Into the Light

by David Weber

  * * *

  “CODE WHITE!” A communications noncom barked suddenly. “Team Razdyr is Code White!”

  “Excrement!” Myrcal snarled. Couldn’t these eight-thumbed idiots do anything right?!

  Ous brain raced, but not for long. Dwomo knew the Earthians’ communications were better than anything the Empire had, which meant it wouldn’t take long to—

  “Take Fikiryah now, Lance!” he snapped. “And send the immediate execution signal to all your other teams!”

  * * *

  “CODE WHITE!”

  The code phrase crackled over Gauntlet Lysal MorLysDyn’s crestphones and her nasal flaps tightened under her oxygen mask as her flight of twelve Shyrmals sliced through the air towards the Earthian “personnel carrier.”

  Yeah, sure, a corner of her brain thought derisively. “Personnel carrier.” Wish to Dwomo’s third hell we had “personnel carriers” like that!

  But it was only a corner of her brain. The rest was too busy responding.

  “Drop tanks and follow me!” she ordered, and yanked back on the stick as her fighter’s auxiliary fuel tanks tumbled away. Frankly, she didn’t think they had a chance in hell of intercepting the Earthian representative—or doing much with him, if they did—but that was what her orders said to do under Code White, and by Dwomo, that’s what she’d do.

  Fortunately, they’d been close to the point at which her flight was supposed to relieve the current escort. She couldn’t see the Earthian vehicle yet, but the escort’s contrails were clear enough in the cold air, and she was almost a minran higher than the Earthians’ cleared air corridor. So, if she was Ambassador Abu’s pilot, and if she had any clue what was going on, what she’d be doing was—

  * * *

  “OSWALD!”

  The single word cracked over Malachi Dvorak’s cochlear implants and a map of the Empire flashed in his vision with an icon labeled “Somogyi, F.” superimposed on the city of Razdyr.

  “Oswald!” he barked out loud. “Marge, time to go!”

  “You got that right, Boss!” Celaj acknowledged.

  “Where is it?” Abu Bakr demanded from behind them. “Who is it?”

  “Razdyr and Doc Yamazaki,” Malachi responded, looking over his shoulder. “And sit down and buckle the fuck in, Uncle Abu!”

  * * *

  “AMBASSADOR ONE,” A voice said in implants. “Cheetah One sees Shyrmals coming from the west and climbing hard.”

  “Got them,” Malachi acknowledged as the Qwernian fighters’ icons dropped into his field of view. They must have started climbing even before Celaj had, and the dotted line of their projected vector passed close to the Airaavatha.

  “My HUD—” it wasn’t actually anything so crude as a Heads up Display, of course, but like “phone,” the term had stuck “—shows you clear of their weapons on your current vector,” Major Steve Douglass said. “How do you want to handle it?”

  Malachi started to reply. There was no point shooting down primitive aircraft that couldn’t even hope to intercept them, he thought. Besides—

  Somogyi Fanni’s light code turned blood red on the map of Razdyr. Seconds later, Tomas Alvarado’s did the same thing.

  Malachi Dvorak looked at those crimson icons of death where two more of his Space Marines had been, and his brown eyes were cold.

  “Take the bastards out,” he grated. “Every fucking one of them.”

  * * *

  “CHEETAH FLIGHT, WE are cleared to splash all the Qwernian fighters. I say again, weapons red and free!” Major Douglass announced over his squadron com net. “Cheetah Two, you’re with me. We’ll take the twelve currently on station. Cheetahs Three and Four, you’ve got the ones that are just arriving. Splash them all!”

  “Cheetah One, Cheetah Three. Copy all,” the leader of the second section replied. “C’mon, Four, let’s go kill the sons-of-bitches.”

  Douglass nodded as the second section of trans-atmospheric fighters pulled to the right and dove on the unsuspecting Shyrmals.

  “Section,” he said, cuing his AI to switch to the section frequency. “I’ve got the six closest to the Airaavatha,” he continued without a break. “You’ve got the other six. Stand by to fire.”

