by Grant, Peter
On their way to their target areas, the shuttle crews witnessed the next acts in the last stand of Laredo’s Army. Their cameras and sensors recorded everything they saw, as they had since the attack began, and transmitted it to waiting antennae on top of the old Traffic Control building. There the traffic control computer sucked up everything and rebroadcast it via tight-beam to another dish on the space station in geostationary orbit far above.
~ ~ ~
NEW TRAFCON BUILDING
The Bactrian traffic control operators gazed in horror out of the windows at the top of the hundred-meter TrafCon Tower. Within a matter of seconds, it seemed, their world had fallen apart. All their consoles had gone blank; missile batteries and shuttles all over Tapuria had begun firing without orders; and the parade of eighty shuttles flying over the arena had been devastated. Huge columns of smoke were rising from all around the stadium.
The Watch Commander, a Major, was the first to pull himself together. He snatched up his microphone. “Give me an open circuit – all channels!” he snarled at the communications operator. As soon as the shaken man had made the connections, he keyed his mike. “All stations, this is Trafcon. Emergency! Emergency! The Satrap is under attack at the arena! All stations are to send every available soldier and vehicle to the arena! Flash priority! Emergency! Emer–”
~ ~ ~
TAPURIA
The traffic control supercomputer accepted Quincy’s Phase Three program. Its artificial intelligence system considered its newly-assigned targets, then reallocated its resources.
Thirty per cent of the remaining multi-sensor missiles were targeted on the Trafcon Tower and its critical central communications hub, spread from top to bottom of the structure. Another twenty per cent were aimed at the Military Governor’s compound, instructed to seek out and destroy every missile battery and vehicle on the grounds. The last fifty per cent were programmed to take out almost every major radio signal target in the city, from the three TrafCon radomes, to the Command Bunker’s antenna farm, to the surviving assault shuttles in key areas, to most buildings supporting a tower sprouting aerials and dishes. Each missile was pre-programmed with the location of its objective. As it approached, its sensors would detect the transmissions from its target and use them to guide its final suicidal dive.
As soon as its electronic brain was satisfied that all missiles had received their instructions, the artificial intelligence system released the weapons. The thunderblast of launching missiles and detonating warheads once again filled the air over the city.
The operators at the new TrafCon building had time for only the briefest glimpse of their doom speeding towards them. Fifty-two missiles were targeted at the building. A few malfunctioned, but forty-four struck home, four smashing through the angled windows of the control room itself to explode in their midst. The Watch Commander was blown into red rags before he could complete his transmission. Other missiles wrecked the tower from top to bottom, taking great bites out of its plascrete core, destroying the integrity of its structural steel framework. The building staggered, leaned drunkenly, and collapsed into a pile of rubble and a choking cloud of smoke and dust.
As its radar domes on the hilltops were destroyed, the central computer found that it could no longer detect or monitor airborne traffic. It automatically released all remaining weapon systems in the city to local control. There weren’t many of them left. Those still able to do so activated their own radars and lidars and began frantically looking for targets – just what the approaching Laredo shuttles had been waiting for. As each transmission was detected, a WSO aimed a missile towards it or slewed the vehicle’s plasma cannon onto the bearing and let fly. Defenders rapidly learned that to give away one’s own position by the use of active sensors was fraught with peril. They switched to passive thermal and optical sensors and open sights.
All over Tapuria military vehicles jerked into motion, abandoning their assigned positions and heading towards the arena in response to the Watch Commander’s emergency call. Their crews didn’t look up, but focused on the roads immediately ahead of them as they sped around corners and through obstructions. That proved to be the undoing of many. Those within range of the airborne Laredo shuttles were greeted with carefully-aimed single shots from their plasma cannon, blocking the roads with their burning wrecks.
The assault shuttles at the Military Governor’s compound tried to lift off just as the second wave of incoming missiles arrived, smashing them back to the ground, destroying the now-empty missile batteries and their associated laser cannon, blasting away every aerial and antenna, cutting off radio communication between the Command Bunker and the forces remaining in the city. The Laredo shuttles began to search for the few heavy weapons that had escaped damage so far, turning their missiles and plasma cannon on them. It didn’t take long for the inexperienced, poorly-trained Bactrian conscripts to realize that remaining in the vicinity of such weapons had suddenly become nothing more than an unusually spectacular and explosive way to commit suicide. They abandoned their posts in droves and scattered in all directions, leaving their professional colleagues raging in frustration, yelling curses after them.
After dropping their troops at the arena, the four Laredo shuttles there rose into the air once more. Their pilots and WSO’s prepared to use their missiles and plasma cannon against relieving forces, to buy time for their comrades on the ground to complete their mission. They also listened for any calls for help, ready to turn their weapons against pockets of resistance in or around the arena.
The three groups of Laredo resistance fighters who’d assembled in underground hideouts after sneaking through the security cordon around Banka had been waiting for this moment. As chaos spread throughout the city above them, they emerged from their basements, sewers and tunnels. The three pairs of shuttles in Task Force Banka landed briefly at prearranged rendezvous points, dropping their contingents of soldiers and the heavier weapons they’d brought with them, then lifted off again to provide airborne cover for as long as possible. Their teams joined forces with those who’d previously infiltrated the city and made for their assigned objectives.
