Guard at the Gates of Hell (Gladius Book 1)

by George Olney

  "Confirm outer doors closed, aye," added the Weapons Officer.

  Alice nodded absently. "Understood, ten mikes to translation and outer doors closed. Rig boat for TFD." OPSEC, operational security, required them to leave a system after an attack, no matter what happened. They wanted the Empire to see ship losses as random for as long as possible. Hanging around an ambush site was a good way to get discovered by anyone coming to investigate, thus blowing OPSEC and the entire plan into the bargain. Nobody wanted that to happen.

  Her attention was riveted on the main screen, just like everyone else on the control deck. The rest of the crew at their stations were probably following on repeaters. A readout in the upper right hand corner was counting down the seconds until projected torpedo impact as the blinking icons of the torpedoes crawled towards the cruiser.

  "Ten seconds to impact," the Weapons Officer spoke in a flat voice that barely showed his underlying tension.

  "Target has detected the torpedoes and is increasing speed." That was the sensor tech. His report was calm and professional - and just as tense underneath.

  "Too late," someone else said softly. "Way too late."

  The comment wasn't procedure, but Alice was concentrating too hard to care. Besides, she agreed.

  "Five seconds. Four. Three. Two. One. Contact. Negative contact. Plus two. Plus three. Plus..."

  The cruiser's icon turned red with terminal damage and vanished. "It took a little longer because he cranked on speed, folks," Alice announced, "but we got him. Good job, all."

  There were relieved low cheers at that. Everyone felt drained after the tension of the attack, but Alice brought them back to what they still had to do. "Good job, but we've got to get out of here. Pilot, get us into TFD and make for Patrol Station Four. Let's see what's happening in the rest of the galaxy."

  ARMY TRAINING CENTER

  NIAD

  There was a crowd in the Officers Club bar this afternoon, a bit strange for the hour. Apparently a lot of units were off cycle and their officers were trying to wind down. Others were just off duty. The whole made for a noisy, if generally amicable group. The various Army, Fleet, and Gladius uniforms also made it colorful.

  Imin nervously adjusted the fit of his gray tunic. He was still getting used to the idea of wearing Cluster Fleet gray instead of his Cauldwell Planetary Guard black and light blue. The Commodore rank was new, also. That was something else that took a bit of getting used to. His rank made him senior to everyone here in the bar and provided him with some welcome privacy. He wanted it, but the reason wasn't here yet.

  "The rank suits you, Commodore," said a well-remembered soft female voice behind him. Well, the reason was here now.

  He turned and got a good look at Shana. He hadn't seen her since the Wareegan attack, and there were a good many changes. During his quick assessment, he got a bit of a shock. Oh, she was still very much a desirable woman, but there was an aura of physical hardness about her he hadn't seen before. That spectacular figure was wearing Gladius khakis with a kilt and sidearms, and that was another mild shock. He knew about her joining the Corps, but the seeing was much more impressive than the telling.

  Being male, the last thing he took a really good look at was her face - a face wearing a mildly amused little smile at his preliminary scan. The smile said it was Shana, all right, but not the old Shana he knew. She was changed, more mature somehow, and no longer the carefree party girl he planned to marry once.

  Well, he wasn't the same either. Not as changed as she was, but a bit more grown up than the old days before the Wareegan attacks. "You're looking good, Shana," he finally got out. "Different, but good."

  Shana looked away for a moment after she sat down at the table and put her cap on an empty chair, looking at something only she could see. "The difference isn't the Corps, Imin. Not all of it. Most of the difference is something else."

  She looked at him, and her assessment was somehow deeper than his. "Leave that in the past. How are you getting along? I heard you're now the head man for fighters in the Fleet. What's your title?"

