‘So now you see the trap. We do what they expect, what we would normally do and we are gone. Hammered. Crushed.’ He paused to let that sink in. ‘The only safe ground is the area in between. This is the ground that must be contested.’
The set of long valleys that connected the new ground to the western low, Johnson saw, where Tollen and his men were now.
‘Or the area to the north of the new ground, where the enemy are staging from,’ continued the Armourer. ‘That should be safe.’ He glanced to Trahern for confirmation. The grim Grey nodded.
‘The plan is this. We move up the valley, as they would expect, and take position on the gaps in those ridges at the south end of the new ground.’ He stopped and looked up to search the faces around him, found Delaney along the circle. ‘Sergeant. What was it you said to Oulte and Quartermaine, way back at the beginning, about taking ships into the Rim?’
‘Just that there was not much room,’ replied the marine.
‘That the marines would have to push them along. Well, that is what we are going to do. The lander will tow ships up as far as it can, three of them. From there on we will drag them with carriers or push them ourselves. Servicemen will work on blasting out the gaps in the ridges. The centre of the new ground is low enough and broad enough to fly.’ He rose and started pacing, not seeming to notice the people carefully stepping out of his way.
What a plan! It is brilliant, thought Johnson. Our ships take out the enemy in the centre and we drop back into the safe ground … or maybe go through quickly into the enemy’s ground to the north. That would be hard, going north. His mind jumped to the logistics.
‘The enemy will have scouts out,’ continued the Armourer. ‘They learned that from us. Mancine’s people saw them in the new ground. Reports of our ships will reach their command, occupy their thoughts. It is time for something new from us, something desperate. But something that is not too different from the intention they read.’
Too different? What? Johnson didn’t understand.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Bethane. ‘If there is room enough to fly, let’s use it. Three ships could make a mess of them, maybe get beyond into their supply lines, maybe all the way to their Passage. Trahern, me, one more.’
Others agreed with nods and calls, or volunteered outright.
The Armourer waited for them to quiet. ‘Their scouts would warn them. They would have anti-aircraft set up at the northern end. No matter how good you are, you wouldn’t last long, not under a low sky.’ He let their complaints rise and fall. ‘The enemy won’t be in the centre.’ He looked to the Scholar with an unspoken question, got a curt nod in answer. ‘At least not in strength,’ he corrected. ‘Mancine’s men noted activity in the side valleys, and not just scouts. Men with lasers. They were surveying. The valleys are narrow, most go high, too high to get men through safely, but the third to the west is deep. If they cut a roadway in it, they could advance fast, in strength, with all the heavy support they would need to roll us.’ He returned to the model to trace out the route. ‘It comes out here, in this low at the top of the same valley we would use for access. They would be behind us. They could keep us in the new ground or push us back into the western low. Either way, they win.’
Johnson was dismayed. With a Passage behind them, anything was possible. Mining equipment would do the job. The enemy wouldn’t need anything more specialised. The Houses controlled hundreds of mining operations in the asteroid belts around the Arm.
‘This plan requires precise knowledge of the timing and size of the impacts, to utilise them to maximum effect,’ stated the Armourer. ‘It allows the enemy to use their superior numbers and technical support. It would take us out cleanly in one campaign. All this has the feel of their thinking. I’m betting that this is their intent.’
‘You are betting with lives,’ said Johnson.
‘I always am,’ replied the Armourer. ‘Our craft will be a feint. Once we know that the enemy is committed to the western valley, our main force will move to the southern end of it and hold them there. Let them meet the fate they planned for us.’
‘Main force?’ asked Chalkley.
‘Mancine, with all but four squads and the scouts. Most of these others will go with me. We pass through one of the high valleys and get behind them. We close the other end of their valley. Wait for the collision. From then on it will be a run for their Passage. Mancine comes through as soon as the dust clears.’
He has no doubts? Our hundreds will hold their thousands?
‘What about us?’ asked Thorsen. ‘You can’t leave us out of the fight.’
‘The Far Rangers and the Greys will lift off the Rim when the first fragment hits. Hold in space until after the second collision then try to come back in. The Grey will lead. The Scholar believes this end of the Rim may be opening up, leaving their Passage more accessible, part of the Houses’ plan, maybe the key element fixing their timing. If it goes bad on the ground, you will have to continue the fight in the air or in space. Deny them the use of the Rim as long as you can.’
So he has planned for the possibility, dismissed himself and all the men and women on the surface in four words, ‘if it goes bad’. I could not command. I can’t look on life so coldly. The hurt would kill me long before my body was finally torn. Johnson wished he had brought something more than peppers for the Armourer.
‘The Amazons go with me,’ the Armourer told Bethane. ‘In suits, with rockets. Once we are through the hills, you will strike for the Passage, on the ground, so to speak.’ He stepped away from the model. ‘Any comments?’
