling, he thought. This is the first good thing to happen. We finally have some supplies.
Karl grumbled and kicked a crate. "Bad feeling, she says."
A massive roar shook the ground followed by a screeching hiss. Every bit of fresh snow exploded into the air like a raging blizzard had just settled.
"Everyone in!" Karl bellowed. "Move, move!" He climbed up onto the edge and peered into the white. "Move!"
More cries came from down the line as those in the trench yelled at those outside. The roar dissipated and was gone.
Karl pointed his pistol into the sky and snapped off three rounds. Good god, he thought, what was that? The umbrella never went off, it couldn't be artillery. It definitely wasn't an orbital. Oh shit. "Air raid! Everyone down!"
An orange cylinder appeared out of the clouds and tumbled to the ground. It was almost a lazy fall until it was just a meter above the ground. It exploded in a brilliant cloud of orange and speckled white. The cascade of violence ripped out in a haze, then orange flames followed.
Karl screamed. He leaped down into the trench. His back was, for the first time in days, warm. The shockwave slammed into him before he landed and he crashed against the back wall of the trench.
The air roared and burned above the trench. The expanding gases erupted until finally the combustibles were spent. The roar echoed into the snow and finally there was silence.
The landscape was completely different. Every single bit of snow for a hundred meters was completely melted. The barren gray and brown soil looked even more horrible as it smoked and steamed. Bodies lay at odd angles, some still clutching crates and boxes. Nothing remained of the opening to Vasilov Prime, the bulk of the supply depot was gone.
"Oh god," Karl groaned and rolled over. The bottom of the trench was wet and his first thought was to get away from the water. He sat up and stumbled to his feet. His eyes wouldn't focus and he kept swallowing, his ears were choked with sound and overwhelmed into a roar.
An ammo runner raced over and helped him up, while at the same time patting the embers on the back of Karl's jacket. All down the line soldiers stood in shock and crawled back up to the edge of the trench. The water froze solid and any steam drifted away into clouds of snow.
"I hear you!" Karl screamed at the ammo runner. He fell forward and braced himself on the wall. I should have known, son of a bitch, I should have known. My fault, dammit, my fault. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut.
"Hey! Hey! I told you!" Sedan yelled in Karl's ear.
Karl snapped open his eyes and stared at Sedan. "Good god, you made it!"
Sedan's face was sunburned and raw with a few blisters on the edges of her cheek. Her hair was singed and her creased helmet missing. "I told you!"
"I know," Karl mumbled, and pulled himself up to the trench edge. He took in the full extent of the airstrike. This was now an entirely different fight. The Kadan didn't have any air assets, there was someone new here to fight.
Karl unslung his rifle and set it on the edge of the trench. "Get ready!"
The Kadan came once again.
#
Chapter Seventeen
Vasilov Prime - County of Essen, Training Camp
"Everyone take a seat," Colonel Clarke said. He looked out at his Officers and recognized faces from the personnel files. Or at least some of the faces, others were gaunt, thin, bruised in the face, or worse. He stared at Doctor Keniski for a long moment and shook his head. The Doctor looked like a train wreck.
"Yesterday the Kadan launched what we think was an orbital strike on the Mackinof front." Colonel Clarke turned and keyed up a digital map on the screen behind him.
The map showed the topography of Lishun Delta. The Mackinof Front was in the North holding a chokepoint, Lishun Delta Command in the center, and finally the Reach in the South. Mountains bracketed Lishun Delta Command while the Reach was an isthmus surrounded by slushy, impassable oceans.
"Eight hours later another strike hit LISCOM, and eight after that they hit Reach. Of all the strikes, Mackinof took it worst, they had mostly cleared out Reach and LISCOM by the time the strikes came. But they're hurting."
The Officers mumbled among themselves. Only the Sigg cadre in the rear said nothing. The ranks of Vasilov Officers were separated in two camps, on one side was those in prisoners' uniforms. On the other, as if an invisible line traversed the room, were the rest of the Officers.
"Vasilov Prime has recalled all reserve units and is preparing to reestablish stargates with LISCOM and attempt to hold the fronts. If either Reach or Mackinof falls, the Kadan will have a straight line through the passes and will eventually crack LISCOM."
The screen panned to the side and the Mackinof front zoomed into view. In the rear craggy cliffs rose up with the central command fortress in the middle. Concentric rows of trenches cycled out until they reached the scarred lands between the lines.
"VASCOM pieced together the drone feeds and it looks like this." Colonel Clarke keyed the display.
The clear image was replaced with a mass of destruction. The entire command complex was gone. All that remained was a snow covered ruin and a jumbled crater. The inner rings of trenches were broken in places, and intact in others. The umbrella positions were highlighted along with a pack of artillery.
Someone whistled in the crowd. Another person swore loudly. They all had a look of shock on their faces.
"The Kadan never had any orbital assets. Nor did they have the ability to jam our comms systems. We face a different enemy than we have all these years. In one week we'll move the majority of this unit to VASCOM and deploy to the Mackinof front. I'll lead those soldiers, and the XO, Commander Arap, will remain behind to receive the armored units. Once we have the armor, then they too will deploy."
"But Colonel—" a Captain in a prisoner uniform said.
Colonel Clarke raised a hand. "If Lishun Delta falls, the Kadan can assault Vasilov Prime. Not only must we hold our positions, but push ahead and strike at the Kadan line and drive them off the planet. Then, and only then, can we be assured of our ability to hold the planet."
The Officers blinked. One man laughed and bowed his head.
Colonel Clarke could feel the disbelief in the room. Could see the shock on their faces. Not only was he asking the impossible, to hold a fallen line, but he wanted them to strike out and win a war that was unwinnable for the last thirty-five years.
"Brief your men, get your gear, and get chow. Training will begin at 0500." Colonel Clarke snapped off the display. "Questions?"
"How can we, a bunch of, well, look at us Colonel, a bunch of drunks and drug addicts and cowards, win this war?"
"We will not be fighting like Vasilov, but like Sigg. They just won their war with the Boben. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and technologically behind, but still came out on top. We're going to do the same thing."
Oh god do I hope, Colonel Clarke thought.
"And everyone, get out of those prisoner uniforms. I don't want to see that outfit again. I'll forward you all your command packets this evening. Dismissed."
The Officers stood, snapped to attention, then walked out. The Sigg remained in the back.
Colonel Clarke waited 'til the last of his line Officers walked out and the door flap sealed shut. There it was, those who would lead his soldiers. When he first assumed command he had hoped for the wrongly charged, spurned by the system, or just rebels. Now he saw broken soldiers, drunks, addicts, the idiotic and the suicidal. But almost all were at least infantry, his ranks of civilians were mercifully thin.
"Is the training plan ready?" Colonel Clarke said.
Commander Arap snorted and glanced at Umi. "We just boiled down three months of basic maneuvers into two weeks. But Colonel, we just can't cram it all in."
Umi shrugged. "We'll do what we can with the time, but they're gonna be run raw by the time we're done. Colonel, we just can't turn them into an elite unit. Not with two weeks."
"We can't operate like we've always done."
"How did it get like this?" Umi asked. He waved a hand and shook his head. "How can you fight a war like this for thirty-some years and not make progress? I've seen the Vasilov, you have the forces to do it."
"It became an institution, Umi. In the Vasilov Protectorate, you move up in society by serving, and you move higher by serving with distinction. So, through history, the different planets would skirmish and gain a few nobles every time."
Colonel Clarke stepped over to his tablet and changed the screen to show the Vasilov Protectorate planets. Lishun Delta hung on the very edge with gray space on the other side. "Our charter gave Stefan Vasilov the systems up to Lishun Delta. We held a garrison there but saw no value. It has some mineral wealth, but it's a frozen wasteland. Or was until the Kadan came. And then the war started. Commander, you know some of that history, would you please?"
Commander Arap stood and clasped his hands behind his back. He grinned and bared his broken teeth. The bruising on his face was already going away. "My father was in the garrison at the time, a Lieutenant. They engaged the Kadan and then it escalated. It was the Vasilov's first encounter with the Kadan. The old man led a line to kick the Kadan back and they discovered a line of bases. The same ones we've been fighting with ever since. We hadn't even known they were on the planet. So we solidified our defensive positions and they've held ever since."
"And suddenly every planet had more nobles than they could count. To top it off, none of the Dukes were warring with each other. It's a unified front."
Umi nodded. "So it took an outside threat to bring the Vasilov together?"
"Basically," Colonel Clarke said. He didn't like the answer. He liked it even less when he heard it explained.
"So instead of winning this war, and going back to how it was—"
"It became part of our culture," Commander Arap said.
"Military service is mandatory, so at least nearly everyone here has served at least one tour on Lishun Delta."
Umi sighed and shook his head. "So instead of winning this years ago, you're stuck losing it now?"
"Well, we're working on that now, aren't we?"
Umi planted his hands on his hips. "Yes, I guess we are."
Kelly Dell stepped out from the ranks and raised a hand. "How did some of your troops avoid conscription?"
Colonel Clarke snapped his eyes away from Umi. He was angry at Umi, but at the same time he understood what Umi was doing. Lay it all out, state every problem, and define the root. Always the root cause with Sigg, never fight until you know the real reason. "Special skills, Engineers, machinists, miners, roboticists, almost any technologist."
"Lucky," Commander Arap mumbled.
"Let's make these two weeks count. Get a good nights rest, because tomorrow we're going all out. Dismissed," Colonel Clarke said. He added a moment later, "Umi." Colonel Clarke said.
Umi waited as everyone else emptied out of the inflatable hall. He rubbed his chin and shook his head. "Cole, this is a damned mess."
Colonel Clarke sat on a chair and rolled his head back. He sighed. "They wanted to send them all out immediately."
"It would have killed them."
"I'm sure that was the point."
Umi sat near Colonel Clarke and smoothed his pants. The front crease flattened and popped back up a moment later. "I miss the uniform."
"I know." Colonel Clarke was there when the Sigg military wound down and demobilized ninety percent of the troopers. In a heartbeat the greatest fighting force in the sector was led to pasture.
"It's not enough time."
Colonel Clarke said nothing for a moment. "Sign on as combat troops."
Umi shook his head. "I'm not going to waste the lives of my troops."
"Will you go in with the armor?" Colonel Clarke didn't want to plead, or beg, all he wanted was a bit of an edge. The Sigg could be that edge.
"Remember when the Boben hit us on Kell?"
Colonel Clarke smiled. "The start of the end. General Falk led them into that one."
"It was a close fight, we played it up as an easy win, and an intentional move."
"It wasn't?" Colonel Clarke asked, surprised.
Umi shook his head. "No. But when the line held we saw the Boben were strung to thin, we hit the edges of their columns and once they lost supply they were done."
"That was three years ago."
"And it only took us two more to finish them."
"Umi, I need your help."
Umi looked to the floor. "There is nothing I can do now that can solve your problems. I'll help as I can, but my troopers will add nothing. You know this. Your Generals are failing you and this is a stupid order."
Colonel Clarke's face turned a shade of red and he clenched his fist. "And they're my damn orders. I don't have the luxury of sitting this one out because it's hard."
Umi stood and smoothed his shirt. He turned his chin up. "A bad decision knows no rank."
"Umi!" Colonel Clarke yelled. He stood sharply and sighed. He's right, Clarke thought, and I know it. "I have my orders. We have two weeks."
Umi nodded sharply. "Two weeks," he said, and walked out.
Colonel Clarke plopped back down into his chair. He felt like the tide was carrying him out to sea.
#
Chapter Eighteen
Vasilov Prime - County of Essen, Training Camp, Hut 4
"Wake up!" Mick called out.
Tomi fell out of his bunk and landed on the floor. He scurried to his feet and hopped for a second before remembering that his feet didn't hurt. Not yet, at least. He worried that whatever the Doctor did wouldn't last. "But I just fell asleep, it's still dark!"
The barracks tent was dark, only a dim light marked the exit. A ceramic block heater pinged in the center of the room. A patter of raindrops smacked against the roof and cast a soothing echo.
"Trust me," Mick replied. He shook Hutchins. "Get up ya big galoot!"
Hutchins rolled off the top bunk and landed on the floor with a thud. He stretched and his back crackled. "Ugh. Puke."
Sergeant Nikov hung over the edge of her bunk with vomit caked on her face. She groaned and rolled back over.
Hutchins stepped to the side and wiped his feet on Sergeant Nikov's sheets.
"What are we doing!" Tomi blurted out. He was tired, sore, and fairly sure he'd never woken up so early before.
Corporal Mick ran down the length of the tent and shook the soldier on the lower bunk. He wore a crisp gray set of fatigues, a set of night vision glasses, and his wrist slate was tabbed out to a dim blue.
He stopped in front of Tomi. "Shut up. Don't ask questions. There's not time. You need to trust that whoever is telling you what to do knows more than you. You, my friend, are a child here. Do what you're told, don't talk back, and keep your mouth shut. Now get dressed."
"Yes, Corporal," Tomi replied.
He stumbled over to his locker and pulled out his fatigues. He was too tired to be offended and, he had a feeling, too tired to remember what Mick said. The Corporal kept telling him the same things and Tomi discovered that he kept forgetting.
His uniform was simple, and quite unlike anything he wore back in the real world. It was a dull gray, almost slick, with a hint of wax to it. It shed water well and breathed moisture out, but was strangely warm. He pushed his arms into the tight sleeves and it crackled as he moved. The night vision glasses were like the ones he wore in the mines except lighter. The boots were a thing of bliss as soon as he squirmed his toes in.
Finally he stood, fully dressed. Only one person was still in bed. Sergeant Nikov.
"Hutch, Tomi, gimme a hand," Corporal Mick said.
Tomi wrapped her arm around his neck and he steered her toward the bathroom. She smelled horrible, worse than she should have. Tomi had to turn his head away and try to keep step with Hutch.
The rest of the squad sat on the edge of the bunks and watched with sleepy eyes.
They set her down on the edge of a shower stall and Mick stomped down on the water valve. A jet of water hit her and she screamed. She rolled on the floor and moaned. The bruising on her face was like a fall rose. She struggled onto her hands and knees and vomited again.
"Okay!" she cried out.
Mick released the jet. "You have five minutes, Sergeant."
Tomi glanced down at Sergeant Nikov and felt Mick's eyes on him.
"Get out, let's give her some room."
Tomi walked back out and sat on the edge of his bed. She was supposed to be his squad leader and she couldn't even go to the bathroom for herself.
Sergeant Nikov stumbled out a minute later and struggled into a set of fatigues. She dry heaved almost continuously. Everyone in the tent stared at their squad Sergeant.
A siren wailed through the morning air and whistles blared outside. A Lieutenant burst into the tent with a man in green camo.
"Right! This is what I like to see!" the Lieutenant barked with a mean grin on his face. "I'm Lieutenant Torori, your Platoon leader. This upstanding Sigg behind me is Hans. Hans is your new friend."
Hans stood like a block of steel fresh from the forge. One eye was missing and black orb sat in its place. His biceps pushed out against the fabric of his fatigues. His hair was cut so short that the morning mist sat on the tips.
"Outside," Hans said with a rough Sigg accent. "Now!" he bellowed.
The squad raced past Hans and the Lieutenant.
Tomi followed in the midst of the pack and kept his eyes on what everyone else did. He lined up like the rest, stood like they did, and kept his mouth shut, just like everyone else.
The yard in front of the tents was bathed in a wash of alkaline white light. The horizon was barely a smudge. Mist hung low in ribbons of gray. Soldiers rushed out from the tents and took places on the yard.
It was a rabble that emerged. Most stood with a semblance of silent discipline. Others wandered away and talked with the others. A few were helped by other soldiers, and some even lay on the ground. They all cast hard shadows in the hard light.
Tomi turned his head just a bit and tried to see what was happening. He felt out of place, uncomfortable, tired, and just wanted to go back to sleep.
"First," Hans said over the din of the crowds, "we run."
Tomi groaned.
"You," Hans bellowed and pointed at Tomi, "will lead. We leave no one! Everyone in ranks, now go!"
Tomi ran in the direction that Hans pointed. It was simply toward the dark and away from the sunrise.
The Sigg waited until the end of the line and pointed his baton at Lieutenant Torori. "You too, Toro! Run!"
Tomi ran in as straight a line as he could and stumbled face-first into an old shell hole. He flailed about in the water and struggled to get a grip. Hands grabbed him by the back and pulled him out. He gasped and moaned.
"Gotta turn on your NV, eh?" Mick said as he pushed the power button on the side of Tomi's glasses.
The sky suddenly brightened in shades of gray, light red, and a tone of green. Tomi stood, sodden to the core, and struggled out of the hole. Dumb, he thought, downright dumb. I should have known better, who runs into the darkness without a light or night vision? He gritted his teeth and clawed through the mud.
"Move, move!" Hans called out. He was already in the next shell hole and waving them on his with baton.
Tomi raced over the crest and stumbled to the bottom. Behind him Mick ran with Hutch close behind. The rest of the squad crested and tumbled behind. Lieutenant Torori came in the rear, his mouth wide open and gasping for breath.
"Halt!" Hans yelled.
The bulk of the squad stood in the bottom of the shell hole.
Tomi wheezed at the bottom of a trench. "Where is your Sergeant?" Hans asked. He leveled his baton at Lieutenant Torori.
"Shit," Lieutenant Torori said. "Squad! Follow me!"
The anger pushed Tomi out of one hole, into the next, and finally at the bottom of a third. There they found Nikov vomiting.
Hutchins grabbed one arm and a bald headed Private named Gous grabbed the other. They pushed her out of one hole and the entire squad helped her down the next.
Tomi struggled to hold her weight as they helped her across the next pit. He pushed her roughly into Hutchins arms and fought to climb out of that hole. Then it all happened again.
At each crest they pushed Nikov over and waiting hands helped her down. By now the vomiting stopped but she could barely stand. Hans said nothing and followed on the crest of the craters.
Day came in a sheet of gray and still the squad pushed through the craters. A low hill, riddled and pocked, loomed ahead. The camp was in the distance, but only the relay tower poked up into the sky.
Tomi struggled. He was at the back of the squad and drawing the ire of his mates. But he didn't feel too bad, he wasn't alone. Sergeant Nikov could barely stand and a Private named Veriha was wheezing like an old horse.
Hutchins lost his footing and tumbled back into the crawling squad. He flailed and everyone tumbled into the ice cold muck.
"You dumb Waslav!" a Corporal named Puck hollered as he scrambled out of the muck.
"Who you calling dumb!" Hutchins yelled back. He was the picture of a Waslavian farmhand, big and slow.
Corporal Puck swung a wide punch and clipped Hutchins right on the cheek.
"Oh hoh!" Hutchins said and dove at the Corporal.
Lieutenant Torori pushed through the crowd. "At ease! At ease!"
"Get fucked!" Corporal Puck yelled and dove away from the reach of Hutchins.
"Lieutenant, control these men," Hans said. His tone was indifferent and he stood on the edge of the crater with his hands on his hips.
Lieutenant Torori looked up to Hans. "How?"
"The rest of your squad, perhaps?" Hans said.
Tomi fell and watched as the larger Hutchins struggled to catch Corporal Puck. I'd hate to take a punch from Hutch, he thought.
Hutchins was red with rage. His mouth was ringed with froth and his eyes almost bugged out of his head. He stumbled and charged and like a young bull, missing every time. Puck always seemed to be a half-second ahead.
Lieutenant Torori stood mute, as if unable to see a way out. The others watched and cheered.
"Toro?" Hans said with a slight smile.
Lieutenant Torori snapped out of his moment. "Squad! Everyone rush in and pin these two, go!"
The squad moved in reluctantly. Puck jumped away and raised his hands while grinning. Hutchins back off like a cornered animal.
Tomi didn't want to get near either, but found one arm on Hutchins's shoulder and used the combined strength of a half dozen to finally hold him. He felt Hutchins struggle and groan before the muscles relaxed.
Hutchins wheezed and spat into the muddy earth. He looked up at the Lieutenant and nodded. His face relaxed and he shook his head. "Sorry, LT."
"You two," Hans said, pointing at Hutchins and Puck, "shall carry the Sergeant. Go!"
Sergeant Nikov glared as the two stomped over to her. They helped her to her feet and neither Hutchins nor Puck looked at each other. They both grunted and started up the incline once again.
"Keep moving!" Lieutenant Torori said. He rubbed his nose and wiped blood away from where a stray elbow had cracked it.
The squad moved as slow Hutchins and Puck could carry Nikov. Soon they crested the pock marked hill. Other squads rested in the sun. Nearly a thousand soldiers sat on the rise. The rain stopped and the mist crawled across the landscape in shimmering drifts. Had it not been for the massed craters it would have been beautiful.
Tomi sat on a cracked rock next to Mick. Every bit of him ached. He fought to keep his eyes open, even though it was just the middle of the day. He watched as other squads pushed through the craters. They were like struggling ants, all with a Sigg escort.
Puck sat next to Hutchins, the two now battle buddies. Forced to pair up for the remainder of the op. Neither one looked very happy about it.
Hans stepped to the center of the collapsed squad. He hardly even looked dirty, just the bottom of his fatigues. If anything he looked bored. "Slates are on for ten minutes, you'll find a survey. Do it. Chow will be up in twenty."
A prime mover crawled across the landscape. It heaved and bounced over the tortured landscape. Behind it a long covered trailer bucked and bounced.
"Chow!" Hutchins and Puck said loudly and stared out into the distance. Each of the soldiers glanced at the other and then scowled and focused on their slates.
Tomi wiped the dirt off the face of his wrist mounted slate. The background flickered and he tapped his way through the questionnaire. It asked his previous occupation, what equipment he could drive, whether he was an addict, and finally a few questions about mechanical aptitude. When he answered the last question, the slate went dead.
He poked at it and missed the diversion of his own slate back home.
"If they leave 'em on, people just play and play and putz and poke," Mick said as he tapped his screen. "In basic, they don't even get to use 'em at all."
"I could drive through a tunnel, mine a vein, and poke my tab," Tomi said.
"You were a miner?" a Private named Waslinski said as she tapped her slate.
"Yah, best there was!" Tomi said. He stood and stretched. "Faster than the old farts, sharper than the algo-miner computers and, of course, better looking."
"So what are you doing here?" Waslinski asked. "That's an exempted profession, you should be living the golden life."
Tomi licked his lips. All around him the rest of the squad watched him for an answer. He felt warm, his eyes scanned out to the artillery range and hoped that the chow truck would go faster. The words didn't want to come, he was locked in the moment.
"We all made mistakes," Corporal Mick said. "I got black out drunk. What about you Hutch?"
"I thumped an idiot," Hutchins chuckled. "An Officer. And he, uh, didn't get back up."
"Sergeant Nikov?" Mick said.
Sergeant Nikov leveled her black and blue ringed eyes at Mick and glared.
Mick grinned back. "How 'bout you, Puck?"
Puck kicked a foot out and grinned. "Theft! Sold a transport truck as scrap."
"Ahh, well done!" Mick said. "And you, Waslinski?"
Waslinski said nothing and crossed her arms over her chest. She tucked her chin into her chest.
"Must be innocent," Mick said with a wink to Tomi. He went down the line and asked the rest.
"Drunkenness," Private Sophia said.
"Manslaughter, shot a man while I was drunk," a slender faced Corporal named Veriha said.
"Selling Kettle," Private Bosovitz said. "I was a Sergeant."
"I didn't do shit!" Private Wesse said.
"Leave me alone," Corporal Xeddick said. He turned away from the squad.
Mick shrugged. "Anyone else want to volunteer a good story? How about you, LT?"
Lieutenant Torori looked up from his slate and shook his head. "I'm not in the penal system. Just a regular Officer hanging out with you jailbirds."
Corporal Mick glanced back at Tomi and nodded. "Ain't no innocents here, we'll corrupt you soon enough, LT!"
Lieutenant Torori barely looked up from his slate. He focused on reading the small screen and ignored the rest of the idle chatter.
The group broke into conversation about the attack on Lishun Delta. Everyone had an opinion of what would happen next. They all assumed they'd be cannon fodder soon enough.
Hans stepped away and held his ear. He spoke in a low voice.
Tomi sat in silence and remembered what Tomi had told him. Keep your mouth shut. He wanted to fit into the squad, to show that he wasn't just some useless son of a bitch. Instead he highlighted the fact that not only was he a civilian, but a dumb one, a spoiled one. He thought back to that night and wished he could go back and change it.
Now he settled on the new reality and pushed the old behind him. He decided he'd make a name for himself here, in a good way. The past was the past, and what he did then made no matter. All of the other troops accepted the punishment , why not me? Just a dumb rockhound. I'll eat, follow my orders, and be a grunt. And, he thought, I'll keep my mouth shut. I'll just fit in like the rest. Another Private.
"Tomi Morgan?" Lieutenant Torori said.
Tomi stood at a rough approximation of attention. "Sir?"
"You're riding back on the chow truck," Lieutenant Torori said.
The silence of the squad bored into Tomi's back. Waslinski glared at Tomi with a tone that could chill a bonfire.
"And uh, Barros, you too, special training for both of you."
"Will I be leaving the squad, sir?" Tomi asked. The only person he could count as friendly was Mick. He didn't want to leave, this little bit of camaraderie he'd developed was precious.
"Nope, but Barros, you'll be reassigned," Lieutenant Totori said.
"Line up! Chow time!" Hans said.
The squad lined up and marched down the rough hill toward the smells of a hot lunch.
Tomi stumbled down, sore and tired, and felt his appetite drop. Whatever special training was ahead, he had a feeling he wouldn't like it. But as long as he was coming back to his few friends, he'd do it. Not like he had much choice.
#
Chapter Nineteen
Vasilov Prime - Planetary Customs and Control
Customs Officer Willis von Sauden stomped out of the customs complex and stared up into the misty sky.
Night had barely fallen and the clouds still glowed with last hints of the day. Lights shimmered in the sky. Somewhere, far above, a Lokeen freighter hovered.
He'd had a fine chess game going with a Corporal and a flask of brandy was waiting... "Tell 'em to hurry up! It's going to rain soon. They're early! Get on the horn and get someone here to pick this shit up," he said into his headset.
The tower acknowledged and the massive landing lights blasted into the sky. They looked like great white pillars that supported the sky.
"It's going to rain," a customs inspector said.
"Of course it is!" Willis said. "It's Vasilov, it always rains. What are you, some Visla nancy boy?"
The inspector said nothing and stared at his slate.
Willis snorted. "What are the fuzzies bringing today?"
"Pardon, sir?"
Willis rolled his eyes. "Fuzzies, you know, the Lokeen?"
The inspector wore a blank look.
"What's in the freighter?" Willis snapped.
The inspector tapped the slick screen a few times. "Scrap metal, rolling stock, genetic baselines, and a whole bunch of consumer goods."
"Genetics, eh? Tariffs on that." Willis thought of the consumer goods. He'd been needing a new oven.
The gray mist parted over the landing complex and orange lights suddenly appeared. The freighter, a blocky structure of steel and titanium, rippled in the sky. Sheets of moisture rolled off the sheer plating. It was massive, a construct that was simple and basic, yet almost graceful in its ugliness.
It crawled down out of the mist and was strangely silent. The currents drifted around it until it finally dropped completely out of the clouds. The air felt heavy underneath and the crew on the ground scattered as the full bulk of the freighter came into view. Automated cargo haulers darted back into the customs buildings.
"Control is asking for confirmation to land."
Willis stared up in awe and barely mouthed an answer. "Affirmative." It was one of the largest he'd ever seen.
The puddles on the stained concrete landing pad drifted to the side like a great wind pushed against them, but there was no breeze.
Landing gear dropped out of the base, short stubby things. The pads unfolded and sheets of ice dropped down. Then it settled and groaned on the concrete. The main cargo hatch popped open and folded up while a loading ramp dropped down. Already a line of automated haulers waited on the edge.
The rain started a moment later.
Willis rushed ahead with a pack of customs Officers close behind.
A group of Lokeen stepped out from the inside of the hold but didn't leave the cover of the cargo hatch.
"Permission to come aboard this vessel!" Willis wiped the rain off his face and wished he was back inside with his flask.
"Granted."
The Vasilov custom officials climbed up the hefty ramp. Willis saluted to the group and held out his data slate. "Signature, please. Also, there is an issue of tariffs on the genetic baselines."
The Lokeen's fur shimmered in the mist. The high humidity made the fur poof out and they seemed more menacing than they really were. Three of the Lokeen turned and walked back into the hold.
"Indeed. I am Sevel, where are the consignees? I must deliver the rolling stock to a Colonel Clarke, the genetic baselines to the Cour De Beer livestock company and the scrap metal to the Amatin estate."
"You're early, Master Sevel," Willis said.
"Early. Any other culture would applaud me for my arrival, and you, you people, are upset because I navigated so well." He shook his head and the collected mist fell. "I cannot wait because your procedures are faulty. This is a Vasilov matter, not mine."
"But—"
The Lokeen held up his massive paw and shook his head. "I'm not listening. It's all getting unloaded and I'm leaving. Unless you're going to stop me?"
Willis leaned in closer and cleared his throat. "I see there are consumer goods onboard?"
The Lokeen crossed his arms and cracked a strange looking smile. "A negotiator you are? Well, shall we go and 'inspect' some of the goods? I'd hate for a little thing like consumer goods to get in the way."
The group walked off the freighter and spoke of tariffs, consumer goods, and the difficulties of interstellar negotiation. Cargo haulers towed down a line of armored vehicles. They carried great cases of consumer goods. They lugged out great heaps of scrap and then they were done. No one bothered to inspect anything except for the consumer goods.
Buried deep inside one of the containers was a mix of crushed nickel alloys, lead plates, and a curious canister. It was a type not seen anywhere within a dozen light-years.
It sensed the change in gravity. A single molecule expanded out and latched onto another. Then another, and another. It started out as a biological and grew using the rich materials around it. As it passed a certain mass, it changed and the mechanical took shape. It now weighed less than a gram, but the internal AI, a simple thing, came to life. And it grew even more.
Outside the customs Officers were satisfied. A simple bribe was paid. The Lokeen freighter sat idle and no one knew that an Emflife assassination bot was growing.
It ruminated on a sheet of titanium and was patient. Another couple of weeks and it would be ready.
#
Chapter Twenty
Lishun Delta - Mackinof Front
"Show me your feet," Karl said. He rocked back and forth and swung his arms tight across his body. He shivered, but that wasn't new, he hadn't stopped shivering in days. The shivers got to be so bad at night that his teeth ached.
"Sergeant, now?" Private Sedan said. She looked to the ground and shook her head. The white gray rings of frostbite had grown on her cheeks.
"Yah, now." Karl waited and hoped her feet were better than the others. Not that there was much he could do. The medical ward, or what was left of it, was filled with the horribly wounded.
Sedan peeled the boot off her foot and slammed it against the side of the trench. Chunks of ice and frozen mud dropped off in chunks. She glanced up at Karl and took a deep breath. He nodded and she peeled the sock off. White toes, shrunk like water soaked raisins poked out. Her toenails were black, while one was missing. She yanked the sock back on and fought with the frozen bindings of the boot.
"Want the other one, too?"
"No," Karl said. "Finish your watch, then head downstairs."
Sedan said nothing and huddled close to the wall with her rifle clutched tight.
"You hear me?" Karl said.
"Yes, Sergeant," Sedan said.
Karl looked down the trench. Only the sentries kept an eye above the edge of the line with those on duty huddled like broken wrecks on the floor of the trench. The off watch was down below in the frigid darkness gathering what sleep they could. He envied them until he was down in the icy cold chambers. To him they felt like a tomb.
He'd lost command briefly when a Lieutenant came in from off planet. A survivor of one of the supply ops. Vasilov Prime lost as many as made it through. The Kadan assaulted the moment the stargate latched on.
The Lieutenant hadn't lasted long, he stood up when he should have crouched and took a round to the throat. A Captain came by that Karl didn't know and took the body back with him.
Karl's radio crackled and he held his ear. A garbled tone sounded followed by fragments of words. Still scrambled. He swore, he hated not having comms, everything was done by runner or voice. An artillery response could take ten minutes.
"Sergeant!" a voice called out at the edge of the trench.
Karl winced and hobbled down the trench. The bayonet wound hadn't healed much. Nothing seemed to heal in the frigid dry air. He swung his arms to stay warm. "What?"
"Colonel wants a report," a hollow-faced Private said. Both of his hands were balled underneath bandages.
"Now?"
The Private nodded.
Karl cursed under his breath. "Ivanov! You got the line."
Corporal Ivanov raised an arm at the end of the trench.
Karl set off through the trenches. He climbed over collapsed sections and waited silently through a probing barrage. He counted each of the booms and waited until each of the rounds laid down.
He worked through the trenches until he came to a rough rise marked by a red sign. Someone had scribbled "CAUTION" on the front. The indiscriminate bombings had gone away, now it was probing strikes to find the gaps between the umbrellas.
Karl stopped and listened. This was one of those gaps and he had no desire to get caught in the middle. The wind whipped and tossed the snow and grit across the scrabbled land. Here we go, he thought, and scrambled with his head low.
He halted for a moment behind a concrete slab with a smiley face scratched onto it. He scanned toward the Kadan lines and saw nothing but snow and craters. Just as he was about to leave, the wind howled.
The wind gusted and blasted the snow. It was a total whiteout.
He snapped up his facemask and tucked his body tight against the concrete slab. The shivering halted as the adrenaline raged. He knew enough that to run now was suicide, he had to wait it out. Then, as quickly as it started, it stopped.
There, all around, the sky was miraculously clear.
Karl gasped and stared up. He'd heard stories of how the sky could clear, a perfect weather pattern would purge the sky. And there, for a moment, the heavens were laid bare.
On one side, the barren ground slid out to the horizon with a slight smudge where the Kadan positions lay. On either side of the Vasilov line rose massive stone walls. Brilliant blue fields of ice hung on the jagged stone. The walls rose up nearly sixteen kilometers. At the base lay a heap of ice and crushed stone. Directly behind was the Mackinof pass and the steppes that would lead, eventually, to Lishun Delta Command. The Mackinof line was the one, and only, defensible spot until LISCOM.
He hated this place, hated it deep, hated the enemy, the snow, the weather, but for the briefest of seconds he saw a distinct beauty to it. Not in the shell holes, but in mountains, the glacial blue ice fields, the way the sky looked so clean.
A roar of artillery echoed on the horizon.
Karl hobbled out from his cover and dove into the nearest trench. The artillery landed in another area. He panted and rubbed his wound and felt foolish for admiring the scenery.
He made his way through the lines of unfamiliar soldiers. They all, for the most part, looked the same. Only the planetary variances in uniform showed any difference. The line used to be grouped by planet, now it was a mix of every Vasilov planet. He missed the old way, it made the place feel a bit more interesting.
Karl entered the command bunker and walked across the angled floor. He wedged through the crowds coming and going.
The air was a hair warmer, an old style power cell chugged in the corner with cables snaking out and into data consoles. An Officer sat at a comm station and cursed at the machine. Near him stood a Colonel in a cloak of burgundy that marked him as a noble.
"Shit," Karl mumbled.
A major grasped onto Karl's elbow. "What's your section, Sergeant?"
"Trench Delta, wing seven."
The major checked off something on his dataslate. "Continue to hold position. Regardless of what the Baron says."
Karl raised an eyebrow and glanced at the overweight Baron. He never had good experience with any nobles, but he contributed it to the fact that he wasn't a noble. A fact he'd been working hard to remedy while still keeping his hide intact. He preferred to remain a breathing commoner rather than a dead noble. "Yes sir."
"Once we get a proper resupply, your line will be relieved. Also get me a full inventory. Now, what do you need?"
"Warm food, sleeping bags, hot pads. We're running into some serious frostbite, sir. Grenades, more grenades, deployable gun mounts too." Karl thought for a second and glanced down at the slate. The only thing written on it was grenades. "That'll do, sir."
The Major tucked the slate away. "Warm up a few, I'll send for you when the Baron is ready."
Karl caught the sound of disgust in the Major's voice. He waited by the comms station—ironically, it was the quietest spot. He studied those that came and went and enjoyed the slight bit of warmth. Tired, god I'm tired, he thought. He stretched his arms and leaned his back against the comm station.
"Jammed," the Comms Officer mumbled. "Like nothing I've ever seen. They're taking our comms, encrypting it, then letting us have it back."
Karl said nothing in reply. He missed the reassuring command chatter from his commset.
"Sergeant Sigorski?"
Karl marched and stood at attention, as best he could, in front of the Baron. He saluted. "Sergeant Sigorski reporting."
The Baron smiled back and nodded. His eyes glittered in the cold air and a touch of perspiration rode on his brow. His heavy fur hat sat at an odd angle on his head. He had the look of an old feudal lord. "Relax Sergeant, how's your line? Have you reclaimed the summer trenches?"
Karl coughed for a second and felt the weight of the Barons warm smile on him. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. "No sir. The summer lines are quite distant."
The Baron nodded and the smile disappeared. "If we don't make advances we have no hope of securing our positions. If you have an opportunity," the Baron said, and stabbed a finger out, "strike!"
"Yes, sir."
"Major Knezevic has your orders," the Baron said.
Vasilov artillery rumbled to life and the bunker shook. Voices called from outside. "Inbound Trench Beta!"
Karl saluted the distracted Baron and found Major Knezevic. The Major gave him a beat up data slate, a supply requisition for grenades and a single box of chemical hot pads.
"Just hold your line." Major Knezevic sighed and rubbed his face with his gloves. "Don't attack, don't worry about the summer lines. We don't have the troops to hold them. If you see a gate from Vasilov, don't secure it with your troops to hold them. Send a runner and cover it, got it?"