  Back before the Wareegan attack changed everything between them, she'd have made a joke or flirted. Now she was simply making conversation, like an old friend. There really was nothing more between them now. Not romantically, at any rate. That hurt, but not as much as he expected. Imin decided he'd settle for friendship. "I don't have a title yet," he said with a wry smile, "just a job and a concept. It's a job I got because I'm the only person they could find that has commanded more than two wings of fighters. Ergo, Admiral Mackinnie has me here with the rest of his staff, working on how to arrange all the separate fighter units into some sort of overall organization."

  The barman put a beer - Gladius style, a bottle and no plass - down in front of her. That was different, too. The old Shana loved frou-frou mixed drinks, the more elaborate the better. She'd never drink beer straight from a bottle. "Sounds interesting," she said, returning his wry smile with one of her own. "It's also way above my pay grade. I'm here with my platoon, running a short course in unconventional operations for the Faire battalion."

  "Your platoon?"

  She nodded. "You can see the various cutting stuff and the pistol I'm wearing. They aren't for looks, Imin. I'm a combat commander and I've already done one campaign as a line officer and seven missions as Strike."

  She took a pull of her beer and set it down. "Let's get to the heart of things, Imin. I'm not the girl you knew. I'm someone else, someone very different, and I like what I am. I'm in love with a man that understands that difference and what made me that way. We're engaged, Imin. I'm sorry to drop that on you, but it's a fact. Can we still stay friends?"

  His smile was a little wistful. "If it will make you feel any better, I wouldn't make a pass at the new you. On the other hand, I wouldn't mind having you as a good friend, if you're willing."

  She leaned over and hugged him, much to his surprise. "More than willing, Imin. I'm glad I haven't lost all of my old life."

  There was something else in her statement, something he couldn't quite place, but it was not something he wanted to address. Better change the subject. "Did I hear you right?" he said as they settled back in their chairs. "You're working with the elves?"

  The Scaanians, people from Faire, were universally tagged "elves" because of their small slim body structure, sharply defined faces, and pointed ears. Their planet, Faire, was discovered on one of the first Exploration Project missions. Back during the Empire's Expansion Period, a group of more-or-less normal humans belonging to an archaic society that played in living in the past had decided to set out from Wando. For reasons of their own, they wanted a distant world that would let them build the idealized medieval society of their fantasy.

  Unfortunately, Faire had slightly higher than normal background radiation, finally producing the stable mutation that gave them an appearance out of an ancient folk tale. The die-off before that mutation stabilized was one reason Faire lost contact with the Empire. Scaanian society was still an idealized version of Old Earth's medieval period, but they'd never lost knowledge of the Empire and were quite willing to rejoin galactic society when the Frontier Cluster made an offer.

  Scaanians were small, but very tough. After they joined the Frontier Cluster they insisted on becoming part of the campaign against the Empire. Lacking modern warships, they provided a battalion of troops to the Cluster Army, currently training up on Niad.

  Shana nodded at Imin's question. "My boys and I just finished an unconventional warfare course for them. In a couple of days, we'll all go out to the Mossback training area and aggress against them while they run a four day raid. It's a little strange running a patrolling and dirty tricks course for guys that look like they came out of a children's story, but they're downright good fighting men. Every bit the equal of anyone outside the Corps and working hard on us."

  He shook his head. "I'm a fighter pilot. I don't do mud, unless it's to shoot something in it. I still can't figu
re how we ended up with them anyway."

  She nodded and said, "Neither can a lot of other folks, me included until recently. I've changed my tune since I came here, though."

  She went on to tell the story. When the Scaanian battalion was originally offered to the Cluster Army, there was a good bit of discussion and plain old argument about what to do with them. The physical size and body structure of the elf sized men made Army commanders worry about having them in the combat line, but the King of Faire had flatly declared his men were coming to fight. Political necessity made it impossible to disagree. Then someone had the thought of putting them in specially built powered armor suits. After all, the Scaanians already wore armor at home.

  It turned out to be an inspired idea. The Scaanians took to powered suits like they'd invented the concept themselves and proved to be naturals as heavy troops. Not only were they used to the idea of wearing armor, but they were all former horse cavalry. Heavy armor tactics fit them like a glove. Once the army leadership saw what the Scaanians were doing with powered armor, they assigned the battalion as a strategic reserve at Army level then began negotiations with the King to raise more.

