The Fleet Book 2: Counter Attack

by David Drake (ed)

  “Hold!” Lutane cried. “Back!” She readied herself and slammed a kick into the lock. The door crashed down, and she sprayed the doorway with bullets. Answering fire from inside filled her ears with racketing, but her squad leaders ducked out to add their fire to hers. Pain blazed in her left arm and she knew she’d taken a hit, but braced her elbow against her belt and held the trigger down with her other hand.

  Then the hammering stopped, and Lutane ejected the clip with a curse. She slammed in a new one just as the gunfire inside lessened, and her squad leaders leaped in. The move startled Lutane, so she was a step or two behind them, her squads streaming in after her.

  Gunfire erupted from their right, and Lutane screamed, “Down!” as she threw herself prone. Soldiers screamed and fell behind her, and she cursed as she fired at the dim, elongated shadows lurking in a small, square room—they’d given her a sucker punch; they’d slacked off their firing to make her think she’d taken out all of them. Then, when her squads were in a point-blank range, they’d cut loose with everything they had.

  It would be all they ever had, she decided grimly, as she thumbed down to semi-automatic and started picking targets. The Khalian in her sights jerked and fell; so did its mates, as her squad cut them down. The air was filled with their almost supersonic death cries, thin whines on the edge of hearing, tearing human heads apart . . .

  Then the whines stopped. Automatic doors clashed closed, and Lutane leaped up firing at the heavy portal where the little room had been. A dozen automatics joined hers, and the door turned into a grating. “Cease fire!” She bellowed.

  The entry hall went quiet.

  “They got away,” somebody snarled.

  “Just make sure they don’t come back. Sergeant Murghesh, set a guard on that door.” Lutane looked around her, counting dead furry bodies. There were ten of them—and six of hers.

  Enilho knelt over Kazruitin, setting a stitch-strip over a raw hole in her breast, then spraying it with plastic skin. Lutane felt a sympathetic ache and moved toward them. “You gave her anesthesia?”

  Enilho nodded. “First thing, Lieutenant—the whole bulb.” He finished spraying the plastic flesh, set the container back in her belt, and folded the slit uniform blouse back over her chest. “She’ll last till the medics get her.” He thumbed the beacon on her belt, and it started blinking.

  Lutane nodded, feeling her heart sinking. “Any other casualties who aren’t dead?”

  Belardin shook his head. “She’s the only one who didn’t go right off, Lieutenant.”

  “Seven down.” Lutane hefted her rifle. “Let’s make it worth it to them. Clear the stairs.”

  Soldiers started dragging Khalian corpses off the steps.

  “Hold still, Lieutenant.” Murghesh ripped away Lutane’s sleeve and pulled an anesthetic shot from her belt. She sprayed the wound, then peeled back the edges to inspect. Dimly, Lutane felt the pain, but it wasn’t her arm it was happening to. “Clean wound,” Murghesh said. “The bullet went through, and it just missed the artery.” She slapped a patch on the underside and sprayed in the anesthetic. It smarted a little, but the bleeding stopped. Murghesh slapped a patch on the top. “Maybe we should call you a medic.”

  “All right, so I’m, a medic.” Lutane twitched her arm loose impatiently. “I’m good for a few more rounds, Sergeant—and I have some troops to avenge.”

  “Thought you already had.” Murghesh glowered down at the Khalian corpses. “Stupid bastards! They got what they had coming.”

  “Not so stupid.” Lutane frowned. “They gambled and lost, that’s all. They suckered us in. When their mates on the stairs were dead, the ones in the lift stopped shooting. We figured they were all dead, and came in. When we were inside, the rest cut loose. But if they didn’t get most of us in, the first few seconds, they’d had it—and they knew it.”

  “But they made it up in the lift!”

  “No—the lift made it up,” Lutane corrected. “I very much doubt there was anything left alive in it—and if there was, it sure as hell can’t do any fighting.” She rubbed her temples. “Still, we can’t know that. We just have to figure they reinforced the guard up top.”

  Guilt shadowed Murghesh’s eyes. “We shoulda waited for your call, huh?”

  “Yeah.” But Lutane was glowering up the stairs. “But as you said, it was a stupid move. More than stupid—it was suicidal.”

