by David Weber
Finally, when he was sure he had all the sounds cataloged, he began to lift himself out of the water. The movement was painfully slow, but it allowed all the water to run off his body, leaving nothing to drip-drop-drip and betray him by the out-of-place sound.
He crept up the rock to the junction of the bridge and its foundation. The humans had been careful in their instructions on this point: the package must be in contact with the bridge, but out of sight. He placed the box against the cool stones of the arch, and spread some of the wiry flir grass that thrived in the shadow to cover it. Then he began his slow progress back down the slope.
With any luck at all, there really would be a guide on the downstream side.
“That’s half the plan in place,” Roger said, and Pahner nodded.
“Now if we can just be in place for the other half.”
“About that—” Roger began, then paused as someone thumped on the door.
Despreaux stepped back with most of her squad, covering the door as Corporal Bebi jerked it opened.
The new commander of the Guard was revealed in the doorway, and looked at the leveled weapons evenly.
“I was sent by His Majesty. You are to write a message to your company. It will command them to follow my orders until you are reunited.”
Roger looked at Pahner, then back at the visitor.
“How long do you want to be the new commander?” the prince asked. “I can cut that tenure short, if you’d like.”
“If you kill me, another will take my place,” the commander said in indifferent tones. “And if your company isn’t given help in the battle, it will be wiped out. I’ll be in command of the support forces. If you anger me, I guarantee that you’ll have no soldiers left after the morrow.”
“Ah,” Roger said with a feral smile. “Nice to know we’re all on the same sheet of music.” He pulled a pad over, tapped on the interface for a moment, then threw it to the Mardukan. “Take that to them. It gives them all the orders they need.”
“Very well,” the Mardukan said, holding the pad upside down as he studied it. “Tomorrow morning, you will join my lord in observing our glorious battle.” He grunted evilly, the first expression he’d made other than contempt. “To Victory!”
“Yeah,” Roger said. “Whatever.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
The day dawned bright and almost clear. The lower layer of clouds had pulled away, leaving only the permanent thin upper layer, which actually raised the temperature a few degrees.
The human troops gathered in front of the visitors’ quarters, checking their gear, making sure their rucksacks rode well, and getting their mission faces on. The fight was looking to be short, sharp, and unpleasant. They were critically short of bead and grenade rounds and had no plasma rifles, so unless they got more support than they expected from the Marshadans, it would get down to hand-to-hand.
At least they had their swords, but they still didn’t have the proper shields to go with them, and without the shield wall, the superior individual training of the Pasule forces would weigh against the humans. All in all, it looked to be a bad day.
Julian was running a whetstone over the blade of his sword when his helmet radio came to life on the general frequency.
“Mornin’, Marines,” Roger’s voice said. “I thought you should understand something before we start the ball.
“I’m not going to get into my bitches about the way I was raised. We’ve all got complaints about our parents, and I’m no different from anyone else in that respect. But I want you to know that no matter how angry I was the other day, I love my mother, both as my mother and as my Empress.
“What happened was that I found out why we’re really here. Sure, there was an assassination attempt, and that was the final cause that put us here, on Marduk. But the reason we were on the cruise, the reason we were in an assault ship and not a carrier, had to do with a personal problem between me and my mother. One I didn’t even know existed.
“So I have a few things to apologize for. I’d like to apologize for causing any of you to wonder about my loyalty. We’re just going to have to get in out of the cold and let me discuss it with my mother to straighten that one out. And I want to apologize for not forcing my mother to have that talk with me before we left. We could all be in Imperial City having a beer right now, if I had. So, last, I’d like to apologize for getting you stuck in this goddamned situation with me. And I pledge, on my word as a MacClintock, to do everything in my power to get each and every one of you home.”
The prince paused, and Julian looked around at the company. Every Marine sat as still as he did himself, listening. It wasn’t often that you heard a member of the Imperial Family open up his heart . . . and it was even rarer to hear one apologize.
“Now, you’ve got some things to do today,” Roger went on after a moment. “And I’m not going to be there with you. But we all need to go home. We all need to get our asses back to Imperial City and have that beer together. Today, in my opinion, is the first step on the road home. So let’s get it done.
“Roger, out.”
The new commander of the Royal Guard walked over to the humans as they began to break out of their strange stasis.
“What are you doing?” he snapped. “Why have you stopped preparing? Get moving, you stupid basik!”
Lance Corporal Moseyev was closest to the spluttering Mardukan, and the Bravo Team Leader looked up at the native coldly.
“Shut your gob, asshole.” He turned to his team and gestured at the folded up plasma cannon. “Jeno, give Gronningen a hand with that.” He turned back to the Mardukan commander who had been spluttering at his back, and looked the taller native in the eye. “You can move out of our way, or you can die. Your choice.”
“Move,” Roger said coldly.
The Mardukan guard seemed disinclined to obey, but he stepped aside at a head gesture from the king, and Roger walked forward to the parapet and looked down. The balcony was located at one of the highest points in the hilltop castle and permitted a breathtaking view of the town laid out below. He could see the company moving through the local forces gathered around the gate and heading for the bridge.
