by Eric Thomson
“Hello, Manvil. How are you, Manvil? I’m quite well, thanks. As to what we’re playing at, why don’t you ask your commanding officer? I warned him we would practice repelling airborne assaults this afternoon.”
“No one’s seen or heard from Dagon for several hours.”
“Did you check under the lovely Azurine’s bed, Manvil? I hear she likes to play at repelling assaults as well. Or was that Dagon’s role? There are rumors about him...”
“No dice, DeCarde. His absence is as complete as it is unexpected. How about wrapping up your war games and restoring the fortress to what it should be? Dagon was careless to have allowed those shenanigans in the first place.”
Did Gaillard sound nervous?
“The 14th Guards might claim ownership of Klim Castle, Manvil, but in matters of training my unit to defend the countess, I needn’t ask anyone’s permission. We will finish when I say we’re done. Now was there something else? I’m rather busy, and keeping tabs on Dagon is your business, not mine.”
“Just get on with it, DeCarde.”
“I most certainly intend to do so. Goodbye, Manvil.” She cut the link. “And enjoy your final days in this life, you prancing ninny.”
Then, she glanced at the holographic status projection hovering a few centimeters in front of her left eye. Not long now.
— 14 —
“I have visual IDs on those seven ships from the 191st, sir.” Chief Lettis said the moment Morane entered the CIC. He pointed at a side display. “Two Conqueror class heavies, two Triumph class fast attack cruisers and three Kalinka class frigates.”
Morane studied the video feed. Even one of the Conquerors could fight his ship to a standstill, never mind two of them along with a pair of Vanquish’s sisters. In other words, enough to wipe out the 197th Battle Group’s pitiful remains.
“They don’t seem to be in a hurry,” Lettis continued. “So there’s at least that in our favor.”
“Estimated time of arrival in Coraline orbit?”
“At current velocity, and if they remain within normal safety parameters, it’ll take them approximately four hours and forty-five minutes. Which gives us just enough time to recover the shuttles and run.”
The signals petty officer raised his hand. “They’re attempting to contact the Coraline government in clear, identifying themselves as the 191st Battle Group, here at Admiral Loren’s orders to assess the situation. Whoever controls Coraline is to respond and state their allegiance.”
“Which means they haven’t picked us up yet, but they will once we turn active targeting on the rebel positions around the fortress. I’ll be interested to see ‘General’ Tymak’s reaction.”
Lettis grunted. “Bugger won’t know what to think.”
“That’s my hope, Chief. Confusion will help us. It’s one of the few advantages of a civil war where both sides wear the same uniform and operate the same starships.”
A few minutes passed. Then, “Tymak’s hailing us. He wants someone to tell him, and I quote, what the fuck is happening.”
“Tell him we weren’t aware our friends from the 191st were coming. Call it a typical headquarters screw-up.”
“He’s demanding to speak with you.”
“Put him on.” When Tymak’s thick features materialized, Morane asked, “What can I do for you?”
“What’s this new bunch on about? Don’t you Navy folks speak with each other?”
Morane shrugged. “You know how it is, General. The left hand rarely tells the right hand what it’s doing. We haven’t run across the 191st in a few months, so it’s quite possible they aren’t aware of our mission.”
Tymak’s eyes narrowed beneath a suspicious frown.
“Yeah? Maybe I should wait until they’re here before letting you pick up those Pathfinders. I’d like to make sure we’re fighting for the same side.”
“My shuttles are already on the way.”
“You’re early. Is it because of these new arrivals?”
“No. The Pathfinders indicated they were both ready and anxious to leave. Something about being tired of breathing the same air as a Guards regiment. And since there’s no time to waste, I advanced the schedule.”
“Throttle it back. Your shuttles aren’t to land until we can have a three-way conversation with the commander of the 191st Battle Group.”
“It’s too late for that, General.”
“My planet, my rules.”
A cold smile played on Morane’s lips. “But I own the high orbitals.” He glanced at Lieutenant Vietti. “Go active.”
