"And if that doesn't kill him what do you want to do?"
"If I fail you get a chance. How do you want to engage him, if he is slick enough to survive that?
"If he survives that he will probably have a good fix on our location. I'd expect him to accelerate around the back side and do a power dog-leg around the outside of the moon, in anticipation of us running to keep the planet between us."
"Contempt?" Gordon asked.
"Yes, he will assume we are cowardly and uncertain of our skills with the weapons. Just using two mixed missiles will seem tentative if it fails, no matter how close a thing it really is. He'd expect a barrage from inexperienced fighters. I want to lift and orbit the moon contrary to his motion and catch him coming across the horizon again at short range, but on the outside of this moon instead of the planet."
"If two won't kill him, I do plan to expend missiles lavishly in the three or four second window, before I am in beam range, and then engage him with beams right down to a near ram just barely missing his rear and crossing the T within a few kilometers where we can beam him right up the ass and engage him directly with defensive missiles at short range."
"Can you program the anti-missile missiles to engage a ship directly?
"Yes, I made sure of that."
"How aggressive will his response be in your engagement window?
"I have no idea, but we are bigger than him and even if he destroys us I don't think he will survive the throw weight we will have left in flight before he gets us. I do not intend to leave him able to bombard Red Tree at any cost."
"That is acceptable to risk us," Gordon admitted. "If we need to deplete ourselves deeply to take him we would probably fall to the next force they send, because they will get serious and we'd be engaging multiple ships our own size or larger with escorts. If we survive but with our magazines near empty I'll set course for Fargone and sell them samples of these weapons. That would hurt North America more in the long run."
***
"We have one native in sight." The pilot reported. "This is the sight feed off our starboard cannon turret." The image routed to Marion showed a single Derf seated to the side of the main building entry. He was dressed in elaborate enameled golden armor and had an incongruous 20mm assault rifle across his knees. The magnified image rippled briefly with heat shimmy as the wind shifted. The Derf propped the big gun in the corner of the alcove in which he was seated, stretched and after a hearty scratch of his thighs, started an unhurried walk towards them. The helmet, breast plate and round shield sparkled with engine turning, under translucent tangerine enamel. The bare metal fittings also displayed myriad points of light from elaborate engravings. The image was sharp enough to tell the Derf was old, his face speckled with gray.
"I believe that will be our official contact," Marion guessed. "First and Mr. Olsen, if you will attend me we shall see what's going on. Move sharply now, I want to meet him halfway, not wait for him to march up the ramp and rap on the port with that ax."
"Do you think he intends to surrender?" the political officer asked as they exited.
"Hmm, no white flag and that ceremonial outfit says he's a high mucky-muck however their ranking works. I don't think he'd have that jumbo meat chopper stuck in his belt if he was coming out to surrender. What do you think First?"
"He'd have a committee to meet us and girls spreading rose petals or the local equivalent, if it was surrender time. Look at the arrogant bastard. He left his gun behind and he's taking his sweet time like he's taking a walk in the park. I say he's going to tell us to get our shuttles the hell off his grass."
"You've got to be kidding," Olsen said, incredulous. "He has to know he's outmatched."
"I've seen guys like this," the First Sergeant told him. "I figure he already knows he's dead and he's here to make some point with us. Different folks have different ideas about honor and law. They may feel they can't surrender honorably unless there is at least a symbolic fight and this poor guy got picked to do the deed for them. That fancy armor is art, so this is theater of some sort. I'd bet this is all to make some point we don't have the culture to understand. I've seen stranger things just among humans. Who knows how these folks think?" They walked the rest of the way in silence.
When they were about four meters apart the native came to an easy halt and Marion and his First Sergeant did likewise. The political officer was slow to catch on and stopped a full pace ahead of them. Glancing over his shoulders both ways he saw he looked like he was in charge and stepped back. After he did he thought better of it. It looked like he was retreating and his face flushed with embarrassment. Nobody said anything quickly, both sides looking the other over.
