Storm Force: Book Three of the Last Legion Series

by Chris Bunch

  The Parnell arced down the row, missiles volleying. A patrol ship tried to intercept, and was destroyed. Liskeard was close enough to the Larissans to use visual screens as the transports bucked and exploded. One ship, still boiling fire, was close enough to be seen through a porthole, and Liskeard put a zoom on one screen.

  A moment later, he almost vomited over his control panel. The screen showed the freighter, wrack and ruin consuming it as it sprayed tiny white objects into space, white objects that had been men, soldiers who would never survive to land on any planet, hostile or friendly.

  Liskeard ignored his churning stomach, ordering his Kelly back the way it came, all available hands helping the weapons crewmen reload the ship’s tubes. The Parnell struck again. Liskeard called his control ship, and the controller put three more destroyers and a dozen velv in on his signal. They savaged the transports, men spewing out of the ruined ships like the guts of depth-exploded fish.

  Finally, the Larissan ships’ screams were heard, and two cruisers flashed into being. A velv was hit, but the other Cumbrians went back into N-space, calling to their controllers for more targets.

  Except for the two aksai — Ben Dill and Boursier — who’d been vectored in on the holocaust. The cruisers and their escorts were looking for big ships to take revenge on, not one-man mites. Dill and his wingmate, masked by pinwheeling wreckage, cut through the carnage on luck and very fast reflexes. A destroyer loomed “close” — no more than a thousand kilometers, and Boursier gutted it with a missile.

  “Ben Dill’s boy is after bigger, bigger game,” Dill snarled. “And this time no goddamned ‘claimed as damaged’ will be allowed … and there you are, dead center, you big fat pig.” He launched two Goddards, changed his point of aim to the cruiser’s stern, fired his last missile.

  All three struck almost at once, and the cruiser vaporized.

  “Ho-ho,” Dill said into his open mike. “Ben Dill wants another medal and a pay raise.”

  “If you have anything left,” the com said, in accented Basic, “sssome help could be provided for me.” It was Tvem, another of the Musth mercenaries. Dill touched sensors, saw two Larissan destroyers closing on Tvem’s aksai, and went to full power.

  Boursier, not needing any orders, was not more than a thousand meters to his side. A third aksai came from nowhere, and Alikhan’s voice came over the com:

  “We are on our way.”

  Tvem barely avoided a double launch, fired back at one destroyer. His missile was destroyed by a countermissile, and then the three aksai were in range.

  Dill, in front, fired one of his four remaining Shadow countermissiles at the lead destroyer and was astounded to see it strike home. Two Goddards hit just behind it, and the destroyer was debris. The other destroyer fired a missile at Tvem, and the aksai was a plume of fire, then as if it’d never been.

  Dill heard a hiss of rage from Alikhan, then the destroyer exploded. Alikhan’s aksai slashed low, near the ruined ship, came back and fired once more. Then there was nothing left to take revenge on.

  “Let us return for more rockets,” Alikhan said, and his voice held hissing rage. “I desire to kill more of these Larissans.”

  • • •

  First Brigade’s fighting troops were either standing by in loading bays or airborne in Griersons and Zhukovs, flying in the high stratosphere, waiting.

  Garvin sat in the rear of a command Grierson, listening to the battle in deep space, grinding his teeth.

  He looked at another screen, showing the interior of Fitzgerald’s Grierson. She didn’t look any happier to be out of action than he was. She was also unhappy because Angara had borrowed her heads-of-section until he could build a staff of his own, so Njangu and the other section heads were off with Angara, while Garvin had to fart around in circles in D-Cumbre’s atmosphere.

  He was not at all sure he liked being a field-grade officer, even if it’d most likely keep him alive a lot longer.

  • • •

  In spite of heavy casualties, the Larissans pushed on, closing on D-Cumbre.

  Two more cruisers were hit and destroyed.

  An electronics officer hurried to Dant Angara, aboard the al Maouna.

  “Sir, we have a message intercept, and a tentative decipher. It’s from someone who calls himself White Leader … ELINT suggests it’s most likely their admiral, Celidon.”

