Fighting Chance (9781101545379)

by Dietz, William C.

  “Oh, it’ll be warm,” Vanderveen promised. “And private. As you know, Fort Camerone is like a small town. Everybody knows everything about everyone else.”

  “Maylo Chien-Chu knows,” Santana pointed out, as the single crewman tossed a large duffel bag out onto the rocky ground. “This is her air car.”

  “That’s true,” Vanderveen agreed. “But she can keep a secret.”

  “Then so be it,” Santana said, as he jumped to the ground. “I’m looking forward to our first camping trip.”

  Vanderveen dropped into his waiting arms, another duffel bag hit the ground, and the crewman waved good-bye. The engine screamed, and the pool of light began to expand as the air car took off. It snapped out of existence a few seconds later. “Two days,” Vanderveen said. “I’m going to have you to myself for two whole days. Then it’s off to visit Earth.”

  “If we don’t freeze to death first,” Santana cautioned. “Come on . . . Let’s find a place to hole up.” And find it they did. There were a number of underground dwellings to choose from, all excavated by the Naa hundreds of years earlier.

  Having inspected half a dozen possibilities, Santana and Vanderveen settled on a snug chamber accessed via a spiral stairway carved out of solid rock. They didn’t have any dried dooth dung to use as fuel, but thanks to a friendly supply sergeant, Santana had something better—a quantity of military F-1. A single block would provide a hot fire for six hours. So it wasn’t long before firelight began to dance on the walls, a pleasant warmth suffused the room, and the odor of cooking filled the air. “Our relationship could end right here,” Vanderveen said, as she dropped the final ingredients into a pot. “In spite of having servants most of her life, my mother was an excellent cook and tried to pass her skills along to me. But I never paid much attention.”

  “If memory serves me correctly, you have other talents, however,” Santana said, as she stood and entered the circle of his arms. Her lips seemed to melt beneath his, the clean smell of her filled his nostrils, and the kiss lasted for a long time. Eventually, she pushed him away.

  “No dessert until you finish your dinner,” she said sternly. “No matter how horrible it may taste.”

  The stew was surprisingly good. And as Santana ate, sitting with Vanderveen only two feet away, he couldn’t remember a time when he’d been so happy. But that was bad in a way because the war was far from over, and Vanderveen would go wherever her duties took her, including war zones like Earth. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than to find something so precious only to have it snatched away. He was thinking about Charles and Margaret Vanderveen when their daughter turned to look at him. “You’re awfully quiet.”

  “I was thinking.”

  “About what?”

  Santana looked at the fire, then back again. “I love you.”

  Vanderveen smiled gently. “Yes, I know. And I love you.”

  The fire hissed, shadows were joined, and time seemed to stop.

  PLANET EARTH, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE

  The battle began moments after the Confederacy cruiser Cygnus and her escorts popped out of hyperspace. That was to be expected since elements of the Ramanthian fleet had been in orbit around Earth since the invasion months earlier. But, thanks to a diversionary attack on bug-occupied Mars, half the Ramanthian ships normally assigned to the human home world were a hundred million miles away when the Cygy arrived. And that plus the element of surprise gave Admiral Kurtz the advantage she needed.

  The ensuing action was brief but violent and resulted in the destruction of twelve Ramanthian vessels, which was probably very painful for the Warrior Queen. Although Santana couldn’t detect any expression on her carefully molded face as the assault boat designated RAM 1 departed the cruiser’s brightly lit hangar bay for the blackness of space.

  The Queen’s assault boat had an escort comprised of twenty-one Dagger 190s, all of which were under strict orders to defend RAM 1 regardless of the cost. Once on the ground, it would become Santana’s job to protect the Warrior Queen from both humans and Ramanthians, a task he was determined to carry out because it was his duty to do so and because Christine was part of the royal’s retinue. She was seated a few feet away from the Queen. Christine’s eyes met his, and she smiled.

