by George Olney
Chofal looked at the younger of the two women and snapped, "You! Press this pad down until the bleeding stops!"
Lana fearfully approached the downed Gladius. Her mind still hadn't caught up with the rapid change of situation and the Kayelens were scattered messily around the stateroom. Chofal grabbed her right hand and pressed it roughly on the bandage pad. "Here!" he said. "Hard or he’ll bleed to death before the coagulant starts to work. He's in shock now and I have to watch the door. Yell if he starts coming around."
With that, Chofal left the girl with his wounded teammate, moving quickly back to the doorway and scanning the empty passageway. Damn! With Kardo down and two citizens to protect, he couldn't get back to the security position. There had to be more of the Kayelen around and he wasn’t going to let them get anyone. Making a decision, he called Smythe.
Smythe was still watching the passageway when he got the call on his helmet com. //"Smythe, Chofal. You have to hold, Kardo's down and I have two citizens here. No telling what else is out there. You have to hold the tube by yourself."//
Smythe gulped slightly, but he had a new mission and he was going to do it. //"Aye. Don't worry, nothing's getting past here. Hold up there. The sergeant and the lieutenant will be back soon."//
//"Aye. Chofal out."//
Smythe didn’t have time to worry. He heard sounds from up the passageway and they were headed his way. He should have told his team member, but he was too inexperienced to think of that. Instead, he moved his B-42 into firing position, determined to ensure he'd told Chofal the truth about nothing getting past.
So far, the mission was totally unremarkable to the Kayelen marine squad. The two they sought still were on the ship, somewhere, and their job was to continue looking until the women were found. No danger, just hunt and grab. Killing whoever didn't fit the profile for the two ugly aliens they sought made the job a little easier, but the squad leader was heartily tired of looking under beds and in closets.
Boredom accounted for the reason his first two men died as they came around the bend in the passageway. Falling into positions with veteran speed, the remainder immediately returned fire while the squad leader attempted to make sense of what was happening now. "Fire and movement! Take out that bishuge while I get the Lieutenant!"
The marines began darting from cover to cover up the passageway under the fire of their fellows. The return fire and occasional casualty told them clearly that it wasn't a frightened civilian in front of them.
Smythe triggered his com. //"Chofal, Smythe. I have enemy coming up the passageway in squad strength. I'm delaying. Can you move up?"//
Chofal suffered a momentary agony of indecision, glancing back at the two women and downed Gladius. No way. //"Smythe, Chofal. No. I have two citizens here, and I don’t think Kardo's capable of movement. Can you hold?"//
A veteran would have pulled back and joined his teammate to combine their firepower, then moved to retake the tube. A tense fourteen year old boy made a different decision. //"Aye. Get the Lieutenant."//
Chofal could have kicked himself at that last request. Why in hell hadn't he done that sooner? That he was an inexperienced Recruit didn't enter his head.
Cutting his transmission, Smythe reverted to an age-old Gladius tradition. He drew his short sword and drove it deeply into the deck next to him, something made easy with the blade's molecular shear field. He couldn't go back and the Kayelens weren't going past him. Neither he, nor his enemy was going to pass that blade, even in death. "Thus far and no farther," he muttered and took a fresh sight picture.
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Chofal's report wasn’t exactly dismaying to Sharon, but she took a small satisfaction in cursing the triple damned fiasco fate handed her. She stopped the squad for a minute. Thankfully, they weren't all that far away. //"Shuttle, Ariel. Get me a life form readout in the vicinity of the boarding tube."//
When the schematic came in, she fed the data to Passal, who'd moved up next to her, meanwhile cursing in a steady monotone. "We can't go up and over the Kayelens," she said, "the service accessways are too small to move in any kind of effective formation. If we jump up to the passageway now, we'll only be about twenty or so measures from the Kayelen rear."
He thought for a moment then grimaced. "OK, L.T., we'll have to do this the hard way, fast and up their ass."
