A few had SAMs which they proceeded to fire at the invading aircraft. That was a mistake, a horrible mistake, as the pilots proceeded to show them. The fighters ejected both chaff and flares. The SLMs went for the false targets and were quickly drawn away.
That was when the planes wheeled, lined up on the group that had fired the missiles, and opened up with their rockets. The surface of the planet seemed to boil as the missiles hit, exploded, and killed more than three hundred troops in less than thirty seconds.
No further demonstrations were required. The Imperials continued to withdraw, the Claw seemed to melt away, and thousands streamed out of both cities to trudge across the plain. Ordinary citizens didn’t know much, but they knew one thing, the devils had been tortured for many weeks, and would want their revenge.
Nobles rode on palanquins carried by slaves, merchants bounced along on wagons heavy with inventory, craftspeople pulled carts loaded with their worldly goods, laborers pushed wheelbarrows piled with what few possessions they had, and the poor and elderly walked out through Polwa’s gates with what they could carry on long poles or in packs on their backs.
First, upon leaving the cities, those refugees who chose to go west or east were forced to find their way through a virtual wasteland of craters, trenches, and abandoned weapons pits. Then, once that was accomplished they had to negotiate the shanty town which the Tro Wa had built just out of rifle range. A squalid place full of windblown trash, stinking latrines, and fat nar rats. There were ad hoc graveyards as well, areas where dozens of bodies had been buried, where rotting limbs protruded from the dirt, as if to flag the refugees down.
Sniper fire had all but disappeared allowing the off-worlders to mount the walls. Seeba-Ka examined the exodus through his binoculars before turning to Vanderveen. “Well, Ambassador, it looks like your plan is working. Are you sure about this? I don’t know much about the law as it applies to situations such as this, but engineering a planetary government might be illegal, and could get you into a lot of trouble.”
Vanderveen managed to look surprised. “I’m not sure I follow you, Captain. Based on information received by Prince Mee Mas, the Empress was assassinated, which makes him the Emperor. I agreed to escort him into Polwa and to serve as an advisor until someone more senior can relieve me. What’s wrong with that?”
Hudathans can’t smile, not the way that humans do, but Vanderveen would have sworn that the officer produced something akin to a grin. He knew that the so-called information available to Mee Mas was actually little more than an unsubstantiated rumor, and that the diplomat had every intention of sending Shi Huu into exile if she could. Not only that, but Colonel Hawes had turned a blind sensor to the plan, hoping she would be able to pull it off. And if she didn’t? There was very little doubt as to who would take the fall—and it wouldn’t be Colonel Hawes.
The officer nodded. “Thank you, I stand corrected. Good luck with your mission. I put Lieutenant Santana in charge of your escort . . . Will that be satisfactory?”
Vanderveen silently cursed the Hudathan’s rather ponderous sense of humor, managed what she hoped was a noncommittal shrug, and said, “Thank you. It’s been my experience that the lieutenant is quite competent.”
It took the better part of two hours for the heavily armed party to assemble, make its way through the still-dangerous streets, and pass into Polwa. That’s where both of the extra T- 2s Seeba-Ka had sent as escorts dropped off, leaving the platoon on its own. Two squads of legionnaires, plus a couple of T-2s, didn’t constitute much of an invasion force, but the addition of approximately fifty of the prince’s irregulars helped make the force look a little more impressive.
Santana would have preferred to have even more bodies, but the digs were all Hak Orr could spare until the relief force landed, and the entire area was secured.
Still, the cyborgs were worth a squad each, and helped clear the way. For even as the mixed party of LaNorians and off-worlders made their way toward the inner city, the fighters continued to overfly Polwa and send thousands of new refugees out into the streets. People shouted, infants cried, animals squealed, dust rose to fog the air, the sun seemed to grow dimmer, and everything looked brown and gray.
A whip cracked as a merchant attempted to force his wagon through the mob. But, rather than give as they normally might have, half a dozen refugees jumped up onto his heavily laden vehicle and pulled the merchant off his seat. Both he and his wife were thrown to the ground and trampled as the crowd overwhelmed the four guards. The screams lasted a few seconds and were mercifully cut off. The entire city was in chaos and no one was safe.
Santana had insisted that Vanderveen and Mee Mas wear nondescript clothes and remain at the center of the first squad now under the command of Sergeant “Dice” Dietrich. But they were still extremely vulnerable, something that would have troubled Santana under any circumstances, but worried him even more given the way he felt about Vanderveen. However that was something the officer couldn’t allow himself to dwell on, not while he had a job to do, and they were in what amounted to enemy territory.
The crowd had started to close in behind the T-2s. Not in a threatening way, but simply because of the number of bodies on the streets, and a shortage of space.
