by C. R. Daems
"The Riss are not like humans. They are a gentle people who merely want to live in peace. If you will stop your troops from abusing the people of Freeland and release the Riss, they are willing to provide you the same support as they did the SAS."
"They don't care?" he asked.
"Why should they? They supported the SAS because they had little choice. The SAS stayed off Freeland, and Riss-humans commanded their ships."
"You want no guards?" He snorted a laugh.
"Post guards at the plants, if it makes you feel better, but the people and the Riss need to be free. What do you have to lose? They will install the equipment, and it will work or it won't. It can't be faked. If it doesn't, they lose their freedom. So they have much to lose. You, on the other hand, have nothing to lose."
"If I agree, they will teach my engineers the code."
"Fleet Admiral Neifeh, I know you think them animals, but they are not stupid. They know you want to kill them, and if they teach your engineers the code, you will. So their agreement with you is mutually beneficial while mutually unsatisfactory."
Neifeh sat staring at me for a long time, sipping a glass of reddish liquor. Eventually, he laughed. "Very well put, Ioana. We both benefit but neither of us is happy. Was this your idea?"
I laughed. "No, this is typical Riss logic. We humans tend to be more...emotional. Our first thoughts are of killing, revenge, and getting even."
He laughed and slapped his desk. "Yes. Much more satisfying. Henrick, pour my new project manager a glass of my wine." He waited as Henrick handed me a glass, then raised his to me. I did the same, and then took a sip. Smooth and strong. I felt my whole body turn warm. "The wellbeing of your clans depends upon you seeing that the Riss and your factories deliver quality and on-time."
"If you restrict access to Freeland, I will make sure you get what you want."
"When can you start?" he asked, leaning forward.
"Get me a list of what you want done to say...the first twenty cruisers, and I'll have someone get you a schedule. I'll need all the Riss released so I can have the Riss tell me which workers your troopers killed. Then they can begin getting replacements. And you need to show good-faith and recall all your troops, except those you feel necessary to guard the plants."
"Remember Ioana, presently we are equally unhappy with this agreement, but we both benefit. If you fail, neither of us will benefit, but you, your countrymen, and the Riss will live in perpetual torment—Freeland will become known as Neifeh's Inferno." He laughed, finished his drink in one gulp, and then waved to Henrick to see me out. My legs felt weak as I left.
CHAPTER FIVE
Freeland: Upgrading the JPU Fleet
"I can't believe you got him to agree to those concessions," Crina La'Teppel said after hearing a synopsis of my meeting with Neifeh.
"Don't get me wrong. He fully intends to kill the Riss and make Freelanders slaves in the long run, which will be sooner rather than later if we don't deliver."
"But, if we do deliver..." Vali Ba'Tasuo said angrily.
"We will deliver working systems." I paused. "And they must appear to work as they are supposed to. We must get them to believe they have beaten us. If we can do that, they will reduce the number of cruisers in our space, relax their guard on our plants, and get careless. In the end, those systems will degrade their effectiveness and lead to their defeat. So the more we deliver, the better."
* * *
"I'm bored," Terril said as we sat in my room at the Ja'Tuva clan house. "We can't even practice. Your skin looks like it would tear if I brushed against it, you can't stand up straight, and you've lost your stamina. If that weren't bad enough, I can't even protect you, since I can't keep you in my sight."
"Good, I have something for you to do," I said, stopping to take a sip of kaffa. "We have three hundred volunteers to be Scorpions, Ghost pilots, and mechanics. Sort them out, and train me fifty to seventy-five Scorpions. I want them ready in ten months."
"You're kidding... No, you're not, are you? Why ten months?" She stood staring down at me, firing question after question without waiting for an answer.
"Are you planning on staying here for the rest of your life?" I asked, maintaining a serious expression.
"No. I thought the SAS...the MSA... How?"
"Damaass will be coming in less than a year. He's good, but he may need some help."
