by John Lumpkin
Several squadrons of American interceptor drones rose from Sequoia, racing toward the dropships. More surface-to-air missile launchers and small lasers unmasked and added their firepower to the mix. The general smirked in annoyance, surprised that the Americans had that much weaponry remaining, but it seemed they had held quite a bit of their forces in reserve. He contacted the rear admiral who had taken command of the strike fleet – his superior had been killed when the Americans shot down his flagship – and ordered additional orbital strikes, first against the drones, then against the fixed defenses.
“Off the road and down!” Aguirre barked. Everyone dived into the dry drainage gulley that ran alongside the dirt road. A score of sleek drones roared overhead, 150 feet off the ground.
“Ours, right?” Private Peter McKay said in a hushed voice.
“F-51s. Ours,” Aguirre hissed. “Now shut up.” He seemed to be taking Rand’s newfound authority to heart.
Moments later their quarry appeared: six big landing ships, moving in the opposite direction, toward Fort Patton and Cottonwood. Two Chinese fighter drones raced ahead of them, exchanging missiles with the American craft. Four F-51s died, but they took both Chinese fighters with them.
An orbiting cruiser shot at the drones. Bright columns of blue-green light, accompanied by loud cracks, sliced through the interceptors as they turned to line up for a shot on the dropships. White missile contrails lanced away from the survivors; each of the dropships, too large to dodge, released a burst of bright white flares to spoof the missiles. Some missiles bit, chasing the flares and exploding harmlessly. But several others homed in on the bright targets ahead of them. Two missiles struck the port wing of one of the dropships; it flipped on its back and went into the ground. Another missile exploded close enough to a second transport, sending fragments into the craft’s fuselage and killing two dozen Chinese soldiers inside. The pilot managed to keep the ship flying and looked desperately for a place to land. It set down hard in some trees, several klicks from Rand’s position.
The surviving undamaged craft disappeared over the western horizon, with a half-dozen drones chasing them. Lights fell from the sky: more missiles, pounding the American positions in Cottonwood and the nearby hills. Rand heard distant booms.
His handheld buzzed. Despite the orders for silence, it was filled with messages. Communications discipline was breaking down … lieutenants and corporals, filling in for dead captains and sergeants, were shouting for help.
A priority voice transmission arrived. It was purportedly from Major General Chalk, the adjutant general for Sequoia’s meager National Guard unit, headquartered near Sycamore: “All U.S. Army units on Sequoia. JTF Sequoia and 9th Division command elements have been destroyed, and we are out of contact with any higher headquarters. To prevent further loss of life and destruction of vital civilian infrastructure, Territorial Governor Rivera is seeking a ceasefire with PRC forces, and he has ordered me to order the surrender of all U.S. Army units on the planet. All units are therefore directed to cease hostilities and surrender peacefully to the nearest PRC unit.”
Private Lopez said, “We’re just giving up? I don’t believe this. They bomb our cities and kill most of our platoon and we’re supposed to lay down our arms?”
“Do we have a choice?” Tim Yancey said. “These are orders.”
Aguirre looked at Rand, his face clearly asking, Should I shut them up?
But Rand was unsure what to do himself. Back at ROTC he was trained how to accept a surrender in accordance with the Geneva Conventions. They never taught how to conduct one.
Lopez said, “Is this even a legal order? We’re not in the Guard’s chain of command.”
Rand shook his head. “No, the Guard unit was activated a month ago and attached to the 9th, and if General LeDoux and the brigade commanders are all dead, Chalk might be next in line. But Chalk should know better; the Army code says ‘I will never surrender members of my command while they still have means to resist.’ I won’t lie to you; I don’t know if Governor Rivera has the authority to give that order – he’s the top federal official on the planet, and I’d have to ask the brigade legal for clarification – assuming this all isn’t Han disinformation. It might convince a few privates running around on their own to pack it in.”
Aguirre started to say something, but a not-too-distant chatter of gunfire interrupted him.
