The Thursday War

by Karen Traviss

  “I am waiting, blasphemer,” ‘Telcam roared. “Show yourself. Face me.”

  There were a few seconds of silence, restless and fascinating, and even Raia was caught up in the reined-back urge to rush the walls. She realized she was gripping her pistol tightly, just as the males were. Then a trail of white light shot up out of the grounds of the keep with a deafening crack and struck the ship’s hull, sending plasma dancing over the metal. Small fragments rained down, glittering in the sunlight, some falling so close to Raia that they hissed in the air around her, but Defender of Faith held position. A second bolt of energy licked out at the ship, then a third.

  ‘Telcam had his answer. The Arbiter had spoken.

  “Take Vadam,” ‘Telcam shouted. “Take the keep. And then we shall wipe this state from the map, every last stone.”

  UNSC INFINITY: TWO HUNDRED KILOMETERS ABOVE SANGHELIOS

  Andrew Del Rio walked slowly around the chart table, studying a three-dimensional scan of Vadam so finely detailed that it could have been an architect’s plan.

  “If only we’d had this thirty years ago,” he said, “it would have changed the course of the war.”

  Vaz was standing close enough to the captain to wonder if the guy was talking to him or simply thinking aloud, so he just grunted to cover both possibilities. The chart was lidar imaging combined with real-time data from a dozen other sensor systems, including the hull and orbital cameras. The image changed continuously as the laser arrays rescanned the terrain and fed back ultra-accurate measurements that were as good as a live schematic of a ten-klick section of the battlefield. Vaz could see the slopes of the mountain, the keep itself, and even the damage to the walls.

  He could also see the Sangheili ship lurking nearby. It looked like a small destroyer.

  Hood, Parangosky, the XO, and a dozen officers clustered around the chart with their eyes fixed on the image like it was a roulette table about to cough up a fortune. Vaz glanced at Phillips, still in armor and clutching his helmet and plasma pistol, and walked over to the other side of the bridge to join him. They were killing time while the Huragok repaired Tart-Cart. Vaz wished they’d stayed down in the hangar.

  Phillips leaned in close to him. “You know,” he whispered, “from the way Parangosky looks at Del Rio, I’m waiting for her to shoot out this really long lizard tongue and suck out his brain.”

  “That’d be a ticket-only show.”

  “Why haven’t we got chart technology like that?”

  Vaz checked where Devereaux was. He could almost see the cogs grinding in her brain as she watched from the comms station. We need some of that. It was written all over her. Then she got up, nodded at Naomi, and the two of them left the bridge.

  “I think we’re going to get it,” Vaz said. “Dev’s got her shopping face on. I’d bet she’s going to put in another request to the Huragok.”

  “Tart-Cart’s going to be quite a gin palace when they’re finished.”

  Vaz checked his watch again. If the Huragok could dismantle and rebuild armor in under a minute, there was no telling what they’d managed to do to the dropship in the last couple of hours. He’d never worried too much about technology beyond his understanding because his job usually came down to a few basics that hadn’t changed in centuries: to shoot before the other guy got a chance to shoot him, and hope that his weapon didn’t jam. This distant, technical, detached kind of warfare was a Navy thing, and marine or not, he was still infantry. He went head to head with the enemy on the ground. He was a last-resort, personal kind of war delivered right to the doorstep.

  And if this high-tech stuff had been the answer to everything, the UNSC would never have needed ODSTs.

  Or Spartans. In the end, it’s always down to flesh and blood.

  There was no sound accompanying the image on the chart table, just the occasional background buzz of Sangheili voice traffic, but he could see the big artillery pieces inside the keep and scattered among ‘Telcam’s forces. If Del Rio magnified the image, Vaz could even detect the recoil as gun fired. Another hit on the keep’s walls threw up a blur that settled to show a big hole, something he might have struggled to get a clear view of on the ground. But up here, Del Rio had a battlefield image that gave him detail without the clutter, something he might never get from a helmet cam.

  Del Rio looked up at Phillips. “I can’t tell if this is all they can muster or if they’re back to feudal warfare. You know, a few kaidons slug it out and everyone else just locks their doors and waits for it to finish.”

