The Freehold Military responded by putting all personnel on alert, recalling and reequipping reservists and veterans and watching and waiting. Kendra was drained from long days issuing gear to veterans. She'd known intellectually that they kept their small arms after mustering out, but was still surprised when they began trickling in for spare parts, routine maintenance and ammunition.
The shooting ranges were also booked solid. When not in use by military units, they were open to off-duty personnel, reservists, veterans and the general public in priority order. There were also ranges for everything from spears and atl-atls to traditional bows to modern archery gear. Shooting was the sport in the Freehold and it was becoming a feverish event now.
Sales of emergency gear soared and the economy recovered most of its former slump. There were still plenty of exports, all shuffled around to reach Earth by other routes, and the need for ships, repairs and related support rose also. The sanctions appeared to have lost their effectiveness. Certain Freehold-specific products were now banned in UN space, but there was sufficient demand to create a black market. Since almost all Freehold registered ship captains hated bureaucracy and adminwork, that black market boomed. The intermediaries in other systems also benefited. Everyone, in fact, did quite well, except for the UN. Thousands of years of history failed to teach that there is no control over free trade in an open system and little effective control even in a closed system.
The only really negative effect was on specific goods that were now contraband to possess within UN space, but the operators in those industries were able to adapt into others. Kendra even got an embarrassed call from Hiroki, informing her that her job was available and she was entitled to first refusal. She first was angry, then amused, then grateful and finally thanked him graciously. She had a home she was familiar with. The war that she understood was coming was going to be a distant, political game and she got back to the business of logistics.
As weeks went by, the fears of conflict eased and the stress on logistics, the shooting ranges and other support facilities returned to near normal. She still had a regular workload of veterans stopping by for assistance and several new series of equipment came into issue. She and Sirkot advertised and ran an auction on the old gear, generating hundreds of thousands of credits of revenue for the unit. She was mildly shocked yet again. In the UN, extra money would have been spent to destroy the equipment, not sell it to civilians. She did a records check and found that fifty percent of the cost per unit of equipment was recouped by surplus sales. Whether it was guns or generators, target designators or drones, there was a market for second-generation gear and the military exploited it. Although to be fair, she was sure a few of the buyers from outsystem were mercenaries and terrorists, even if most were veterans, security firms, corporate operations and smaller foreign governments. But the lack of adminwork to determine the end user was yet another sore point between the Freehold and the UN.
Chapter 29
"An important difference between a military operation and a surgical operation is that the patient is not tied down. But it is a common fault of generalship to assume that he is."
—Captain Sir Basil H. Liddell Hart
The next sign of trouble was as sudden as the previous ones and not even Naumann had been able to accurately predict it. The first hint was Jump Point One losing communication. That was unusual and possibly bad, but didn't immediately register as a threat. When JP2 lost signal, it was obvious an attack was under way. Scramble signals went out, but massive amounts of UN firepower were moving insystem. JP3 was offline shortly thereafter, followed by several outer commercial stations. Research facilities in the outer Halo could not be reached, but often didn't maintain open carriers. By the time they could report either way, the trouble would be over.
The lightspeed lag gave several divs for fast-moving teams to overwhelm or destroy facilities in the system's outer fringes. Unknown to the military was that several carriers had already silently positioned themselves. With no emissions they weren't seen and the force was far too large to stop, especially when it took out communications as it headed insystem rather than attempting control from the inside out. The UN command staff had learned from its first mistake and had sufficient force for a real invasion now. The landing craft that deployed were too numerous to be taken out and escorted by aerospace support vehicles as well. Several died on their way down, but the rest landed, shattered the orbital and air defense systems and went after the host sites with a vengeance.
* * *
Kendra spun the wheel hard, cutting across the corner of a charge station. Angry yells and horns followed her. She floored the throttle, listening to the turbine howl, then backed off as she approached the gate. All she knew was that there was a general emergency recall. She'd been in town, picking up a purchase for the unit, when her comm had screamed. Whatever it was, it was not an exercise.
