Murphy's Lawless: A Terran Republic Novel

by Charles E. Gannon

  His wristcom vibrated as it received the download from the satellite, and Volo retreated to a bit of shade, making it easier to read the shiny display.

  He shook his head. It must have been too much to expect that having succeeded against all expectations, their run of good luck was going to hold out. Headquarters was reporting—make that complaining. Whatever Volo had done to the J’Stull, it had been overkill. The activity at the Kulsian’s clandestine vehicle cache had more than trebled. The equipment, secreted away on the R’Baku surface, was updated and re-used each time the planets were at their closest point of approach. With the Searing two years off (the actual periastron was actually a few years later), the Kulsian raiders should have been working at a languid pace, but now both the cargo vehicles and lightly armored escorts were being fueled and positioned for departure. Volo’s little group didn’t have weeks longer to plan and execute the convoy seizure mission. They only had days, maybe less.

  The SpinDogs might have a real opportunity to interrupt the Cycles which had trapped them off-planet, but it was slipping away, and fast.

  A portion of Second Spin’s message was doubly encrypted, marked only for his eyes. The victory on the surface, and the consequences, had roiled the SpinDog council. The shifting balance of power now tilted toward the faction that favored using the coming war to “use up” the Terrans, decreasing their numbers and influence. Prior to the destruction of the airship, Volo knew he would have been, at worst, ambivalent about this. However, he was feeling something new, a bond of kinship he’d never before experienced.

  Tapper, though arrogant and barbaric, had stood next to him. Moreover, he’d actually trusted Volo to shoot the newly invented weapon, when the entire mission was depending on the gunner’s accuracy. Rodriguez, for all his uncouthness and indirect threats, had volunteered to be the highly expendable bait, necessary to lure the ship within range. How many on Second Spin would have risked themselves like this?

  Who were the old men on the council to dictate to whom Volo should give his loyalty? They weren’t here, eating this food and sleeping on the ground! Of course, if Volo did anything but dutifully carry out orders, he would be on his own. He wished he could yank the elders out of their council room and bring them on this march, make them open their eyes.

  What was that pungent phrase Rodriguez employed when the Sarmatchani trainees complained, wishing for a chance to rest from his demanding military drills? Ah, yes. “Shit in one hand and wish in the other, then see which hand fills up first.”

  * * *

  “What do you mean, the timetable has moved up?” Rodriguez almost yelled and hobbled a step towards Volo before Harry interposed himself. “We’re completely out of position!”

  Harry noted the attention they were drawing and gestured to his noncom to stand down. Volo had come to them with the latest download from the comm network.

  “Ease up, Marco,” he asked, rather than ordered. “Let’s have a sit-down. Volo, could you repeat that?”

  “Second Spin relayed that the complete inventory of vehicles has been withdrawn from storage ahead of the worst-case projections,” Volo replied, turning to accompany Harry as he led the way along the dirt path to the trestle tables framing the clan’s eating and gathering area. Rodriguez and Stella followed, and somehow Rosha attached herself to the little procession. “The number of artificers and technicians is far higher than we thought. Some of the cargo trucks are even being test driven already. We no longer have several weeks. We must move sooner.”

  “There’s no way we can move fast enough to get to the cache before they roll!” Rodriguez almost yelled from the end of the little procession.

  “Hail, Yannis,” Harry said, spotting the clan chief sitting with some of his men. Harry suspected the burly chief had simply continued drinking into the late morning, but he appeared fresh and rested. The chief roared a greeting, waving a drinking horn made from a hollow tusk nearly half a meter in height.

  “Ha-Ree, do all Sky People need so much rest before they can resume toasting our victory?”

  “We have received grave word from our friends overhead,” Harry replied, sliding onto the stool across from Yannis. “Despite our victory, the J’Stull have crafted a surprise from their defeat. They have accelerated their efforts to prepare the war wagons, the trucks. If we want to capture them for the use of the Sarmatchani, we can’t allow the enemy to move the machines to their city.”