  The signal read:

  All fleet assault ships. Continue your (mission?)… Attack given targets on planet. This is the greatest day in Larissan history.

  “And what does that change?” Angara muttered to himself.

  Njangu was watching one of the main screens. He thought he saw something, grabbed a mike, keyed it to Ho Kang in her chair, and asked a question. She changed frequencies to one of the control technicians below and suddenly, on the big screen, a scattering of red lights flared. A loudspeaker went on.

  “All stations,” Ho said. “We appear to have an interesting development. Observe the highlighted ships. These are some of the Larissan battle cruisers we have been monitoring as the most important threat, about half of their known contingent.”

  Green arrows came on-screen, and Njangu heard another staff officer gasp.

  “You’ll notice,” Ho said calmly, “all of the observed capital ships have changed orbit, and appear to be withdrawing, repeat withdrawing from the system.”

  “Son of a bitch,” someone said slowly. Njangu realized it was his voice.

  “Redruth’s leaving his soldiers to cover the capital ships’ retreat. I’ll bet good credits he’s not with the transports,” Angara said grimly. “Now it’ll get bloody. Patch me through to the troops onplanet.”

  • • •

  Not only the cruisers, but the destroyers as well were retreating, going at full drive for the nav point they’d dropped out of.

  Haut Johnny Chaka, once a hot-rod Zhukov flight commander, now a hot-rod velv group captain, with four ships under his command, swarmed their rear.

  “One missile per ship,” he told his weapons officers. “All we have to do is cripple them, then we can come back and finish them off later.”

  One of his ships took a hit, broke formation, reported the damage was repairable, but she was out of the battle.

  Chaka’s lips pursed for an instant, but he showed no other sign of emotion as he harried the stragglers, hoping he’d kill enough of them to get a chance at one of the cruisers.

  • • •

  The transports arced in past D-Cumbre’s largest moon, Fowey. A handful of destroyers had disobeyed Redruth’s orders to abandon the transports, and defended their charges, dying in the attempt.

  Cumbrians from the fleet, from the moons, smashed at the formation, and the Larissan officers went for the only chance of survival they had — D-Cumbre.

  Lights flared in the planet’s skies, the greatest meteor display in history as the Larissans slammed down toward the ground.

  Rising to meet them were the Force’s Griersons and Zhukovs, too small to show up on the weapons stations on the armed transports, but more than big enough to kill a spaceship.

  Larissan soldiers, half-trained, many sick after the jolting trajectory their antigravity systems had failed to compensate for, felt the shudder as the ships entered atmosphere, some even hearing the dim scream as the transports plunged toward the ground, braking down from Mach numbers, ship skins white-hot.

  For some, that was all they’d ever hear or feel, as Goddards struck home.

  “All First Brigade elements,” Fitzgerald said calmly. “Find a target, and if you can’t destroy it in the air, pinpoint it when it reaches ground, and relay that to your commanders. If they’re dispersing troops, land and go after them. Let them surrender if they will, but take no chances.”

  • • •

  “Well?” Jasith Mellusin asked. Her yacht hung on the tail of a Larissan troop transport as it dived through the atmosphere.

  Her new captain, Halfin, was not only a fellow Rentier
, if one of the bankrupt sort, but formerly one of the ranking contenders in the rich people’s sport of point-to-point, now played with spaceships. But he’d never killed a man, let alone a thousand or so men before. He licked his lips, hesitated.

  The transport filled a new screen that had been mounted to one side of his position, hooked to the chin-mounted bank of unguided Fury rockets that uglied up the smooth lines of the Godrevy.

  “Shoot him, goddammit!” Jasith ordered, and the man convulsively hit the firing sensor.

  Furies rippled out, crashed into the Larissan’s drive tubes, exploded. The transport banked to the side, and smoke poured out a hole in its side, then it went completely out of control.

  The ship spun down through two thousand meters, hit water as hard as steel at speed, and was ripped apart.

  Jasith looked down at the swirling water, and something moved inside her as she thought of the murder of her father by the ‘Raum, the friends she’d lost from the Musth, and again from the bombing raid, and a rather terrible smile came.