She had her ID in hand and announced, "Pacelli, Kendra A., Corporal, Logistics, Third Mob," as the guard waved a scanner at her. His partner and the dog took a quick walk around her vehicle. The animal handler nodded.
The guard tilted the muzzle of his weapon at the sky and said, "Report directly to the airfac, Corporal and don't worry about traffic. Most of 'em have already lifted."
She nodded, nailed the turbine again and cut across the parade field. She met a little traffic around the admin section, slowed slightly and picked up speed at Perimeter Road. Less than two segs later she rolled into the air facility.
There were no security troops on the line. It was a madhouse. Vehicles rolled around at high speed, way too close to the aircraft. People jumped between them and most weren't wearing line badges or safety gear. She jumped out, grabbing her comm, her rifle and her blade and caught the arm of the nearest person. "Third mob?" she yelled over the roar of equipment. It was barely audible.
"Ahh . . . Over there!" the tech bellowed back, indicating a row of vertols. She nodded and ran.
Approaching the idling craft, she saw a sergeant from base engineering. "You take this one!" he ordered, pointing. "Flight engineer returning soon, lifting next!"
She ran up the ramp, the noise diminishing slightly and heard a voice over the intercom ask, "Hido?"
"No, if that's your engineer, he's still out."
"Understood. Don't let anyone who arrives leave. We have a launch warning and an attack warning. We may lift without notice."
"Understood," she replied, grabbing a seat on the cargo web and buckling in, adjusting the helmet frequency to that of the intercom. She looped her sword across her chest, fastened her comm to her arm, locked her rifle into a slot and waited.
It was only about a seg later when the pilot announced, "Lifting!" The engine noise rose with that warning and the craft bounced slightly. The hatch closed and gees pushed Kendra down and back. The turbines boosted quickly to a painful howl and the vertol sought altitude, heading north.
"Whoever's in charge back there, report!"
"Pacelli, Corporal, Third Mob Logistics. Sole occupant," she replied, looking around.
"Great," the pilot replied, "You were supposed to be on the other side of the flightline. And they are already out of here."
"Sorry," Kendra replied. "Instructions got mixed up."
A brilliant light flashed through the ports and the pilot yelled, "Shock wave!" The tail pitched up and over, hanging Kendra momentarily upside down, blood rushing painfully to her head and sinuses. The craft tumbled, righted and yawed left. Kendra swallowed hard as it accelerated again and the pilot announced, "Clear."
"Nuke?" Kendra asked. She had a few bruises from the ride.
"Kinetic. Doesn't matter; the base is gone along with anyone still on the ground. It appears we are going to be friends for a while. I'm Nick, my friends call me 'Cowboy.' "
"Kendra."
"Pleased to meet you. Sort of. You'll find gear back there; grab a ruck, you'll need it.
"My instructions are to take this unit," he paused at th
e irony of the statement, "into Darkwood Hills and drop them there. You'll meet up with Resident Militia and any reservists you can find. Await orders or fight the war, as the case may be. You were supposed to be a squad of SpecWarfare folks."
"Sorry," Kendra replied, her guts roiling in fear and sadness for the tens or hundreds who'd died to get her and the others off the ground.
"So am I. We've got company coming, buckle down if you aren't. I hope violent maneuvers don't make you sick." It sounded like a challenge.
"I was a passenger with Rob McKay once," she returned.
"Rob—Well, I'd like to state for the record that I can fly rings around that maniac. But I'd be lying. I saw some of his airyobatics on Mtali."
"Can I inventory this ruck?" she asked.
"By touch. Keep it strapped," he warned.
"Understood." She rummaged in the harness and had to take several deep breaths to calm her nerves. She was shaking uncontrollably, and clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering. Sheer will gave her some outward semblance of control and she resumed her sorting. She found a full infantry load, extra medical supplies and explosives and extra ammo. There was a pack of field rations and a laser designator.