"Yes sir," Karl replied. He didn't like this, not one single bit. "What happened to Colonel Bell?"
"He died two days ago. Baron-Colonel Radic is now in command." Major Knezevic spat on the floor.
A Captain rushed in and pushed past Karl. Karl stepped away, gave a dull salute to the Major, and stepped back outside. The cold air smashed into him and he tucked his chin tight to his chest. What little warmth he had blasted away.
He'd hoped things would look up. That whoever was in command was doing the right thing. At least with Colonel Bell things seemed under control.
A Captain emerged from the bunker, the same one who'd rushed inside. "Bloody mess, eh Sergeant?"
"If you say so, sir," Karl replied diplomatically.
The Captain pulled up his facemask but Karl could see the grin underneath. "A damned bloody mess."
#
Chapter Twenty-One
Vasilov Prime - County of Essen, Artillery Range D1
They crouched in the bottom of the shell hole like a pack of feral pigs. Gunfire rattled above the hole with the echo of explosives rippling the water. Clouds whipped above the artillery range and the air smelled of cut grass.
"First team crests, second and third fires. We drop, roll, and push into the next hole. Keep low!" Lieutenant Torori said. He clamped his wrist slate shut and checked the action on his rifle.
Tomi clenched the rifle tight and double checked that the safety was on. Live ammunition. Three days in and live ammunition. Almost live, the usual armor piercing explosive round was replaced with a foam gel bullet.
At first he thought it'd be easy. You'll be a driver, they said. You'll like it, they said. Now the armor was caught up in customs and he was back out in the mud.
Sergeant Nikov crawled to the edge of the hole. Her face was healing. The bruises were now yellow smudges, but the swelling remained. "Second squad up here!"
Tomi scrambled through the mud and clawed his way up to the edge of the hole. Corporal Mick and Hutch nestled into the mud next to him. A half dozen other squad mates found a spot.
"Hutch! Slam a few rounds at that nest. Everyone else cover fire and get ready."
Hans stood above them all, oblivious to the tracers and explosions all around. He stared down into the shell hole with his arms across his chest.
Hutch tucked the Warthog grenade launcher to his shoulder and lobbed off a three round burst of 40mm explosive rounds. A few seconds later they exploded against the target turret.
"Move!" Lieutenant Totori said.
Tomi burst out from the hole and sprinted past Hans. What better way to not get shot then stand next to someone who obviously couldn't get shot?
A strong arm grabbed him across and the chest and slammed him to the ground.
Tomi gasped for breath and stared up into the sky. He watched as the tracers sliced through the clouds and felt the concussion of more grenades. With great effort he rolled over and struggled to his feet.
Hans kicked him in the ass. "Move!"
And Tomi was off again. He sprawled into the bottom of the next hole.
Lieutenant Torori spoke rapidly into his commset. "No, you flank! I'm too close to flank. Listen to me you convict, that—" He stopped and looked around as if offended. "He called me a swine dog!"
"Tomi boy! Get over here, stick by me now dammit," Mick called. The Corporal dug his fingers into the action of his rifle and pulled out a mass of mud. "Clean 'em out!"
The squad stopped moving and everyone worked frantically to clear their weapons.
Hutch helped Sergeant Nikov up to the next edge.
An automated turret, their objective, fired and slammed a group of rounds into the edge of the hole. Mud cascaded back and plopped into the stagnant water.
"Fuck this!" Sergeant Nikov said and slid back to the edge. "You people can get fucked. Fuck this!"
Hutch looked back down with his mouth open.
Corporal Mick grabbed her by the arm and beckoned Tomi over. "You and Hutch drag her along. I don't give a damn what she says."
Sergeant Nikov glared at Mick. But it wasn't hate, mostly indifference.
Lieutenant Torori continued to yell into his commset.
Hans spoke from behind them. "It would behoove you to move."
Lieutenant Torori took the hint. "Everyone else into the next hole!"
Hutch rolled over and let loose another batch of 40mm shells. He slid down on his side past the rest of the squad as they streamed up. He grasped one of Sergeant Nikov's arms while Tomi took the other.
Corporal Mick yelled at the line and a third of them rose while the other two-thirds fired. Empty casings tumbled into the mud. One man stood higher to get a better shot and was thrown backwards.
Tomi struggled up the rise with Sergeant Nikov putting up weak resistance. She didn't seem to care too much one way or the other where she went.
The man fell past Tomi. At first, he thought the man was dead. His shoulders and chest were covered in a thick red goo. The round, upon impacting the man, had exploded into a foamy gel. Now the man was out of action and he groaned in the mud.
"Three! Go!" Mick yelled.
The line rose to the edge of the crater and fired at the automated turret. The machine was pointed a few degrees to the side but upon detecting the squad slung the gun toward them and fired. Third squad dropped into the hole just in time while everyone else took cover. They were close now, about fifty meters, and if they could close the gap a bit more they could knock it out with demolition charges.
The firing stopped and the turret slung to a new target.
"Go!" Mick bellowed.
Tomi forced his feet up and drug Sergeant Nikov. Hutch pulled her along and the three climbed over the crest, still hunching.
The turret, instead of pointing at another group, had simply waited. Then, as the rest of the squad crested the rise, it opened fire.
Tomi threw Sergeant Nikov forward. She tumbled ahead with Hutch falling right next to her. Then Tomi found himself on the ground gasping and retching. He tried to move but felt a sticky tension all across his chest.
"Shit," he groaned.
The exercise raged on.
The squad trudged ahead and crested one more rise. More soldiers fell under the withering barrage from the turret. For a few minutes they were pinned.
Tomi watched it all and felt a deep sense of disappointment. He'd failed. He played it over in his mind. Should I have taken cover? he wondered. Or what is it because I was carrying Nikov?
The thought made him angry and he fought against the sticky foam. He couldn't break free. This made him feel even worse. Next time I'll toss her ass over the hill and go on behind.
He watched the squad, his squad, push ahead. The thought put him off guard, was he a part of them now? He'd suffered alongside of them, struggled through the same mud, and taken the same beatings. Physically he was still lagging, but they were all learning the new methods of engagement. He didn't see what was so new, but some of his squad-mates spoke of strictly defensive operations with an occasional all-line strike.
Corporal Mick rose up with the demolition charge and then fell back, struck by an anti-personnel mine. A moment later another squad mate named Chirp took the package and stumbled where it fell in the midst of the remaining soldiers.
A giant poof of white smoke, a simulated blast, ended the exercise.
The turret went silent.
Tomi lay, helpless, and listened to the strange and sudden silence. The exercise was done. Medical staff moved throughout the area and sprayed neutralizer on the orange foam that restrained those who were hit.
Hans stood next to Tomi and waved the squad over. His hard face looked out over the battlefield and he shook his head. When a medic came close to Tomi he told the man to wait.
The squad stood around Tomi. Their faces were tired. They were covered in slimy looking mud from head-to-toe.
"Can anyone tell me what this young man did wrong?" Hans asked in a thick Sigg accent. He nudged Tomi with his boot.
No one said anything.
"He did nothing wrong," Hans said.
Tomi felt a weight lift from his conscience.
"You can move with proper squad tactics and that will help you survive. But," Hans said and pointed a finger at everyone, "you may still not survive. Not because you did wrong, but because that is the nature of war."
Hans called the medic over and the man sprayed a release agent onto Tomi. Mick helped him up and Hans clapped him on the shoulder.
"You did well, young man," Hans said. The Sigg turned and marched off.
Lieutenant Torori spoke into his commset and shook his head. Then he turned to the squad. "Take defensive positions, dig in, and set out lines to hold this objective. We're staying here for the night."
The squad looked broken, tired, sore, cold, and wet. They didn't look like a cohesive unit, but like a collection of individuals striving to work together. What one suffered, all suffered.
Mick grinned and slapped Hutch on the shoulder. "Let's go! Those holes ain't gonna dig themselves."
Tomi marched off behind them and wished, more than anything, that he was back home in his own bed. Oh well, he thought, at least I'm starting to fit in. And, for that matter, maybe we all are starting to fit in.
#
Chapter Twenty-Two
Vasilov Prime - County of Essen, Training Camp
The clouds whipped through the air above the meager camp. It was mostly quiet, the only major activity coming from the kitchen area. A small platoon stood at parade rest on the edge of a landing strip. They looked cold, wet, and uncomfortable.
"Does it ever stop raining?" Umi said. He walked alongside Colonel Clarke.
Colonel Clarke thought of a joke about the rain, and decided that Umi wouldn't get the humor. "No, not really. General von Aster is due soon enough."
Major Bresov ran across the gravel and saluted. "Doctor Keniski is dead."
Colonel Clarke sighed and nodded. "Thank you, Major."
Umi crossed his arms. "What is that, a dozen now?"
"Yes."
Umi nodded.
Colonel Clarke looked off into the distance. A training operation was just getting done. He wanted to be out there with his men. He didn't picture himself watching his soldiers die due to drug withdrawal. And now a surgeon, too?
"The training is coming along," Umi said. "But when will we get the armor?"
This had been a sore point so far. Even Lady Atli had been unable to break the grip that various bureaucracies had on the armored unit. At first it was a quarantine, then it was a technical quarantine, then it was a dispute about jobs, and now he wasn't sure what the delay was. He had a hunch that it was the other defense contractors but he didn't know for sure.
"Tomorrow," Major Bresov said.
"You said that yesterday," Umi said.
Colonel Clarke wanted to be angry at someone, anyone, but it wasn't Bresov's fault. Instead he changed the subject. "This is the work orders for the support company."
He handed a tablet to Major Bresov.
She scanned the data and looked up with a thin smile. "The anarchists?"
"Among others. Assign them to any task except anything that deals with food. If they don't work, they don't eat."
"Lieutenant Kiski as the CO?" Major Bresov asked.
"It should rate a Captain, but we don't have any Officers to spare. Kiski looks to be good enough. I spoke with him this morning about his charges."
"What did he do?" Umi asked.
"The Lieutenant has a temper."
"So you put him in charge of the malcontents?"
"He's a good Officer, this is going to teach him a bit of humility."
Colonel Clarke looked down at his org chart. It was coming together. There was still holes. And in some cases positions with obvious incompetents. But he couldn't transfer them or send them out. It bothered him deeply that he had Officers, not just down-and-out, but bad Officers commanding his troops.
Two of his Captains, who should have been company commanders, were completely unable to command anything. But he couldn't put them under a Lieutenant. Instead he had a command gap, or in the case of one of them, a made up position. Everyone started out with a clean slate, and in short order his original command structure collapsed. The really bad Officers appeared almost immediately. It was the mediocre ones he worried about now.
A Corporal raced out from the communications tent and handed a tablet to Major Bresov.
"Colonel! Martinez says he has possession of the armor!" Major Bresov said. "He, uh, Martinez says he's on his way."
"On his way?" Colonel Clarke sighed. "Get Arap out of the field. Get the crews and pick them up. We might have a few days to actually do some armor training."
"Are you still going to split them up?" Umi asked.
"I'd rather not. But I haven't been able to talk the General out of it. It'll be for a few weeks. Once the armor crews get some experience, then we'll transit to Lishun Delta. Or Arap will, I'll be heading to Lishun with the ground troops."
A low hum grew louder and a Sigg armored infantry gunship-transport dropped out of the clouds. The twin rotors buzzed like an angry wasp. It settled in low to the ground and hugged the contours before finally setting down. The gravel crunched beneath it.
Umi stepped ahead and grinned. "Martinez knows how to make an entrance."
Colonel Clarke's heart beat faster. There it was. The first of his unit. He'd worked so hard, for so long, and bet his entire savings on a gamble. He forced himself to step forward, to make his way toward the stubby gunship.
The rotors whizzed and hummed and the tone dropped down until they finally stopped. The hatch opened halfway and got stuck. There was a loud banging inside and it dropped to the ground with a crash and a man in an orange jumpsuit sprawled onto the ground.
"Hmm, a few bugs to work out, it seems," Umi said.
Lieutenant Kiski and the support company snapped to attention. General von Aster stomped out of the gunship with a half dozen other Officers behind him. Then a few soldiers marched out with men in shackles.
The General arched his back and sucked in a deep breath. His face had a slight tint of green.
Martinez emerged with a pilot's helmet under his arm. He grinned and slapped General von Aster on the shoulder.
"Hot damn!" Martinez said.
Colonel Clarke saluted General von Aster. "Welcome to Camp Stefan, General."
General von Aster took another deep breath and jabbed a finger at Martinez. "You ever fly like that again and I'll break your nose." Then he turned to Colonel Clarke. "Have your boys send for my plane, I'm not flying with that maniac again."
Colonel Clarke suppressed a grin and sent Major Bresov off.
"She handles well. Want to go for a ride, Colonel?" Martinez said as he eyed up the gunship.
"Plenty of time for that later, Pablo," General von Aster said. His face was finally returning to normal. He turned to Colonel Clarke. "Are they ready?"
"No."
General von Aster ran his hand over his marble smooth chin. "I know you've got big plans here, but damnit, LISCOM is going to fall. I'm going to have to take your troops."
"With all due respect, another thousand basic infantry isn't going to do a damned thing. I just need more time to get the armored unit trained. We've got one shot to do it right."
"Cole," General von Aster said in a low voice. "This is a penal battalion, we'll get you another unit. Your father can pull a few—"
"My father will do nothing," he snapped. "General, it may be a penal battalion but it's my penal battalion. And speaking of that, I'd like our designation changed to the 19th Armored Cavalry Squadron."
General von Aster stared back at Colonel Clarke with a look ranging between anger and surprise. "The 19th? There aren't eighteen other Armored Cavalry Squadrons! Cole, you're pushing my buttons!"
"There was Armored Cavalry once, Stefan Vasilov arrived with them."
"I called out favors damned near everywhere to keep your boys from being in the meatgrinder. It just means someone else, someone who didn't commit a crime, went in their place."
Colonel Clarke listened. The thought that someone else was dying where his troops should have been hit him hard.
"You're Captain Umi, yes?" General von Aster said to Umi.
"That's correct, General."
"What sort of velocity does your anti-aircraft weapons have?"
Umi raised an eyebrow. "About two thousand meters per second."
"The Kadan don't have air assets," Colonel Clarke said.
"Well, they do now," General von Aster said. "Hyper-velocity bombers, about fifteen hundred meters per second."
"The Boben used air assets, but they didn't design them, they bought them off the Cion."
"We heard as much from your Ambassador, but he wouldn't give us the specifications. Cole, I'm going to need those anti-air units now."
"Will that buy me some time?" Colonel Clarke said. His heartbeat slowed and he watched General von Aster. He wanted to plead, beg, do anything to give them a fighting chance.
"You get three days. But I need those anti-air units as soon as they're functional." General von Aster turned to Martinez.
"How long, Pablo?"
Pablo Martinez stepped out from beneath the wing of the gunship. He licked his lips and glanced at Colonel Clarke. "Three days."
General von Aster crossed his arms. "Don't toy with me, Martinez, I'll pull those contracts. They looked good enough to me."
"Oh, they're good. For now. But they all need maintenance work, and they barely have enough ammunition for a dozen shots each. If you don't give me the time to blueprint it, they won't even be worth scrap on Lishun. Already I'm working my boys to the bone here, General." Martinez stepped back under the cover of the wing.
"Now let's get inside. Time to discuss your mission." General von Aster took a few steps then stooped. "And Captain Umi, Lady Atli has requested your presence. You're coming back with me. She said to bring the trinket."
Umi looked to Colonel Clarke and then nodded to General von Aster.
They marched in silence to the mess tent. The only sound was the crunch of gravel and the patter of rain on the tents. They entered and General von Aster grabbed a cup of coffee. Everyone waited while the General ate a pastry and then sat.
"So," he said, sipping coffee. "We're holding, but just barely. Right now every group we send through gets hammered by those bombers. We don't have enough density to let the umbrella catch them. Damned things are too fast."
Colonel Clarke pictured the slaughter as the reinforcements stepped through. Artillery, airstrikes, all against group troops. He knew that without supplies and reinforcements the Mackinof Front would fall.
"We need to get a reactor in." General von Aster looked at Colonel Clarke and held his gaze. "You're going in first. If you can halt that airstrike the Engineers will go through with the reactor."
"And if we can't?" Colonel Clarke said.
"Well, you won't have to worry about that then, will you. Time to put your money where your mouth is, Cole. You ruffled a lot of feathers, and this will smooth 'em back out. Now here." He grabbed a pile of tablets and laid them on the table. "This is our operational data. In three days you go."
"What about the orbital strikes?" Umi asked.
General von Aster leaned back and took another sip of coffee. He gave a sideways glance at Umi. "It's been neutralized."
Umi raised his chin and said nothing in reply.
A high pitched turbine whine announced the arrival of the General's conventional transport. There was a screech of rubber on gravel followed the back thrust.
General von Aster stood. "Colonel, the Seventh Army will follow your lead. Hold that gate."
Colonel Clarke stood. "We'll hold that gate. I'll see you in three days."
The pair saluted and the General marched out with his staff and Umi right behind.
Colonel Clarke stood, alone, and felt the excitement rising. "Three days," he whispered.
A group of soldiers marched in with two prisoners. One of the prisoners was massive like a bison. His head merged into his shoulders without as much as a neck in between. Five sets of shackles hung on his wrists with two of them broken. The other man was thin, delicate, and wore the crest of some noble family.
"Colonel Clarke," a Sergeant said. "They were in maximum security. They're yours now."
Colonel Clarke looked at the pair. He stood and walked up to the monster of a man. "Take off his shackles."
"Sir, he's a dangerous criminal, murderer," the Sergeant said.
The beast glared down at Colonel Clarke.
"You've got a chance at a fresh start here. Both of you. Now remove the shackles."
The Sergeant stood to the side of the large man and carefully removed all of the shackles. The rest of the transport squad moved back a few meters and raised their weapons. Then he removed the shackles from the other.
The large man rubbed his wrists. A bit of fire seemed to edge away. He looked back at the detail and watched them walk out of the building.
"You want a job?" Colonel Clarke said to the large man. Then he turned to the other. "Both of you?"
"Da," the large man said.
"What's your name?"
"Auroch, sir," the man said.
"You?" Colonel Clarke asked the other.
"William Belles Cunningham," the man said quietly.
Colonel Clarke nodded at them both. "Can you fight?"
Auroch nodded. Cunningham did not.
"Then you both have one task in this world. You ride in my tank, sit quietly, and hurt anyone who tries to hurt me. Can you do that?"
Cunningham sniffed and rubbed his nose. He glanced at Auroch and nodded. "Yes sir."
Auroch blinked his eyes rapidly and shook his massive head. "I, I, I'd be honored."
"Report to Commander Arap, he'll get you into the training routine. Welcome to the 19th."
#
Chapter Twenty-Three
Vasilov Prime - Civilian MagLev Transport
The moment they completed digging defensive positions the order came to move out. And now. No shower, no clean up, just a hard forced march to the camp and then a bumpy ride through the rain to the railhead.
The word everywhere was tanks. Tanks and war. Rumors had trickled down about the situation on Lishun Delta and they all knew that would be the destination. Those who'd served there before kept quiet, or mostly quiet. Those who hadn't listened to the stories and wondered what was true, or if it even mattered.
Corporal Mick stood in the center of the railcar and swayed with the movement of the train. A stifled grin sat on his face and his hands motioned about as he spoke. "Now they ain't too smart, but all they do is fight! They don't surrender and by Vasilov's blue balls, don't you surrender, either. They'll eat you right up."
"Eat me?" a private named Wickel asked.
"Under that heavy coat and armor plate is about a dozen little legs, all tucked up tight. Each one is razor sharp, tipped with a spike of bone, and specifically designed to grab, cut, grind and shove your remains into their mouths. True, right, Sergeant?" Corporal Mick said with a plaintive look to Sergeant Nikov.
"Cut the shit Mick, you're scaring the privates. The Kadan are herbivores."
Mick shrugged and pointed a scarred finger at the privates. "Plants, animals, it don't matter. They will kill you, absolutely. Shoot 'em before they get close, it usually takes a few rounds."
"At least," a Sergeant added. "Sometimes a whole clip."
"I'd add a grenade too," a sleepy-eyed Corporal mumbled. "Maybe two."
Private Mueller burst through the rear doors with his field jacket clenched tight. The sound of clinking glass announced his arrival. "Hey! Someone give me a hand before I drop something."
Tomi suddenly found a bottle of the most expensive whisky he'd ever seen plopped in his lap. His squad mates leaned in from around the booth. "Uh."
"Shhh," Corporal Mick said. He slid into the booth and procured the bottle. He cracked off the top and sniffed the cork like a true connoisseur. "Here! Take a drink."
Tomi sucked down a burning slug. The whisky rolled down his stomach and gave that gentle burn only booze can offer.
"Now go watch for the Officers," Mick said as he took a drink and passed it along.
Tomi savored the burn and knew he'd feel the hefty drink any moment. He passed by the same scene happening all along the length of the passenger car. It didn't look like it'd take long until the bottles were empty.
He peered through the dirty window into the next car. All of the Officers had left for a staff meeting as soon as the train departed.
The winter landscape drifted by through banks of alternating fog and clustered villages. They were in the settled areas where the heroes of old and new owned Baronies, Counties, Magistrations. These minor districts made up the worlds of Vasilov. Above each was a semi-feudal bureaucracy held by those who had earned it. What was once rare, a title, had become common after the war on Kadan.
The train car grew overly warm as they moved South. The sounds of carousing crept up until a handful of arguments barked down the car. Tomi stood and gawked back as a short Private from Third Platoon did flips down the center of the aisle.
The crowd cheered.
The Private collapsed against a seat and promptly vomited.
The crowd cheered again.
Tomi couldn't help but grin. It felt good to have a release, even for a short train ride. They'd gone, nonstop, for two weeks with barely a break. They slept in their own bunks only twice. The rest of the time was in the mud. They trained at night with night vision glasses. They trained at defending, assaulting, attacking, flanking, and moving as a cohesive unit.
They trained until they could hardly move. Then the Sigg Cadre would provide instruction and they'd learn why they flanked like they did. Or why they waited 'til the last moment to toss grenades. The Sigg had a quick eye, a watchful eye, but they also seemed genuinely curious.
Tomi thought it was fatherly concern until the other Vasilov soldiers pointed out that the Sigg saw the Vasilov military as backwards.
Was it? Tomi wondered. The others said how different it all was than the normal training. A few of the older soldiers protested the training and defended the doctrine of trenches. But most took it with quiet professionalism. This wasn't merely a new march, but a new way of battle. But most importantly a new way of staying alive.
Tomi felt a hand on his shoulder. He stepped aside and stared up at Colonel Clarke. He stammered for words.
Colonel Clarke gave Tomi a soft smile and leaned on the edge of the door frame. He crossed his arms and watched. His eyes twinkled and the barest touch of a smile was on his lips.
Tomi snapped his eyes back to the rest of the car. In that moment he had no idea what to do.
Corporal Mick stood in the center of the aisle. A blond haired Sergeant stood opposite him and the two boxed. Next to each was an almost empty glass bottle. The car cheered each of them on. Mick snapped one punch and the blonde dodged it easily.
The blond leaned back and drove his fist into an upper cut.
Mick caught it squarely on the chin and plopped down onto his ass with his legs sprawled out.
The train car went wild.
About then someone noticed Colonel Clarke and shouted out, "Company Attention!"
There was the sound of clinking glass, shuffling feet, and a stifled belch. Someone fell over and scrambled back into position.
Colonel Clarke didn't say a word for a moment. He looked down the length of the car and nodded slowly. "Well," he said.
The car was taut with tension. Sweat broke out on more than a few brows.
"Did anyone save me a sip?" Colonel Clarke said. "At ease."
There was a collective sigh of relief and everyone sat slowly. Colonel Clarke strolled down the middle of the passenger car and picked up Corporal Micks' bottle. He took a little sip and handed it back to Mick.
"By now you've probably heard where we're going," Colonel Clarke said. He exhaled and gave a little shiver. "Oof, that stuff has some bite!"
Corporal Mick grinned back.
"We will get our armor today," Colonel Clarke said. He let the words hang. "This isn't a penal battalion any longer, but an Armored Cavalry Squadron. We have three days with our tanks. Three days." He stopped again and looked up and down. "It was hard before, now it's going to be worse."
"Colonel, where we going in three days?" Sergeant Pikovic, a soon-to-be vehicle commander asked.
"The Mackinof Front. Two weeks ago an orbital bombardment demolished the command bunker, they've barely been able to hold. We're going in to hold the line and let reinforcements come in. I'm not going to lie to you, I'm not sure what to expect here. Our operational data is pretty thin. First priority is for anti-air units to get in and get us covered. If you fail, we're done. If we're down then the Mackinof front will fall."
No one spoke. The only sound was the whistling of the wind.
"If Mackinof falls, LISCOM falls, and then," Colonel Clarke said as he waved a hand toward the window, "the Kadan are here."
Tomi listened and felt a weight grow on his shoulders, a weight called duty. It wasn't an abstract operation, or a sentry duty, or some busy work. It was real now and he felt different.
"That is our duty, and this we shall defend."
The soldiers in the train car cheered. Now they weren't a rabble of broken men and women, but soldiers. Soldiers fighting for their nation.
"Get your rest, sleep off that whisky, and be ready." Colonel Clarke walked toward the end of the train car and stopped. "You've all done well, now keep it up."
Colonel Clarke opened the next door and walked in the next train car filled with soldiers.
"There we go!" Corporal Mick howled.
The train pushed through the countryside without stopping. Towns grew larger and then turned into cities and finally the vast sprawling landscape of the Capital. There the railyards were packed with civilians all moving out.
The Capital was dirty, like a party left behind. The streets were littered with discarded clothing, equipment, garbage, and in some cases people. Never before had so many been evacuated.
They disembarked into the rain at the edge of an industrial zone. Factory complexes stretched into the distance, all bearing the red and yellow stripe of the Martinez Group. The unit marched through a cavernous door. The inside was dark and felt hollow.
The lights turned on.
The entire space was filled with Sigg armored vehicles. They were arrayed by vehicle type. The first row was the longest. It held the standard Hellcat tank with an off center gun carriage and infantry bay. Next to it were the anti-air units, next to that the close support artillery units, and then a mixed bag of command vehicles, medical, support, and finally the gunships.
All of the armor was built upon the same basic chassis. They had tracks like black alligator skin. It was ribbed, random, and thoroughly angry looking. The sides sloped gently and merged into the top of the vehicle. The front was a sharp angle while the rear was blocky. At the top was a pair of blister turrets with small caliber autocannons poking out.
The main units had a slender cannon tucked into a protective cradle. It looked quiet, unassuming, even a bit too small in comparison to the rest of the vehicle. A set of rotary turrets poked out from the rear, anti-artillery interceptors.
They were dull gray. Scrapes, scratches, dent, and battle scars marked them as surplus. Some still bore the shadow of the Sigg insignia while others still had unit names. Each had a name stenciled on the side : Devastator, Comanche, Cannibal, Crunch, Bodacious Bastard, and other such colorful names.
Pablo Martinez stood before them, his arms across his chest, with a wide grin on his face. "Welcome." He swung his arms open. "These are your steeds."
They broke out of ranks and formed into armored crews. Tomi and his group followed after Hans and arrived at a rather sad looking tank with the name Bulldog painted on the side.
It wore a terrible scrape on the side of the armor that looked like a blow torch had melted the steel away. The road wheels were pitted and slivers of shrapnel still poked out. The barrel was shrouded in a canvas cover.
Hans stepped to the back and engaged the door to open.
The rear hatch slid out and down before settling onto the ground. Inside it smelled musty with a hint of body odor, feces, and blood.
"Go on," Hans said with a wave. "Poke it, climb on it, get used to it."
The crew, Sergeant Nikov and Tomi, stood in the front of the infantry. Hutch peered over their heads with the rest of his mates.
"Go on!" Hans pointed at Tomi. "You first, driver is first in, last out."
Tomi stepped into the vehicle. The infantry area was tight with fold up seats packed against the wall. Nooks, crannies and stowage areas were everywhere. It was much simpler inside than he had expected. A wide panel was marked MAIN AMMO with panels beneath it stenciled with numbers. The ceiling was covered with fat metal rings. "What are the rings for, sir?"
"Hammocks," Hans said. "You'll eat, sleep, and live here."
"All of us?" Private Sophia asked.
Hans shrugged. "Plenty of room."
Tomi pushed through a slender gap into the front. There were two stations. The first was down low with a driving yoke and a control panel all wedged tightly between armor plate. The second was above and behind the driver, it was slightly larger. Both of them had a helmet sitting on the seat with a visor covering the eyes.
Tomi immediately recognized everything. "This is just like what I used to run."
"What?" Hans asked behind him. "Show me."
Tomi slid into the tight chair and recognized the grasp of the cushions, the bump on his spine, even the way his legs sprawled out. Identical. He slid the helmet on and smelled someone else just for a moment. He wondered who sat here before.
His hands danced on the controls and the dark visor blinked to life. The vehicle hummed as the internal power core came back to life. Fans whirred, the air moved, servos and cylinders performed status checks and Tomi grinned.
Diagnostics data scrolled past his eyes and the visor finally flashed ready. He keyed an acknowledgment on the hand control. The visor dimmed and slowly the view outside the tank came to life.
The view through the visor was like he sat on the top of the tank. Vision sensors were spaced all around the armored vehicle and they gave him a seamless view of every detail around him. He turned his head and looked behind. He grinned and poked at more controls, buttons, and screens. He keyed the button where the mining laser was on his old unit and was rewarded with the sound of the main cannon coming online.
A new set of data dropped in and firing solutions appeared. He depressed one button and swung the main cannon from side-to-side.
Someone yelled outside.
Tomi returned the cannon to the cradle.
"Quit fucking off! What the fuck is going on in here?" Commander Arap shouted into the back of the tank.
Tomi peeled the helmet off and sat up sharply.
"Commander," Hans said. He crossed his arms and frowned.
"This is orientation time, not weapons unlocked. These people don't have any training on this shit and you let him deploy the main gun?" Commander Arap barked, his voice was rough and it sounded like he was one syllable away from a hemorrhage.
Hans rubbed his chin and looked back to Tomi. "How many hours do you have logged on this kind of equipment?"
Tomi tried to speak but had to clear his throat first. Fear ran through him. The last thing he wanted was to be the focus of Commander Arap's rage. "9,460 hours, sir."
Commander Arap locked eyes with Hans.
Hans nodded and smiled a thin smile. "You see, Commander, this young man used to run Sigg designed mining rigs. He has more hours on this equipment than any of our trainers."
"What's your name, trooper?" Commander Arap asked. The anger in his voice was gone.
"Private Tomi Morgan, sir."
Commander Arap placed his hands on Tomi's shoulder. "How'd you like to train our drivers, Morgan?"
Tomi turned to see if Commander Arap was serious. "Yes sir!"
Commander Arap grinned back and nodded slowly. "Carry on trooper. Carry on."
#
Chapter Twenty-Four
Vasilov Prime - 68th Floor of the Rassenheim Building
The rain fell in sheets over the darkened city. The blood of the city, its citizens, had left. Only troops marched beneath the high rise complexes.
The synthetic clung to the side of a warehouse stenciled with an advertisement. It sat on the sharp edge of a blue R. It was nearly complete.
It had sloughed off the biological a few days before into a drainage ditch. After that its metal skin was cold-tender like cold milk on hot teeth. It didn't like the feeling. So it hid inside a culvert and waited.
The metal skin, like a million fish scales, congealed, oxidized, and took on a black sheen. Instead of a frail biological, it was a much more robust synthetic. A combination all based on an iron chemical structure.
It waited. The rain ran over it. It waited and watched beneath. The city was filled with soldiers and it knew better than to engage now.
It shifted spectrum. Thermal plumes from an armored column wafted into the sky.
Memories churned and it sorted through millennia of technical data as it sought to catalog what it saw. It settled first on a design from a species in the Kelen Arm but found it statistically unlikely that they were here. Next it saw similarities to an old design discovered in the ruins of XVI2234. That too was discarded. Finally it came to a more recent entry.
Sigg.
It recorded the column and ignored it. It didn't deal with armored vehicles. Its expertise was in softer things.
A pair of gunships powered through the clouds. They came into view for a moment. One had a terrible hum in a turbine while the other wobbled and slid through the air like a drunk.
The synthetic watched them disappear.
It watched an old building. The pillars looked out of place compared to the high rises around it. A column of armored cars pulled up to the front. Soldiers emerged from the building and stood in the rain.
The synthetic tensed and engaged magnification. People stepped out of the cars and looked blurry through the magnified rain. There was a heavy military escort, a dozen soldiers in body armor with standard issue weapons. Then a group of old men and an old woman stepped out.
The synthetic analyzed a hundred possibilities. Should it strike now? It weighed the response, the troop count, the tendency for violence and compared it all against the odds for success. No, it thought. Not yet.
It was a patient thing and it could stand to wait.
#
Chapter Twenty-Five
Vasilov Prime - Pulaski Hotel
Kelly Dell insisted on the body armor. She wouldn't have it any other way. "Listen, Boss," she said, a far change from being called Captain, "invasion could be imminent, we've already been shot at once, and most of our boys are playing drill Sergeant."
Umi shrugged his shoulders and the armor settled onto his chest. He plucked his shirt off the hotel bed and did his best to smooth out the lines from the armor.
"We really should have weapons," Kelly said. "Remember last time?" Her voice was bordering on angry.
"We're going into the Vasilov parliament, not a Boben bunker," Umi replied. He tapped his thigh and remembered that he hadn't worn a service pistol in quite some time.
There was a knock on the door and two of Umi's men entered. Both were built like lumberjacks. One carried an attaché case with the Sigg diplomatic seal scratched out and the other a case that looked like something a guitar would come in. They both wore pseudo-professional suits that had more in common with a military dress uniform than a business suit.
"Morning gentlemen, are we ready?"
Herman grunted and set the heavy case on the bed. Max turned and stood in the center of the entryway and let his bulk block out the light. "Da, we're ready."
"You put them up to this, didn't you?" Umi said to Kelly.
"A few precautions is all," Kelly said as she patted the case.
"Max, Herman, Kelly, this isn't a Boben assault. Remember, we're consultants now. Let's act like consultants."
Max turned his head and grunted.
"Now let's go."
"What's wrong with these people? Why'd they put the stargate in the middle of the Capital?" Kelly asked.
The streets slid by and the discarded debris of a society sat on the curbs. Troops huddled beneath awnings and massive piles of supplies and ammunition were everywhere. Massive armored vehicles, more like mobile bunkers, were parked throughout the area.
"This place is old, Kelly," Umi said. He craned his neck to gawk at a tank the size of a small building. "Big fucker."
"And?"
"It grew organically, the biggest concern was making a colony, not strategic defense. Later it was too much effort, and really, they didn't have much reason."
The van stopped. A troop of infantry marched across the street. They wore heavy gray and brown coats and looked like they marched right out of the history books. The four Sigg watched, mildly amused.
They arrived at the parliament building a few minutes later and were escorted through security and into the bowels of the building.
Umi felt relieved that the soldiers manning the door didn't ask to look in the case. He didn't know what was in it, but had a hunch it was a Sigg AT-34. The AT-34 was an ultra high velocity anti-armor rifle. He hoped he wouldn't have a chance to find out.
Two men in dull green jackets stood guard at Lady Atli's door. They admitted the group into a room with a time worn red carpet and wooden walls that were orange with age. Boxes were stacked everywhere and the air smelled of dust.
"Captain Umi Matsuo?" a secretary asked behind a steel desk.
"Just Umi."
"Your, uh," the man looked at Max, Herman and Kelly, "escorts can wait here. Lady Atli is expecting you."
Umi opened the door and stepped into what he assumed was a temporary office.
Lady Atli stood. She wore a heavy sweater that made her thin frame look bulky. Her face looked tired, her eyes ringed, and her hair was tussled. But still she looked dignified.
Umi went to close the door behind him.
"One moment, Captain, we're expecting one more."
"Yes, ma'am. And just Umi, please, I'm not a Captain anymore."
"Indeed. Do you have the pendant with you?"
Umi had placed it on a titanium necklace and wore it around his neck. He pulled it off and handed it to Lady Atli.
She held it in her parchment skin hands and rubbed it between two fingers. She sighed, closed her eyes, and gripped it tight. "Do you know what this is, Umi?"
"No, ma'am. A charm of some sort?"
"Yes, I guess you could say that. It's a unit crest of sorts, and, more importantly, a data storage device."
Umi opened his mouth to ask a question when a buzzer sounded.
A moment later Colonel Clarke marched in. He was in full uniform, heavy coat, armored vest and a sidearm strapped to his hip. An assault rifle was slung from his shoulder and rested against his back.
"Now Captain, you may close the door." Lady Atli sat slowly and looked even smaller.
Umi closed the door and sat beside Colonel Clarke. The chairs creaked.
Lady Atli held the pendant before her and gently set it on the desk. "This is given to members of the Order of Terra. They realized long ago that once man reached for the stars that no one organization could control it all. It was too big, the interests too varied, and the opportunity to corrupt the organization too great. So they granted sectors to people like Stefan Vasilov and partitioned space as the colonies expanded. Each zone would rule itself, but existential threats appeared."
Umi sat and listened. It sounded like a conspiracy theory. A bunch of bunk, but he couldn't discount the fact that she, whoever she was, had laid down her life for him.
"The Order of Terra looks at the big picture. They are not interested in the day to day affairs of planets, or even sectors, but instead focus on threats to our species. This agent, whoever she was, thought her own life worth less than the knowledge that was in this pendant. Colonel, as I told the Captain here, this is a data storage device. And he will, with any luck, access it."