  He designated the six targets to his weapons system. He allocated a Lancer radar-guided missile to each of them as they started to break apart to chase the maneuvering Airaavatha. He’d still have two Lancers left in case he missed or any more showed up. And his heat seekers. And his gun, if it came to that.

  “Targets designated,” Lieutenant Simmons, his wingman reported.

  Douglass took a last look as his display. All the targets were green—the system had radar locks with live missiles assigned to each.

  “Roger that. Standby to fire. Three. Two. One.” The bay doors opened, and the missiles leapt from the interior of the fighter. “Fox One … on all of them!”

  * * *

  MALACHI SCANNED THE tactical presentation on his cornea, pissed off that the Qwernians had actually been dumb enough to try it a second time. Even worse—for them—this time, the attacks lacked the precision of the first round. If he’d have been running them, the Shyrmals would have led off against the hardest target—the Airaavatha.

  He shrugged. Now, the twelve oncoming Shyrmals would never be a factor—Corporal Celaj had maneuvered to leave them behind. The ones that had been “escorting” them were still relatively close by, but with the IFV’s sudden change of direction, they would never be able to get within weapons range of it.

  While the IFV was out of range of the Shyrmals’ guns, though, the Shyrmals were not out of range of the Airaavatha, he saw with a smile. “Hey, Santos. If you can range on the Shyrmals, feel free to take them out.”

  “Sorry, Sir,” Corporal María Fernanda Santos, his gunner said. “No can do.”

  Malachi spun around. “Why not?”

  “Check your visual, Boss,” Santos replied, and Malachi swapped his corneal display. A series of fire-cored black smoke clouds extended off into the distance to starboard, and even as he watched, another string of black puffs appeared on the port side, a little farther out.

  “The Starhawks beat us to it,” Santos said with profound satisfaction.

  * * *

  “DON’T MOVE!” THE Earthian ordered as Gauntlet Fuldan JelFulJar, along with three eights of troops, marched down Dwysyr Street towards the house assigned as Representative Jeng Hanying’s quarters in the city of Tyrhaz.

  Something was wrong—the two Earthians outside the door had been alerted somehow and looked ready for battle. There was very little cover outside the house—not entirely by accident—but one of them knelt behind the front steps’ balustrade. And both of them had unslung their rifles … which were pointed at him.

  Fuldan didn’t much care for that.

  He waved one hand unobtrusively at Fist Myrthan ShalMyrDyn, the platoon’s CO, and raised one nasal flap at the senior Earthian.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, trying to sound both innocent and offended.

  “We’ve had assaults on our people all across the Empire,” the Earthian said. “Now you show up here, armed, with twenty-five troops. Are we supposed to think you just happened to drop by?”

  Fuldan sighed. He’d hoped to catch the Earthians unaware, but apparently something had happened and the Earthians’ communications network was—sadly—faster than the Qwernian Empire’s. How he wished they could build radios that small!

  “I suppose not,” he said after a moment, realizing the element of surprise was gone, no matter what he did. If anything, his admission made the Earthians even more tense, if that were possible.

  “Turn around and leave,” the Earthian said. “If you do, no one has to get hurt.”

  “Unfortunately, that isn’t true,” Fuldan said. “My orders are to take Representative Jeng Hanying into custody, and I’ll likely be executed if I fail in my mission. So I, at least, would be hurt. But no one has to get hurt if you put down your rifle
s. Let us have him, and you can go about your business.”

  “Not happening.”

  Fuldan tapped his foot on the sidewalk.

  “That’s too bad,” he said, tapping a second time. “I’d hoped—”

  He dove to the side as his foot tapped a third time, which was the signal to attack, and his troops raised their rifles and fired into the Earthians. His people were well trained, and this was no time for finesse. They opened up, spraying bullets at the Earthians and concentrating their fire on spots the aliens’ armor didn’t protect.