"Interceptors and hills," Cowboy advised as the maneuvers started. Kendra went into free fall as they came over a peak, was slammed down and to the left, banging her chin. She shook her head and was thankful her teeth were still clenched. She might have bitten her tongue otherwise. The craft decelerated, sliding her across the deck webbing, then the floor dropped out again as they reached a valley. She felt the craft pitch up, centripetal force pinning her against the floor as it became the wall. She could see trees through the port, then sky again as the craft finished its inversion. She stared down at the roof in fear as gees crushed her up against the floor. She was held in place as they pointed back into a gorge. Then the lifter rolled out. It wouldn't have been so scary if she could see, but except for an occasional shadow through the ports, there was nothing but shifting Iolight.
"Air superiority got one interceptor, orbital got a second. But we can't do this for long in a cargo lifter. You are getting out asap. Put on a rig, with a static line. You ever done what ess-double-yoo calls a 'suicide drop'?"
"No," Kendra said, wide-eyed as she pulled a parachute rig from the bulkhead. Another maneuver threw it hard against her. She clutched it and reached for a helmet. Long and repetitive training was all that let her run through the prep, as her brain was numb with fear. Again, she forced her knotting and trembling fingers to steady as they fumbled fasteners.
"Well, at least you've jumped. You'll be going out the side door. I'll drop into a valley, pull the nose up and yaw left. Inertia will pull you out. 'Chute drogues on the way up, you swing twice and hit the trees. Everything goes right, they'll never see you. Anything goes wrong . . . but it shouldn't."
Another violent maneuver caught her as she attempted to sling the ruck between her legs. She strapped her blade and rifle to her sides, clutched the static line and crawled toward the forward troop door, knees grating painfully on the corrugated deck.
She dragged herself up the frame, fastened the clip to the bar provided and said, "Ready!" She'd thought she was scared before. Now fear was starting to hit with a passion. Steely control of her breathing distracted her from the impending nightmare.
"Opening door. Sit and hang on tight, I may maneuver," he warned.
The door slid and latched open with a cold roar of slipstream, leaving her above a landscape tearing by in a blur.
"One last thing," he warned. "You don't have leg armor, so keep 'em crossed when you hit the trees or you risk tearing your femoral arteries. Stand in the door! Or sit, in this case."
"Cowboy!" she called.
"Yo!"
"For what it's worth, you can tell you friends that Rob McKay's ladyfriend says you give as sexy a ride as he does." She didn't feel as brave as she sounded, but a façade did help a little.
"Thanks, Lady," he replied. "Over this ridge and stand by . . ."
Free fall caught her again as they crested the hill, green and yellow trees below. Gees started to build as they arced out, then dropped away as the craft went ballistic. "On three," he warned and the craft began to yaw. "One! Two! Three! Get the hell out of my airc—"
She was ripped out the door by the violent rotation, arms trailing. A distant clang of the static line link striking the fuselage was drowned out by the turbines. Deceleration caught her as the 'chute grabbed air. Blue sky turned dizzyingly to bright green trees, to blinding Io, to trees again, and she closed her legs tightly as those trees came up hard.
Fortunately, she was swinging forward as she hit the treetops. A thin branch slapped across her like a whip. Her descent became more vertical, then back again and a heavy limb crunched against the harness. She gasped, air knocked out, and heard the sound of the interceptors screaming after Cowboy. Pain shot through her leg as her heel hit a bough hard, then the trees were ripping at her all over. She jerked to a stop.
Several ragged breaths were necessary before she could get oriented. She was about three meters above the ground, being poked by twigs and branches. She pulled the standard-issue hook knife from the rig, cut selected bits of webbing and succeeded in getting within two meters of the ground. She lowered the ruck, cut the last strap and landed.
She didn't scream, although the pain was searing. Biting her lip, she limped slightly away from the gear, caught a nearby bush and got untangled. She decided her first priority was to urinate desperately.