Umi wanted to correct her about rank again but bit his lip. He didn't like the fact that he was already being ordered to do this task. He clenched and unclenched his hands. What was this all about?
"How do you know all this?" Colonel Clarke asked.
Lady Atli slid her hair away from her neck and pulled out a slender gold chain. A pendant, almost identical to the one on the desk, swayed. "Because I took the oath long ago."
Umi blinked and glanced over at Colonel Clarke.
"Colonel, we'll do what we can to decode this pendant. As soon as we have more information, you'll know. Until then," she locked eyes with Colonel Clarke, "do your duty. Now go, I know you are pressed on time."
Colonel Clarke stood and saluted Lady Atli. "I'll do my duty, I never planned to do anything else."
"I know, Colonel, I know."
Colonel Clarke gave Umi a nod and stuck out his hand. "Stay out of trouble."
Umi returned the handshake and tried to break a smile. It felt fake, and he didn't like parting with a friend. "Same to you."
Colonel Clarke marched out and closed the door behind him.
Umi turned back to Lady Atli and thought on the pendants. He'd been without a real purpose since the end of the Boben war. There was a pit inside of him, a pit he didn't like, but it was an empty place and nothing seemed to fill it. Working as a consultant, mercenary, whatever, had seemed like a good idea. But it didn't fill the void. Her words came back to him: "do your duty." Was that what I'm missing, he wondered. Duty?
A dull rumble echoed through the walls like a giant beast rolled overhead. Lady Atli looked up at the ceiling and nodded slightly.
"The gate is priming," Lady Atli said.
Umi felt the shudder in his bones and a bit of adrenaline seeped in. He tasted dust in his mouth.
Lady Atli set the pendant onto a flat plate and keyed up her tablet. The tablet chirped once, then twice, then a third time. She tapped at it with a bony finger and dropped the tablet onto the table.
Umi looked down and saw a large red X.
"I tried to access it," Lady Atli said as she scooped up the pendant. "But it's damaged. We'll need to find someone to open it."
"Pardon me, but I don't have to do anything."
"You're a mercenary. You, like those with you, are seeking things you can't find back home. This," she said, tapping the pendant, "will make a difference. Maybe more than you could possibly imagine."
Umi stared down at the swaying metal pendant. Earth. It was a powerful symbol. What did he want? He wasn't sure, but he knew he hadn't found it yet. "Payment?" he asked, knowing that a whole bunch of Sigg were depending on him for a paycheck. Big, possibly angry, Sigg.
"No good deed goes unpunished."
Umi leaned forward and smiled. He reached a hand out for the pendant.
Lady Atli snapped it up and smiled a thin little smile. "If you take it, you must protect it with your life."
The moment hit Umi and he paused, just for a second. With his life, for what? Then he nodded and grabbed the pendant. I hope you're worth the trouble, he thought.
There was another rumble then a cracking sound like dry wood snapping.
Umi leapt to his feet. Gunfire. His heart beat quicker, the adrenaline seeped back in, and he once again regretted not having a pistol.
Kelly burst through the door with a Sigg VV-6.5 submachine gun in one hand and a commset in the other. Behind her, Max was loading another VV and Herman was snapping the AT-34 anti-tank rifle together. The secretary stood against the backwall with a white face. Her desk was slammed against the door.
"Something took out the guards in the hall. Comms are scrambled," Kelly said as she tossed the VV to Umi.
Umi snapped up the weapon and seated the action. "Ma'am, you got a back door?"
Lady Atli had already moved to the side of the room and was struggling to push back a wooden wardrobe.
Umi rushed over and pushed, the cabinet crunched on the floor and exposed a rust speckled metal door.
"This will take us into the kitchens."
"Max! Herman!" Umi yelled.
Max ran in and tucked himself next to the door. Herman walked backwards with the barrel of his AT-34 trained on the door. There was a crunching sound from outside.
"Cap?" Herman said without taking his gaze off the door.
"Hold, not until—"
The door splintered open and for a brief moment a black form was visible in the opening. The roar of the AT-34 blasted through the room. Max opened fire with the VV and the stubby SMG blared fire like a blow torch. Bullet holes stippled the door.
Alarms sounded in the hallway and more gunfire sounded out followed by a shriek and a scream. The alarms continued but the gunfire from the hall stopped.
"Move!" Umi yelled. "Kelly, help her!"
Kelly opened the door and helped Lady Atli into the dank hallway. A long line of floor lighting flickered.
"Pull back, barricade this one!" Umi ran over to LAdy Atli's desk and pushed it ahead. Herman took position at the door and Max pushed the desk closer.
"Clear!" Herman yelled and opened fire once more. The AT-34 barked once, cycled a round, then barked a second time. The heavy composite casings tumbled to the floor.
The intruder forced its way through the shattered doorframe and tossed out a slender blade. Its black body leaped ahead.
Umi raised his weapon and pulsed the trigger. A gout of flame blasted out toward the attacker. He knew the attacker was the same as before, the body was identical.
It was simple, neutral looking, vaguely humanoid, and blazing fast. One gloved hand was empty, the other held a crude looking black blade.
Umi's round impacted first on the left thigh then rippled up. The next one disappearing into the stomach and the following one puncturing right into the black material that covered its face. Max fired at the same moment and his rounds connected with the center mass.
The black assailant fell to the floor and his blade clattered from his hand.
"Finish him!" Umi yelled.
Herman collapsed. The action of his AT-34 was sliced open and the hilt of a blade protruded from his ribs.
"Get the door!" Umi said as he drug Herman back.
Max slammed the door shut. He leaped over the desk and pushed it up against the heavy paneled wood door.
Umi looked down at his old Command Sergeant and slid his body to the floor. They'd survived so much together against the Boben that it pained Umi to see his friend fall like this.
They raced out of the office and sprinted through the tight confines of the passage. The sounds of wood splintering echoed behind them. The passage turned twice and then they were into a wider passage lined with pipes and electrical conduit. Kelly was just ahead with Lady Atli against her arm. A steel door blocked their way.
"Move aside!" Umi yelled as he ran up to it. He punched a single round into the lock and the door creaked open.
All four pushed through. Umi gave one last glance and then followed the rest. He caught a flash of black and didn't wait to confirm who it was. He knew.
The kitchens were quiet and cold. They ran as fast as Lady Atli could go. Finally she stopped and steadied herself on the edge of a table. Her eyes wavered. "I can't, I can't go on."
"Max, get her." Umi took Max's weapon and the bulky trooper scooped up Lady Atli like a child.
They ran through the stainless and copper kitchen.
Umi raced behind and kept an eye behind them. He halted at the exit of the kitchen and pointed the SMG at service door. His heart slammed in his chest and he tasted metal in his mouth. Adrenaline like he hadn't felt in months came back to him. But most of all he had a purpose.
The service door creaked open a sliver.
Umi fired off the entire clip. The door rippled and paint fell off in chips. He didn't wait to see any results.
He caught up with them in a long hall with marble statues lining the way. They all seemed to watch down on them. The entire place felt more like a mausoleum than a place of government.
"Where is everyone?" Kelly said.
"Evacuating," Lady Atli said as she bounced in Max's arms.
A clatter sounded behind them. Umi spun with his weapon raised. The synthetic leaped impossibly high and latched onto the shoulder of one of the statues. It swung across the hall and propelled itself forward. It was like a small monkey swaying through trees of marble.
Umi stopped. He followed it with his SMG and held his fire. It didn't seem right to shoot and damage the statues, that and he knew it wouldn't do a damn bit of good.
"Cap!" Kelly yelled.
Umi growled and ran. He ran like he'd only ran when an artillery barrage was coming in. That animal run of fear and survival. When whatever was coming was worse than something you could handle. He ran because he knew that he couldn't stop this thing. Not yet.
They approached a wide door. Kelly grunted and opened it up. Daylight blasted inside of the somber hall. Max raced out with Kelly just behind. She held the door from the outside.
Umi stopped in the doorframe and raised the weapon once more. The SMG was cool against his cheek. He heard shouts behind him, yelling, but ignored it all. He focused his aim on the approaching black shape.
The synthetic dropped down and immediately broke into a full sprint. One hand was empty and the other held a blade.
Umi exhaled and squeezed the trigger.
The muzzle flared and the casings tumbled to the floor. The rounds stitched into the synthetics face but it did nothing more than toss its head.
Shit, Umi thought. Then he saw it, the blade. He released the trigger, lowered the muzzle just a touch, then squeezed.
The first round struck the hand, the second the wrist, but the third clanged right into the hilt and the blade tumbled to the floor. The synthetic turned its head and watched the weapon fall but didn't stop.
Umi stepped back, tripped on the threshold of the door, and tumbled head over heels down a set of wet marble steps. He stopped in a puddle and kept the muzzle locked onto the door. Then he became aware of everyone else.
A company of Vasilov infantry was arrayed around him. Lady Atli stood behind the ranks. A Captain in a sweeping trench coat stood beside her. Max and Kelly stood behind the wall of soldiers. All of the infantry had their weapons at ready and pointed at the doors.
"Get ready!" the Captain called.
Lady Atli glared at the door and no longer looked like an old lady, but like a challenged warrior. Her eyes burned with rage.
The door creaked for a moment and then there was silence. The Captain ordered his company toward the door. Sirens blared in the distance and grew closer. The first soldiers broke through and the word was passed. Nothing.
Umi stood and safed the weapon. The adrenaline seeped away and his back felt sore. The wetness on his pants chilled him and he started to shiver.
Lady Atli marched up. "Well, Captain?"
"Who can decode it?"
"Do you know a Lokeen named Sevel?"
Umi smiled back and nodded.
"He'll take us."
"Where?"
"To see the Ken-Tec Captain."
Umi was speechless. The Lokeen didn't carry passengers. The Ken-Tec didn't see humans. Ever. What the hell could drive the most aloof aliens to suddenly help a half-backwards group of humans?
Emflife, Umi thought. The Emflife. The boogie-man, the creatures from the past, the thing the other races feared and the thing men had never faced.
"The Emflife are real, aren't they?" Umi asked Lady Atli.
"Yes," she whispered. Her thin lips barely moved. "And god help us all if they're coming."
#
Chapter Twenty-Six
Vasilov Prime - Stargate
The armor sat just before the blank stargate and waited. Thousands of soldiers were arrayed on either side. They were bundled up like snowmen with heavy jackets, fur lined caps, and mittens. Great packs rode on their backs. The armor was covered in equipment, crates, barrels, cloth sacks, metal replacement parts, anything that would fit. One vehicle had a coil of sausage hanging off a spare wheel. They looked more like gypsy wagons than fighting vehicles.
Tomi stifled a yawn. He turned his head from side-to-side and stared at the column around him. The camera feed on the outside of the tank made it look like he was sitting on top of the tank. Distances overlaid onto other vehicles and landmarks. Diagnostics data sat on the corner of his screen, a flick of the eye would bring it all down. A map was barely visible over what he saw.
Then he looked straight ahead. The stargate stared back at him and he felt a funny twinge in his stomach. Fear. He would be the first one in. He keyed the camera view and looked directly behind Bulldog. Two of the anti-aircraft tanks waited. Their barrels floated on a slab of super-chilled graphite. They were so fast that the barrel itself was in a vacuum otherwise it would overheat just from the friction of the air around it.
A hand tapped him on the shoulder.
"What?" Tomi said.
"Hey, uh," a voice said behind him.
Tomi pulled the helmet off and set it on his lap.
The smells of the vehicle hit him, hard. Oil, propellant, gunsmoke, cooked food, pickles, body odor, piss, all mixed into the air stream and shot throughout the cabin. It was warm and the smell was not pleasant.
Private Mueller stood behind Tomi. He looked down at the floor and his hands fidgeted with something. "I, uh, I took this." He handed an ID pack to Tomi.
Tomi took it and set it on his lap. He glanced over at the little cubby hole. Empty. That was right there, he thought. "Did it fall out?"
Mueller shook his head and smiled sheepishly. "No, I stole it."
"Why?"
Mueller shrugged. "I kind of steal things. Ya know, like, a lot."
"Uh. Thanks?"
Mueller shrugged and climbed back into the crew compartment.
Tomi watched him go and stuck his credentials into the drivers suit pocket. The fabric was stiff, slightly rough, and totally fireproof. Or so they told him.
Mueller sat down between two soldiers, Hess and Wellington.
They were both compulsive gamblers. In the short few days of training time they'd managed to win, and lose, their accumulated earnings. Now they were in a stalemate and wagering future meals.
"Look at that!" a pudgy faced Private named Gous said. He waved a tablet around with a buxom blonde winking back. A totally nude blonde.
Tomi stared back at the crew and tried to suppress a smile. There were the gamblers, Hess and Wellington, Waslinski, who hadn't admitted any crime, Gous the porn addict, Mueller the kleptomaniac, Mick, Sophia, Hutch, and Puck, the drunks and brawlers and Nikov, Bosovitz and Kallio, the drug addicts. It all rounded out with Veriha, the lone murderer still alive in the entire company.
At first no one wanted to talk, but as they spent more time riding in the back while Tomi ran gunnery exercises, they all opened up. Those with the minor crimes confessed first. Those with addictions spoke last, the weight and the addiction, was still too fresh.
Half had served on Lishun Delta before. The other half were fresh and showed it. They fidgeted, yawned, tapped their feet, and had a tight razor stare. The adrenaline had strung them out for too long. The veterans took on an air of nonchalance, like it was all old hat.
Now they were all part of Bulldog. Each had a special role, Mick led the infantry squad. Only Tomi and Sergeant Nikov would always remain with the tank. Others had specialists roles, though for now it was mostly a paper title. They hadn't had the training. Kallio, the medic. Hess and Wellington, mechanics. Gous, digital specialist. Veriha, demolitions. Everyone else, infantry.
A foot pressed on Tomi's shoulder and he reached up and set it aside. Sergeant Nikov snored loudly in the commander's chair.
Tomi stretched as best as he could. He set the helmet onto his head and listened to the comms chatter. His heart fluttered and he heard the call. The units were signaling the ready. He turned his head and saw Commander Arap storming up to his vehicle. "Wake up! The Commander is coming!" he yelled into the intercom.
The crew shuffled into order in the rear of the vehicle.
Sergeant Nikov still snored noisily behind him. Tomi grabbed one of her boots and yanked it.
"Wah, wah?"
"'Rap is coming!"
"Shit," Sergeant Nikov mumbled and slid down out of the commander's area.
Tomi called out a warning and punched the door open. Cool wet air flooded into the vehicle. The crew sat up straighter, locked elbows to the side, and everyone tucked their feet in tight.
Commander Arap rushed through the vehicle dripping water the entire way. He said nothing and climbed up. "Comm check," he said quickly.
"Driver check," Tomi echoed back.
"Squad Check," Corporal Mick replied.
One-by-one the infantry rolled through the comm check.
"Rah! Right, everyone ready?" Commander Arap barked.
"Ready sir!" came a half dozen nervous replies.
"Louder! I want 'em to hear us outside!"
"Ready sir!" The reply shook the armored walls.
"That's what I like to hear," Commander Arap said. "They're priming the gate right now, we've got a five minute countdown."
Tomi exhaled a deep breath and looked all around the outside of Bulldog. The layout of troops crept closer. And all of them would be right behind him. He checked his diagnostics again and verified everything was right.
"Commander, may I ask a question, sir?" Sophia asked.
"Ya already did!" Commander Arap said.
Tomi could hear the smile in his voice.
"Go ahead, whatcha got, soldier?"
"Sir, why don't we gate in to LISCOM and drive across the plain?" Sophia said.
"That's a good question, soldier. You ever been to Lishun?"
"No sir," Sophia replied quickly.
"Now I ain't pickin on ya, I just wanted to know. Ya see, the winds they come down off the mountains like a jackrabbit on a sugar rush. In the summer the winds draw back, but right now that whole plain is filled with snow, hurricane force winds, and there ain't no way we can punch through. Even with this fancy armor. Understand, son?"
"Thank you, sir," Sophia replied.
"Now don't be ashamed, that was a good question. Same goes for down south, but this time it's winds off the ocean. But we gotta hold 'em all, those are the only chokepoints before LISCOM. At LISCOM is the focal point for Lishun Delta to Vasilov Prime. If they want to invade us, they have to take LISCOM. Got it?"
"Got it, sir!"
"Tomi," Commander Arap said. "Colonel's got a broadcast coming any second, put it live for the crew."
"Yes sir," Tomi replied and set the comms chatter live.
A few moments later the command tone sounded and the idle chatter dropped away.
"Soldiers of the 19th Armored Cavalry Squadron, this is Colonel Clarke." The words hung and the soldiers in the unit perked up. Not penal battalion, but Armored Cavalry Squadron.
Tomi swelled up a bit with pride. His sentence felt a little lighter.
"I'll keep this short. We need to make a hole and we need to hold it. If we fail, there's a few thousand infantrymen who won't make it to that line. If we fail, that entire front will freeze to death. The Kadan will, without a doubt, strike at us from the air, with artillery, and on the ground. Do it just like we've been training for."
There was another pause and a mumble of words in the background. "Right, here we go. This isn't bullshit folks, this is for the survival of our families."
Tomi clicked the comms off.
"Lock and load," Commander Arap said.
The echo of weapons being loaded echoed through the tight space. A heavy mechanical chunk echoed through the wall. A secondary target indicator appeared on Tomi's view. He slid his hand down and verified the safety was on and the weapon on commander control.
"Yellow line," Commander Arap said. He lowered his voice to almost a whisper. "Once the gate fires you punch the pedal down and get us through. Give me fifty meters straight ahead and then we'll find us a nice hole. Don't worry if you get sick, we're all gonna get sick. Just get us through. Got it?"
"Yes sir," Tomi replied. A smile grew on his face, an involuntary thing, a nervous smile, an excited smile. He wiped his hands on his pants and had the urge to urinate.
The thought of going through an unprimed gate made his stomach turn. He knew that without a link on the other end he'd get overwhelmed as every electrical signal in his body shorted out. If he was lucky, all he'd do was get sick. If he was unlucky, he'd suffer convulsions like an epileptic and be totally useless.
"Thirty seconds!" came the call.
Tomi heard his heartbeat loud in his ears and felt fear. Fear of failure, fear of injury, fear of death. Was it normal?
The gate steamed and glowed. The ground trembled and the air currents shifted and danced. There was a hollow blackness and then a pristine white exploded into view. Snow blasted through and a touch of dirt piled through the bottom of the gate. It was as perfect of a connection as could be made.
"Go, go, go!" Commander Arap yelled.
Tomi twisted the grips and the tank accelerated. Poorly stowed gear rained down from the cubbies and cabinets in the crew compartment. An ammo locker burst open and there was a crash followed by the sound of breaking glass and then a hint of whisky.
"Oh no," Hutch groaned over the sound of the electric motors.
Tomi didn't hear or notice any of it. He was absolutely and completely focused on the gate in front of him.
The tank ripped across the concrete pad and sailed through the stargate. All the rest of the armor surged into action just behind Bulldog.
His body was hit with a spasm and every muscle burned with an intense fire. Vomit exploded out from his mouth and he tried to direct it down, but with the muscle spasms it all shot straight ahead. Then as quick as it came, it was gone.
Tomi blinked and was blind. Everything was completely and totally white. He cried out and then the display settled down and contours, features, and terrain came into view. He turned the tank hard and dropped down into a crater. Frozen clumps of dirt rocketed into the air. He engaged the drivers cannon. Nothing responded for a minute then the tank came to life.
Groans, retching, and screams echoed from behind him. The only person that didn't vomit was Commander Arap.
Targets appeared like snowy ghosts in the distance. Tomi's view was overlaid with digital tags marking potential targets. Hovering above was a question mark.
"Firing on infantry!" Tomi called out.
"Hold, hold!" Commander Arap yelled. "180, bring us about, that's our line!"
Tomi gritted his teeth and slammed the safety down on his weapon. A wave of nausea rolled over him and he fought back a mouthful of bile.
The tank pivoted in the bottom of the hole and rocketed out and slammed back down into the next. Tomi felt the landing right in his ass and it almost took his breath away. Behind him came cries and screams. Oh shit. He plunged the tank through the bottom of the hole, checked his view, and crested the next. This time he moved a bit more gently.
"Bring us up, expose the main gun, but keep us below the rise," Commander Arap said.
Tomi crawled the tank up and waited.
The main gun deployed and the slender barrel slid from side-to-side.
"Going free-fire," Commander Arap said.
Tomi exhaled. The weapon would now fire upon anything that came into its view screen.
Around him more tanks crawled through the snow drifts and craters like giant armored beetles. They all took on the same look. Dirty, vaguely white, and already frosting up.
"Spread out everyone! Jailbird, you on the field?" Commander Arap called.
"Jailbird is on the field," a voice replied. "Moving toward the trench."
The lightly armored command tank that contained Colonel Clarke was, affectionately, referred to as Jailbird.
All around the gate the armor stopped and took position in a fan. The only thing that stuck above the craters was the slender high-velocity cannons.
A sound ripped out like a sheet of steel being ripped in two. It was a horrible crackling and popping. The air vibrated and shook. A trail blasted through the falling snow and disappeared into the sky.
"Incoming air units!" someone called out.
Tomi felt it in his stomach and was afraid. He had an impending feeling of doom, that there was something above him he couldn't see. Like a giant bird of prey waiting to pluck him away. He looked all around but saw nothing but drifts and dirt.
"Aircraft down, prep for artillery!" Colonel Clarke called.
Tomi called up his onboard radar and watched it. He had nothing to do now but wait, wait and hold. A blip appeared to his west.
A black smudge rocketed out of the sky. Orange and yellow flames trailed behind like a fiery asteroid. It blasted into the earth and cartwheeled through the torn landscape until the wedge shaped aircraft was mangled and torn. The wreck stopped about a hundred meters from the stargate. Steam billowed off as flames engulfed the rear of the aircraft.
Troops poured out of the gate and raced through the craters. A heavy tracked bulldozer creaked through with a boxy trailer behind it. The reactor rocked perilously as it drooped into a crater but luckily didn't roll.
Alarms blared inside of the tank. Then the first of the artillery rounds landed. Massive geysers of black and brown exploded into the sky. The ground shook and more shells landed.
Tomi wanted to hunch down. He could feel his teeth rattle. Lights flashed on his display and the anti-artillery system fired in staccato bursts. It almost seemed random as the interception system peppered a salvo here, a salvo there. The radar screen came alive with the tracers of artillery shells and it seemed most were heading toward the main line. Right toward the reactor and the infantry.
The bulldozer surged ahead and dropped into a crater. The driver waited in the bottom with the reactor totally exposed.
"Move, you son of a bitch!" Commander Arap screamed.
Tomi would have heard him even if he wasn't wearing a headset. He felt helpless. The artillery hammered down and he just waited. He took his hands off the controls and clenched them together. "Come on, hurry up," he said through gritted teeth.
"Delta two and three," Colonel Clarke called. "Support that crawler."
Two of the tanks appeared on the crests and then disappeared into the next shell hole. Each rose up and down like a ship floating at sea. One drove into a fresh hole and emerged with smoking dirt all over it.
Tomi watched with his head turned. He held his breath. The pair fired anti-artillery rounds almost nonstop.
The bulldozer stopped again. The shelling intensified. Infantry still poured through the gate. Some raced ahead while others dropped into craters and waited.
One company rose, charged out of the hole, and disappeared in a geyser of black. When the steam and smoke cleared, there was nothing left but another crater.
Tomi felt the urge to vomit and held it in. The fear bit him in the gut and he trembled under the weight of the bombardment.
"Contact," Commander Arap said in a low voice.
The radar display blinked once, twice, then a line of new contacts approached.
Tomi focused into the shimmering wall of snow. His ears rang. His hands were wet. Then he felt a pulsing against his back. It took him a second to realize that the main cannon was firing.
The rounds sailed off into the white. Firing solutions appeared and the cannon thumped off round after round. A steady clacking announced every cycle of the autoloader. The gun was silent for a second and the firing solutions came in faster than it could process.
"Assign, right flank, zero to thirty," Commander Arap called. "Bravo, Left flank, Charlie, Right flank, Delta, reserve. Here they come!"
Tomi poked at the keys and zeroed in the firing solution. He slapped engage and the main gun fired rapidly. He grinned to himself and felt almost giddy. They weren't even getting close.
The wind shifted and the Kadan line came into view. They were a mass of chunky armored vehicles and line after line of troopers. They crawled over the craters, disappeared below, and came on like a wave of bodies. The tanks teetered on edge and one tumbled over with black smoke pouring out.
It was then that Tomi realized the main gun wasn't firing at the infantry but at the approaching mechanical behemoths. Though he felt a bit better to see that the Kadan armor wasn't doing well.
The bulldozer crawled up a bit, then disappeared in a flash. The trailer rolled back down into the bottom of a crater and wobbled.
"Delta two-three, tow it!" Colonel Clarke called.
Tomi focused on the approaching troops and felt a knot in his stomach. The main gunfire was shattering into the front slope of the Kadan tanks but it looked like only a few of the shots were getting through the armor. One tank creaked to a halt and fired.
The edge of the shell hole exploded in a spray of frozen dirt.
Delta two rolled to where the bulldozer was and backed up so quick it rammed the trailer. It moved ahead a few meters and the rear hatch opened. The crew raced out, hooked up a tow line, then hooked up Delta three. The two tanks pulled and the trailer crept ahead at a painfully slow pace.
Tomi tried to watch it all but couldn't take it all in. All around him tanks were firing, infantry was dying, and artillery was raining down. An alarm flared. One of his camera banks had taken a hit. He had a dead spot on one side where his view was fish eyed.
Still the tanks approached and now the Kadan infantry was firing.
Two smoke trails sailed out of the clouds and a pair of the Kadan tanks exploded. Another missile streaked farther down the line and one more hammered into the Kadan armor. A Sigg gunship appeared out of the clouds, then dropped back and disappeared.
"Ready line, engage infantry!" Colonel Clarke called.
"You heard the man, Tomi, bring us up," Commander Arap said.
The tank crept up until the autocannon turrets were exposed. Commander Arap took the controls and he sent a searing line of fire just over the tops of the craters. Rounds ricocheted off rocks and disappeared into the snow but most hammered into the approaching Kadan.
"Come on! Get some!" Commander Arap yelled.
Delta Two and Three fought through the uneven terrain, creeping onto a prepared line of footings. Infantry surged around them and disappeared into the line of friendly trenches.
Kadan soldiers fell in waves but still they came.
Rounds pinged and sang off the armored hull. Tomi felt each impact and was thankful to be below the crater's edge. He looked back and saw the crew staring ahead into nothingness, waiting. What terrible fate it must be, he thought, to not know what awaited them.
Suddenly a tank in the next shell hole disappeared in a cloud of black. Chunks of armor and debris rained down onto Tomi's tank.
"Woah!" Commander Arap said. "Tomi! Get ready to move!"
A moment later the anti-aircraft units fired off a steady stream of rounds.
"Action victor, action victor, Delta company first, reverse order. Go!" Colonel Clarke called.
Tomi grasped the handles. His teeth chattered and for the first time he finally noticed he was cold. He took shallow breaths and stared out into the approaching Kadan line. Action victor was the order to move back in a controlled manner, and the order he was hoping for.
First the remnants of Delta company surged out of the shell holes while the other units covered. When they completed the maneuver Charlie company punched out. Then Bravo and finally the lead elements, Alpha company and Tomi's tank pulled back.
Each tank reversed hard, crested the rise, then halted on the other side. One-by-one they rolled through the line of shell holes until they moved past the line of Vasilov trenches and dropped down into the massive crater that was once Mackinof Command.
Tomi shook as the adrenaline dropped off. A hand clapped him on the shoulder and Commander Arap gave him a sharp nod, then disappeared into the crew compartment.
The rear hatch opened and the coldest air Tomi had ever felt poured into the vehicle.
Corporal Mick grasped Tomi's helmet and plucked it off his head. He grinned and produced a flask from his coat. "Welcome to Lishun Delta, Tomi." He handed the flask to Tomi.
Tomi took a sip of the cheap whisky and handed it back. It was only then he realized that he'd pissed his pants sometime in the middle of the battle.
One hell of a heroic start.
#
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lishun Delta – Mackinof Front – Temporary Command Bunker
"Colonel Clarke." Count-General Deveraux tapped the table. "We need your comm systems. The Kadan have ours jammed up tight. We can't hold this line without reliable communications. I'm sorry, but I'm taking your armor."
The overly tight command bunker was silent. An array of Officers all stood around a digital table with an overlaid map of the Mackinof front. With the main digital functions dead, someone had drawn unit designations onto the map with a wax pencil. Now the glass was smudged, dirty, and cracked in one corner.
Colonel Clarke took a moment. He locked eyes with General Deveraux. "You take those units and we lose our punch, any chance we have of breaking through that line."
Baron-Colonel Devos poked at the map. "General, they're a pack of felons with secondhand armor. Hardly a loss. Strip the radios, dig in the armor, and use them as defensive positions."
General Deveraux looked at Colonel Clarke. "Colonel, can you give me some results?"
The ground rumbled and frost drifted down from the ceiling. Another artillery barrage hammered into the Vasilov positions. Most of the bursts came from above, but more than a few impacted into the ground. The bombardment went on longer and everyone in the room was silent. No one could speak over the noise. Finally it halted.
"Seventy-four percent efficiency," a Captain called from an artillery monitor.
The command staff in the room talked amongst themselves as the number was digested. Nearly one quarter of every artillery round fired at the base made it through.
"Goddamn artillery!" General Deveraux said. "How long 'til that reactor is running?"
"Few more days, sir," a weary eyed Engineer said.
Colonel Clarke shot a glance at Baron-Colonel Devos and had an intense urge to toss the Baron outside.
"Now, General, if I may, we could dig the armor into these positions and stabilize the hotspots."
The places that Baron-Colonel Devos pointed were on the very edge of the umbrella coverage and took the worst of the brunt from the artillery.
"I'll stop that artillery," Colonel Clarke said.
The room went silent and every eye was on Clarke.
General Deveraux stuck his hands into a fur-lined muff. "Go on. Let's hear your plan."
Baron-Colonel Devos glared across the table at Colonel Clarke.
"We drive through here." Colonel Clarke pointed to the Northern Flank. "Once we get through the first trenches we strike and hope they're as unprepared as we were. Do we know how far the guns are?"
"We've got a good idea," a Major from the artillery unit said. "About sixteen kilometers, they're in four batteries." He reached out and tapped a stubby finger on the edge of the table.
"You're gonna stir 'em up something fierce," Colonel Bedovic said. A smile was wide across his face.
"You knock out a few of those guns and you can keep your armor. But Colonel, I need comms. Draw up your plans, send them along in a few hours. I want those guns knocked out."
"I'll attach one unit to you, General, there's a dozen commsets inside for the crew. They should work over this distance," Colonel Clarke said. He didn't mind detaching a single tank, Fox company had one that was tore up something fierce and maintenance just barely had it running.
"You can keep the, uh, convicts," Count-General Deveraux said. "I'm sure my people can get it sorted."
Baron-Colonel Devos cracked a smile and turned away.
"Devos, you're going to punch the Kadan line when that armor comes back in. Got it?"
Baron-Colonel Devos's smile faded and he nodded. "Yes sir."
"All right. Get the defenses improved, start digging in, recover what bunkers you can, and hopefully we'll have power in a few days. Gentlemen, we're going on the offensive soon. Get your men ready. Dismissed."
Colonel Clarke made his way out of the bunker through a dimly lit passage and eventually emerged into the frozen air. He tightened his greatcoat and jammed his chin into the collar. The snow squeaked under his boots and he tromped past soldiers huddled in groups.
Almost instantly he was cold. The wind whipped over the tops of the trenches. He didn't have far to go, but just the short distance reminded him that if they failed behind lines they'd all freeze to death before the Kadan could find them.
He thought about the mission. It hit him and he stopped in the middle of a trench. Their first combat mission. They'd made it to the lines, and they'd made it back out to drag in the wreck of the aircraft. But this, this was a proper assault, just the thing his armor was designed for. Worries ran through his mind and doubt crept in.
Colonel Clarke turned a bend and stopped in view of his armor. They were scattered on the edges of the crater. The supply and HQ vehicles were huddled close near the makeshift repair area. He could see Auroch standing outside of Jailbird.
A hatch opened and a soldier raced out, cleared the frost from the ventilation inlet, and then raced back inside with Auroch.
Colonel Clarke watched his tanks for a moment longer. He counted them and felt a pang of guilt. He'd already lost one to artillery and now another to General Deveraux.
But they'd survived. Discipline hadn't broken down yet, for that he was thankful. Though there was already a few fights and a particularly drunk Lieutenant to deal with.
He tromped through the rubble toward his command unit and worried about the mission. The armor could do it, he knew it could, but would the crew’s be up to it? The training was so short, maybe they'd be better off as a mobile bunker? No, he thought, this is what we do. Then he worried about Devos, could he trust the Baron to cover the way back in? They'd be leaving one hell of a hole.
The name "JAILBIRD" was stenciled on the side of his tank, just below it someone had scratched a skull with the words "Death Before Dismount" underneath. He banged on the access panel and waited until the hatch slid open. "Get the Company Commanders, the XO, and Supply," he said to his digital-system operator. "We've got our first mission."
Private Auroch grinned back at Colonel Clarke and nudged Cummingham awake. "Time to shit kick! Ooo-rah!"
Colonel Clarke liked that spirit and felt just a little bit better. "That's right, Auroch, it's about that time."
#
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Vasilov Prime - 9th Precinct
Umi Matsuo stood behind a plain white table in an equally boring plain white room. The only feature was a steel door and a mirror that was obviously two sided glass. A Major stood on the other side in the uniform of local security.
"A Captain, eh? And now a Mercenary? This is one hell of a story." The Major jabbed his finger at Umi and leaned in close. "We're under martial law, we could have you shot."
"Lady Atli, too?" Umi said.
The Major pulled back and crossed his arms. "Duke Amatin is dealing with Lady Atli. She's an old woman, and prone to seeing things."
"Seeing things?" Umi stepped close and pointed out of the room. "I lost a man back there! You should be out hunting this thing, it tried to take out one of your leaders for stars’ sake!"
"We're reviewing security footage," the Major said.
The door opened and a Colonel stepped inside with a Captain at his side.
"Thank you, Major, I've got it from here." The Colonel nodded toward the door.
"What's your jurisdiction, sir? This is a—"
The Colonel cut him off. "A delicate situation, and above your pay rank."
The Major glared at Umi and stomped out.
"Sorry about that, Captain Matsuo. You're in the midst of some, uh, internal politics. It wasn't all that long ago that the Dukes were warring with each other."
"Instead of the Kadan? You people don't seem particularly talented at either," Umi said. He was tired, sore, and his pants were still wet. "When do I get out of here?"
"We've got a convoy to escort you to the starport. Though whatever this thing is, I doubt it will give you any trouble. Now, I'm here to speak to you about Lady Atli. She will be under your protection, she has declined any Vasilov escort troops."
Umi sat on the edge of the table. "And...?"
"And the Vasilov government is hiring your organization as an escort for her."
"Are you going to ask me nicely?"
"No."
Umi had a different picture of Mercenary life. More as a consultant, this was turning out to be much more interesting than he'd imagined. Though he wasn't entirely sure he liked it just yet.
"The Sigg Embassy has given its assent to the operation."
"I'm a private citizen, I don't need permission."
"But still, you're sanctioned."
Umi glared back. The Sigg government had cut him, and a whole lot of others, loose. With the war against the Boben complete they didn't need, nor could they afford, the massive army.
"This is Captain Kolich, he'll be your liaison."
The Captain nodded. He was a short man, stout in the shoulders, with legs like little tree trunks. He looked more like a linebacker than a soldier.
"My babysitter? Not interested."
"Well, I can always invite the Major back in."
Umi sighed. "The rate just went up."
The Colonel smiled warmly. "Do you happen to know where you're going?"
"I don't have the slightest clue. And as long as you pay..."
They left the holding facility and found the building surrounded by at least a company of bored combat troops. Two armored cars sat at the corners with transport trucks lined up in the front. The trucks were filled with Vasilov troops. A trio of civilian transports sat in the midst.
Umi walked next to Captain Kolich. "You wait here." He stepped into the transport and stared down the rows of the bus and into the faces of his men.
Are they mine? He wondered. He'd already asked more of them then they'd signed on for. He took a moment to look at each man and woman.
"Here it is. The training contract is done and we've been offered an escort job. I don't know where, or for how long, but if you wanna walk, I need to know now."
A few of his troopers stood and walked out without saying a word.
"We going all the way, Cap?" an ex-artillery Sergeant named Blaser asked. His shoulders were narrow and he had the start of a decent paunch pushing out his shirt. One blue eye was glassy and the other crisp.
Umi held his breath. How far? Just how far? Someone had already gone all the way for him, he had to repay that. "I'm going to see this through."
Blaser nodded. "I'm in."
Several conversations started throughout the bus. A few more groups of men got up. "No offense, Cap, but this ain't our fight."
A half dozen troopers remained. The bus felt nearly empty.
A tank destroyer commander named Riga spoke up in a raspy voice. "Pay gonna be good, eh?"
"Right. The bonus should be beautiful. Oh, we've got a babysitter. Have a seat, Captain Kolich."
Kolich marched in and smiled a plastic smile before sitting down in the very front seat.
"We're weapons hot, folks, lock and load. I don't give a damn what any of the Vasilov say. You see something you don't like? Shoot it, then we'll see what it is."