  Of course, the fact that the Scaanians insisted on carrying long swords as part of their equipment was amusing to some. The Corps saw the weapons, understood, and agreed fully. At Corps recommendation, Scaanian swords were updated with the same molecular shear fields the Corps used on its fighting blades. The modified one measure long sword blade was going to be deadly in close combat and the Scaanians were both enthusiastic and skilled in its use.

  Not every battle could be fought in armor and that was where Shana and her platoon came into the picture. They were giving the Scaanians a short course on how to do nasty and underhanded things to the enemy if the opportunity presented itself and her men were enjoying the respite from their hectic operational tempo. Besides, Shana told him, the little guys were enthusiastic students and hard core soldiers, elf look-a-likes or not.

  #####

  Later, Shana was meditating on the subjects of on her mission here and what looked like her new relationship with Imin as she walked back from the Club. The relationship issue could have gotten sticky, but Imin was taking it with good grace and he seemed to be relieved that the new Shana was more interested in friendship than romance. Given what a Gladius truly was - and she was a Gladius - Imin appeared a bit intimidated at the thought of her in his bed. That was fine with her. He really wasn't her type any longer.

  That brought the warm thought of Karl to her mind and left her with a mellow glow. Karl understood her, what she'd been through, and wanted her as a life partner. That was priceless. Sex and romance were great, but the joining of two people that meshed in their personalities was far more important.

  Imin, she decided, was going to make a good friend and that was also important to her. He was a link to the past she didn't want to entirely lose in her new life. Not after...

  Her mind shied from the thought of her father's death and back to the incongruity of elves in modern powered armor wearing swords nearly as big as they were. Interestingly enough, Scaanian personality was closer to the Gladii than the normal run of humanity. Must have been their late medieval culture. They were a patriarchal bunch, too, but seemed perfectly willing to accept her as a combat officer. No problems there.

  In fact... Shana saluted the approaching Scaanian commander. "Good afternoon, Colonel Frodi. Today's training went well, I think."

  He returned her Corps salute with his own, fist to chest. Shana was familiar enough with Scaanian body structure by now to know that Frodi was a large and heavy man among his people and she was comfortable with that. It was the thick bushy beard he wore she couldn't quite get used to. Elves were supposed to be clean shaven. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant Ettranty. I agree. In fact, I'll say the whole course has gone well. Your people have done an excellent job as instructors."

  The Faire dialect of Unispek was a little hard to understand at first, but she and her people were having no problem by now. Unispek was her first language in any case, so she was quite comfortable in the conversation. They fell in together and continued chatting as they walked across the parade ground towards the BOQ. "Lieutenant," Colonel Frodi said, "I've been looking at some of that marvelous recorded imagery on your Corps ground tactics, particularly the way your troops move in battle."

  Shana nodded. "You mean the weave?"

  "Yes," he replied, "exactly. The weave. That's fantastic! Could your people teach us how to do that? Do you have any experience with the tactic?"

  "I was a line trooper before I went to Strike," Shana said. "All Strike dogs are. I've done the weave plenty of times, but it's complicated and takes a lot of training and coordination. I'm not sure we could teach your people. In fact, that's why we simplified the weave into a pulsing movement when we began to train the Army. The up, back, and around in the pulsing movement is simpler, but it still makes good use of firepower and mobility. What we taught the Army was the original combat tactic of the Corps when it was formed centuries ago. You certainly won't be facing a weave when you go up against Imperial New Forces."

  "Still," Colonel Frodi said with a peculiar twinkle in his eyes, "given my men's training, I'm sure we could adapt your tactics to our experience."

  He paused for a moment then asked casually, "Would you care to come to my quarters and discuss how we could do it? Perhaps over drinks?"

