Helfort's War: Book 1

by Graham Sharp Paul

  But perhaps the best news of all was Professor Cornelius Wang. Despite the appalling way the Hammer had treated him and very much to Digby’s surprise, Wang appeared to bear no grudges and had thrown himself into the job of managing the terraforming project with a remarkable mixture of enthusiasm and drive. Digby was beginning to think that Wang might be a man he could trust to get on with it and not fuck up. Even the damn Feds seemed to respond well to Wang, which was a relief. They could be a stiff-necked bunch when they wanted.

  Digby sighed as he turned his back on the almost hypnotic holovid. He could quite happily have watched it for hours, but if he didn’t get his weekly report finished and into the courier drone for its pinchspace jump back to Commitment, Merrick wouldn’t get it in time for the weekly Supreme Council meeting on Friday evening, and that would never do. The last thing Digby needed was to upset Merrick and be recalled. For the moment, Merrick seemed happy that he was staying here, though it was early days yet. To encourage Merrick to view his presence on Eternity as essential, he would slip a fictitious incident involving one of his security personnel—nothing serious, but disaster had been averted only because he had been there to manage it while his ex-Hell personnel got used to their new responsibilities—into his report. He might also talk up the amount of direction he was having to give poor Professor Wang.

  Yes, he would paint a picture of good progress under difficult and demanding circumstances thanks to his firm leadership and control. That should do it.

  Friday, September 25, 2398, UD

  Offices of the Supreme Council for the Preservation of the Faith, City of McNair, Commitment Planet

  What a difference seven days makes, Merrick thought as he tried to massage another stabbing headache out of his temples.

  Only one short week before, he’d had that rabble of a Council exactly where he’d wanted them. But now he knew his position was beginning to slip. He still had the numbers, but only just, and that meant making concessions to that Kraa-damned son of a bitch Polk. After working furiously behind the scenes to shore up his position on the Council by persuading some of the unaligned councillors that they had conceded too much to Merrick the previous week, Polk had slowly but surely moved the Council to support his view that the deteriorating situation on Faith demanded the immediate imposition of martial law to enable DocSec to hunt down and kill the heretics responsible for the problem in the first place. All, of course, without the usual constraints of the law and due process, weak and feeble though those things were in the Hammer scheme of things.

  Polk had been relentless. With the worthless assurances of Planetary Councillor Herris, smooth and reassuring as ever, duly given, Councillor Marek, Kraa damn his soul, clearly deciding that Polk was the man not to upset, had presented his revised report confirming, without a shred of credible evidence, the view that dissident heretics were the cause of the problem. With his supporters visibly wavering, Merrick no longer could stall if he wanted to survive as chief councillor. Finally, reluctantly, he’d had to concede. The smug look on Polk’s face as he did so had been almost unbearable, every head around the Council table nodding in enthusiastic agreement, the relief plain to see on the councillors’ faces. The bitterness between Merrick and Polk had nothing to do with the planet Faith and everything to do with Polk’s barely concealed lust for the chief councillorship. Such fights were dangerous affairs, and councillors on the losing side tended to suffer heavy casualties as the winner settled old scores. So even if everyone knew that the show of unanimity was a sham, it was infinitely preferable to open conflict.

  Within minutes, orders had been issued implementing martial law on Faith and putting six battalions of marines on standby in case DocSec was not able to control things.

  Merrick had almost groaned aloud. Once again, the Hammer Worlds had set off down the bloodstained path of repression. Tens of thousands would die when only one needed to die to solve the problem. And that one was that corrupt bastard Herris. They never learn, he thought wearily. Failure to remove excessively dishonest and greedy public officials with friends in high places had always been one of the fundamental weaknesses of Hammer political governance, and so it was this time.

  Merrick knew the day of reckoning wouldn’t be long in coming.

  Monday, September 28, 2398, UD

  City of Kantzina, Faith Planet

  As night fell, the insurgents erupted out of nowhere, their momentum unstoppable.