  The assault boat shuddered as it entered the atmosphere, and the pilot’s voice came over the intercom. “Our formation is under attack, but our escorts are keeping the enemy at a distance. We should be on the ground in about ten minutes.” A click served to punctuate the paragraph.

  Santana knew that Commander Foley’s resistance fighters were supposed to provide most of the security while his team served as the ultimate backup. And while that was fine in theory, the officer knew that Foley’s patriots were the very people most likely to try to assassinate the Queen. Which meant it would be foolish to let anyone other than members of his own team get close.

  They were a piratical-looking platoon, led by second-in-command Lieutenant Bushnell, Dietrich, and two reliable sergeants. There were eighteen legionnaires in all, not counting himself, all of whom were combat veterans and had been carefully screened. It wasn’t a large force compared to what Santana could have requested, but he feared that a full company would be too large and might get in its own way.

  And, making the situation even more interesting, there was the fact that General Booly had given him orders to kill the Queen if she tried to make unauthorized contact with Ramanthian forces or if it appeared that she might fall into the wrong hands. Or pincers, as the case might be.

  Santana’s thoughts were interrupted as the ship banked, circled, and came in for a landing. “We’ll be on the ground in a minute or so,” the pilot announced. “Please remain in your seats until the green light comes on.”

  There was a solid thump as the assault boat put down. The green light came on, and the stern hatch cycled open. That was the cue for Santana and his platoon to exit the transport and take up defensive positions all around. It quickly became clear that Lieutenant Bushnell knew what he was doing. That gave Santana time to examine his surroundings.

  The first thing he noticed was that the assault boat was sitting on a rise near the center of the vast wreckage-strewn crater that had been Los Angeles. The ship was surrounded by a company of ragged resistance fighters. They were dressed in whatever bits and pieces of military gear they had been able to pull together, and all of them were facing outward. Just as they should be in order to defend the Queen.

  To the west, beyond the resistance fighters, the blackened remains of what had once been a sizable starship could be seen. “You’re looking at the Hive Defender,” a male voice said. “It was at the center of a large base. We went after it, and the bugs drove us off, but only after we inflicted a lot of damage. In spite of repeated attempts, they haven’t been able to reconstitute what they had. My name’s Foley. Commander Foley. And I’m guessing that you’re Major Santana.”

  The naval officer was so lean that he looked more like an animated skeleton than a man. And although his voice was friendly, his eyes were like dark pools. It was a look Santana had seen before, both on the battlefield and in hospitals later on. Foley had seen too much, made too many life-and-death decisions, and would never be the same again. “Yes,” Santana replied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And congratulations on your victory. Taking that ship down is an amazing accomplishment.”

  “It cost a lot of lives,” Foley said bleakly. “But the Hive Defender will provide the perfect backdrop for the Queen’s speech. The wreckage will send a message to humans and Ramanthians alike.”

  The Queen and her party were filing out of the ship by then and being herded into position by an overly officious Public Relations (PR) officer. Danny Occuro was present as well. Three airborne vid cams bobbed around him. “Speaking of the Ramanthians,” Santana said, “where are they?”

  “About five miles away,” Foley answered casually. “We spent the last two days clearing the landing zone, and I lost five people doing i
t.”

  “So when will they counterattack?”

  Foley shrugged. “Who knows? Our efforts to employ biological warfare against them have been very successful. So there are a lot less of them than there used to be. If we’re lucky, they won’t respond until the Queen is back in orbit. And the fact that we have a significant amount of air cover should slow them down.”

  As if to illustrate Foley’s point, there was a loud roar as three Daggers passed overhead. They fired rockets at an unseen target, and smoke billowed up into the sky. That was when Vanderveen arrived on the scene. “Commander Foley? I’d like to introduce myself. My name is Christine Vanderveen.”

