by John Carr
After what seemed an interminable wait, the Steward began to speak again.”Tight beam call from the General. Saurons! Here on Haven. Attacking the Fort!”
“What?”
“That’s all we got, before they stopped sending. Radioman’s getting nothing but static now.”
Saurons, he thought. The Empire will never be back now. Raymond’s gone too. That makes me next Baron - my God!
He shook his head to clear his thoughts. This was no time for woolgathering. “Have the Master-at-Arms call out the Household troops. Shut off the radio! Then shutdown all electrical appliances and keep all the lights turned off.”
“I’ve already informed Master Cromwell about the attack. He should have the Guard out as we talk. He didn’t think it was necessary to call out the levy.”
“He’s right. Too little information. Besides, we don’t want to look like an armed camp. It might draw the wrong attention.”
“Your Lordship, who should I tell about this? What about the Baron?”
‘Your Lordship?’ That’s a first, thought John. The old boy must really be shook! “We don’t want to frighten anyone, so tell the Staff that we’ve got a report of raiders in the area. They’re used to that drill. Same with the subjects. I’ll talk to the Master-at-Arms. We’ll need to send a fast rider over to Bridgeford to give a message to the Baron. I’ll write it now.”
While John wrote a short note, Kanter dismissed the line of petitioners at the doorway. Then he took the note and dashed out.
John took a handgun out of the desk, and took his leave of the manor. He was at the front door, when he heard Ingrid Cummings’ voice, “Who are these raiders, John?”
“Just some bandits. Sparks got word of them on the shortwave.”
Ingrid turned him around with the light touch of her hand. “Don’t lie to me, John Hamilton. I’m a General’s daughter and I’ve been lied to by the best. These are not household variety bandits. I take it you’re on your way to the Tower?”
John nodded.
“Then I’m coming with you.”
“It would be safer if you stayed here.”
“I’m right, aren’t I? Aircraft? Who could that be? The Redfielders can’t make it over the Miracle Mountains in those cloth kites of theirs. And they don’t carry enough gas to get here from the Anglia Satrap, or whatever Redfield’s calling New Anglia, these days. Of course, if Old Enoch has divined anti-gravity we’re all in trouble.”
John smiled in spite of himself. He could see she was going to keep at him until Eyefall unless he invited her along.”Follow me, then.”
“Such a gracious invitation, Your Lordship.”
He ground his teeth. The Tower was the original keep of the castle that Old Edmund Hamilton had brought with him from Scotland (not New Scotland, but Scotland, Terra) during the CoDominium era. It was also rumored to be the spot where he had hidden the treasure of gold and silver ingots that had given House Hamilton security and strength, while everyone else on Haven scrambled to survive, as the planetary economy splintered and cracked into a million small pieces.
These days the Tower was used as an armory and they had to make their way through stacked cases of rifles and munitions, as well as man-sized boxes containing the durasteel armors created for the Baron by General Cummings seven or eight years ago. The accommodation had worked out well for both parties; the Baron had gotten almost impenetrable armor and the General had gotten enough gold and silver to feed and pay his troops. All parties had prospered - until now.
The stone staircase was large enough for four abreast, but was cold and drafty. John found himself putting his arm around Ingrid, who was shivering, to keep her warm. It wasn’t uncomfortable, and when she snuggled closer he found himself frowning at the unexpected closeness and the animal awareness of a shapely female at hand it brought to his attention.
Ingrid turned and caught his frown. “Wipe the smirk off your face, John Hamilton. If it’s too difficult to keep your lecherous thoughts under control, then I’d just rather be cold, thank you.”
“Aaargh!” he spluttered, jerking his hand off her shoulders as if he’d accidentally laid it on a hot stove. Damnable woman! It wasn’t as if he had an abundance of female companionship around here, anyway. Most of the attractive women at Whitehall were wives or young daughters of friends or allies. Which surely cut down on his opportunities. The most available - and attractive, blast it - woman on premises had the spit and snarl of a Tamerlame. Not that he’d ever thought of Ingrid as an ‘available’ woman. Bloody hell, she was doing it to him again!