  “Can we simply not melt back into the hills?” Grevorg asked before taking a pull on his own drink using his unbandaged hand. “This we have done before. Let them strike the empty hills and fields with their fist. We will laugh at them from the wastes!”

  “We sure can’t, battle-brother,” Harry answered, shaking his head. He clapped the taller man on his shoulder. “I know it’s worked before, but now we have shown them the strength of our hand, and the J’Stull will not forget. If they collect all their war machines, they can follow you much faster than you can run.”

  “Are these machines like the ballista that you made for us to kill the skyship?” Yannis asked pensively.

  “No, sir,” Rodriguez answered for all of them. “Imagine a wagon made of metal, which doesn’t need beasts to draw it, but can move across the ground twice as fast as the fastest sprinter. They’ll have guns that can shoot very quickly, like the one the El-Tee used during the fight, but much larger. Each wagon can carry up to ten warriors and all their kit.”

  Murmurs greeted this description, several affirming that they had heard of such vehicles.

  “Still, if we run, we may live,” a voice called from the circle that had accumulated around the informal council. “Who would want to fight such a machine?”

  “None of us have the luxury of running anymore, my R’Bakuun brothers.” Volo, who’d remained standing, stepped forward and faced Yannis. “We’ve learned something more. The J’Stull and all the satraps are required to keep a high-ranking member of their dynasty on every boat, whether on the river or in the sky. This is their way to ensure all recognize the authority of the vavasors and the vassals, all the way to the Suzerain himself. One such was on the sky boat which we struck down. His death touches the honor of the J’Stull.”

  “Well, good!” Yannis said happily, and fresh roars answered his declaration. “Tell them to send more by-blows of their so-called royal J’Stull family. We’ll simplify the choice their clan head must make among his heirs!”

  More roars of approval.

  “It won’t happen like that, Chief,” Harry said, slipping into briefing mode. “Yannis, it can’t happen like that. The J’Stull can’t afford to ignore such a challenge, not if they want to keep their place among the satraps. They are far more concerned with the power of their peers than the threat posed by rabble that is too stupid to live in the cities—I’m sorry, but that’s how they think of you. Once they complete their immediate mission—moving the trucks to safety—the J’Stull must settle the account. They must find us and totally destroy the Herdbanes, root and branch, or suffer the same fate themselves at the hand of the Reavers. Even with the new warriors from the other tribes, we don’t have enough trained fighters ready to attack a well-protected convoy head-on.”

  “You’re sure, boy?”

  “Perfectly sure, Yannis,” Harry answered forthrightly. “But we have options.”

  “Go on, then.”

  “Chief, the first thing to know about them is that these wagons need three things to work. They work best on roads, and really bad ground will stop them. They have to have fuel, and that fuel is both heavy and easy to burn. And lastly, they have to have trained men to drive and fix them.”

  Harry stood and tipped over his stool.

  “Without all three, their strength is like that of a stool with only two legs.”

  “And?” Yannis asked. “How do we fight these trucks, these machines of destruction?”

  “I don’t want to confront them or their escort if I can help it, Yannis, not while th
ey have all three things they need to work,” Harry said, reaching to Volo, who placed the plastic-coated map of the region into Harry’s hand. Harry opened it and laid it out on the trestle table, moving a few empty plates and mugs to make room. He traced one finger down the road that led to Chorat. “But there is a way to fight the men.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eighteen

  R’Bak

  “You’re getting too close to the head, Ha-Ree,” Stella cautioned him, as Harry strode alongside the first whinnie in their column. The Sarmatchani had explained that though the beasts would tolerate a heavy pack saddle and were docile enough to be led, they were dangerously unrideable. “That makes them irritable, and this one will take your arm if you don’t move.”

