Force of Arms

by Jack McKinney

  "It's as though I'm going to be fighting against my own people," the second PC said, struggling to put his thoughts into the limited Zentraedi battle tongue.

  NCOs and officers were yelling at various scurrying units to move it, move it, move it. Go! Go! The deckplates thundered.

  But one body-armored NCO, having caught a bit of the exchange, skidded to a halt, his disrupter rifle gripped in one hand.

  "D' you realize what the penalty is for disobeying orders in combat?"

  Others had been listening to the two pod commanders; half swayed by what they were saying, recalling Gloval's words and Minmei's song. But all of them knew the dreadful punishment the NCO was talking about. Death would be preferable.

  One of the bystanders declared, "He's right! We will have to fight!" "Let's move!" someone else cried, and with that they were in motion,

  scrambling to prepare and race to their battle stations. Everyone, that is, but the first PC. He watched the others go as he reclined back on his bunk,

  hands behind his head, brooding. At last he brought his hand forth and spent a long time looking at the tiny Minmei doll.

  The vast armada began shifting formation, spreading and realigning for the attack.

  At the wedding reception, alert sirens began sounding at just about the same time Gloval took the call on a mobile com handset and got the crowd's attention. With the banshee song of the sirens behind him, he announced, "Ladies and gentlemen! It grieves me to say this, but we are now on red alert."

  He had to raise his voice to speak over the confusion and outcries of the crowd. "All military personnel report to battle stations at once. Civilians proceed to emergency duties or to designated shelters. The SDF-1 is about to come under full-scale attack."

  He swallowed once, with effort. It was the first time the enemy had thrown its massed strength at the fortress, and there was little question as to what the final outcome would be.

  "God be with you all. Now, move quickly!"

  Only a few actually lost their heads and bolted; everyone aboard had been through the fire of battle, and most moved swiftly but with a deliberate calm.

  The Terrible Trio finished what they were eating and swapped hugs with the Zentraedi spies before dashing off to the bridge. Striding for the door, Rick Hunter exchanged a brief glance with Minmei but had no time to stop and talk to her, though he wanted to do that more than anything in the world.

  A VT duty officer halted amid the flow of people and looked back to the wedding party's table as Max came to his feet, unable to believe what was happening.

  "Max, you're excused from duty. Captain's orders! You sit this one out!" Then he was on his way.

  Max slowly tugged his bow tie, opening his collar. He sighed deeply,

  feeling Miriya's eyes on him, and turned to her. "I can't let them down when they need me the most, love."

  She drew off her wedding veil. "Of course not, Max. I'll go with you." He stared at her. "Huh?"

  Miriya came to her feet. "I've seen your Veritechs, even flew yours for a bit, remember? I can handle one was well as any of your pilots."

  "No-"

  "I promised in our vows that I would stay by your side, and I will. From now on, we fight together."

  And a brief fight it might be, he knew. The RDF needed every hand it could get, and Miriya's battle skill might be a critical plus. He took her hand, and they managed an even more loving look than they had exchanged during their vows.

  "Then I guess I have no choice," he said. "Even though we may die together."

  "Oh, but Maximillian! I would accept no other death!"

  "Me, either." He kissed her quickly, then they raced off hand in hand. "There goes the honeymoon," he said as they ran.

  "I don't think you understand true Zentraedi determination." She smiled.

  Alone in the ballroom, the master of ceremonies had no more strength to seek shelter or follow the war over the screens. The wedding had been the best thing that had happened to him in two years aboard the SDF-1, the thing he was suited to, that he did best.

  Now he sank to his knees, head lowered to the forearm he rested on the shambles of the wedding party's abandoned table. The fortress model, symbol of Max and Miriya's wedding, looked down at him. He sobbed what everyone in the ship was thinking, as the Zentraedi dreadnoughts moved in in their hundreds of thousands. "Please, save us all."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Dolza, my old friend, old watchdog; the naive straightforwardness of the Zentraedi could be your downfall some day.