Radj Hoomas stood a short distance down the balcony’s low, stone wall, watching the same deployment. There were only a few guards between him and the humans, but at least fifty lined the back of the balcony, ready to fill the hostages full of javelins at his command.
The king looked over at Roger and grunted.
“I believe you and Oget Sar came to an understanding?”
“If you mean your new guard commander, yes,” Roger said without a smile. “He’ll use up my troops, and I’ll try my best to kill him. We understand each other perfectly.”
“Such a way to talk to your host,” the king said crossly, clapping his cross hands in displeasure. “You need to learn better manners before someone gets hurt.”
“I always have had that problem,” Roger admitted as the company deployed across the fields along the river. “I guess it’s my short temper.”
“Everybody stay cool,” Moseyev said. “We’re almost at the deploy point.”
In traveling configuration, the Marine plasma cannon was a meter and a half long, a half meter square, and nearly seventy kilos in weight, which made it marginally portable for one unarmored human. Fortunately, it also had a pair of handy carrying handles at either end, so two Marines could lug it for short distances without any problems. Except, of course, for the inevitable bitching.
“God,” Macek said. “This is one heavy mother.”
“You’ll be glad to have this heavy mother along in a few minutes,” Gronningen chuckled.
“Yeah,” Macek admitted. “But that don’t make it any lighter.”
“Okay,” Moseyev said, eyeing the bridge guardhouses. “This is a good angle. Set ’er up.”
The two Marines dropped the featureless oblong in the half-grown flaxsilk, and Gronningen hit an inconspicuous button. A door open
ed, and he flipped the key switch within and stood back as the M-109 cannon deployed like a butterfly from a chrysalis.
The surrounding matrix was a set of memory plastic parts. The first part to open was the tripod, which pushed down a small pre-tripod to hold the weapon off the ground, then deployed the main supports. Once the main tripod legs had reached their maximum extent and done a pre-level, they deployed spikes into the ground with a susurrant hiss-thump. Then the tripod elevated the gun to its full extension, and the blast shield deployed.
The shield was, arguably, the most important feature of the support module. The thermal bloom when the cannon fired was immense, and without the shield, the firer would incinerate himself. That would have been enough to endear it to any gunner, but it also acted as armor against frontal fire. Now it opened like the ruff of a basilisk lizard or a flar-ta’s head shield, deploying in a rectangle to either side. It offered ample vertical coverage above and below the weapon, but most of it spread to the sides in a shape largely governed by the expansion pattern of the plasma shot.
Gronningen tapped a control on top of the weapon and sat down cross-legged behind it. He looked at the bridge where the Mardukan soldiers in both guardhouses were watching the company deploy. None of them appeared to have noticed the team’s preparations.
“We’re up,” he announced.
“Plasma cannon’s up,” Moseyev relayed over the com.
“Copy,” Kosutic replied. “We’re in position. Take the shot.”
“Why haven’t they jumped yet?” Kidard Pla snarled. The Pasulian watched the wings of the fearsome weapon deploy and fingered the stone rail of the bridge nervously.
“Maybe they weren’t told?” his companion suggested.
The Pasulian guards had been specially detailed to the bridge because all of them could swim. They’d been informed of the plan just before they went on duty, and now they watched their Marshad counterparts, waiting for them to abandon their posts. The plasma weapons were supposed to sweep the Pasule defenders off the bridge, but they would kill or severely wound the Marshad guards as well, unless they got themselves safely out of the way. But none of them were moving. Either they hadn’t been informed that their “allies’ ” weapons were dangerous to them, as well, or else they were playing a game of basik. Whichever it was, Kidard Pla wasn’t playing along.
“I’m going to start yelling and pointing,” he said. “Then we jump.”
“Sounds good to me. Hurry.”
“Look!” the guard leader called. “The human lightning weapons! Everyone off the bridge!”
He took his own advice without further ado and launched himself over the low wall of the bridge and into the water. He was not sticking around to see what happened next.
Gronningen had already started to depress the firing stud when he saw the Pasule contingent start pointing. He paused for only a moment, all the time it took the keyed-up guards to hit the water, and then fired.
The plasma charge traveled at nearly the speed of light and smote the nearer Pasule guardhouse in a flash of actinic light and a bellowing explosion. The Marshadan guards were swept effortlessly from the bridge by the thermal bloom, vanishing like gnats in a candle flame, and the plasma bolt carved a ruler-straight line of blazing vegetation across the fields between the cannon and the bridge. The center of that line was bare black to the soil, which steamed and smoked in the blazing gray light.
The Marines broke into a trot, heading straight for the bridge with bead rifles and grenade launchers at port arms, and the rest of the Marshad forces poured out of the city gates behind them.
Gronningen flipped the safety back on and hit the collapse key, and the fire team waited while the cannon reabsorbed itself, then looked at their leader.
“Mutabi,” Moseyev said, slinging his bead rifle and taking one of the handles. “Let’s go.”