“Going active, aye.”
“General, the moment you target my shuttles, your entire siege force will vanish. I’ll give you a moment to ask your field commanders if their threat detectors are screaming, but as of now, I can launch precision strikes that’ll wipe them out.”
Tymak’s eyes slipped to one side as his lips moved silently. A minute passed, then he stared back at Morane.
“How dare you target fellow anti-imperialists?”
“Call it an insurance policy, General. The deal is my Pathfinders for the entirety of your troops. It remains a profitable exchange for everyone, but I will strike if necessary.” Chief Lettis pointed at a side display that read ‘Mercy Flight on final approach.’
“My shuttles are almost at the fortress. Make sure your commanders don’t target them. I won’t give you another warning. One ping from a targeting sensor, and your troops will die. Vanquish, out.”
**
“Pegasus, this is Mercy Niner, over.” A woman’s voice broke the lengthy radio silence, startling DeCarde.
“Pegasus Niner Alpha here,” Major Salmin replied. His head instinctively turned toward the Talera Range’s jagged peaks, eyes looking for the first visual sign of the approaching shuttles.
“Confirm LZ clear and ready.”
“We hold the LZ; defensive ordnance has been disabled, and egress points are blocked. LZ is marked, and there are two, repeat two controllers. Myself and Pegasus Niner Charlie. You are cleared to land.”
“Acknowledged. We are five, repeat five minutes from LZ. Look to your east. We are flying nap of the earth. Be advised that Mercy Higher is targeting the forces surrounding your location. There may be fireworks if they take aim at Mercy Flight.”
“Understood. We are not in a position to observe or engage hostiles other than the ones inside our location, and so far, they’re quiet.”
“That’s what we figured. Mercy Niner, out.”
Seconds after Lieutenant Commander Creswell signed off, the voice of Major Pohlitz, the officer commanding B Squadron, came over the battalion net.
“Niner Alpha, this is Bravo Niner, the Guards were quiet. We’re picking up readings of at least one company, armored and armed, probing the base of the north staircase.” DeCarde swallowed a curse. Manvil Gaillard decided the rat he’d smelled was real. “And another company is moving in on the west stairs.”
DeCarde nudged Haller. “Patch me into the Guards’ network.”
“Patching.” Then, “You’re in.”
“Colonel DeCarde for Colonel Gaillard.”
Seconds passed, then that irritating, nasal voice came on. “What do you want?”
“Would you like to tell me what you’re playing at, Manvil? Two of your companies, in full fighting order, are snooping around my training exercise. Surely even a Guards officer understands how quickly accidents happen when troops are carrying live ammo.”
“My guardsmen report you blocked and booby-trapped the north and west stairwells, DeCarde. Additionally, the governor’s secretary is up in arms about the precious metals reserve, which went missing after a few of yours were seen in the vicinity. I should be the one asking questions here.”
“Stand down, Manvil, before someone gets hurt. The stairwells are blocked, in the interests of making my scenario realistic. Call your people back. We’ll be done with our rehearsals in another five or ten minutes, then we’ll clear out the stairwells.”
Gaillard chuckled. “Before someone gets hurt? In case you didn’t notice, we seem to be on the losing side of a civil war. I doubt any of us will live long enough to celebrate the empress’ next birthday.”
“Shame. It’s my favorite holiday of the year, when I devote a whole evening to getting drunk and cursing the Ruggero name. But don’t say I didn’t warn you if someone’s fingers are accidentally blown off. My pioneers are experts at the art of improvised field amputation. Now leave us alone, Manvil, otherwise you and I will have words in private. When you find Dagon, ask him how that usually works out for the Guards. DeCarde, out.”
Major Salmin’s voice rang out over the battalion radio net once more. “Alpha Squadron, move out and take position.”
**
“The 191st finally spotted us, sir. We’re being hailed on the emergency Navy subspace channel. In clear.”
