The battle at the Moons of Hell hw-1

by Graham Sharp Paul

  Monday, November 2, 2398, UD

  City of McNair, Commitment Planet

  “The Feds have done what?” Merrick roared. “Put a ship into orbit around one of our planets? And sent a lander dirtside? I don’t fucking believe it! What in Kraa’s name do those stupid bastards think they are doing? I want a full report together with your recommended response within the hour!”

  Merrick slammed the phone down on his long-suffering councillor for war and external security. As if he didn’t already have enough to worry about.

  Kraa-dammed Feds. The bastards had put an Abydos class deepspace heavy patrol ship in orbit around Hammer 14-1. It was way too big for a genuine survey operation, as the Feds claimed it was, but not small enough to be pushed around.

  Why, for Kraa’s sake, why? What were the Feds up to now?

  Maybe he’d missed something. Merrick grunted as he pulled up the file on the planet 14-1. He snorted derisively as he quickly scanned the data. No, he hadn’t missed anything. It was a miserable apology for a planet. Thanks to a severely elliptical orbit, it was a frozen inhospitable waste most of the time, scoured by endless storms that ripped its methane/ nitrogen atmosphere apart, the sky thick with the sulfurous smoke and dust belched out from the thousands of active volcanoes that punctuated a planetary surface wracked with endless earthquakes triggered by two massive moons orbiting far too close for comfort. A worthless piece of dirt.

  And yet, and yet. Slow down, Merrick, and think this through, he told himself.

  It was becoming harder and harder for him to ignore the possibility that somehow the Feds had found out about the Mumtaz and were about to do something about it. In fact, that was the only scenario that made sense. The problem was that all he knew for a fact was that the Feds were mounting an operation code-named Corona under the command of a Vice Admiral Jaruzelska. Exactly what Corona was, nobody could tell him. But if Corona really was about the Mumtaz, he was stuck. The mountain of deceit he had erected around the whole affair had trapped him. To admit that he knew what the Feds might be up to would be to put a bullet in his head.

  Polk and his gang would see to that.

  So why should he take the chance unless he had to? There was always the possibility that the Feds were simply trying it on. They had been known to put pressure on the Hammer for no good reason at all. No, he had no choice. He had to keep quiet and try to hold things together until the time was right to announce the success of the Eternity project and reap the enormous political and social rewards that would follow. In fact, maybe it was time to call Digby back to start constructing the elaborate cover story that would be needed if he was to be able to claim that it was the Hammer and the Hammer alone that was responsible for the successful and speedy terraforming of Eternity. And if word had leaked…

  The more Merrick thought it through, the clearer the way forward became. Get something heavy to Hammer-14 to make it clear to the damn Feds that they’d be blown to hell if they didn’t withdraw. In the meantime, get the usual pointless exchange of protest notes going and use the incident to take people’s minds off what was going on in Kantzina. But stretch things out. Kraa’s blood. He needed as much time as he could get.

  The necessary calls having been made to put the wheels in motion, Merrick turned his attention back to the unhappy subject of the civil unrest on Faith. Despite its impressive bulk, the report from Major General Barbosa, COMGEN-MARFOR-3, was unable to conceal the simple fact that even with the dispatch of an additional battalion of marines, the situation on Faith was slowly but surely sliding out of control. Resistance was hardening as the locals began to realize that although marines were tough, very well trained, and very dangerous, they were not invincible. With thorough preparation, good leadership, and a bit of luck, all underwritten by a willingness to accept heavy casualties, they could be taken on with some success.

  The previous week had seen a major heretic assault in Kantzina’s eastern suburbs, the first attack that showed signs of careful planning based on accurate intelligence supported by good staff work. Even though the attack had had no chance against the well-dug-in marines of 5 Brigade, for once prepared with their own accurate and timely intelligence, the butcher’s bill had been too high, with the heretics leaving no fewer than 245 marine casualties behind them as they were finally thrown back in bloody confusion. That had happened only because 5 Brigade’s reserve armor had sliced deep into the northern flank of the attack to leave the heretics, cut off and isolated, to be pounded into dust by the marines’ ground attack fliers.