"You're serious!" She sat and stared at me.
"Yes. As the head of my security, I want you to create a Scorpion-like unit—name them what you want—ready to conduct boarding actions and to provide me twenty-four-hour security."
"I guess I'm not bored anymore."
* * *
"Of the three-hundred candidates I've accepted, the elders say you are the best combat shuttle pilots in the old-raider fleet," I said to the two men and one woman standing in front of me. "Have a seat and get comfortable. This will take a while." I had been given each individual's background. Anca Sa'Velte was a small petite woman in her late twenties. Although she looked sweet and innocent, she had been crew on the Taipan and Fer-De-Lance and participated in several planet raids. Sorin Ja'Kazak was a big man with a bushy beard that made him look like an old-fashioned pirate. He was in his late thirties and had been crew with Anton Ja'Tuva on the Puff Adder and had seen considerable action on planet raids before being promoted to lieutenant and second in command. Losif Ba'Tasuo was the youngest of the three. He had only participated in one planet raid but was considered an excellent shuttle pilot. He was tall and lean, with a trimmed mustache on a long narrow face.
"The woman sitting over there…" I nodded to Terril. "…is a Gunny Scorpion. She and the three of you are going to sort the group of candidates into those best suited to be pilots and mechanics and those best suited to be commandos. Then you are going to make them into fighting units capable of taking on any JPU units we encounter. Your units will be operationally ready in ten months," I said sitting back, preparing to answer questions.
"We don't have fighters to train with," Iosif said, giving me a smug smile.
"That's the good news," I said, and Terril choked on her kaffa. "You'll get to help design them." I held up my hand to stop comments. "You will have to create a simulator to begin training. I expect ten fighters to be operational within eight months."
"That's impossible!" Sorin said, eyes cast downward as in thought.
"Impossible, no. Difficult, yes. Impossible if you are content to live as slaves under JPU rule. Difficult if you intend to support the Riss in kicking the JPU out of Freeland space in ten months," I said. The three sat silent, looking back and forth from me to Terril.
"I agree with you. It seems impossible," Terril said, looking back at the three and laughing. "But if Leader Reese is planning on kicking ass, I'm going to be at her side with a unit of...Blue Kraits."
"Well, I'm tired of being grounded and wouldn't mind kicking JPU ass," Anca said looking toward Sorin and Iosif, who nodded.
* * *
I sat reading Neifeh's proposed schedule, wondering if he really expected us to be able to meet it or was looking for an excuse to get nasty.
"Costin, can you connect me to the Invincible? I need to talk to Admiral Neifeh," I asked, sitting down where the camera could record me.
"Sure, Ioana. I'm sure the Admiral would love talking to you," he said with a grin. A few minutes later, the Admiral's face appeared on the monitor.
"What is it, Ioana. I hope it isn't upsetting news." He sneered. "I've lived up to my end of the bargain. I had to reluctantly admit he had recalled the troops from Freeland, except for reasonable security at each of the three main industrial facilities: Alesd, Bacau, and Rupea.
"You will have to be the judge of that, Admiral Neifeh. The plant at Bacau was geared to producing missiles for the SAS, UFN, and JPU cruisers in the recent war against the aliens. Its total capacity could meet your schedule if your
cruisers can use the six different sizes those ships required." I paused to take a drink of kaffa and await his reaction.
"How long?"
"If you will give us the specifications for the ships you want missiles for or let our engineers see the tubes, we should be able to produce prototypes for any that vary from the current JPU missile we were producing for you. Changing them all to meet your specifications...three to five weeks depending on the differences. Two if they are all going to be the same as the one we have been making for you."
"There will be three different types. I will have the specifications sent to you and the number required for each. You have three weeks to make the conversion."