That taken care of, she examined her injuries. Bruised or fractured ribs below the left shoulderblade, sprained or broken right ankle, severe welt on right side of neck, shallow puncture wound in right outer thigh and a nail torn completely off her left ring finger. Digging in the medical kit, she dropped antibiotic and sealer into her thigh, took a general reconstructive nano for the rest of it, along with a light painkiller—she'd need her wits—and proceeded to sterilize and dress her finger. She winced in pain, but got it done. She sat back against a tree to rest for a moment.
She opened her eyes, confused. It was dark. Great, she thought. I'm supposed to be finding whatever local authority there is, not napping. She opened her comm to report in and stopped, for the dim glowing screen had a message waiting.
"All personnel: Do not report. Remove transponder from all comm equipment. Proceed as ordered. Additional information will follow."
She stared for a second, then cleared the message. A few taps gained her instructions on how to remove the transponder block and she stuck the deactivated component in a pocket of her ruck. It might be useful later. She couldn't think in what fashion, but it might. She also knew now why the comm was a flat block of hardware, rather than a flexible single molding. There was actually a small amount of maintenance and modification that could be done to it.
Suddenly, fear caught up to her. The deep woods of the Northern Border were no place for a person raised in a modern city. Remembering her training, she forced herself to get up and deal with it. Ignoring her training, she turned on a torch.
In a few segs, she had a small fire going in a shallow pit. It provided a little heat and a lot of comfort. She set her shelter up near the base of the tree and crawled in. Fuel was within arm's reach and so was the fire. She chewed on a ration package while keeping the dim flames going to build up enough coals to keep the fire self-supporting. Once done, she snuggled back into her sleeping bag, rifle in one hand, thumb on safety and sword in the other, tip above her head.
Sleep didn't come. There were sounds in the forest and she was too terrified to move. She felt bladder pressure again, clamped down on it. Gingerly, she added another small stick to the fire, still clutching her rifle in the other hand. She felt all kinds of sensations and realized she was panicking.
This is stupid! she told herself. You are a combat vet from Mtali. This is just a forest. You've killed a ripper that wanted you for lunch. There's nothing here as dangerous as yo
u. The words were logical and ineffective. She took to watching seconds pass on her comm. Tears welled up from accumulated shock, as she realized that friends were dead, her two home planets were killing each other, her worldview had just been destroyed for the third or maybe fourth time and that this night was subjectively going to last forever.
Eventually, she thought she could see some gray in the shadowy trees. She compared time to predicted sunrise and realized night was almost over. She huddled, twitching until the sky was faintly visible through the foliage, then jumped out to relieve herself again. The air was frigid, and she hurried back to her shelter, crawling in and finally falling deeply asleep.
She woke in filtered but bright Iolight and stirred slightly. Stretching, she was jarred awake at the sight of a rifle muzzle.
"Don't move," a rough male voice commanded. "Let's see your hands."
Sliding them cautiously overhead, she spoke firmly, "Corporal Kendra Pacelli, Third Mobile Assault Regiment."
"You got an aardvark accent there, lady."
Aardvark. Earth pig. She gritted her teeth at the derogatory term and replied, "I'm an immigrant about three years back."
"Uh-huh. Where you been living?" The man asked. She saw he had friends. Three of them. Two other men and a young woman. Her old Earth habits found the woman's presence a reassurance.
"Jefferson, until they canceled my indent. I've been at Heilbrun Base since."
"Jefferson, huh? So which side of Liberty Park is the Council building?"
"Twelve blocks north."
"Name some good bars."
"Stanley's Surf n' Turf; good food, too. Level Three if you like dancing. Bellefontaine if you have a ton of money and like a good show—"
"All right, you'll do. And you move in richer circles than I ever did. You can get out now, Corporal."
"I dunno, Dak. I'd like to see some references," one of the others said.
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