by Jay Allan
He pulled the parka closed around his neck, a futile effort to ward off the cold. It had been freezing enough when they had bugged out of the base, but the weather had made itself their enemy ever since. A new cold front had moved in and stalled over the area, sending temperatures to levels that were low even for frigid Santis. He was proud of his Marines, but it was the civilians who shocked him the most, enduring the cold alongside his people, if with a few more complaints.
I’ve got the enemy to thank for that. Shooting the civvies who surrendered shocked the hell out of the rest…
Hargraves looked down at his feet, watching his step in the near total darkness. The ledge was twenty meters above the crashing sea below. It was narrow, wide enough only for a single file column, and if his people were discovered while still on the lip of rock they were finished—nowhere to run, no way to maneuver. But it was a hidden approach, five meters below the top of the cliff above, and it was the best way to get close enough to the enemy positions to complete the mission.
We’ll be fine. As long as they stay quiet enough…
Hargraves and his people were here to finish what they’d been unable to do before they’d had to bug out. Destroy the tritium production and storage units, deprive the enemy of what they had almost certainly come for. The Marines had launched half a dozen raids over the last seven days, mostly smash and grab jobs to steal supplies and to keep the enemy on the defensive. There were close to three hundred enemy troopers on the ground now, at least by the best count Hargraves had managed to get, and Lieutenant Plunkett had agreed completely. If they didn’t keep the enemy off balance, the invaders’ patrols would find the hiding Marines and force a final battle at overwhelming odds. That would be the end.
It’s the end anyway…The fleet, the Marines, everything is deployed against the Union. We might hold out a few more days, a week…even two or three. But no one’s coming, not in that time. So, in the end all we can do is our duty. We may be lost…but I’ll be damned if we’re going to let these bastards have what they came for.
He took a step forward, stopping as he felt the rocks slip under his feet. The last thing he needed was to send a cascade of debris sliding noisily down the cliff…
Actually, the last thing you need is to trip and go down with them…
He moved slowly, cautiously, pushing the stones away from the precipice with his foot. He turned around again. “Loose rock up here,” he whispered. His tone was soft, seemingly gentle…but there were unspoken threats there his Marines would understand, images of what he would do to anyone who barged forward carelessly.
He could see the tritium facility ahead. The refinery that pulled the precious substance from Santis’s especially rich seawater glowed softly in the darkness. The facility was mostly automated, the small civilian population present mostly for maintenance and to handle any emergencies. As with Marines stationed on Santis, the civilian technicians were limited to relatively short terms of service exposed to the planet’s unhealthy radiation levels. Unlike the Marines, the civilian technicians could become rich enough to retire after a two-year stint, and that mean there were always plenty of volunteers.
This group is paying for it, though…
“All right…we’re here to take out the plant. We’d like to get the storage tanks too, but the first priority is the refinery.” He looked down the line, his eyes landing on one of the civilians. “Tomas, here, is the ranking tech. He says the best way to scrag the whole plant is to take out the reactor that powers it. And the only way to do that without causing a two-gigaton explosion or blasting ourselves with enough radiation to kill us fifty times over is to destroy the cooling system. Right?”
Tomas Rivera was a short man, at least twelve centimeters shorter than Hargraves. He looked back at the imposing Marine and nodded. “Yes, Sergeant. That’s right. If we blow the cooling lines, that should shut the whole system down. And there are no replacement parts on Santis. It’s not a repair we expected to have to make. The cooling system is usually very reliable.”
“It’s reliable until we wire it with every piece of explosive we’ve got.”
“Yes, Sergeant, that’s true.”
“Let’s go. You guys with the explosives, you plant those things wherever Tomas tells you to…and you do it quickly. The rest of you, keep your eyes open…and keep it quiet. One guard walks by and the alarm will go out…and we’ll be well and truly fucked.”
The Marines in the line nodded silently. Hargraves had told them to shut up, and as tough as they were, none of them had what it took to defy the rugged veteran.
Hargraves struggled to suppress a shiver.
Damn, it’s cold…
“Let’s go.” He moved forward a few feet and turned, grabbing onto a chunk of rock hanging out just above his head. He scrambled up the embankment, off the narrow ledge. His head popped up, and he scanned the area. Nothing.
He pulled himself the rest of the way up, and then he ducked down and waved for the others to follow.
I hope the civvies can manage the climb…
He pulled himself up on one knee, slipping his assault rifle from his back and extending it forward. He peered across the flat rocky ground at the top of the cliff. Still nothing.
Wait…
He saw movement, at least he thought he did. Then, for a second, he thought he was wrong.
But then they came. At least a dozen of the enemy. And an instant later he knew for sure. They had seen him.
“Let’s go, Marines…move it! We’ve got a fight up here!”
He was already firing, his rifle blasting out toward the approaching enemy troopers.