* * *
"One away," Thor announced calmly. "Hyper-velocity to follow, will auto-launch in thirty four seconds."
* * *
"Well, a Major of Terry Special Forces!" the Derf marveled in English. "I suppose I should be complimented they cared enough to send the very best." He was obviously studying the citations Marion had worn. "Five combat medals and three with V for valor and that star thing there – I don't believe they hand those out for keeping your boots glossy."
"You read our rank and emblems very well." Marion said and decided it wasn't worth commenting on William's excellent English. "If your enamel work tells a similar story, I'm afraid I haven't been taught to read it. I'm Major Marion Zapinski, Space Marines. This is my First Sergeant Charles Lee and Commissioner Olsen. What is your rank sir?"
William raised a questioning eyebrow. "Commissioner? That sounds civilian, but he is wearing a uniform."
"A naval uniform," Marion explained. "He is a political officer, outside my command structure."
"Politicians," William snorted. "We wouldn't be standing here without them. Mine as well as yours," he added when Olsen bristled "What are your orders sir?" William asked.
Marion hesitated just for a moment at the odd wording, considering if that was an invitation to issue orders, or an inquiry as to his instructions. The latter he thought, but he firmly intended to know with whom he was speaking first.
"Again, I can't read your rank if it is displayed. Do you speak for Red Tree?"
"My rank is in my name. I'm formally known as, The Great Champion of Red Tree Clan, Defender of the Treaty of Man and Guardian of the Traditions of Propriety, Hero of the Chain-Bound Lands, William. You may simply address me as William. I am also Champion by choice of Lee Anderson, who I know as First daughter of the Third love son of the Four Hundred-Seventy Third First Mother of Red Tree, by the Hero of the Chain Bound Lands, Second line of the short haired folk - Gordon - Lee Anderson, the little gal all this fuss is over. And yes, I am given authority by our Mothers to act for Red Tree in the matter of war between our clan and the United States of North America and any who ally with them. Again, what is your intent sir? You are standing on our land, armed for war."
"I am charged with occupying and pacifying the territory of Red Tree Clan," Marion explained. "After that it is up to your civilian authorities to normalize relations with our civilian authorities."
"I suppose you would leave the likes of this to administer us?" he asked, dipping his head towards Olsen.
* * *
"Ground launch, antis away," Harris called out. Three bumps marked the rapid departure of three pair of anti-missile missiles. "Got him!" The board turned red again and a bump marked another pair launching automatically. "New threat!" Harris announced. The primary beam of x-rays from the exploding H-bomb, only fifty kilometers off their nose, went down the long axis of the ship and turned it into an expanding cylinder of plasma.
* * *
"Mr. Olsen will be rejoining his ship, but there will be a diplomatic mission sent to Derfhome that will…"
Marion stopped speaking when an eye searing double flash lit up the north east sky silently. None of them were looking directly that way but it was still stunning. When they turned and looked the colors faded quickly from yellow down through red in
a thin line above the horizon.
"Alas, I'm afraid Mr. Olsen doesn't have a ship to which he may return," William informed them.
* * *
"Telemetry indicates both weapons activated," Thor announced. Everybody waited for something more definitive. "Uh, broadcast was terminated. I have no visual where expected. Captain may I activate radar to check for debris or life-boats?"
"Yes," Gordon agreed.
"Nothing. Switching to sub-millimeter targeting radar." There was a pause while he read that too. "There is an expanding debris field of grit that appears to be condensed from metal vapor. Our target appears to have been completely vaporized," he announced, a little shocked at the thoroughness of it.
* * *
Olsen, snarling, whipped his pistol up and squeezed off a round. William raised his shield mirroring Olsen's motion and the slug drew a gray dent across the shield spoiling an elaborate enamel panel. The First Sergeant smacked Olsen across the wrist with his own weapon, knocking his pistol to the ground. He turned angry mouth opening to protest to Marion, only to see the Major's pistol aimed between his eyes. The pistol cracked before he could utter anything and a dark hole appeared on his forehead. He collapsed on top of his pistol.
