Olaf grimaced, but held firm. “The risk is minimal at worst. The advantage knowing the terrain for myself is too great. Pictures and verbal reports only go so far. We have scanned the area between the town and here. We’ve talked to local farmers. There is only one force that any of the farmers have seen, and it came from the west.
“Out of all the countries with a propensity for weapons research, the only one that makes any sense is Belarus. The Russians would have placed such research in western Siberia, well away from any enemy. Politically, it is the one that seems to fit the type of country that the Forsaken preferred. If we don't find anything by the time we are scanning and searching a hundred kilometers west of Minsk, we'll have to re-think. But for now, we’re doing exactly what my father ordered. I need to be there to judge if any raid is an acceptable risk and to lead the attack if it is. It is what my father would do.” Olaf knew that to gain the full respect of the Weres, he needed to lead from the front when he could to do that. Without the support of the shifter community, he would never rule Arkangelsk Palden.
More than that, he needed to lead from the front for himself. He needed to feel the crash of battle around him. Both his mother and father had, and he could do no less, not if he was to rule as well as they had. He needed to know what his soldiers faced.
Discontented fear rumbled through the ranks of the officers, but Olaf silenced it with a glare. “Besides, the weapon only seems to ravage wood and flesh. Inside the alloy hull of the shuttle, we should be safe from it,” he finished confidently.
With that, he said, “I leave in thirty minutes. Those designated troops need to be on the shuttle or be left behind.”
<<<>>>
The shuttle was now halfway through sweeping a hundred and fifty kilometer radius around the highway where it crossed the old Belarusian border. The first sweep, scanning a seventy five kilometer radius, had picked up nothing.
Olaf was also miffed by how packed the pod was. With its engines, it didn't have a weight limit. So, Major Petrova had reinforced his planned troop to a platoon. The extra eleven women had been picked by her from the volunteers in her own company. It would reduce her average squad strength, but give her peace of mind. He could hardly refuse it without looking reckless. It made disembarking a little more awkward. An extra five minutes checking showed they could still exit the cargo bay at speed.
Olaf struggled with the so-called headquarters section. Now that it was reinforced, it was impossible to disguise the nature of the unit from him. All the reinforcements were shooters, and six of them were Weres. He hated to think what that would do to the efficiency of the unit, all to give him bodyguards. He hated the concept. He had yet to prove he was of enough worth to the people to deserve such.
It was all because his father had proved to be a good leader and feared any harm coming to his firstborn. How he wanted to be just an officer in the military. He didn’t care if he was militia, reserve or regular.
He just wanted to be normal.
Then one of the sensors dinged. He looked at the repeater plot and frowned. Gazing at the pilot, he said, “What is that, Vlad?”
“It is similar to the first generation, two-man pod signature. I am breaking the sweep pattern to investigate. Reporting signature location to the base,” Vlad answered in a detached voice.
As they got closer, Olaf saw the signature grow and peak. “Evasive!” he yelled, but Vlad was already jinking the craft across the three dimensions available in a complicated maneuver. A bright red arc, like lightning, flashed past the shuttle. Streamers reached out for it, but Vlad had generated a miss.
“Get a hill between us and that weapon!” Boris yelled. The pilot nodded absently and dove toward the ground. Unfortunately, the maneuver slowed the shuttle down as it passed the hilltop they wanted to land behind. The shuttle shuddered as something struck it.
Red streamers arced through the hull of the ship. There were screams of pain in the rear compartment, and G-forces suddenly took effect as the engine was hit.
“Brace!” the pilot yelled.
Olaf hoped everyone in the back had something to brace against. The shuttle bucked and heaved as the pilot used the emergency jets to slow the descent and the airspeed, as well as lift the nose to soften the impact.
Olaf was buffeted and bludgeoned as the shuttle hit the ground. He could feel it start to spin as it slowed. Hard bumps could be felt as the shuttle hit trees, but finally, the shuttle slowed to a stop.
“Evacuate!” Boris called out as he ripped the belt loose and rose from his seat.
When he glanced at the back, he could see four people operating the emergency exits. The shuttle compartment was a picture of chaos. Blood and injuries were obvious on about half the troops in the rear.
He loosened his pack from the webbing it was in behind his seat and slung it, then turned to Vlad. He was wincing as he rose from the pilot's chair. Olaf helped him into the cargo compartment where another passenger took him from Olaf and towards the now open exits.
After grabbing the pilot's pack, he slung it over his chest. It had a dozen doses of the nanite recovery shots that Lilith was restricting production of due to the damage she was afraid they were doing to human DNA.
Boris made his way to the rear of the compartment, ripping open the emergency hatches as he went. There couldn't be more than a handful of kilometers between where they had crashed and where the weapon had fired from. “Salvage everything you can!” he shouted at those who were coming back into the compartment. He moved to one of the exits.
His heart was pounding. Others seemed to be moving too slowly as he stepped past them to see through the exit. After seeing the path of destruction, he scanned the surrounding terrain. Lightly wooded hills surrounded the crash site, and there was a clear furrow to the crash site. It would be easy enough to spot from a hilltop.