  All things are so simple to you: The eye sees the target, the hands aim the weapon, a finger pulls the trigger, an energy bolt slays the enemy. You therefore conclude that if the eye sees clearly, the hand is steady, and the weapon functions properly, all will be well.

  You never see the subtlety of the myriad little events in that train of action. What of the brain that directs the eye and the aim? What of the nerves that steady the hand? Of the very decision to shoot? What of the motives that make the Zentraedi obey their military Imperative?

  Ah, you call all of this sophistry! But I tell you: There are vulnerabilities to which you are blind.

  Remark made by Zor to Dolza shortly before Zor's death— known only to Dolza, Exedore, and Breetai

  Again the bays opened, the elevators lifted the fighters to the flight decks. The SDF-1 and the Daedalus and Prometheus catapult crews labored frantically to launch the all-important fighters as fast as possible. On the flatdecks, waist and bow cats were in constant operation, and the crews' lives were in constant danger; it was very easy for something as small and frail as a human being to meet death during launch ops, especially in the airlessness of space.

  The Veritechs rose to the flight decks, deploying ailerons and wings that had been folded or swept back to save space on the hangar decks. Their engines screamed like demons, and they hurtled into space in a meticulously timed ballet, avoiding collisions with one another and forming up for combat with the sureness of long experience.

  Gloval watched from a tall viewport as Rick Hunter went out, leading

  Skull Team. And the rest, scores of them, fell in behind to do battle against the aliens' total attack.

  "May every one of you make it home safely," Gloval murmured, the old briar pipe gripped in his teeth. But he knew it was too much to hope for.

  Rick was running the fighter wing now; even though there were those who outranked him, there was no one with more expertise.

  "Remain in Fighter mode until I give the word," he told them. "We are now approaching intercept zone."

  Flying at his wing was Max, with Miriya in the seat behind wearing an RDF flight suit and "thinking cap."

  The pods were coming in droves to soften up the target and eliminate and suppress as much counterfire as they could before the Zentraedi heavyweights came in for the kill.

  Rick's autocannon sounded like a buzz saw multiplied a thousand times; high-density slugs went out in a stream fit by tracers to pierce an oval armored body through and through. The enemy disappeared in an expanding sphere of red-hot gas and flying shrapnel an instant later.

  The Veritechs peeled off, wingmen trying their best to stick together, and threw themselves into swirling, pouncing dogfights against the enemy. The pods advanced in an unstoppable cloud, as the desperate VTs twisted and swooped.

  Gloval agonized over the fact that ongoing repairs and retrofitting made it impossible to fire the ship's main gun. But the ship's primary and secondary batteries opened up, turrets swinging, barrels traversing, hammering away.

  A pod was hit dead center by an armor-piercing discarding-sabot round and blew to incandescent bits. Another was riddled by kinetic-energy rounds from an electromagnetic rail-gun, projectiles accelerated to hundreds of thousands of g's, hitting at such high speed that explosives would have been redundant. A VT in Guardian mode spun and tumbled, chopped to fragments by the energy blasts of a pod's plastron cannon.

  But more and more pods came
at the humans in vast waves, pushing them back. The SDF-1 was surrounded by the globular explosions of space battle, hundreds of them every second.

  Max had a pod square in his gunsight reticle, thumb on his stick's trigger, when Miriya cried, "No! Wait! Don't shoot!"

  "Huh? But they were right in my sights."

  She took over, maneuvering until the computer-aided sights were centered on a structure behind the articulation apparatus that joined the pod's legs. Whatever it was, it wasn't on the VT pilots' menu of sure-kill shots.

  But Miriya told her husband, "Now!" Max zoomed in on a close pass, letting a short burst fly. The target structure disappeared in a burst of flame. The Zentraedi wobbled and careened out of control, its main thrusters sputtering and coughing every which way, guns going silent after a moment.