  Halfin looked at her, then quickly away.

  “Now,” Jasith said. “Let’s look for another of the bastards.”

  She thought she was starting to understand why Garvin was a soldier.

  • • •

  “Set it down, next to those Griersons,” Garvin ordered, closing the clip on his fighting harness.

  “Sir,” his pilot said, bringing the command ACV toward the ground.

  There were a pair of fat Larissan merchant ships that’d tried for a beach landing on Mullion Island. The first had hit the water’s edge and dug a furrow into the jungle that grew right up to the black sand. The second had tried for a landing parallel with the beach, hit a rock outcropping, and split in two.

  Half a dozen Griersons from I&R Company were grounded nearby, and a pair of Zhukovs orbited overhead.

  Garvin saw jubilant soldiers herding Larissan troops toward an improvised holding area, others, in small patrols, sweeping into the jungle.

  He hoped all of the Larissans surrendered, having heard tales from Ben Dill about the monsters living in those jungles and, worse, in the water close to them.

  His Grierson grounded, and the ramp dropped. Garvin put on his combat helmet, checked his blaster, and ran out onto the sand. Behind him, two soldiers detailed as his bodyguards swore and followed him.

  Jaansma knew he had as much business being on the ground with a gun as he would have swimming naked across the straits to Dharma Island, but didn’t give a damn. It had been too long since he’d had a chance to do anything other than look at maps and studies, and besides, he wanted revenge for what’d happened to him and the other I&R troops on Kura Four.

  Garvin heard the smash of blasters from the jungle, grinned tightly, and looked for a patrol to join up within.

  “Sir!”

  Jaansma stopped, turned, saw Lir.

  “Can I ask what you’re doing here, sir?”

  “Thought I could help.”

  Lir’s smile was utterly malevolent.

  “I’m very sorry, Haut Jaansma, but I simply can’t permit such a valuable staff officer as yourself to risk yourself in this minor mopping up.”

  “Goddammit, Monique, I’m serious!”

  “So am I, sir. And I have to ask you to return to your ACV, to avoid any possibility of your being harmed, sir.”

  Garvin started to snarl something, realized it would do no good, especially as she leaned close, and her lips formed the words:

  “I told you I’d get my revenge.”

  There were two grinning I&R men behind her, and there wasn’t any doubt in Garvin’s mind they’d cheerfully relieve him of his blaster and tuck him forcibly back in his Grierson if Lir ordered.

  “Thank you, Cent Lir,” Jaansma said, teeth on edge. “I’ll always remember that you have my best interests at heart.”

  Rapid blaster fire came from behind him, and he half ducked, caught himself. He realized neither of the three I&R soldiers had bothered moving. Maybe he had gotten a little rusty.

  “Now if you’ll forgive me, sir,” Lir said. “I’ve got Larissans to round up.”

  Garvin went back to his ACV, was airborne, trying to decide if he should fume or laugh.

  • • •

  The invasion by Larix/Kura ended in a long, drawn-out whimper. Larissan soldiers, ragged, starving, were still being winkled out of the jungle two E-years later.

  One more step, Dont Angara thought. A fast one. And then it’ll be our turn.

  CHAPTER

  22

  N-Space

  The undamaged Cumbrian warships and their crews weren’t allowed much time to rest and recuperate. Angara had kept certain factories out of primary war production, building some very classified, fairly small devices. Now the Force starships went back to the space and N-space around Larix and Kura, sowing these devices around every known nav point.

  There wasn’t much risk — the Larissans were shocky by their unexpected and harsh defeat, and weren’t eager to seek and destroy the enemy until they recovered and rebuilt.

  So the planting went on, trip after trip after trip.

  Then the Cumbrian ships vanished, and Larissan scouts reported the starways were open.

  • • •

  Ohnce of the Second Generation hung somewhere in N-space, “close” to one of the nav points off Kura Four. Time passed, was counted by its recorders, was meaningless.