  That many weapons, firing on full automatic, couldn’t all miss. The flimsy protection of the balustrade erupted in a cloud of cement particles, and both Earthians went down with bullets through their throats.

  The Earthians, unfortunately, couldn’t miss either, Fuldan saw as he stood. Both of them might be dead, but the brief bursts they’d gotten off as his troopers’ rifles came up had been devastating. Over half his troops were down, including Fist Myrthan. Most were sprawled in heaps of ripped and torn meat, but others curled in agony around brutal, gaping wounds and the sounds of their screams burned in his crest. He looked at the mangled bodies and lakes of blood, listened to those screams, then tightened his nasal flaps and strode to the door while the medic worked to save who she could.

  He reached it and nodded his head in resignation. It was locked … of course.

  “Representative Jeng! Come out, please.”

  “Think that’s going to work, Sir?” Leader of Twenty-Four Chastik TanSolChas asked.

  “No, not really,” Fuldan replied. “But it was worth a try if it got him out more quickly.” He waited for another half-eight of seelaqs, then added, “However, it doesn’t appear that anything’s going to be easy for us today, and we’re on a short timeline. Blow the door.”

  Chastik called forward the leader of eight who was the platoon’s surviving explosives expert. In less than a kysaq, they were ready, and Fuldan shook his head once.

  “Do it.”

  The leader of eight pushed the button, and the detonation blew in the door, destroying the door frame in the process.

  Chastik raced to the room, but stopped in the doorway. She turned to Fuldan, her nasal flaps closed tightly, and waved him over. “Sorry, Sir,” she said. “It looks like the Eight used too big a charge.”

  She moved out of the way, and Fuldan strode through the door to find Jeng Hanying on the floor in the center of the room. He’d apparently been trying to listen at the door, and when it blew, fragments of it had riddled his face and chest. If Fuldan hadn’t known whose door it was, the Earthian would have been hard to identify.

  Fuldan sighed one last time. Civilians. Any soldier would have known to stay the hell away from a door that was about to be breached, but not a Dwomo–damned civilian. And was anyone going to think about that? Of course not. His orders had allowed for a certain amount of destruction—and specified that the Earthian troopers were better dead than alive—but they’d been quite clear in that the representative was to have been captured alive.

  “The Minister is not going to like this.”

  * * *

  “I SUSPECT MINISTER Myrcal’s less than delighted by these curbside pickups,” Batma observed as the Airaavatha came sliding down to the street in front of her mansion. A half dozen Qwernian police had halted regular street traffic, and the other three Marines of her double-wing security detachment formed a hollow, alert triangle around its landing space.

  “With all due respect, Ma’am, my piles bleed for Minister Myrcal,” Floden said dryly. She wrinkled her nose at him, but she didn’t say anything. Myrcal was not popular with any of the Terrans who’d had the unfortunate honor of serving here in the Qwernian Empire.

  “It does look suitably ominous, doesn’t it?” she said instead, and Floden grunted in satisfied agreement.

  The twenty-ton vehicle was long and lean, and the teardrop dorsal turret with its twin thirteen-millimeter HMG1s faired sleekly into its lines. It slid down the last few meters of sky with glassy smoothness and touched down neatly.

  “Your chariot awaits, Ma’am,” Floden said, and fell in alertly at her heels as she started down the steps.

  * * *

  “CODE WHITE!”

  Double Fist Lyrquyn LyrGozHal had been watching the menacing-looking Earthian vehicle’s arrival. Now ous head snapped around at ous radio operator’s sharp announcement. Dwomo! It would happen at the worst possible moment, wouldn’t it?

  “Excrement!” Fist Prydyr HowPrySyn, the commander of Lyrquyn’s first platoon, snarled, then shook herself. “Sorry, Tysan.”

  Lyrquyn only grunted, because ou knew exactly what was going through Prydyr’s mind. The same thing was going through ous mind.