  Trailing fire, it drifted away, limping toward safety with feeble gusts from its attitude thrusters.

  VT pilots were taught to go for the sure-kill shots at areas of the enemy mecha most likely to expose themselves to fire. He felt like he had just been taught a secret Shao-lin pressure point.

  "But we could've lost him while we were trying for that shot," he pointed out, craning around to look over his seat at his bride of less than an hour.

  "I don't want anybody else to be hurt in this war," she told him.

  "But Miriya, we don't want to jeopardize our own lives, right? Or the ships?"

  She looked him in the eye. "Remember what the captain said? Max, it's time to do more than just talk. We must act. And now I've given you the key."

  "Oh, boy. You're right. We'll just have to give this a try." "Thank you, Maximillian."

  Max took out two more to make sure it really worked.

  "What in heaven's name is going on in that plane?" Rick yelled over the

  tac net.

  He saw Max's face on one of his display screens. "Boss, I'm sorry those last few weren't kills."

  "Don't bull me, Max." Rick could see what was going on. "I think I understand."

  He dove at a pod, his forward lasers vaporizing the vulnerable component that Miriya had revealed. "We'll stop this war without bloodshed!"

  Captain Gloval was right. "The time has come for peace," Rick muttered.

  The secret of popping the enemy pods without killing anyone within was made easier to share because the small, vulnerable component was located behind and slightly below the leg juncture. This made it easy and even fun for the VT fighter jocks to tell each other where to shoot and to vie with each other at making perfect shots.

  The structures were also located in a spot difficult for the pods to defend. The VTs had never concentrated on that place before because most of that area was heavily armored and the target in question was so small.

  But once they knew what they were after, the VT pilots began enthusiastic, almost crazed disabling runs. Pods got their fundaments blown out from under them by VTs on long passes, predatory banks, high deflection shots. One guy on Ghost Team got three in one pass.

  But the pods had closed in tightly around the SDF-1 as the alien battlewagons came up behind. The dimensional fortress shook to a ferocious blast of concentrated fire.

  "Captain, our number two thruster's been damaged," Vanessa said.

  Gloval gritted his teeth, saying nothing; he knew it was going to get worse.

  The Zentraedi officer dashed angrily into the ready-room hatchway, furious when he saw that the crew there had not even so much as donned their armor.

  "Lord Breetai commands that you prepare to attack!" he roared.

  One crewmember was standing by a viewport, looking out at the starlit darkness, holding a tiny Minmei doll in his palm, small as a pea in his giant hand.

  "So beautiful yet so small," he whispered to himself in his rumbling voice as the others looked over his shoulder. He thought of her songs again, and the memory filled him with longings no Zentraedi career could ever answer. He closed his enormous fingers gently around the doll.

  The officer bawled, "You're all in direct violation of Lord Dolza's orders!

  Report to battle stations at once, or I'll have you all court-martialed!"

  They were Zentraedi beguiled by the songs and peace talk of humans; but they were still Zentraedi, with the pent-up fury of their race. One whirled on the officer, bringing up an assault rifle, clacking off its safety.

  "What did you say?"

  Others turned, weapons clacking, and the officer found himself staring into a half dozen rifle muzzles and then a dozen. "Don't be insane!" he screamed. "Think of what you're doing!"

  "It doesn't matter what you say," one of them told him icily. "We aren't fighting anymore. We have friends on that ship. We have vows we've sworn with those friends, sacred warrior oaths. We won't attack them; that's where we draw the line. Now, leave!"

  He threw the rifle to his shoulder, bracketing the officer in his sights, finger tightening on the trigger. The officer gave a yowl and disappeared from the compartment hatchway, boots echoing on the deck.

  The warriors stood listening, lowering their weapons. "Look at him run, like a trog with his tail between his ears," one said, laughing.

  Breetai spun on Exedore. "What? It's mutiny!"

  "Your Excellency, a large number of our best pilots will not leave the mother craft. They refuse to acknowledge that the order was given! Mutiny in time of battle is a thing that has never happened before in Zentraedi history."

