by John Ringo
“I heard half of that already,” his control said in a hard voice. “And we have a problem.”
“What’s that?” Cruz asked, buttoning up his pants.
“You’ve got a mission,” the control said. “One that you have to take right now. Can you get in the headquarters?”
“Yeah,” Cruz replied. “If I really have to.”
“You really have to,” the control said, tightly. “It’s game time.”
“In the headquarters?” Cruz said, trying to keep his voice down.
“In the headquarters,” the control replied. “Now. There is exactly no time.”
“I can’t get out,” Cruz said, quietly but angrily.
“Let us handle that,” the control replied. “Just do it.”
“Fine one to talk!” Cruz snarled. “You won’t be looking down a platoon of swords!”
“It doesn’t matter,” the control replied. “This is game time. You took the salt. There is one way out of this organization and that is feet first. You can do it of old age or… other ways. But if you try to run, you’ll just die tired.”
“Son of a bitch,” Cruz said, quietly. “Fisk it. Everybody dies sometime. Who’s the target?”
* * *
“Do you understand your orders, General?” Edmund asked, watching First Legion file out of its fortified camp. They were leaving a half cohort to hold the walls; if everything went to hell, they could always fall back on it. The rest of them were marching silently to the south, towards the battle.
“Yes, sir,” General Lepheimer said. The legion commander was another political appointee but one that Edmund would have chosen himself. The UFS, the world, had precisely no military officers at the Fall. They were still trying to train a professional corps. But Lepheimer was a long term student of military history and his tactics, in simulated battles, map exercises and the few small skirmishes he had engaged in, had been sound.
Lepheimer chuckled dryly in the darkness and looked over at the duke.
“When I told my boys it was going to be a battle to tell their grandchildren about, I didn’t realize how right I was.”
“Well, if we have grandchildren to tell, it will be because of what they do today,” Edmund said.
As he said it the pipes of the legion began to swirl and the battle hymn of the Blood Lords was roared from six thousand throats.
Axes flash, broadsword swing,
Shining armour’s piercing ring
Horses run with polished shield,
Fight Those Bastards till They Yield
Midnight mare and blood red roan,
Fight to Keep this Land Your Own
Sound the horn and call the cry,
How Many of Them Can We Make Die!
“Blood to our blood, General,” Lepheimer said, saluting. “We’ll get it done.”
Follow orders as you’re told,
Make their yellow blood run cold
Fight until you die and drop
A force like ours is hard to stop
Lose your mind to stress and pain
Fight till you’re no longer sane,
Let not one damned cur pass by,
How Many of Them Can We Make Die!
“Breakfast for the general,” Cruz said, waving the tray in front of the two guards’ faces so they could smell it clearly.
“Secure room,” the left-hand guard said. “Nobody goes in.”
“Blast,” Cruz replied. “If I don’t get this to him quick I’m in trouble.” He held the tray out to the left-hand guard. “Hold this for me.”
“What?” the guard said, automatically taking it. As he did Cruz swung a roundhouse punch into his face with his right hand and followed it up with a left to the right-hand guard. What looked like light gloves against the morning cold had steel inserts and lead palms for weight. It still hurt.
“Good thing they changed the helmets,” Cruz muttered, shaking his hands to get feeling back in them. “Never could have done that with a barbute.”
He palmed a dagger, then slipped the latch on the soundproofed door.
The room beyond was about ten meters long and occupied mostly by a large conference table. Harry Chambers was standing at the far end, holding a long dagger in his hand. Elnora Sill was sitting in the end chair, facing the door. Her head was tipped back revealing the gash in her neck that went almost to her spine. General Lanzillo was on the floor with a dagger in his back.
“Good,” Cruz said, closing the door and bolting it from the inside. “You managed it. Have you contacted higher, yet?”
“What?” Harry said, reaching down and pulling the necklace that held Elnora’s key from around her neck. “No.”
“Do it, quick,” Cruz said, going over to the general. “Good thrust. Nice technique. In the future, though, do the kidney first. It paralyzes them.”
“Who are you?” Harry said, clearly flustered.
“Your backup,” Cruz snapped. “You don’t think you’d be sent on a mission with no backup do you?”
“But I didn’t tell anyone…”
“What? You think we don’t watch you?” Cruz replied, shaking his head and going over to check Elnora. “Call Conner. We’ve got to get out of here.” He reached down to touch the councilwoman’s neck and then punched back, driving the dagger into Harry’s stomach then ripping down. He twisted it as he withdrew and then punched the Undersecretary For House Relations in the face, hard.