  Harry looked up at the whinnie. It was mostly tan, though vertical greenish counter shading ran along the rough and creased hide. The great dun beast seemed placid, striding along with the barest serpentine motion. Its colorful neck fringe hung loosely about the long neck, and it didn’t look any more agitated than it had at camp, where the Sarmatchani strapped the crates containing a few hundred kilos of improvised charges to its back. None the less, this would be a bad time for one of the explosive-laden whinnies to decide it had had enough. Harry angled his steps to open the distance a bit but maintained the rapid pace that he’d set for the entire task force from the outset.

  For a while, only the treading feet of the long column made any noise, apart from the occasional low whistle from a worried or bored whinnie, which was then reassured by a light touch from its handler’s goad. Experience had taught Harry that groups would string out during a march, so he looked back over his shoulder to check on the progress of the people behind him. Several Sarmatchani camps had contributed to the force, won over by Yannis’ exhortations, and their participation stretched the group out even more. On either side of the road, really not much more than a broad track of rammed earth, rose the grasslands through which Harry had passed much earlier. A curve in the road obscured the back half of the group, though the swaying heads of the whinnies rose above the vegetation, giving the appearance there was a herd of unaccompanied animals passing through.

  “I’ve seen the great bridge,” Stella offered after they covered another klick. “It’s very big, and very old, older than the Cycles. It’s been a part of the land for so long that even the animals make use of it. Do you really think this demo you’ve brought will be enough to damage it?”

  “Rodriguez thinks so,” Volo announced from his position behind Harry, who was mildly surprised to hear what sounded like genuine admiration in the SpinDog’s voice. “And he was right in the matter of the blimp.”

  “I’m reasonably sure we have enough,” Harry answered Stella, working to sound confident. The last thing he needed was second-guessing. “Both Rodriguez and I have a lot of experience. Our modern explosives should enhance the effect of the black powder we’ve collected from the clans who chose to support us. Plus, I know a thing or two about engineering. If we dig down a bit and bury the explosive, we can tamp the explosion and direct the force. We’ve got enough people to dig. Easy-peasy, we drop the bridge, and the J’Stull will be trapped on their side of the river until they can repair the bridge. All we have to do is wait for our friends, who will bring many warriors and guns. Then we can force the convoy to surrender.”

  “I like this plan,” Stella replied. “It’s simpler than the plan to destroy the airship.”

  “Simplicity is good,” Harry agreed, feeling a bit chuffed by her approval.

  “Indeed,” Stella replied pertly. “The less time spent on it, the better. No hunting plan goes perfectly. Always, there’s a surprise. Why spend so much time on the plan when the warband leader will have to change it?”

  “Well, you have to have a plan,” Harry answered, automatically stilling the old anger when it made a half-hearted attempt to rise before it was easily quashed by the chuckle that rose in his chest, unbidden, hearing the surety in Stella’s voice. “Things don’t have to go wrong every time.”

  As they talked, they had approached the crest of the latest ridge they had to traverse. Waiting for them was Yannis.

  “Take a look, Ha-Ree,” he said, holding out the monocular Harry had offered him as a battle-gift. “There’s a change.”

  Harry used bare eyes to stare in the direction indicated by Yannis’ finger.

  Squinting against the glare, he could make out the bridge, describing a dirty white arc across the darker color of the chasm it spanned. It was closer than the horizon, but still several klicks off. He used the monocular to enhance the view.

  “Ah, shit,” he said, as his vision cleared. “That is new.”

  “What’s new?” Volo asked, catching up to the trio.

  “There’s a guardhouse on the end of the bridge. We’re going to have to deal with it first. We can’t just walk up and plant the charges.”

  “See?” Stella asked, perhaps a little smugly. “Always the plan changes.”

  * * *

  “All you have to do is get their attention.” Harry repeated the instruction to Volo, who was nodding earnestly. “Wait for full dark, then sting them. Get them angry, then run back up the road just fast enough to stay ahead of the reaction force. Do not engage with these guys. They outnumber our entire force, and all of them have guns. At some point they’ll get tired and break off pursuit, or they’ll hear the explosion and turn back. Then you head to the rendezvous.”