"Did I tell you to shoot you simple son of a bitch?" Marion asked the slumped corpse, prodding it with his boot. He turned back to William and sighed.
"Major, I suggest you try contacting your vessel for confirmation. You have no line of retreat and your position is untenable. I will take your surrender if you disarm your men and abandon your offensive equipment. I can provide guides to let you march to civilian transportation and you need not be prisoners of war even a single day. Otherwise you die," he vowed. "I hold your life in my hand," he assured them, holding a true hand out in a fist.
"No sir, I intend to occupy this territory and hold it," Marion assured him shaking his head. "We have supplies and sufficient support, including transport anywhere on the planet with our shuttles. If indeed that was our ship being destroyed we can hold here until relief comes. I do not believe you have forces sufficient to offer effective resistance. It is you who must surrender and mean it, or we will advance to secure these buildings and start sweeping the forests with patrols to find and destroy your forces if you do not surrender at once."
"I was afraid that was the tack you'd take," William said saddened. He rolled the true hand open, releasing the end button on a small black cylinder, a dead man's switch, displaying it to them on his palm. Immediately there was a deep thud of a big bore mortar in the distance behind him.
"Mortar up – auto engage!" the shuttle pilot shouted on their common com. The counter battery tracked, but didn't engage, because the round wasn't aimed toward any of their positions, it would not waste ammunition on a clean miss. There was a brief flare as the round got a rocket boost to push it higher. After a pause another flash in the sky directly overhead dwarfed the light of their ship's destruction. There was a sudden sensation of prickly heat that flashed clear through their bodies rather than on their faces.
* * *
"Nuclear detonation!" Thor cried out. "Low altitude, moderate yield. It has an odd signature," he said puzzled. "Are they nuking Red Tree?" he asked, alarmed.
"No, that was one of ours," Gordon explained. "We will proceed to the Fly Over Country and relieve the crew, but leave it in place," Gordon told him. "I'll explain…"
* * *
"Oh shit, oh shit," the shuttle pilot said on com. Marion could see the blocky outline of William in tones of blotchy gray. "Radiation enhanced weapon," another voice said on the circuit. "It's way too big a dose and then some, we're dead." the voice added and started to softly cry. Then there was the bone rattling boom of a shock wave from far overhead.
"You nuked us," the First Sergeant said in wonder. "Where in the hell did you buy a neutron bomb?" he asked and then answered it himself – "Fargone. It had to be Fargone. Should I shoot him sir?"
"Why, so he can die comfortably while we puke our guts out?" Marion asked. "I don't think so. You win this round warrior. I hope your people can live with pissing off the entire USNA nation."
"We counted that cost already when we declared war," William pointed out.
Behind them the pilot detonated the self destruct charges in the shuttle. The quiet flare of white hot thermite in the nose marked the destruction of the sensitive electronic and com gear in the flight cabin. It was so bright even Marion's flash shocked eyes caught the glare from behind. They turned and squinted and there was a series of pops like a string of firecrackers and the airframe folded in on itself and fell in a heap of scrap metal. Flames sprang up immediately from remaining fuel. The second half of their platoon was still inside, but the pilot decided their fate for them. Maybe he thought it a favor. None of the other three shuttle crews took it for a hint to join him. The heat was so intense he had to turn his face away.
"How long do we have, William?" Marion asked with surprising calm.
"Oh, somewhere around fifteen minutes max from what I was told. It may be another five to seven minutes before you feel anything. I have a bottle sitting inside on the table if you gentlemen would like a drink. Can you see well enough to walk over?"
"Yes, I think I'd like that. Mr. Lee, do you want to accompany us?
"I'd appreciate being relieved of further duty sir; I'd like to record a few words to family."
"Very well First, Thank you for your service."
"And you sir, it was damned good until now, goodbye sir."
William turned away and Marion hurried to catch up. They were near the door when they heard the pistol crack behind them. The First apparently was a man of few words.