  Without regard for their own lives, young men and women hurled themselves forward to overwhelm positions held by nervous and increasingly demoralized DocSec troopers. Each successful attack liberated the weapons needed to fuel the next wave of attacks. As the night wore on with violence flaring up all across the city and every DocSec building outside the city center in flames, it became increasingly clear that DocSec would not be able to contain the situation.

  To add to the problems facing a progressively more worried Kaspar Herris, who was holed up in the planetary councillor’s residence, reports had begun to come in of incidents in the towns surrounding Kantzina.

  Csdawa’s main DocSec barracks had fallen, and the body of its DocSec colonel had been dragged out, stripped, and hung by one foot in time-honored Hammer fashion from a tree. The placard around his neck read “Traitor to the People.”

  In Jennix, panicked DocSec troopers had turned their guns on peaceful demonstrators, killing and wounding hundreds before the enraged mob, heedless of the risk, had turned on their attackers, with the troopers going down under a tidal wave of murderous humanity. In Fers, Morris, and Shiba, mobs had trapped DocSec troops in their barracks and security posts. In the other towns and cities across the country, anxious DocSec commanders reported steadily rising tensions and begged for support.

  Just before midnight, Herris admitted defeat and called in the marines even though he knew he had just signed his own death warrant. As he had left the Supreme Council meeting, Merrick had made it abundantly clear to him what the consequences of failure would be, and if nothing else Merrick was a man of his word.

  Not that it would matter what Merrick wanted, he thought with a humorless laugh, if the street scum got to him first.

  The insistent bleating of the bedside phone dragged Merrick from the depths of sleep. Cursing softly, he checked the time as he reached across to take the call. Better be something damned important to wake me at 4:30 in the morning, he thought.

  “Merrick!”

  “Kato Miyasaki, duty secretariat officer, sir. I have a message from Planetary Councillor Herris. He’s advising that—”

  Merrick cut the man off. “Let me guess. The situation in Kantzina has gotten out of control and he’s called in the marines.”

  “Yes, sir. That’s it exactly.”

  “Fine. I want you to call Jarrod Arnstrom and have him draw up a warrant for the arrest of Herris. I want the warrant and him in my office at 07:45.”

  “Yes, sir. What grounds for the warrant?”

  “Oh, yes, good question, Miyasaki. Let’s make it conduct prejudicial to the Doctrine of the Hammer of Kraa. That’ll do for the moment. But say to Arnstrom that if he can think of any better alternatives, he can draw up warrants for those as well. I’ll pick the one I like best when he briefs me. Got all that?”

  “Yes, sir. Got it. Good night.”

  Merrick grunted and hung up, the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

  He could accept the fact that Polk’s star might be in the ascendancy and that his own days might be numbered, but by Kraa, he would take every chance he was given to cut away the bloody man’s support. Let him explain to the Council why Planetary Councillor Herris had been a man to be trusted.

  Anyway, with a bit of luck, Polk would soon be history. All Merrick needed was enough time for Eternity to come online, and he’d be untouchable. With a small sigh of satisfaction, he rolled over and was back asleep in seconds.

  Tuesday, September 29, 2398, UD

  DLS-387, approaching Space Battle Statio
n 4, in Orbit around Jackson’s World

  As 387 decelerated in-system, Michael was almost euphoric at the thought that getting his mother and sister back could be only a few steps away.

  In less than two hours, 387 would have completed a mission to remember. Not one but two Hammer of Kraa systems successfully penetrated, they had found what they were looking for, and more important, 387 had completed the tricky business of an underway remassing after it dropped into the Jackson system. But best of all, there was the prospect of some leave to look forward to, a chance to blow off steam and relieve some of the accumulated stresses of the last few weeks, and of course he’d be able to put Aunt Claudia’s mind at rest about his mother and Sam.

  How he could do that without compromising operational security he hadn’t quite worked out, but there had to be a way.

  Ribot had other plans.