  Shana stifled a laugh. Never good to laugh in front of a senior officer, even one that barely came to your shoulder and was making a pass at you. She could see him coming a kilomeasure away. Well, the elves were enthusiastic and motivated, all right. She had to give him points for ambition. "I'm sorry, Colonel," she said as pleasantly as possible, "but I'm betrothed. I just don't wear my ring on duty."

  "Ahhh," he said philosophically, "that's a shame. Who's the lucky man?"

  "Legate Karl Athan," she said with a smile, "of my legion, the Victrix."

  "A very lucky man, indeed." Frodi was taking it graciously. "And he outranks me by a good bit, more the pity. However, I continue to feel we could adapt your weave to my tactics with a bit of thought. If you would still consider coming to my quarters, the discussion might be worthwhile. Perhaps with another member of your unit? An experienced one?"

  Shana smiled at him. "Give me an hour to find him, and I'll bring Sergeant First Class Stauer, my platoon sergeant. Together, we might just come up with something."

  Colonel Frodi sighed quietly. He knew Stauer. No chance at this big beautiful woman with him around. "Yes, well... in an hour, then."

  Shana smiled again, saluted, and went off to find Sergeant Stauer. She had to admit the little guy took having his pass blown off better than most men she'd turned down. Then she got interested as she thought about his idea. You know, it just might work. Maybe if they modified the armor's IFF transponders...

  OFFICES OF THE GUIDANCE COUNCIL

  CAULDWELL

  Nobody was more surprised than the Narsim Clarine Femiam when she found herself the new Recording Secretary for the Guidance Council after the coup. She suspected the background influence of the Corps political subversion teams, especially after her little sojourn at Victrix Base, but the PMGG Parliament Members seemed to take her with good grace as well. Apparently, she had a better reputation than she suspected.

  That was a bit strange to her. She'd never before worried about a popular reputation, but her thoughts about politics and government were changing. Under Matic Ettranty - and on Central for that matter - she was more worried about political and personal survival than what was happening around her. Now, everything was different.

  The revelation about Cauldwell's secret purpose as an Imperial escape hole was still causing sensational reports all over the planet. Additional release of the news about the hidden caches, not to mention what had happened with Matic Ettranty's death squads, was only adding to the furor. Everywhere Clarine looked, there was disgust at the Empire and (carefully guided by
the PMGG and the political teams) a desire by ordinary citizens to stand up and fix problems.

  Of course, there were contradictory views and very active political opposition to the PMGG, but that was all to the good. The opposition was in the nature of normal politics rather than any form of sinister plot. Democracy on Cauldwell was still young and messy, but it was growing and healthy.

  Clarine screwed up her face into a disgusted expression at another thought. The secret concentration camp and the anonymous death squads were something to be laid squarely at her cousin's feet, and rightly so. She was never aware of them in her previous duties, thank the Lord Above. She'd thought that sort of thing was behind her when she fled Central. Had she become aware of them, she wasn't sure what she'd have done. Probably gone on the run again.

  Her intercom signaled. "Narsim Femiam, you're daughter's here."

  "Send her in," she told her secretary. That was another thing that had changed. Lana was no longer a party girl, nor was she the slightly aimless daughter she'd had up until the coup. She was changed, more mature now.

  How changed, she realized when her office door was opened and Lana walked in. She was wearing a now very familiar gray uniform. Clarine stared at her, slightly aghast. "You've enlisted in the Cluster Fleet?"

  Lana seated herself before Clarine's desk. "In Medical Service. For now." She looked mildly despondent for a moment, then determined. "I don't have any skills that would let me qualify for a Medical position yet. That's why I'm in the MS. To learn. I want to be a nurse and the Fleet will give me training for that."

  A powerful rush of conflicting emotions swept through Clarine. Pride that her daughter was finally doing an adult's job. Worry that being in the Fleet could be dangerous. Sadness that she was finally losing Lana as she went her own way in life. Curiosity about... "Was it your young man that caused this?"