  Foley looked surprised as he shook her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Your mother was a very extraordinary woman. And a brave one. I was telling the major how successful our biological warfare campaign has been. That’s thanks to Margaret and the team she assembled. The Confederacy owes her a deep debt of gratitude.”

  Vanderveen was about to reply when the PR officer began to bellow instructions over his megaphone, and the diplomat was forced to rejoin the Queen’s party. The message had been agreed to in advance, but it was her job to make sure that the royal stuck to it.

  As Foley issued orders to his troops via a handheld radio, Santana made the rounds and was pleased to see that all of the T-2s and their riders were properly placed. And thanks to the open area all around, the enemy would have very little cover if they tried to attack over the ground. Having assured himself that everything was as it should be, he paused to listen as the broadcast began.

  “I am standing on the planet Earth,” the Queen said, “at the center of what was the city of Los Angeles. A battle was fought here in the recent past. It was a symbolic battle in the sense that while our brave troops won, the human resistance fighters did a great deal of damage to our base, and we’ve been unable to rebuild it.

  “Why is that?” the Queen demanded, as her dark eyes stared into the camera. “It’s because the pretender who sits on the throne and the cabal who placed her there are incompetent and don’t know how to lead.

  “Worse yet is the fact that thousands of the troops serving on Earth are suffering from a life-threatening and highly communicable disease. That means they are essentially trapped here since the cabal is afraid to bring them home, where they could infect the general population. You didn’t know that, did you? Well, there are a great many things the cabal wants to hide from you, including the fact that I am still alive.”

  That was when a transmission came in over Santana’s headset. “This is Blue Leader . . . There is a Ramanthian combat assault platform (CAP) coming your way. It was submerged off Malibu and surfaced about a minute ago. It’s huge. Over.”

  Santana swore. The warships orbiting high above were supposed to protect the ground party from that sort of surprise—but they had no way to see down through the water. Nor had he been aware that the enemy CAPs were capable of submerging themselves. It made sense, though, since they were probably designed to function on water worlds when necessary. “Roger that . . . Slow it down if you can. We’ll wrap up and pull out as quickly as we can. Over.”

  Santana heard two clicks by way of a reply and turned to Foley, who was standing a few feet away. “Tell your people to stand by. A CAP is headed our way. And we won’t be able to stop it. Not without firing on it from space. And that could result in a lot of collateral damage.”

  Foley’s eyebrows rose slightly, but that was all. “Where was it?”

  “Underwater. Off Malibu.”

  Foley shook his head in amazement. “So that’s where they hid it. Every night they brought the blasted thing out and attacked anything that had a heat signature. Then, come dawn, it disappeared. Now we know.”

  “Yeah,” Santana said, “I guess we do. The Daggers will attempt to delay it. I’ll notify the PR officer. We’re pulling out.”

  “Sounds good,” Foley replied casually. “You do that.”

  The Queen was still talking as Santana approached Vanderveen. She was standing next to the PR officer and Bushnell. “Tell the Queen that it’s time to leave. What amounts to a flying fortress will arrive here in a few minutes.”

  Vanderveen looked worried. “I’ll pass the message through Chancellor Ubatha.”

  “But the Queen hasn’t finished yet!” the PR officer objected. He had a red face, a carefully trimmed mustache, and a very nonmilitary paunch.

  “She’ll get killed if we don’t pull her out of here,” Santana countered. “Tell her. I want everyone on the assault boat two minutes from now. Lieutenant Bushnell, please prepare to withdraw.”

  “Look at that!” Bushnell said, and pointed toward the northwest. The combat assault platform was the size of a skyscraper turned on its side. It was heavily armed and could launch aerospace fighters, which were already climbing up to do battle with the Daggers. Something about the fact that the monster was only two hundred feet off the ground and traveling at a mere twenty miles per hour made the ship all the more frightening. There was a flash of light and a loud report as one of its main batteries fired. What sounded like a freight train roared overhead. Half a second later, the ground shook as a column of soil shot up into the air a thousand yards east of the boat. Fortunately, Vanderveen, Ubatha, and the Queen were halfway up the ramp by then. And the assault boat’s engines were beginning to spool up.