  As he walked around the ship, he realized that there would be a lot of unhappy people when he had to tell them the bad news that there would be no leave, a severe blow given Jackson’s hard-earned reputation as one of the more fun places to be. But Fleet’s pinchcomm had been emphatic and not open for debate.

  Now Helfort had asked to see him. Even now, ten days after the Mumtaz had been declared overdue, probably lost with all souls, the holovids were full of tales of grief and anger that such a thing could happen in this day and age. Helfort would have assumed, not unreasonably, that he would have priority to get planetside to be with his stricken aunt and her family, and Ribot was not looking forward to telling him otherwise. But there was more bad news: So paranoid was Fleet about security, Helfort wasn’t even going to be allowed to get a vidmail off to his father. There was no way that the needs of a junior lieutenant, however worthy, could be allowed to compromise operational security. Ribot had no doubt that Fleet would have put huge pressure on the Sylvanians to keep 387’s arrival a secret.

  So, as far as anyone who cared to inquire was concerned, it was situation normal and 387 was in pinchspace somewhere en route to the Kashliki Cluster.

  For one moment Ribot wondered what had ever made him want to be the captain of a Fleet warship. He sighed as he decided how to handle the most pressing issues on his plate: Michael first, officers and senior spacers second, and announcing the bad news to the troops third.

  Ribot groaned. What an evening he had to look forward to, and no doubt Fleet had a full debriefing team standing by, ready to talk all night if need be. Wonderful.

  “All stations, this is command. Hands fall out from berthing stations. Revert to harbor stations, ship state 4, airtight integrity condition zulu.”

  Strezlecki turned to Michael as the surveillance drone crew left without the high-spirited banter that normally accompanied berthing. “Not a very happy bunch of campers, sir.”

  Michael nodded. “Not surprising, I’m afraid, under the circumstances. But what I want to know is what Fleet wants us to do next. You saw the Fleet supply ship berthed ahead of us? The Ramayana, I think. I’m sure that’s no coincidence.”

  Strezlecki smiled. “Well, sir, for what it’s worth, I think the shit’s about to hit the fan and little old 387 is going to be in the thick of it. We did a good job, maybe too good a job, to get in and out the way we did, and I’m sure Fleet will want more of the same.”

  “I won’t give you odds on that, Strez, ’cause I think you’re right. But let’s just wait and see. Shit! I’d better get a move on. I’m officer of the day.”

  As Michael finished stowing his space suit, Mother commed him.

  “For your information, Michael, Major Claudia McNeil is our Frontier Fleet liaison officer, and she’ll be onboard in five to confirm that we have everything we need.”

  “Roger that.”

  “And Captain Andreesen from Fleet has just confirmed that he’ll be arriving on the up-shuttle at 20:15. He should be here ten minutes after that.”

  “Okay. Captain got all that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks, Mother.”

  Strezlecki looked at him quizzically, left eybrow lifted inquiringly. “Developments?”

  “Sure are. Fleet’s sent OPS-1 to talk to us.”

  “Game on, I think, sir,” Strezlecki said with half a laugh. “I’m sure Fleet hasn’t sent OPS-1 to tell us to take a holiday.”

  “Know what? I think you’re right.”

  With some relief, Ribot and Michael saluted the backs of Captain Andreesen and his two staff officers as they made the awkward and always undignified transition from 387’s grav field to the space battle station’s. Amazing, Ribot thought, how even senior officers refused to use the lubber’s rail. Turning away from the enjoyable sight of one of the hardest men in the Federated Worlds Space Fleet on his hands and knees, Ribot stepped out of the air lock into the drone hangar. He waved Michael closer. “All officers, Michael. Wardroom in five.”

  Just as he was about to drop down the ladder, Ribot spotted Strezlecki huddled over one of the surveillance drones in the far corner of the hangar. Altering course, he wove a path across a crowded deck to where she was working. “Problem?”