Sharon responded with a wolf's grin. "Right," she said softly. "Let’s do it then. OK, everyone, go in loud. Shake these bastards up as much as you can. Get to that tube."
Concentrating on the single defender on his front, the Kayelen squad leader was totally unprepared for the screaming, barely seen hellions that smashed into his rear. The Gladii hit fast, hard, and right into the middle, turning the fight into a confused melee that gave them their greatest advantage. It was where the Gladius always fought best.
Sharon launched herself at one of the marines who was totally unprepared for the screaming devil at his back. For the second time on the mission, her wrist dagger did duty for a boltgun. The men's axes were larger, but the dagger was no less efficient in the close quarters of the passageway.
Passal slashed one of the marines in the neck as he charged, throwing the corpse bodily into a second marine and clearing more space for his ax to go to work. He ignored the snarling tangle at his feet as Sharon drove her dagger repeatedly into the Kayelen wrapped around her. Sharon pushed the dead marine away and stood up slowly, looking around as the rest of her troops assembled and formed a security perimeter. Not all of the Gladii got up. One of them was down, lying with two of his enemies in a final embrace. Still a bit twitchy from combat reaction, she looked at her sergeant. Passal kneeled next to the dead Gladius then shook his head. His look told Sharon she had her first combat death under her command. She pressed her lips grimly together.
"Sergeant Passal," she said firmly. "There're more of these out there. One team to secure here, one team to collect stray passengers after we find out what in hell Kardo and Chofal have been up to. I'll give you locations then call in the shuttle. The team guarding the passengers can start moving them up here. We'll join up when all citizens are accounted for."
Passal nodded. Looked like he finally had a lieutenant that knew what she was about. "Aye, L. T. We're bringing the citizens with us?" That wasn't really a question. He just wanted clarification.
"We can't leave them on this ship. Her drives have been shot out. We’ll have to get them back to the carrier. Besides, there aren't enough of us to totally clear the ship of the Kayelens. We'll just leave those misbegotten bastards the hulk after we collect the citizens. It won't do them any good. Citizens are our first concern, now."
Passal acknowledged. "Aye." Then he turned to his men. "Team two, get locations from the Lieutenant and round up the strays as fast as you can, but get every one of them, no matter what. Three, casualty collection point is the base of the boarding tube. Go get Kardo's team, then bring Samford's body to the point. Everyone call in if you hit trouble. Got it? OK, let’s do the mission."
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On board the shuttle on the way back to the transport, Lana cradled the injured young Gladius's head in her lap. He’d nearly gotten killed saving her life. She never knew there were still men like that in the Empire. He was kind of cute, too. Softly, she stroked the unconscious boy's pale bristle-short hair and thought heavily for the remainder of the trip.
CHAPTER 2
LEGIO IX VICTRIX
CAULDWELL
The Wareegans killed Bluefield. Because of that, Matic Ettranty killed Longcreek.
The Narsima Matic Ettranty shifted his corpulent bulk in his lounger, somewhat uncomfortable as he again meditated on that fact. Occasionally, he rubbed his depilated head with agitation. The Wareegans were being given a hint, at the expense of a small city and - despite hastily constructed civil defense shelters - a goodly number of proles. The Narsima quite wished they'd take it and leave the planet of Cauldwell alone before he had to arrange another hint. There were very, very specific
reasons why he wished they'd leave Cauldwell alone.
Pirates, raiders, whatever you wished to call the Wareegans, they landed on a defenseless planet, looted, killed, tortured, and kidnapped. The original raid on Bluefield left behind very disgusting evidence of those facts. The Narsima didn't dwell on that evidence, because circumstance and politics had forced him to see it personally. The conclusions he reached after that visit were dismal, but he was pragmatic and realistic.
The first conclusion was that the Empire wasn't going to give Cauldwell any help. There really wasn't much help available for the Emperor to send, not in these declining days. Besides, any visible Imperial presence might just awaken interest in certain quarters, interest that could prove highly inconvenient. The Emperor wanted Cauldwell to be - and remain - a forgotten backwater. The death toll on that backwater was irrelevant to the Emperor, thus to him.