They walked the rest of the way up the old staircase in silence. At the top of the Tower all looked well. It was still several hours to Eyefall and the countryside that fell away below them looked as peaceful as a painting. They could hear the clank of armor as the Guard formed up along the battlements and took positions inside the courtyard.
A loud boom sounded overhead.
Ingrid flinched.”What was that?”
“Sonic boom, I believe. It’s been years since we’ve heard that sound here.”
“I do hope Dad’s okay. Mom, too.” Ingrid shivered again, but this time it was obviously not from the cold.
It was hard to think of General Cummings as anyone’s Dad, but he too would hate to see anything happen to the man who’d been Greensward’s savior on more than one occasion. According to the Baron, the General had been awarded the Imperial Cross for valor and was one of the heroes of the Liberation of Lavaca. He’d also fought the Saurons at Tabletop and had led the “Land ‘Gators” to victory in the First Battle of Tanith. How old was he anyway?
“How old is the General?” he asked Ingrid, partly to take her mind off her worries, and partly to satisfy his curiosity.
“Seventy-three Terran years. He had full regeneration treatments before we came to Haven, back on Friedland. I know everyone wonders why I’m so much younger than Mom and Dad. I was the last child, late in life.”
Her face crumpled.”Born of my father’s rejuvenated lust, that’s how my mother puts it. She’s still bitter that he could only arrange treatments for himself. But it wasn’t father’s fault, he was under orders from the Admiralty. He’s attempted to explain it to mother many times...”
John had only met Laura Cummings once, while living in Castell City. That meeting had been uncomfortable enough so that he’d made sure their paths had never crossed again. Even a decade ago she had looked more like the General’s mother than his wife. Treated him like a mother, too. Another reason he preferred to stay single and free. Marriage turned the entire breed into stobors - and usually sooner, rather than later.
“Don’t take it so hard, Ingrid. I never was able to know my parents, they died in a road accident when I was a young boy. Hard to imagine these days, traffic being what it is now. The Baron raised me and the only woman in the house was Mrs. Ransome, the housekeeper. I didn’t shed many tears when she passed away.”
“So you never knew your mother?”
“Only as a very young child.”
“You were lucky. I don’t mean to be cruel, but my mother still holds grudges she nursed back on Friedland as an infant. She despises my older sister for marrying beneath her, as she puts it, and living in the suburbs. I think mother’s just jealous she didn’t have enough gumption to refuse to leave Friedland with father in the first place. But Friedland’s a conservative place and her family would have been scandalized if she’d stayed instead of leaving with her husband. I would have done it anyway.”
John was certain she would have stayed. It was one of the reasons she was still single. She had come to Whitehall against her mother’s wishes. It was true that Ingrid got along famously with the Baron, which was probably where the Old Man got his idea that the two of them were a good match. Thankfully, this was the middle of the twenty-seventh century and dynastic marriages were no longer arranged. Give it a few decades, he thought wryly. Maybe not; best to be on guard. It would be just like Grandfather to bring the custom of arranged
marriages back to Haven!
“Ingrid, I take it you’re not anxious to return to Castell City?”
“No. I don’t have many friends there. The Militia is not popular since my Father refuses to do as the Chamber of Deputies or anyone else asks. Not that I blame him. They can’t even run the City, much less Haven.”
John nodded. The Hamiltons had already had more than one near-fatal brush with Castell, when former King Steele had sent an ‘army’ to take Whitehall. And another when they’d taken their force back to Castell to teach the blackguard a stiff lesson in diplomacy, John could sympathize with Ingrid wanting to be out of the City, but why here? And with him? Although he suspected he was no more her choice than she was his.
“Look over there!” she cried. There was a brief flash, not enough to hurt the eyes so he knew it was some distance away, couple hundred klicks at least.
