by Chris Bunch
• • •
Static crackled, then Jo Poynton’s voice came clearly:
“Go ahead.”
Njangu continued explaining.
“So I’ll record what you want, blurt-cast to you, and you’ll bounce it out to the other cities?”
“Sure,” Njangu said. “That way, if the Musth have tracking stations, they won’t be able to pick you up, wherever the hell you are.”
Silence for a moment, then a low chuckle.
“I’ll bet you never thought you’d be asking me for this.”
“To be real honest,” Njangu said, “you’re right.”
“Why not?” Poynton said.
“Why not indeed?”
“I’ll be ready in five, no ten minutes,” Poynton said. “I’ll com you back.”
“Standing by.”
“One other thing. Try to stay alive. We might have something to discuss about the old days.”
“I’ve got every intention of doing just that,” Njangu said. “Clear.”
• • •
“That’s a lot of money. Sir,” Baku al Sharif said.
“ ‘Tis, ‘tisn’t it,” Garvin agreed. “Use it well.”
“Sir … what’s to keep me from, say, taking off with all this,” al Sharif asked. “Not that I would, mind you. But I was just curious.”
“Nothing at all,” Garvin said. “Except your basic honesty, hatred for the Musth, the fact that you’re a good soldier who wants to continue the war, and to live a clean and moral life.”
“Plus,” First Tweg Monique Lir grated, “if you touch one lousy goddamned credit for anything except keeping your decayed ass alive and continuing the war any way you can, I’ll hunt you down, tear your guts out through your asshole, and watch while you parboil ‘em for my supper.”
“Right, First Tweg. Understood, First Tweg. I was just curious.”
“Next man,” Garvin said, hiding a grin, and the next I&R soldier in line stepped up to the table, and eyed the pile of credits that had been Jasith Mellusin’s with some awe.
• • •
“All stations,” the tech said, en clair. “Stand by to record and rebroadcast to all serving soldiers who’re members of the ‘Raum, Caud Rao’s orders.”
He looked at Njangu, who nodded. The tech touched sensor.
A woman’s voice, calm, assured, came from the speakers:
“This is Jo Poynton. I am a ‘Raum. Recently I was one of the Planetary Government’s Councilors. I left the Council and went underground, because I foresaw that Council would become no more than an echo, a puppet, of the Musth.
“So it has become.
“Before I was part of PlanGov, I was in The Movement, a member of the Planning Group, working with first Comstock Brien, then Jord’n Brooks. We fought for a cause we believed in … and we lost.
“Perhaps we changed Cumbre enough so our Task wasn’t a complete failure. Perhaps not.
“But now we face a greater foe, one who cares little whether we’re ‘Raum or Rentier. Under the bootheels of the Musth, all humanity is threatened. What the future might bring, under their rule, slavery or worse, is unknown.
“So I call upon you, my fellow ‘Raum, to rise against them. Not in foolish mobs or frontal action, but the same way we fought … and almost won … against the Rentiers and the Confederation soldiers.
“Now they are our allies, and I call you, in the name of past and future generations of ‘Raum and other Cumbrians, to fight back, fight secretly and by stealth, until we gain in strength, in power.
“Find your old comrades, your old officers, and again form the secret army. If you cannot fight, then help those who can with credits, shelter, even food. Seek out Confederation soldiers, shelter them, and if you know more than they about being a warrior in the shadows, teach them well.
“This day is dark, and it may grow darker.
“But if we stand together, if we fight together, there may be light.
“For Cumbre! Cumbre and Freedom!”
• • •
“Where did that come from?” Loy Kouro demanded.
“From Camp Mahan, we think. It was on one of the Force’s standard frequencies,” Vollmer said. “How do you want Matin to play it?”
“What in the holy name of nothing do you mean?”
“I mean,” his editor, Ted Vollmer, said patiently, “do we play it big, do we rebroadcast it, or …?”