Kelly Dell stood and holstered a sidearm. "Cap, where we off to?"
Lady Atli pushed her way past Captain Umi and sat next to a burly Sigg trooper with a cybernetic arm named Tollefson.
"Make room," she said. She pushed a leather bag into Tollefson's lap. "Where? I'll tell you all once we're in orbit. Master Sevel is expecting us. Let's go." Lady Atli sat and stared ahead. "Now."
Umi smiled down at Lady Atli, gave her a nod, and took a seat.
Kelly leaned over his seat and dropped a case down onto his lap. Umi snapped it open and smiled up at Kelly. "Aww, you shouldn't have. An antique?"
Inside sat a large bore hand cannon, the sort used to clear hallways in boarding action. Umi snapped it up, popped it open, and seated a single round the diameter of a soup can.
"Antique? Hell, this thing is as reliable as they come. Look at that bore!" Kelly grinned.
A Vasilov trooper entered the bus. He took off his heavy helmet and cradled it under his arm. "Sir? Are you ready?"
Lady Atli yelled at the soldier. "Yes! Get this damn thing moving!"
The soldier spoke into his commset and the bus followed the rest of the escort. A single armored car took up the rear of the column.
The convoy crawled out of the complex and ran through the mostly deserted streets. Rain streaked down the windows and the only sound was the vibration of the tires.
Umi watched the road for a while but couldn't focus his thoughts. Things definitely weren't going like he expected. He'd pictured something different for the mercenaries. Or was it consultants? Not that it mattered. What the hell could he do with a half dozen troopers?
This ride, as with any ride, was an episode in boredom. His eyes wandered the industrial zones and warehouses before the scenery shifted into plains of rye that hung limp in the rain. The buildings became smaller, the towns spaced farther apart.
"Cap..." Kelly said.
Umi looked up. The starport was in view, they were barely a kilometer away.
The troop truck slowed just a touch and then exploded from underneath. The force of the shock lifted the truck straight into the air. The troops in the rear flew into the sky and out of view before being enveloped in a massive fireball. It landed, tumbled to the side, then rolled into the ditch. The front windshield of the bus buckled in and shattered into a massive spider web.
The Vasilov soldier who stood in the front of the bus fell to the floor screaming with both hands on his face.
Kelly ran from her seat and knelt down next to the wounded soldier and administered what aid she could.
Captain Kolich leaped out of his seat and slid into the driver's position. He disengaged the automatic mode and hammered down onto the pedal. The bus rumbled over the shallow crater. "Hold on!"
The first armored car pulled to the side and a hatch popped open. A soldier leaped out and ran back toward the wreck.
The bus started to slow.
"Don't fucking stop! Go, go!" Umi shouted back. The adrenaline kicked in and he felt like a trapped animal. There was no cover, no safe place, he didn't even know where the attack came from. A mine? A remote demolition charge? A rocket?
One armored car followed close behind. The bus continued to accelerate. The gate came into view and a single guard stepped out.
"Ram the gate," Umi said.
"I planned on it," Captain Kolich said. "Hold on!"
The gate-guard leaped out of the way and the bus smashed through the gate. What was left of the windshield fell out and moist air blasted into the bus.
Kolich turned the bus and ripped the corner of a building off. The bus came to a halt at a line of blocky cargo containers. A panel of insulation and siding toppled the ground.
Umi helped Kelly get the soldier out while the rest of the Sigg took cover and secured the perimeter. A pillar of black smoke rolled out from the distance. The armored car came in a moment later and parked in the center of the receiving area. The turret creaked to the side and pointed directly toward the burning transport.
Captain Kolich grabbed the commset. "Marble Six, Marble Six?" The handset screeched in reply. The sound wavered back in forth. "Jammed! I'm going to get the armor to cover us."
The gate-guard ran past the corner of the building with a stout club in his hand. "Who the hell are you! I've sounded the alarm!"
"Get into cover!" Captain Kolich yelled to the guard. "Where's everyone else?"
The man huffed up and leaned up against the bus. "In the Capital, that Lokeen freighter is the only thing left."
"Get more troops here," Umi said flatly. "Tollefson!"
"Sir?" Tollefson stood with one massive hand on Lady Atli's shoulder and in the other held a tri-barreled autocannon. The sort of thing normally mounted to a vehicle.
"Get her to Sevel. Carry, drag, I don't care. And I don't care what she says about it."
"I'm perfectly capable, thank you very mu—" Lady Atli said.
"Tolly, you heard me?"
"Da."
"You guys know the drill," Umi said, and ran up to the main corridor.
The Lokeen freighter sat like a giant blocky rectangle in the center of a flame scorched concrete pad. The area around it was mostly clear except for where the containers started a hundred meters away.
Umi picked out the route. He had decent cover almost the entire way, except for the last rush up to the freighter itself. He slid back into his role as an armored cavalry commander without even realizing it. It fit him, and he liked the feeling. He had a purpose. "Kelly, right flank, Vik, left flank—everyone else, let's go!"
Sirens sounded from far in the distance. The armored car crept back toward the main gate.
Captain Kolich wavered and looked between the freighter and burning transport.
"Captain! Get your shit straight. You coming or going?"
"Those were my men!"
Umi felt for the man, but set out ahead with the large bore hand cannon at ready. He had his priorities—for now, they were all about getting onto that freighter.
The group moved slowly, carefully, logically, through the lanes of cargo containers. At every junction the group halted, they checked the lane, then the scouts raced across. Once that was clear the rest moved ahead in spurts and bursts. Of the dozen troopers only a few moved at a time while the rest covered.
It was smooth. There wasn't an extra motion anywhere. Lady Atli looked out of place, and Captain Kolich, he never seemed to know exactly where to be.
An explosion ripped through the air, a high pitched crack. Lady Atli cried out. The Sigg hunched down to one knee. The turret of the armored car tumbled through the air and landed with a crash.
Umi listened. Where was this bastard? He scanned the tops of the containers but saw nothing.
Vaughn fired off a three round burst that smacked against the side of a container. "Contact!"
A black form bounded over the tops of the containers like a gargoyle. It dropped out of view as the rounds ricocheted around it.
"Move!" Umi yelled.
The group rushed ahead and reached the last of the containers.
"Where is that damnable Sevel?" Lady Atli said. She leaned heavily on Tollefson's arm.
Kelly ran up to Umi and popped a pack of micro-grenades out of her vest. She handed the quarter kilo pack to Umi. "What's the plan?"
Umi wanted to tell her he was making it up as he went, but decided to just run for it. He tucked the grenades into his jacket and stood up. "Get to the freighter, I'm going to draw it out, then shoot," he said and sprinted out of cover at an angle parallel to the freighter. "Go!"
The others ran clear and raced toward the freighter. When they were halfway, a massive cargo door creaked open. Lights flashed on either side of the freighter and the group rushed toward it.
Umi paused for a split second then turned and sprinted toward the freighter. He'd expected an entirely different response from whoever or whatever was hunting him.
Kelly perched on the edge of the freighter cargo hatch and leveled her weapon. "Down!"
Umi dropped to the wet ground.
Gunfire rang out. First it was the sharp pitch of Kelly's submachine gun. Then the others opened up.
Umi rolled onto to his back and leveled his cannon just in time to catch the black clothed synthetic a few meters away. He didn't even have time to grin before he pulled the brass trigger.
Click.
"Shit."
The synthetic stopped and leveled a chisel tipped sword directly it Umi. It had eyes like dirty ball bearings ripped out of an aged machine. There was no emotion, just the reflection of a machine.
Rounds pinged and ricocheted of its body but it made no move for a second. It cocked its head slightly. "Where is the data?" Its voice was gravel, a thing like broken gears.
"Here," Umi said as he ripped the pack of micro-grenades out of his jacket and pitched them out toward the black clothed synthetic. The only thing he held on to was the arming pin.
The synthetic swung the sword and smacked the flat of the blade against the pack of micro-grenades. The packet burst apart and a half dozen individual charges flew away and exploded out of range.
Kelly advanced out of cover with her weapon tight to her shoulder. Beside her, Blaser, Vaughn and Vik advanced. They racked off round after round. Riga knelt down and braced his small bore sniper-rifle against the side of the freighter and fired. His wiry frame bucked from the recoil.
The sniper round struck the synthetics eye and sung off like an errant note. The synthetic shrugged the blow off and pulled its elbow back to strike. A steady hail of rounds smashed against the black clothed creature. It never even flinched.
"Halt!" a voice bellowed from inside of the freighter. Master Sevel stomped out in a suit of blue-white heavy body armor with a chipped boarding shield in one hand and a weapon that looked between an axe and a mallet in the other. On either side of him stood two other Lokeen similarly armored.
Kelly and the other Sigg stopped firing but kept their weapons locked on the synthetic.
The synthetic slid one foot back and leveled the sword at the approaching Lokeen. "This doesn't concern you Lokeen."
"They are under my protection," Sevel said. His voice was strong. The mallet in his hand swayed from side-to-side. "And I will protect."
The synthetic said something in a strange language and launched itself at the three Lokeen. Sevel parried the first thrust with his mallet.
The synthetic sidestepped and rammed the tip of the blade through the chest armor of one of the Lokeen.
The armored defender fell with a groan and his mallet and shield tumbled to the ground.
Sevel struck low with the mallet and then smashed his shield into the synthetic. It stumbled back and parried a blow from the other Lokeen. For a split second it stood and gauged the situation with its ancient eyes. Then it lashed forward and struck again.
Umi stood and was amazed at how quickly the massive Lokeen could move. He ran to the dead Lokeen and picked up the mallet. It felt light in his hands and it almost buzzed with energy. He watched for an opening and kept on the edge of the violence.
The three danced in an out with a maze of mallets, shields, and the lone black blade piercing inwards. The armor, chipped and corrosion streaked, looked almost as ancient as the eyes of the synthetic. But even with its age, the metal deflected the blade in a shower of titanium white sparks.
Then the synthetic found an advantage and pivoted its way through the Lokeen and slammed the blade into the back of the other Lokeen. Sevel roared out and thrust the tip of the mallet at the synthetic and connected. The synthetic sailed back and tumbled onto the ground. Sevel cast the shield aside and leapt with both hands on the haft of the mallet.
The synthetic lay stunned for a moment, then rolled to the side and tripped the massive bodied Lokeen. Sevel fell flat on his face and, when he turned, found a blade a centimeter from his face.
"Tell them to give me the data," the synthetic said. The blade never wavered in the growing wind.
"No," Umi said from behind the synthetic.
The synthetic snapped its head toward Umi.
Umi crashed the mallet down onto the synthetic's head. It connected with a crunch and a crackle of electrical energy blasted out. Sparks and static enveloped the synthetic's head and the black cloth disintegrated leaving only the dirty ball bearing eyes and a skull that looked to be made of charcoal.
It sprawled out to the side and fell into a slow motion heap. Sevel stood above it, took a careful grip on the mallet, and landed blow after blow to the synthetic until its entire upper body was no more than crunched black chunks.
Sevel shook with rage and his deep brown eyes burned. He turned to the freighter and beckoned. More Lokeen rushed out and carried the dead back to the ship. A thin drizzle whipped from the sky.
"You saved my life," Sevel said to Umi.
"And you saved mine, let's call it even."
Sevel said nothing and stomped past the Sigg.
"We leave now!" he called back.
"You heard him," Umi said. He hefted the mallet and followed after. This wasn't how he intended to leave Vasilov Prime. "Let's go."
The Sigg ran up the boarding ramp. Umi turned and stared down at the dead synthetic and watched as the body dissipated into a pile of rust. Only then did he drop the mallet.
#
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lishun Delta – Mackinof Front
Lieutenant Torori shook off the crystalline snow and stomped his boots. His teeth chattered. The air inside the rear of the tank was frigid, what little heat they had disappeared the moment they let the Lieutenant inside. "Good god," he said. "It's cold!"
The electric heater kicked up a notch and barely warm air flowed out of it. The crew sat mummified inside of sleeping bags and blankets. Their faces were tight and drops of snot hung from the tips of their noses.
"Soup, LT?" Mueller handed a cup to the Lieutenant.
Torori took it and his lips chattered against the rim. "Good, where'd you get it?"
"I stole it."
"Right!" Torori looked away from Mueller and shook his head.
Tomi shivered in his bag and watched the LT. He liked him a hell of a lot more than he liked the Company Commander, Captain Norton. The Captain was convicted of dereliction of duty on Lishun Delta, but most of the charges were dropped. But still the rumors flew, especially once they arrived back again. He didn't see much of Norton, and he was okay with it. What little he did see was of a nervous man who couldn't make any decisions.
"Here's an update: the mission is still on. There's a storm blowing in, a big nasty one, and we're gonna sneak out once that bastard blasts the line. Once we punch a hole, the 12th is going to hold it."
"That's the Baron, eh LT?" Gous asked.
"Yup." Torori sipped the soup and smiled. "Not bad." He stopped and looked at Tomi. "Where's Sergeant Nikov?"
"I thought she was off to see you, sir, with Kallio, they left an hour ago," Tomi said.
Torori shrugged. "I must have missed them, but for fuck's sake, they knew about the meeting, right?"
Tomi stammered.
"Fine, fine, just keep her in the loop."
Torori continued with the briefing and laid out the basics. He set his tablet onto a crate and showed the expected route. At the end was a series of depressions in the map. Depressions that they hoped were artillery emplacement. "Once we arrive, we'll hit them with cannon fire first, and if that doesn't work, we dismount and use demolition charges. We don't have to get 'em all, just enough. Questions?"
No one said a word.
Torori glanced at his wrist and jammed his hands back into his mittens. "Check your gear, do a full equipment sweep. Inside and out!" He looked around at the crew to make sure everyone heard. "It's cold now, but it'll be even colder if you breakdown out there. I'll be in the lead, just stay behind me and when we make contact, keep moving. There's no gunships tonight, weather is too nasty, but we've got our own rocket artillery. Ping 'em if you need 'em."
Tomi felt better about this than another defensive maneuver. He disliked just waiting for the turret to shoot whatever it could. They'd already participated in two defensive ops, on the second Nikov let him take the turret and get a feel. But still, he felt trapped, running in the open sounded much better.
"Open 'er up," Torori said. He pulled his facemask on and squeezed through the side of the hatch before it had opened all the way. Fresh snow and ice blasted inside and it was cold again.
The hatch closed and Mick tossed off his sleeping bag. He launched himself across the tank at Bosovitz and ripped the little man out of his blankets. "You dirty fuck, where'd they go?"
"Woah, woah!" Bosovitz said, squirming under Mick's grasp.
"Where'd you get it? Where'd they go to use it?"
"I didn't sell 'em anything!"
"Who did?" Mick shook Bosovitz and slammed him against the wall.
"I don't know!"
Mick slammed him again. "Who!?"
"A cook, a cook named Quinn!"
Mick dropped Bosovitz and pointed at Tomi and Hutchins. "Get suited up, we're going to find them."
Tomi pulled the sleeping bag off and tightened his jacket. He felt a sense of dread the moment Mick grabbed Bosovitz but he knew it was the truth. Nikov and Kallio were both kettle addicts. "How do you know they're using?"
Mick tightened his facemask, left his rifle, and scooped up a half meter long steel wrench. "Nikov and Kallio are both addicts. Someone smuggled a little kettle."
"Get everything ready," Mick said to Puck. "Check every track link, bolt, and reactor junction. Get everyone fed and save us some dinner. Got it?"
Puck stood and bumped fists with Mick. "Got it!"
"Now come on." Mick swung the wrench into his other hand. "Time to go fuck someone up."
They fought through the inky black with only the strange illumination of fresh snow to light the way. Guide ropes marked the edge of the platoon area and they followed it until they ran to the company command post.
It was beyond cold, the point where steel wasn't quite steel, but a brittle thing. Where exposed flesh froze in under a minute. The only thing Tomi could think of was getting back to his barely warm sleeping bag. That and how he'd explain to the Sigg how the heater was not nearly large enough.
Mick kicked in the door to the cook shack and punched the first man he saw. He leveled the wrench at another cook. "Kallio and Nikov. Now. Or I start boiling your balls."
Hutchins pushed his way through and tossed a scrawny cook at Tomi. The next man Hutch reached tried to run but he caught him by the coat and tossed him into the wall. His massive hands ripped a cabinet from the wall and tossed it at the last standing cook.
"Well?" Mick said.
Tomi was practically holding up the cook. The man quaked with fear.
Mick swung the wrench into the stomach of the cook that Tomi held. The man let out a deep “ooooof!” He buckled over onto the floor. Mick leveled the wrench at the next cook. "Where is she?"
"With Corporal Moloscic! In the storage truck!"
Mick kicked open the door and tossed the cook outside. "Lead the way, fucker!"
Hutch took a quick second to demolish a bit more of the kitchen then followed out with Tomi close behind.
They stopped at a line of cargo trucks and Mick waited for the cook to point it out. He stepped up on the back, waved to Tomi and Hutch, then smashed the door open. He was through in a moment and the sounds of wrenches on flesh announced his arrival.
Tomi ran in. He thought that Mick was going to kill the man. The cook, swaddled in blankets, rolled on the floor and tried to escape the blows. Mick rained down one after the next until the man bawled and screamed.
They found Kallio first. She was heaped under a pile of dirty packaging. One eye fluttered as if in a gentle dream, while the other eye was covered with a silver foil that was half dissolved. Her lips were blue, but through it all she looked to be in a state of bliss.
Mick pulled a flask out of his pocket and poured liquid into her foil covered eye. She screamed and flailed and clawed at her face. The foil fell off and she writhed in agony.
"God! God!" Kallio cried.
"Just Mick." Mick waved to Hutchins. His voice was stable, the rage gone. "You take her."
Farther in the trailer they found Nikov. Both of her eyes were covered in the foil. The bruising had returned and it looked like someone had smashed her in the face with a hammer. Her lips quivered and her head twitched.
Mick stood over her for a second with the flask in his hand. "She'll be dead soon."
Panic hit Tomi. "Then do something about it!"
Mick shrugged and poured the liquid into her eyes.
Nikov bawled out and sat up. She clawed at her face and then rolled on the floor.
Mick waited until the worst of it passed. "Give me a hand."
Tomi and Mick each took an arm and helped her outside. Nikov was sobbing like a child and her legs stumbled with each step. She seemed lost inside a dream, mumbling and crying.
They caught up with Hutch and stumbled through the darkness. A light suddenly flashed and a security detail stopped them.
A soldier from Baron-Colonel Devos's unit spoke. "The hell you doing? We had reports of a brawl."
"Some assholes tore up the cookshack," Mick replied. "This is my medic and commander, we're bring them back."
"You people are animals." The soldier sneered. "They should have lined you up and put a bullet in your head."
"Well, there's still time for that," Mick said.
Tomi kept his face tucked into his jacket and kept his mouth shut. The security detail left and disappeared into the darkness.
"Assholes," Mick said.
When they arrived at the tank they washed out Kallio's eyes again with ethanol. "It dissolves the kettle wafer," Mick said. Then they worked on Nikov. She had passed out along the way.
Puck said to Mick. "LT says we gotta roll in fifteen."
"We ready?"
"Yah," Puck said. "But I wish we had a medic."
"I'm okay, I'm okay," Kallio slurred.
"Tomi, get us ready," Mick said.
Tomi slid into his drivers seat and verified everything was ready. He felt odd. They was about to go into their first real battle without a proper commander and a stoned medic. Shouldn't I be worried about this?
Comms chatter picked up. Indicators showed vehicles coming to ready status. He followed the text orders, sealed everything tight, and engaged weapons systems.
"Bulldog? This is Bastard, confirm ready status."
Tomi keyed the comms and sent the acknowledgment back to Lieutenant Torori. He wondered if the Lieutenant felt the same way about an absentee company commander as he did about an absentee tank commander.
Mick slid up into the commander's seat. "Tomi, help me out here."
Tomi started explaining the basic setup when the order came to roll out. He engaged the drive and hollered back into the crew compartment. "Hold on! We're rolling!"
The tank strained for a moment, then lurched ahead. A creaking sound sang through the hull. Then Tomi saw the track alarm flare on, then off. They'd sat too long in one place and the rubberized track nearly froze to the ground. He passed word to Mick and made a mental note to always keep the tank moving.
The tanks lined up in four ranks and waited in the blistering winds. From the outside they all looked the same: snowy, scarred, and vaguely gray. Even though they had cleaned the main gun off they were already drifted over. The air had a strange feeling, like the storm knew.
"All units, go passive."
Tomi switched off the radar system and shivered.
They set out shortly after into a wall of white. The storm, as predicted, was wicked. The gusts were enough to scour unprotected flesh. The cold deep enough to slow anything to a crawl, anything but an armored unit.
The infantry struggled ahead the moment the armor departed. An entire battalion floundered against the winds. It was amazing that they moved at all.
Tomi steered behind and slightly to the side of Badger and kept his eyes flickering between the overall map and his actual line of progress. The pace was barely faster than a man could walk. The tank crested up a rise then dropped down before doing it all over again.
Rumbling sounded and the roar of artillery raged above. The comms was eerily quiet, like no one wanted to break the silence and let the Kadan know they were coming.
Tomi kept pace with the other units to his right and left. The line of armor was ragged. He felt alone but it didn't bother him. It was his tank, his responsibility, and he knew he'd see them through. Or die trying.
The channel crackled and a voice called out: "Contact!"
#
Chapter Thirty
Lishun Delta – Behind the Kadan Lines
Colonel Clarke stared at the digital display and watched as contact reports surged in. The command unit crested another shell hole. He reached a hand out to steady himself before he knew it would all start again. "Bravo, close with the center. Delta, watch your flank, you're spreading out."
The armor was moving ahead. No, struggling ahead. The movement was nothing like the smooth leap and roll that the Sigg had perfected. This was ugly, brutish, and not very efficient. But, he thought, we're moving.
"Permission to fire?" Shifty Williams called from the tank commander's position.
"Save your ammo, Shifty," Colonel Clarke said. "We're in the reserve line."
"Yes sir."
Clarke liked Shifty. The Sergeant found any, and all, situations to be shifty looking. He was also a recovering alcoholic, or so Clarke hoped.
Any moment he expected the opposition to stiffen. Gunfire pinged off his tank and his heart beat faster. The anti-infantry turret opened fire and the reassuring thump silenced the incoming fire. His infantry, led by Sergeant Wilsic, sat silently and stared ahead. Private Auroch swelled out of his spot and Cummingham was wedged in tight at his side. The comms team and data staff kept eyes locked on their screens.
He wanted to stand up, look at the screens, double check. But he knew he couldn't. This op, he hoped, would cement them as a unit. It wasn't impossible, it wasn't even particularly difficult, and maybe that was exactly what they needed.
They surged ahead suddenly and the rolling back and forth stopped. The ground leveled out.
"Reform into pattern, Foxtrot, report any infrastructure, conserve your ammo, engage as necessary."
The tanks slowed for a minute as the advancing wedge reformed into a staggered sawtooth of a line. Sporadic contact still came, but nothing more than small gunfire. Rapid bursts cracked through the snow filled air. Contact was announced and silenced. For a moment it seemed as if they'd punched into an unoccupied line.
The problem was no one knew what lay behind the main lines. They had ideas, rough drone pictures, but so much was obscured. Clarke had pored over the charts, some as old as thirty years, and picked the best route. But now they were blind, beyond a point that any team had visited in quite some time.
The visibility, even with enhanced night vision, was limited by the walls of incoming snow. Contact was made, lost, and made in a fraction of a second. Ghostly shapes danced out of the snow only to disappear again. It was haunting, terrible, and thoroughly disorienting. What had been a stout wind was now a full-blown blizzard.
"Woah!" a voice called over the comms. "Heavy fire!"
Clarke sat up and hammered down on his comms key. "Designate the grid."
"Contact! Holy shit, it's close!" another tank called.
"We're hit! Track off!" a tank from Delta company called.
Colonel Clarke adjusted his screen, and sent out new move orders to his troops. "Hit it, Sketchy! Free fire! Tell me what we got."
The tank surged ahead and they flew across the uncratered ground. The tank hammered into the edge of a trench and leaped out the other side. A moment later the main cannon opened fire with a three round burst. The anti-infantry turrets spat out a handful of rounds.
"Delta CO, status on your unit?"
The comms crackled with the sound of cannon fire. "They can salvage it, but it ain't going anywhere."
"Have your recovery unit tow them back."
There was silence. Then a response. "Roger."
Clarke felt a pit in his stomach. They'd taken too long to engage a ghost in the snow. If they kept chasing after everything that fired, they'd get surrounded and overwhelmed. Speed was the key. "Keep moving! We've got another dozen kilometers, engage, move, and report heavy contact."
They plunged through the growing drifts and disappeared into the darkness. Small gunfire crackled out as they rolled with autocannons answering them from the turrets. They charged through a section where the ground was coated in ice and they halted on the far edge. After that the ground was smooth, cleared on both sides, with a length of fencing running parallel to the road. A deep drift stretched out beside it.
"I think it's a road," called the lead in Alpha Company.
"Roll on it! Three abreast, staggered ranks, one hundred meter separation. Alpha, you shoot anything that moves." Clarke had a hunch that units in the rear would be coming up to reinforce the front. The road was heading about exactly where the artillery Officers expected. He sat back and felt the road rumble beneath him, this was going better than he planned.
The tanks raced ahead, sending up billowing clouds of snow. They adjusted the spacing to tighten up the ranks, otherwise the snow was too thick. As it was, the wind whipped most of it into the distance.
They raced now like wild horses and thundered over the road. A convoy came into view and before it even had a chance to stop, Alpha company was laying into it with a steady burst of gunfire. By the time Clarke drove past it was a dozen smoking vehicles with Kadan bodies and equipment scattered everywhere.
The road split.
"Defensive positions, hold up!" Clarke called and held on while the tank came to a stop. He consulted the map and called up Arap. "Whatcha think?"
"Arty boys are pretty confident, Cole," Arap called.
"I'm sending elements from Bravo to the east, we're going west. Want to stay with us?"
"I'll tail with Bravo," Arap called back.
"This is the rendezvous point, one hour."
Clarke relayed the orders and the columns split. He worried for a moment that he was making a mistake but there was so much ground to cover and as far as he could tell the defense was non-existent. Too non-existent, something didn't feel right.
The armor came to a wide open space with hundreds of empty cargo trailers. They were heaped with empty containers. On the opposite side low bunkers broke the ground. Clarke gave the order and they opened fire with explosive rounds.
An enormous explosion boomed out. Everyone in the crew compartment snapped awake.
Clarke felt the shockwave in his stomach and snapped his head up from the chart. "Shifty?"
"One of those bunkers popped, sir," Shifty said excitedly. "The whole sky lit up like Founding Day!"
A sound like a jackhammer echoed against the command tank. More of the bunkers erupted into the sky. The main cannon opened fire a second later and the unit surged ahead against an embankment next to a smoldering bunker. Command comms exploded with new contacts. Infantry contacts swarmed out from every bunker, thousands upon thousands.
"Weapons clear! Open fire!"
The autocannon turrets fired nonstop. The rattle of slinging ammunition echoed through the hold.
"Get clear! Watch for rockets!" Clarke called out on the comms, but he was blocked by the company commanders shouting orders. It was a general chaos as thousands of ground troops swarmed everywhere. Then it hit him: no one was reporting any losses. No one was taking any fire.
"Jailbird, they're unarmed, uh, civilians? Drones?" Alpha company's CO called.
"Engage," Clarke called back. "All units, engage, continue moving ahead, those guns have to be right here. Engage active radar."
All around the armor was a winter slaughter. Unarmed ground troops fled into the wastes. They plowed past burning bunkers, through soot stained snow drifts, and finally came to the objective. A series of low pits came into view and at the bottom of each was an enormous artillery piece.
"Dismount! Armor, cover the infantry, go in and blow those," Colonel Clarke said. He turned to Sergeant Wilsic. "Bring me back some of those bodies, scour for anything interesting."
"Dah," Wilsic said.
Colonel Clarke turned away from the cold as the door opened then stopped and looked outside. The blizzard had an orange hue from the towering flames raging out of the bunkers. The sound of gunfire was almost constant. The hatch closed back up and he was in a subdued silence again. Never before had he felt quite like this, it was success and his.
The first of the artillery pieces detonated a minute later. The explosions were small compared to the bunker explosions, but they were enough to detonate the breeches on each of the guns.
Then, as if to show that Lishun Delta called the shots, the storm broke. The radar on each of the tanks linked up, collated the data through Clarke's command tank, and spit out a detailed scan of the horizon.
"Colonel!" Captain Wolzca said. "Contacts inbound! Kadan armor judging from the size."
"How many?"
"Two hundred, no, two-fifty, count is rising!"
"Bring 'em back in," Colonel Clarke called. His heart hammered in his chest, now the excitement came to a head. They'd struck a blow, now to get out before the enemy has a chance to counter punch. "It's time to go."
#
Chapter Thirty-One
Lishun Delta - Kadan Logistics Area
The road stretched on and the armored units flew along it. At intervals they encountered empty bunkers and staging spaces, but the whole area felt abandoned. The walls of white rolled in, blocking out everything, and just as suddenly the wind whipped it clear. At most, the visibility was a hundred meters, and only for a brief moment.
Bravo Company stopped at a rise in the road. The lead tanks crawled up and took cover.
"The hell is that?" Mick said.
Tomi rolled up and went to turn off the road and caught himself. He remembered what Hans had told him. "A tank can go anywhere, exactly once." Instead, he turned at an angle.
"Keep rolling," Mick said.
The lead tanks crawled over the rise. A set of three metal rails ran along top and disappeared into the distance.
"Railroad?" Tomi said.
"Huh. Well, looks like Arap left 'em a present," Mick said.
A bulky demolition pack hung off the side of a rail.
They rolled a while longer. Then a light grew in the sky. The tanks halted once more.
Tomi shivered and felt snot running down his face. He just couldn't reach his nose when the headset was on and he didn't dare take it off. The whole tank was like an icebox, but still fifty degrees warmer than outside. Someone snored in the back and Tomi just shook his head.
"Listen up!" Arap said over the comms. "There's something ahead and we're going in guns blazing. Rush in, crush, rush, and smash, then we get the hell out. Don't stop for a goddamn second. On my lead in three, two, one, go!"
"Wake up!" Mick shouted.
Tomi cranked up the speed and chased right after Big Bodacious Bastard. They rolled up a slight rise.
There was a bowl with metal buildings built into the earth. Half of the doors were open and aircraft were emerging. Support crews swarmed around the facility while snowplows were clearing the space leading up to a covered takeoff strip.
The aircraft was shaped like a wedge. It was the same kind that they'd knocked out a few days prior. A stocky little truck towed them clear of the bunkers.
The Vasilov armor raced down the slope and slammed into the aircraft. The first few that were closest to the tunnel exploded in a shower of white sparks. The supports crews scurried away and darted into the bunkers.
Tomi drove past a smoldering aircraft and aimed right between another pair sitting on the edge of the facility. The main cannon fired a steady thud-thud and the front edges of the aircraft folded apart. One tumbled over and fuel poured out. The other exploded wreathing both in a halo of incandescent white.
Bulldog turned sharply and skidded on the snow covered ground.
"Oh shit!" Tomi said.
The tank gained traction and the whole vehicle was on one track for a split second.
"Move, move!" Mick cried out.
Commander Arap came on the comms. "Bulldog! Dismount, get me a prisoner, you're right in the thick of it."
Mick went to slide out of the commander's seat then stopped. "Puck! Dismount, get me a prisoner, then get the hell back in!"
Bulldog opened up with both autocannon turrets. The main gun was trained on the nearest bunker and fired whenever anything appeared. Tomi ran the main cannon while Mick floundered with the others. Mick didn't have the feel of running the turret and wearing the enhanced vision system. He fired too low and with every burst struggled to compensate.
The infantry ran away from the armor and disappeared through the swirling snow and ran toward where more of the aircraft burned. There was a series of grenade explosions and then a rapid stream of small gunfire. Two soldiers sprinted back into the tank.
Tomi's teeth chattered. The rear hatch was open and the interior temp dropped to about -50. He wanted to shout for them to hurry the hell up. He worried about Nikov and Kallio for a second but after checking the rear he saw them both swaddled in sleeping bags.
"We need some cover!" Puck hollered over the comms.
"Back up!" Mick said.
Tomi slammed it in reverse and the hatch acted like a giant snowplow. At the same time he slung the main gun to the side.
Around the burning wreck the infantry squad was hunched in cover. A low armored vehicle was skewed fifty meters away with a set of four cannons pouring fire down the lane. The vehicle had wide wheels and looked too low to carry any sort of passenger.
"Shoot that fucker!" Mick yelled.
Tomi grasped the trigger, adjusted the aim, and punched a quick burst. There was a flaring of blue light along the sloped edge that was like liquid electricity.
A heavy thumping sound clattered against the side of Bulldog. Armor alarms fired. The attacking vehicle adjusted aim and all four cannons hammered at the Vasilov tank.
Tomi adjusted the fire. Then he stopped and hammered the button to load an anti-tank round. He clenched his teeth and sent off another burst. Suddenly the blue light disappeared and the rounds punched through the armored car. Gray smoke billowed out of the holes and the firing stopped.
"Get in, goddammit!" Mick called on the open comms. He slid out of the commander's seat and ran out the back of the vehicle.
Puck limped with Bosovitz and Veriha behind. Mueller and Hess carried Gous. Hutchins came up with the rest and a short, stout, limp body. The hatch creaked closed.
"The hell was that, Bulldog?" Arap called.
"I don't know, sir! Four barrels, a blue glow on it, it was little."
"Get us out!" Mick called from the rear.
Tomi accelerated away and crawled toward where the remaining tanks from Bravo company were position. The others were still punching rounds through the snow and keeping the facility locked down. The tank hit the rise then slid sideways against an icy embankment.
The tracks struggled to bite. The vehicle shuddered. Tomi slung the tracks to the side and felt the satisfying acceleration as the tank crawled up the rise.
"Come on, baby," Tomi said. Sweat ran down his face and he tried to wipe beneath the headset.
A clang cracked through the tank and alarms rang out. The fire extinguishing system blasted out a cloud of green foam. The tank skidded to a stop and the lights dimmed, but just for a second before everything blared back on.
Tomi held his breath and stared at the dead headset. He was numb to everything else. There were cries in the back, screams, sounds of terror. All he focused on was the blinking green text that read "Starting up."
"Out, out!" Mick called.
"No!" Tomi yelled back. "She's coming online!"
The headset filled with light, then resolved into the outside view. Tomi hammered on the throttle and the tank skidded ahead. He gave a quick glance behind him and saw three of the new style armored units burning on the opposite hill.
The blizzard had stopped, the walls of obscuring snow were gone. An enemy armored platoon was firing from the opposite hill. The Vasilov units were mostly hidden on the downslope of the hill and peppering away at the opposite side.
"—Report. Bulldog! Report!"
"We're clear!" Tomi called out just as Bulldog rolled over the crest. He didn't let up on the accelerator until he had blasted past Arap's tank and was under cover.
"Let's go! Bastard, take the lead! Holy shit! Hooah! That's how we fucking do it!" Arap bellowed over the comms.
Tomi grinned and felt the adrenaline surge through him. He keyed up the crew compartment camera and the grin fell from his face.
There was a hole the size of a melon in one wall. Kallio was on top of someone and frantically stuffing dressings down. Others were clutching wounds and groaning. Cold air whistled through the hole and the crackling sound of the tracks on ice echoed inside.
An alien being sat between two soldiers. It wore a mask over its face but two large glossy eyes stared out. Its head was almost bulbous without much of a neck. It was swathed in heavy clothing that was covered in melting snow. Its hands were bound before it. Wellington held a pistol to its head.
"Break contact, keep on Bastard, everyone give me a status update. Bulldog, you got me a prisoner?"
The calls came in and damage was minimal. Tomi was reluctant to call back but Mick was still helping Kallio. "Prisoner secured, we have casualties and structural damage. We took a helluva hit, sir."
"Hold on, son. We're headed back," Arap replied on private comms. He switched to company broadcast. "Bodacious, keep your cannon to the front. Everyone else keep the rear covered. It's time to run like hell."
#
Chapter Thirty-Two
Mackinof Front - No Man’s Land
The air in the broken bunker shuddered with every blast of wind. Ice crystals fluttered on nearly a hundred white jackets. The troops inside of the wrecked position took no mind that an hour before, it was occupied by the Kadan.
"How long we gonna wait?" Private Sedan said. Her teeth clacked together. Her entire face was covered in a thick mask. Ice and frost coated the surfaces around her eyes, mouth, and nose.
"'Til the tanks come back, or that Baron tells us to go," Karl replied. He stomped his feet and prayed like his grandmother taught him to. Socks, he thought, good, fresh socks.
Another gust rocked the bunker.
"Five minutes!" a soldier called out.
Men and women swore inside of the bunker.
"God it's cold outside," Sedan said. She pushed herself tight up next to another body.
Karl wormed in close to someone else. He couldn't see faces, nor did he particularly care who the hell it was. Cold was cold.
"We can't stay out here much longer! Them bastards are dead," someone called out from the crowd.
"Shaddup, Larson, we go when we go."
More grumbles came. "Crazy sons a bitches are dead. We're waiting for dead men."
"Convicts, you mean."
"Same thing!"
Dry coughs followed laughter. It was front line humor, where frostbite was a joke and gangrene the punch line.
"Who built this?" Sedan swayed from side-to-side and wormed her way in tight to someone else.
Karl followed the rhythm and looked up at the ceiling. He judged it to be about right for humans, a touch too tall for Kadan. "Us, I think. Kadan bunkers are a bit tighter."