  “It’s both, Captain.” Phillips switched instantly from amazed kid to the master of his subject: hinge-heads. It was funny to watch the transformation. “They’re still groping for a command structure, but they’ve selectively bred themselves for fighting. So in a year from now, I think they could be pretty organized again.”

  “You probably know more about the way they think than any of us. What’s this ‘Telcam up to?”

  Phillips batted away the question without a twitch. “I think that’s one for Admiral Parangosky. But he did stop me from getting killed, I suppose, so I’d buy him a beer.”

  Vaz started wondering how a creature with four jaws would drink a glass of beer, but a sudden burst of light on the chart table distracted him.

  Del Rio swung around to Lasky. “Okay, they’ve opened fire on the ship. Stand by.”

  “It’s Defender of Faith,” Parangosky murmured. Nobody asked her how she knew. Fleet seemed to accept that ONI heard all and saw all. “I’d call that compact. Twelve hundred meters length overall, ventral energy beam. Don’t see many of those.”

  “Lasky, what’s she doing?” Hood asked.

  Lasky leaned over a console that still had disconnected conduit sticking out of it. “Not returning fire, not yet. She’s powered up to give him a zap, though.” He indicated a sensor screen. “Look at her energy and temperature profiles.”

  “And that looks like more troops moving in now,” Del Rio said. “Are we waiting for a formal request from the Arbiter or not?”

  If Vaz had placed a bet, he’d have put his money on the Arbiter preferring to make a last stand on his own rather than beg a human for help. Silent bolts of light shot out from the destroyer and struck the west side of the keep. Why didn’t they just bombard the main buildings? But hinge-heads had agendas like anyone else. They seemed to want to get into the keep rather than pulverize it. Maybe there were things that they needed to recover.

  “We can probably get the ship’s attention and make sure we’re justified in targeting her, Captain, but let me help the Arbiter make up his mind.” Hood waited a few moments, gazing up at the deckhead, then the muffled sounds of explosions filled the bridge. Hood nodded at the comms officer to open a link. “Arbiter, this is Terrence Hood. Where are your ships?”

  There was a little doglike cough. The Arbiter didn’t sound like a man who was winning, but at least he still had comms. “They have yet to arrive, Admiral.”

  So the Arbiter had been left high and dry by his chums. Hood didn’t blink, but Vaz knew a man who was enjoying himself when he saw one. “Well, in case they’ve been held up in traffic,” Hood said, “shall we remove that destroyer for you while you’re waiting?”

  Silence: it was a long pause, probably while the Arbiter wrestled with his hinge-head sense of manly honor. But he was already screwed because he’d gone soft on humans, so what difference did it make if he accepted Hood’s help? Vaz had thought the Arbiter was a bit more pragmatic than that. He could always climb back to the moral high ground—if these bastards had any—when he’d crushed the rebels.

  “I should decline,” the Arbiter said, “but I cannot.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes, then. Stand by.” Hood folded his arms and nodded at Del Rio. Parangosky had taken a few steps away from the chart table to sidle up to Mal. Vaz had no idea she could move that fast. “All yours, Andrew.”

  Del Rio still looked like it was simply an exercise, frowning slightly in conce
ntration. “Aine, give me a projection of where that ship will come down.”

  Defender of Faith started to lift. She was right above her own troops, but also dangerously close to the keep if she was shot down. Vaz couldn’t believe that a simple handshake had brought them to this—that they could be within striking distance of the enemy homeworld, able to destroy what leadership it had left, all of it, without any real chance of being hit, and yet they were working out how much collateral damage they’d cause if they took out a destroyer.

  This is it. This is the one chance we’ll get. Do it now. Screw the treaty. Fry them, maybe seize the destroyer and do a little glassing of our own. Because they’ll be back one day. You know they will.

  But just as he’d stepped back from shooting Halsey and meting out the justice that he knew damn well the Navy and the courts never would, Hood wouldn’t finish off the Sangheili, and neither would Parangosky.

  But at least Parangosky’s holding back because she knows you have to kill them all in one go, or else you leave enough of them around to start another war.

  Vaz looked up at Mal, but Parangosky had steered him away to a quiet alcove. She didn’t look as if she was asking him about his dinner plans.