Damn! We’ve got to get to that refinery…
* * *
Kat sat in her office, just off Invictus’ bridge. It was a luxury, one she could only have dreamed about on Vindictus. Alliance officers were imperious, and they expected to be obeyed without question. But they generally adopted a Spartan lifestyle. The culture as a whole had shied away from opulence, from anything that might wear away at their resolve and toughness. Even a fleet commander considered himself or herself a warrior first and foremost. The intelligence services and propaganda bureaus had often had fun at the expense of the leaders of enemy nations, about how soft they were, how they lived in luxury while they sent their subordinates out to fight for them.
Kat felt uncomfortable with the plushness of the office, as any old school Alliance Patrician would, but she recognized the usefulness of the private space. She had even admitted to herself, she was enjoying it.
“Have you made any progress in suppressing the Confed fugitives, Praefectus?” Her voice was even, not accusatory in any way. She was surprised Millius had not pacified the surface yet, but she knew the infantry commander was a good officer, capable and dedicated to duty. If he was having difficulties, there was a reason. And it wasn’t his lack of skill or effort.
“Negative, Commander. The terrain is very rough to the north of our position.” There was a short pause. “I’m afraid the enemy has been able to engage in an effective hit and run campaign, striking suddenly and retreating before we can concentrate against them.”
“Are there any indications there may be additional enemy forces on the planet?”
“No, Commander. I do not believe so. Our interrogation of the prisoners prior to their—liquidation—was extremely thorough. I do not believe they withheld any information from us. The fault is mine, Commander. We have simply failed to hunt them down. But I assure you I will do everything necessary to complete the mission.”
Kat nodded, a small smile slipping onto her lips. She appreciated Millius’s honesty, his willingness to accept responsibility for the situation on the surface. It was the Alliance ideal, but it was one that was rarer than honorable Palatians liked to admit.
“You have my every confidence, Praefectus. If there is anything you require…additional satellites for surveillance, more supplies, ordnance…”
Though we don’t have much mo
re aboard to give you…
“No, Commander. Thank you, but I believe we are adequately supplied. We simply need to track down these Confed Marines and finish them.”
“Very well. I leave it to you, Praefectus, but we must have the area around the tritium production and storage secured before the advance elements of the fleet arrive. I would offer orbital support, but without precise targeting data, I’m afraid we can’t risk hitting your own people or destroying the storage tanks. Perhaps…”
She stopped suddenly as the sounds of muffled rumbles filled her earpiece.
“What is that, Praefec…”
“I’m sorry, Commander. We are under attack. I have to go.”
She heard an abrupt click, and she reached up, pulling the headset off. She sat still for a moment, shaking her head. If Millius’s interrogation data was correct, if he was having this much trouble with thirty Confederation Marines…what could she expect if she ran into any enemy vessels?
Her briefings had suggested that the entire Confederation fleet was deployed against the Union, that there was nothing more than a motley collections of aging patrol boats anywhere near Santis. But Kat wasn’t about to bet the mission on the intelligence briefings.
She tapped her com unit, calling up Wentus’s channel on the bridge.
“Yes, Commander?”
“Optiomagis, I want full defensive protocols in effect. This system is to be secured against attack. Directive Sigma-12.”
“Yes, Commander. Initiating now.”
“Advise me when shuttles are loaded and ready.”
“Yes, Commander.”
Kat slapped her hand down on the table, cutting the line. Hopefully, the spies were right for once, and all she had to do was sit here and wait for the fleet to arrive.
And if not…at least she’d be ready. For whatever.
Chapter Fifteen
Confederation Intelligence
Troyus City
Planet Megara, Olyus III
307 AC
“So, what’s the emergency?” Gary Holsten walked through the door—stumbled was probably a more accurate description. He’d been out late, very late, and he rarely woke up this early. Being the sole heir to one of the Confederation’s largest family fortunes was hard work, and the capital offered no end of parties and receptions craving his attendance…or breathtaking women seeking to accompany him. He generally found it hard to get to sleep much earlier than dawn, and it was barely an hour later than that right now. His hangover was industrial strength, the throbbing in his temples almost rhythmic. But his other, lesser known identity had called him to service. Megara’s most eligible wealthy bachelor was also the head of its premier intelligence service.
“Coffee?” Michael Vonns gestured toward a side table holding a large pot. Holsten nodded earnestly as he made his way across the massive office, toward one of two large armchairs.
“You know I wouldn’t disturb your revels or force you to kick last night’s model out of your bed so early if it wasn’t important.” He filled a cup to the top with the steaming coffee. Then he paused and frowned. “We got a report from Tom Warren.”
Vonns walked over toward the chair and handed the cup to Holsten, who reached up to grab it, taking an immediate sip then setting it down on a small table.
“I take it from your tone the news is not good.”
“No, Gary…it’s not. First, I’m pretty sure Warren is dead. Or worse, captured by Sector Nine.”
Holsten winced. He knew only too well the reputation of the Union’s feared intelligence bureau. He didn’t often wish death on his agents, but if Warren had truly been blown and unable to escape…well, he hoped the man had gone down fighting, or he’d had the good sense to take his own life.
“How can you be sure?”
“I’m not sure…but I’d bet. His message had a Bright Light signal in it.