  “Stand to,” ou said out loud, trying to mask the sinking sensation in ous midsection. If this really was Code White, there was only one way it could go down, and when that happened—

  “Execute Krylith, Tysan,” the radio operator said, as if Minister Myrcal had read ous mind, and ou looked at Prydyr.

  “You heard,” ou said grimly. “Move out.”

  * * *

  THE AIRAAVATHA’S STARBOARD hatch cycled open as Batma and Floden approached. The walkway through the mansion’s large, beautifully manicured garden was a good sixty meters long, shaded by native trees with long, spatulate leaves that rubbed cheerfully in the gentle breeze. Colored pea gravel crunched underfoot, and the assistant ambassador drew a deep breath of flower-scented air. It really was a nice planet, she thought, despite the endless days and nights and the dim—by human standards—sunlight. Now if only the people who lived here were all as rational as the Diantians! She wouldn’t mind an assignment—

  “Oswald!” Floden snapped suddenly over the command net. “Move, Ma’am! Move!”

  * * *

  “OH, FORNICATE!” DOUBLE Fist Lyrquyn snarled as the three Earthians stationed around the grounded air car dropped suddenly to one knee and rifles snapped into the firing position. They couldn’t have seen ous people yet, so it had to be—

  It was. From ous position at the first-floor window, ou saw the incredibly tall Earthian male bark something at Ambassador Fikiryah that sent her running towards the waiting vehicle.

  This was going to be even uglier than ou’d thought, ou realized as the first of Fist Prydyr’s special ops troopers came boiling out of every door and window of the mansions in which they’d been concealed.

  * * *

  “OH SHIT!”

  Batma was vaguely aware of Floden skidding to a halt and dropping into a kneeling firing position behind her. She started to slow.

  “Get into the jævla Airaavatha!” he snarled at her, and she redoubled her pace as her security team’s Brontos began to snap.

  * * *

  LYRQUYN WATCHED IN shock—not really disbelief, but shock—as the Earthians opened fire. Ou’d never seen or imagined individual firearms that could do that!

  The Earthians ripped off controlled bursts. They didn’t just point and spray like too many soldiers did. Their fire discipline was at least as good as ous own troops’, and their weapons hit with devastating power. Charging infantry didn’t simply go down; all too often their torsos or limbs seemed to explode, and the same bullet could take down three or even four of them!

  There were only four Earthians, while Lyrquyn had brought eight eights of picked troopers with oum, but it was a massacre.

  And not of the Earthians.

  * * *

  FIKRIYAH BATMA HURLED herself headfirst through the open hatch. Waiting hands caught her, hauling her fully into the IFV, and someone half-flung her into a seat.

  “Package secure!” the vehicle commander announced over the communications net.

  “Cover us,” Sergeant Floden responded curtly.

  “My fucking pleasure,” the vehicle commander agreed. “You heard him, Gus. Weapons free.”

  “Rock ’n’ roll time,” the gunner acknowledged, and the dorsal turret came to l
ife.

  * * *

  LYRQUYN’S NASAL FLAPS clenched in dismay as the Earthian vehicle’s dorsal turret suddenly trained out. It moved with precise, lethal speed, and then it opened fire.

  * * *

  THE LAST OF the Sarthian troopers poured out of the mansions in which they’d hidden. Whatever one might think of their mission, there was nothing at all wrong with those troops’ courage. Of course, they hadn’t had very long to realize just what the Space Marine’s rifles could do to them.

  They didn’t live long enough to find out.

  * * *

  LYRQUYN LYRGOZHAL CRIED out in wordless horror as the twin Earthian machine guns ravaged ous remaining troopers. They didn’t just explode, now; they vaporized. Ou’d seen what Sarthian heavy machine guns could do, and that paled to insignificance beside this!

  * * *

  “ALL ABOARD AND accounted for,” Floden announced. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “Suits me,” the vehicle commander acknowledged. “What about where they came from, though?”

  “Object lesson time,” Floden growled as the crimson codes of dead Space Marines from other locations spangled his corneal displays. “Burn the bastards out.”