“Stretcher the badly wounded and the dead,” Olaf ordered.
With firm commands, the troops started organizing the evacuation of the site. He pulled a compass from a side pocket in his pack.
Pointing to the northwest, he said “Start moving to the northwest. We need to start moving. I have to set the engine to blow.” He struggled to the engine box at the back of the hull. The walking wounded and uninjured flowed past him, in and out, as they removed what could be taken from the shuttle.
He considered the possibility of removing the railguns from the turret on the roof of the hull, but remembered how involved the process was. It would take hours. Hours in which they could be pinpointed and attacked again. His troops were more critical than salvaging even those powerful weapons.
Cutting his hand, he placed it on a keypad at the back of the etheric reactor. He jerked as a small, red ark slashed into him. It shredded the right arm of his field uniform, disintegrating it and leaving charred edges where it struck. Still, the pad powered up as his blood dripped onto it and confirmed when he punched in 5400 seconds into the panel.
He had ninety minutes to get everyone out of the blast radius of about half a mile.
“Come on, soldiers. Move, move, move!” he yelled, grabbing equipment from nearby lockers and throwing it at his men as they approached.
The first time he did it, the soldier was startled. The second time, the soldier was ready. Within a minute, other officers were following his example. Within five, they were clear of the shuttle. An enterprising sergeant had taken the expedient of having a pair of Weres rip the pair of medium railguns off the turret. They would either work or not.
Within twenty minutes of the crash, the last of the group was moving out to catch up with the heavily laden troops in front of them. Some supplies had been abandoned at the shuttle. The self-destruct would make sure it was of no use to the enemy.
The sun was already starting to set. They were in hostile territory and had to find a place to rest, assess the wounded, and bury their dead. But first, they had to get clear of the crash site.
<<<>>>
When night fell,
the cold fell quickly with it. According to the injured navigator and the map, they were marching towards the rocky hills to the north-west. Olaf was busy, hauling three packs and two of the dead. Both were from the humans in his bodyguard.
Nearly everyone was injured to one level or another, but there was one dead Were and six people that were hurt badly enough they needed to be carried on a stretcher. Another five stretchers were loaded down as heavily as possible with supplies. Despite all the trials they faced with their situation, they were making good time. Olaf had estimated the edge of the woods were three kilometers from the crash site.
They were approaching that edge before the shuttle self-destructed. Olaf picked up the pace, knowing it would be best if they were past the woods and up in the hills, behind a ridgeline, when it went off.
There were groans and huffs as he pushed the pace, but no-one complained. Those on stretchers had been given a dose of the charged healing nanites and were all stable, despite the movement.
Vlad was the only person genuinely struggling with the pace, but he didn't complain either. If anything, his fear was pushing him through the pain. He knew, far better than the troops, the radii of destruction for the self-destruct. He had some nanite support to interface with the shuttle controls. His limp had been gone within the first half hour. However, like nearly half the pilots, he'd never wanted a ‘full' package.
He was regretting that decision now.
They were clear of the zone of direct effect, but until they had a ridgeline between them and the detonation, he wouldn't be happy. The indirect effects could be unpredictable. Usually, the blast blew outward and then in like any other, preventing the spread of the destruction beyond about a two-mile radius. There may be a hundred-foot circle of black glass at the crash site. There was a chance that a damaged unit would have a longer blast duration.
Considering his shuttle had been ripped from the sky by that weapon, and that he’d lost all the etheric engine controls, he was willing to bet the unit was damaged. That could mean a longer blast time, and a wider area of destruction as the blast winds pushed more debris for longer.
“Ten minutes!” Olaf shouted as he pushed the speed up another notch. They were climbing a hill and should reach the top in five minutes with the pace he was setting.
They made it over the ridge, and Olaf allowed a rest as everyone took in water and a few of the Weres opened ration bars. Olaf put down his load and took out his entrenching tool. Here was far enough to carry the dead. He started carefully cutting the turf. A few of the older Weres rose and headed down the hill to find some rocks for markers. Really, it was a bit of a toss-up between moving on with the bodies or burying them there.
Leaving them to be destroyed by the blast had been too disrespectful for Olaf. It was possible that it wasn't the battle-wise decision, and maybe it would improve the enemies chance of tracking them if there was enough of a trace to follow after the blast.
Either way, it was still the right and respectful decision to make. Besides, while the digging was going on…
Everything paused as the sound of the earth-shattering explosion hit them. Even at that range, sheltered by a hill, the boom of a catastrophically failing etheric reactor was impressive. The shaking of the earth as the shock wave passed was less so. Most of the energy would be directed up, even with the containment of the alloy hull.
“Andre, Richard, test those railguns. Aim for the blast site. Breaking it up will make investigating harder,” Olaf ordered. He’d known about half of his bodyguards most of his life. He was more comfortable going by first name with them.
An Amazon and two of his bodyguards were the dead. Nestor, he knew, but he'd needed dog tags to identify the others. Marina and Timothy. He bowed his head, anger and grief mixing. If he'd not been so confident in the security of the shuttle, maybe this wouldn't have happened.