"I'm afraid I'll need a hand in here," Marion complained at the entry, "my eyes can't handle the dark yet."
"Yes, I cheated a bit and closed mine tight expecting the flash," William explained, taking his hand. "Right in front of you now, like a picnic table," he explained, lowering his hand to feel the seat edge.
"Damn thing is high enough," he said feeling the chest high table edge.
"Here," William said pushing the glass into his hand. "Earth whiskey, Maker's Mark," he said and there was a gurgle and raw smell of bourbon. Outside there was the distant pop of weapons as others decided to take the less painful death.
"I've got a headache," Marion said. "I suppose that's how it starts."
"Me too," William agreed. "Not that I can complain."
Marion started to drink and hesitated. "Do Derf do toasts?" he asked.
"Not really, but I know the custom. Feel free."
"To peace," he said raising his glass and took a long pull on it.
"I'll drink to that," William agreed.
"My hands are shaking; bet I don't have time to get drunk."
"Well, we don't have to worry about a hangover," William agreed.
"Would you have used the nuke if you didn't manage to destroy our ship?" he asked.
"I wasn't supposed to, because the Mothers figured you'd wipe out the Hold from orbit. We were supposed to go to a guerrilla type engagement if your ship escaped, but I was going to use it anyway," William admitted. "The Mothers would have been pissed at me."
Marion laughed and drank, they didn't say any more. He was barely aware of it when the crash of armor and shattering glass announced William toppled to the floor. He was unaware of his own fall.
* * *
The Cincinnati was accelerating for jump. Thor was sitting his board, but it was shut down safe. He was never the less scowling at it like it was still feeding him a live battle.
"Is it bothering you to kill a ship and crew," Gordon asked him gently. "Do you need help to deal with it? Perhaps a medical intervention, to ease the raw shock at the moment?"
"You killed the St. Louis," Thor assured him, surprised at the question. "I just punched in the numbers for your tactics. What I'm sitting chewing on is, I'll never know if my solution would have bagged him as well. He'd have been warned and would we
have survived?"
"You may have other opportunities to test your mettle," Gordon assured him.
Thor nodded his understanding, an acquired human gesture. "You know what? This ship is ours now. It needs a new name and we need some music on the flight deck. The silence gets to me sometimes. What should she be called?"
Chapter 40
"Primary is leaving the home with her guardian on the free bus," Justine reported to Jesus. Justine was in the woods in a no-see-um blind, with a very expensive telescope, an attached small camera and an encrypted radio to call their command center. The no-see-um name did not refer to the camouflage exterior. It meant the fine mesh screen kept out the tiny biting flies, as well as mosquitoes and larger black flies common to Northern Michigan in this season.
Jesus had been pulled from another assignment and Diana brought back off recovery leave because they knew Lee. They had four other agents helping them watch her and a report was passed daily to Stanley McPherson.
"I'm up anyway. I'll follow her into Marquette," Jesus replied. "Maintain surveillance and log all comings and goings for the household, just as if the principal was present," Jesus ordered.
Jesus waited until the free bus went by. It had that tooth grating whine of electric vehicles. He let it get 400 meters down the road, before he pulled out in the old pickup truck he'd bought locally. There was a well used wheelbarrow upside down in the bed, a pair of scuffed safety cones, some bags of mulch, a couple twenty liter buckets and a shovel and push broom.
Earl and Lee got out in front of a medical building, but when the bus drove away they crossed the street and went in a small shop with cast iron patio furniture out front. The sign said Sander's Confectionary. There were parking spots so Jesus parked and reported in. He couldn't see inside the shop because the windows were tinted. He put on a ball cap and wraparound sunglasses and went in. Earl and Lee were with a family at a table. The waitress was tucking an order pad in her apron and leaving, so they'd be here awhile. The narrow store had mirrors to the ceiling on both sides behind the ice cream freezers and behind the tables. He ordered a cone at the counter and studied them in the mirror. There was a rear exit, so time to call in help and get that covered. He took his cone, told the girl, "Keep the change," and walked out.
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