Morane grimaced. Staying deaf and dumb wouldn’t help under these circumstances. Any FTL capable starship has a working subspace transmitter and not answering would confirm something wasn’t right in Coraline orbit. And that, in turn, might convince the 191st’s commander to pursue once Vanquish and its consorts broke away for Wormhole Coraline Four.
He took a quick glance around the CIC, to make sure no stray imperial crown remained to betray them, then nodded at the signals petty officer. “Open a link.”
The image of a narrow-faced, silver-haired woman in Navy blue with a single five-pointed star at the collar appeared on the main display. She examined him with pale, suspicious eyes beneath arched, dark eyebrows.
“I’m Commodore Lana Kischak, flag officer commanding Task Force A of the 191st Battle Group. Who the hell are you and why are you navigating without transponders?”
“Captain Jonas Morane of the cruiser Vanquish, sir. I’m also in command of the 197th Battle Group’s remains.”
“Isn’t the 197th loyal to the empress?”
“Not anymore, sir. Admiral Greth was, but he and most of our former comrades are dead, destroyed by rebel forces in the Cervantes system. We — my surviving fellow captains and our crews — forswore the Crown.”
“Then why aren’t you broadcasting a signal identifying yourselves as belonging to Admiral Loren’s fleet?”
“We don’t belong to anyone’s fleet, sir. As soon as we’ve retrieved our friends from Coraline, we’re leaving the Shield Sector.”
“You’ll do no such thing, Captain. Stay in Coraline orbit and await our arrival.” Her gaze slipped to one side as the audio feed died. When she turned back to Morane, her stare became, if anything, even colder. “A General Tymak has apparently taken control of Coraline and claims you’re evacuating a battalion of Pathfinders at Admiral Loren’s orders. Doesn’t that contradict your assertion you’ve renounced any allegiance?”
“We’re rescuing friends from certain death at the hands of the Coraline rebellion. Tymak belonged to the 118th Marine Regiment which rose against Governor General Klim in the early days of the rebellion. I don’t know how he became the local warlord, but before our arrival, he intended to massacre those Pathfinders. They landed here three months ago and committed no war crimes. But because they fought alongside the 14th Guards Regiment, who did and deserve execution, they’ve been condemned to die. The Marines we’re rescuing — for the record, they belong to the 21st Pathfinder Regiment — also forswore the Crown.”
“And then?”
“We leave, never to return, let alone take up arms against Admiral Loren or any other sector commander who stands against Dendera.”
“This Tymak says you threatened to annihilate his troops from orbit should he prevent you from carrying out the evacuation.”
Morane nodded. “I did. You’ll find the Coraline rebels aren’t much better than the Imperial Guards in respecting human rights and the rule of law, and will therefore only bow to superior firepower. It would chagrin me to carry out my threat since I’d rather retrieve my friends and leave without firing a shot, but if forced to do so, I will act. Considering the destruction both sides already wrought on Coraline’s infrastructure, any bombardment on my part won’t significantly degrade the planet any further.”
Kischak made a face. “Yes, we noticed the absence of satellites in Coraline orbit and that the wormhole traffic control buoys and the system subspace relay are missing.”
“According to the commanding officer of the Pathfinder battalion, little if any air or spacecraft remain operational. Consider it the wages of unbridled warlordism, if you like. Admiral Loren might be wise to heed the lessons of Coraline if he wants to prevent the entire sector from following its example.”
“The problem hardly lies with the admiral, Captain Morane. You can blame Dendera and her adherents for turning political discontent into civil war.”
“Perhaps, sir. Nevertheless, I shall recover the Pathfinders, whether or not Tymak opposes me, and then we will leave. If you want to curtail further bloodshed on a planet already drenched in it, you might be well advised to counsel restraint on his part. Although,” Morane glanced at the Mercy Flight status display, “since my shuttles are about to start landing, it might be too late. Let’s hope for the sake of Tymak’s troops he took my warnings seriously.”
— 15 —
“I have them on my sensors.” Sergeant Major Bayn raised his handheld unit and pointed at a narrow valley beyond Klim Castle. “About twenty kilometers out. No visual contact yet. The lead ships are breaking off from the rest.”