“You’re mad,” Kouro said. “If we rebroadcast it on our channels, the Musth would seal our doors shut, maybe with us on the inside.”
“Three other holos so far have retransmitted it,” his editor said.
“Obviously they don’t have a goon’s worth of sense,” Kouro said. “How could anyone listen to that drivel, let alone believe it? Talk like that does nothing good, nothing at all, but stir the wrong people up to do the wrong things!”
“I assume, then, you want a nice editorial condemning such foolishness?”
“Yes! No, wait! We shouldn’t dignify this rubbish by giving it notice. We’ll have no reaction whatsoever.”
“You’re sure, sir?”
“Of course I’m sure! Damn, but I wish you people would learn to think for yourselves!”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
• • •
That night, the Musth hit Third Regiment, based outside Taman City, hard, in a night attack without preparatory artillery or airstrikes. They broke through the perimeter, and Wlencing fed in fighting elements to sweep wide.
Before dawn, the last signals, plaintively asking for help from anyone, anywhere, knowing there was nothing to send, had stopped.
• • •
Caud Rao made his last com in code to all Force stations. It was very short:
“Force men, women. You’ve been given my final orders by your commanders.
“Obey them as best, and as long as you can. Fight on, fight as soldiers in a new campaign, but fight with the honor you’ve always held close. If you are forced to give in, hold your heads high.
“You may have lost, but the battle will continue.
“The Force dies.
“It does not surrender.”
• • •
“We have a reported broadcast,” Wlencing’s chief aide Rahfer said, “origin Camp Mahan, in code, picture scrambled. It was preceded by a very long ‘cast, also coded. Both of these were in variants of the humans’ new code, which we have not yet broken.
“That was a very short time ago. Since then, all human units we monitor have maintained com silence.”
“I will assume,” Wlencing said, “the message was not one of mourning for the broken unit. We’ll maintain full alert, but take no action until we determine just what they are up to.”
But nothing happened, or rather appeared to happen for a while, and the night grew deeper.
• • •
Earlier that day, one of the two transports Hedley had “acquired” for his navy lifted away from Mullion Island. Escorted by the remaining aksai and one Zhukov, it flew nap-of-the-jungle east, away from Camp Mahan, then turned north in a convenient canyon that led south to the sea. It flew equally low over water, slowly, since it was a balky pig to pilot, until it was west-southwest of the mouth of Dharma Island’s great bay. Then it lowered into the ocean, submerging completely. Spacecraft, even though they’re not generally considered in that category, can make perfectly acceptable submarines, even if they generally have the floatation-at-rest capability of earth sharks and their heat signature is fairly marked.
The freighter moved steadily and slowly into the bay, following the dredged ship channel.
About five kilometers from Camp Mahan, it bottomed and lay doggo, waiting for the signal.
• • •
The three surviving regiments obeyed Rao’s orders from their bases outside Leggett, Aire, and Kerrier. A company-sized probe was made against the encircling Musth positions, not necessarily at the weakest points. The Musth, as was their com
mon strategy, withdrew slightly, regrouped, and prepared for a smashing counterattack. As they did, the remaining Force ground-mounted rocketry and artillery opened fire.
It appeared major attacks were being mounted. Wlencing ordered his commanders to reinforce the attacked positions and drive the humans back.
The Musth obeyed, just as the regiments made their second attacks. These were at the best points for exfiltration.
First and Fourth Regiments broke through handily, Second was about half an hour behind. The companies at point swung left, right, holding open the gap in the lines.
Force women and men, taking only what they could carry and reluctantly abandoning all wounded not capable of travel, leaving medics to take care of them, moved through these gaps in small elements, generally no more than squad size.
First Regiment, proud of always being a little better than the others, managed to take some small lifters and Cookes loaded with Fury launchers and missiles.
Wlencing listened to the confused yammerings from his commanders, realized, to considerable astonishment, what was going on, and ordered the gaps closed at all costs. The Force must not be allowed to escape to fight on.