  It was then, as the air surrounding the Ramanthian vessel shimmered and electrical discharges crackled all around the ship, that something completely unexpected occurred. Carefully camouflaged missiles produced what sounded like a combined roar as they shot almost straight up, struck the assault platform in quick succession, and exploded.

  The combined impacts proved to be too much for the ship’s defensive screens, and at least one of them was able to punch a hole in the CAP’s belly. The resulting explosion was not only deafening but produced a shock wave that could be felt miles away. The ship’s stern hit the ground first, soon followed by the bow, which crushed what was left of a hotel. A cloud of dust billowed up to conceal the vessel’s final death throes.

  It took Santana a moment to absorb what had taken place and figure out why. That was when he turned to Foley. The resistance leader had a big grin on his face. “Nice, huh? The bugs never knew what hit them.”

  “Why you rotten bastard,” Santana replied. “You knew where the CAP was hiding all along! And you used both the Queen and the rest of us as bait.”

  The grin vanished from Foley’s face. “Welcome to my world, Major . . . Or what’s left of it. And give this message to the Queen. If she ever puts a foot on this planet again, I will personally blow her fucking head off.”

  And with that, Foley walked away. The dust cloud had cleared a bit, and bright flashes could be seen as what sounded like thunder rolled, and a series of secondary explosions destroyed what remained of the CAP. The royal visit was over.

  17

  The gods favor the bold.

  —Ovid

  Metamorphoses

  Standard year A.D. 5

  ABOARD THE CONFEDERACY BATTLESHIP EARTH AVENGER NEAR PLANET HIVE, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE

  The battle began as a hole opened in space and two dozen computer-controlled asteroids came shooting out of the void. They were equipped with hyperdrives as well as in-system propulsion systems. And if one of them managed to hit Hive, a tremendous amount of damage would be done.

  That wouldn’t happen, of course, because the bugs had been attacked before and were prepared for such an eventuality. But ready or not, they would still have to use a significant portion of their defensive capability to destroy the incoming rocks, and that was part of General Booly’s plan.

  Then, once the asteroids arrived in-system, another hole opened, and thirty-six Vulcan missiles accelerated out of the inky blackness. Like the asteroids, they were computer-controlled, but the similarity ended there. Each Vulcan was equipped to detect and zero in on Class A targets.

  It was assume
d that most, if not all, of the Vulcans would be intercepted. But the Ramanthians would be forced to choose between the asteroids and missiles, which might or might not be armed with nuclear warheads. Did the bugs have enough warships and orbital battle stations to block the incoming swarm? Maybe. But as Booly sat above and behind the Earth Avenger’s bridge, and imagined how the battle would unfold, he felt reasonably sure that something would get through.

  Of course, the real point of the exercise was to suck up as much of the enemy’s defensive capabilities as possible—thereby clearing the way for the fleet of 275 Confederacy warships that would arrive minutes later. Their task, in turn, was to bore in and clear a path for the ground troops that were to land on Hive. The final objective was to return the Warrior Queen to the throne and effectively end the war.

  Booly turned to look at the Queen. No matter what the outcome, hundreds of thousands of Ramanthians were going to die. How did she feel about that prospect? he wondered. Sad? Perhaps. But not sad enough to call the invasion off.

  More than two standard months had passed since the broadcast from Earth. And a great deal had occurred during that time. A series of speeches had been made, and according to reports from inside the empire, the anticabal messages were beginning to gain traction. There had been demonstrations in large cities, followed by scattered acts of sabotage, and three cases of well-publicized self-immolation. And the cabal reacted to the protests just as Booly thought they would—which was with poorly-thought-out mass reprisals that brought even more Ramanthians over to the denialist cause. Thereby feeding the unrest.