"How'd they get it?"
"Summer lines, shithead," someone said in the crowd.
"Fuck you," Sedan snapped back.
"Everyone out!"
Karl checked the action on his rifle and followed the crowd outside. The moment he stepped out, the cold nearly stopped him. He hated the cold. Images of a bonfire came to mind and the ancient poem about Sam Mcgee. "There are strange things done in the midnight sun..."
A dead Kadan soldier sat next to the door. Its face was gone and a ragged hole replaced it. One-by-one the soldiers patted the Kadan and gave it a little greeting.
"Good ole boy."
"Took one for the team."
"Get fucked."
"How bout a reach-around after that fucking?"
Karl slammed the butt of his rifle into its head. The Kadan didn't move much, it was frozen like a slab of meat.
They hadn't even taken positions when those on the line stumbled into the bunker. Hypothermia was so close that they couldn't take more than fifteen minutes out on the line.
"Contact!"
Karl hopped on the edge of the weather worn trench and peaked through a gap. The all clear came a moment later and a recovery vehicle thundered by with one of the tanks hooked to the back. The whole side was peppered with small gunfire. A few larger gouges marked a heavier engagement. The main cannon was slung to the rear and still tracking targets.
"Lucky bastards, I bet it's nice and warm in that thing," Sedan grumbled.
Karl tucked back down and shrugged. "A bullet magnet if you ask me."
The call came for trench leaders. Karl trudged away from his group and worked down the line. The trench was old, broken by craters, and not something he hoped to hold for long. A hundred meters down he crouched into another bunker and decided that this one was built by the Kadan.
Baron-Colonel Devos stood in the corner. Fur sprouted from his collar and made him look like some sort of lion. He was nose-to-nose with a female Major and the two were shouting back and forth.
"I'm not risking my troops out here for these convicts! Already they're running back. Look at this. It's a joke!"
"You have your orders."
"I'm to hold until I deem the situation warrants a return to the previous line. And that sortie was a failure!"
A low rumble echoed from the horizon. Everyone in the bunker moved away from the door and the cry of “incoming!” came from outside. Moments passed and no artillery landed.
Karl watched the two Officers spar. He didn't like the Baron, but Baron owned land and granted titles, so he liked him a bit more. The other Officer wore a unit crest he'd never seen, so he assumed the woman was with the armor. Which made her a convict, and not terribly likely to give him any benefit.
"Colonel, they're expecting this line to hold. We don't know if they'll be able to punch through another Kadan line."
"That sounds like someone else's problem," Baron-Colonel Devos said. He crossed his arms, leaned back and glared down at the Major.
"Coward." She spat on the floor at his feet.
Devos raised his arm as if to slap her in the face then lowered his hand.
A runner came in from the cold and reported to a Captain. The Captain looked up from the pair and called to the Baron. "Contact on the West flank, Kadan infantry are probing, sir."
"Hold and delay," Devos called back. "Send—" He looked around the room at the arrayed Officers and NCOs.
Karl wanted to slink back. He could feel the Baron's eyes slide over him.
"You, Sergeant, come here. Everyone else, prepare to fall back."
Karl marched past the departing Officers. He felt a growing sense of dread. Landed title be damned, he wanted to go back to the line. "Sir."
Devos slapped his mitts together. He grinned at Karl in a way that made Karl feel particularly uncomfortable. "These are the times that heroes are forged, leaders tested, the best brought out in our troops. You're going to hold that line, soldier. Hold it well. In one hour, you break contact and get back to the line."
Karl was at a loss for words. He had, at best, fifty soldiers. Fifty worn down, beat up, half-frozen troops. "But—"
"The Vasilov have generations of fighting spirit." Devos's eyes twinkled and he raised a mitten covered fist. "Do your duty, soldier. I'll see you on the line."
Karl couldn't move. His feet felt frozen to the floor. The fuck? That Major was right. Coward.
He tried to find the words to voice a complaint, to protest, but nothing came.
Devos turned away, then looked back at Karl. "Dismissed."
Karl left the confines of the bunker and led his troops to the West flank. The trench ended abruptly at a massive crater. He crawled to the edge and found a group of three soldiers manning a MAC-17 rotary cannon. Karl ordered his platoon to spread out in the trench spurs.
"They popping up on the other side. Bastards tried to take the inside route. Sneaky gits," a Corporal on the gun said. "Y'all gonna hold it?"
"Y'all gonna leave me that gun?" Karl stepped down on the mounting plate and held the MAC-17 in place.
The Corporal shrugged and disappeared into the trenches with the rest of his platoon.
"This is bullshit," Corporal Stoden said. He piled broken rocks into a crumbled edge of the trench.
Karl agreed but didn't say anything. He didn't feel any loyalty to the armored cavalry filled with convicts, nor to the blue-blooded bastard, Devos. For the time being he wanted to hold his position long enough to not look like cowards and maybe just long enough to earn himself a title. Killing the Kadan was just part of the business for now.
"Pass word, team leads to me," Karl called. He waited and peered across the crater. Every so often he caught a bit of movement. The cold tore at him.
His team leaders squatted behind him.
"We're holding this edge while the rest pull back."
The team leaders said nothing. Corporal Stoden wiped snow from his helmet and shook his head.
"So we gotta look big and mean. Once the MAC opens up, it's free fire. Your team sees movement, shoot like mad. Punky, get range on your mortar and punk away."
"How long we holding for?"
"Until the tanks come back or until we can't."
Karl looked up at his team leaders and saw the pain in their eyes. They didn't ask for this. No one volunteered. "Just shit luck is all."
The team leaders spread out and the squad took position.
Karl set Sedan along with two other privates to tend the rotary cannon. "Wait until I fire," he told them.
He crawled ahead and laid his rifle on the crunchy ground. He scanned the crater. His eyes focused in and out and he shivered hard. He remembered the last time he did this and the fear touched his soul. "Oh god," he whispered.
The wind changed. It died like a switch was tossed, then the snowflakes hammered down from the sky. They fell like snow globes, massive and white. Then just as quickly as it came, it was gone and the sky cleared. High clouds whipped past and stars poked through the blanket above.
A single gunshot cracked off, followed by another. The Kadan burst out from the edge of the trench and scrambled across the open space. More and more of the alien troops surged out. A dozen scrambled through the dirt and ice. Then a larger pack ran out with a man portable anti-tank gun.
Karl aimed the rifle at the lead Kadan. The alien wobbled back and forth with a rifle in one hand and the barrel of the AT gun in the other. He eased his finger down on the trigger and fired. "Go!"
The MAC-17 rotary cannon spun with a high pitched whirr and then hammered out an almost continuous string of rounds. The rounds slammed into the frozen ground as Sedan adjusted the aim. The stream of 17mm projectiles punched into the approaching Kadan.
The Kadan fell onto the icy sheet and the AT gun clattered to the ground. They were caught in the middle. Some scrambled back while the rest fell.
One Kadan raced ahead through the streaming tracers. The rounds danced around it and, for a moment, it was within grenade range. The alien pulled free a grenade and whipped its arm back. Someone shot it in the arm and the grenade fell at its feet. The grenade detonated with a crack and the Kadan body tumbled away.
Karl snapped off rounds at any exposed Kadan. He listened to the cries from his own line.
"North flank!"
Karl crawled back and sprinted past Sedan. "Cover that! But get ready to move!" He raced down the broken trench and arrived just in time to see the second wave of Kadan troopers coming.
The Vasilov line fired wildly into the approaching ranks. The infantry stood on stones, wrecked trench boards, or laid in shallow depressions and fired. The approaching Kadan fell, tumbled into cover, but still they came.
Karl climbed up next to Corporal Billings, the squad lead, and fired into the approaching line. Mortar rounds hammered into the ground behind him. Voices cried out in pain.
The Kadan fell into the shadows and died in silence. But it wasn't enough. More swarmed out into the frigid wastes and plowed through the fresh snow.
Karl picked one out, shot, then continued on. The Kadan had a sixty meter sprint through mostly open ground. Only the snowdrifts offered any cover. He fired again and again. Each time the rifle pumped against his shoulder.
A soldier fell to the trench floor with a gaping wound in his skull.
"Keep shooting!" Corporal Billings shouted.
Karl did a quick count of the approaching Kadan. He counted every fifth Kadan, then tripled it. Trench math came quick on the front. If the ratio of attackers to defenders was greater than three to one, it was time to boogie.
Karl stopped counting. "Billy! We're pulling back!"
"Punch and roll!" Billy called out.
Half of the troops on the line dropped down and sprinted back toward the main trench. The other half fired even faster before ending with a barrage of grenades.
Karl ran in the midst of the second group. Adrenaline replaced the cold. They reached the main trench and the reassuring sound of the MAC-17 rattling of rounds. They took position with the majority covering the trench they just came from. Grenades were laid close by and rifles tucked up against the edges.
A Kadan trooper sprinted down the center and shot down a dozen steps from the main trench. Then it was on as the massed Kadan surged through in groups of a dozen. Karl heaved grenades. But still the Kadan came. Soldiers perched on the trench edge fired at those who tried to go above it all.
The rapid roar of the MAC-17 suddenly stopped, replaced by a high pitched whirr. Karl's heart dropped. The rotary cannon was empty. He called to Sedan. "Fall back!"
The southern flank erupted in gunfire with the rumbling of trench mortars thudding into the ground. The crew covering the open pit ran past with wild eyes. Those on the southern flank streamed in a few seconds later carrying wounded. They ran past with wild eyes and tucked into close cover. There was no organization, just a simple rout.
A trench mortar exploded on the edge of the main trench and shrapnel tore over their heads. Little bits of metal steamed in the snow. A second one landed closer and collapsed one wall. Soldiers scrambled out of the debris.
"Get ready to pull back!" Karl shouted. He called to Corporal Billings to get his squad out.
Grenades slammed into the MAC-17 and the rotary cannon bounced off a trench wall. Soldiers ran from that section and fell back slowly. Karl stayed in the lead and kept his weapon firing as the Kadan pushed around the corner. He eyed up the distance and lobbed a grenade, it didn't quite reach the Kadan but it was enough to keep them down.
"Go, go!" Karl punched in a fresh magazine and continued firing. Rounds pinged off rocks and punched against those who were already dead. He hadn't counted, no time, these would be covered in trench dirt just like any casualty for the last thirty-five years.
He roared and stepped back. His rifle thumped against his shoulder and the hate came back. He hated this place, the methods, the war, the Kadan, the COs, everything and everyone. Home, that was all he wanted.
An explosion blasted into the sky followed by a stream of heavy gunfire. Kadan trench mortars rained down where the Vasilov had been. The alien troops moved ahead, but this time with more caution.
Karl didn't wait to see. He ran as fast as he could with his soldiers just ahead. They could get away from the Kadan. "Billy! They flanking us?"
Billy peeked over the trench. "Somethin's coming!"
Trench mortars fell closer. The sound of a heavy machine gun echoed back.
Karl cried out and slapped at his shoulder. He plucked a piece of bent shrapnel out of his jacket.
Billy peeked again. "Here they come!" Then he tumbled back with his helmet split in two.
"Medic!" Karl shouted, then laid his rifle on a corner and decided that he would stand here. He was out of grenades. He had two magazines left for his rifle and a second handgun.
The Vasilov troops all formed on the front edge. They found cover behind stone, broken concrete, destroyed equipment, and anything that would give shelter. A few poked out from the entrance of a bunker. Others stood on the broken trench wall and peeked over for an incoming charge.
Then the Kadan struck. The force of the charge almost overwhelmed the Vasilov. They raged out in a massed group that stumbled over the dead and crested a dozen meters from the Vasilov. The first wave broke and the second wave was just behind. The Vasilov hurled grenades into the mob and shot them.
Karl emptied the last magazine in his rifle and pulled the pistol out. He pounded out a few more rounds, glanced around, and realized they were stuck. More explosions sounded from behind him. Flanked. Caught. Dead. It hit him they'd die as heroes, right to the last man, and no one would know.
He leveled the pistol and braced it against the wall before picking his shots. Aim. Fire. Aim. Fire. Some Kadan fell to the pistol, most stumbled a moment, and that was enough form someone else to finish it.
One man stood and ran out into the wastes back toward the Vasilov line. Then another ran, and another stood and fell dead. The Kadan raged closer. They overwhelmed the first line of Vasilov beneath a mass of bayonet thrusts. A Corporal stood in the midst and miraculously hacked his way free using just an entrenching tool.
Karl fired until the pistol was empty and tossed it at them. He scooped up a rifle and turned it as a club and smashed it against the first Kadan that came at him.
A massive roar sounded and the Kadan line shattered. Rounds tore into them. Bodies exploded and the rapid sound of an autocannon shredded what was left.
Karl spun and cheered.
One of the Sigg tanks was perched on the edge of the trench and firing with the main cannon and both autocannon turrets. More tanks surged ahead and pulled into position. The combined fire broke the Kadan attack.
The rear hatch of one tank opened and a soldier leaped into the trench. "Get on! Now! We gotta move!"
"Get onto the armor!" Karl shouted. He ran and stood next to a tank. Soldiers climbed aboard and those up top helped the wounded get inside.
The tanks in the rear fired into the distance. Rounds sang out and clanged against one of the nearest tanks. It leapt forward and the infantry struggled to stay on board.
Karl found himself standing alone and staring into the devastated trench. Panic hit him that once again he'd have to fight his way back alone. He turned and crouched.
A tank launched itself over the trench and crunched to a stop. A speaker blared from the front. "Get in!"
Karl raced to the back and squeezed in through a half-open hatch. The tank took off. There was a massive hole in one corner and the whole tank shook like someone was smashing at it with hammers. Wounded lay on one side with a medic hovering over them. "Sweet Jesus!" he cried out.
An alien like nothing Karl had ever seen sat between two grim faced soldiers. One held a pistol to the alien's head, the other a stubby rifle to its stomach.
"Say hello to Richard!" the corporal with the rifle to the alien yelled. "So many Dicks, and so few Richards."
Karl leaned against the wall and shook his head. It was all too much. He broke down into sobs. "Thank you, thank you."
#
Chapter Thirty-Three
Vasilov System - Near Planet Orbit
The starship groaned in the changing gravity before finally quieting down. The Lokeen ship labored out from the gravity well as the drives pulsed and shuddered. The cloud streaked world of Vasilov Prime swirled beneath them with only sporadic strips of green poking through.
But no one board saw any of it.
Umi held on tight as the thrust tossed them from side-to-side. The room was in zero gravity now, with only the force of the trust keeping them down. His stomach rumbled and he kept the vomit down. Others around the room weren't so lucky. One man vomited, then a few others went off.
The "visitors" ward that the Lokeen had assigned them to was spartan, simple, more like a cargo area. There was no bathroom. No seats. No beds. Just a case of Colonial Issue emergency blankets and rations.
"Oh god." Kelly gagged.
The lights flickered and the gravity grew. It slowly pinned them back to the floor and the sound of retching halted. Umi stood on shaky legs and took a drink from a water bottle. It tasted like old metal.
"An old woman is putting you to shame," Lady Atli said. She walked across the hold and banged on the door. Tollefson ran after her and stood by her side.
"Where are you going?" Umi asked.
"Be damned if I'm going to wait like cargo. Sevel doesn't even know where we're going."
"Where are we going?" Umi asked.
"To visit the Ken-Tek and see what's inside that pendant."
"Yes," Umi said. "But where?"
Lady Atli turned and stood with her hands on her hips. She cocked her head and licked her lips. "We need to get it repaired by those who built it."
Umi set the water bottle onto a steel table. "Who would that be?"
"But first we need to, hmm." Lady Atli looked up at the ceiling. "Get it something."
"It?" Kelly Dell said.
The door creaked open and Sevel limped in. He reached out a hand and steadied himself against a bulkhead.
"Master Sevel," Lady said. She looked up to Sevel. "I am terribly sorry for your loss."
"Thank you, Lady Atli," Sevel said slowly. "That was unexpected."
"What treaty did it speak about? What did it say in that language?" Umi asked. He'd been strung along with just breadcrumbs for too long. It was time for answers. Not only that but he owed his team some answers. They'd start asking soon and a hunch wasn't enough to keep them going.
"There is an unspoken treaty between the Emflife and the Lokeen. A custom might be a better term. Neither of our species is to interfere in the affairs of the lesser species."
"Lesser species?" Captain Kolich said.
"Hrm," Sevel said.
Behind him, the drives throbbed. The sounds of the ship coming alive echoed everywhere. Pumps surged, piping hummed, and the metal settled into the vacuum.
"Hrm," Sevel said again. "Lady Atli, Captain Matsuo, would you join me so we can discuss this?"
"Nope," Umi said. In his mind he had two homes, one was a shabby apartment on Sigg, the other was with his troops. Even if there was only half a dozen. "There are no secrets here, not with us."
"Then come, all of you," Sevel said slowly.
Umi walked beside Lady Atli with the others close behind. The freighters hold was totally empty, only the discarded debris of containers and the scuffing on the floor marked that anything was once their. They walked through an airlock and the hall narrowed so much that Sevel's shoulders rubbed against the walls.
"Ship defense?" Riga asked.
The ceiling was at least a meter above Sevel's head. The whole space felt wrong, the proportions were off.
"Sevel," Umi said. "Who built this ship?"
Sevel turned his head as if surprised by the question. "This universe is bigger than you humans realize. And older, too."
They passed through another bulkhead. The walls were worn, the metals pitted with aged corrosion and the design slightly different. The ceilings were a bit lower and the walls a bit wider. The floor, though, said it all, it was worn right down to bare metal.
"How old?" Umi said.
"Quit bothering him, young man," Lady Atli said. "We're guests, and this is a rare privilege."
"You don't know, do you?" Umi was feeling sore and ornery.
"No. My family purchased it 840 cycles ago, or about 600 of your years. We bought it off Cion transporters, and they bought it in space we'd never been from. Even they, the tinkers they are, didn't know."
Umi had only engaged the Cion a handful of times, they were occasional mercenaries, but usually offered air strike services.
"How does it work? The star drive, or whatever you call it?" Riga said. He tapped the walls as he walked.
Sevel said nothing.
"Ahh, he doesn't know, either," Umi said. He smiled at Sevels back and was sure he'd see the Lokeen blush if it wasn't for the fur.
"It just works."
"Guess that's why they wouldn't sell us any during the war," Kelly mumbled.
They didn't pass any other Lokeen during the trip. They came into a control room with a multitude of displays. On one was a system map, on another a starmap, and on the last a full set of system diagnostics. Vasilov Prime was large in a video display. The chairs before each were Lokeen size, but the controls looked to be much smaller.
The Sigg filtered onto bridge. Sevel took a seat and punched through a few sets of starmaps. The Sigg watched silently while Lady Atli sat. She stared at the video display with worry in her eyes.
Umi watched her. It was the first time the famous Iron Lady of Vasilov Prime had showed any emotion.
"A treaty, eh? Wars lead to treaties," Riga said.
Sevel rumbled and tapped his claws on the display. "You are correct, human. Long ago many races sought to steer the destinies of others. We tried our hand at imperialism and discovered it to be a faulty ideal. The Emflife were our opponents. Eventually the war took its toll on our cultures. We are but shadows of what we once were."
"Who won?" Kelly Dell said.
Sevel gave her a small smile. "No one Kelly. It was a Ken-Tek Lokeen alliance on many fronts against the Emflife, the Cion, Boben, and Vek Esh Shell. The Kadan was on the borders, but they have their own agendas."
"The Boben I know enough about," Kelly said.
"They were young then. The Emflife, they called the shots, as you'd say on Earth. By the end, we decided to be guides to the other races, not because we wanted to, but because generations had died for nothing."
"I take it there's still some difference in opinion?" Umi said.
Sevel snorted. "Something like that. The Emflife were never many, they let others do the fighting. So when they take an interest in something we tend to do the same."
A Lokeen came onto the bridge and saluted Sevel. The two spoke back and forth. Sevel turned to Lady Atli. "It is time to prime the stardrive."
"My time for some secrets now, yes?" Lady Atli smiled a thin smile and tore her eyes from the screen. "We're going to a system cataloged as D445667."
"Unexplored?" Umi asked. Any system that was visited received some sort of name. A numerical designation were for things far out.
"Yes," she said. "It lays beyond a set of systems that we cannot get to via the stargate."
Sevel spoke to the other Lokeen. The other Lokeen sat and called up a starmap before saying something loudly to Sevel.
"That is forbidden," Sevel said. "It is called Pyrus. How do you know of that place?"
"We're not the only ones who learn secrets, dear Sevel." Lady Atli's eyes sparkled. "We've sent covert teams through in atmosphere capsules to go across airless planets. These include border stations to watch those worlds that enemies could use to get to ours. That world is filled with ruins, amazing ruins."
"Deadly ruins," Sevel said.
"Well, nothing of value would be left if there wasn't a few guardians, eh?"
Sevel rumbled and looked at Umi. "It is a dead place. Someone, some time long ago seeded it with hunters so that nothing more could survive there."
"What do we need from a forbidden planet?" Umi said. He liked this less.
Riga rubbed his face while Tollefson sighed. Umi sensed the discomfort. A payday wasn't worth shit to a corpse.
"Do you know Ken-Ashi?" Lady Atli asked Sevel.
"Ahh." Sevel nodded and turned back to the other Lokeen.
"Who is Ken-Ashi?" Umi said.
"A Ken-tek." Sevel tapped at the screen and the display shifted to a new starscape. "A very old one."
"They made the pendant," Lady Atli said. She leaned forward and pointed at the starmap. "They've been a particular friend to Terra, but they are, hmm, fickle. If we want to deal with this one we need to bribe him with the only thing they still value."
"What do they value?" Umi asked suspiciously.
"Information."
"Can we trust it?" Umi said.
Sevel answered. "Most definitely. They were the ones who led us to fight the Emflife."
"So why'd they brawl with the Emflife?" Riga asked. His voice sounded like even more of a rasp than normal.
The visual display changed to a wall of white static. Lights dimmed, the panels changed, and the entire ship groaned as if a massive weight was set upon it. A clattering sound rose from the rear like a million ball bearings tumbling. The star drive engaged. The two Lokeen spoke in a language the humans didn't know, then the visual display came back, but showed only black. The star maps changed and it showed that they'd moved half a light-year away from Vasilov Prime.
"They created them," Sevel answered.
#
Chapter Thirty-Four
Mackinof Front - 19th Armored Cavalry Squadron HQ Bunker
"How bad is it?" Colonel Clarke said.
He stretched inside of the bunker, his fingers not quite touching the ceiling. The air was just a touch on the warm side. Light flickered through the not quite perfect door with a little pile of snow on the floor beneath it. A heater purred in the corner and smelled of burnt wires.
The staff of the 19th Armored Cavalry Squadron all stood near the heater, or rather as far away from the door as possible.
"Eh," Commander Arap said. "Could be worse. We're down half a dozen tanks."
"Repairs?" Colonel Clarke said.
A Lieutenant named Dmitri spoke up. His winter fatigues were stained with grease and oil. "Sir, we can patch up four of them, I need to strip the others for parts."
"How are our spares?"
"Decent for the consumables, but for combat damage we need a bit of everything, sir. Not much we can do with what we got," Lieutenant Dmitri said.
"Bresov? How's the supply situation?"
Major Bresov coughed a deep raspy sound before finally stopping. "We have full efficiency on ammunition, weaponry, and consumables, however food is becoming an issue."
"How long?"
"We're down to 1800 kilo-calories right now, at that rate we've got two weeks. All of my requests have been denied."
Colonel Clarke crossed his arms. "I'll bring it up with the General. How many casualties?"
Commander Arap looked down at a tablet then back up. "Three dead, nine wounded, with six of the wounded able to serve."
"Three..."
"Could have been worse."
"Could have been better."
"We've got some disciplinary issues, sir," Alpha Company's CO, Captain Loza said.
The other Company Commanders all spoke up at the same time with the same complaints. None wanted to break the news, but once it had been levied they were all eager to speak about it. Theft, fighting, insubordination, drunkenness and drug use.
"Where do they find all this stuff?" Arap said.
"Crack down on the severe cases, drugs especially. Let the minor things go, as long as they can fight and do their job I'm satisfied. But I'll not stand for a soldier who can't do his duty." Clarke stepped closer to the Officers and looked at each one.
They looked back with soldiers eyes. Clarke was proud of them, they'd done damn well. Even if they didn't accomplish anything else of note they had proven what proper armor could do. But most importantly they proved what convicts could do.
"Get everyone ready. I'm not sure what the General has in mind for us next."
"What about the prisoner?" Lieutenant Torori asked.
"Torori, where's your CO?"
Lieutenant Torori glanced at Commander Arap then back to Colonel Clarke. "He's uh, indisposed, sir."
Colonel Clarke cocked his head at Arap.
"Can we discuss this after the meeting," Arap said.
"Very well. And as far as the prisoner goes, he's a Cion. They're the ones who have the aircraft that Bravo company stomped on. Unfortunately, he won't live much longer."
"We're going to shoot him?" Major Bresov said.
"No, he only has about two days' worth of breathable atmosphere on him. We don't have the ability to make more for him." Colonel Clarke didn't feel much sympathy for the Cion. It was unfortunate, but what else could he do? "If you need anything, let us know. I'll be around to speak with your troopers after the meeting. But tell them I'm proud of them all. Dismissed."
The line Officers marched out through the crooked door, as soon as they left the HQ staff came back in. Frigid air blasted in and a private slammed the door shut from outside. They stomped and shook off the chill before returning to work. The heater groaned louder and soon the chill disappeared.
Clarke paced between the wall and the heater. "What's this about Captain Norton?"
"They couldn't find him when it was time to depart."
"What?" Colonel Clarke said. "Who the hell had the platoon?"
"Lieutenant Torori took command."
"Where the hell is he now? I'll skin that bastard," Colonel Clarke yelled. He started tying up his jacket.
"He's dead," Arap said.
Colonel Clarke stopped clasping his jacket and let his hands slide down the front. The ember of anger drifted away and he sighed. "How?"
"Shot himself."
Clarke slammed a fist down onto a table and swept everything off of it. Ration tins, heater cores, and a box of bolts racketed across the bunker.
Heads spun as the staff all looked.
Colonel Clarke let his anger wash over him. Not anger at Captain Norton, but anger at himself for failing another soldier. He didn't like the man, thought him fairly useless, but still, Clarke saw him as one of his own. The man was his responsibility, he felt his death even more than one on the battlefield. Then as quickly the anger was gone. War is for the living, not the dead. "Promote Torori to CO. You tell him, he'll respect that after the raid. I'll be back."
"Yes sir."
There was a click and the door opened. Soldiers streamed in and business continued as normal.
Clarke left the bunker and waited in the cold air. He was early for the meeting but he didn't care. The excitement of a job well done was soured by the suicide of a Company Commander.
By the time he arrived, the pre-meeting was already in full swing. The little cliques and conversations were just coming to an end. Count-General Deveraux was locked in conversation with two other Generals. They all stood around a massive aerial plot of the Mackinof front.
"Clarke, one hell of a raid," a Colonel named Wilsey said. Another Colonel said the same, followed by another, and another. Like a row of dominoes, the conversations stopped and congratulations were sent through the room.
Count-General Deveraux looked away from his conversation and nodded toward Colonel Clarke. "Well done, Colonel. But a battle is not a war."
"Thank you, sir," Clarke said. He grabbed a cup of weak coffee and stood in the midst of all the other Colonels.
"Now," Count-General Deveraux said. "We've secured the original lines. The reactor is online, and the stargate will be complete in just under a month. Until then supplies will be tight. Things are simple until then, we hold our position, reinforce our lines, and await a line of stable reinforcement. Colonel Clarke was good enough to buy us this time." Deveraux clapped and the rest of the room followed.
Colonel Clarke gave a plastic smile and sipped his coffee. He didn't like where this was going.
"But things in the South are failing. The only reason Colonel Clarke's force did as well as they did was because the bulk of the Kadan are down South hammering on the Reach."
There it is, Colonel Clarke thought. Let no good deed go unpunished.
"I, and the other strategists on the Mackinof Front, see little use for the armor. It moves too fast, the infantry can't catch up, and any hole you make we cannot exploit. I'm sure you know this as well, Colonel, there simply aren't enough armored units to make a difference. The Vasilov are an infantry army, and always will be."
Colonel Clarke wanted to shout back at the General. He wanted to point out the hypocrisy of a generation of stalemate. He had already showed them what armor could do, but still, he was a novelty. He wanted to tell them that they could win, especially now, but instead they went on the defensive. He sipped his coffee and hid the scowl on his face.
"But," Count-General Deveraux said. "There are others who have use for your troops." He sighed and tapped on the southern edge of the map. "LISCOM has requested that you travel overland and break the Kadan siege on Reach. You are to follow that rail line you discovered, but surprise is key. Don't travel on those rails. Your orders will be sent shortly. We understand that it will take a week of hard travel through unknown territory and you will be provisioned accordingly. Good luck, Colonel."
At that, Colonel Clarke realized he was dismissed. He looked at the Officers around the table and couldn't help but crack a smile. "Yes sir."
He walked out and passed a table of medals. There was slab after slab of bronze, brass, and silver. Next to it was a stack of papers, each with the title of a barony, county, magistration, or manufactory. This wasn't about success, it never was. It was about maintaining a status quo, a method of social movement and promotion. He scowled at the heap of metal.
Colonel Clarke marched into the cold and knew that he'd do everything in his power to end this war, or die trying. But first, to the South.
#
Chapter Thirty-Five
Vasilov System - Deep Space
Morning found Umi doing push-ups, planks, leg raises, and whatever exercise would do without weights. With each completed rep he snapped into the next. The starship hummed underneath him and he cracked a smile. Riding a starship, no one got a ride like this, and here he was doing push-ups.
It bothered him that there were no windows. He'd asked and Sevel pointed at a view screen. Somehow a video feed wasn't quite the same as an honest window.
Lady Atli woke next and jabbed her foot into Tollefson's ribs. "Wake up, lazybones, I need your help."
Tollefson rumbled to his feet and gave his arm to Lady Atli.
Umi watched the pair leave. The giant and the Iron Lady, quite a pair.
The Lokeen hadn't thought about a bathroom, so when they did fashion one it was in Engineering. This is where they logically thought it should be. For how much they enjoyed human movies, they seemed woefully ignorant of anything not explicitly shown in a movie.
The room slowly came awake. Kolich rolled off his cot and rubbed his face. Riga sat up and there was an audible sound of the safety on his weapon engaging. Vik and Blaser snapped awake at the sound.
"Don't trust our hosts?" Umi said.
Riga tucked the pistol into his jacket and yawned. "I can fight another human and when it's all done we really have a lot in common. He might fish, well, I might fish. Maybe we both like soccer." He stifled another yawn. "But an alien, even if he's my friend, ain't got the same connection. Ya know, how do you get to know 'em?"
"You trust 'em boss?" Blaser asked. The man stood and started rummaging through a box of Colonial rations.
Umi stood and wiped the sweat off his face. Did he trust them? That was a question he'd wrestled with ever since deciding to become a mercenary. "For now, yes, I have no reason not to."
"I don't trust 'em," Riga said. He leaned back and grabbed a blue ration pack.
"You don't trust your own mother," Vik said. He stretched his muscled frame and his knees cracked. His buzz cut was smooshed to one side and he had a serious case of bedhead.
Riga snorted. "How could I? Look at me!"
"How's this gonna go down, Cap?" Vaughn asked. The Engineer stood and started folding his sleeping bag. His face was narrow and his nose perched on his face like a flake of granite.
"Once we come into orbit, Sevel is going to launch us in a cutter. Supposedly where Atli said the item is."
"What is it?" Blaser said.
"A datacore."
"Big? Small? Can we carry it? Do we have to disconnect it? Is it defended?" Vaughn asked.
"Man portable, already disconnected, should be ready to roll," Umi said.
Riga kicked open his bag and pulled out a block of ammunition. He dropped it onto his cot. "Why didn't the Vasilov take it with them?"
"I bet they ran into trouble," Vik said.
"Yes, they did." Lady Atli came in with both hands clutching Tollefson's arm. "Someone left hunters there, animal-machine. At first they prowled and watched, later they hunted. Only a few made it back to the rendezvous to gate out."
"And we'll fare better?" Riga said. He opened a case and started assembling a short barreled sniper rifle.
"We know where it is. Last time it took the creatures days to finally attack. You'll be fine." Lady Atli waved her hand.
"Says the politician," Riga said.
"Quick in, quick out, and we drag it back, just keep on your toes," Umi said.
"Who lived there?" Kelly said. "Who left the big cyborg dogs?"
Lady Atli sat on her cot. "I don't know."
"Why didn't they want anyone visiting?" Vaughn asked.
"Maybe they didn't want anyone leaving," Riga said.
#
Chapter Thirty-Six
Mackinof Front - 19th Armored Cavalry Staging Area
Sparks danced as the maintenance staff ground the welds on the inside of the tank. The tiny embers glowed in the darkness. A layer of bluish smoke floated at the ceiling. It smelled of burnt steel and fear.
Tomi shivered inside of his sleeping bag. He stared at the diagnostics panel in his headset and watched the armor integrity indicator. "Eighty-four percent!"
The grinding stopped and there was a crackle of an arc welder. Harsh blue light danced through the hold.
"Hold up, it's going down again." Tomi pushed through a menu and saw that as the weld was laid the remaining armor was losing its hardness.
"Well, it'll keep the snow out," the welder called. The man packed up his equipment and popped open the hatch.
"Close the damned door!" Tomi yelled. He peeled himself out of the sleeping bag and ran to the back and sealed the hatch. He cursed and stomped. The hold was frigid again. "Asshole."
He looked down and stepped back. A red stain on the floor grates marked where Gous had nearly died. They'd saved him, though his entire shoulder would become a mass of titanium and synthetic bone. Almost everyone in the back had received a concussion along with shrapnel wounds. The hull had an anti-spall liner and a pressure reliever, but the cold had made the armor brittle and froze the relief valves.
But still, he was alive. They were alive.
He ran his hand over the weld. It was ugly and stuck out like a steel scar on the smooth hull. Ideally it would have been repaired with a proper piece of armor plate.
Tomi looked down at his hands. They were cold, wrinkled, tinged white with a grimy coat of oil and hydraulic fluid. He'd tried washing them but it didn't seem to help. They only ached in the lukewarm water.
The intercom crackled and the wind outside overwhelmed whoever spoke. Tomi knew who it was and he walked to the back to pop the hatch.
The rest of the tank crew rushed inside. They were bundled up from head-to-toe with trails of steam following them like white cigar smoke. Mick thrust a sealed container at Tomi. "Stew!"
The infantry peeled out of their outer white jackets and piled them in a heap. Everyone sat and ate silently. The clinking of spoons announced they were finished. Hutch leaned back and popped open an ammo stowage tube and retrieved a length of sausage. Wellington and Hess started up a poker game on a tablet with Mueller leaning over and watching closely.
"Where do you guys keep finding that stuff?" Tomi said.
"Don't ask," Hutchins said. He sliced off a frozen round and passed it down the line. "Then we don't have to lie to you."
Mueller grinned and chomped on the half-frozen sausage.
Kallio and Nikov sat at opposite ends of the tank. Nikov's face was coated in bruises, Kallio didn't look nearly as bad.
"Torori is the new CO," Mick said. "Norton shot himself before the mission."
The crew looked up but no one said anything.
"We've got our orders. But first, we need to discuss our family," Mick said. He set his empty mess tin down and pulled out a cigarette. His fingers shook as he lit it.
Tomi looked at Kallio then Nikov. Neither one looked up from their food.
"This tank is a family. It's our home. We take care of it, it takes care of us." Mick puffed on the cigarette and let it droop from his lip. "Now we got a problem. How we gonna solve it?"
Kallio looked up. "I'm sorry, it's, well, hard."
"Damn right it's hard. It's hard for all of us here. Hutch has ten more years of this. I've got four. You and Nikov, a measly two years. But until that time is up, we need you here. You're the medic, what if you were too fucked up to patch up Gous?"
"I just, you can't help it, you get that urge, it's like—"
"Stop. You don't go anywhere alone. Not to piss, not to shit, not to get supplies. Can you do your job?"
Kallio sighed and nodded. "Yes."
"Right, we put this behind us then. How bout you, Nikov?"
"Get fucked."
Mick grinned past the glowing ember. "Still got some spunk, eh? I can work with that. I can't do your job, I'm infantry, my job is back here."
"You want my job? Take it." Nikov leaned back and closed her eyes.
"None of us wants it. We don't have time to get it right, you've got the training, and I can't very well ask the Lieutenant for more time."
Nikov didn't say anything.
"Well?"
"Well what? What do you want me from me?" Nikov yelled. "I'm an addict, I can't kick it."
"Do you want to?" Mick asked calmly.
"Yes."
Mick pulled the cigarette from his mouth. "Then we'll help you."
Nikov's face was tight and her eyes burned. She leaned forward and opened her mouth but didn't say anything. For a second her hard shell broke and she was open, and just as quick the scowl returned. "Leave me alone."
"We can't. Where you gonna go? It's not like you can transfer to another unit. Can you stay clean?"
Nikov looked back and narrowed her eyes. "Yes."
"Bullshit. Same for you, you don't go anywhere alone. Listen to me, Sergeant, you have a critical job, you need to snap out of your self-pity and defeatism and remember who you're here for. You're a good NCO, I know what you're capable of."
"That was a long time ago," Nikov said in a quiet voice. Tears welled up in the corner of her eye.
"We've all gone through tough shit," Mick said. "Now we put this behind us. Everyone's on a fresh slate. Objections, anyone?"