The three battles across Cumbre were total savagery, fought in darkness momentarily illuminated with flaring lasers, flares exploding and then dying out, men and Musth screaming, dying, fighting with grenades, blasters, claws, and clubs.
Then the Force aircraft swarmed again, rising from their hidden fields to slash into the Musth ships darting over the battlefields in confusion, unable to find clear targets.
Again, Wlencing threw his reserves in.
This would be, must be, the final battle.
• • •
One or two Musth observation craft saw the freighter surface off Camp Mahan, but their reports were blanked by a blast of static on all known Musth frequencies. One aksai tried to come in for an attack, and one of three lurking Zhukovs blew it out of the air.
The freighter hurtled across the shallowing water, over the first Musth landing position. Behind it were Griersons, guns yammering, missiles firing until the racks emptied.
The freighter slammed down in the rubble of the parade field, skidding sideways, almost rolling. Its ports opened, and Force troops swarmed out of their bunkers and weapons positions and ran toward the ship. None came unburdened — some carried a couple of SSWs, others missiles, still others helped the walking wounded and sick hobble aboard.
A Musth warrior saw opportunity, fired a missile, and it struck the freighter near the stern. Crewmen smothered the flames, and no vital control systems were struck. He tried a second launch, and a 35mm burst from a Zhukov obliterated him.
“Go, let’s go, let’s go,” Angara chanted, standing near one of the gangways, and men and women doubled up them, not quite in panic, but not quite in calm order. Other Force officers were at other locks, positions, cramming the troops aboard.
Then there was no one on the ground, and Angara shouted to button up and lift off.
The freighter pilot and crew obeyed, and the hulk came off the ground, yawing, then drove hard across the bay, lifting over the peninsula, then down again, vanishing into the darkness of Mullion Island.
There was no one left at Camp Leggett.
No one except Caud Prakash Rao, seventy-eight volunteers, and the desperately wounded who had been unable to travel.
They grimly waited for the Musth.
• • •
“This is impossible,” Wlencing said, eyes scarlet in fury. “You cannot win a battle by losing it! What are these beings thinking! This is not the way to fight a war!
“Where are they going?”
“We don’t know,” Rahfer said. “None of them seems to have a definite destination. They’re moving in small groups, most of them into the cities their positions were close to.
“We’re trying to land troops, but none of our warriors are familiar with the ground. Even with night-vision the situation is confusing. When we do trap a group of them, sometimes they surrender, sometimes they fight to the end, more often they stop our warriors long enough to make good their escape.”
“What about their aircraft?”
“We are still tracking where they disappeared to,” Rahfer said. “They’re thoroughly dispersed, but we’re finding small landing areas here and there, and attacking them.”
“This is like trying to pick up mercury in your paws,” Wlencing said. “We cannot allow this opportunity to slip from us.”
“Sir,” Daaf said, “calm yourself. Consider — what damage can be done by these stragglers, these fragments? Wars cannot be fought by one or two warriors.”
“No,” Wlencing said. “But Musth can be killed in that way, just as those worm-’Raum killed the Force warriors before you came to us, and make a rule of law very difficult. Now, be silent, and do not further parade your uneducation.”
• • •
At first light, the Musth on Dharma Island moved against the shatter of Camp Mahan. They moved confidently, sure there’d be no more than a handful of humans in the ruins to winkle out.
Their formations closed up as they reached the parade field. Fire from a dozen hidden positions exploded toward them.
They dived for shelter, fought back. But the Force soldiers had rolled to other positions, fired again.
The Musth commanders called for air, and aksai rolled in to the attack. A velv targeted the biggest pile of rubble, once the main headquarters, and made a straight-in attack, missiles about to launch.
Striker Barken, who’d held a guard formation at gunpoint, slid from cover, pushing a crude Fury mount in front of him. He touched a delayed firing switch, rolled back. The Fury hummed to life, beeped as it acquired the velv, and shot toward the Musth warship.