  But 5 Brigade’s casualties in that particular encounter weren’t the end of it. They were on top of mounting DocSec casualties in Ksedicja and, worst of all, in Cascadia, home of the Great Schism. Merrick knew it would get worse before it got better. He suspected that whoever was behind the latest Kantzina assault wouldn’t make the same mistakes the second time around, and that meant many more marines shipped home in body bags. But 5 Brigade’s commander seemed to have his shit together, so maybe he was being too pessimistic. Even so, it was damn hard to be anything else.

  Not for the first time he cursed Polk and his willful stupidity. “Chief Councillor Herris is a trusted servant of Kraa, and he would not tolerate corruption and cronyism.” Polk’s words came back to him as though they had been spoken only yesterday. “Well, they’ll see,” Merrick muttered savagely. Herris had rightly paid the ultimate price, and maybe Polk would, too. All he had to do was somehow keep a lid on Faith and on the Mumtaz affair and hope to Kraa that the Feds hadn’t found out, and maybe, just maybe, he’d get through things.

  Maybe more marines was the only answer, short of walking away, that was. He had to bring the unrest to an end. He turned his attention back to the mound of papers on his desk, his decision to recall Digby forgotten for the moment.

  Tuesday, November 3, 2398, UD

  Offices of the Moderator and Cabinet, Terranova

  The moderator, Valerie Burkhardt, sat back in her chair, trying to stretch the kinks out of her back without being too obvious. It had been a long cabinet meeting. “Giovanni, I think I know why you are looking so smug. So do tell.”

  The federal minister of interstellar relations was indeed looking smug, and for good reason. “Yes, Moderator, I suppose I am. As you all know, the heavy patrol ship Delphic duly entered orbit around Frechaut-I, or perhaps I should say, in deference to our Hammer friends, Hammer 14-1, two days ago and successfully landed its survey party shortly thereafter. Since then, we’ve had only routine pinchcomms, but that’s to be expected until the Hammer gets a ship there. Fleet tells me that thanks to Corelli Reef, a particularly large and unpleasant grav anomaly between the Hammer and Frechaut, the earliest a warship is likely to get there is tomorrow morning sometime.

  “We’ve just received the standard protest from the Hammer government. Ambassador Carlyle was summoned to the Department of Foreign Relations this morning and presented with this protest by none other than the councillor for foreign relations, Claude Albrecht himself. They helpfully pinch-commed the protest to us at the same time. The formal hard copy is on a courier drone on its way to us now. A copy is in your in-box if you’d like to have a quick look at it.”

  Moderator Burkhardt snorted derisively as she read the protest. “Hammer scum” was all she said.

  “And so they are, Moderator. But the good news is that they have given us one week to comply, which suits our purpose well. We want if at all possible to keep Delphic on station around Frechaut until just before Corona kicks off in earnest. Hopefully, that will keep the Hammer looking firmly in the wrong direction.”

  “Good. So that means that for whatever reason, the Hammer has given us seven of those sixteen days, which is very helpful of them, I must say. So what now, Giovanni?”

  “I’ll get the Hammer desk to put together the usual bullshit response and run it past the lawyers before getting onto a courier drone to Commitment. No pinchcomm summary in advance this time. That should stall things a bit further,
and we’ll see what happens. The Hammer will be upset, but that’s to be expected.”

  “Not so upset that they would do anything, well, stupid?” Moderator Burkhardt’s concern was less for Delphic than for the hugely complex military operation now gathering pace as they talked. It would be hard enough for Jaruzelska to do what had to be done without the Hammer jumping the gun, shooting up Delphic, and then going to a state of high alert just as Battle Fleet Delta launched its attack.