They all sat for a moment in silence with only the hum of the heaters. The air was finally warming up, they all knew because it started to stink inside.
"Orders came in, we're headed to Reach tonight. Kadan are sieging 'em fierce, they're cut off and we need to punch a hole. We need supplies, you guys get out and steal, borrow, and beg anything and everything. We're bringing Bulldog to the depot and stocking up."
"Going past LISCOM?" Puck asked. "Be a fuckin' hurricane."
"No." Mick took a final puff and stomped the cigarette on the floor. "We're going South overland."
Tomi crept through the crowded supply depot with Puck leading ahead of one tread and Vaughn ahead of the other. Even with a full circular view it was still tough to navigate tight quarters. He slammed on the brakes as a cargo truck bounced past.
"For fuck's sake," Nikov yelled. "Careful!"
"Sorry," Tomi said. He pulled his headset off and looked up. Nikov was half hunched over with her eyes closed. He wanted her to be gone, he didn't care where, just gone. She couldn't do her job and he was the one who'd have to take up the slack.
Another truck moved past. Puck stepped out and shook his fist at the driver.
Though, he thought, I was a puddle of piss not long ago myself. All right, I just won't cut her any slack, she certainly won't give me any. He mulled on that while a convoy crept by. Mick did say she was a good soldier once, this gave him an idea. Might as well ask now. "Sergeant?"
"What?" she grumbled back. "Why aren't we moving?"
"Traffic. Uh, what did you do, uh, before?"
"Before I became an addict?"
"Yes, Sergeant."
"Christ," she grumbled. "I served here, did my time, then went back after some serious shit and got into Kettle. That enough for you?"
Tomi steered the tank ahead and pulled it next to an open cargo vehicle. As soon as he stopped the side popped open and a team of soldiers tossed crates and packages on top. Puck and Vaughn clambered up and secured it.
"I led a rescue op," Nikov said. "We fought out to an observation post just to watch it get smashed by artillery. Only a few of us made it back. Things got rough for me after that. I was going to marry a man who was in that post."
Tomi didn't know how to reply to that one. He stared ahead and listened to the hum of the power coil.
"That hits ya kind of hard, right? I didn't cope well. But neither did Mick."
"What happened to him?" Tomi said.
"He was one of the guys we rescued."
"Oh."
Puck waved them ahead and Tomi crawled the tank onto a rise.
All around them, acre after acre, were heaps of supplies. Crates, packages, mixed bundles, slabs of meat, everything and anything. Earthen walls ringed mounds of ammunition. At one edge a team of excavators dug through the frozen ground. Snow and ice packed everything together. Soldiers struggled to dig items free.
They crawled ahead from one pile to the next. The last stop was for ammunition, they received plenty for the Vasilov weapons, but the supply of Sigg tank ammunition was thin. Puck pointed at crates but the supply Officers wouldn't hand any more over. He waved back to Tomi and keyed up his comms. "Fuck, it's cold!"
"We done, Puck?"
"Yah, let's see what Mick and the boys wrangled up."
They drove back to the company staging area and fell into line behind Big Bodacious Bastard. No sooner had they stopped when the crew came running in. Mick arrived with a heap of blankets, Wellington and Hess with a case of biscuits, Kallio and Hutchins with a slab of beef, Waslinski and Veriha each waddled in with a crate of rations, and Mueller rounded it up with a bottle of whisky.
"Someone always has whisky," Mueller said.
It was all stowed when Lieutenant Torori stomped in from the cold. "Supplied and ready to go?"
"Yes sir," Sergeant Nikov said. She wore a facemask and a set of tinted goggles.
"Get some rest, we're departing at 0100. Last chance for hot chow this afternoon, full caloric load." He glanced around the tank. "Is this a full load? You guys seem, hmm, overloaded?"
"Not at all, sir," Mick said as he stood in front of a cabinet. "We've been conserving our supplies for when things get tough. A lot of old vets of Lishun here, sir."
"Very well," Torori said suspiciously. "You guys haven't seen the Colonel's whisky by chance?"
"Sir? We'd never steal from the Colonel," Mick said. "We're a reformed lot in this unit, sir."
"Hmm."
The Lieutenant left and the crew compartment was cold again.
Mueller grinned and sat with his hands on his lap. Hutchins ruffled his hair and the whole tank broke out into laughter.
"You heard the man!" Mick said. "We sleep 'til dinner, we eat, then we sleep again. I have a hunch shit's gonna get squirrely after that. And Mueller, don't steal anything from the Colonel again, okay?"
#
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Mackinof Front - Southern Grid
Colonel Clarke sat in the TC's position and watched his armor form up. The enhanced vision through the headset showed everything in an odd shade of gray. Armor crawled ahead, the single main cannon stowed. A huge gust rocked his tank and then everything was white. Comms chatter died as everyone waited for the wind to subside.
A comms request popped up from Commander Arap on a private channel. Colonel Clarke closed the fire barrier so he had a bit of privacy and keyed the comms. "Staying warm?"
"Ooofta! She's wicked cold tonight," Arap said. "Gonna be one helluva trip, Cole."
"Yes, yes it is."
"We should be hitting that Kadan complex right now. They got half that damn army down south poking at Reach and we're fiddle-fucking around. What the fuck is Deveraux thinking?"
Colonel Clarke sighed and held his hand on the comms key. He hoped someone somewhere had a damned good reason. Breaking the siege on Reach was important, but if they could break the Kadan now, the war would practically be over. "If Reach falls, then they got a route into LISCOM."
"I know, but man, this is our chance. Oh, one moment, sir."
The smell of cooked sausage wafted up into the TC's area. Clarke was surprised at how quickly the crew found every hot spot on the reactor and engines. He could hardly inspect the engine without some food product falling out.
"MPs want to search the column for stolen goods," Arap called.
"Bullshit," Colonel Clarke said. "We're leaving in ten minutes."
"They, uh," voices yelled in the background. "They say we're carrying stolen goods."
"Unless they can find my damned whisky they aren't stopping this column," Colonel Clarke said angrily. How someone had managed to get into his personal effects and acquire his whisky was beyond him. He'd planned on breaking that out for some important occasion. He wasn't particularly sure what the occasion would be, but it was going to be something important.
"Get the fuck out!" Araps yell came onto the comms. "They let all the heat out."
Colonel Clarke understood that argument. Though he figured that no one else gave two hoots about the heat inside of the tank. The door system on the Sigg armor was particularly lacking in that regard.
The wind broke and the wall of gray dissipated. The tanks were stippled white and each had the look of a gypsy wagon. Packages, crates, parcels, and bags hung from the sides and were heaped on top. The middle tanks towed low trailers with skis instead of tires.
"Gonna be missing Captain Koramov for the trip," Arap said.
"He'll be there at the end of it when it counts," Colonel Clarke replied. He disliked leaving the gunship behind, but he couldn't very well have it hovering around waiting for a slow column. They had started with two, but one had a turbine failure early on, it was now stripped for parts.
"That gunship is good eyes, he could scout us out."
"And he's also a big radar signature."
"Think we're going to make it without a fight?"
"I certainly aim to try. The last thing we need is to get bogged down in a firefight three hundred kilometers from nowhere. We could run into those Cion tanks again."
"Everyone has AT loaded, it shouldn't be—"
"I will be a problem, it's real armor, not that antiquated junk the Kadan creep around with. If we duke it out with them we're going to be outclassed. They have energy shields and a lower profile. Hopefully they don't have any anti-armor units."
"We'll see, I'd wager we'll give 'em hell."
There was a knock on the fire suppression shield. Colonel Clarke lifted up a plate and leaned down. Major Bresov looked up. "Artillery is ready on your call."
"Thank you, Major," Colonel Clarke said. "All right, Commander, let's roll with it."
"Oorah!" Arap called back.
Colonel Clarke dropped out of the turret and into the tight confines of the crew compartment. "All yours, Shifty. I'll be on the headset."
Shifty grinned and climbed up into the commander's position.
Colonel Clarke squeezed into his seat and placed the headset gently on. He keyed it live and a second later the view was like he stood outside. His hands drifted and he picked up a more basic view from the leading tank. "Give me Squadron comms," he said quietly.
"Squadron is live, just hit your comms key, sir," the communications Sergeant said.
The comms channel went live and every tank received the broadcast. "Squadron, listen up. In two minutes the artillery is going to open up all across this front. But specifically they're going to clear us an exit South. The key is speed, don't stop to engage unless you are in serious danger. We need to get clear of this area, and fast. The Eight Army is counting on us to break them out, we can't do that by picking a fight with every Kadan we run into. You all did exceptional on our last engagement, now let's do the same."
Colonel Clarke disengaged the comms and leaned back into his seat.
"Artillery starts in three, two," Major Bresov said.
Then the artillery opened up. It was an organ of iron and steel. A sound that was a massive crashing of waves on shores, of rending metal, tearing ice, and a shockwave that rolled through the frozen ground.
Colonel Clarke yelled above the roar. "Move out!"
The artillery crashed down in the darkness. Gouts of frozen dirt and snow blasted up with sizzling hot shrapnel glinting in the snow light. From one side to the other a barrage more massive than anything seen in months rained down. But it fell particularly hard in a line heading due South.
The lead tank blasted across the trenches and steered directly into the blast zone. Geysers shot into the sky just ahead of the column. They raced through the blasted lands three wide and stringing back fourteen rows. One tank dropped down into a hole just as another raced out the other side. On they went, oblivious to the symphony of destruction raining down in the dark.
Colonel Clarke held on tight. The command tank rocked and bucked. No sooner had they crested a rise than they slammed into the bottom. He grunted as he cracked his helmet against the hull. The viewscreen shimmered for a second then refocused.
A bag of rations rocketed out of the darkness and crashed to the floor. No one was able to stand up to do anything and soon it smelled of pickles and cheese.
The roar of the artillery hammered around them. It was preordered and the artillery raised the guns at a precise rate to allow the armor to keep moving ahead. This time though instead of leaving a line back they followed up with another barrage right behind them.
A roar sounded from behind. The comms crackled and buzzed in his ear. A single weak voice spoke but he couldn't make out what they said. He turned his head and looked to the rear of the column. More geysers shot into the sky.
His heart slammed in his chest and he tried to swallow but his mouth was dry. The hammering of rounds shook everything and he was caught up just watching the explosions. He didn't try to fight to motion of the tank, but settled himself into the synthetic leather seat and moved with the armor. He was helpless now and felt it inside of him. Nothing to do but trust the armor.
"Contact! Armor!" a voice cried over the comms.
Colonel Clarke sat forward and braced himself. "Move and engage, but god dammit don't stop! What is it?"
The crew comms were live and being broadcasted to the entire squadron. "Stop, let me hit that fucker!"
"Don't stop, belay that, just keep moving."
The rattle of the main cannon blared. There was a roar, then the crackle of comms.
"They got the main cannon, fuck! Fuck!"
"Hit the smoke! Give us cover!"
"Open the hatch! Open the hatch! Savlov is hit. Fuck, it's burning. Let me out!"
A gunshot rang out over the comms. "Don't open that fucking hatch, keep moving."
The comms clicked off a moment later.
Colonel Clarke cleared his throat and keyed up the company commanders. "This is Jailbird, give me a status update." He waited and listened to the roar of the artillery raining down.
"Alpha clear."
"Bravo is 100%."
"Charlie, one unit damaged, still operational."
"Delta, clear."
"Echo, uh, we're down one. Status unknown."
"Fox is flying, we're looking good."
Colonel Clarke clenched the comms key. "Echo? Confirm your loss."
"It's confirmed, artillery hit 'em, we had visual," a monotone voice called back.
"Shit," Colonel Clarke whispered. "Carry on, we're almost through."
The ground leveled and the armor raced ahead. One-by-one the vehicles flew out of the crater field. The artillery barrage followed close behind with the geysers running right up to the full range. Then the artillery stopped.
Colonel Clarke grabbed his water bottle and took a swig of the icy water. His throat was parched and his hands shook. He keyed up the comms once more. "Squadron, good work, we're through. Now give it everything we've got. It's time to fly."
They continued through the snow and over the rolling hills. The wind and snow buffeted them and obscured their tracks almost as quickly as they made them. The first landmark they came to was the railroad track. They saw it in the distance and kept it on one side. On the other side, a dozen kilometers away, rose a mountain range that shot up vertically nearly 18,000 meters. It was an amazing barrier.
The night passed and still they raced on in the gray winds of dawn. They stopped once on the first day just long enough to swap drivers and let everyone stretch. The terrain, from a distance, looked like a puffy quilt. Up close, though, it was low gullies, rolling hills, and the occasional ravine. The last offered the most difficulty and what started as a movement three wide turned into a single track with one tank leading the way.
And then they got stuck.
Colonel Clarke stepped out into the dying light of day and looked all around. Empty. He couldn't think of any other word. Even the snow didn't stick around. "Stuck?"
"Looks that way, sir," Major Bresov said. She clapped her arms around her and smoothed her facemask.
Colonel Clarke made his way to the front of the column. At each tank he stopped and conversed with troops outside. In the very front he watched the recovery vehicle struggle pull a unit free from a muddy spot.
One of the Engineers marched up and pointed into the mud hole. "Freshwater spring, sir, water is percolating from underground."
Steam rose from the mud hole. The entire front of the now free tank was a mass of crystalline mud.
"The whole area?" Colonel Clarke asked. If it was the whole they'd have to rethink the route and they didn't have the time to backtrack.
"No sir, but whoever is leading the way better be sharp."
Colonel Clarke stumbled back through the crusted snow and pushed inside of his tank. He shivered and his teeth clacked together. "Get that miner, the one who trained our drivers. He's the lead 'til we're clear."
Major Bresov nodded and grabbed her commset. "Bravo CO, put Bulldog on point. Colonel requested that unit personally, tell them not to get stuck."
Colonel Clarke stared down at his watch. How long could Reach hold? He wasn't worried about getting there anymore, he was just worried about who'd be in control.
#
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Pyrus - Low Orbit
They woke one morning and the starship was quiet. The subtle almost ultrasonic throb of the drives was gone. Coolant and liquids rushed through pipes and the alloy hull groaned.
Umi stared up at the screen and studied the map. It was an orbital view with shadows obscuring half of everything. He could pick out streets, gantries, and buildings. The longer he stared at it the more came into view. It was like a massive jigsaw puzzle overrun with greenery.
"It was in this building," Lady Atli said. She tapped a crooked finger onto an overgrown building that was larger than those around it.
Riga stepped up and ran his fingers on streets and walkways. "We could land here, or here."
"Scratch number one, greenery is too tight," Blaser said.
"Number two is farther," Vaughn said.
"Are the roofs structurally sound?" Kelly said.
"I don't know," Lady Atli said. Her eyes glowed in the reflection of the massive screen.
"The cutter has a mass of sixty of your metric tons," Sevel said. He stood behind the humans with his claws clasped before him.
Umi whistled. "Big fat thing it is, we go in at number two. Spot number one is the backup. If all else ,we go up onto the roofs for pickup. Can that thing hover Sevel?"
Sevel wrinkled his nose. "Hrm, maybe."
"How many teams?" Captain Kolich asked.
"One," Umi replied. "And you're not on it. You stay up with Lady Atli."
"Captain Umi, I'm a combat trained Vasilov Officer—"
"Who won't fit into our tactics. I'm not going to work with an outsider on this one. You stay up top."
Captain Kolich crossed his arms.
"Get suited up," Umi said to the Sigg mercenaries. He walked off the bridge and closed his eyes as he passed through the tight hallway. In the first few days he'd gotten lost more than once. Then one day the layout clicked and everything made sense. Excitement? He could feel it in his chest, just below his heart. He missed that feeling.
They strapped into a light tactical load. None of them wore body armor. They stuffed every single bit of ammunition they had into the vests. This, unfortunately, wasn't a full complement.
Umi led them into the cutter and sat immediately next to the door. The rest of the crew filed in and sat down. No one said a word. Sevel entered last and sat in the very front, the bulk of his body looking too large against the ship's cockpit. The Lokeen gently set a commset onto his head, then the hatch closed.
"Ya know," Riga said, "I always thought space travel would be more fun. It was kind of boring."
"What'd ya expect?" Kelly said. "A fucking open bar? Jesus Christ, it's an alien ship."
"I know, right? It's like those old boats, those big bastards way back when. People all in suits with top hats and funny ties. They looked," Riga waved a hand in front of him, "elegant. They looked elegant."
"Ain't nothing elegant about you," Blaser said.
"T'was the golden age of sail you speak of," Sevel said. He pulled on a heavy lever and there was a loud thud. "Or the golden age of steam. Before they even flew, it took them months to cross the oceans on Earth. The ships were beautiful. Iron and steel and wood and steam. They had names like Indomitable, Lusitania, Titanic."
Riga bent a thumb toward the front. "He knows his shit."
Sevel turned around and grinned an alien grin with all his flat teeth bared. "I do. Now hold on."
Then the cutter dropped.
Umi had flown in choppers that crept over the nap of the earth just meters from death. He'd survived a crash where his tank rolled down a three hundred meter cliff. He'd spent a dozen gut wrenching days at sea waiting to land with only vomit to keep him company. None of it compared to the extreme violence of the cutter dropping to the planet below.
At first it was a shudder. The shudder grew into a roar that blasted into side-to-side shakes. Alarms blared throughout the cutter and it smelled of toasted steel. The cutter shook up and down.
Tollefson, the only one not wearing a safety harness, bounced of the ceiling and then crashed against the floor. He grinned past bloody teeth and locked his arms onto a support beam.
The ride smoothed out and Sevel shouted back. "Get ready!"
"Lock and load!" Umi said. He couldn't wait to get off the cutter, his stomach was a mess.
The cutter swooped in low and the thrusters roared. The hatch opened. Humid air flooded inside on the winds of rich greenery. It smelled of dirt, mulch, and a sickly sweet tang of rotten fruit.
"Gitty up!" Sevel yelled.
Umi turned to Kelly Dell with a confused look on his face.
"Go, go! Leave the cutter!" Sevel yelled.
Umi rolled around the corner of the hatch. Intense green blared back at him, a mix of fauna and flora that was more like something from a jungle. He judged the drop to the ground and hopped out. The moment his feet hit the ground he was off and running.
The ground squished under his feet. He didn't stop running until he was underneath a cracked metal roof. The rest of the team raced into cover. The cutter slid through the air then disappeared into the haze above.
The silence was overwhelming. Not a single breath of wind stirred the massive green leaves.
"Feels weird," Kelly said.
"Feels dead," Riga added.
Umi picked out a crumbling skyscraper and scanned with his monoscope. He could just make out scorch marks, places where the material looked melted, and gaping holes that disappeared into darkness.
All around them was the debris of violence. Shallow craters, shrapnel scars coated in lichen, curiously smooth holes in metal. The patina of age and water had worn everything down, nothing was straight and smooth but almost organic again.
"Skyscraper there," Umi said. "Landmark North. Now let's get moving." He keyed up his comms. "Sevel, we're moving."
"Stay safe!"
"Tolly," Umi called to Tollefson. "Point."
The giant of a Sigg soldier walked along the edge of the street with a shoulder close to the crumbling walls. He held a heavy barreled rifle with a rotary magazine hanging beneath it. The way he walked was the way a professional walks, not slow, not plodding, but deliberate. Each step went exactly where he wanted it to. There was no bravado but a quiet pace.
"The hell happened here? Musta been one helluva drunk," Vik said. The stout infantry leader squatted down and picked up a corroded piece of metal. He studied it a second and tossed it away.
Riga cradled his sniper rifle and walked near the rear. He paused at a patch of mud. "Cap?"
Umi called a halt. "Whatcha got?"
Riga traced his finger along an animal track. "Track, it uh, cat like, maybe? Six toes, claw imprints."
"Big?" Umi asked.
"As big as my hand," Riga replied.
"That's our darling," Blaser said.
Umi stepped close and stared down at the chocolate brown mud. The track was smooth, the barest of an imprint. He was sure he'd never have noticed it himself. "Good work Riga."
They moved through the silent street and no one said a word. The insides of the buildings were a jumbled mash of destruction and heaped decay. Almost all were so broken down that no path inside was possible. They sidestepped a sinkhole and stared down into an inky abyss. Metal rails glittered in the darkness with vines hanging down.
Something crashed far in the distance and they froze. Echoes rumbled through the buildings.
Riga knelt down and put the scope to his eye. "Lotsa hiding places, Cap."
Umi felt a tickle on his neck. "Time to pick up the pace."
They jogged to the edge of a wide open square and hid in the cover of a collapsed wall. Wind stirred at the haze broke. Sunlight poured down and the earth steamed.
Umi wiped his face. Perspiration beaded up from every pore and the clammy air took on a decidedly unpleasant feel. "I think that's the place."
A building, different design than the rest, crumbled on the far edge of the square. Collapsed hulks of vehicles and machinery was strewn throughout the square. A mass of wires and cabling weaved across the space above. The building was completely collapsed on one edge, but the other was still intact. A wide set of door had been blasted open.
Riga clicked his teeth. "There."
A creature prowled across the far side of the square. It was a massive animal akin to a tiger, but with a shorter snout and chunkier legs. It had no tail. Its fur was mottled and sequential like a camouflage pattern. It paused for a moment and raised its snout.
"Get ready," Umi whispered.
"Already am," Riga said. He peered through the scope and held his breath.
The animal spun in a circle then loped away.
Riga released his breath.
"Let's go," Umi said. He jogged with his weapon almost to his shoulder. Wherever his eyes went the muzzle of the sub-machinegun followed. He passed what he thought were vehicles before finally coming to the entrance.
Green corroded brass shell casings littered the ground. A Vasilov machinegun sat alone near the side of the door. The barrel was almost entirely red with rust.
Umi raised his weapon up and stepped carefully into the darkness. His eyes adjusted to the gloom and he knew it was the right place.
A case sat in the middle of the room. It was plastic and bore the mark of the Vasilov Army. Scattered throughout the entry way was skeletons in body armor and Vasilov combat uniforms. Not all of the skeletons were still whole.
Riga crouched in the doorway with Tollefson on the opposite side. Vaughn slung his weapon over his shoulder and popped the latches on the case. The rest of the team covered the entrances and exits.
"Fucking creepy," Kelly said.
Umi stared down a hallway. Shafts of light poked through and illuminated everything in an odd light. Motes of dust danced in the thermals. Something moved and he raised his weapon.
Inside of the case sat a carbon black cube. Markings were scrawled on one edge with a line of slender connectors on the other. A blue light pulsed on one corner.
Vaughn snapped the case shut and leaned over to scoop it up. "Oof! Heavier than it looks!"
"We got company," Riga said.
"Same here," Umi replied.
Shapes moved in the hall and crept ahead through the shafts of light. Outside a pack of the hunters prowled through the rusted hulks. Out of the darkness a pair of eyes shone back with a touch of emerald green.
Umi focused his aim on the closest set. "You got it, Vaughn?"
"It's heavy!"
"Tolly, take it!" Umi yelled. He stepped backwards slowly without lowering the weapon. "Everyone get ready."
The hunter didn't leap, or jump, or even move. It simply sat on the edge of the darkness. It breathed in and out, a rumbling sound, and waited. Others crept up near it.
"Everyone out, nice and slow," Umi said.
Vik and Vaughn stepped out first with Tolly right behind. Every single weapon was raised up and pointed at one of the hunters. On the outside the predators stood in the sunlight and stared.
Umi stepped into the light and sweat poured down his face. He wanted to wipe his brow but didn't dare release his grasp on the weapon. The green eyes stared back at him and he waited for it to pounce. "Sevel, things might get interesting. We're going to—"
"They're above!" Vaughn yelled. He cracked loose a three round burst.
Half a dozen of the predators darted back into the cover of the building. The roar of the gunfire echoed through the dead city.
Umi snapped his eyes up to the empty windows, then back down to the darkness. The green eyes were gone. "Move!"
The hunters scattered as the echoes roared back through the buildings. Shapes darted past buildings, from one shadow to the next, and appeared for no more than a moment. The Sigg ran as fast as Tollefson could carry the awkward case. His face was tight and sweat poured down his arms. White teeth shone in the sunlight as he grunted with each waddling step.
"There's one!" Vaughn said. "It's gone."
"One more," Kelly said.
Umi tracked one, then another, then another. Each time he caught a good look it disappeared into the ruins. A moment later a different hunter appeared somewhere else.
"They're getting closer," Riga said. He slung his sniper rifle over his shoulder and popped out a handgun.
A hunter darted out in front of them and clambered up on top of a heap of rubble. It glared down with green eyes and bared its teeth. Riga snapped the pistol up and drummed off a string of rounds. Brass flew over his shoulder as the hunter flew back and growled.
The first round struck it in the mouth, while the others hammered into its shoulder. Its tongue lolled out and red blood trailed down its face. The other wounds punctured the skin but instead of flesh peering out there was a twinkle of wet steel. It roared and reared back.
"Shit," Riga said.
Vik stepped ahead and punched out a full burst. The rounds slapped into the hunter's stomach and the beast fell to the ground. It thrashed for a moment and was still.
Umi tracked one hunter after the next but the moment he had aim it disappeared into the greenery or ruins. He quickly wiped the sweat from his face and in an instant one of the hunters appeared and rushed ahead. He fired a burst into it and the creature darted back into cover. "They're testing us!"
They held a steady pace through the maze of destroyed vehicles. The hunters surged in one at a time, then by twos. The Sigg fired in bursts and drove them back each time.
"The hell are they waiting for?" Vaughn yelled, soaked in sweat.
Riga pointed his pistol at the street they were heading to. "For us to get in there."
"Tolly, can you run?" Umi said.
"Da," Tollefson said. He strained the words. The cords of his neck were tight.
"Keep formation on Tolly. Everyone stick together. Now go!" Umi yelled.
They ran through the wreckage and down the middle of the street. Buildings loomed overhead like odd caricatures. It was silent for a moment, the hunters disappeared.
Umi's heart pounded in his chest. He kept turning and expected to see the maw of the hunter closing but they were gone. They were almost to the square. The cutter hovered above, barely visible in the haze. We're going to make it, he thought.
The first one leaped down from above and swatted Vaughn aside. The infantry leader tumbled against a heap of rubble. The others fired on the cat-like creature.
It stumbled and roared and tried to snap its stout jaws at Tollefson but missed.
Vaughn was back on his feet and running with a limp. He stopped for a second and fired off a long burst into the dark windows above. "There's more!"
Umi grabbed onto Vaughn's arm and the pair ran like two drunks.
Vik spun, dropped to a knee, and fired past Umi and Vaughn. "Go, go!"
Umi wanted to looked behind him, he wanted to know how close, the animal part inside of him needed to know. But instead he ran.
Kelly halted and fired. Vik sprinted past and they leap frogged ahead. Vaughn, then Blaser, then Kelly, then Vik. Riga sprinted in the lead, leaving the rest behind.
A hunter pounced out and Umi shot it in the chest.
The beast tumbled and roared. It rose up again with its green eyes alight.
Umi pulled the trigger again and was greeted with a click. "Out!" He spun Vaughn to the side and Vaughn let loose.
"Sevel! Now!" Umi yelled.
The cutter dropped down out of the haze and roared to the ground. Jets blasted debris away and mud rocketed out into the air. The hunters fell back into the shadows and they attacked.
One of them latched onto Tollefson's shoulders. Its claws dug into his back and pushed him to the ground. Vik raced to the creature and emptied his clip into the side of its head. It fell to the side and they pulled Tollefson out.
Umi passed Vaughn to Blaser and dropped to a knee next to Tollefson.
Tollefson's eyes fluttered and blood poured from his wounds.
"Riga!" Umi yelled. He cursed and grabbed onto Tollefson's arm. He never expected the mercenary attitude to include one of his own men. The coward ran, he left them for dead to save his own hide. His white hot anger drove him.
"I got the other!" Kelly said. She grabbed Tollefson's other arm. The two pulled him toward the waiting cutter.
Vik stooped down and grabbed the case. He groaned and shuffled ahead. Only Blaser and Vaughn continued to fire but more and more of the hunters raced down the street. It was as if they understood what would happen if the case made it onto the cutter.
Umi, pulling backwards with all his might, could now see the approaching hunters. Anger and fear washed over him. He couldn't stop and fight nor could he just continue. Blaser continued to fire while Vaughn covered the buildings above.
But still the hunters charged.
A hunter leaped toward Umi. Its claws glittered in the humid light. For a split second it seemed to hang in the air, poised to land directly on Tollefson.
Umi saw it. He knew the moment, felt it in his heart, and tried to pull up his sidearm.
A shot rang out and the side of the hunter's head exploded. Another high pitched crack roared, and another, and another. Riga laid on the floor of the cutter and fired from the prone position. The sniper fire poured out and finally the charge broke.
The cutter hovered and the Sigg passed the crate, and Tollefson, up before everyone else climbed in. The hunters prowled on the edge of the square but none ventured any closer to them.
Umi was the last one in. He leaped up, took Riga's hand, and grinned at the sniper. "I thought you left us."
"Ain't no bonus for me if you're dead, eh?"
Tollefson lay on the floor with bandages covering his back. The digital compresses hissed and pulsed and staunched the bleeding. Then he snored.
"Tough son of a bitch," Kelly said with a smile.
"Hold on!" Sevel said.
Umi sat and closed his eyes. They'd made it. Now, hopefully it was all worth it.
#
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Lishun Delta - 300 Kilometers South of the Mackinof Front
They drove like an ancient caravan traversing the wastes. The column stretched out through the snow. At the lead a single tank crawled hesitantly along a high slope. For a moment it stopped, pivoted, then continued forward.
Tomi blinked hard and focused on the numbers. Diagnostics data and force sensors sparkled on his viewscreen. All of it was overlaid on the panoramic view from outside. He studied the load dispersion and pivoted a bit more. "It's soft on either side, I think we're okay."
"Keep moving," Sergeant Nikov said.
Bulldog crawled ahead and gently tested the sides of the route. Behind her the column followed exactly in her track.
Tomi focused on the path ahead and studied every feature he could see. Was that slope too sharp? Did that rise look brownish and wet? How far would this finger lead? His eyes darted to the mountains and he cursed the hydraulic pressures that caused the groundwater to percolate up.
He hadn't slept in forty hours. The first twenty-four were the worst. His eyes ached and felt raspy. He nodded off once and woke to Sergeant Nikov kicking his helmet. Luckily he didn't slide off into the muck.
How anything could remain liquid in these conditions amazed him. Once they stopped at a wide flat of mud. The entire column drove in reverse for an hour until he could find a new route. It was his greatest fear, he was leading them into nothingness.
At about thirty-six hours he got a second wind. Lights danced on the edge of his eyes and he started second guessing himself. He slowed the tank and studied the force readings. One bogey wheel showed too much force, or was it too little? He blinked again and cursed.
Behind him the infantry talked. Boredom was overwhelming. Hess and Wellington continued to gamble. Any conversation was a group conversation.
"Well I prefer liquor, beer just takes to long ya know?" Mick said. "You can get good and drunk, then just sip and enjoy it."
"I dunnom Mickey boy," Puck said. "A bottle of wine now—"
The crew roared in laughter.
Tomi couldn't help but smile. He missed not being part of the conversation but was glad they were talking. If all he did was drive in silence the stress would have overwhelmed him.
"Culture, you guys need culture," Puck said.
"I say cheap and quick. It's quantity, not quality," Private Sophia said. He drummed up his voice and tried to drown out the protests.
"Gotta have standards," Hutchins said.
"See!" Puck yelled.
Tomi sighed and released the accelerator for a second. He saw something in the distance. A building, a rounded roof and some outbuildings. I need to close my eyes, he thought. Just a moment to relax the eyes. When he opened them again it was still there. "Sergeant?"
"What?" Nikov said.
"I see buildings."
Puck started up a new conversation.
"Shut the fuck up!" Nikov yelled over the crew comms.
The crew went instantly silent.
"Clouds moved in. Keep moving, I'll relay it to Torori."
Tomi drove again in silence and hoped he wasn't seeing things. At one point he swore he saw a tree a few hours before but when he looked again it was gone. He started to sweat and his hands shook. A pit rolled in his stomach and all he wanted was to lay down. Sleep tugged at him. But no, he'd not fail, not now. This was his chance to prove.
Prove what? His mind replayed the night in the wildcat mine. Prove that he wasn't a criminal? His sentence verified that, maybe it was more, maybe it was to prove to himself that he wasn't just a useless piece of shit. He thought on that and continued to drive.
The ground leveled out and the tank dropped into a depression. After a few hundred meters it rose out again. It stopped and the column came to halt.
"You see it, Sergeant?" Tomi said.
"Yah, I see it. Hold tight."
Tomi shivered. He took a drink from his water bottle and paused to relieve himself in an almost full container. He stared at the buildings and wondered if he was dreaming.
"Colonel wants to talk to you," Nikov said.
Tomi almost choked on the water, then regained his composure.
"Private Morgan? This is Jailbird."
"Yes sir," Tomi said.
"Can you see a good route for the column to approach in an enveloping formation?"
Tomi studied the snows and the lay of the land. He focused on one rise and then the next. "I, I, don't think so, sir, we're riding a good edge."
"Keep leading the way, we're all right behind you. You're doing a hell of a job, son. We're all proud of you. Jailbird out."
"You heard the man," Nikov said.
The tank lurched ahead once more. The main cannon crawled up from its stowed position and the turrets came to life. Slowly they worked across one drift to the next. The buildings became clear.
"Bravo, prep to sweep, drive left flank. Bulldog, let us know if it gets solid. This is the original colonial facility," Lieutenant Torori called on the comms.
Chatter rose throughout the column as orders were sent. Tanks slowly weaved and tested the softer ground on either side of Bulldogs track.
"Stop," Nikov said.
Tomi brought Bulldog to a gentle stop.
The main gun traversed from one side of the complex to the next.
"Bulldog, dismount and sweep," Lieutenant Torori ordered.
The infantry rushed out and the cold air flowed in. It wasn't nearly as cold as in the North and the air had a moist feel to it. The infantry rushed past the tank and across the broken ground.
Tomi's heart pounded in his chest. He zoomed up magnification on the cameras and tried to scan for the infantry. There were three main buildings and a handful of others that had collapsed. The infantry reached the first and disappeared inside. The walls were gray with frost with red streaks of rust poking through.
"Clear!" Mick called. "Hit the next one."
"What is this place, Sergeant?" Tomi said.
"Original front line. It was a monitoring post back before the war. The position wasn't defendable."
"Bulldog," Mick called. "Sweep is clear. Lotsa empty buildings."
"Bravo Command, it's clear," Nikov said. She yawned loudly.
"Find us somewhere nice, Bulldog. We're going to hole up here for a few hours."
Tomi never heard sweeter words. He drove across a broken concrete pad and followed Puck into a sheltered corner. The tank crawled up onto a drift and then settled with a crunch. He set the parking brake, leaned back, and pulled the headset off.
"Hey, good work. Now get yourself some—" Nikov stopped.
Tomi snored loudly.
She leaned down and patted him on top of the head. "Sleep."
#
Chapter Forty
Lishun Delta - 400 Kilometers South of the Mackinof Front
Eight hours later they rolled out.
"Anything from Reach?" Colonel Clarke asked.
"Negative, sir. All Vasilov channels are jammed," the Comms Sergeant replied.
"Keep listening," Colonel Clarke said. "Spunky, how's it looking?"
"Stone, sir, the ground done firmed up nicely."
Colonel Clarke sighed. The mud flats they'd struggled to cross had set them back a few hours. Shortly after leaving the old Colonial buildings the ground firmed up. Though on the downside boulders were strewn everywhere.
The column moved in a rough wedge. Vehicles leap frogged forward and back, sometimes to cover an area, but usually because they could make good time. Then they'd hit gravel or a slushy spot and struggle ahead.
"Rear contact, moving fast," a voice reported.
Colonel Clarke slapped at his comms key. "Disperse! Cover and hold!"
The command tank slewed to the side and rumbled to a halt. Colonel Clarke fumbled to get his cap off and the headset on. When it finally lit up he stared across a broken landscape and tried to see him own tanks. They all blended in with the boulder field.
A shape appeared out of the distance. It was just a tiny black smudge but it was moving closer and fast. Then it crested a rise and came into view. It was a transport train riding on the distant rail. Cargo cars stretched out behind it for at least a kilometer. The nearest Vasilov armor was half a kilometer away.
"Permission to engage," Arap called on a public channel.
Colonel Clarke swallowed and his heartbeat rose. They'd kill it, he had no doubt, but he wanted to get to Reach without the Kadan knowing. "Negative. No one fire."
Arap changed to a private channel. "Cole, we can knock that fucker out, look at the size of it!"
"Negative, Arap. Kadan don't know were here, I don't want to advertise that fact."
"That thing's just begging to get shot," Arap called.
"Oh, don't worry, you'll have your chance."
The transport roared in the distance. It blasted past and continued to a distant location somewhere in the darkness. Then it was gone and the silence returned.
"Keep 'em moving," Colonel Clarke said.
He called up an old map. So old it bore the mark of the Colonial division and not of the Vasilov military. He traced the contours and wished he had a better resolution. He checked their track against the contours. Where were the Kadan? They had to have a railhead. He leaned back in his seat and changed maps.
The next was a more modern view of Reach. The oceans stood out as boundaries and the stony island that was Reach sat alone at the end of a peninsula. A dual spit of rock and sand was the only thing that connected it to the Southern extent of the mountains. One spit went on one side of the mountains, the other spit toward the plains leading toward Lishun Command.
His eyes stopped and he zoomed closer. The contours leveled out half a dozen kilometers away. The lay of the land obscured it from view from Reach. If I had to make a railhead, I'd put it there, he thought.
