‘What’s the hold up?’ he called.
Two men turned and walked back to them, Zinni with his eyebrows dancing and Coltrane with his head down. There’s one I ruined, thought Quartermaine. Could have used him. He was a good commander. But I put him up there with Colda, with no choice but to comply or die. All that acquiescence saps a man. Now he won’t meet my eye.
‘It’s the marines,’ complained Zinni.
‘The marines? They aren’t going. What’s the problem?’ he barked.
‘That’s the problem,’ said Zinni with arms rising to match his eyebrows. ‘They think that they should. They are out there. We can’t move our craft out and lift.’
‘Formed up on the aprons, Commander,’ explained Coltrane. ‘In what is left of their squads, suited up, ready to go.’ The Blue shook his head in admiration.
Marines, I love them but I can’t take them. I won’t use them as Trahern did. And it would come to that again if they were up there. They would ask for it.
‘They will follow orders like everyone else.’ He lifted his voice although the corridor was almost silent. ‘Get to your craft. Prepare to move out. I will see to the marines.’
CHAPTER 106: TOLLEN’S LUCK
Mike stood, feet shoulder length apart, arms crossed low behind his back, a stance copied by the men and women behind him, almost three hundred of them, set out in ragged formation across the aprons. It was not meant to be ragged. They had formed up with parade ground precision, squads to their accustomed spot, sergeants in a line at the front, Mike in front of them again. All the marines fit for duty, probably some that weren’t. Peg was there, standing with the other survivors from the Good Squad. No suit or pack but at least he was there.
It was not meant to be ragged. But the corps hadn’t reorganised since the Rim and many places were empty. There were gaps where whole squads were missing.
Mike kept his eyes steadfastly forward on the great opening of the hangars. His inspection of his corps had been brief, just a glance to check the line then he had snapped around to his post. It hurt when he viewed the ranks, not just the pain of missed friends but a pride so great that he thought his heart would burst. That pride had brought them all here. They would not be left out of a fight, not the marines.
There was movement at the mouth of the hangar and one man came forward. The old man, on his own. At the quick march. He’s not wasting any time, thought Mike. He wished again that Chalkley was here but the captain was stuck in Med. Aesca had locked it down as soon as she heard the result of the assembly
He and the three hundred behind him snapped to attention when the commander stopped in front.
‘What’s this then?’ demanded Quartermaine in a parade ground voice that carried across the aprons.
He sounded so much like a sergeant that it was easy to for Mike to answer. ‘We want to go, Commander. We are ready and able.’
Quartermaine looked past him to others, a slow sweeping scrutiny. Mike was close enough to see the anger fade from the old man’s eyes, to be replaced with a well of feeling. So much like Aesca when he had said goodbye.
‘It’s what we are here for,’ Mike said, the same words he had offered to her.
‘This is not a judgment on your fitness or your determination,’ Quartermaine called out. ‘The order rests on tactics. The battle will be between craft, theirs and ours. Gunners aren’t required and there will be no boarding.’
There was a shuffling in the ranks. They had all heard the stories of the marines with the Grey Group. What had been done once could be done again. Quartermaine turned a hard eye on them. ‘No suitwork of any kind.’
That quieted them, all but a faint dragging scrape at the back of the formation. Maybe someone did get out of Med, thought Mike. He wanted to turn to see who was in difficulties and what was being done but he didn’t dare move. Any movement and Quartermaine’s will would break them. They would have to file off.
He wanted to say ‘Don’t leave us out. Like we are something extra, something not needed, useful for rough work but not for the real thing. What we are all here for,’ but his pride and that of all those behind him wouldn’t let him. He tried with what he could manage. ‘We have been involved in every major action, Commander.’
Quartermaine stared at them so long that Mike thought that it was over. ‘As you say, Sergeant.’ The old man lifted his arm to show one finger. ‘Pick one squad, Sergeant Mancine. One squad to represent your corps. That squad will join this Group. Do it now and do it quickly.’