Second, he decided there was absolutely nothing on Cauldwell that could stop the Wareegans.
Third, historical records said that the Wareegans always came back once they'd decided to raid a planet. They kept coming until stopped. The talking heads on the news networks and faxes all harped on the fact. His orders from the Emperor after his initial report were to stop them, no matter the cost, but without creating a military force that might later prove bothersome. Cauldwell had to be preserved the way it was. A totally devastated planet was of no use to Shangnaman. Neither was he, if he didn't find a way to run off the Wareegans.
To stop them, he needed a way to completely destroy at least one raid, or more if needed. The only thing Cauldwell could produce to do the job was primitive nuclear missiles. One hundred thousand people killed by an old fashioned locally produced nuclear weapon were just as dead as one hundred thousand killed, murdered, or taken away for whatever reason by the Wareegans. That was the equation in the Narsima's mind. The difference, of course, was that the people killed by the missile died quickly. Killing the city also killed the Wareegan raiding force. Kill enough raiding parties and the Wareegans would write off Cauldwell as an effort not worth the cost and go away. Simple.
After Bluefield, he announced a "defensive" program. Cauldwell was going to construct nuclear missiles with sufficient power to destroy the next raid. The citizens would be safe in shelters he also ordered constructed - at irritatingly high, but not damagingly high - cost. He knew perfectly well that the mass shelters constructed for the proles weren't going to be sufficient to protect anyone. There was too much graft and corruption in the government for that to happen. Shelters protecting the upper class, however, would be small and hardened enough to survive, especially since the people in them would be very motivated to keep them that way.
Shelter effectiveness wasn't something Cauldwell's Important People wanted discussed. Ergo, that part was kept quiet.
His solution outraged the citizens of Cauldwell to a degree, but not so things got out of hand. The populace had a high, somewhat decadent, standard of living and was trained to be complacent. What happened to someone else in another place didn't impact their personal world, which was going to keep on exactly the way it was. The Cauldwell government and the Narsima kept hammering that point home by the usual population control methods in the media. The Cauldwell press was relatively independent and quite intrusive, but reporters and editors mostly had the same political leaning: the Narsima's. That made it very easy for him and his party to manipulate the media. The media, in turn, manipulated the proles for him. Talking heads, of course, parroted the government line.
The Planetary Guard couldn't stop the Wareegans, not after catastrophic losses taken in the first futile effort. The Narsima forbade any further attacks on their part, other than to deliver a nuclear weapon to destroy the next raider incursion. Building the Guard back to full strength was expensive and time consuming - another infernally irritating expense. Meanwhile, nuclear missiles, while obsolete, were simple and cheap to produce.
The first trial of his new program had wiped out Longcreek, the people as well as the Wareegans. That was something he'd expected, although the media and public reaction was shock. Talking heads were already hard at work explaining that there had been some sort of malfunction in the warhead that had dramatically increased its yield. Remaining missiles would be carefully inspected and the next one, Lord Above forbid it was ever used, would be less destructive. At least the Wareegans were gone, presumably shocked at their losses.
Narsima Matic Ettranty had no intention of reducing the missile's warhead yield. The raiders had to be killed. He had other small cities.
Now he'd best put on his most reasonable and sympathetic face. The Guard's Commander, Imin Webster, was due in his office shortly to discuss the death of Longcreek. Webster was going to protest the Narsima's decisions and needed to be talked back into compliance. Another disagreeable but necessary task. Besides, he somewhat liked the young man. He suspected Imin was probably going to marry his daughter, so it was simply good practice to maintain equilibrium in the family.
When Commander Webster in the black tunic and light blue trousers of the Planetary Guard he commanded was ushered into his office, Ettranty heaved his bulk from his lounger with a bit of effort, then waved to the office bar. "Have a drink, Imin. You appear to need it."