  Pecora shook his head emphatically. “No, I don’t think so, Valerie, and neither do my people. And believe me, we’ve looked at this very hard. Despite their reputation, the Hammer are much more considered in their actions than people give them credit for. They have enough on their plate at the moment with the situation on Faith and will be very concerned that by upsetting us we would start covert support for the rebels dirtside. Not hard to slip stealth carrier drones past their sensors, and they know it. We think worrying about that will slow them down, which is of course exactly what we want right now.”

  “Okay, Giovanni. We’ll leave that to you.” Burkhardt’s tone made it clear that the issue had been dealt with. “Well, everybody, if there’s no other business, I think that’s enough for now.”

  Wednesday, November 4, 2398, UD

  Operation Corona Headquarters

  Angela Jaruzelska sat, as she did every morning, nursing a cup of tea at the back of the massive strategy simulation building’s main combat information center.

  For her, it was the best time of day.

  It was too soon for the pressure of other people’s agendas to clutter up her thinking but not too early to put the new day into the proper perspective. A good time, she always found, for thinking through the issues the day would bring while below her the pace of activity began to pick up as the operations and planning staff got themselves organized for the first formal event of the day, the daily operations conference otherwise known as morning prayers.

  “Admiral, sir.”

  “Yes, Bian?”

  Jaruzelska’s flag lieutenant, who she would have sworn got younger by the day, nodded nervously. Jaruzelska was well known for treasuring the first part of the day as her thinking time, and interruptions had better be for something important.

  “Flash message from DLS-387, sir. Can I forward it to you?”

  Jaruzelska nodded. Seconds later, the message popped into her neuronics, its old-fashioned format and extreme brevity marking it out as a pinchcomms message.

  As she read it through, Jaruzelska had to restrain herself forcibly from leaping to her feet. At last, she thought, at long last. 387 had found the crew and passengers of the Mumtaz. Now her staff could fine-tune the operations plan for Corona and begin the final simulation exercises before the battle group deployed.

  Comming her chief of staff to come to her office as soon as he arrived, she turned her attention back to her cup of tea. Finally, she thought exultantly, finally, things were coming together.

  Wednesday, November 11, 2398, UD

  Hut 2, Eternity Base Camp

  Kerri Helfort awoke with a jerk. A scream was building behind her breather mask as a black-gloved hand kept her head down on the pillow until the quietly spoken message, the FedWorlds accent unmistakable, penetrated her sleep-soaked mind.

  “Commodore Helfort, sir! Wake up! And for Christ’s sake do it quietly. Commodore Helfort, sir. Wake up!”

  Kerri did, and in a hurry. Signaling the black shape, which was almost invisible in the faint night-lights that lit the long hut and its rows of silent sleeping forms, to let go, she turned slowly onto her side, struggling to get her breath back.

  “Who the hell are you?” she whispered, her voice shaking with the suddenness of it all.

  “Corporal Gupta, sir, 1/24th FedWorld Marines, and we are here to get you out, but not yet. We need to do some work to get ready. You are the senior service officer here, so we thought we’d start with you.”

  Kerri could only gape into the matte-black faceplate of the marine crouched on the floor beside her bed as the fear and tension of the last weeks welled up inside her, the tears streaming down her face past her breather mask to drop onto the tattered black T-shirt she wore in bed. She couldn’t speak, only stare, as hope burst into flame inside her, her mind racing with insane joy. She wanted to leap to her feet and tell those Hammer fuckers that their days were numbered, but years of service discipline kept her under control.

  Kerri took a deep slow breath. “What do we need to do, Corporal?”

  “For the moment, do nothing but think about what it’s going to take to get every one of your people out of here safely when the time comes. We’ll meet you 400 meters northeast of the camp tomorrow night at midnight. Make your way across the creek and wait there. We’ll find you, but you must come alone. Any problems with that?”

  “No. There’s nowhere to run to. This is the only place dirtside to get oxygen and food, so the Hammers don’t care about perimeter security. That’s why there’re no fences. Well, except around their compound, and that’s only to make sure we don’t strangle them in their beds. Lots of people like to get away from the camp for an evening, so there’s nothing unusual about that. No, it’ll be fine. Midnight, 400 meters northeast, wait just across the creek.”