Mike turned to his people. It was enough, numbers didn’t matter, as long as marines were there. He squinted into the glare of the setting sun and searched for a squad. Only a few full squads. Too many spaces with only one or two marines. He knew the extra hurt these men and women were carrying and that decided him. He called them forward in their ones and twos, by name and by the name of their old squad, ‘Tercer from Jacob’s squad, Loon from the Oldtimers, Smitti from Mick’s.’ So on until he had thirteen standing at the front. One more was needed, a leader to complete the squad. He searched and thought. The sun made it harder for him, dropping so low on the horizon that the marines were all silhouettes and long shadows.
The scraping sound grew louder and the ranks parted to let someone through, a solid man, stocky, not quite middling height, and looking shorter bent to the side as he was to drag his pack. The ranks reformed as the figure passed. He stopped at the line of sergeants, released the pack, ran his hand once through short hair and straightened. Eyes straight ahead.
‘Sergeant Tollen as squad leader,’ called Mike.
Quartermaine shook his head.
Oh no. Don’t say it. That he is not fit to go. Or that he is too old. Mike’s heart slowed. He looked to the old marine.
‘Pick someone else,’ said Quartermaine.
Tollen’s eyes stayed forward, no reaction showing on his face.
Not like this, not in front of everyone.
‘Sergeant Tollen goes with me, as my shadow,’ said Quartermaine. ‘You need someone else for the squad. Tollen, leave that pack and get over here, by my side.’
Mike’s relief was so great that suddenly he didn’t give a damn. He scooped up his helm, slung his pack over one shoulder and walked across to the small group.
‘Well, that’s done then,’ boomed Quartermaine. ‘Mancine, take your squad to the transport. The rest of you …’ His great voice dropped then rose again. ‘Johnson is in command here on Base while I’m gone. Serve him as you have served me and I will go to my … I will be content. Now fall out. Clear this area. We have craft to lift.’
CHAPTER 107: GHOSTS LIGHT THE WAY
La Mar came through the lock to find two marines waiting to help her with her suit. ‘You got nothing better to do?’ she asked them with a smile. It was good to have marines around. She was glad that Quartermaine had let them come.
‘We volunteered when we heard it was an Amazon coming through. Thought it might be that Sian.’
‘You’re not that lucky.’
‘We’re here aren’t we.’ They smiled and she laughed.
Only a marine would be happy to be here. Well no, she had to be honest. She was enjoying it herself. Back with the Amazons, flying.
‘The others are up the front, in the control room,’ said one of the marines.
She took in the suits on the walls. All the colours of the cadres. It looks like he is going to call it. Might be a bit early, thought La Mar. Then again, maybe not. They were on the same route the Grey Group had taken all those years ago and those poor bastards had run into the Ships pretty close to where they were now. Just up around the corner, so to speak, according to Trahern’s tale.
‘I best get up there then.’ She lifted one palm. ‘I’ll keep my suit on. May want to get out of here quickly.’ Much easier to slip out without having to bump hip to elbow with the rest of the cadre commanders trying to get suited up. But truthfully, she needed the seconds now. She wanted a few words with Quartermaine
before he spat out a command. She’d thought it through, plenty of time on the way out for that. The whole fleet was up, thousands of single ships and tens of heavier craft. Yet even those numbers made little impact on the depths they flew through. Almost felt like you were alone. She didn’t mind the peace, nevertheless she would find herself counting down to her turn to cycle in to the transport for food and rest, and to talk to or touch another being. How could Trahern have stood it, on his own for years, out deeper than this, out there with nothing?
She had thought a lot about the Grey on the way out. Not thoughts that she wanted to entertain. Command hung heavy sometimes. Yet it had to be done. Work through all the possibilities. That had been the Armourer’s advice and they had never had a greater strategist in their midst. Was the Grey alone all his time in the deep? Celene said that he was but events had proved that the Specialist could be wrong. That’s too hard on the poor thing, she admonished herself. And to be honest on this one, Celene had only reported that Trahern believed himself to have been alone. Belief could be tricky. Look at the whole mess with the Ardent, those black-draped bastards and their empty cross. We didn’t pick up on that, did we? To our dismay. What else could we be missing? She put a foot on her doubts. Time to get practical. There is a battle ahead of us. The Grey was solid on the Rim. He will be again.