  Murghesh shrugged. “They must have figured they didn’t have a chance against us any other way.”

  “And they were right—there were just too many of us for them.” Lutane scowled. “I’d have tried their trick, too, suicidal or not.” She stared down at the corpses.

  “Something wrong, Lieutenant?” Murghesh asked carefully.

  Lutane pointed. “Only two of ‘em are wearing bandoliers.”

  Murghesh followed her gaze. “That mean they were officers?”

  “No, it means they were soldiers.” Lutane pointed. “The other ones are only wearing armbands.”

  Murghesh shrugged. “I heard the Khalia weren’t big on clothes, anyway.”

  “Yeah, but they need some kind of rank insignia—and that’s all these ones had. They were reloading out of those boxes of clips, there.” Lutane pointed. Murghesh looked and saw plastic cases stacked along the edge of the stairs. “Then what were the rest of ‘em?”

  “Communication technicians. They only had two guards stationed here, so the signal corps had to take defense stances as soon as the alarm went up.”

  “Comes to the same thing—all Khalia are soldiers.” Murghesh shrugged.

  “Yeah,” Lutane muttered. “Kinda makes you wonder if there’re any Khalian civilians anywhere.” She had a brief, dizzying vision of newborn Khalia marching past with rifles on their shoulders.

  Murghesh shrugged. “This is their home world. They’ve probably got more hidey-holes than a honeycomb. Nice to know we took ‘em by surprise, though.” Then Murghesh’s eyes widened as she caught the implication. “That mean we got ’em all? That there’re no more Khalia upstairs?”

  “No.” Lutane nodded at the corpses, her eyes hard.

  “Khalia do things by dozens, and only eight of those ten bodies belong to the building.”

  “Four more stationed upstairs?”

  “Right.” Lutane lifted her rifle with a wince. “Only four—but they’re cornered, and they know they’re dead. They’re going to be trying to take as many of us with them as they can.” She started up the stairs. “Let’s get them.” She jumped back a split second before the stairs exploded with a hail of bullets.

  “Lieutenant! How come you’re still alive!?!” Murghesh was white as a sheet.

  “Cause I was pretty sure they were up there. I would’ve been, if I were one of ‘em.” But Lutane was frowning up the stairwell, her brow creased in thought. Stairs . . . there was something subtly wrong about that, about the fact that the building had stairs. But what?

  She shrugged the thought aside. There was a little matter of a battle, here.

  “How the hell do we get through that?” Bonor grunted.

  “We don’t.” Lutane stepped back, slinging her rifle.”

  “Lieutenant! How about the lift?”

  Automatically, Lutane shook her head. “We’d open the door and find ourselves staring down a pair of rifle barrels—that is, if they didn’t manage to turn off the power and strand us between floors.” She turned to Murghesh. “Sergeant, hold this door with your squad. If anything comes down, blast it.”

  “Yes sir.” Murghesh frowned, but she took up station, rifle leveled at the stairs—a gaze leveled at Lutane. “But what’s Nol’s squad doing?”

  “Going up the outside.” Lutane turned to the door, nodding to Nol. “Let’s go, Sergeant.”

  Nol herded his people outside, excitement flickering in his eyes. Lutane wished the rest of
his squad looked the same. For that matter, she wished she did.

  She stepped out to see Olerein’s rifle leveled at her. When he saw who it was, he dropped his sights as though a marlin had taken his bait. “Lieutenant! What . . .” Then he remembered what might be behind her, and his rifle swept up again.

  “At ease.” Lutane stepped up to him: “Take off your booster pack and give it to Monsan.”

  Frowning, Olerein unbuckled’ his pack and swung it around. “Whatever you’re gonna do, Lieutenant, you need me along. I’m . . .”

  “ . . . the best shot in the platoon, and I need you here to make those weasels keep their heads down,” Lutane finished. “Don’t talk, Olerein.” She turned away to the rest of his squad. “Doyle, Brill, Canche, Folar! Give your packs to Nol’s squad!”

  Reluctantly, the soldiers helped their mates into the booster packs. Nol already had one, of course-they were standard issue for officers and NCOs. But only half of the privates had them; HQ hadn’t planned on whole squads having to lift.

  “Shouldn’t my squad go along, Lieutenant?” Olerein asked.