Johnson moved forward to crouch beside the model, next to Bethane. There must be some other way. This was all too final. Too desperate. The scar-faced Amazon was running her fingers up the valleys, stopping, starting again. Searching for routes to fly, he guessed. Her quick arm movements came to a halt. She clenched her fists and looked up to Trahern. He shook his head. The Amazon straightened. Johnson stayed down, searching the model. There must be some other way. ‘How do you know anywhere will be safe?’ he asked. ‘Can it be as close as that? That one ridge would be crushed and the next left clear?’ Maybe if there are doubts, he will abandon this plan. Johnson looked to Trahern and the tall scholar beside him. ‘Can your calculations be so sure?’
The Armourer answered him from the other side. ‘It is not only our calculations we use. They fit with what we know of the enemy and they have not been wrong about ground yet.’
Johnson could not think of anything else to say. This was going to be terrible on the ground.
‘You ask too much of the marines,’ said Bethane. She sounded like La Mar to Johnson. Straightforward, no pretence. ‘The other plan is better. Not three ships. All the craft we can get up the valley. That way we have enough to overcome their defences. All the marines follow us through. Let the enemy have their road.’
‘No time,’ said the Armourer simply. ‘Their plan is too good. They will already be on the march.’ He stepped back up to the model, tilting his head to study the ground again.
‘Aesca will kill you for this,’ said Bethane, sounding even more like La Mar to Johnson’s ears. All the marines in hearing shifted at the Amazon’s words, some, including Mancine, with a guilty start, as if the doctor’s reaction to their deaths would be of more matter than death itself.
When the Armourer lifted his head to slowly pan the faces of the people around him, Johnson dipped his brow to hide the moisture in his eyes.
‘There is nothing easy about this,’ said the Armourer. ‘The risks are great. But we have to take them. Holding the enemy is not enough. We could destroy ten armies and they would send ten more. We have to take control of that Passage.’
The meeting broke then, into groups to work out details of timing and numbers. Johnson stepped to the Armourer’s side. ‘You shouldn’t go out there. There is no need, not you personally,’ he said. ‘Who will command if you are hurt?’
‘This is the last toss,’ shrugged the Arm
ourer. ‘From now on, the campaign runs itself. It doesn’t matter where I am,’ he finished with a smile.
CHAPTER 64: GHOSTS
Where the fuck is he? worried Bley. He should be here, and not a ghost either. Fuckin Kayrooz. I should have made sure he was dead. He should be dead, the holes I put in him!
The others thought it was a ghost. All the Red Suits had been killed, so how could a live one be after them? Yet they had all seen a red armoured figure, standing on a far ridge, or at the mouth of a distant valley, sometimes ahead, sometimes behind them. And the dead had been found with the figure of an eagle imprinted in the sand nearby or drawn on their armour.
Maybe a curse, carried from ancient times. The Dawn Planets were old. Vengeance for treachery. That’s what Corso mumbled, the fat prick. Until they found him with his guts wrapped around the rocks. Why would a ghost do that? What could a ghost care for a man’s pain?
But Bley knew of one of the Red Suits that had not been dead when they had walked off. He couldn’t tell the others now. They would likely kill him for it. So he had to kill Kayrooz himself. Away from the others. This time make sure. I must not have struck true… just off. He was moving when I got his neck, that was it. The other stabs weren’t sure killers. They were for fun. Bley thought back to the moment. Maybe his pendant protected him. It hung around Bley’s neck now. I should have taken the pendant first then stabbed him. Fuck! You’re sounding like Corso. Give it over. Just a man. Kill him.
Bley studied the slope he lay on and the flats below. Nothing. He has to be here somewhere.
They had made good time today, finally coming out of the badlands into a regular set of ridges, more west than south, but they could make up for that later. Best, it had allowed him to keep watch on their backtrack. He hadn’t seen anything cross. Kayrooz had to be on this side. Just behind the ridge, tracking parallel. So he could attack when it came dark and they rested. Bley had signalled his intentions to the others then gone forward at a trot. Once he was well ahead he had slipped over a notch in the ridge to wait.
Where is he? Bley scrutinised the far slope, his eyes jumping back to the ground below him at the sound of a rock rolling. Only his eyes moved. The rest of his body was motionless, tucked against bare rock just below the ridge top. The loose stone hit another, which hit another, and soon a little slide rattled to the bottom of the ridge. Nothing. The Rim was never still. The more he listened, the more he heard. Away from the others, with his helm off, Bley heard everything now. Wind dragged at the sand. Grains shifted and ran. Stones grated, sliding millimetres as their support ran out, before tumbling to clack against other fragments. Rush and rumble. Then the wind again.
The light began to fade. Nothing. It will be dark soon, he worried. He eased back over the ridge top.
The wind rose and fell, stones slid and rattled. Bley took one last look. Nothing. He ducked his head, turned, and half ran, half hopped down the slope. His hurried steps set off slides in the loose rock. The larger stones beat him to the bottom. The light was almost gone. Fear gripped him and he ran in earnest for the blue glow of the camp.
It was later, when he lay down inside the lights that he realised he had left his helm on the ridge in his rush. He fell asleep cursing.
When he woke, his helm was beside him. Ritius’s head was inside it.