  “That’s good, sir. But tell nobody just yet. Let’s work out the details first. Are there people you trust? Absolutely trust?”

  Kerri nodded. “Sure are. We have a committee. We talk about escape, but not with much enthusiasm of late, I have to admit.”

  “Good. Bring their names and the names of any others who can be trusted. We’ll need at least one group leader for every twenty of you when the time comes. Say fifty people and grade them one to three, with one the most reliable. Okay?”

  “Fifty names, graded one to three. I’ll have it for you when we rendezvous.”

  “Good. And I want a second list. Let’s call it the red list. Anyone you can’t trust, anyone who might betray the escape.”

  Kerri’s face twisted. Sad to say, there were more than enough of them. Cowardly, treacherous bastards. “Will be done. Anything else?”

  “Yes. We’ve broken into the Hammer’s comms net, and we see that they’ve reenabled neuronics. It made it much easier to find you.”

  “Thank God, yes.”

  “Fine. Are they monitoring the neuronics datastreams, do you know? We couldn’t find evidence, but we didn’t probe too deep-mission security is top priority.”

  “We don’t know for sure. The network architecture and software shouldn’t allow it, but they’ve got some smart software people, they control all the network hardware, and they’ve had both time and incentive, so they might be. We’ve assumed that they wouldn’t have enabled it unless they thought they could break in. So we don’t use it for anything, uh, serious.”

  “Okay. Good. Let’s keep it that way. When the time comes, we can use it to coordinate things, but until then we’ll need to depend on your core cadre of fifty. Commodore, that’s it. Moonrise is in less than an hour, and we have to go.”

  “Where are you holed up?”

  “Sorry, Commodore, you don’t need to know.”

  “Oh! Yes. Sorry. Stupid of me. How do I contact you if I need to?”

  “Tomorrow night we’ll put a patch into your neuronics software to set up a secure network operating in parallel. It’ll talk to us through a small short-range infrared transceiver we’ll pin to your breather assembly. You’ll codephrase switch between networks. Until we get some infrared rebroadcast units in, you’ll need to stand outside the camp to talk to us. But we’ll explain all that to you tomorrow. We must go. Midnight tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

  “I won’t. Oh, wait. Sorry. One more thing. Maria LaSalle, the one responsible for a lander accident. She’s gone walkabout, and we’re concerned about her.”

  Gupta grimaced. “Supplies?”

  “Enough for a week, we think. She was last seen late Monday.”

  “Okay. Leav
e it to us. We’ll go through the holovid records and see if we can work out when she left and where she went-when the time’s right. Now I must go, Commodore. See you tomorrow night.”

  And with that the shapeless phantomlike form of Corporal Gupta was gone as though it had never existed. Twisting in her bed, Kerri thought she saw a flicker of movement across the ground outside the open-sided hut, but that, too, was gone in seconds.

  Saturday, November 14, 2398, UD

  Eternity Camp

  As the sun set, the western sky turned a riotous blaze of scarlet and gold struck through with purple-green fingers of methane smog.

  As the deepening blue-black of night began to overwhelm the last remnants of the day, small oases of light started to appear around the camp as Mumtazers sought privacy away from the pressures of daily life in Eternity Camp. Digby had promised that work would start on building a small township on the slopes of Mount Kaspari to the north, but it would be months before people would be able to move out of the cramped sleeping huts whose open sides and lack of internal partitions provided an absolute guarantee of no privacy.

  In the meantime, Mumtazers who wanted to be alone had no choice but to take a coldlamp and head out into the darkness. Each night many did, and this night was no exception.

  As Kerri waited for the last members of the escape committee to straggle into the circle of light thrown by the small lamp set on a rock 200 meters downstream from the camp, she was struck by how quickly a new etiquette had grown up, in this case a strict rule that nobody should approach a coldlamp any closer than 100 meters unless previously invited. Not for the first time as she watched the lamps wandering out of the camp, she wondered at the incredible adaptability of human beings.