  Lutane shook her head. “There’re only five windows on that top floor, Olerein. Two soldiers to a window, that’s all we need. You just make sure the bastards don’t lean out to fire down at us.”

  Olerein grinned like a mountain wolf. “They’ll stay down, Lieutenant.”

  “We won’t.” Lutane looked up at Nol and his squad.

  “Spread out all around the building. I’ll take four troops up to the two windows on this side.” Lutane pointed up. Nol followed her gaze, nodding. “You take six up on the far side,” the lieutenant went on, “but don’t fire until after you hear our burst stop.”

  Nol frowned at her, puzzled. “Just do it,” Lutane grated.

  “Yes, sir,” Nol said stiffly, and strode away toward his sixty percent.

  Lutane watched him go, simmering. Who cared if he was angry or not? As long as he followed orders.

  Nol bawled at his squad, and Lutane waited, chewing at her gut instead of her lip. At least ulcers didn’t show when you were out for R & R; that was some consolation.

  “Ready,” Olerein told her.

  Lutane nodded. “Up!” She pressed the pressure patch between her breasts, and jets roared as lox and hydrogen ignited, sending the squad up in a cloud of mist that wreathed the tower. Not the safest way to travel, Lutane thought dizzily, but effective, effective . . .

  Then she realized that Pachue was tilting. “Straighten out!” she called, but the private heeled over and headed for the ground. “Cut out!” Lutane screamed.

  Pachue couldn’t have heard her, but must have understood the look on Lutane’s face, because her jets died. Below her the squad scattered, pulling back into a circle as momentum turned Pachue upright again; When her head was at two o’clock, Lutane slapped her fist into her own chest, hoping Pachue would understand the impromptu sign. It must have gotten through, because the jets roared out again, breaking the kid’s fall just in time. She hit hard, but she remembered to fold at the knees, and Lutane turned back to the com center with a sigh of relief. Too bad they had to have replacements, but everyone had to be green once.

  It left Lobrin without a partner, though. Lutane thumbed her altitude jet, swooping over to him, then straightening up again just as they reached the window. “Back!” Lutane called, and they both flattened themselves against the wall on either side of the window, throttling their’ jets down to maintain altitude, just as a fountain of bullets sprayed out of the window. Exactly what she herself would have done, Lutane thought grimly, and waited for a pause in the stream of bullets. It came, and she dodged into the embrasure, jamming the trigger down. Lobrin was a quarter-second behind her, but he matched her to the beat when she ducked back out again, loosing another geyser of bullets from inside the building. That was all it took, though; the defenders had had to turn back to Lutane’s side, and Nol’s troops at the opposite windows poured in hot lead as though the building was a crucible. Lutane waited, and waited;, the hail of bullets seemed to go on, and on, and on . . .

  Finally it stopped. The com center was quiet.

  Very quiet.

  Somebody had to take the chance. Lutane ground her teeth. What are lieutenants for, anyway?

  She spun through the window, rifle blazing—and let the burst die.

  Four Khalia lay on the floor—all around. What was left of their bodies was hamburger, with a few jigsaw puzzle pieces thrown in.

  Her stomach heaved, and she just barely managed to choke it back down, lifting her glare to the com gear. There was a lot of smoke rising, but a few consoles seemed intact.

  “Come on in,” she called. “Don’t look down.”

  Nol ducked in, then Lobrin at Lutane’s back, then the rest of them. Some looked at the floor, and looked away again quickly, turning a delicate shade of chartreuse. Maybe, Lutane thought, that was why they called new troops “green.”

  The veterans could have taken it, but they had sense enough not to look. Porthal and Elab went straight to the two intact consoles, frowning down at the dials and sliders.

  “Can you figure it out?” Lutane demanded.

  Porthal nodded slowly. “Take a little experimenting, Lieutenant—but this grille is either a mike or a vent, and that meter’s either amps or volts.”

  Elab didn’t speak; he was already kicking aside the tilt-board and pulling a chair over.

  Lutane stared. A chair? What was a chair doing here? The Khalia’s tilt-board backrests, sure—but why would there be chairs in the com center, too?

  Later. Speculate after the job’s done. Lutane pressed the patch on her bracelet and talked into the mesh. “Everybody in. Squad one, hold the door and the stairwell. Squads two and three, search the building by the square foot. If there’s anything bigger than a gnat, I want it dead.”