Then they saw the familiar dark plume, from old newsreels and 3V anyway, followed by a rumble that shook the old stone walls.
“Jesus wept,” John said without thinking.
Tears were streaming down Ingrid’s face.”Those poor people. Our world is coming to an end.”
John nodded.
“Is the blast far away?” she asked.
“Yes, or we’d be blind.” He took her in his arms without thinking. Ingrid buried her face in his thick wool sweater. Damn, she feels good, he thought. Then they caught sight of the mushroom cloud and didn’t say or think anything for a long time.
Forty
I
The second pair of Redfield/Suomi planes was maneuvering to relieve the first as Leino watched from a circling pattern due west. A boring and silly exercise, he had decided, but it did give him and his men the chance to study the Redfield ships and pilots at close quarters.
The last skirmish with the Redfield Satrapy had brought a few of their planes down in Uossi Suomi territory, and the technicians were both delighted and astonished to find that the enemy aircraft had wooden frames with canvas skins; except for the engine, almost no structural metal at all. This made them more fragile than the Suomi aircraft, but lighter and more agile as well, much less prone to stall or loss of control in the thin atmosphere of Haven.
It was Leino and the fighter pilots like him who had to learn that the Redfielder ships were also practically invisible to Uossi Suomi’s powerful radars, modified from designs for detecting metal-skinned fighters - such as the Invictas flown by the Militia and some of the richer Valley states. They’d learned that the Redfield planes didn’t appear on their screens until very close, indeed. And they learned it the hard way.
It makes an interesting match, Leino thought. He himself had brought down three of the Redfielders’ ships during that last flare-up, but the enemy had given a good accounting of themselves, as well.
Something gleamed along the coast, two thousand meters below. Two somethings, Leino corrected himself.
“Viggen, this is Leino, do you read?”
“Leino, this is Viggen, I see them. Do you have a signature?”
The Redfielder’s voice had gone tense. Leino’s radar had not sounded its detection tone. He increased the gain, aligning his aircraft toward the two glittering streaks below, already very much closer than any conventional aircraft could have gotten so quickly, and climbing. There was still no image on his screen. Yet they were obviously metal jets.
“They’re either jamming us or using - ”
Leino’s voice choked on the word “stealth”; the level of technology required to render jet aircraft invisible to radar was so far beyond his experience as to be practically mythological.
Another voice came on over the channel, one of Viggen’s squadron.
“They’re splitting up, sir, one making for – Christi!
The spook passed so close that Leino could clearly see the great, flaming eye insignia on the fuselage, could even make out the pilot in fully secure extra-orbital flight gear.
Pirates, he realized, and in the next instant a thunderous shock wave of displaced air battered Leino’s aircraft straight up and back. Leino’s face struck the instrument panel, shattering glass, and blood filled his eyes. The shock wave must have deafened him, too, because he couldn’t hear his engine. I hope it’s my ears, he thought, as he wiped the blood from his face. He would need the engine to recover, now; his aircraft had gone into a flat spin.
II
As the all-terrain vehicle bounced along the twin ruts that passed for a road, General Cummings tried to keep from biting his tongue in two. He was in the backseat of the rover, with Colonel Robert Thurstone, the commandant of Fort Kursk. The Sergeant Major was driving, while Cummings’ aide, Colonel Leung, rode shotgun. The makeshift ‘road’ led to a barn where a small helicopter had been hidden.
No one was sure just how good Sauron surveillance was, nor did they want to find out. Few battle plans survived contact with the enemy; in this war, the General had learned, no battle plan survived contact with a Sauron, and where they were involved, things were always worse than they appeared. The combined maxim hadn’t failed him yet.
The evacuation of Fort Kursk was going as fast as possible, better than expected. The only good news so far. They’d cut communications to the absolute minimum and had been left alone by the Saurons, almost as if they were not a serious target. They probably aren’t, he thought, grimly. Most of the Militia’s jets, the Invictas, had been destroyed or put of commission. A few had landed on out-of-the-way airports, as directed in the contingency plans, but he had little hope they’d survive the invasion. Not that they were much good against Sauron fighter craft, whether supraorbitals or just plain air breathers.