Rand didn’t think twice. Some friendly was on one side of a firefight nearby. They charged down the road until the shooting got louder. They ducked into the roadside drainage ditch and advanced slowly toward a bend in the road.
Lopez saw the air ambulance first. It had been shot repeatedly: Rand could make out a figure slumped over the steering console. They saw a second body in the road, lying in darkly stained dirt.
Beyond was a grounded black-and-white skycar. A woman in a khaki shirt and green pants was peering over the hood, looking away from Rand and his team. She was carrying a shotgun.
It’s the goddamn Cottonwood County Sheriff’s Department, Rand thought, looking at the livery on the police car.
Someone let loose a burst of automatic fire in their direction. Everybody’s head went down, and the shots kicked up dirt behind them.
Rand sized up the situation in his head. He must be facing survivors from the damaged dropship that went down nearby. Their fire was sporadic, and he reasoned he couldn’t be up against too large a force.
Okay, basic infantry tactics: flank them. He tapped his handheld to talk with his six soldiers.
“I guess it isn’t time to surrender. Everybody knows where the bad guys are, right?” he said quietly. He saw nods. He explained his plan. “Aguirre, you and the others start shooting back, and try to keep their attention focused on you while Yancey, Lopez and I head around, okay?”
Aguirre nodded. “We don’t have a lot of ammo,” he reminded Rand. “What about the civilian?”
Rand considered. “Hans have got a pretty good bead on her, but she’s under cover. I don’t think we should run for the car, and for gawd’s sake don’t try to get her to come to you!”
“Understood,” Aguirre said.
Rand, Yancey and Lopez made their way back down the drainage ditch, keeping low to avoid being shot at. About 50 meters away from the bend in the road, they crossed.
No one shot at them. They heard a burst of M7 gunfire: Aguirre, shooting at something.
Rand picked an angle he thought parallel to the Chinese soldiers’ line of fire, through a grove of avocado trees. He decided to run rather than crawl. They risked being noticed, but crawling would take too much time. He just hoped they were outside the Hans’ peripheral vision.
As they moved, he felt sweat forming on his brow. He wiped it off.
More shots from the Hans, from the expected place. Rand had reached their flank. He turned left, and the three soldiers hit the dirt and crawled.
There they were. Eight Chinese troopers, all looking toward the road, uncovered from Rand’s angle. A perfect enfilade. Rand raised his rifle to his shoulder; Yancey and Lopez followed suit.
Flip the safety – he’d almost forgotten. He transmitted to Aguirre with a whisper. “We’re ready. Diversion, please.”
Aguirre replied with three-shot burst. The Hans focused their attention in the sergeant’s direction. A couple fired a few, single shots, but it was clear they didn’t have a target.
He depressed the trigger at the nearest Han, less than 30 meters away. All three shots hit the man, who went over soundlessly.
Yancey and Lopez opened fire … Strange how loud their rifles sound compared to mine, Rand thought.
More Hans went over. The ones on the far end of the line looked around frantically. Rand fired another burst into them. Two died, one with a spouting head wound.
The last Chinese trooper got a round off before Lopez cut her down. Rand heard a crack and something wet and sticky exploded over his face. He sucked in a breath … Did I just get shot? He felt himself fall
ing backward and landing on his ass.
“Are you okay?” he heard Yancey’s voice. Then Yancey and Lopez broke down in laughter.
It dawned on Rand he wasn’t dead. Nothing seemed to hurt. He let go of his rifle, raised his hands to his face and wiped away some of the goop. It was green.
“Thanks for bringing the guacamole, L.T.,” Lopez said through laughter. An avocado had taken a bullet for him.
They seemed to have cleared the area of Hans, but Rand didn’t know how long that would last. Aguirre and the others were waiting for them when they returned. He introduced the broad-shouldered sheriff’s deputy as Rebecca Torren.