The three reinforced groups struck hard. Within minutes one assault force had fought their way into the civil administration complex. They began destroying critical records, files and computer systems and wiring the buildings with explosives and incendiary devices. Another group attacked the Military Governor’s compound, calling in the location of enemy heavy weapons and strongpoints so that their comrades in the shuttles could blast them out of the way. The fighting there was less one-sided as the Bactrian forces began to recover from the shock of the attack and reorganize themselves. Focal points of resistance began to emerge. A Laredo shuttle took a direct hit from an optically-aimed plasma cannon. It staggered in mid-air, turned over onto its back and plummeted onto the guardhouse at the entrance to the Military Governor’s compound, killing a dozen Bactrian servicemen, even in its death throes clearing a path for its comrades on the ground.
The third Laredo assault force penetrated the perimeter of the immense supply depot, blasting its way through the confused defenders – mostly freight handlers and clerks, some hastily issued with rifles, some completely unarmed – while suffering minimal casualties of its own. The depot was home to a regiment of forty-eight armored cars, each equipped with a plasma cannon, tasked with escorting supply convoys to and from garrisons and bases across the continent. The regiment’s personnel were all on parade at the arena, so none of its vehicles were manned and ready – a shortcoming the attackers rapidly rectified.
The shuttle contingent used the heavier weapons and explosives they’d brought with them to blast their way into the armory. They seized every nearby transport and filled them with plasma cannon magazines, more rifles and ammunition, and all the explosives and incendiaries they could find. Meanwhile the other raiders checked the armored cars and started the first row of them. The shuttle party drove up, tossing loaded magazines to the car
crews, who filled their turret racks. As soon as the first vehicles were fully armed they headed for preselected points and began to shoot at everything in sight. The massive energy impact of the plasma cannon bolts hurled vehicles and stacks of supplies flaming into the air, and collapsed building after building as their supporting structures were blown away. Thick, choking clouds of smoke and flame began to obscure the entire depot and everything in and around it. Meanwhile, the shuttle party loaded all the remaining armored cars with ammunition for their plasma cannon.
As they destroyed scores of billions of bezants worth of weapons, equipment and supplies, the armored cars protected their occupants from the desultory light weapons fire of the few defenders who had not yet fled or been killed. As each vehicle’s plasma cannon barrel burned out, its crew drove it back to the regiment’s motor pool. They took any remaining ammunition with them to another vehicle, used its cannon to blast the armored car they’d just used, then got back to work.
Meanwhile the shuttle party commandeered several armored cars to add firepower to their transports, then fought their way out of a side gate. Five blocks ahead of them, the Security Service headquarters building stood so far unscathed amid the chaos spreading across the city.
~ ~ ~
OLD TRAFCON
Jake whirled on his heel. “I’m going to make sure we get our hands on as many vehicles as we can find!”
Quincy called after him. “I’ve instructed the computer to continue relaying the progress of our attack to orbit until the space station can’t forward it to your son any longer. While you’re busy up there we’ll lay demolition charges down here, then stand by for further orders.”
Jake paused in the doorway. “Good man! While you’re doing that, we’ll prepare a warm reception for Bactrian relief forces fighting their way into the city from the outer perimeter.”
The rest of Niven’s Regiment hadn’t waited for their boss. An assault team burst into the guards’ rest area as soon as the tunnel explosions went off, pouring bursts of fire into everyone present. All died without having time to fight back. The two on duty in the guardroom and the two in the gatehouse fared little better, but had time to seize their weapons and fire at least a few rounds in their own defense. Two of the attackers went down, one killed outright, the other grievously wounded with two rounds in his abdominal cavity. His friend knelt beside him.
“How – how does it look, Mike?”
Mike shook his head. “Sorry, ol’ buddy. It’s real bad. Let me give you something for the pain.” He fumbled for his preloaded injector of painkiller.
“Mike… if it’s that bad… please?”
His friend’s face contorted in anguish. “I – I can’t, Paul! I just can’t – not like this!”
“Then take my… pulser out of my holster… and put it… in my hand.” The man’s words were punctuated by gasps of agony.
Weeping, Mike did as he asked, then bent awkwardly and embraced him.
“Go on! Get out of here!” Paul commanded, forcing himself to hold back another groan of pain. “The others… need you!”
As Mike ran towards the gate he heard a single shot from behind him. Wiping tears from his eyes, he didn’t look back.
The others spread out, reconnoitering the area. Whenever they came across a usable vehicle or heavy weapons system they did whatever they had to do to kill the crew and take it over. They incurred several more casualties in the process, but within fifteen minutes their booty included two armored cars, three heavy transports, four light utility vehicles, five plasma cannon on tripod mounts, and six portable multi-sensor short-range missile tubes. The intruders loaded the weapons and their associated mounts, power supplies and ammunition onto the Bactrian vehicles and carried them back to the old TrafCon building.