“I don’t think you should leave, General,” Colonel Robert Thurstone said.”We need you here to take charge of the evacuation. We have thousands of dependents to look after and I for one don’t think we have much time before the Saurons hit us again.”
Thurstone, like himself, was a former Imperial Marine from Churchill. He was a wonderful commandant, and with Colonel Leung, had Fort Kursk running like an Imperial Naval vessel. However, he was a true peacetime warrior. He was also his oldest friend on Haven.
“We aren’t leaving,” the General said. “We are temporarily relocating to Fort Fornova. At least, I am. I want the Regiment to disperse into companies and lay low until we learn more about this invasion. For some reason, the Saurons haven’t touched the forts at all. That worries me.”
“Last report is that another shuttle landed outside Evaskar. Maybe they plan to establish the bridgehead there.”
“It makes sense. Whoever controls the Karakul Pass holds the steppes in the palm of their hand. It’s where I’d have landed at the outset if the situation were reversed. First, take Fort Stony Point, and then Evaskar at my leisure. Fort Fornova is the next stepping stone to holding the northern Valley. That’s probably why they’ve left Fornova alone; they plan to take it in one piece and use it as their own.”
Colonel Thurstone nodded. “You’re right, General. If the Empire lost this bloody damn war, part of the reason would be leaving you stranded on this godforsaken ball of ice. They should have kicked half the General Staff upstairs and made you Lord Marshal; the Saurons wouldn’t have known what hit them.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Robert. But I seriously doubt my leaving the war had much to do with the Empire’s success or failure. What I do need to do is get to Fort Fornova before the Saurons. If they’re going to set-up camp at Evaskar, I want to have a little surprise waiting there for them.”
“You should get bloody-all-full support from Colonel Harrigan. Should we send any of our troops with you?”
“It will be difficult enough just to get me and a small staff there without alerting the Saurons. Impossible with a company or two along for the ride.”
“The nuclear depot. You had everyone convinced they were stored right here at Fort Kursk. It kept King Steele reined in; he was always afraid you’d play the nuclear wild card.”
&n
bsp; Cummings laughed. ”That’s because he was a vain little man who thought himself the best the species had to offer, so obviously no one could be more clever. A serious failure of the imagination.”
“Why not let Harrigan take care of it?”
“Colonel Harrigan is a good officer, but he’s better at taking orders than fulfilling them. He tends to think he knows more about any situation than he does. We need to husband our small nuclear cache and use it for the largest possible gain.”
“Right, General,” Thurstone nodded, frowning.”I can see where Colonel Harrigan, or Cahill, his junior, might have some ‘ideas’ of their own about what the best course of action is. Are you sure you can trust him?”
“Yes, as long as he’s certain that the Brigade is still under my command. We don’t have much time before long distance travel is out of the question. What we can’t afford to do is wait to see what the Sauron game plan is.”
Sergeant Major Slater slowed the jeep as they approached an abandoned farmhouse; the house was mostly subterranean, Harmony-style. The barn was still standing.
Slater honked the horn twice and the barn’s double-doors opened, revealing a small chopper. The pilot and two militiamen left the barn and approached the General.
“Any problems?” Colonel Leung asked.
“No, quiet as a church.”
“Won’t be for long,” the pilot said, with a grin.
As Slater and militiamen moved the copter out of the barn, Colonel Thurstone turned to the pilot. ”Think it’ll be safe up there?” He pointed up towards Cat’s Eye, then he cocked his thumb in the General’s direction.”We can’t afford to lose him, you know.”
“We’ll hug the ground, keep our radar signature down.” the pilot shrugged, adding casually, “should be as safe as taking a barrel down the Alf River.” He laughed then, as if he had just cracked the best joke in a century. The small gathering nodded glumly at his more-than-accurate assessment.
III