Rand looked her over. She wore her brown hair in a ponytail and had a defiant expression on her face. She said she had been with the air ambulance on an emergency call to a distant ranch when they first got word of the attack. They landed on the road when they saw the air battle; when they tried to take off again, someone shot the ambulance, killing the driver. Chinese soldiers ambushed them on the ground a few minutes later and killed the other paramedic.
“You guys are from Fort Patton, right?” Torren asked. “What happened? Where’s the rest of your unit?”
“We’re a laser crew,” Rand said. “Our guns were knocked out. We were heading back to Patton to rejoin our unit, but now I’m not sure we have a unit to rejoin.”
Torren’s eyes widened. “You mean we’ve lost?”
“It looks like it. We got an order to surrender from Governor Rivera.”
“Surrender my ass,” Torren said. “Can’t believe the United States Army calls it quits so easily.”
“Hell yeah,” Lopez said, nodding and giving Rand a meaningful look.
The path availed itself to Rand. Carry on the fight without higher headquarters. Become a guerrilla, fighting the Chinese until the United States could retake Sequoia.
“I can’t raise my dispatch back in Cottonwood,” Torren went on. “So I guess I’m on my own. I ain’t rollin’ over, though. I know the ranchers out here, know places to hide. Tell you what: If you’re worried about following orders … I’ll make you sheriff’s deputies. U.S. Army may be giving up, but Cottonwood County S.D. ain’t.”
Neil was supposed to be back on duty in seven hours, and he knew he should be asleep, but he couldn’t bring himself to kick Erin out of his room.
They had run into each other during their workout, and he had talked her into going to dinner. For once, they didn’t run into any of the other young officers they usually dined with.
During the meal, Neil managed to spill some fruit juice on his uniform. Erin looked at him, smiled, and said, “The proper thing to do, Neil, when flirting, is to spill your drink on me, not on yourself.”
Neil tried not to let his jaw hit the floor.
Now they were back in Neil’s stateroom. Tom had the overnight watch on the bridge, so they were alone.
Talking.
“I don’t need a psychiatrist to tell me I got in because of my parents,” Erin said. “Of course I joined the military because of them. They died when they were still perfect, to me. I’m finishing their work.”
Neil nodded, intent on letting her talk. But she said, “I know you got in for the pilot training, but you could have gone to civilian flight school. Why the Space Force?”
“I guess my uncle had a lot to do with it. Growing up, too, I read a lot of adventure stories … stuff with heroes, good guys and bad guys. The military seemed like an honorable thing to do.”
“Standing on the wall,” Erin said.
“Yes. And I still believe it is an honorable thing to do. Studying military history in school cured me of the notion we’re always in the right, and going on active duty has been a real eye-opener. We’re doing our duty, but I’m not sure I feel good about anything I’ve taken part in. I don’t know why all this is happening.”
Erin inclined her head and looked at him. She’s connecting with me, Neil noticed, and chided himself for allowing the thought to form.
“I feel it, too, Neil. We killed people. Even though it’s what I trained to do, I guess I’m having a hard time coming to terms with that. I programmed the firing pattern, sent the kinetics into their hull. One hundred and fifty people on the Paltus, right?”
“About that,” Neil nodded.
“They all had mothers and fathers, and my God, Neil, some of them probably had kids! I might have made orphans, just like I was.”
“I helped make them, too.”
“I know,” she said, staring off into space. “We all did. You solved the problem. I fired the weapons. All we can do is fall back on the idea that it’s our duty. We have to trust our officers and commanders, all the way up to the president. All I can tell myself is that it was a necessary act to defend the Constitution and protect the people of the United States. But … I didn’t ever see the people we killed. I suppose that’s different from your experience.”
Neil thought back to the encounter with Cai Jinming and Li Xiao back on Entente, and the battle with the Han troops on Commonwealth.
“I don’t know. I shot at one guy in Graypen, but I missed. I guess … the fear is different,” he said, wondering if she would think him a coward. “During the battle with the Paltus, it was this weird, technical fear knowing you could be vaporized or blown into vacuum at any moment, but if you press the right buttons, you have a shot to survive.”