Of course, then it could have happened to others. No-one had expected someone on the planet to have a weapon that could take out a shuttle. At least not outside of Japan. Any other officer he could have sent would have only had a squad with them. Their chances of survival—even if they had taken no casualties—would have been lower still.
It had been the right choice to come. Or at least the best option available.
There was a single whipcrack from the hilltop as one of the railguns fired.
The tears of grief and regret flowed down his face as he dug the grave. Slowly, others started to help him. Within half an hour, they had it as deep as it would go, about four feet.
Even with all their technology, and even relative to life before the Fall, particular injuries were truly fatal. A crushed skull. A charred hole through the chest. A bolt of energy through the eye. At least it would have been quick, Olaf consoled himself.
He carefully placed each body into the battlefield grave. Anatoly, one of the Weres, handed him a hip flask of vodka. Nodding, Olaf carefully poured some over each corpse's lips. They would reach Valhalla with a drink on their breath.
Then he threw the first spadeful of dirt into each grave before letting others complete the task.
He saluted as the three rocks were placed to mark the graves, the earth was stomped back into place and the turf put back over to hide them from casual sight.
Olaf would forever remember this moment as the moment he learned a core soldier’s truth. That loss and grief are at the center of war. He was coming to realize fast that glory was no balance to them.
He took a swig of the vodka before he handed it back to Anatoly, who took a swig himself before he put it away in his gear.
Olaf made an oath that moment. He couldn’t stop people dying to protect him because of who his father was, whether it was out of fear or respect, but he would become a man worthy of any who died for him.
One of the railguns was working. The other would still have to be lugged with them. Olaf would not let it fall into the enemy’s hands. For now, carrying it was better than slagging it with one of his few thermite grenades.
He had a feeling he might be happy for every weapon he had.
It was why the only weapon he’d left with the soldiers to arrive at Valhalla with had been their Tomahawks.
He knew they’d understand when the doorkeeper asked why they were so poorly armed.
Their comrades would put their other arms to good use.
<<<>>>
They marched through the night, towards the northwest. Although they needed to head back to the initial site soon, first they needed to find somewhere where the wounded and a few guards could hole up. Even with the single dose of nanites he’d given them, broken bones and damaged spines took time to heal. Especially since they’d been forced to march so far before seeing to the wounds properly.
Shortly before dawn, one of the two Werewolves Olaf had sent out to scout returned. They had found a copse of trees that was large enough to conceal the group. With watchers on a nearby hill, they would be warned of any approach.
Once they were down, and most of the troops were resting, Olaf cursed himself. Although he had sent a transmission of the enemy's location, he had failed to transmit his group's survival.
Now he had no means to. Considering that fact, he took the good with the bad. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with his father’s immediate temper, nor were additional shuttles likely to be sent. They were too valuable to use another.
Too valuable to lose another.
CHAPTER TEN
It had been two days since Olaf’s shuttle had registered the self-destruct with Lilith. They had hoped for more information before this meeting, but none had arrived. Lilith concluded her initial report.
“The engine of Shuttle 0009 was restarted after failure by nanites holding the signature of Olaf. They reported high etheric reserves that would not have been present if the body had suffered significant damage. Indeed, there was a residual energy higher than his average over the last twelve months,” Lilith reported to Boris in an analytical tone.
; Boris smashed his fist down. “I don’t care. I’m moving south to take command of the force under Major Petrova currently. The situation down there is a higher risk than we initially assessed. They need someone with more seasoning.”
Paul raised an eyebrow at the outburst, but said nothing. Janna, however, was shaking her head vehemently.
“No, Boris. Danislav doesn’t have the command experience for a five-regiment force. Worse, he’s never been seen by the Pack as an Alpha. He has the strength for it, but the perception is he’s always been your second. He’d have challenges for command within a day of news arriving with the rest of the force. The twins are too junior. I need to stay here until one of them gets back anyway.
“A divided command is the last thing we need there, and I can only guarantee the Arkhangelsk Regiment and Vilosty’s regulars would accept him in command. Tolstov is ambitious, if loyal personally to you. The militia regiments could choose to place themselves under his command if Tolstov divides the command. His reputation as a commander is Danislav’s equal,” Janna said in a forceful, but analytical, tone.
“Both of them knowing that Olaf is missing or dead is the only reason you would command the South. Tolstov would look at it as the position of heir and second in command of the military being up for grabs,” She finished in a disgusted tone.
“We have three other children,” Boris said diffidently.
Paul snorted and said, “The twins aren't taken seriously by the populace, Boris. Hell, I'm not sure either of them would want your job. They would have to become ‘proper.’ As for Fiona,” he paused and extended his palm flat, then shifted it from side to side, “I don’t know if she’d come back. She’s already the Mongolian pack’s second in command. That position makes her heir to the civil leadership since the Fall, too. Her renown is greater than anyone else in a position to claim heir if Olaf dies. And even if she did take the position, who would replace her in Mongolia? Her departure could open the door to the Sacred Clan. We know they’re still active.”
Redemption (The Boris Chronicles Book 4) Page 6