Arap called on the private channel again. "A goddam train. A fucking train. How did we let a railroad get built to haul troops and we didn't even know? We deserve to lose this planet, man, we fucked up."
Colonel Clarke wanted to agree, to tell him exactly how he felt. Instead he changed the subject. "I'm sending over some plans. We follow the tracks, hit the railhead, then sweep to the coast and drive in toward Reach."
"Big goals, eh?"
"That's right. If we don't break through, it's not like we can dig in."
"I like it."
Colonel Clarke smiled and sent the map along. "Review it, then pass it to the COs. I want everyone's input. We'll halt forty kilometers out and get some rest. Then we go in."
He spent the next hour speaking with Arap and the company commanders. They reviewed the plan, adjusted the route, and added some contingencies. By the end he felt better about the operation, and then the realization hit him. They were a solo unit, driving into an entrenched enemy, without any support. There was no second chance, no opportunity to do a second strike. Either they liberated Reach, or they died.
They stopped forty kilometers out and the armor parked in a shallow ravine. Colonel Clarke exited his vehicle and could smell the sea. A second later the echo of distant artillery sounded out. Then again, and again. It didn't stop and he knew the fight was on.
The sun was just on the horizon. It peeked through the clouds and then was gone again.
"Sounds like a proper beating, sir," Private Cummingham said.
Colonel Clarke nodded and listened some more. It was almost time to cross those last forty kilometers. It was almost time to show the Vasilov what proper armor could do. Or, he thought, it might be time to die.
#
Chapter Forty-One
Lishun Delta - Mackinof Front
"Everyone to cover!" Karl shouted. He leaped down from the edge of the trench. His face smacked into something and he could taste blood.
The first bombs fell on the line and detonated. The falling snow twisted to the side and for a brief second the snow stopped.
A Sigg anti-aircraft tank opened fire a second later but couldn't connect.
A second Cion flier blasted over the top of the trenches. Karl rolled over just in time to watch it streak by.
Silence, he thought. Then the roar of the shockwave struck.
This time the Sigg unit sent a stream of rounds right up the ass of the Cion aircraft. It tumbled in mid-air and suddenly shredded apart as the air velocity caught up with it.
"Check the line," he yelled.
Rifle fire cracked out and then was quiet. A distant rumble on the horizon announced more artillery. The umbrella system opened up a second later and a nonstop stream of projectiles danced in the sky.
Karl stood and adjusted his helmet.
Sedan looked back at him with her mouth open. Her dirty yellow teeth stuck out in stark contrast to the whiteness of her face. "Why don't they attack?"
"Because they think we're going to attack," Karl said.
"Are we?"
"Nope," Karl answered. He tucked in tight to the trench wall.
Shrapnel tumbled down from above and clanged harmlessly into the defenses. The smell of baked steel rolled in the wind.
Karl stepped out and glanced down the line. He was satisfied with what he saw. His entire line was huddled under cover and waiting with weapons at ready. Even the replacements were doing it right.
A horn sounded twice.
"Stand down," Karl yelled. He helped Sedan to her feet and walked to the nearest bunker access. The warm air condensed on the outside and a layer of frost coated the door. He greeted each of his soldiers as they descended. Some looked scared, others tired, most smoked dirty cigarettes. A few he greeted by name, those who had survived out in the no man’s land.
Any thought he ever had of being a hero died on that plain. He wanted nothing to do with his own barony, or county, or anything. Now he just wanted to get home alive. Even the thought of going out again made his stomach turn. Done, he just wanted it done.
"Sergeant Sigorski!" a woman’s voice yelled from the end of the trench. "Colonel needs to see you!"
"Shit," he said. "Keep tight, folks, you know the drill. Corporal Sedan has command."
Karl jammed his hands into his pockets and made his way to the command bunker. He didn't want to talk to the Colonel. Maybe it was just a routine meeting, he thought. By the time he arrived at the command bunker he felt a bit better.
Baron-Colonel Devos leaned over a console. His heavy jacket was unbuttoned and almost falling off his back.
"Sergeant Karl Sigorski reporting, sir!"
"At ease, Sergeant," Devos said. He turned and shrugged his shoulders so the jacket wouldn't fall off. "Do you have everything you need? Your replacements are acceptable, yes?"
"Very much so, sir," Karl replied.
Baron-Colonel Devos's eyes unfocused for a moment. He snapped back and smiled warmly at Karl. "You've done well for yourself, Sergeant. With a record like yours, I could see offering a title when we clear all this up."
Karl's heart skipped a beat. He replayed the words and saw the bait. "Sir?"
"We know the Kadan are down assaulting Reach. They sent that circus of criminals down South to help out. Now there are some opportunities here. The Kadan forces are weakened and well, we could use some first hand intelligence."
Karl stood silently. Dread filled his stomach and he tried to speak but couldn't.
"You have the experience, Sergeant. You've proven yourself a capable combat team leader. Most importantly I understand that you've been to the Kadan base once before. Pick a team, draw your supplies, and during the next storm I want you to infiltrate the Kadan stargate facility."
"Sir?" Karl couldn't believe it. Not just the lines, not just a basic recon, but the Kadan base itself.
"We need proper intelligence, Sergeant. We'll not have a better time than now. The General is quite keen to know what the Kadan are up to. Your role here could save this entire front from disaster. Upon your return you'll train other teams. This will, with any luck, become a regular occurrence." Baron-Colonel Devos turned and plucked up a black case from a table.
Karl was locked where he stood and couldn't have moved if he wanted. Fear on one hand was balanced by a sense of duty. He could save lives, do the right thing, make a difference.
Baron-Colonel Devos opened the box, it contained a set of Lieutenants bars. "Once you return, these will be waiting, and," he smiled, "the General may grant me new territory on Kursikov III. If that happens, I see a county in your future."
Karl smiled back weakly. "Thank you, sir."
"Keep me appraised, Sergeant Sigorski."
"Yes sir," Karl said. He walked out on numb legs and couldn't believe his absolutely horrible luck.
#
Chapter Forty-Two
Deep Space
Umi stood in the airlock with the pendant locked firmly in his grip. He stared at a red light and waited for the pressure to equalize. His ears popped. The light blinked green.
Riga and Vik squatted down and picked up the heavy case.
"Oof!" Vik said.
The freighters airlock slid open and showed a time stained alloy panel. A moment later it opened. The air smelled old, dry, like sand in a bottle. Inside the space was narrow, tight with equipment, conduit and wiring. From the outside it looked massive, from the inside it felt like a closet.
Lady Atli marched in first with her chin held high.
Umi followed right behind. The place reminded him of a salvage yard. It had taken a day to reach spot somewhere in the middle of absolute nowhere. The floating hulk sat in the midst of deep space. Two systems were near, one was an empty white dwarf and the other Lishun Delta.
They stopped at a wall of tarnished metal. The surface had a waxy look, like it was polished too long.
Lady Atli spoke in a clear, strong, voice. "Ken-Ashi."
The tarnished plate shifted and an image appeared. It was a being of sorts, but wreathed in smoke like a shadow of a thought.
"Lady Atli."
"We require your services."
"I do not offer charity."
"Nor do we ask for it. I have payment."
The image turned slightly and for a second it looked almost human. "You have nothing I want."
Lady Atli waved Vik and Riga ahead. The two soldiers lugged the case and set it down before the screen.
"Open it," Lady Atli said.
Vik popped the latches and folded the cover back. It creaked and a blue glow bathed the screen.
The image on the screen instantly sharpened. It was razor crisp and most definitely not human, though it was close. The proportions were wrong, the eyes too wide, and the mouth a narrow slit. "You finally retrieved it... What do you need?"
"We have a Ken-tek designed data storage device that we need to access."
"Stolen?" The thing on the screen never took its eyes off the case.
"Damaged."
"I get the datacore, regardless if I can access the device."
"Very well."
A robotic arm shot out from the side of the screen.
Umi set the pendant onto the robot's palm.
The arm snapped up. A second later a robot wobbled out from the wreckage and grasped onto the case. It drug it away into the maze of junk and disappeared.
"The matrix is cracked, integrity is 87%. It's old, that doesn't help. They should be replaced every hundred years," the image chided. "I can only salvage some of it. There is a visual that I cannot decode."
The screen shimmered and the image of the Ken-tek disappeared. It was replaced by the face of a woman. Behind her was the close confines of a cheap hotel. She leaned away from the screen and scratched her chin.
Umi knew her. It was the woman who saved him.
"If you're seeing this, I'm dead." She paused and nodded. "Well, not how I hoped to spend my retirement. But here it is. Get this to Vasilov Command."
She leaned close and peered into the camera. "Lishun Delta is a chokepoint for the Kadan armies. The Emflife are calling the shots now, in a few months they're going to push an army through big enough to overrun the entire Vasilov sector. That can't happen."
She sat back and scratched her chin. "The only way to hold that planet is to secure the gate to Sebring 435, blow it up, and hit the Kadan while they're transit sick. All the supporting movement data is on this device. Find Lady Atli, she can make this happen. If Lishun Delta falls, the Kadan are gonna make a run that'll destroy a third of all human space."
Umi watched her and wondered what she was like. Her eyes were intense, they sparkled with life.
She scratched another itch and gave a crooked smile at the camera. "I hope I died doing something awesome. If you can, bring this to Terra someday."
The video feed dropped away. The Ken-Tek looked back. "The data packets are being transmitted to your transport. I've extrapolated the date since this was made. You have about five days until that Kadan force enters Lishun Delta."
Umi was at a loss for words. Five days. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough. The Vasilov hadn't been able to break the Kadan in 35 years, how could they do it in five days. "How far are we from Lishun Delta?"
"Three days."
Lady Atli laid her time worn hand on Umi's elbow. "We must go. Now." Her eyes were hollow and her voice cracked.
Umi took two steps then stopped. "I'd like that back."
The robotic arm snapped down and the pendant swayed on the golden chain. Umi grasped it in hand. It felt warm. He looked at the creature on the screen. "Thank you."
It said nothing and the screen went blank.
"Five days," Umi whispered.
Good god, how can we do this?
#
Chapter Forty-Three
Lishun Delta - Reach
They rode through the steppe and sheared drifts of snow and plowed a path close to the mountains. Low foothills drifted up against the massive mountain range and in those they rode. Past collapsed glacial deposits of gravel and stone. Through rivers of chalky white silt and on until the taste of salt was heavy in the air.
When the ocean was almost in sight the lead tank, Elation, suddenly dropped through the ice and disappeared. The rest of the tanks halted. The Engineers raced out and tossed leads into the water but the glacial cut was so deep that no trace was found. They waited for a short time, spoke some words, and cut a new path around the hidden lake. The snow could no longer be trusted, the air was warming.
Lieutenant Torori came on the comms and spoke in a low, level voice. "Full crew comms, crank it up for everyone."
Tomi leaned over and tapped the open comms button. The speakers in Bulldog crackled to life.
"This is how it's going to roll. We're covering the Northern edge, right up next to the mountains. We're the hammer, the fucking noose, you got it? Everyone else draws them in, pinches the Kadan against the Vasilov line and then we sweep down that fucker. Don't stop moving. You must advance, no one stops. You all hear me? If we stop, we die. There's no turning back, no bunkering down, no trench to crawl into. Don't dismount, not unless your tracks are blown off."
Tomi's heart pounded in his chest. He listened and felt the excitement rise. It rose up and at the same time the fear was crisp. This is it. This is it.
"I've sent each unit a map. Follow the course set out, once we get inside just wrap up that flank. It's time to prove all those sons of bitches wrong."
Tomi keyed his display and a map overlay danced across his viewscreen. The topographic was clear, he was to follow the rise close to the mountains until they were almost on top of the isthmus leading to Reach. Then, and only then, would he sweep to the sea.
"Order is," Lieutenant Torori said. "Bulldog, Bodacious Bastard, Blowtorch, Badger, Beowulf, Baptism. Point artillery is not live until we reach the Northern edge. Then Baptism is going to set up and cover us. Nearest anti-air is Delta company, they're on our flank. Ride so close to that mountain that you scrape the paint. Tomi. Lead us in."
There was a pause, the Lieutenant took a breath. "Don't fire until the other edges engage. I'm proud of you all. Go."
"You heard the man!" Sergeant Nikov said. "Hammer this fucker!"
Bulldog raced ahead and down into a gravel bottom. A thin glacial wash trickled down and a cloud of mist rose up behind them. Tomi kept the mountains straight ahead and rode through the river bottom.
A fog dropped down from the mountains and the vehicles were coated in rime. The gray paint and mud gave way to a ghostly sheen of white. They were like arctic wolves coming down from the hills.
Tomi climbed until the trickle disappeared into the hill and cut his vehicle hard to the South. He steered hard and drove right on the track that the Lieutenant sent. He drove up a hill and felt something in his stomach. Excitement. Then he was over it and the sight took his breath away.
The isthmus darted out into the sea. The sky was illuminated by explosions. Tracers darted out from both lines and ricocheted up into the sky like angry fireflies. Massive explosions rocked the shores. The entire Kadan line was almost on top of the wrecked island. The fires were so intense that everything glowed an amazing shade of orange.
The armor pulled up in a line.
"Bravo Company!" Lieutenant Torori shouted over the comms. "Charge!"
Bulldog pushed ahead with the others just behind. They rolled down the massive slope with a sheer rock wall just to their right. The main cannons hummed to life and danced with the motion of the tanks. The autocannon turrets spun from side-to-side.
The crew inside of the Bulldog called out diagnostics checks. "Ammo clear!", "Fire suppression ready!", "Reactor is green!".
The railhead was illuminated a few kilometers away. Huge piles of stores and equipment were heaped near it. Columns of troops raced away from the waiting railcars. All were headed down one path, toward the line.
"God, look at it," Sergeant Nikov said.
Tomi raced faster and grinned. Sixty kilometers an hour on open ground. He loved it.
"Acquiring targets," Sergeant Nikov said. She lit up a large vehicle that was dead ahead. It wore a dome on top. Next she lit up artillery positions and a heap of mortar ammunition.
"Let's go. C'mon!"
Sixty five kilometers an hour. Track alerts started to blink. The lines were dead ahead and coming closer.
Tomi stared and could pick out individual Kadan drones. Did they know? Did they have any idea?
An enormous mushroom cloud rose into the sky, its entire core a rolling mass of flame. The railhead disappeared in a raging inferno. An axle tumbled through the air and battered itself against the mountainside.
"Fire!" Lieutenant Torori called.
The main cannon opened up. The first three rounds hit the vehicle with the dome. The main gun automatically tracked to the next targets. When it reached the ammo dump it sent one shell and then a wall of white shot into the sky. Titanium white balls shot into the sky and tumbled slowly down. The Kadan drones fled, burning, and stumbled toward the tanks.
The autocannons fired and sent out a stream of traceless ammunition. The rounds stitched into the fleeing drones. They fell in droves and tumbled to the open ground. There were no trenches in the rear, nowhere for them to flee to.
In the rear of Bulldog the infantry tended to the weapons and watched the crates of ammo disappear.
"Driver right, take us up!" Nikov ordered.
Tomi steered ahead and drove the tank right over the smoldering hulk of the odd vehicle with the dome on top. There was a satisfying crunch and then they dropped down low. The Vasilov line was less than a kilometer away.
"Punch it!"
Bulldog rolled down the last slope and plowed right into the Kadan line. Waves of infantry raced away only to be greeted by the autocannons lacing fire everywhere.
"We got comms! Holy shit, we've got Vasilov comms!" someone cried out.
Tomi ignored everything and only focused on the path ahead. Shapes loomed up in the darkness and he steered around anything that was big. Anything that looked small, he crushed and continued ahead. Orange light illuminated everything ahead of him and the fighting still raged on.
Bravo Company plowed through the rear of the Kadan lines and hammered everything in sight. The main cannons chattered out round after round until Torori finally told them to conserve ammunition.
They hit the first combat assets shortly after. The Kadan troopers fired back, but the reserve lines weren't ready. The heavy weapons emplacements were all pointed toward the Vasilov line. The order went out to only shoot the main cannon at the heavy weapons, otherwise there was too much to shoot.
Nikov called out target after target and sent a single round into each emplacement. Other tanks followed and finished anything off. They were almost to the Vasilov lines. At this point the distance between the trenches was less than fifty meters. Fifty meters of hardcore violence, nonstop gunfire, and trench mortars. A perfect plane for the Sigg armor to roll.
Tomi spun the tank in the midst of the no man’s land. The main cannon thundered above while both of the autocannon turrets sheared fire against the Kadan line. Bodacious crawled down the Kadan line with one track drooped down into the trench. Kadan troopers leaped out to escape the armor only to be cut down by the Vasilov troops.
Badger flipped over sideways. The rear hatch exploded and red flames darted out. The main cannon flew off and spun through the air before sticking straight up into the mud.
"AT!" Nikov yelled.
The main cannon swung to the side and peppered out a half dozen shells. A round glanced off the side armor. A dull pung rang through the inside of the tank.
"I don't see!" Nikov said.
Baptism fired off a triple set of airburst rounds. They exploded just above the AT gun and the stored ammo detonated.
The tanks thundered ahead with Bulldog in the lead. The rest of the armor drove right through the midst of the Kadan line. Explosions rocketed out nearby and the first units of Delta company closed in.
All around was the picture of horror. Explosions rang out everywhere. Armor shot down anything that moved on the left side of the Vasilov line. Kadan fled, they fled and fell.
Tomi had never seen anything like it. Not on the movies, not anywhere. He couldn't even imagine the horror. He couldn't imagine what it would be like on the ground. Impossible to take. Impossible. His one goal was to drive, drive to the sea, drive the noose tight, drive the Kadan into the sea.
Blowtorch ran up one edge and spun to the side. Her track flew off and the tank drove ahead for a dozen meters before halting.
Tomi saw it, his foot hovered on the brake.
"Don't stop!" Nikov yelled.
Tomi slapped down on the throttle and left the tank behind.
"Everyone turn off your anti-artillery, now!" Lieutenant Torori called.
Tomi hesitated on the switch and then flipped it. Almost the moment he disengaged it the artillery fell.
Cloudbursts of anti-infantry shells rang out into the darkness. Splinters of white hot steel shot into the failing Kadan lines. All through the Kadan front the aliens fell in droves. Glowing bits of steel smoked in the melting snow. The only Kadan that survived were those who remained in the trenches.
Tomi plowed forward and then the sea was before him. He spun the tank. It slid in the sand and came to rest against a chunk of sea ice foundering in the shallows. Water lapped at the side of Bulldog.
The main cannon fired until thermal alarms sounded. One of the autocannons jammed and no matter what they did they couldn't get it to engage. The other rattled off rounds until they saved what was left for an emergency.
The Vasilov line emerged from the trenches and charged into what was left of the Kadan. They fought as those who had nearly fallen and sought revenge for weeks of terrible conflict. Fires raged, weapons roared out, and finally the sun rose.
The sea was flecked with pack ice and dirty smudges of soot. The red light it bathed onto the ground was matched by the blood that stained that terrible isthmus. What still stood was human, and they moved through the battlefield and executed anything that was not.
Tomi walked out of the rear hatch into the light. His legs shook, he steadied himself on the hull. He almost brought out the bottle of the Colonel's whisky but decided against it. He took in the sounds, the smells, the taste of the sea.
He turned and stared at Bulldog and couldn't believe it. The entire hull was pocked by shell marks, fragments of shrapnel stuck out of everything. There was a massive gouge where the AT round had struck, it looked like a blooming rose.
It was too much and he couldn't stop himself from sobbing. He didn't know why he cried, but he did. His emotions flowed out in tears.
Sergeant Nikov stepped out, lit a cigarette, and threw an arm around Tomi. "You did well. We all did well."
Reach was free.
#
Chapter Forty-Four
Lishun Delta - Reach
The wind gusted off the sea and whipped the slushy snowflakes against everything. The sun poked through the low slung clouds and for a few brief moments it was warm. Then, just as quickly, it disappeared and the damp chill returned.
Colonel Clarke stood on the top of the trench line and stared out into the battlefield. His eyes picked out each and every destroyed piece of Vasilov armor. They'd done well, better than he ever expected, though he couldn't expect much more.
Commander Arap limped down the trench. He grinned past two missing front teeth.
"You made it," Colonel Clarke said.
"So did you, help me up, eh Cole?"
Colonel Clarke helped Arap up from the trench bottom and the two stared out. A recovery vehicle rumbled past with Comanche in tow. The tank was missing both tracks, the entire vehicle was a scarred mess.
"Heard the butcher's bill?" Arap said.
"What's the final total? How many did we lose?" He struggled to say the words.
"Alpha is down three units, Bravo down two, Charlie down three, Delta down four, Echo down two, and Fox lost three. Maintenance is trying to bring a few back to life. one hundred twenty-seven dead, eighteen wounded."
The two men stood in silence. Vehicles rumbled past and the snow fell in sheets.
"We did well."
"We did fucking awesome," Arap said.
Colonel Clarke glanced at the slate on his wrist. "I've got to meet with General Radowitz. Have them continue recovering vehicles and," he paused, "continue burying the dead."
"Yes sir," Arap said.
Colonel Clarke moved through the trenches with Major Bresov close behind. The defenders of Reach grinned and cheered as they walked through. The survivors were wore thin, emaciated, half starved, but they were elated to be saved. He tried to fake a smile but his heart wasn't in it. Victory was his, but he felt a great sense of loss.
The command bunker was filled with Officers. It was cold like an old basement. General Radowitz stood at the back when Colonel Clarke entered. The old General was worn thin, his face gaunt, with white stubble growing from his cheeks.
"Attention!" General Radowitz said.
The room snapped to attention. Officers struggled to stand on wounded legs. The shabby soldiers did their best to look professional. They were wounded, haggard, raw, emaciated, but still, they stood on their own.
"Salute!"
The entire room snapped up a salute and held it.
Colonel Clarke returned the salute quickly.
"At ease!" General Radowitz said.
The room settled but all eyes were on Colonel Clarke.
"We owe you a feast, Colonel," General Radowitz said. "But our rations are a bit thin. The last time the gate opened the supplies were dumped in the sea. Though that won't be an issue anymore."
Colonel Clarke walked through the bunker and stood before General Radowitz. The two men shook hands. The General's hands were cold, like the claw on a bird of prey.
"Thank you, Count-General Radowitz," Colonel Clarke said.
"Just General, I earned the Count bit as a stupid young man. Lucky maybe, but definitely stupid."
Colonel Clarke heard the stories, it was definitely not stupidity, but bravery. "Thank you, sir."
"It was damned good luck one of your units knocked out whatever was jamming our comms."
"That was our lead element up on the North flank. They didn't know what it was other than not one of ours."
"Well, fortune favors the bold."
"Indeed, sir."
"I spoke with LISCOM, you're to be attached here until we get the gate online."
Colonel Clarke frowned. He didn't like sitting still, not like this, not on an island with a couple of spits of sand connecting it to the mainland. He could do more good at Mackinof.
"Colonel, the Kadan are nearly beat here, but just in case they come back we'll need your help." General Radowitz almost pleaded his words. "We can't stand another siege."
"I understand, sir." Colonel Clarke knew better than to argue the orders. "My men can use the rest, they've earned it."
"LISCOM says we can expect a gate this afternoon. Could you assist with supply retrieval?"
"Of course sir, provided they don't toss them in the ocean."
General Radowitz smiled back and nodded toward the exit. The two men walked out and stood on top of the cratered shell of the bunker. The two surveyed the defenses of Reach and stared out toward the mountains. "High tide in a few weeks, most of the Kadan line is going to get washed away. An amazing thing, this war. So quiet for so long, and then this."
"Yes sir," Colonel Clarke said. He counted the burned out tanks once again.
"At least that damned orbital is gone. Did you ever hear what silenced it?"
"No sir. Nothing but speculation."
General Radowitz rubbed his chin. "Can you send some armor up to that rail line and get a good line of sight. Those cannons should have some good range, eh?"
"If we can see it, we can kill it."
"Good god, it must've been a brawl down there."
Colonel Clarke stared down at the battlefield. It was so close, but under the new snow looked clean. "We got lucky, sir, that shrapnel barrage sealed their fate."
"A good thing, it was the last of our artillery."
Major Bresov scrambled up the rise. Two Vasilov Officers followed close behind. She saluted and spoke quickly. "Colonel! We've got a Sigg comms request."
"Sigg? Where?"
Major Bresov cracked a smile. "It's Captain Matsuo, sir, he's in orbit."
#
Chapter Forty-Five
Lishun Delta - Reach
"Clarke?" Umi said.
The speaker crackled and popped, interference hissed in and out. "Umi, what the hell are you doing here?"
"We don't have much time, is your unit combat ready?"
Silence.
"Umi? What's this about? I can't discuss operational details on this channel."
"Clarke," Lady Atli said into the microphone. "This is Lady Atli. Where are you right now?"
"Ma'am, this comms channel isn't—"
"Shut up. Where are you?"
"Reach, ma'am," Colonel Clarke said.
"Radowitz still alive?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Is the area secure?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Tell Radowitz to get off his old ass and clear me enough room to land a Lokeen cutter. You got that, Clarke?"
"Yes, ma'am, right away, ma'am."
Lady Atli waved at the microphone. "Shut that thing off, and get ready to leave."
Sevel cut the comms channel. "There is much debris in orbit, it will be a rough ride down."
"Orbital minefield?" Umi asked.
"No, it looks to be the remnants of a station."
Lady Atli cleared her throat. "We hired someone to knock out the Kadan orbital platform. I'm surprised he's not here."
"Who?" Sevel asked. He glanced at his sensor array and said something in the Lokeen language to the other crew on the bridge.
"Vek Esh Shell," Lady Atli said.
Sevel gawked at her. "You hired those, those barbarians?"
"We approached the Lokeen, they weren't open to offers for military interdiction," Lady Atli said in a harsh tone. "Now get us on the ground Sevel, we're running out of time."
Umi jogged through the corridors and found his team packing. "Everyone going down?"
"You're still paying a bonus, right?" Riga asked.
"Always."
Riga snapped shut a rifle case and nodded. "Hot landing?"
"They said it's secure."
"Good."
Tollefson sat up with a groan. "I'm coming."
"Of course, you're Lady Atli's personal guard. Can you cover it?" Umi said.
"Da."
"Let's go."
The Sigg team grabbed their gear and helped Tollefson to the cutter. They all knew the stakes. If the Vasilov worlds fell, the Sigg worlds would be next. It wasn't just a matter of money anymore, but of home.
They boarded the cutter and Sevel took them down. Lady Atli sat with an arm on Tollefson. She looked frail, tiny, old. For a few minutes she looked her age, she looked like a scared old woman going into something she couldn't handle. When Sevel said to prepare to land she straightened her back, set her lip, and the trademark scowl returned. The Iron Lady was back.
Umi stepped to the hatch and nodded to Sevel. "Thank you."
Sevel grunted. "Don't do anything stupid."
The hatch slid aside and cold air rushed in that smelled of the sea. Umi dropped down onto the slushy sand. A company of haggard troops stood at attention with a thin General at the front. Colonel Clarke stood by his side. Soldiers rushed up and grabbed the Sigg gear and whisked it away. Lady Atli stepped out and the soldiers snapped to attention.
A soldier ran up and threw a dirty jacket onto her shoulders. She thanked him and followed Umi.
Lady Atli gave a crisp bow to General Radowitz. "General, we don't have time for pleasantries. We need to get LISCOM on the horn and get the armor ready to move."
"Very well, Lady Atli, if you'd accompany me."
Colonel Clarke debriefed Umi while they walked to the bunker.
When they entered the command bunker, everyone stood at attention.
"Sit down, dammit, I'm an old woman, not a war hero."
The communications team struggled to open a feed to LISCOM. After a few minutes the screen flickered and a surprised Lieutenant raced off. Three men looked back. General Holt, General Obstedt, and Duke Krenshaw.
Duke Krenshaw spoke first. "Lady Atli? How did you get here?"
"That's not important now. We have a major situation. In two days, the Kadan are going to gate a massive army onto this planet. We have to assault that gate, destroy it, and hope we can defeat whatever comes through while they're gate sick."
General Holt cracked half a smile. "Ma'am, we've decimated them on two fronts. They're in a defensive position now. What proof do you have?"
Lady Atli beckoned to Umi. "This is Captain Matsuo of the Sigg Army. He'll explain."
Umi cleared his throat. "I was attacked on Sigg Orbital while delivering Colonel Clarkes armor for transport. A woman saved my life, and gave me information which we have just decoded. It's recovered battle plans and movement orders for the Kadan military."
Genera Obstedt spoke next in a careful tone. "Is the source reliable?"
"We believe so," Umi said.
"Who decoded it?" Duke Krenshaw said.
"Ken-Ashi," Lady Atli said.
"He's not to be trusted. He's an alien with suspect motivations." Duke Krenshaw said.
"General," Captain Kolich said. "This information is correct."
"I feel that this information is true," Umi stated.
"Captain, this isn't your fight. These aren't your troops," General Holt said.
"We're in a strong defensive position. Our stargates will be online soon and Mackinof is fully supplied. There have never been more troops here. In fact, we're stronger than ever. Let them come, if they're coming," Duke Krenshaw said.
"You fools," Lady Atli snapped. "This is the massed Kadan armies, this is Cion support, all under the direction of the Emflife. Look at the data, we'll send it now."
"You can send whatever you'd like," Duke Krenshaw said. "This is a defensive position, we will not go on the offensive, then everything could be lost."
Lady Atli looked at General Holt and Obstedt. "Do you agree with that?"
"I do," General Holt said.
General Obstedt leaned back and licked his lips. "We don't have the forces to go on the offensive."
Colonel Clarke said, "I trust this information, sir. My unit can—"
"You have your orders," Duke Krenshaw said.
"This, gentlemen, is your doom," Umi said. "If you take that gate, the enemy will come through disoriented and sickened. You'll slaughter them. You've won two victories, the Kadan forces on this planet are as weak as ever. Strike now!"
"I've heard enough. We're not abandoning our positions on a whim from an alien source. There's no proof beyond the word of a foreign soldier and an old woman. Cut this feed," Duke Krenshaw said. He stood and walked away.
"Stefan Vasilov founded a nation of heroes, not of cowards," Lady Atli said.
General Obstedt glanced at Colonel Clarke, then the feed died.
Lady Atli stood alone in a dirty jacket and glared at the blank screen. The wrinkles in her face stood out as a single tear struggled down her face.
"Please, come with me," General Radowitz said. The pair walked to the rear of the bunker. Lady Atli sat and said nothing. Captain Kolich followed after and stayed with Lady Atli.
"Cole?" Umi said.
Colonel Clarke looked away from the screen. "Do you trust it? Is that information correct?"
"Yes."
"With your entire soul?"
"I'd stake my life on it. Someone gave their life to get this here."
Colonel Clarke locked eyes with Umi. "I'll need your help."
"You've always had it."
A comms Sergeant stood and handed a data slate to Colonel Clarke. "Message, sir, it's secure to your code."
Colonel Clarke tapped at it. He looked up at Umi and handed him the slate.
Umi snatched it up and read it.
Secure the gate and I will support you. Gen. O
"Get your men ready," Colonel Clarke said. "I need to ask mine." Then he left the command bunker.
Umi stood alone in the cold but didn't mind it. He had a purpose once more and it finally felt right.
#
Chapter Forty-Six
Lishun Delta - Reach
Colonel Clarke ran to the center of the assembly area and hollered at Major Bresov. "Get everyone here now!"
"The COs, sir?"
"Everyone!" Colonel Clarke yelled back. He ran through the half-wrecked tank hulls and stopped on the Northern edge. He climbed on top of Jailbird and picked his way over shrapnel scars, strapped gear, and a main cannon stained white.
He surveyed the remaining armor. Would it be enough?
The armor sat in clusters. Shrapnel poked out of armor plates, weapons hung limp and a mix of snow and mud coated everything. Craters marked where heavy weapons didn't penetrate, or not enough to kill the tank. Bandages littered the ground and it was all intermixed with leaked hydraulic fluid and the blood of those inside. Just because the armor survived didn't mean the entire crew did.
They had met the anvil, felt the hammer, and came out the other side anew.
Soldiers emerged from the rear of tanks. They limped in on each other's arms, leaned against the hulls, and stared up at the Colonel as veterans. More filtered in and finally came the recovery vehicles with the Engineers striped with mud.
Colonel Clarke stared down at them all. How much could he ask? "You've all done more than I ever hoped for. Some gave more than they thought they would. Now you all can stand as heroes, as soldiers who did their duty and did it well."
The wind whistled and slapped the wet snow against the hulls of the tanks.
"Now I ask of you once more, follow me into battle. A Kadan army will arrive in less than two days. My orders are to stay here and let them come. I say no! We take their gate, destroy it, and slay them as they come. If we wait to fight, they will destroy us all."
The soldiers looked up at Colonel Clarke with hard faces. No one spoke a word. The only sound was the snow falling and the lapping of the ocean in the distance.
"You have a choice. Stay, follow the orders I was given. Or go and blitz our way to the Kadan gate, destroy it, and destroy the enemy when they come through. I can't guarantee you success, freedom, or a pardon. The only thing I guarantee is that this, this is the right thing to do."
Colonel Clarke looked out into the faces of his soldiers. Would they follow? Oh god, will they follow me? It wasn't about rank, or about a petty crime, instead it was about duty. His heart slammed in his chest and he watched.
One man stepped ahead, his hands bound in bandages. "I'll go, Colonel."
Another limped out of the line and fell to a knee. "Count me in, sir."
They came forth as a line of wounded men. They came as broken men. They came as those forged in the heat of battle, slag once discarded and now refined. They came flawed and remained so, but they were soldiers.
Others stood behind, but those who stepped ahead far outnumbered those who didn't.
Colonel Clarke climbed down. "We leave in eight hours! Strip every piece of ammo you can find. Patch up your armor as best you can and make ready."
The crews dispersed and the tanks churned through the snow and sand and made way into the battlefield. The closest units swarmed onto the wrecked hull of Badger.
Commander Arap limped up with one arm on Umi. The rest of the Sigg were close behind in Vasilov overcoats. They looked out of place without Vasilov issue insulated helmets.
"COs! To me!" Colonel Clarke yelled. He waited a moment and looked at who was there. Before he could ask Arap spoke.
"We're down two COs."
"Captain Matsuo, would you take a platoon?"
"Yes sir. I'd recommend Lieutenant Riga for the other."
"It's done."
"Colonel, how we gonna travel back to the Kadan base when it took us five days to get down here?" Lieutenant Torori said.
"Lieutenant, we're going to ride the rails. It'll be almost as smooth as a highway. We should make it in sixteen hours."
"We're going to cut it close, Colonel," Umi said.
"Then we don't have any time to waste," Colonel Clarke said.
They worked through the sleety snow and formed up into a column next to the burned out hulk of the Kadan railcars. Great spotlights illuminated the area and sent out a globe of light that bathed the armor in white. They strapped on cases of ammunition, crates of artillery shells, and slabs of tank ammunition.
Some tanks heaped on shredded Kadan armor so that a patchwork of extra material swayed in the wind. Still others tried to pry loose the shrapnel. A group stood near the loading mechanism of the Sigg design main cannon.
Vaughn pointed at a slot on the side of the cannon. "This is the reserve chute. When you key up an ammo change it stores the previous shell here. Now a little trick, load your backup style, then load the primary. So now if ya got to switch it only takes a split second instead of waiting for the mechanism to purge the load and feed more."
Umi spoke next. "The Cion make good tanks. Really good tanks. If they mount AT barrels they're hard to hit, hard to see, and hard to kill. Keep that penetrator round ready, it's the only thing that'll punch through that shield."
Riga cleared his throat. "If ya got 'em try and bait 'em out. They're not patient. If you get a drop on 'em, run back into cover, make 'em follow. If you're moving right your flank unit will hit him."
The Sigg passed on every bit of knowledge they could think of. The arrayed tank crews listened and learned. Finally the time drew near and the order was given. The Sigg spread out in the Vasilov units. Umi took command of a tank named Apocalypse. Riga climbed into Damnation.
The last thing they loaded was a set of demolition charges. Two Engineers came from Reach and agreed to prime the charges and set them off.
The column moved slowly down the beginning of the track and struggled to stay on the line. The rails were warped and twisted like bent taffy. The heat of the burning railcars was so intense that the alloy lost temper. But finally they pushed through.
Then they flew. The column raced down the track that stretched into the distance. They rolled past the fields of sleety boulders and next to iced lakes. They crossed a bridge of taut girders and sailed over a dark river that dashed beneath in the darkness.
Their way led now through the steppes of snow and hidden mud. But now instead of tracing routes and breaking trail they plowed through growing snows. They continued on the hard pack at an easy forty kilometers an hour.
The route changed and the lay of the land flattened out. Windswept walls of snow rose up and gusts of winds rocketed down from the peaks that rose into darkness. They knew they were close when the cold seeped through the hulls and reminded everyone that death lurked in the snow. But instead of cowering in trench and bunker, they sought victory in steeds of steel.
#
Chapter Forty-Seven
Lishun Delta - Near the Mackinof Front
Tomi stared down the length of track and focused his eyes into the darkness. As far as he could see, which changed as the gusts blew, the track stretched out. It felt like he'd been driving forever, but this time the farther he drove the more the adrenaline pumped.
"Your draw," Hess said. He tapped his foot on the floor and bounced the tablet on his knee.
Wellington tapped at his pad. "Twin flush, draw down, bet up. Deal twice."
"You two ever gonna stop gambling?" Mick said.