  Then a sensor responded to input, and the Ohnce came alive. Its circuits found a disturbance in hyperspace, and the Ohnce II, now a globe sitting atop a cylinder, came alive. Its small hyperdrive sent it toward that disturbance, closed on it.

  Another circuit came on, a proximity detector.

  The Ohnce closed on the disturbance, a ship full of agricultural products bound for Larix Prime. A tidy sort, it sent a signal to a Bohnce, somewhere “nearby” in hyperspace, that another Ohnce would be needed.

  A second — if real time existed in hyperspace — later, it exploded as directed, close enough for the blast to remove that disturbance.

  Some time thereafter, a velv set another Ohnce in place, waiting for the next Kuran ship. Its crew said it was very spooky, as their detectors reported an Ohnce approaching, then tracking away as it “recognized” the friendly ship. “Sniffing like a damned giptel,” one technician said with a shudder.

  Other Ohnces hung off Larix, and backtracked ships from Kura that used other nav points to travel to the capital system, or laboriously navigated from projected point to projected point to reach Larix, establishing new fixed nav points, after which the Ohnces remorselessly destroyed them.

  The destruction of one merchant ship didn’t bother Protector Redruth at all, Celidon only slightly. But then ten, thirty, eighty-six transports from Kura were missing, without ever a distress signal or explanation.

  Celidon was the first to note that ships going from Larix to Kura remained untouched.

  Insurance firms on Larix refused to write coverage for any ship bound between Kura and the capital system.

  By then, it was obvious to Celidon, and shortly afterward to the Protector, what was going on:

  Cumbre was starving Larix to death, using some completely unknown weapon.

  Then ships outbound from Larix to Kura started disappearing as more Ohnces were built and set in place, these “close” to Larix’s nav points.

  The two systems were cut off from each other.

  Celidon couldn’t figure out what could be done, even after Larissan scientists discovered the destruction wasn’t being done by raiders, but by unglamorous, unmanned, very deadly mines.

  The Larissans never discovered the whimsical names of Ohnce and Bohnce that Dr. Danfin Froude had given the devices, nor, in the short time before the war escalated once more, any countermeasures.

  The mines were very unglamorous, and no dashing young officers wearing scarves piloted them, but they were far more effective than the most highly trained aksai drivers.


  Ben Dill fumed very loudly at the way romance was being taken out of war.

  Cumbre/D-Cumbre

  Two E-months had passed since the Larissan catastrophe. Angara’s staff had been very, very busy.

  Dant Angara summoned his commanders to Camp Mahan. “Within one E-month,” he announced without preamble, “the Force will land and conquer Larix Prime.

  “It is time for this war to be ended.”

  CHAPTER

  23

  Cumbre/D-Cumbre

  “I think,” Jasith Mellusin told Dant Angara, “I want to throw a ball.”

  “A victory celebration would be excellent,” Angara said. “And thank you for your faith in the Legion.”

  “No, Dant,” Jasith said. “Everyone and anyone will be having a party then. I want mine to be now … or as soon as I can arrange things, given your approval.”

  “Since you’re evidently asking my approval,” Angara said, “might I ask who your guests will be? Remembering that anyone from the Force will be unavailable in a very short time.”

  “I want the entire Force,” Mellusin said.

  Angara blinked. “The whole Force? All of us? That’s … well, my strength report is classified, but let’s say that would be well over fifteen thousand men and women, given the new recruits.”

  “That sounds about right from my people’s estimates.”

  “Lord God in a bucket, Miss Mellusin. That’ll be the biggest party in Cumbre’s history.”

  “Not quite,” Jasith said. “My father, when he reached his majority, invited all his employees and anyone else in the system to a two-day bash. It shocked the hell out of the other Rentiers, since he made the ‘Raum welcome, too.

  “But that’s the dim past. And by the way, it’s Jasith, please.”

  “What an impossible idea,” Angara said. Then a thought came. “You know … if our propaganda folk could arrange for this to be transmitted to Larix and Kura, that would certainly be a shock to Redruth, thinking that we had time to play … hmm. Interesting. Possibly not at all a bad idea — even if it is impossible.