Imin Webster, still shaken and furious, did need a drink. He'd just finished carrying out the death of a city and everyone in it. His own people. Oh, the Wareegan mother ship was gone from the Cauldwell system, but nobody could be sure if, or when, they'd return. If they did come back, the cost in human lives was going to be horrific, even if a "safer" warhead was used. Imin knew that, but knew better than to bring up the fact. The Narsima wouldn't disagree, but he'd already forbidden further argument. At least Longcreek hadn't died horribly, like Bluefield.
Imin gripped his drink in his left hand, rubbing his light blue uniform trouser leg with his right as he brooded over the situation. He was black haired and medium built, with a normally cheerful face that right now showed nothing but anger under fierce control. "Damn it, Narsima, why won't you and the Council let us go down on the ground after them?" he said tightly.
"Imin," Ettranty's breathy voice was soothing, reasonable as he settled his bulk, swathed in the noble robes of his station, back into his lounge chair, "I've told you many times. The Planetary Guard hasn't the training, manpower, or equipment to conduct any sort of ground warfare. Your force was solely designed to protect against threats from space."
"Which we can't!" Webster shot back. "We've tried! We need a ground force."
"And heavier warships as well," the Narsima replied. "Both of which require time, facilities and experience we don't have. We've never needed them before and they're a major expense that may never be necessary again. Without experienced trainers and equipment we don't have or could manufacture rapidly, throwing ground troops at the Wareegans would only compound the casualties and achieve nothing but additional drains on the population and economy. Cauldwell is less than five hundred years old and was settled on a shoestring. That doesn't even take into account that we're isolated out here. It's simply a problem of economics and starting from a small base."
Other than what he told Imin, the Narsima did not want Cauldwell to have its own navy or army, even its own merchant marine. Again, for very specific reasons.
"No, until the Wareegans came," Ettranty continued, "the Planetary Guard is what we needed and could support. We simply do not have the ability to create a large military force as this planet currently stands.
"Now, my friend, if you were trained and equipped like one of them..." he said, waving his hand at a line of beautifully made statuettes on a shelf next to the wall.
"Your collection," Imin snorted. The Narsima was perfectly aware Webster knew who was controlling the conversation, getting it off track to derail complaints. Narsima Matic Ettranty was very confident of Imin's reaction to the situation. If Imin wanted to continue commanding the Guard - and he did - he'd keep his mouth shut when told to do it.
"My collection," Ettranty agreed. "But don’t make light of my admiration for those men."
He got up and walked to the shelf, becoming more animated and enthusiastic. "These were all among the best soldiers of their day. Any of them, from this Napoleonic lancer to that Vegan space marine could be at least an even match for the Wareegans, but not your men. It's a matter of the purpose for which they were intended.
"In fact," he said, picking up a statuette from the end of the line, "here is the very individual we need."
Webster glanced idly at the form in Ettranty’s hand. "An Imperial Gladius. So what? We haven’t seen an Imperial warship here for nearly a century, much less Imperial troops. Everything we hear out of the Empire says they can't help us anyhow."
That resigned statement was music to the Narsima's ears.
The Narsima hid his satisfaction as he studied the lifelike statuette in his hand. The figure was a muscular man with a short beard, wearing a khaki shirt and kilt, boots and a tapering short cylindrical cap. His chest was crisscrossed by support straps for a belt carrying a short sword and small battle-ax on his left hip and a pistol on the other. The total effect was vaguely like an ancient Assyrian warrior. "An Imperial Gladius. Yes," Ettranty nodded his head, "they are exactly what we need. They were the supreme warriors, the ultimate soldiers, and I wish we had them now."
The Narsima was soon to get his wish, though he would come to regret it.
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Commander Imin Webster was immediately notified when the ship came into detection range. He was mildly irritated at the interruption because he'd been trying, for the hundredth time, to find a way around the Narsima's nuclear missile option. Dropping the frustrating exercise, he ordered up his air car and driver. Once he got to the PCC, he was both relieved and puzzled. It wasn't the Wareegan coming back. So who was it?