"Is Mueller ever gonna stop stealing?" Hess replied. "Two of spades, ace of diamonds, draw three."
Mueller grinned. "Nope."
"Steak," Hutchins said. "With butter rolling down the sides, real butter. And beer. Deep black beer, the kind you can't even see through."
"Fuck that, a man to wine me, dine me, spoil me rotten," Kallio said. She squirmed in her seat. "Then a bath, god, a bath."
"So uh, whatcha doin' tomorrow?" Puck said.
"Fuck you," Kallio said and smacked Puck's hand.
Tomi spoke next. "Salmon, drizzled in lemon butter with a side of greens and a giant heap of sauerkraut and apples."
"Sauerkraut?" Waslinski said. "You can have any damn fantasy in the world and you want sauerkraut?"
"It's his last supper, not yours, eh?" Veriha said.
Tomi's smile fell off his face. Last supper. He hadn't thought of it like that.
"How ya holding up, Tomi?" Sergeant Nikov said.
"Still on the rails," he replied.
"CO says to stay frosty, we're getting into the zone."
Tomi focused on the rails and noticed that the sky was lightening. The sun, somewhere on the horizon, was rising. His heart beat a bit faster and he licked his dry lips. Almost there.
The card game continued. The discussions of women, food, theft, drink, and life everywhere else didn't stop. Jokes came and went. Banter rolled and everyone shivered together. The daylight grew until the sky was a sheet of slate gray with fine particles of snow rolling close to the ground.
"Bulldog," Lieutenant Torori called over the comms. "Drop off the grade, test the siding. We're getting ready to wedge."
Tomi steered the tank and it dropped down slowly off the packed gravel. It foundered for a second in the snow drift then settled down. He steered it a bit further and the suspension soaked up the terrain. The armor floated up and down for half a kilometer. "Solid sir."
"This is Jailbird. It's time. I've marked the map with three positions. The stargate will be in one of those spots. Find it, call for the Engineers, and hold your position. You know what you have to do, now do it."
The map view shifted and Tomi glanced at the path. The topographic map showed a series of low hills that merged into a high peaked ridge. Bulldog's objective was somewhere on the backside of the ridge. Right, he noticed, in the middle of the Kadan facility. He was nervous and excited all at once.
"We're going in with Delta," Sergeant Nikov said. "All right, folks, drop your cocks and grab your socks. Lock and load."
The crew pulled out their weapons and seated magazines, loaded rounds, and primed grenades. The banter dropped off, the chatter died away, but Hess and Wellington continued to gamble.
"Shift," Lieutenant Torori called.
The four vehicles of Bravo company dropped away from siding and plowed through the deep snow. Trails of white billowed up behind them. Delta company trailed off to the side and ran parallel. The course looked to move into white nothingness.
"Bulldog, correct right ten degrees, ride the gully," a raspy voice called. "Pause on the front, then pull back."
Tomi recognized the voice as the Sigg named Riga. He keyed up Sergeant Nikov. "TC?"
"Do it," Sergeant Nikov said.
Tomi drove through the bottom of the gully, halted the tank for a second, then slammed it in reverse.
Three rounds sang out through the snow and ricocheted off the leading edge of Bulldog. The cabin echoed with the ping of the incoming rounds. Alarms flashed for a moment.
The line of Vasilov armor pushed ahead. The units crawled up the edge of the rise.
"Acquired!" Nikov yelled. The main cannon sent out a three round burst.
The shells exploded in the snow with one billowing into the energy shields.
"Fuck!" Nikov yelled. "Loading penetrator!"
Rounds punched out from the other tanks and slammed into the line of Cion tanks. They had advanced fifty meters away from their prepared positions and were reversing hard. One sparkled blue light and then exploded. The second unit trailed black smoke for a moment then it too stopped. The last unit charged ahead and fired another barrage right at Bulldog.
Tomi felt something in his gut. He steered the nose, just a hair, and the Cion round impacted and flew into the sky. His stomach clenched tight and he spun the nose back. "Holy shit!"
The main cannon mechanism clunked behind Tomi and then fired out a round. By the time it struck the last Cion tank was already burning.
"Go, go!" Riga called.
Tomi slammed on the accelerator and the tank surged ahead. Artillery alarms rang out and just behind them geysers of white exploded into the sky. The artillery shifted and wandered but none came close enough to trigger the intercept system.
They rolled past the prepared positions and plowed through deep drifts. Snow rolled over the top of the hulls and for a second Tomi was blind. He panicked, slowed the tank, and let it groan its way through.
A Cion shell exploded just in front of Bulldog. Shards of shrapnel tinkled against the front edge.
"It's the main line, get hull down!" Riga yelled.
Tomi punched the tank in reverse and rolled back through the drift. He didn't stop until the only thing showing was the main cannon and upper camera banks.
The main cannon fired, paused a moment, shifted, and fired again. Rockets surged through the air just over the line and dove straight down into the Cion tanks. The rockets all detonated just moments before striking the Cion units. One Cion unit exploded, then another. A pair darted out of cover and tried to bridge the gap between the armor. Both exploded seconds apart.
Tomi felt invincible until he heard the screams on the comms. Someone on the line nearby had taken a hit and it sounded bad. A second later the comms cleared and it was replaced by an eerie silence.
"Keep firing," Lieutenant Torori called.
Rounds shot out from both lines. The Cion units glowed blue every time they were struck a glancing blow. While it saved them, it lit them up and told everyone where to fire.
"Belay, pull back, on my lead!" Riga called.
"Do it!" Nikov said.
Tomi slammed the tank back. Rounds sailed just over the top of the hill.
"Ya don't go head-to-head in a tank fight. You can't trade punches," Riga called. "Bulldog, Beowulf, head East three hundred meters, probe that edge."
Bulldog plowed through the snow and rolled behind the cover of the ridge. All down the line the Vasilov units fought. The Cion tanks were all in a prepared line that ran along a natural ridge. Between the two hills was a three kilometer gap. A gap large enough to ensure that whoever rolled out would be destroyed.
The only respite came when hurricane force gusts turned everything into white. But one moment it was a whiteout, the next completely clear.
"Tomi, right!" Nikov said.
Bulldog slewed to the right and settled into the bottom of a draw. It plowed through a massive drift and came to a stop just at the bottom. A wall of white obscured the space ahead.
"Stop, stop!" Nikov yelled.
The wind shattered through the falling snow and once again the space was clear.
Beowulf rolled up on the side of Bulldog and pushed up higher onto the ridge.
"Watch it, Beowulf, ain't no cover," Nikov called.
"We're fine—" came the reply then two rounds impacted the front slope of Beowulf. A thin trickle of black smoke rolled out from each of the holes.
"Beowulf, you okay?" Nikov called.
Tomi gripped the accelerator and stared at the dead tank just a dozen meters away. He'd seen two flashes far off in the distance. His body told him to run, to go, to move. But he knew if the tank moved their position would be blown. Sweat beaded up on the edge of his viewscreen.
"Fuck," Nikov said. "Bastard! Beowulf is down!"
"Get into cover," Lieutenant Torori called.
"We can't, were hidden in the snow, if we move they'll torch us."
"Did you see them? Mark the damn positions, use your equipment!" Lieutenant Torori said.
"Sergeant, I think I did," Tomi said.
"Mark it then, goddammit," Nikov said.
Tomi scrawled what he thought was the position of the Cion tanks. The map shifted for a moment and then the data went out.
"Don't move," Riga called. "Just relax. Nice and chill."
"What's happening?" Hutchins called from the back.
"Shut the fuck up!" Nikov called back through clenched teeth.
Riga spoke again, his voice was calm, smooth, barely audible. "So you just sit nice and still. I'm coming up behind you nice and easy. We're gonna wait for that wind now..."
Damnation came up behind Bulldog and halted in the deep snow. Black smoke puffed out of the front of Beowulf. The winds shifted, the clouds dropped down another barrage of snow, and then Damnation moved. The tank pulled up almost directly behind Beowulf so that the front slope of Damnation was resting against the rear hatch.
"I'm going to fire as soon as the wind breaks, you hit the other one. You got it? You hit that fucker," Riga said.
Tomi stared into the wall of white. His heart raced and he could taste the adrenaline. His legs wobbled and he kept flexing his fingers.
They had no protection in front of them and once they fired, their position would be blown. "Fuck, fuck. Sergeant, you got this?"
"I got this," Sergeant Nikov said calmly.
The snow broke and the space cleared.
Damnation sent out a burst of two rounds right at the positions marked on the map. One of the rounds struck something that flared blue, the other disappeared into the snow.
"Fire!" Nikov yelled. The main cannon punched out three shells. The first struck the Cion tank and flared blue, the second ploughed through a track and the final round disappeared into an armored panel. A split second later flames ruptured out from the side.
Then the second Cion tank fired and a stream of rounds hammered into Beowulf. The ammo cooked off and a dull rumble echoed through the air.
Damnation fired before Bulldog could bring her gun into position. Riga fired just one round. The Cion armor split open and black sooty smoke billowed out.
"Get ready to move!" Lieutenant Torori called.
"Thanks," Nikov called to Damnation.
"Get ready," Riga said in a raspy voice.
The radar scream pinged with a single contact in the rear.
"Contact to our rear!" Tomi yelled.
The display blared again and announced a stream of missiles incoming.
"Incoming!" Sergeant Nikov said.
Tomi was just about to hammer on the controls when he realized that the missile intercept system wasn't firing. "It's ours!"
"Holy shit," Nikov said.
Far above the Vasilov line a barrage of gunship launched missiles flew into the air. They rose up as quickly as they could before the rockets stopped. They hung, stalled in the air, and tipped noses downward. The outer skin dropped away and the rockets blasted toward the Cion line. They flew through a stream of Cion anti-air and slammed into the Cion tanks.
Bulldog plowed through the drift and surged into the open space.
Tomi felt fear like he'd never known. His eyes focused only on the open space and didn't take in any other detail except the route he was driving. If it would've helped, he'd have jumped out and pushed it faster.
A small group of units, the remnants of Bravo and Delta surged across the line and exploited a tiny gap in the Cion line. Rounds flared from both sides with the Cion tanks sending shots toward the encroaching armor. But at the same time the Vasilov units fired into the Cion line.
A round slammed into the side of Bulldog and Tomi yelled out. A second later alarms blared but he ignored them all. Bulldog was still moving and that was the only thing he cared about. His eyes were on the cover ahead, and through the swirling snows he could see buildings in the distance. Almost there.
Damnation blasted past and crashed into a burning Cion tank. She plowed it aside and used it as a shield to fire into the flank of the Cion units.
Tomi followed suit and did the same thing to a second Cion tank. His head slammed forward and he heard cries from the back. "Oops."
Bulldog's cannon was silent.
"Sergeant?" Tomi called. "TC?"
Sergeant Nikov coughed and hacked. "Oh fuck."
Then the main cannon opened fire. Bulldog rocked from side-to-side as the cannon swung and peppered out rounds down the slope. One Cion tank turned to run and took a shell in the ass. A second round blasted into a departing ammo carrier. A cascade of flames shot out of the side. The rest of Bravo and Delta came into position and fired nonstop.
The Cion line collapsed. Then the rest of the Vasilov armor raced across the three kilometer gap. A few Cion units fought on, but with their flank blown and a wave of armor incoming they fell quickly.
Tomi's heart hammered in his chest. "You okay, TC?"
"Fine, fine," she groaned.
"Move out!" Lieutenant Torori called. "Keep moving toward the goal, find that goddamn gate."
Tomi pushed the accelerator and surged out of cover. He drove down the slope and onto a flat plain. Half a minute later he climbed up another hill with Damnation on his flank. He stopped just when the crest of the tank peaked over the hill.
Winds swirled on the other side and then it broke. In the center of a complex of bunkers and storage facilities sat a massive stargate.
Tomi marked the position with shaking fingers. "Got it! Position marked!"
Colonel Clarke yelled. "Roll in! Wedge, left flank guns. They'll be coming with infantry from the main line. Dismount at the bunkers edge. Go go!"
Tomi hit it once again and raced down the slope after Damnation. Excitement surged and he knew this was it.
"Get ready to dismount!" Sergeant Nikov called. She coughed again and it sounded wet. "Cover the armor, we're going on your lead, Mick."
"Hoorah!"
Tomi grinned, hammered the throttle, and charged.
#
Chapter Forty-Eight
Lishun Delta – Behind Kadan Lines
Karl jammed the trench knife into a joint in the Kadan's armor and gave it a quick turn.
The alien struggled for a moment, then tumbled to the ground.
He didn't bother to wipe the bayonet clean and clamped it back onto his belt. The wind blasted into him and he tucked up against the wall of the bunker. He closed his eyes and waited for the wind to slow, just a bit.
He hated this. He hated the war, the Army, the Kadan, the cold. Just when it felt like things were looking up, they sent him out. Now he had to get close enough to get a shot of the stargate. The fucking Kadan stargate. The one and only focal point. Plus he had to find the goddamn thing.
The wind died and over the rasping of the snow came a rumble in the distance.
"Move up!" Karl called.
Private Sedan rushed up with three soldiers behind her. They all held trench shotguns and wore extra layers of winter clothing. "Can we stop, Sergeant?"
"Not yet, but shh, keep quiet, okay?" Karl said. He trudged through the snow a few steps and peeked at the other side of the bunker. "Where is everyone?"
More explosions sounded out.
"Artillery?" Sedan said.
Karl closed his eyes and listened. The booming sounded again, then again, then an explosion. "No." He'd heard that sound before. A memory came but he couldn't recall it.
Suddenly a troop transport appeared out of the snow and blasted past. The back was packed with Kadan troops.
Karl tucked himself close to the wall and held his breath.
More explosions rolled on the horizon. They seemed to be getting closer.
"Hey!" Sedan hissed and pulled on Karl's overcoat. He fell back onto the ground. A second later a convoy of Kadan transports rumbled past. Kadan infantry packed the vehicles with troopers hanging off every side.
"The hell is going on? The line is the other way," Karl said.
A close group of explosions sounded out. Then it came back to him. The Vasilov armored unit. "That's the convict armor."
"What?" Sedan said.
"C'mon! That's where we need to be!"
"But that's where the Kadan are going!" Sedan yelled.
Karl stepped out of cover and unslung his rifle. "You want a ride back, honey? Kadan gonna be swarming in no time. Now move!"
Sedan growled and rushed across the snow covered road.
Karl waved the other three past and followed just behind. He didn't know exactly where he was going, but he had a feeling it was wherever the explosions were coming from. Luckily they didn't seem to be stopping. Then he eyed up the Kadan corpse and stopped. "Hold on! I've got an idea."
#
Chapter Forty-Nine
Lishun Delta – Kadan Stargate Facility
Umi rode in the TC position of Apocalypse and watched as the dismounted infantry cleared the bunkers. He tracked the main cannon down the road while he locked each of the autocannons onto either side. He was cold, no doubt about it, but he pushed it out of his mind.
An infantry team blasted open a door to the next bunker and tossed in a pack of grenades. A moment later they detonated and they swept inside.
"More drones! Ain't no combat troopers here, Captain," Sergeant Paul called.
"Treat them all as troopers. You won't know until it's too late."
They rolled ahead slowly with the rest of Alpha company. The bunker complex was massive. All of the buildings were filled with supplies, mounds of weapons, heaps of ammunition, and strange looking foodstuffs.
"Armor! Driver stop!" Umi called out. He tracked the main cannon and punched off two rounds. Both missed as the Cion tank drove out of his view.
The infantry scattered into cover.
More tank fire sounded close by. "Got him!" someone called.
"Keep moving," Umi said. He watched the dismounted infantry move and missed his own Sigg troopers dearly. The Vasilov did well, but they were crude in execution, sloppy in movement, and brash in attacks. But, he thought, not bad for a bunch of convicts.
Apocalypse rolled up to the end of the row of bunkers and stopped. The infantry ran to the corner and peered around it. A soldier stood, walked out into the middle of the road and waved back. "There it is!"
Rounds burst out and the soldier fell.
"Get in cover!" Umi said angrily. Off all things to do, walk in the open? He couldn't believe it. "Driver, drive forward, we're going to retrieve that soldier."
Apocalypse rolled ahead. As they came around the corner, machine gun rounds pinged against the hull. The main cannon swung and fired a cluster of rounds. The Kadan position had already displaced.
"Get him inside!" Umi yelled.
A second later the infantry clambered into the back. "He's dead."
"Get out, stay in cover, and sweep this damn street!" Umi yelled. "Move out!"
Apocalypse bucked ahead and the tank rolled down the edge of the road. They turned one gentler corner and the tank stopped.
"Look at that," Umi whispered.
There, before them, was a wide open concrete pad ringed with lights and fully illuminated. At the center was a massive stargate. It was coal black with metal bandings, it looked large enough to drive four Sigg tanks wide right through the center and still have room on either side for troops. A line of Kadan troopers ran out of cover and fell as another tank hit them with autocannon fire.
"I've got eyes on the target, Jailbird," Umi called. He still felt strange calling his old friend Jailbird.
"Status?" Colonel Clarke said.
"Infantry, light resistance, mainly drones. Gate is not active."
"We're coming up to the gate now. We've got Kadan infantry incoming, can you secure that flank?"
"Roger," Umi replied. He snapped a quick glance at his map. "Driver, bring us around. Infantry, mount up. Alpha Company, on my lead. Load explosive, prepare to engage infantry."
Apocalypse rolled back down the snowy street and ordered the rest of his meager unit to spread out. They slid in to the edge and tucked themselves behind the nearest bunker.
Umi opened comms to Alpha Company. "Shoot the first thing you see. Call flanks. If they bunch up, mark it and we'll let Avalanche hit it with AP artillery. Fall back is next row of bunkers."
A single transport plowed through the snow and skidded to a halt in the middle of the road. Two Vasilov rounds detonated against the vehicle. Kadan troopers flew into the sky and those who survived dashed into the ditches.
Umi trained the autocannons on it and saw the rest of the transports. He released the autocannon, keyed up the main cannon, and opened fire.
Lances of flame shot out from the barrels of the Vasilov armor. Rounds exploded into transports filled with scrambling Kadan troops. What the tank rounds didn't get, the autocannons did. The next batch of troopers were a bit smarter and dismounted far in the distance and approached in cover.
"Contact! Right flank!"
"More, left flank!"
Rockets snaked out of the distance. They roared just inches above the snow directly toward the armor.
"Get into cover!" Umi yelled.
But it was too late and one of the rockets ran beneath the rocket intercept system and detonated beneath the hull of Avalanche. The Valkyrie model artillery tank exploded in a massive mushroom cloud.
Then the Kadan charged in a massive wave of thousands. Drones charged next to the Kadan troopers in a wave of flesh that threatened to overwhelm the line.
Autocannons fired nonstop with the main cannons stitching explosive rounds into the horde.
"Dismount!" Umi yelled. No matter how much fire he poured down it didn't seem to be enough to slow them.
The infantry rushed out the back and leveled more fire against the incoming wave. It wasn't enough. The line kept coming closer.
A shape blasted out of the snow. A tracked transport thundered ahead and tore right into the Kadan line. The vehicle turned and instead of racing straight at the Vasilov line turned and plowed through the wave of Kadan soldiers.
"The fuck is that?" Umi said.
The Kadan faltered as the massive vehicle tore through the line. They ran from the charging behemoth while others knelt and fired on it. Rounds pinged against the sides and it wobbled precariously before driving straight at the line of Kadan bunkers.
It halted a dozen meters away from Apocalypse and five soldiers in Vasilov uniforms rushed out. They sprinted ahead and found cover with the dismounted infantry.
It was enough to break the Kadan charge. Those still in sight raced away and flew back into the cover of the snow. The only things still charging ahead were the drones. It didn't take long to cut them all down.
"Hey!" a voice called up from inside of the crew compartment. "You guys better get ready, there's a whole lot more of them coming!"
"Thanks!" Umi yelled. "Who the hell are you?"
"Sergeant Karl Sigorski, and if you get my ass out of here, it'll be Lieutenant!"
Umi grinned and yelled back. "I owe you a drink!"
"Better make it two!"
"Jailbird, this is Apocalypse, we've got the line secured but there's more coming. We won't be able to hold."
"We're setting the charges now. A little bit longer."
Umi relayed the orders and stared out into the snow. Already the light of day was fading and the snow looked gray. "A little bit longer," he mumbled.
#
Chapter Fifty
Lishun Delta – Kadan Stargate Facility
Colonel Clarke heaved one side of the shaped charge and laid it against the body of the stargate. Warmth radiated off the carbon black ring. He stared up and watched snowflakes melt before they even hit it. "How long?"
"They need to bond to the carbon," the Engineer replied.
"But how long?" Colonel Clarke said.
The Engineer shrugged. "For a Vasilov gate, it's five minutes. I have no clue with a Kadan gate, sir."
Colonel Clarke ran back to his tank and crawled into his seat. Time was the one thing he didn't have. Umi had broken one charge, but could they hold against two? His heart was loud in his ears as he relayed orders for everyone to pull back to the gate. A little bit longer. Just a bit longer. He stepped back outside and surveyed the area.
Private Auroch stood with his mouth open staring up at the stargate.
Bulldog rumbled past and took position on the far edge of the stargate. One side was peppered with ricochet gouges with one particular gouge that was almost entirely through the armor. Baptism followed next with Bastard behind.
Colonel Clarke turned and looked around him. So this was it? The thing they'd fought for thirty five years to get to. It was more massive than any stargate he'd ever seen.
"An amazing sight," Private Cunningham muttered.
"Sir!" Major Bresov yelled. "Something's happening!"
Colonel Clarke looked to the Major then heard it.
A deep groaning, like the shifting of ancient stones, rolled through the air. There was a hiss, an electrical crackling then a spark of light formed in the center of the stargate. A roar echoed into the sky and an entirely different world appeared through the stargate.
An armored vehicle surged through the gate and stopped on the edge of the gate. It was sleek black, the width of two Sigg tanks, and only half the height. It wore a pair of turrets on the top with two massive bored cannons growing from each. Stubby weapon turrets hung vertically from the sides. An array of grenade launchers were on every quarter.
The new tank waited for a moment. The turrets tracked, the weapons on the sides of the tanks perked up, then it fired.
Colonel Clarke felt the heat as his command tank exploded. He flew through the air and tumbled to the ground. The shockwave knocked the breath out of him and he gasped for air.
The tank fired again and Bulldog rolled onto her side. Bulldog spun around and one track sailed through the air and disappeared into the snow.
The side mounted cannons on the incoming tank pulsed out a horrible roar and the Engineers on either side of the gate fell.
Vasilov armor fired at the tank and blue flashes erupted wherever rounds struck the hull. Two rockets surged out of the sky and hammered against the upper edge of the tank. One of its guns traversed nearly vertical and blasted the last Vasilov gunship out of the sky.
A Vasilov tank raced past and crashed right into the front of the tank and blocked its path.
Private Auroch knelt next to Colonel Clarke and fired from the hip. Private Cunningham ran up and knelt down next to Colonel Clarke.
Colonel Clarke rolled onto his stomach and struggled to stand. Too late. We're too late.
#
Chapter Fifty-One
Lishun Delta – Kadan Stargate Facility
Karl thought it was all over except the ride back. It wasn't until he heard the explosions that he thought otherwise. "The hell is going—"
"Alien tank! Dismount!" Umi yelled over the crew comms.
The rear hatch flew open and scraped against the ground. The tank was still moving.
"Go! Set off the gate charges! Get the fuck out!" Umi yelled.
The infantry dismounted and tumbled into the snow. There was a massive roar and the outside was illuminated in a cloud of orange.
Karl stared at Sedan, stood, and followed after everyone else. He tumbled to the ground, rolled to a stop, and looked up at a massive alien tank. "Oh shit."
The first infantry out fell as the alien tank blasted out a barrage of close range grenades. The rest tumbled to the ground when the stubby cannons poured out a wave of projectiles. The bodies tumbled and danced as the cannons sang out. The alien tank struggled to drive over a Vasilov tank stuck just under the front edge of it.
Karl stood with Sedan and was paralyzed with fear. He saw the shaped charges locked onto the gate and realized he'd have to run past the massive alien tank. "Sedan..."
A Vasilov tank plowed past a smoldering hull and crashed against the side of the alien tank. It sheared off armor and crush the side mounted turrets.
The alien tank pivoted and tried to crush the Vasilov unit.
Karl sprinted past the Vasilov armor that was locked against the alien tank. Then he looked up and saw into the stargate and his heart dropped. Right behind the alien tank was a massive column of armor, all just like the unit that stood outside.
The Vasilov tank groaned under the force of the turning alien tank. One track sheared off and road wheels popped under the stress. The main cannon on the Vasilov tank spun to the side and sent off a stream of rounds that detonated one of the alien tank's cannons. Then a massive blue flash exploded. The Vasilov blew back a few meters.
Karl flew through the air and crashed against the body of the stargate. He groaned, rolled over, and felt something in his hand. The detonator. For a split second he recalled every frigid day, every shitty mission, every shitty situation, every shitty Officer.
Then he clamped down on the detonator with a smile.
#
Chapter Fifty-Two
Lishun Delta – Kadan Stargate Facility
Tomi opened his eyes and tasted blood in his mouth. He tried to sit up and realized he was lying on his side. "Oh fuck!" He grabbed the controls and his viewscreen came to life. Light flooded into his eyes and he was staring right at the alien tank.
"We're hit bad!" Mick yelled. "Ammo is ruptured, loader is down!"
Apocalypse lay on its side next to the alien tank. Smoke poured out from a wound on the side of the alien tank. One of its cannons hung limp while the other pounded out one round after the next. It had nearly crawled up on top of Fearless, Commander Arap's tank.
Then Tomi saw someone, a single soldier got up off the ground next to the gate with something in his hands. The gate charges detonated a moment later. The shaped charges went off in a small explosion and for a moment nothing happened.
Then there was a sound like the shattering of a million windows followed by a thunderclap. The snow blasted back and the sky emptied. A shockwave rippled through the air and the crystalline carbon structure of the stargate collapsed into a million shards. The gateway to the other planet disappeared.
"Pivot! Pivot right!" Nikov croaked.
Tomi struggled to tear off his viewscreen. "Nikov!"
"Do it!" she yelled. "I can't move the gun, you have to do it. Then get out. Get out."
"What?"
"Do it!"
Tomi grasped the controls and punched them to turn right. The tracks struggled to turn and the tank shuddered and shook before it finally did. "You can't fire, the loader is down!"
"The backup, remember the backup?" Nikov said. Her voice was wet as she struggled to cough.
Tomi remembered the lecture about the secondary round storage on the side of the breech. One shot. They had one shot.
Hands pulled at Tomi and he struggled to stay in his seat. "Go!"
"C'mon! We need to get out!" Mick yelled.
Tomi was pulled back and he caught one glimpse of Sergeant Nikov. She lay on her side with blood all over her face. One shoulder was raw and torn. But her eyes were clear, crystal clear.
"Get out!" she yelled.
Tomi struggled to get out. Mick pushed him ahead with Hutchins latched onto the other arm. Mueller followed right behind.
Bulldog fired off a single round. The penetrator round blasted through the air and punched a single hole into the side of the alien tank. The round bored into the very heart of the tank and exploded. The body of the alien tank split open and blue light erupted.
At the same moment the autoloading mechanism inside of Bulldog suffered a catastrophic failure. Ammunition poured out of the stowage and onto the floor. One round tumbled into the next before an explosive round finally detonated them all. A fireball surged through Bulldog.
Tomi screamed and felt the heat on his face.
"Come on!" Mick yelled. He ran ahead and grabbed Colonel Clarke and his escorts. More soldiers ran into the area along with the few remaining Vasilov tanks.
Gunfire sounded in the distance. Transports rumbled just out of sight and it sounded like the rest of the Kadan line was coming.
"Get under cover! We make our stand here!"
The armor took cover behind wrecked hulls while the infantry setup wherever they could. The snow fell in waves of massive snowflakes that tumbled nearly straight down.
A voice called out through the snow. "They're Vasilov!"
Shapes appeared in the snow and a line of Vasilov soldiers ran into the area. Transports followed shortly after and hundreds of troops ran about and secured the area.
Tomi leaned on Mick's arm and shivered in the cold. His flameproof suit was soaked through with sweat and wet snow. "Mick? Mick, what's happening?"
Colonel Clarke spoke in a loud clear voice. "We've done it. We've ended this war."
A Captain ran up to Colonel Clarke and saluted. The man grinned and stuck out his hand. "General Obstedt sends his regards."
Tomi turned to where the gate once stood and then looked back at Bulldog. "Death before dismount," he mumbled.
#
Chapter Fifty-Three
VASCOM - Court of Inquiry
"Duke Krenshaw is quite insistent that he gave you a direct order," General Wallesly said.
"He did," Colonel Clarke said. He leaned forward and rested his hands on the polished wood table. "And I chose to disobey it."
The men sat in a small room with high windows. A dull gray light streamed in. The Vasilov flag hung on one wall.
"Colonel," General Sako spoke next. "You have put us in a unique situation. You are, undoubtedly, a hero. However, Duke Krenshaw is pressing this matter."
"There is a risk of war," General Mannheim said. "The old kind, one Duke against the next."
Colonel Clarke looked at the board of inquiry and shook his head. In the few short months since they'd destroyed the stargate, the bickering had returned. At first he couldn't wait to get off Lishun Delta, but now he rather preferred dealing with an enemy he could shoot. He'd had enough of this.
"What do you want?"
General Wallesly looked at General Sako. "Your father has used his office to exert some pressure on the matter."
"Which is why you are not being court-martialed," General Mannheim said.
"My father be damned. Court-martial me if you would," Colonel Clarke said. "I did my duty!"
"Which is why we have a rather unique conundrum, wouldn't you say, Colonel?" General Wallesly said. "How can everyone walk away, maybe not happy, but satisfied."
"What do you want?"
General Sako spoke quickly. "You could offer something to satisfy Duke Krenshaw. An Armored Cavalry Squadron worth of Sigg tanks, perhaps?"
"You'd be duly compensated," General Wallesly said.
"Your service is impeccable," General Mannheim said.
General Sako said, "Lord Darcy is offering—"
"Lord Darcy can go to hell. Court-martial me then." Colonel Clarke stood sharply and glared down at the Generals. He was about to raise his hand and salute and decided against it. They didn't deserve it. Instead he spun around and walked to the door.
"Colonel, there is the matter of your soldiers," General Sako said.
Colonel Clarke stopped. He clenched his fists. Blood rushed to his face. He slowly turned.
"They will return to a penal battalion to serve out their terms."
"They are heroes," Colonel Clarke said.
"No," General Wallesley said. "They are criminals. However, should you quietly transfer your armor to Duke Krenshaw; we will allow them to remain under your command."
"You bastards."
General Mannheim stood. "What will it be, Colonel?"
"Duke Krenshaw gets his armor," he said and marched out of the room.
#
Chapter Fifty-Four
Vasilov Prime - Pulaski Hotel
Umi limped to the window of the hotel and stared out into the streets. He watched people scurry between buildings. The streets were still littered with the debris of celebration. Someone cried out a cheer in the distance.
He watched the people go by and felt lost in it all. Was he a success or a failure? His bank account was quite flush, Riga had his bonus, and everyone was back safe. But what now?
There was a knock on the door.
"C'mon in," he yelled.
Kelly Dell walked in on a set of crutches with Colonel Clarke behind.
Umi smiled. "Colonel Clarke, esteemable war hero, come to buy me a drink?" Then he saw the look on Clarke's face and stopped smiling.
"Hello, Umi, how about you buy me one?" Clarke said. He stood in the middle of the room and stared at the floor.
"Kelly, would you get us a bottle?" Umi said.
Kelly Dell hobbled out of the room and closed the door behind her.
"What is it?" Umi asked.
"Politics," Clarke spat. "They didn't have the courage to court-martial me for disobeying Krenshaw."
"What?" Umi said. "But you ended the war!"
"They were going to send my men back to a penal battalion to finish their sentences."
Umi was at a loss for words. His men had ended the war as heroes; he couldn't imagine how horrible it all must feel.
"So I handed Krenshaw my tanks, but I got to keep the men from going back into the Penal Battalions."
"Cole..."
"They earned it. They earned more than that."
The raindrops splattered on the windows and someone cheered again on the street.
"I'm sorry Cole."
Clarke nodded and sat down. He stared at the table with the look of a broken man.
Kelly Dell hobbled in with the clinking of glass announcing her arrival. She set a bottle on the table along with three glasses.
"Umi," Clarke said. He looked up at Umi with pleading eyes.
"I, I know how it feels to be cast aside." He limped to the table and cracked open the bottle. He poured the oily looking whisky into the three glasses. "To new tanks."
Clarke looked up with a twinkle in his eye. He raised up his glass. "To those who fell."
"And to those who didn't," Umi replied.
"What are you going to do now Umi?" Colonel Clarke said.
"I've got a trip to make. I'm going to Terra to repay a promise."
#
Chapter Fifty-Five
Vasilov Prime - Wharf District Twelve - The Wholly Hole Tavern
"Another round!" Tomi yelled. He tossed down a handful of credit chits and didn't worry that a few fell to the floor. With his other hand he squeezed Ekaterina tight.
Ekaterina squealed and peeled herself out of his arms. "Tomi! You old tease. I was so worried about you!"
Hutchins sat down hard at the table. Empty bottles clinked and fell over. He swept a bunch aside and laid down two mugs of beer.
"Thanks!" Mick said. He reached out to grab one.
"Both for me!" Hutchins said. He picked up one glass, emptied it down, then grabbed the other and did the same.
Mick grinned and nudged Puck. "Ya know he can't get drunk. Impossible, he's too big. A scientific fact. Right Kall?"
"Get fucked," Kallio said. She looked up from her glass and was completely and totally drunk.
"See?" Mick grinned.
Mueller sat and laid out two shot glasses, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Then he carefully laid down a very expensive bottle of whisky with a burnt label. He didn't bother explaining before he stood and walked back into the crowd.
"The Colonel's whisky," Puck said reverently.
Waslinski helped Gous up from the opposite table and the two fell onto the floor in a heap of laughter.
"The Colonel is sticking with us," Mick said. He tapped his finger on the table. "But we got no tanks."
"We'll get some," Hutchins said.
"What do we do 'til then? I bet we just sit on our ass and relax," Puck said. "Ya think, Tomi?"
Tomi licked his lips. He glanced around the bar and saw those who'd saved his life. Then he looked over at Ekaterina's pouting face. "Well, I'd rather do the rest of my time with you guys and the Old Man then digging ditches somewhere and sleeping in a prison. How bad could it be? Can't get much worse than Lishun Delta, right?"
A waitress showed up and set down a platter of empty shot glasses.
Mick plucked each one and handed them out. He scooped up the blackened bottle of whisky and stared at it for a long moment. Then he filled each of the glasses.
The troopers watched in silence.
Mick raised the last glass into the air. "For Nikov. May she finally have found her peace."
They all drank and were silent.
Someone yelled and angry voices echoed out at the back of the tavern. Hess and Wellington backed away from a poker table. A half dozen men stood at the same time. One shook a billy club. "You cheated me! You two are counting cards!"
"Well boys," Mick said. He stood and cracked his knuckles. "Shall we?"
Tomi grinned. "I think we shall."
#
Chapter Fifty-Six
Kursikov III
Karl squatted down and scooped up a handful of rich, moist soil. He sniffed it, not because he knew what to smell, but because he'd seen other farmers do it. It smelled like dirt to him.
"Now if you choose, we can select this parcel as part of your title, Lieutenant Sigorski," the colonial broker said.
"Baron-Lieutenant, if you don't mind."
Sedan nudged Karl in the ribs.
"Of course," the broker said dryly.
"Water is good, yes?"
"Sweet as a summer spring."
"And the neighbors?"
"Also veterans."
"Snow, does it snow?"
"Pardon?" the man asked. The smile drooped from his face.
"Does it get cold enough to snow? A simple question."
"We can handle a bit of snow," Sedan said.
Karl looked at the man angrily. "You said no snow!"
"It so rarely snows in this area," the man pleaded.
"Bah!" Karl yelled. He stomped away from Sedan and the broker.
Snow. Cold. Aliens. He wanted none of it. The only thing he wanted was his parcel to match his title and no snow.
He stopped and looked around. It was beautiful country. The first leaves on the hybrid maples were just coming in. Farther off a river tumbled through and he could almost make out the sound of the rapids. A low mountain range braced the horizon. He liked it.
"Does the ground freeze?"
The broker rushed up and shook his head. "Of course not! When it snows it barely stays, just a bad memory. An excuse to, uh," the man smiled and elbowed Karl, "get with the missus."
Karl glanced back at Sedan and nodded. "Very well. This will be my home."
<<<<>>>>
Hello Reader,
I hope you enjoyed Steel Breach.
This novel was a blast to write and I’m looking forward to getting to know the convicts much better in the future. They are a colorful lot, rife with tension, failure, regret, but also hope. Sometimes we all need second chances, or third, or fourth.
As an author I love honest feedback. So, tell me what you loved or hated. You can write me at casey@caseycalouette.com or find me at http://caseycalouette.com
Finally I need to ask a favor. If you’re so inclined, I’d love an honest review of Steel Breach. Loved it, hated it, - I’d just enjoy your feedback.
As you may notice on my books reviews are hard to come by. You, the reader, have the power to make or break a book. If you have the time, here’s a link to my author page at Amazon. You can find a list of all of my books here : http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004IWHH8O
I’d like to thank the Colonels. You guys have been an inspiration, a motivation, but most of all good friends.
Thank you so much for reading Steel Breach and for spending your time with me.
Graciously,
Casey