"Then there are the panels that are required for the Dragonfly missiles. As you are aware, Admiral Serhat refused the panels, since he wanted the Duster and Dummy missiles only. Therefore, we have no idea where you want the panels, what size they will need to be, the writing on the keys and controls, or how they will be connected to your system. If the current panels for the SAS and UFN—"
"You've made your point, bitch Ioana. I will send a shuttle for your engineers tomorrow morning at eight hundred hours. Don't push my patience." He cut the connection before I could reply.
"He almost sounded reasonable." Costin gave a short laugh.
"Because he had little choice. But you can bet we earned another entry in his black book. Probably reviews it every night before bed, fantasizing about what torment he will exact for each entry."
"Not a nice thought, Ioana."
"I'm afraid the Admiral doesn't believe in win-win solutions. He likes he wins you lose solutions. So, we have to make him feel like he's winning. Contact the senior engineers for the panels and missiles, and have them here tomorrow at eight."
CHAPTER SIX
Freeland: Blue Kraits
Terril stood in front of a group of one hundred seventy, mostly men, in a remote and rugged area of Freeland. They didn't look like the typical recruits one saw for commandos: young, physically fit, and cocky. This group looked in their thirties and forties, out of condition, and surly. If Nadya hadn't been her long-term friend with a vision for thwarting the JPU, she would have thrown up her hands in disgust and concluded making soldiers out of this group would take years—commandos never. But she would no more disappoint Nadya than she would walk in space without a suit. Nadya said she wanted fifty commandos, so fifty of these...misfits would have to survive her.
"When are our instructors arriving?" a big man of girth and height shouted. Terril smiled, coming out of her musing. Just what she needed, an example. People learned best from examples, rather than long boring lectures.
"You are looking at them," she said. "I was standing here wondering when the candidates were arriving."
"Girly, you aren't going to teach me anything I didn't learn years ago. I could teach you a thing or two," he either smiled or sneered, Terril wasn't sure.
"Grandpa, years ago you might have lasted a minute or two with me, but now?" Terril laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. The man pushed aside the two men in front of him and charged her. He grinned, his eyes bright with excitement as Terril took a step backward. But at his next step, she exploded into him, knee driving into his groin, shoulder into his chest, and head into his chin. The two seemed to stand suspended, then the man dropped. "Any more clowns in the crowd?"
A short man with a scarred face twisted into an evil grin stepped forward holding a dagger. "You think us clowns? I'll show you funny." He approached slowly, the knife moving back and forth, until he was just out of reach. He licked his lips, which Terril knew was nothing but a distraction technique, then lunged at her stomach. Terril twisted right, her right arm guiding the knife past her stomach while her left elbow drove into his temple, which cracked under the force of the impact. Her right hand snaked up, locked onto his wrist, and held him in place as her left hand shot back—knife edge—into his throat. He dropped to his knees gasping for breath and died less than a minute later.
"It was my understanding that you came here to learn to be commandos, to fight our enemies, the JPU, and to fly again. Grandpa lying over there is obviously too old to learn new tricks. He thinks in terms of the old days of raiding, when you descended on small communities whose local militia would be lucky to hit a standing target one out of five times, had few if any modern weapons, and were taken by surprise. Those are not commandos. Those are Raiders. Commandos are elite men and women who after helping the ship crew make repairs, fetch and carry parts and equipment, move the dead and wounded for ten to fifteen hours, and getting tired to the point of collapse, are capable of overcoming their tiredness and mind-numbing fatigue to board crippled cruisers and fight trained military with modern weapons. That is not achieved without great effort and desire." She paused to look at each individual. "Those of you that are willing to work eighteen hours a day and endure the hell I'm going to inflict on you for the next ten months and want to be part of the Riss...family, stay. Those that think you are already commandos, take grandpa and go home. And take the one who doesn't know his friends from his enemies with you." Terril stood quietly waiting as people collected in groups and talked. In the end, some twenty left.
"Some of us have never been Raiders," a young woman in her late twenties said, more as a question than a statement.
