by John Lumpkin
Aziz’s soldiers fired off their three remaining SAMs at the gunships, which released sunbursts of yellow flares in response. Two missiles chased flares and exploded harmlessly, the third didn’t turn at all, ignoring both the flares and the big drones in front of it to shoot straight into the sky.
Busted seeker. The useless fifties made their clatter, and the gunships began a slow circle, spitting thunder and fire from their side-mounted cannons. The truck Neil had rode in on vanished in a fiery cloud, followed by the power truck serving the battalion’s sole antiaircraft laser. Other gunships began firing into the treeline. The small spotter drones swooped and banked, each with a single gunship following them. They concentrated on firing into the trees, rather than at the tents, trucks and supplies arrayed around the camp. Makes sense, they’re going to kill the troops first, then concentrate on the gear.
It reminded Neil of the time his ROTC class was called out to the mountains to help fight a forest fire – the spotters would mark hotspots for the big tanker drones to drop fire retardants. Except the hotspots here are Aziz’s men and women.
Neil heard a tone in his ear marking an incoming communication from Apache.
“Sneaker, this is Foxtrot Alpha,” said a different voice. Carruth, the ops officer. I guess she’s acting XO now. She sounded bored. “Say again, what exactly do you need this information for?”
“Foxtrot Alpha, I am taking fire! Just get me the damn data, now!”
“Calm down, Sneaker,” Carruth said irritably. “We don’t have it on board, but the Brits are digging it out of their archives on Formidable. Two minutes until we can transmit. And Callahan says they operate in the C-band.”
Neil put the connection on hold and slid beside Colonel Aziz. “I think I can help. I need access to your C-band transmitter.”
“The console is back in the command tent. You’ll need to circle around the camp and then cross about thirty meters in the open, Mercer. Know how to operate a Norcom NKT-3300?”
“No.”
“I guess I’ll have to come with you, then,” he said. He nodded at his aide. “You’re coming too, lieutenant, in case one of us twists an ankle.”
“Yes, sir.”
To Harkins, Neil said, “Gunnery Sergeant, you’ll need to draw their attention when we run for the command tent.”
Harkins nodded. “Sure thing, L.T. You owe me a beer. See you afterward.” She pulled leggings from her pack and fastened them before moving off in another direction, still hidden by the trees.
Neil and the two Tecolote officers worked along the treeline, encountering some other hidden troops, and, in one case, the wreckage of four bodies blown apart by gunship shells. Aziz’s fifties had all gone silent, their crews either dead or fled, and the unceasing noise from the gunships became sporadic outbursts, as they hunted for less obvious targets.
“Sneaker, this is Formidable,” said an English accent in Neil’s ear. The British flagship orbiting Entente wasn’t bothering with the thin veneer of codenames. “Transmitting your data now.”
Neil pinged Harkins once. She had donned her dragoon suit, and it was propelling her across the camp clearing faster than Neil’s brain could accept. He saw two spotter craft immediately bank toward her, diving to mark her movement for the JZ-11s. One gunship began a lumbering turn to present its side toward her, the menacing barrels of its autocannon angling into position …
“Now, Mercer!” Aziz said.
They sprinted across the opening and into the tent. Neil heard the cannons of two gunships open up, close. Harkins …
It took about thirty seconds to boot up the transmitter console and connect Neil’s handheld. The broadcasts from the transmitter would certainly attract attention, but if this worked, it wouldn’t matter.
“Transmitting command codes, getting acknowledgements! We’re in!” Aziz’s lieutenant said. “They’re responding in fucking Chinese!”
Aziz, at the tent entrance said, “Gunship turning toward us! Get down!”
Neil’s Chinese was improving, and he scanned the characters. He pressed the screen in one place, then another. A window appeared, asking him to confirm the odd sequence of orders. He did so.
Outside, the low rumble quieted, as did the sounds of gunfire. The higher-pitched buzz of the spotter drones did not abate – those, Neil did not have stolen command codes for. But they carried no weapons.