As some hurriedly installed the plasma cannon on the captured heavy transports, bolting and spot-welding their mounts to the load beds using tools at a nearby maintenance center, others planted explosive charges at key points in buildings, beneath elevated roads and pedestrian walkways, and anywhere an enemy vehicle was likely to pass. Some they detonated at once, forming mounds of rubble and debris that blocked major roads, using plasma cannon fire to increase the destruction. Other devices were concealed in garbage cans or piles of rubble or behind windows close to the street, sensors waiting for a vehicle to get close enough to be devastated by the explosively formed projectiles they would generate. The two techs who’d planted bugs in the tunnels beneath the complex did the same to several intact buildings in the security zone, emplacing nanobugs and flitterbugs, preparing to unleash upon the Bactrians the same nightmarish weapons they’d so often deployed against the Resistance.
March 31st 2850 GSC, 10:00 – In Orbit
SPACE STATION
The two fake Security Service guards crouched over the sentries they’d just killed, one on either side of the double doors leading to the Orbital Control Center. They watched Dave as he ran down the passage towards them. He shook his head and raised his voice. “Don’t just stand there! Get inside and stop them warning anyone else!”
They sprang to the doors, opened them and dashed through, renewed popping sounds coming from their silenced pulsers. Dave reached the doors a second later, the butt of his rifle braced against his spacesuit as he entered OrbCon, trying to remember the layout Mac had drawn for them. It looked as if the Bactrians had kept everything as it had been before they invaded. A man was reeling back behind the Watch Commander’s elevated station, hands to his face, blood spurting from his mouth. As he collapsed out of sight behind the console, Dave turned to his right and began firing at three panic-stricken operators trying to reach a side door. Within seconds he was joined in the room by other members of his team.
There were only six operators on duty, and none stayed on their feet long enough to transmit a warning message to the nearby warships or the planet below. As the last of them collapsed Dave yelled, “CEASE FIRE! Cease fire! Don’t hit the equipment! We need it!” He shook his head to clear his ears of the ringing caused by the concussion of repeated shots in so confined a space. Even though an electromagnetic firing mechanism accelerated the projectiles rather than chemical explosives, the crack! as they broke the sound barrier was very loud. From further down the passage he could hear more gunfire and a couple of explosions – caused, he knew, by the other groups taking care of off-duty personnel and anyone working in Administration or Engineering.
“Mac!” he called.
“Here.” The technical specialist ran into the OpCen, grimacing at the blood on the floor. “Get that body out from behind the Watch Commander’s console so I can use it.”
Two of Dave’s team dragged the Bactrian officer unceremoniously off the raised platform on which his console stood and dumped his body in the corner of the room. Others piled the bodies of the watch crew beside his as Mac seated himself, scanned the displays, and grinned. “I don’t even need to hack my way into the system. He’s logged in with full command authority – must have been a senior guy. I can do everything from here.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Dave informed him waspishly. “How about getting on with it? There’s a live nuke ticking away down that corridor. I want to be long gone by the time it blows!”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” the other mock-protested, grinning.
“I left it planetside!”
As the others laughed, Mac entered a rapid sequence of commands. “There. I’ve cut off the news feed from planetside to the ships, and put up a message saying it’s only temporary and will be back in a few minutes. That should prevent any alarm from the parade reaching them, unless they tune in to planetside news transmissions. For a brief delay like this, let’s hope they don’t.”
Mac glanced at the huge Plot display on the wall and nodded, satisfied. The Satrap’s yacht was a thousand kilometers to port, with two corvettes respectively five hundred kilometers ahead of and behind her – no more than point-blank range for the space station’s
defensive missiles. An armed merchant cruiser was a thousand kilometers to starboard, with LMV Benbecula another thousand kilometers out and two thousand behind, emphasizing her lowliness in the hierarchy of orbiting vessels. He trained a tight-beam dish on the latter vessel. “The circuit’s on the way. Take it there. Wait for the green light.” He pointed to the communications console.
“Thanks.” Dave walked over to the console, put on a headset, and waited for a green light to illuminate. When it did, he pressed the switch below it.
“This is Captain Carson of the Laredo Army calling Captain Grassby of Benbecula, over.”
A brief pause, then, “Grassby here, go ahead, over.”
“Carson to Grassby. I’m only going to say this once, so listen very carefully. If you’re not at immediate readiness for departure, come to that state at once and stand by. All hell’s about to break loose. Do not, I say again, do not attempt to leave your assigned orbit under any circumstances, even if someone orders you to do so. Ignore all such instructions. Any deviation risks attracting a missile or two, and there’s no future in that. As long as you stay where you are, you’ll be safe. Do you understand me? Over.”
“Grassby to Carson, I get it, but what the hell are you up to? Over.”
“Carson to Grassby. I’ve no time to answer questions at present. We’ll be coming aboard within an hour. Wait for our arrival. As soon as we’ve docked, head for the system boundary at full blast, in the opposite direction to that Bactrian armed merchant cruiser patrolling the system. She’s a full light hour from us at present and heading further away, so she shouldn’t pose any threat provided you keep her at a safe distance. Got it? Over.”
“Grassby to Carson, understood. Where’s Manuel?”
“Carson to Grassby, he’ll be coming aboard with us. Over.”