  Although, he added to himself, those warnings from the ancients must have had a basis. If they're right, we face disaster!

  "But-with all respect-they have some justification," Exedore went on. Breetai glowered down at him. "There is no rationale for mutiny!"

  "But you know there are Zentraedi on the battle fortress. And now they know, too. To attack their own is a direct violation of the laws that bind us together as comrades in arms-"

  "Enough!"

  "And then there is this baffling new tactic of the enemy, disabling our pods rather than destroying them, sparing our warriors when they could more easily have killed them. Some pod commanders in the attack force are preparing to turn on their fellows if the attack isn't broken off-"

  Breetai turned and strode away. "Exedore-"

  Exedore hurried his shorter strides to catch up. "And the transmissions from the wedding-"

  Breetai stopped and pivoted instantly. "I said enough!" His boulderlike fist hung near Exedore's face, clenched so tight that the huge knuckles and tendons creaked loudly, trembling with Breetai's anger. Exedore fell silent.

  After several long seconds, Breetai retracted the fist almost unwillingly but regained control of himself. He started walling again, the overhead lights gleaming off his polished skullplate and crystal eye; Exedore followed meekly.

  "Stop your blathering," Breetai rumbled. "I'm aware of the situation.

  Issue the order to withdraw immediately! Recall all Zentraedi mecha."

  Exedore halted, mouth agape. "Yes, sir, but that is in direct disobedience of the Zentraedi High Command-of Dolza's own orders!"

  Breetai stormed on his way, neither looking back nor answering.

  On the SDF-1's bridge, no one quite knew how to take it. "It's a miracle," was all Sammie could say.

  "Yes, we're very lucky," Gloval said softly, sitting in his command chair.

  Could it have to do with the wedding? Did it work?

  Claudia began calling the Veritechs home.

  The newlyweds had received generous offers of living quarters in crowded Macross City, even from some who could ill afford the space. But there was no question of staying so far from the fighter bays while the current emergency remained.

  Ship's engineers had hurriedly taken out the partition between two adjoining compartments to give the Sterlings a small connubial bower: a living room-kitchenette and a tiny bedroom. There hadn't, however, been time to soundproof it; that would have to wait until the next work shift.

  So Rick Hunter lay in his bunk, head pillowed on hands, listening t
o the muffled turmoil in the kitchenette on the other side of the bulkhead.

  "Max, why is it on fire?" came Miriya's voice. "Is this another weird human recipe?"

  "Uh, honey, get out of the way; I'll put it out," Max yelped, and there was the gush of a small fire extinguisher. Rick didn't hear the ship's main fire-fighting systems cut in and concluded that Max had gotten it.

  "Strange, strange day," Rick sighed.

  He caught snatches of their conversation without meaning to. What had she done? Just used a dash of that liquid, the cooking oil. Nothing on the bottle said it shouldn't be used in the coffeepot.

  Max would be perfectly willing to do all the cooking for a while; Miriya insisted that she wanted to do her share. That was what comrades in arms and lifelong mates did, she insisted.

  After a bit longer, they were both giggling and the hatch to the bedroom closed. Rick slugged his pillow like he was in a title fight, then threw his head against the mattress and pulled the pillow over it.

  I hope they'll be happy, he forced himself to think. Then he found himself thinking about Minmei, and of Lisa, and then of Claudia, grieving for Roy Fokker-so brave; stronger than Rick would be in her place.

  Roy had tried to tell him something once, something the original Skull Leader had discovered during the course of his tempestuous love affair with

  Claudia Grant.

  Before you can love someone, you have to like them.

  The thought came into Rick's mind unbidden, along with the image of long, light brown hair and a slender form-a quick, disciplined mind and a commitment to a set of beliefs that Rick found mare worthy every day. And-there was the remembrance of a kiss before alien captors, a kiss that had been so much more than he had expected and had haunted him since.