Neil and Aziz stepped outside the tent. Above them, the propellers on the great gunships had stopped, and the craft had become giant careening gliders. Neil watched as one passed overhead, dropping steadily to the ground, its descent almost stately until its wing clipped a tree and tore off. The plane disappeared into the trees, and Neil heard a series of snapping trunks as it crashed, followed by cheers from Aziz’s troopers.
Aziz started to speak, but Neil ignored him and ran to where Harkins had fled into the trees.
“Gunny! Harkins!” Please be all right …
“Here, sir!”
Relief washed over him. He found her kneeling, her rifle on the ground beside her.
“Are you hurt?” Neil asked.
“No, I’m fine. I slipped on some leaves, and I got to watch two gunships walk lines of fire toward me from two directions when they shut off.” She shook her head and let out a cathartic laugh. “Won’t forget that for a while.”
Aziz caught up with him.
“That was a good trick, Mercer,” he said. “You able to turn off everything the Hans throw at you?”
“No. That was old hardware, retired from the Chinese inventory decades ago. When they start selling their equipment to other countries, we can sometimes get the root command codes if the Chinese don’t change them. And they usually don’t – they want to make sure nobody uses their weapons against them, either.”
“I take back all the bad things I said about you,” Aziz said. “You’re welcome to stick around. This attack shows some desperation on their part, don’t you think?”
“They should have saved the gunships until they could coordinate with their ground forces.”
“Exactly,” Aziz said. “Someone panicked, and we got lucky. Doubly lucky, that you were here.”
They returned to the command tent, where Aziz had an exchange with some of the junior generals in the capital. He didn’t kick Neil out of the tent when it grew heated, or when the generals reported that the rebels had ambushed the interceptors sent to chase the spotter planes, shooting down five of them. I guess he really trusts me now, Neil thought.
An hour after the attack, Aziz’s XO reported that the junior officers and sergeants had accounted for the rest of the battalion. Twelve had been killed, and fourteen were missing and presumed deserters, and Neil wondered, yet again, whether the U.S. was backing the wrong horse.
Combat Supply Cache Falcon, Sequoia Continent, Kuan Yin
Rand found Kelley in the officer’s mess, eating with Lieutenant Commander DiMarco. Though he wasn’t hungry, he grabbed a snack, and parked himself in a corner where he could watch her.
She’s acting weird. Enthusiastic, almost. Whoa. She just touched DiMarco’s arm. He couldn’t recall her ever smiling like that. Go figure. Not an ounce of sexuality during more than a year fighting the Hans, but I guess she gets to make friends here. I could use a friend, myself.
He caught up with her as she was leaving.
“Got a minute?”
She sighed. “Sure, Castillo. Did Aguirre already talk to you?”
“Yes.”
“Want to get out of here?”
“You know I can’t. I’m back in the chain of command.”
“You’ll also be dead soon, along with the rest of these idiots.” She paused, considering. “There’s one thing I can’t figure out, though.”
“Talk to me, Kelley. We’re still on the same side.”
“I don’t know why they aren’t hitting us already,” she said, averting her eyes, as if admitting ignorance marked some kind of personal flaw. “Resistance 101, the d
ifference between guerrillas and a true rebel army. Guerrillas survive by not getting any bigger or more organized than the situation allows. Sequoia is big, but it’s uninhabited, and the Hans control all the urban areas. We shouldn’t be operating in groups larger than about a dozen people. This place should be a resupply point with a small guard. Instead, DiMarco and Cruz have collected a small, capable army here. It’s a barracks, and it’s far too big to escape detection. The Hans should be bombing us from orbit.”
“Are you sure they found it?”
“Well, there were only about eighty people here until about three months ago, when Foster and the one-star on Vincennes called everyone to gather. There’s a chance the Hans may not have figured out its precise location yet, but they for damn sure have sensors in every river that flows into the ocean, and they should be able to detect evidence of upstream human habitation in them. So there should be drones overhead daily looking for us.”
“Then the only thing I can think is that they are allowing us to mass here, so they can hit us with a knockout punch,” Rand said.