She had to get to Quartermaine. She wanted him to hear her opinion. It all depended on trust. The old man would have to do it himself, lead them in. He had hinted that was his plan but he might be wavering. Put us to it, old man. Look what the marines did on the Rim. We can do that. The cadres are just as good.
‘Commander,’ one of the marines called as she turned into the corridor.
She leant her head back through the doorway.
‘Could you find something better for us to do when it starts?’ he asked.
‘Sure, marine.’
She hurried up the corridor. I can put them on the guns in our transport. Free up a few of mine to double up in the small craft. The numbers we are going to face, some of the girls would like company, some of the younger ones that haven’t been out before. She sorted them in her mind, Rafi and Allie, Ebony and Kesiah. Hell, if I had enough gunners, I could have Bethane take out the lander. If the odds get that bad. She decided to ask for all of the marines.
Plenty of plans. Her mind was rolling. We can do this. Give the Grey three hundred craft to Weave. He could handle that many, she was sure. Make them PlanCon. That’s three hundred that will have no choice but to fight. Wrap the cadres around the rest of PlanCon. May give us a soft centre but we will be able to keep them at it. Run these two units against the Ships in tandem. Punch through them. If the Ships counter the Weave we will still have most of the Group together. Name Colda as second in command, if you like. It wouldn’t matter. She liked this plan. Have to get it to the old man.
When she reached the control room she saw that everyone else had the same idea. Lined up on Quartermaine, they were, all the cadre leaders, with Colda at the front, only the Grey and Coltrane off to the side.
Mancine stepped up beside her from his post by the entryway. What a beautiful big man, she thought. Aesca is lucky. There would be doors slamming and instruments flying in Med, that’s for sure. She wouldn’t have been happy when she learned that he had gone at his own choice. But you wouldn’t want him if he hadn’t, would you?
‘You are the last, Commander La Mar. Should I call him or say something?’ Mike asked her.
She could see why he asked. The others hovered over Quartermaine, just held back by Tollen, yet the Commander sat as if he was on the top of the wall back on Base on his own. ‘Nah. He’s just ordering his thoughts. Next it is us he will be ordering. Some of us aren’t going to like what we hear. No sense rushing him.’
*
Colda wanted to shake the old man. Now! It is time. It is past time. He should have been named before the Group left Base, he saw that now. In the rush it had seemed like nothing. Preferable actually, to let the old man supervise the lift. A grander moment would arise for his, Colda’s, appointment; that had been his thought. But you delay, old man. You cling on scrabbling at my glory. He wanted to hit the old fool. Time! Time! We are running out of time. The Ships may be near. I must have command. What strategy is this? A headlong rush at an enemy that outnumbers us. His hand went out … to shake or hit he was not sure. The old marine caught it then let it go. Embarrassed, Colda left his hand there, not sure how to recover.
Quartermaine’s warm grip startled him. He looked down and the old man’s eyes went deep into his, deeper than anyone had dared for years. Further, surveying all that he was and all that he could be. Only one man had ever delved that far before. Father.
‘You have been a boon to the Guard,’ said Quartermaine. ‘It is only thanks to you that we are here now, able to persevere as we should.’ The eyes and hand released him at the same time. ‘Strange,’ the old man said to himself then shook his head and rose. ‘Bear with me a little longer, the heavens have a part to play in this yet.’
The last was loud enough for all of them though Colda was sure it was meant for him alone. Stunned by the gravity of their communion he let the movement of the others shift him along as they followed Quartermaine to the ports.