  “Yes, sir,” her bracelet answered in duplicate.

  “And watch out for booby traps!” Lutane snapped. She lowered her arm and turned about slowly, surveying the big, open room. There—the lift. It was over against the side wall, doors open—and filled with dead, bloody bodies. Lutane nodded with grim satisfaction—she’d been right. The last Khalian alive downstairs had pushed the up button, and died as the lift rose.

  She turned back to Nol’s squad. “Anybody with a strong stomach, help me throw this mess into a tarp and find the mops and buckets. Everybody else, get busy repairing equipment.”

  She shouldn’t have left it open like that. It came down to Nol and herself on the cleanup crew.

  * * *

  The floor was so clean that it glared. The equipment had stopped smoking, and the soldiers had started to repair it.

  “All set?” Lutane asked.

  Porthal nodded. “It works, Lieutenant. Long-wave and medium-wave audio. Video, too, but there’s nothing to feed into it yet.”

  “We’ll find the pick-ups soon enough,” Lutane assured him. “Okay, power up.” She raised her voice. “Who speaks Weasel?”

  “Here.”

  “I do, Lieutenant.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Okay. You three, over to the pick-ups.”

  The three’ troopers came over and sat down next to the signal operators.

  “Send this out broadcast,” Lutane said. “This city has been conquered by the Terran Fleet . . .”

  “Uh, Lieutenant?”

  “I know, I know, we don’t know for sure that we’ve conquered anything more than this center! But we’re after propaganda, not news. Just broadcast it, Private.”

  “Yes, sir . . .”

  “All civilians are to remain indoors until further notice. Do not obey orders from any Khalian. Instead, report their locations to the nearest Terran soldier.” Lutane frowned in thought for a moment. She had to make it sound like a good deal for the slaves. “Citizens, rejoi
ce! The conqueror is vanquished; your freedom is won!”

  “Yes, sir.” The translators turned back to their pick-ups and eyed the operators, who scowled at their panels for a moment, then nodded. The translators began to talk in falsetto, trilling syllables. Lutane watched them for a few minutes with grim satisfaction, then lifted her big commset and keyed in Captain Rakoan’s code. She waited impatiently until the little plate lit up with his face, frowning.

  “Lieutenant Morna?”

  “Yes, sir. Objective accomplished—we’ve taken the com center.”

  “Yes, I heard your broadcast. You might want to add to it that the other platoons have taken their objectives, too.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lutane felt her belly weaken with relief and realized that, at the back of her mind, she’d been haunted by the possibility of being a Terran island in the middle of a Khalian sea.

  “How many enemy have you taken?”

  “None, sir. They all died fighting.”

  Rakoan nodded as though he had expected it. “That seems to be the rule. Your fellow officers only took two alive, and they’re so badly mangled that we may not get anything out of them. Any noncombatants?”

  “No, sir.” Lutane frowned, realizing for the first time that there hadn’t been any slaves in the building.

  Rakoan nodded again. “That’s the pattern. Featherheads in the houses, slaves of all species in the streets—but none in the objective buildings.”

  “Slaves wouldn’t have anything to do with running the place, anyway,” Lutane said cautiously.

  “No, but I would have expected a few of them to be in the government buildings, just as servants.” Rakoan frowned, brooding on the question for a moment. Then he shrugged it away. “Well. There’ll be time enough to find out why when we’ve mopped up. Well done, Lieutenant. Listen in on the com and pick out the details to broadcast.”

  “Yes, sir. Out.”

  Rakoan’s picture vanished. Lutane racked her commset on her belt, and turned to frown out over her new domain. Something niggling at the back of her mind had become clear—the fact that the com equipment wasn’t placed to full efficiency in the room. The consoles were set around in a horseshoe which made sense for a single officer in charge—but the horseshoe sat in the center of a rectangle, with all kinds of room between it and the walls. Even allowing for technicians needing access for repair, there was still way too much space left over. That, plus Rakoan’s comment about the lack of slaves, ignited an insight—she was looking at a conversion. Sure, the original building predated interstellar technology—but presumably, it would have had the same kind of function in the early industrial civilization that preceded it.