Santana opened his mike. “Bravo Six to Bravo Two Six. We need some elbow room. Put some smoke along both sides of the column. Over.”
Dietrich, who was armed with his trademark grenade launcher, answered with two clicks. The launcher made a soft ka-chunk as the noncom fired nonlethal smoke grenades to either side.
The orange smoke had the desired effect and caused the crowd to pull away. It also had unintended consequences as the mob turned on itself, children became separated from their parents, and wails of anguish were heard.
Vanderveen heard Santana swear, knew he was upset with himself, and was thankful when the Imperial city appeared off to the right. The concept was one thing—but the reality of what she had set in motion was something else. Had she been correct? Would Mee Mas govern more fairly than his aunt? Or would the whole effort end in disaster? Something that felt like a cannonball rode the pit of the diplomat’s stomach and made her want to throw up. Excitement was evident on Mee Mas’s face as he grabbed Vanderveen’s arm, pointed to the right, and yelled at Santana. Over there, Lieutenant! That’s where we want to go!”
Santana nodded, gave the necessary orders, and led his platoon through the gates of the inner city.
A fighter passed over the palace, momentarily blocked the sun, and rattled the transparent dome over Lak Saa’s head. Contrary to all common sense, contrary to Regar Batth’s advice, the LaNorian continued to occupy the throne. The only thing that had changed were his formerly blood-soaked clothes. They had been exchanged for a clean robe brought along for that purpose. All the attempts to retake the throne room had ended soon after the aerospace fighters first appeared. That left the self-proclaimed Emperor free to flee, if only he had the sense to do so.
“Listen to me,” Batth said desperately. “Troops will land soon and take control of Polwa. Take the throne with you, leave the city, and take refuge in the countryside. You can rule from there.”
Lak Saa’s ear fans went back against the sides of his skull. “You will request permission to speak. Then, assuming that permission is granted, you address me as ‘Majesty’ or ‘Highness.’ Failure to do so will result in death. Do you understand?”
The Ramanthian swallowed. “Yes, Majesty. May I speak?”
“No. I have heard enough. You, like so many of those who while away their lives at court, have your outcomes confused with mine. Fact: The Empress is dead. Fact: The Confederacy needs a government with which to negotiate. Fact: The Confederacy was willing to tolerate Shi Huu—so the Confederacy will tolerate me.
“You have betrayed your kind, you fear possible retribution, and you want to run.
“That, however, is stupid since I am in a position to protect you. Remain at my side, provide what counsel I may re
quire, and all will be well.”
There was a great deal of truth in what the LaNorian had to say, or so it seemed to Regar Batth, and he felt a sudden surge of hope. Rather than end by being sent back to Hive in disgrace, or tried for war crimes, perhaps he could emerge as the Emperor’s sole off-world advisor. A potentially powerful position that would not only enable him to restore the burned-out factories, but lock up LaNor’s mineral wealth and eventually colonize the planet!
The diplomat was still enjoying his theoretical rise to power when one of the Tro Wa burst into the throne room. “Your Highness! Devil machines have entered the inner city! And there are troops as well!”
Lak Saa raised a permissive hand. “Do not worry. This is to be expected. You may admit their leader plus a reasonable number of bodyguards.”
The Claw was careful to bow before he withdrew from the room.
A good fifteen minutes passed as Regar Baath wove the story he would tell, Lak-Saa filed the stump of his broken fingernail into a razor-sharp point, and another flight of fighters passed over the palace.
Finally, when Batth had started to wonder if relief force would ever arrive, there was a commotion out in the hall. Then, entering the throne room as if he owned it, came Prince Mee Mas.
Even though Pas Rasha had befriended the young noble as a way to counter Shi Huu, the ambassador had been killed, and the Ramanthian was surprised to see Mee Mas. So was Lak Saa, who looked at the princeling, and frowned. “When you enter the throne room it is customary to bow.”
Mee Mas, who had been psychologically prepared for a confrontation with his aunt, struggled to change gears. He forced his voice to sound steady and stern. “That is where you are mistaken. No LaNorian is required to bow to a common criminal.
“Lieutenant Santana, take this thing into custody, and secure both his hands and feet. He is extremely dangerous.”
Santana had entered the room by that time, along with Vanderveen, Hillrun, and Dietrich. He looked at the diplomat, saw her nod, and took a single step forward.
The Ramanthian recognized the human as the same individual who was indirectly responsible for the War Batth’s death and felt a surge of anger. “Wait!” the diplomat said, terrified that the source of his power was about to be removed. “By whose authority are you arresting this individual?”
“By my authority,” Vanderveen said grimly. “Prince Mee Mas is next in line to take the throne. It’s as simple as that.”
Lak Saa, who had been silent till then, stood and held out his hands. “The human is correct. I believed Prince Mee Mas to be dead. Come, Highness, take your throne, and include me among those who serve you.”