It hit dead on, just below the main canopy, and exploded, wiping out the crew inside. The velv went out of control, spinning end for end, then smashing down into the middle of the Musth before it blew up.
In the confusion, Force gunners and snipers took advantage, and killed warriors where they could.
The Musth fell back, regrouped, came on.
They closed with the ruins, and again the fighting was hand-to-hand, and the Force soldiers slowly were forced back, meter by bloody meter, back into their tunnels.
The Musth went after them.
Suddenly, fifteen men and women, Caud Rao at their head, broke from a hidden bunker and charged into the main tunnel, shooting as they went.
Most of the Musth went down in the first volley, but the trapped warriors fought back tenaciously.
A wasp-grenade bounced near Rao, and he tried to duck as the device exploded, and horror-insects tore his skull apart.
The fighting raged on, but slowly the shots, explosions, came less and less often.
Then there was silence.
A Musth officer staggered out of a tunnel, ten Musth, all wounded, behind him. He’d gone in with fifty.
He looked around, dazed.
A dozen meters away was the Force’s flagpole, its flag, a lance with shock waves exploding from the tip, hanging defiantly, the slight offshore wind moving it gently.
“Cut that down,” he ordered.
Four of his warriors stumbled to obey.
A grenade came from nowhere, exploding in midair and sending the Musth howling to the ground. As Barken appeared from a crevice in the ruins, the officer whirled, lifted his weapon, but was too late as Barken shot him down.
A moment later, two other Musth blasted Barken as he swung his weapon toward them.
The six surviving aliens stared up at the flag, then turned away numbly, faltering back from the nightmare toward their positions.
“The Force dies … it does not surrender …”
CHAPTER
17
After the cataclysm, Cumbre lay quiet. Relatively so, at any rate.
No one knew what would come next.
The Musth ships continued swooping around the empty battlefields, chasing
the remnants of the Force, and they even chanced sending heavily armed patrols into the cities. Sullen humans stared, and the Musth nervously kept their weapons ready.
Occasionally one of the Force stragglers would be discovered, and either shot down or taken prisoner.
A dozen times larger groups of soldiery were found, attacked by the Musth. About half the time they drove the aliens off before they vanished into the jungles.
There were many, many soldiers who’d escaped the tooth-combs of the aliens, but no one knew how many, who or where they were, or their plans.
Leggett civilians nervously looked at the still-smoldering rack of Camp Mahan, while other Cumbrians considered the ruins of battle in their own area. No one with a child, lover, parent, friend in the Force knew whether to mourn or keep worrying — there were no casualty lists available for the last week of the battle.
Sometimes there was sudden joy when a surreptitious midnight tap on a door became the prodigal one, who was feasted and then hidden.
Some had guns to hide, or a friend, others had nothing but shuddering memories and an unwillingness to follow Rao’s final orders.
So far, the Cumbrians had no quislings to worry about, who’d reveal the hidden warriors in their midst.
So far.
• • •
“Now that you’re victorious,” Loy Kouro probed, “what exactly are your plans for Cumbre?”
Kouro, elegant in evening dress, was one of two dozen or so Rentiers who’d responded to the Musth “request” for their company at a “Feasting to Celebrate the Coming of Peace.”
The gathering was in the penthouse dining room of the Bank of Cumbre, a sixty-story spire overlooking Leggett.
Wlencing, wearing harness made from the fur of some black-and-white-striped animal, with only a holstered pistol and grenade box, took a moment to respond:
“The firssst order,” he said, “will be to ssstabilize thisss human sssociety.”
“Of course,” Kouro said. “Without that, we might as well still be at war. I just hope that stability will come easily.”
“Now that isss a matter for you humansss to determine, isss it not?” Rahfer said, hissing in mild amusement.
“Well, I suppose so,” Kouro said. “Are there any specific plans you’d like to tell me about?”