  “Oh, hello, sir. No, not really. Bonnie took some micrometeorite damage during her fly-by, and I was just double-checking the repairs. Ramayana has got hot spares if we need them, but I don’t think there’s any need. No damage, just cosmetic. The plasteel armor did what it was supposed to do.”

  “Pleased to hear it. Michael?”

  “Sir?”

  “What are you waiting for? Wardroom now. You can trust me with Petty Officer Strezlecki.” Ribot’s tone was mock serious, but Michael was too flustered to pick up on it.

  “Yes, sir! Right away, sir!” With that, Michael shot across the hangar, dodging the closely packed drones before dropping down the ladder like a brick down a well.

  He’s a good officer, Ribot thought, and he’s handled himself well despite what must seem to him an endless series of setbacks. Having to tell him that he couldn’t go planetside to be with his family was bad enough. Telling him that there was a complete embargo on all outgoing personal messages and that as a consequence he could not even talk to his father must have broken his heart. But he just seemed to absorb the blows, burying the bad news somewhere deep within himself and moving on. Ribot didn’t want to be the first Hammer that Michael met. It could be ugly.

  He turned his attention back to Strezlecki. “Just a quick one, Strez. What’s the mood below?”

  “Pretty unhappy, sir. Lots of grumbling ’specially from the young and single. But I think that’s no surprise. If the troops aren’t complaining, then that’s the time to be worried.”

  “True enough, but do they understand why?”

  “They do, sir. Don’t underestimate how they feel about the whole business. The idea that the Hammer would actually do what they’ve done is pretty hard to take. So as long as 387 is doing something to hit back, then things will be fine. And remember, sir, that there’s more than one person onboard who lost family in the last war even if they are too young to remember the details. Reis, for one. She lost both of her parents. She would happily give up six months planetside on Jackson for the chance to kick a few Hammers to death, and she’s someone the lower deck listens to. Mind you, the party animals are disappointed at missing out on the delights of Jackson, but they’ll get over it.”

  Ribot nodded. It was what he had expected, but it was always good to get confirmation, particularly from a senior spacer as solid as Strezlecki.

  “But sir, if I can add something?”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  “Everybody’s figured out that Fleet has plans for us. The sooner everybody knows what’s expected of us, the sooner they’ll knuckle down and get on with things.”

  Ribot nodded. The advice was, as ever, solid. “Them and me both. As soon as I can, Strez, as soon as I can.”

  The wardroom felt crowded, the officers coming to their feet as one as Ribot entered.

  “Okay, folks. Seats, please. Michael, close the door
.”

  Michael watched carefully as Ribot sat down at the head of the mess table. Ribot paused for a moment while he gathered his thoughts. Something big was coming, and he was pretty damn sure he knew what it was. He looked around, forcibly struck by the look of hungry anticipation he could see on their faces. The last mission had welded them into a team, and it was a team that wanted to do more.

  “Well, no prizes on offer tonight for guessing what comes next,” Ribot said. “From what I’ve heard, everyone onboard has decided that Fleet has plans for us, and so they have.”

  “Pretty hard to explain away a bloody great supply ship the size of the Ramayana berthed immediately ahead of you as just one of life’s little coincidences, sir,” Armitage said with a half smile.

  “True enough.” Ribot smiled. “Well, anyway, enough tap-dancing around. We’re going back to Hell as part of the covert surveillance team to prepare for Operation Corona, a full-scale Fleet attack sometime around late November tasked with the recovery of the Mumtaz and her people. We don’t yet have exact dates.”

  Ribot paused in some amusement as Michael punched the air, his emphatic “Yes, yes, yes” giving vent to every ounce of stress, frustration, and anxiety accumulated over the last weeks. Michael was ecstatic. Involvement in what came next, yes. He’d expected that. But after one of the most hazardous missions ever undertaken by a Fleet ship in peacetime, to be put right back in the front line of a major planetary system attack, well, that really was a shock. Not that he cared. They’d be taking the fight right to the Hammers, and that was what he wanted.