Santana shouted, “No!” but it was too late. Mee Mas stepped forward, the trapdoor opened, and the youth screamed as he plunged down into the darkness below.
Lak Saa, confident that the off-worlders would underestimate his abilities, launched himself into the air. But no one is faster than a bullet, especially one fired by someone who is extremely skilled with a gun, and the first slug hit the eunuch’s shoulder. That might have handled the job, but Santana had plenty of ammo, and continued to fire. Every single slug hit home; the body crashed onto the floor and slid across the highly polished floor.
Vanderveen took an instinctive step backward, or started to, when a viselike grip closed around the circumference of her left ankle. She was carrying the Sycor Scout, had been from the beginning, and tilted the barrel downward. The .300 magnum bullet passed through Lak Saa’s brain, smashed into the marble floor, and caused it to crack.
“Nice job,” Santana said approvingly, and was just about to head over to the hole in the floor when something slammed into his thigh.
The legionnaire was already falling by the time the noise registered on his brain as a gunshot; Regar Batth had shifted his aim to the dome above, and empty casings were arcing through the air. The glass shattered and shards fell like rain. Even as they did so, the Ramanthian spread his seldom-used wings, jumped high into the air, and flapped toward freedom.
Hillrun raised his assault weapon but Dietrich shook his head. “Save your ammo, Sarge, I’ll handle the bug.” The Naa nodded but kept his weapon raised just in case.
Dietrich tilted the launcher up, waited for the Ramanthian to beat his way up through the opening, and pulled the trigger. The stubby weapon was loaded with HE, and the solitary round exploded slightly above Batth, tore his wings to shreds, and peppered his body with pieces of shrapnel. The Ramanthian crashed through a section of unbroken glass, smashed into the floor, and green blood oozed out to stain the white marble.
Dietrich ambled over with a pistol held down along the side of his right leg, kicked the diplomat in order to get his attention, and looked him in the eye. “The grenade was for me—and this is for the lieutenant.” Vanderveen was about to object when the pistol went off, Batth jerked, and the diplomat was dead.
Santana grimaced as Hillrun slapped dressings onto both the entry and exit wounds, heard laughter as his legionnaires pulled Prince Mee Mas up out of what amounted to an underground sewer, and felt a cascade of blond hair brush the side of his face. Vanderveen knelt by the legionnaire’s side and held one of his hands. “Thank you for saving my life. Again.”
“Sorry about the ankle thing . . . I’ll try to do better next time.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“They’ll probably fire me, you know.”
“Maybe, but maybe not. You bent some rules, but you also brought the whole thing to a successful conclusion, and there’s nothing like success to put the critics in their place.”
“Will we see each other? After this is over?”
“Even if I have to crawl,” Santana answered, “or hop on one leg.”
Vanderveen frowned. “What you need is bed rest, a lot of it, somewhere up in the hills.”
Santana smiled. “But what about my leg? How will I get a glass of water? Or something to eat?”
“Oh, your nurse will take care of that,” the diplomat assured him, “and she’ll take care of your other needs, too. All of them.”
“That sounds nice,” the soldier replied, “very nice.” And it was.
Author’s Note
For More Than Glory was inspired by, and very loosely based on, events that took place during the Boxer Rebellion of 1900 in China.
While most of the characters in the book are entirely fictitious there are a few that were inspired by real people. The dowager Empress Tzu Hsi (also known as the Dawn Concubine) made a fitting model for the evil Shi Huu, and may have been even more heartless than her fictional counterpart.
The gallant messenger Yao Che is based on the real life Yao Chen-Yuan and other Chinese, who took terrible risks on behalf of the foreigners and often paid with their lives.
The Tro Wa (Claw) were based on the Boxers, who were even more cruel than the individuals portrayed in this book, and just as superstitious.
Although they weren’t from some other planet, the Americans, British, French, Germans, Italians, Japanese, and Russians were just as contentious as the Clones, Dracs, Hudathans, Prithians, Thrakies, and Ramanthians depicted in this book, and in many cases just as brave, often fighting against overwhelming odds and doing so without benefit of cyborgs to help them.
And, while the foreigners (nine hundred western men, women, and children plus thousands of Chinese Christians for whom they became responsible) did combine forces to hold Peking’s diplomatic quarter against a combined force of Boxers and Imperial troops, that unanimity was shattered only a few years later when World War I broke out in Europe.
By the time the conflict was over tens of thousands of Chinese lay dead, the days of dynastic rule were numbered, and China’s worldview was forever tainted.
For anyone who would like to learn more about the Boxer Rebellion, I recommend The Boxer Rebellion by Diana Preston.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Author’s Note
For More Than Glory Page 50