CHAPTER 65: CONTEMPLATION
They were on the outside again, hanging over the swirl of the Rim. They had been there a long time, sufficient for Elsewise to complete his contemplation. Trahern was still engaged. The Grey sat in front of the Scholar, in the command chair, helmet on, hands splayed over the console. Barely breathing.
The capability of man. Elsewise shook his head in awe. This is what Trahern had described to Celene, and to the poor girl before her, Briodi. He has exchanged the ship’s sensors for his own. The universe dances on his skin.
Trahern’s hands shifted to the controls. ‘We can go in now. There will be space near the zone they altered, for a short time. Long enough to see what Gati has done.’
The Grey’s words brought Elsewise to the task at hand. Once more, they would venture into the Rim. This time to observe changes resulting from Gati’s actions.
‘If any,’ had concluded the Armourer after Gati and the Rangers had come forward at the end of the meeting.
I have no doubts, thought Elsewise. And neither has Trahern.
The quick Grey had explained it well. ‘Anything that discomforts the enemy will be a help, you said. This study of the Rim by the enemy is tremendously complex. Not just the Scholar’s judgment on that. We found over a hundred sensors. Many, many recorders. So much data. A hundred sensors taking thousands of readings, every hour, maybe minutes or seconds, over many years.’ He had looked to Elsewise for confirmation. ‘To follow the movement of the fragments, the twisting of space and the turmoil of the skies. So complex.’ Gati had shrugged and smiled and lifted his palms up. ‘It is my experience that things so complicated are easy to screw up.’ Everyone except Trahern and Elsewise had laughed at that.
‘So we pushed a few pieces around, small bits. With the sensors gone, the enemy won’t know. Maybe enough to change things, speed up the failure of their predictions.’
‘We put our craft behind a couple of the small nickel-iron asteroids out on the edge, got them moving, then accelerated them with mag cannon toward the centre,’ cut in Thorsen.
The Armourer shook his head. ‘Like little boys. You couldn’t help yourselves.’
Elsewise knew from his smile that the Armourer did not take it seriously. What were a couple of small asteroids to the immensity of the Rim? Like grains of sand on the wind. But Gati had the truth of it. Complex systems had the potential to change catastrophically.
Now they would see.
Trahern flew them in, a convolute route that Elsewise identified on his screen as a twisting grey ribbon. It seemed very narrow. It was their lifeline. If it was cut, they would be sealed in. Unless Trahern could find some other way out. Their relative motion ceased and the Grey began his survey. Not unlike our contemplation, thought Elsewise. Only we take everything into our mind and model it, whereas he goes outside and senses it. Elsewise could not help feeling jealous. He knew which of the two would be more accurate.
CHAPTER 66: BACK ON MISSION
Ledock surveyed his men, what was left of the Black Hands, and the land around them. He was not sure where they were. He tried to remember the images he had been shown at the pre-op briefing, back before the pass. We should be near the new ground. South should take us to the enemy lines, behind them if they have moved into the new ground as the advisors predict. His men were worn, tired and hungry. Their rations would not last much longer. They needed to raid, somewhere soft, where there was food. Supply, a convoy or a depot. That’s what he had in mind.
This nonsense of the ghost was over. He would not let it impede on their mission any longer. They had lost too much time with their cautious advance, failed ambushes and panicked rushes. The ‘ghost’ had dictated their movements. No more. A waste of time. All their care had not stopped the depredations.
Ledock studied the ridges to the south. They were high and the sky was low. Dangerous. But this was a mission. Losses were acceptable, whether to the ghost or the terrain.
He returned to the resting men. ‘We go south now. This valley has taken us far enough west.’
Some of the men swore. Some shook their heads. Discipline was falling apart. Ledock knew that they would not go on his order alone. ‘South is the best way. We will come out on their supply lines. Easy pickings. Food, munitions, everything we need. Enough for us to hole up for a while, comfortable while we wait out the collision. Afterwards, we raid. Pick off stragglers, supply crews, soft targets. Until the main House force comes. Then we emerge triumphantly, the mission complete.’
They saw the sense in that, even the stubborn ones. No one wanted to stay or go back the way they had come. West would take them into the battleground, to the marines. Th
ey went south over the ridges.
They were very slow crossing the high gaps, where the sky shrieked over their heads and their suits vibrated. Some men crawled through, others dove and rolled. If it was bare stone, that was. Loose rock, they avoided or heated with lasers. It took time to cool but it was better than crawling onto something. The ghost had caught three of their men that way, before they found the western valleys. High in a pass, as the point men made their careful way through, the ground had suddenly heaved. Something wrapped around one of the crawling men. The men on either side had jumped to their feet and the sky had sucked them up, as quick as that. The rest of them killed the thing, one of the flat crawlers, but not before it had savaged Erem. They killed him too. When they looked close at the smoking remains, they found a dagger, with an eagle on the handle, jammed through the creature’s tough skin and into a crack in the rock below, pinning it in place. That was when they had become afraid of the ghost.
Ledock made sure that he was the last through the gaps. Not out of fear for the ghost. He wanted to keep the men in front of him. Sometimes dissent took more drastic forms than grumbling. Until he had them fighting or fed, he would have to watch his back.
The Return of the Grey Page 38