Kelley said, “Yep. And DiMarco tells me just about everyone who is coming has arrived here. If the Hans know that, and I bet they do, that means the strike will be very, very soon.”
“Is that what you are talking to DiMarco about in the mess hall?”
Kelley’s eyebrows went up. “Spying on me? I’ve taught you too well, Castillo.”
“Not spying. Just found you there, and I didn’t want DiMarco to be a part of this conversation, for your sake.”
“Trust me, he’s aware of my feelings. Actually, I convinced DiMarco to give us a job – you, me, Aguirre and Lopez, along with Ruiz – that should keep us outside the base when the hammer falls.”
Rand said, “Let’s hear it.”
“So Violet wants us and Ruiz to go with her to Sycamore to contact the American civilians in the detention camp,” Rand told Aguirre and Lopez. “We’ll be covert. We’re going to let them know our plans, organize them so they can help us without getting slaughtered.”
“What about our skywatching job?” Aguirre asked.
“I’m supposed to teach a couple of guys the basics before we go, but I guess DiMarco doesn’t think it’s that important after all.”
Aguirre grunted. “If we’re going to the camp, does that mean we’ll go in civilian clothes? Wouldn’t that violate the laws of war?”
Lopez muttered, “Who cares about the rules?” and Aguirre gave her a sharp look. Rand knew it was her usual bravura talking, but he clarified anyway.
“We don’t have a JAG officer nearby, but my understanding is as long as we don’t fight any bad guys while we’re in street clothes we’re in the clear. There’s good reason for this, Lopez. We don’t want to give the Hans an excuse to start popping our civvies, so we gotta follow the rules.”
“So we aren’t taking any weapons, sir?” she asked.
“No, we’ll go in combat gear until we get close to the site, then we’ll change into something less conspicuous.”
Aguirre nodded. “Ruiz is going because he’s Special Forces and has been inside the camp walls before. I guess you’re going because they need an officer. What exactly do Lopez and I bring to this?”
“Security.”
“Really, sir?”
Rand shook his head. “We might need messengers, too, but I think Violet just wants to make sure you’re not on base when the Hans hit.”
Aguirre said, “You lead; we’ll follow, sir.”
Chapter 10
ORISKANY, INDEPENDENCE – Efforts to introduce a wider variety of sea life into the oceans of this American colony suffered a major setback after carcasses of thousands of dolphins and hundreds of pilot whales washed ashore over the last three weeks. “Our team is shocked and heartbroken over these events,” said Maryanne Costello, chief terraforming officer on the planet, which orbits Sigma Draconis. “While we’re still investigating the cause, we have ruled out any of the indigenous microorganism playing a direct role. Our chief suspicion is that some vital and benign parasite or bacteria has failed in its role in sustaining the animals in the new environment.” Conservation groups renewed criticism that the terraforming effort in Sigma Draconis is haphazard and poorly researched. “To secure funding from donors, terraformers tend to transport only well-loved animals to the colonies. But each of these animals is part of a complex interconnected ecosystem on Earth; remove them from it, and they will not prosper,” said Michael Lassiter, president of the World Wildlife Fund.
Chita, Transbaikalia, Russia, Earth
From his hotel room, Donovan could see the charcoal moonscape of strip-mined land extending to the horizon. The earth had given up so very much here: gold, uranium, and nickel chief among its offerings. The growing warmth over the last 150 years was turning the ancient subarctic taiga into grasslands, and the Siberian cities had seemed not so dark and frozen to workers wishing to seek their fortune with one of the mining conglomerates. But Russia hosted a declining population, and millions of Chinese were a short distance away, willing to work for low wages. They were allowed to come and dig as guests of Russia. Most of the minerals they dug went south to feed the Chinese industrial beast, and Russia happily extracted a third or more of the revenues. It was a system that more or less worked for several decades; the Chinese workers lived as second-class citizens, but most came from the poorer rural provinces, where life was often worse, and they sent the bulk of their pay home. And Russia’s taxes were still cheaper than the costs China estimated it would face conquering the territory outright. In recent years, however, economic troubles in Russia had bred resentment against the Chitajoza, even as some of the miners began advocating for better treatment.