Salmin raised an arm to acknowledge the update, then ran a critical eye over the men and women of A Squadron, kneeling on the smooth, black stone by teams as per their shuttle assignments, weapons at the ready. Wearing powered armor and weighed down by both personal equipment and their share of the collective gear, the Pathfinders resembled monstrous, exoskeletal insects, alien creatures that seemed to blend with the background thanks to the armor’s chameleon-like exterior. An observer more than a few hundred meters distant would see nothing but an empty roof, and his sensors wouldn’t pick up much more since the Marines were under electronic silence.
This wouldn’t be their first extraction from hostile territory. Not by a long shot. But once aboard the small, lightly armored craft, they were at the mercy of the pilots and any enemy gun or missile batteries tempted to open fire.
The Pathfinders’ usual gunships would be safer since they were purpose-built to land and take off in the middle of a shooting match. But those were light years away. No starship capable of carrying enough to lift a battalion was available when they were ordered to Coraline. By then, many of the precious naval transports had either gone over to the rebels or been destroyed.
DeCarde, watching from the shelter of the south stairwell, heard the soft whine of the approaching craft before she could see them as anything more than an eerie blur against the brilliant blue sky, thanks to their hulls’ stealth coating. Then, her helmet’s audio pickups registered a faint thump. Moments later, the radio came to life.
“Niner, this is Bravo Niner, the Guards set off a booby trap in the west stairwell. Judging by the confusion we’re picking up, no one told them to stay away.”
Haller nudged DeCarde. “Colonel Gaillard is calling. He wants to know what the hell is happening.”
“Let him eat static, Centurion. Bravo Niner, you are now weapons free.”
Seconds after Pohlitz acknowledged her order, the first set of shuttles landed on Klim Castle’s flat roof in a staggered line, sending swirls of dust to dance in the chilly afternoon air, and dropped their aft ramps.
At Salmin’s signal, the one hundred and ten Marine Pathfinders of A Squadron stood in unison and jogged aboard. Then, the ramps closed again. The ships lifted off one after the other and turned back toward the east, flying low. They quickly vanished from sight. C Squadron, next in line, emerged from its stairwell and split into orderly rows, taking the spots their A Squadron comrades occupied seconds earlier.
The second row of shuttles landed shortly after
that. Another explosion, this one closer, reached DeCarde’s ears.
“Niner, this is Bravo Niner. The Guards are trying to break through the obstacles we set at the base of the west stairwell. That was their demolition charge.”
DeCarde watched C Squadron board with the same speed and vigor as A Squadron, then followed the rest of HQ and Combat Support Squadrons up onto the roof seconds after the second row shuttles lifted. She took her place in line with Haller and knelt.
“Toss a few demolition charges of your own at them, Bravo Niner, and whatever other explosives you still have. HQ and Combat Support are about to board, which means you’ll break clean in a moment anyway.”
The next line of shuttles landed. A few of them were markedly different from the larger craft of the earlier two sets — smaller, sleeker and more heavily armed. They were Vanquish’s where the others had been Narwhal’s cargo lifters. As soon as the ramp in front of her dropped, DeCarde stood and, after a last glance at Klim Castle and the towering Talera Range, ran aboard and squeezed onto the bench beside Haller. With what seemed like lightning speed, the passenger compartment filled, the ramp closed again, cutting off her view, and she felt the craft lift off under full military power, banking to port as it did so.
Shortly after that, Salmin’s voice came over the radio. “Bravo Niner, this is Niner Alpha, D Squadron is ready to embark. Break clean, I repeat, break clean.”
“Bravo Niner, roger. Out.”
This would be the critical moment when no one was left to watch the last squadron’s back. Surprising DeCarde, the command push came to life with Klim’s strident voice.
“Colonel DeCarde, what in the name of everything that’s holy is happening? Colonel Gaillard tells me shuttles are landing on top of the fortress, and your troops are fighting with the Guards. Did you go over to the rebellion?”