  Austen, the principal weapons officer, had both hands on the flat section of his display like a concert pianist composing himself for a really difficult piece. “Howlers ready, Captain—target acquired, altitude five hundred meters, climbing.”

  “Estimated ground impact?”

  “Too close to call.”

  “Get her attention. Active sensor ping. Let her know we’ve got a lock on her.”

  Vaz put his finger to his earpiece and tried to listen in to Port Stanley’s channel without making it look too obvious. Phillips took his cue and did the same.

  BB’s voice whispered theatrically in his ear. “I’m redacting ‘Telcam’s transmissions, just in case.”

  “In case…?”

  “In case he says something that we don’t want Hood to hear.”

  “Like who he is.”

  “Like when his prize warship turns into a fireworks display.”

  Defender had now disappeared from the chart. “Target ascending two thousand meters and locking on, sir,” Austen said. “She’s got us.”

  “Pods one, two, and three, spread—fire Howlers.”

  “Pods one, two, three—missiles away, sir.”

  Yes, it might as well have been an exercise. Vaz didn’t feel any vibration or hear a sound as sixty missiles streaked down at the destroyer below. He couldn’t even see what was happening. The chart display was focused on the ground and he was in the wrong place to watch what the hull cams were picking up. Austen counted down, quiet and calm.

  “Time to target, ten seconds … missiles incoming … incoming tracked and neutralized … five seconds … impact, sir.”

  Vaz needed to see this for himself. Defender hadn’t even been able to get her missiles past Infinity’s defenses. He went over to the weapons station and watched the hull cam feeds over the shoulders of a couple of ensigns. He wasn’t sure what the magnification was, but he could see the destroyer venting vapor and flame, turning slowly to starboard.

  “Damage assessment?” Del Rio asked.

  “Still making way, but her hull’s breached.”

  “Finish her off, Lieutenant. Pods four and five. Fire.”

  “Howler pods four and five—missiles away.”

  Vaz counted but didn’t make it to ten seconds before Defender of Faith bloomed into a ball of white light. When the fireball died away, the ship’s bow section was shredded like a blown tin can and she was spinning slowly, starting to fall out of the sky as her drives failed.

  “Aine, debris impact projection,” Del Rio said.

  “The main hull’s likely to fall five kilometers west of Mount Kolaar, in a wooded area.” The AI had a flat, disinterested female voice. Vaz got the feeling she’d be a bit of a misery to work with. “There’s a lot of smaller debris already falling along that corridor now.”

  “Good work, Austen.” Del Rio managed a smile. “I think I’m going to like this ship.”

  Hood stepped back from the chart table and nodded to the comms officer again for a link. “Arbiter, this is Hood. In case your sensors haven’t detected it, we’ve disabled Defender of Faith. She’ll come down around five kilometers west of you.”

  “That is … welcome. Thank you, Admiral.”

  “And shall we remove some of the trespassers from your front lawn while we’re here? Let’s nip this in the bud. Or else you’ll be fighting these cowboys for years.”

  Vaz had always wondered what lurked under Hood’s aristocratic exterior. Now he knew that something did, but not exactly what it was. He couldn’t tell if the guy was reminding the Arbiter who had the real power now, or putting a warning shot across Parangosky’s bows—that he knew what she was doing, and he wanted her to know that he knew, but whether he approved of it or not was another layer that Vaz couldn’t unravel. Parangosky put her finger to her ear very discreetly, just a casual brush. She was probably listening to BB or Osman.

  On the chart table, things were hotting up. Vadam keep was still under fire, but now the ground assault vehicles were moving forward, slowed down by a sea of troops.

  “Arbiter?” Hood said. “Do I have your answer?”

  “I still await my ships,” the Arbiter said at last, “so I must accept your assistance again.”

  “Sir, four enemy vessels are entering the sector,” Aine said suddenly. “Frigates.”

  “Target them if they get a lock on us, Lieutenant.” Del studied the chart. “And let’s lay down some MAC. Without reducing the keep to rubble, that is.”

  “That’s going to push the edge of the impact crater to the shoreline, sir.”

  “Very educational,” Hood said. “I’d notice that and talk about it for weeks, if I were a Sangheili.”