The team hefted their weapons and followed the rest of their company. Walking through the fire.
“Glorious! Glorious!” Radj Hoomas clapped all four hands in glee. “The bridge is clear! Pity their guards got away, though.”
“You didn’t inform your own guards?” Roger’s tone was wooden.
“Why should I? If they’d panicked early, it might have given away our attack.” The king looked towards the distant city. “Look, they still haven’t even begun to issue forth. We’ve caught them completely by surprise. Glorious!”
“Yes,” Roger agreed, as Pahner stepped up beside him, obviously to get a better view of Pasule. “It’s going well so far.”
Eleanora O’Casey nodded at the group of guards around the king, who waved for them to move aside. It was well known that the chief of staff was an academic, not a fighter, and so tiny a person hardly posed a threat to Radj Hoomas.
“What do you intend to do with them when you capture their city?” she asked, stepping up on the far side of the king from the prince and captain and gesturing at the other city.
“Well, the market for dianda is fully satisfied at the moment,” the Mardukan said, rubbing his horns. “So after stripping the Houses, I will probably permit them to raise barleyrice. Well, that and use them to support my combined army as it conquers the rest of the city-states.”
“And, of course,” O’Casey said, “we’ll be free to pass on our way.”
“Of course. I will have no further need for you. With the combined force of Marshad and Pasule, I’ll control the plains.”
“Ah,” the academic said. “Excellent.”
The king grunted as the gates of the distant city opened at last. It was difficult to see much at this distance, but it was obvious that the city’s forces were pouring out into the plain to defend their fields.
“I’d hoped they would take longer to respond,” he grumped.
“Well,” O’Casey smiled, “they say no plan survives contact with the enemy.” She tried not to smile too broadly as she recalled Pahner’s explanation of the sole exception to that rule—the first few moments of a surprise attack
“Look.” The king pointed to the struggling plasma cannon team. “Your lightning weapon is almost to the hill.”
Moseyev’s team had reached the parklike hill, and were toiling up the overgrown path, and Radj Hoomas pointed again, this time to a small group of his own forces which had separated from the main body.
“I hope no one minds, but I sent along some of my own troops.” He grunted in laughter, looking down at the chief of staff. “Just in case your soldiers should meet up with stragglers or brigands. You can never be too careful, you know.”
“Oh, I agree,” the academic said with a slight frown. “War is a terrible business. One never knows what might go wrong.”
“Okay,” Gronningen said. “We’ve got nursemaids.” The big Asgardian frowned. “This is going to fuck things up.”
“I see ’em,” Moseyev grunted. “Stay with the plan.”
“There’s nearly twenty of ’em,” Macek’s tone wasn’t nervous, just professional.
“Yeah,” Moseyev said, grunting again—this time under the combined weight of their overloaded packs and the plasma cannon. “And there’s four of us, and we planned for this. When we get in place, put out the gear right away. Even with this heavy mother, we can make it to the top of the hill in plenty of time.”
The king grunted in laughter as the Marshad forces came to a halt on the plain. The formation’s wings were composed of standard mercenary companies, professionals who would stand and fight as long as they felt the battle was going for them, and not a second longer. They could be expected to lend weight to a successful attack, but only a fool would depend on them for more than that.
No, the critical point was in the center, where the strongest and deepest companies stood. The humans formed the front rank, “supported” by the majority of the Royal Guard immediately behind them, ready to cut them down if they attempted to flee or to exploit the expected breach the human weapons were about to rip through the Pasulians.
The Guard
s had stopped to dress their ranks before attacking . . . which gave the humans an opportunity to make one last communication.
“Fire it off, Julian,” Lieutenant Jasco said.
“Yes, Sir.” The NCO dug the star flare out of his cargo pocket and prepared it, then fired it into the air over the human forces—where both the Pasulian army and their Marshadan allies in the city could see it—with a thump.
“What was that?” the king demanded suspiciously as the green firework burst in midair.
“It’s a human custom,” O’Casey said indifferently. “It’s a sign that the force is here for battle and that no parley will be accepted.”
“Ah.” The mollified monarch gave another grunting laugh. “You seem eager to enter battle.”
“The sooner we finish, the sooner we can be on our way,” O’Casey said with absolute sincerity.
* * *
“There’s the signal,” Denat whispered.
“You don’t need to whisper,” Sena said grumpily. “No one can hear us here.”
They were back in their sewer tunnel, but Denat wasn’t paying any attention to the smell this time. The two of them were too busy watching the humans who had just topped out on the small hill across the river.
“What’s that they’re setting up?” Sena asked. The activity could barely be seen at this range.
“A lightning weapon,” Denat replied offhandedly. “One of their largest. It will cut through the enemy like a scythe.”
“Ah,” the spy said. “Good. It looks like they’re ready.”
“We’re up, boss.”
“Roger.” Moseyev looked to where Macek and Mutabi were putting in the last of the crosslike stakes. The stakes ran in a semicircle ten meters back from where the plasma cannon was set up. “You set, Mutabi?”