“Fucking traitor,” he said, kicking the dagger out of the man’s nerveless fingers.
He picked up the key and turned to the door, opening it just as one of the response guards was running at it with his shoulder. The guard sprawled on the floor and then bounded back up, sword in hand, swearing at the bodies in the room.
“I am an agent of the UFS Counterintelligence Service,” Cruz said, arms outstretched, holding up the key in one hand and the dagger in the other. “This was an authorized termination…”
* * *
“Herzer,” Sheida said, appearing in the air as the major was getting ready to mount his wyvern.
“Your Majesty,” Herzer replied, startled. He slid back to the deck and bowed.
“No time, Herzer,” Sheida snapped. “Where’s Megan?”
“Here,” Megan said, stepping away from the mast where she’d been keeping out of the way.
“We need to talk, fast,” Sheida said. “Somewhere secure. Where?”
Herzer thought about that and shrugged. “Landing platform. Wind’s from for’ard, it will carry our voices away.”
Herzer and Megan hurried up the companionway as Sheida wafted behind them. Captain Karcher bounded up to the landing platform and Sheida waved her hand.
“Make sure we’re not overheard,” Sheida said, calmly but definitely.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Karcher said, bounding back down to the quarterdeck and clearing the rear. She took the wheel herself, the only position that might overhear.
“Elnora Sill is dead,” Sheida said, rapidly. “Assassinated. We retained her key, thank God. But someone has to activate the portals.”
“Oh,” Megan said. “A council member.”
“I’d go myself,” Sheida said, nodding, “but there would be… complications…”
“I’ll go, of course,” Megan said. “We have the two for the front here. If I have the authority?”
“You do,” Sheida replied. “I’ll port you to Raven’s Mill…”
“This is outside the blocks, Your Majesty,” Herzer pointed out.
“Damn!” Sheida snapped. “Damn, damn…”
“I wouldn’t have taken the port anyway, Your Majesty,” Megan said, softly. “I’ll go on Joanna.”
“Like hell you will!” Herzer said. “It’s going to be a madhouse!”
“There will be you, Joanna and Bast to protect me,” Megan said, defiantly. “And that is what I’m going to do.”
“Joanna can carry you to inside the blocks,” Sheida said. “From there you port to Raven’s M
ill. That’s safer, Miss Travante.”
“Too bad,” Megan said. “I’m going.”
“No, you’re not,” Herzer said.
“We don’t have time to argue,” Megan replied, smiling. “Get moving, Major.”
“She’s right,” Sheida said. “We don’t have time to argue. And Travantes are stubborn as the day is long.” She sighed and shook her head. “Get going, you two. Herzer… keep her alive.”
“I will, Your Majesty,” Herzer said, wishing he could be sure of it.
“Don’t worry,” Megan replied, sadly. “I’ve got a personal protection field. You don’t.”
“Go,” Sheida said, vanishing.
“Not even a good luck,” Herzer groused, climbing back down to the maindeck. He grabbed Megan’s hand and they threaded their way through the cluster of crewmen who were arming the dragons. Taking her hand was a necessity as much as anything; the crews were highly drilled and moved in a synchronous fashion. Someone with no experience moving among them was as likely as not to be run over by a group carrying highly volatile bombs.
They made their way to Joanna, with Bast already seated on her neck, and Herzer picked Megan up, tossing her onto the dragon.
“New passenger, Commander,” Herzer said, angrily.
“What?” Joanna replied, turning her neck. “Why?”
“Change of plan,” Herzer said, running away through the organized chaos. “She’ll explain.”
Chapter Thirty-four
“UP THE GEESE!” the archers shouted as the first flight of arrows sleeted into the orc formation.
Edmund was watching the progress of the battle from a platform at the rear of the legion lines. As expected, the New Destiny forces reacted poorly to the sudden appearance of the archers.
The legionnaires had been holding the line for nearly an hour, but they were taking relatively few losses while piling up a ton of bodies in front of them. The legionnaires were arranged in a checkerboard formation, rather than shield to shield, the first rank taking the brunt of the fighting, the second rank taking the few who made it past and the third only handling “leakers.” As he watched, the lines shifted and reformed, bringing forward the second rank to take up the battle while the front rank retired, in stages, to be the third. This was one of the secrets that made the legion so effective, the ability to continuously replace their front-ranked fighters with fresh troops and wear the front rank of their enemy down.