"So we understand each other. I don't care whether you are male or female or whether you have fighting experience. I would be just as happy with fifty women as fifty men. In the end, it will be those of you who can survive the hell I'm going to subject you to for the next ten months. Those, I will transform into respectable fighting machines. They will have the right to call themselves commandos, Freeland's Blue Kraits.
* * *
The first two months saw the remaining one hundred seventy shrink to one hundred thirty-one—one hundred eight men and twenty-three women. The training was confined to endurance and muscle building, basic self-defense, and reflex exercises in and out of mockup buildings. Twelve had quit for one reason or another. Terril had dismissed the other twenty-seven because of poor attitudes, slow reflexes, or an inability to keep up.
The next two months, weapons were introduced in addition to the other activities—the day got longer. Another twenty-one were released—five voluntarily and sixteen for poor performance.
The next two months, team exercises were added, the existing activities became harder, and the day got longer. Another twenty-eight dropped out or were asked to leave—seventy men and twelve women remained.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Freeland: Wraiths
"I say we send the dreamers home," Anca said, preparing for the meeting with the one hundred thirty volunteers the next day.
"What do you mean? Aren't we all dreaming of excitement and glory?" Iosif asked, grinning.
"Go home, Iosif. Flying is exciting and an adrenalin rush, but war is not like the after-action bullshit. We need to introduce some reality and hopefully get rid of the dreamers who really aren't a good fit."
"How would you recommend we go about that?" Sorin asked.
"Make the first month a lot of physical and mental work," Anca said.
"That might work. We do need to eliminate over half of the volunteers. I agree that not everyone is suited for war, and Leader Reese's fighter units have seen the most action of any of the Riss ships. And while she isn't viewed as reckless, her fighter units have seen heavy casualties."
"We have the specifications for the...Wraiths. Let's start with them learning the controls, weapons, and specifications for Wraiths and introduce some physical and reflex exercises."
"Agreed," Sorin said. Iosif said nothing.
* * *
"Good morning. For those who don't know me, I'm Sorin Ja'Kazak. I served with Anton Ja'Kazak during our raiding days. My companions are Anca Sa'Veltre and Iosif Ba'Tasuo. Like me, they are ex-Raiders and were combat shuttle pilots. We have been asked to select and train a group to fly and maintain the new fighters the Riss are se
cretly developing with our help.
"What about the JPU?" a tall young woman asked. She looked to be in her early twenties.
"They would not be happy if they found out. Probably kill us all, since I doubt the Riss are considering helping the JPU.
"But they are cooperating. We are upgrading their ships with their technology and producing missiles for their systems," a weather-beaten middle-aged man said angrily.
"If the Riss weren't appearing to cooperate with the JPU, their troopers would be running wild through Freeland today—like they did the first couple of weeks. I don't know exactly what they are planning, but you wouldn't be standing here today if they weren't up to something."
"Our first task is to select those of you who will be in the first group. We need ten primary pilots, ten weapons operators, and ten backups—five each."
"The only others we need are a couple of mechanics for each fighter," Anca said when Sorin paused. "So, be on notice right now that less than half of you will qualify. You will have to prove to the three of us that you are willing to work hard for a position on the team, that supporting the Riss to free Freeland is more important than your ego. Because we are going to take a very Riss-like philosophy and place you in the position we feel best meets the needs of this new unit—the Freeland Wraiths.
* * *
That first month, the three alternated between time in the classroom discussing the new fighter's specifications, conducting physical training, and working with the Riss on a simulator. Fifteen of the recruits voluntarily decided to leave, for one reason or another.
One flight simulator was delivered during the second month, and everyone was tested to determine their reflexes, judgment, and interest. Surprisingly, not everyone wanted to be a pilot. Many of the candidates came to realize that doing maintenance on the fighters or operating the weapons would be more interesting. The simulator proved helpful in identifying those who might want to be pilots but who would never qualify, as well as in helping people realize flying a fighter wasn't as glamorous as it sounded.