That was the fault line Gardiner Fairchild and Donovan were going to exploit. Already, two of Fairchild’s younger NSS operatives, posing as NGO members from Reunion, had gained access to the labor movement. A third officer, of Chinese descent, had been hired to operate a truck in the mines. In front of Donovan was a fourth, Finn Kintsel, a child of Russian immigrants who spoke the language like a native. He had arrived in Chita the night before, and Donovan was in the middle of coaching him about applying for a job in the mining company security forces when a call came in.
“Jim, it’s Riley in S-and-T.”
“Riley! Not the voice I was expecting to hear. How are your boys doing?”
“Well, thanks. Terrence let a grounder go between his legs last night, so hopefully he’s good at math.”
Donovan chuckled. “He takes after his old man.”
“Yeah, nobody’s recruiting me for the agency softball team; that’s for sure. Say, I was calling because we finally got around to the analysis on that chunk of rocket you sent us. It’s definitely Chinese, a design they’ve only started using since the war kicked off. They’re pretty effective, and they used a ton of them to beat the Japanese out of Korea. DoD tells me we’re still trying to reverse-engineer the mechanism that expels the anti-laser dust.”
“Anything about this particular rocket, where it was made, and so on?”
“Well, when we scraped through the outer paint coating, we got a serial number, which we believe tells us it was made in a factory outside Hangzhou for the PLA. But we don’t have any more history on it than that. I’ll send the serial to you, if that helps. Where’d you find it?”
“An unexpected place,” Donovan said. “Thanks, Riley.” He cut the connection.
Finally, a break. Proof the Chinese are supporting the Punjabi rebels. Stupid move, on their part, one we can exploit.
He made a note in his handheld to make a quiet inquiry about the rockets to a young friend in military intelligence, and then he called Ramesh. His aide said the officer was in geosynch and temporarily out of contact. Donovan left an urgent message.
South of U.N. Terraforming Station 27, Republic of Tecolote, Entente
Harkins felt a little sheepish bouncing along in her dragoon suit, next to all the Tecolote sold
iers walking in their boots. But she’d be damned if she’d wear herself out before a fight.
The battalion was trudging north and slowly uphill, walking along a dilapidated road that led to the terraforming station. Thin trees with healthy green leaves grew up along the hillsides to either side. Beta Comae Berenices had burned off the morning clouds and was shining gold and bright above them.
It seemed strange to Harkins that any of the colony planets could host something in as bad a shape as this road, even if it had gone unmaintained for two decades.
She was walking with the lead infantry company; Mercer, back with the haughty little colonel, had given her permission to go forward. “You can observe the ground-pounders better than I can,” he had said. “Let me know how well they fight, what they might need.”
Other Tecolote army units nearby had been driving the rebels north toward the U.N. station, and Aziz’s battalion was expecting contact with the enemy soon. Stone age, Harkins thought, looking at the soldiers around her. No powered armor, and only the platoon leaders had any kind of networking with the headquarters unit or each other.
They had left most of their trucks at a staging area several klicks back, but they at least had a few working mules to carry their heavy gear. One trundled up alongside, its robotic legs navigating the potholes and ruts in the road without difficulty. The company had apparently taken a shine to it; someone had painted shark’s teeth on its forward sensor array. This one, too, had an aerostat tethered to it; the six-meter-long white balloon was trailing gracefully above, its cameras feeding information to the company commander.
But he apparently failed to detect the enemy; the rebels’ first shots cracked overhead without warning. The lead squads in the company dropped to the ground; everyone else dispersed into the tall yellowed grass alongside the road.
Harkins’ touched a button on her gun’s handheld mount, and the HUD lit up her goggles. The computer was already calculating the origin of the shots, based on the characteristics of the supersonic crack as they went by. White circles overlaid on the terrain in front of her. Some members of the company were firing back, randomly, into the trees. Might as well help these yahoos.