Holsten sighed. Bright Light was the code for agents who were blown and in immediate danger of capture or death. Tom Warren had gotten his message out, but it didn’t seem like he was able to escape himself.
“Warren was—is—a good man.” Holsten wasn’t ready to give up on his agent until he was sure.
“Yes. He…is. And his mission was a success. He was able to confirm that the Union has been in contact with the Alliance. The report doesn’t include extensive details, except that Ricard Lille was in command. And that he has since returned to the Union.”
Holsten had been about to take another sip from his coffee, but he paused with the cup halfway to his mouth. “Lille? He’s their top man. Whatever they were doing in the Alliance, it must have been serio…” He put the cup down on the table. The alert from Archellia…
“My thought exactly. If we were going to have any trouble with the Alliance, that’s where it would be.”
“If the Union was able to persuade the Alliance to attack us while we’re heavily engaged with them…”
“It would be a disaster.”
“Have you forwarded this to the Admiralty?”
“Not yet…I wanted to discuss it with you first, see what you wanted to do.”
Holsten nodded. “You’re right. Perhaps we should keep this under wraps for now.” He knew the navy types would have gone ballistic if they’d heard him. They were constantly complaining that the intelligence service withheld data from them.
And there’s no easy way to explain we do it for their own good…
“Didn’t the Admiralty react to the alerts already?”
“Yes…coincidentally, they had a battleship at Archellia. Apparently it got routed there for routine refit because all the bases close to the Union were at capacity.”
“Lucky break. What ship?”
“Dauntless.”
“Tyler Barron’s ship?”
“Yes.”
Holsten hesitated. He was all for sending a vessel to investigate, but Barron was the closest thing the Confederation had to royalty.
If he gets scragged out on the frontier, it’s going to be bad for morale…
“Even if the Union convinced the Alliance to ally with them—and that is still a big if—I doubt the Alliance would move first. They aren’t the most trusting people…and with their culture, they would despise the Union and its ways. That might not stop them from opportune cooperation, but they would never commit their fleets before the Union does. They would be too worried about treachery.”
“I went through the same thought process. But something’s going on out there, Gary. I saw the communiques myself. The Archellians think it’s criminal traffic of some kind, smugglers or pirates. But with the information we have from Tom Warren, I’d say that looks like too much of a coincidence to me.”
“I have to agree.” Holsten sighed. He didn’t believe in coincidence. “So, what can we do? War with the Alliance and the Union at the same time would be a disaster.”
“The Alliance would face considerable logistical problems mounting a sustained invasion of Confederation space. Unlike the Union, they don’t share a border with us. Their ships would have to travel a significant distance to even reach Confederation space. And more transits to get to any significant worlds.”
Holsten nodded, but a frown slipped on his face. “Yes, but everything we know about the Alliance suggests they are a…stubborn…people. And since they won their latest war against the Unaligned Systems, they do have a route to the border that passes only through neutral space. So they’d have to deal with distance, but not with any hostile systems in the way.”
“That’s true, but sustaining an entire fleet so far from base? And they just fought half the Unaligned Systems. They won, but they took losses too. How could they possibly refit their forces and come at us so quickly? They need time to rest, to rebuild.”
“That’s the kind of logic you would use if you were analyzing us, Mike. You’ve read the reports. Their society is almost entirely military. Hell, they don’t even have a society. They’re just one massive armed force serviced
by a bunch of conquered slaves. We would look at the distance and say it’s not feasible. I’m not entirely sure they would come to the same conclusion.”
“You may be right. But they still have to get their ships rearmed, repaired. They couldn’t possibly have turned around a battered, exhausted fleet that quickly. Even if they can move faster than us, it has to take them some time to prepare.”
Holsten took another sip of his coffee. “I have to agree with you on that point. I can’t see how they could have launched a full scale attack so rapidly. They may be coming at us, but I don’t see how they could actually do it, at least not for some months.”
He laid the cup back on the table and turned toward Vonns. “But that brings us right back to where we were, Mike. I know the Rimworlders have a tendency to exaggerate things sometimes, but the base command at Archellia didn’t panic about nothing. The patrol ships on the frontier encountered something…and if it really is some kind of criminal activity, that brings us right back to coincidence on the Alliance.”
Vonns nodded, but he didn’t reply. Holsten knew his friend didn’t have anything to say. Neither one of them believed Dauntless was out chasing pirates. But none of the other possibilities made sense. Unless…
He leapt out of his chair. “Can you get a map of the border on that thing?” He pointed to the large screen that covered most of one of the office’s walls.
“Yeah, sure.” Vonns stood up and walked over next to Holsten. “Max, activate monitor. Display systems map of Rim Section One, from Archellia to the border.”
Confederation science had experimented with artificial intelligence units that ‘listened’ to everything that was said in a room and determined through analysis when a command was being directed at them. The results had been somewhat mixed, but even a total success would likely have proven inadequate to convince the operatives at Confederation Intelligence that it was a good idea to have a computer analyzing everything they said. Much simpler to retain the naming convention, and program AIs to respond to a set designation and ignore everything else.
“Yes, Mr. Vonns.”