*
What’s he up to? wondered La Mar. Greeting Colda like a long lost son and talking of the heavens? This is space, old man. Cold and empty. No gods or miracles out here. Better get your mind around that before we meet the Ships.
Quartermaine opened the comm to all craft. ‘We are tracking along the dead zone, as you all know, on a route that will bring us out above the Outer Passages, well out on the deep side of Triamo. A risky route. We generally avoid coming this close to dead zone. For good reasons, again as you know. What you might not know is that this is the same route that Burnett gave the Grey Group the last time the Ships came. All the components, the dead zone, the Passages, back from their separate progressions across the deep. It shouldn’t surprise us, wouldn’t if we were more scholarly, that this happens when the Ships come. Part of something greater that we don’t understand. Some line-up in the heavens.’
That’s where he got it, thought La Mar. Don’t make this bigger than it is. Just a battle. Like any other. That we can win.
He paused. ‘The Grey Group was lost here ten years ago. No one has come this way since. The way wasn’t here, wasn’t together. But my scout found a piece of it. Years ago, out in the deep. A stretch of dead zone with something strange and wondrous alongside.’
The scout. That poor wreck of a man. She’d seen him writhing in agony and later lying quietly, with the Weave band around his brow and the glint of crystals shining from his face. Wondrous, all right, wondrous that he made it back at all. What sense could you make of his babble? Not something you could risk people on.
Quartermaine caught her thought, and everyone else’s probably. ‘I trust my scout and I know what awaits us. But I don’t ask the same of you. Not yet. You will see for yourselves.’
Lights flashed and claxons sounded. La Mar was almost at the entryway when Quartermaine’s words halted her. Loud, so everyone could hear over the noise. ‘Do not be alarmed. That is not the enemy our sensors detect. That is our own.’ The timbre of his voice changed, deep with feeling.
‘The remains of the Grey Group await us. Almost three hundred craft, more than three hundred men and women, cadremen and marines alike. We sail through their grave. Half speed now, and look to your ports.’
Damn you old man, thought La Mar. Always the showman. You could have given us more warning. I lost ten years off my life just then. She hoped the inside of her suit was dry. All these thoughts faded in the face of what she saw next. The screens overhead lit up with intercepts. So many. So many that she could see them with her own eyes as they drifted past the ports. Twisted bits of metal and plastic, shattered ceramics, small clouds of red mist. Sometimes large recognisable pieces of craft and nearly whole suits. The remnants of the Grey
Group, man and machine. The dead zone must have kept them together, nullified their varied trajectories and stopped their dispersal into the wastes of the deep.
La Mar pulled back from the port to search out Trahern. All of his cadre. The Grey stood as still as the others fixed at the ports. Tollen caught her eye and tipped his head. They had all heard the story, some like her at the debriefing straight from the Grey, others second or third-hand or further, but it was different to see it for themselves. Suits! Marines going out in suits to attack Ships! The Greys gone to a man. What a battle must have been fought here!
La Mar couldn’t help herself. She stepped across to one of the comm panels, punched in a connection to her transport and triggered the Amazons’ call. A wild ululation rang out, the pulse converted to sound as it passed through the solid material of the craft. The same for all the craft in the fleet. La Mar was near ecstatic as it resonated through her body and she joined her voice to it. A salute to the fallen. It would vibrate through all that was physically left of them also. Let their spirits hear it.
The call faded. La Mar waited for a reprimand. The call had roared through the control room. High as it could go, she had sent it out. Instead, Thorsen stepped to the comm and did the same. The blaring trumpets of the Far Rangers’ call nearly lifted her off her feet. He threw La Mar a wild grin. After him came Cazaly with the lament of the clown and then Zinni and the rest. One after another the calls blared out, the wild music that each cadre had chosen for its own, from brave marches to plaintive song. Tears ran down La Mar’s face. All the calls except two. Nothing from PlanCon, if they had something. She didn’t know if they followed this cadre tradition. Colda seemed frozen anyway. And nothing from the Grey.
The Return of the Grey Page 53