  The young man had insisted on leading one of the three groups Harry had created, and the SEAL officer wasn’t spoiled for choice. Harry wished Rodriguez was on hand, but even Rosha’s miraculous treatment couldn’t restore his leg quickly enough to accompany the forced march, which had lasted a day and a half so far.

  The first team had already been dispatched. It included the minimum number of Sarmatchani required to keep the whinnies calm and be ready to lead them to the bridge with the explosives. Hidden behind a hill, they would stay well back until Harry called them in by runner. Harry had asked Yannis to stay with the mixed crew of Sarmatchani. The towering chieftain’s presence would be more than enough to enforce discipline among the clansmen, ensuring that they didn’t move prematurely and compromise the operation. Now that they were nearly at their destination, the big lizard-like animals actually were becoming restless, as though they could sense the impending action.

  The second group was led by Volo. He would be responsible for the largest number of Sarmatchani, who had to stage a noisy demonstration against the force guarding the bridge. Then, they had to appear to flee, encouraging pursuit. Harry just hoped that the kid would keep his head. Volo needed to retreat in time to allow the Sarmatchani with him to not only serve as tantalizing bait, but actually remain outside the reach of the reinforced company of J’Stull who’d materialized at the vital bridge.

  The third group was the smallest, led by Harry. It would sweep the bridge of any residual guards and call in the whinnies. Harry would lead the diggers and expose as much of the two key trestles as possible before burying the explosives and lighting the fuse.

  “No problem, El-Tee,” Volo said, slapping Harry’s shoulder. “We’ll make beaucoup demonstration, and Mr. Charles will chase our pretty asses all the way home!”

  “Kid, you’ve been spending way too much time with Rodriguez.” Harry wryly shook his head, before gripping the SpinDog’s hand for a quick shake. “You don’t want to end up like him. Good luck, and watch your ass.”

  Volo flashed him a quick smile and trotted back to his command, rapping out orders in a low voice. Harry watched the thirty Sarmatchani melt into the dusk, already shaking out into skirmish order as they disappeared into the grass. He looked at the eight men he’d kept to sweep the hopefully empty guardhouse. All right, six men, two boys who could run like hell, and one very determined woman. Harry had picked the kids because he needed someone to get word to the explosives team. Stella had picked herself, appropriating her injured brother’s rifle, but
wearing her own knife. All of them wore their hunting leathers and had shovels or spades slung rifle-fashion. They’d kept their lances to hand and had dulled the shine of their faces with ashes.

  “We wait for the shooting to die down and swing in behind the J’Stull,” Harry reminded them. “Then we clear the shack on our side of the bridge and four of us dig like hell while the rest pull security. As soon as the holes are halfway, the two runners carry the word to Yannis. He brings in the explosives, then we backfill and boom! Got it?”

  Harry looked around the little circle, receiving nods from each man and, for once, a serious look from Stella.

  “All right, let’s settle in and wait. Stay close enough to touch the man to your right. When you feel the tapping, pass it on and be ready to go.”

  His team briefly milled about before finding a spot for the wait. Sitting down, Harry couldn’t see any further than the person next to him. Stella was sticking close. The group quieted down as the night sounds resumed around them. Harry knew that they had at least an hour before Volo would start anything, and then another ten minutes or more before the commander of the bridge security company decided to do something about it. If Harry had learned anything in the Teams, it was to take advantage of small moments like this, so he tilted his head back and looked at the stars.

  Here he was on another battlefield, hell, another planet. So much for getting out of the Teams. In a little while, he was going to lead a mostly untrained assault team on a night demolition assault. Good thing night operations were simple and never went wrong. By way of an unexpected twist, he was taking a woman with him. At least that was a first. He looked over at the dark shape of the woman next to him. Of course, Stella wasn’t your average girlfriend. Like the rest of the warriors, she’d simply settled in, waiting quietly.

  No chitchat, no last-minute fidgeting.