“I understand that,” Erin said.
“On the ground, you can hear the bullets snap by you, and you think, ‘Someone is trying to kill me.’ Then your mind goes in several directions. One part tries to find a way out, a path to escape. Another, louder part screams not to run away and let down the people with you. What the Marines mean when they talk about the ‘warrior ethos.’ And a third part gets really, really angry. It’s like you just have been insulted in the worst way possible.”
Erin was watching him closely.
“Then, in a flash, most of that is gone, and you stop thinking, and just act. It’s … kind of a rush, really. You just function,” Neil said.
“You don’t do that a lot, do you?” she asked quietly. “You’re always thinking …”
“I guess.”
She put a hand to his cheek. He recognized the affirmative look in her eyes, staring straight into his, from the bar back in Graypen. But something about her resolve, and his self-doubt...
“Erin …” He hesitated, his mind racing.
Her eyes changed from “yes” to “no.” Her hand pulled away.
“Neil,” she said softly. “Just stop. Stop trying to solve me, okay? We’ll both be a lot happier when you do.”
No response occurred to him that would help things, so he floated there, mute.
“I guess I should go to sleep,” she said after a long silence. “Thanks for talking with me, Neil. I guess I needed to unload. It helps. I’ll see you later.”
Neil mumbled a good night and strapped into his hammock. Sleep didn’t come like it should. Only a sleeping pill made his frustration – and everything else – go away.
It was not the first time Li Xiao wished the Korean escort vessel had windows. He knew how silly the idea was – why leave the enemy a gaping hole in your armor? – but he felt like a caged animal. Checking the external cameras on his computer simply wasn’t as satisfying as seeing space with his own eyes.
Especially in this system. Twenty years ago, CF Ursae Majoris had provided a convenient wormhole way station in the rush to colonize Kuan Yin ahead of the Americans.
It was also a hazard. A Jovian hellball orbited close to the star, its magnetic field occasionally coaxing out giant flares that scorched the inner system. The first superflare here was observed some 200 years ago, before even the first artificial satellite, but flares great and small had been frequent occurrences since then. Another great flare was sure to erupt someday.
It would be cataclysmic. Moons of ice would briefly turn to oceanic worlds – explorers here had found evidence it had happened before. Th
e superflare would probably destroy the wormhole facilities in the system, cutting off China’s access to Kuan Yin, among other things. Plans were in place to build an alternate wormhole route from Chinese space to 11 Leonis Minoris, but the Japanese had already destroyed two of China’s wormhole breeder ships, and it would probably be decades before the bypass could be built.
Whether this would happen before the next superflare was an open question. For now, the scientific drones monitoring the system predicted no such flare would take place while Li Xiao and the Korean frigate were passing through.
Nevertheless, they gave the roiling star a wide berth.
As they approached the wormhole station leading out of the system, Khenbish asked Li Xiao why people would work in CF Ursae Majoris at all. During a superflare, the miners in the system would fry, but they were paid to take that risk; prior flares had forged all matter of useful and exotic materials in the system.
Li reminded her that people lived beside volcanoes, on earthquake fault lines and in flood zones.
“Most days, nothing happens, and you live like everyone else,” he said. “You forget you are living in the barrel of a gun.”
Khenbish could be naive about things, sometimes. But she had a natural grasp of many subjects; she was learning the spy trade quickly under Li Xiao’s tutelage.
And she was a superb fighter. Hand-to-hand, small arms, zero-gee. Li Xiao’s request to detach her from the PLA Naval Infantry had been approved.
His request for a ship to pursue the San Jacinto into American space had not. With Anjian destroyed and so many ships tied up with the war, no vessel fast enough to catch the American destroyer was available. Instead, the Navy would attempt to intercept it closer to Earth. And, no, Li Xiao would not be sent to take part in that operation.
Reading that, Li had wondered whether he was being punished for the mistakes of Anjian’s captain. Perhaps.