  “Aye, sir. Fore MAC solution acquired—damage estimate on screen three.”

  “Months, even,” Hood murmured.

  Parangosky interrupted. “Gentlemen, we have an informant on the ground in that area. Give me a few moments to get him clear. I’ll need to pull him out.”

  Vaz concentrated on keeping his expression totally blank. Hood looked around but Del Rio didn’t.

  “Hold MAC,” Del Rio said quietly. “I repeat, hold MAC.”

  The muscles in Hood’s jaw twitched but he didn’t say a word. It was very bad timing, not like Parangosky at all, but she had to have some plan in mind. She didn’t make mistakes. Parangosky just nodded—not to Hood, probably to BB—and long seconds ticked away. Vaz caught Mal’s eye and Mal pointed to his earpiece.

  Listen in.

  “Yes, I would if I were you,” BB whispered. Vaz’s receiver was suddenly full of snarling and argument, with Osman and ‘Telcam going at it like cat and dog, and Osman snapping back: “Just damn well get out. Get out now. Go to the RV point. Run.”

  Now Vaz knew what was coming next. Mal gestured toward the exit and Vaz obeyed. He looked back once and Phillips was right behind him.

  “You better stay here,” Vaz said.

  “I’m the liaison.”

  “I’ll dump you in the hangar.”

  “Just try it.”

  Vaz couldn’t hear the comms link with ‘Telcam now. All he heard was Parangosky say, “You can resume now, gentlemen.” ‘Telcam had been given a head start, but it wasn’t much.

  “Fire fore MAC,” Del Rio said.

  “Fire fore MAC. MAC away, sir.”

  The projectile struck the surface like a big meteor impact just as Vaz passed one of the ground monitors. It sent out shock waves like a nuke. There was something so apocalyptic and final about it that he turned to watch and almost stopped in his tracks.

  We could pound them into the dirt right now. We could lob in a few more MAC rounds and they’d be screwed for years, maybe forever. You’re wrong, Parangosky. For once, you’re wrong.

  Mal steer
ed him ahead. “Move it, Vaz. You can watch the action replay later.”

  “Is Tart-Cart fixed?” Phillips asked.

  “No, we’re walking the rest of the way for our health.” Mal put on a sprint and pressed the elevator control. “Of course she’s fixed. Now we’ve got to extract you-know-who, provided he’s not a pile of liver pâté by the time we get there.”

  Phillips could keep up, but he was puffing. “Is the deck transit back online yet? Maybe they should install miniportals.”

  “Next left, Vaz,” BB said. “No, I said left.”

  “So you’ve found your true vocation. Satnav.”

  “I always know when you’re upset. You get bitchy. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You can tell me.”

  “Nothing.”

  The elevator finally reached the hangar deck and they raced down the passage. A gang of civilian contractors dropped their tools and flattened themselves against the bulkheads. By the time he reached the hangar, Vaz was out of breath and sweating almost as badly as Phillips.

  “Now who’s the porker?” Mal said, shoving him in the back. “Bloody hell, Dev, what have you done to Tart-Cart?”

  “She’s pimped, Staff.” Devereaux waved from the cockpit. “She’s loaded. Even an air freshener, which I decided was kind of essential seeing as Phillips has been eating that Sangheili dog food.”

  The dropship—still matte gray, but now a subtly different shape, and with more small pods protruding from her skin—looked small and lonely in the hangar. A couple of Huragok were still wafting around. Maybe they were pleased with their handiwork; it was hard to tell. Vaz gave them a thumbs-up. They tilted their heads back and forth as if they thought he was trying to sign to them. Naomi reached out and gave him a hand up into the crew bay.

  “Have we still got deflective camo, Dev?” Mal asked.

  “I made them leave it alone, but they said it was rubbish. Who taught them the word pants?”

  “Not me,” said Mal. “Why’s everything my fault?”

  Inside, the dropship was unrecognizable except for the basic layout, nothing startling but enough to make Vaz fumble for handles and clips that were no longer there. Naomi thudded into her seat and pointed. A scaled-down version of Infinity’s real-time chart appeared in the middle of the crew bay. The Huragok really had been extra-busy.