Legions in history had never been supported by a longbow corps, but the combination was a natural. One of the two weaknesses of the Roman army had been its reliance on auxiliaries for projectile weapons and the relative weakness of those. Mostly they had used Balearic slingers. A sling was a deadly weapon against unarmored troops but it was relatively short-ranged and of limited utility against any force in armor.
Longbows, on the other hand, were accurate to three hundred meters and could pierce almost any armor at two. With the legions pinning the New Destiny force in place, the archers were having a good killing. As he watched, wave after wave of cloth-yard shafts fell among the orcs, slaughtering them in droves. One of the big “ogres” they had been warned about made its way through the press but before it could even reach the legion lines it began sprouting feathers. Only the feathers were visible, and not many of those, as the arrows punched deep into its flesh. It fell well short of the legionnaire lines, crushing two orcs under it.
It probably wouldn’t have mattered, anyway, because a platoon of pike bearers had rushed to the spot opposite its path, prepared to make their way to the second rank and either fend it off or kill it.
Everything was going precisely to plan except one.
“Where in the hell are the dragons?” Edmund growled, pulling out a pocket-watch. The newfangled/oldfangled things were hideously expensive, but more than worth it when timing was crucial. He looked at the time and put the watch away.
“Late?” General Lepheimer asked.
“Ten minutes,” Edmund replied, sourly. He saw a trickle of orcs falling away on the left flank. Now would be the time to order a charge. But… it wasn’t time yet! Or, rather, it was but he wasn’t ready!
“Damnit, Herzer,” he muttered. “Where are you?”
* * *
There was a light wind from the north and Azure suddenly sat up, sniffing the air, his mouth open in a grimace to catch the slightest of scents. After a moment he dropped back to his belly and began slithering forward, purring faintly. He had the scent of the Great One of his human’s household. And where the Great One went, enemies fell before him.
It was payback time.
* * *
General Magalong shook his head as he lowered the binoculars. He could see the orcs starting to stream back and the archers on the hillside. But look to the east as he might, he could see no sign of dragons.
“Where are they?” he asked Ensign Van Krief angrily.
“They’ll be here, sir,” Van Krief said. “Now’s the time.”
“There was supposed to be a signal!” Magalong replied. “The dragons were supposed to signal!”
“We don’t have time, sir,” the ensign said. “They’re breaking now. We have to move now to be in position.”
Magalong looked one more time to the east, shielding his eyes and squinting against the sun, then sneezed thunderously. Then he turned to one of his aides and shrugged.
“Open the gates.”
* * *
“Okay, let me get this straight,” Colonel Heiskanen said. “You’re a counterintelligence agent. And all those bodies are…?”
“Colonel, I just do what I’m ordered,” Cruz replied. His arms were tied behind him and Heiskanen dangled the key in his own hand. “I was ordered to protect the councilwoman, if possible, and terminate Undersecretary Chambers with extreme prejudice. Since he killed the councilwoman, and the general, I’d say I had reason. Don’t you?”
“So what’s the deal with the big posts?” Heiskanen asked, pointing to the empty portals.
“I have no idea,” Cruz said, looking over at the assembled Blood Lord battalion sadly. “I’d say, though, that you’re about to go somewhere.”
“The last time you were here, officially, we were trying to decide whether to court-martial your ass,” Heiskanen replied, angrily. “And now you tell me you’re a counterintelligence agent? A counterintelligence assassin?”
“Colonel, with all due respect, that’s something for my superiors and your superiors to work out,” Cruz said. “Your job, right now, is to communicate with somebody who knows what the councilwoman’s orders were. Because I don’t. And, sir, I’d do it damned fast if I were you.”
* * *
“Listen up, legion!” Magalong shouted from the back of his horse. The legion had exited the walls thrown up around the center of Balmoran and now was deployed in open order on the fields in front. “On my orders you will double-time to the enemy encampment! First Cohort Bravo will refuse the left flank. Third Cohort Charlie will refuse the right. Everyone else will assault through the south gate! It’s supposed to be open! If it’s not we’re going to take it anyway!”
He spun the horse in place and waved forward.
“Quick time… March!”
The legion stepped forward at the repeated commands and Magalong nodded at the bugler. “Sound for double-time.”
As the bugle rang over the formation the legionnaires raised their pilums and began to trot.
“BLOOD AND STEEL!”
* * *
“FINALLY!” Edmund shouted, looking up to the east. “Go, go, GO! Signaler, break right!”
* * *
“God damn, we’re late,” Herzer shouted.
“Not my fault!” Joanna yelled back. “On my mark… BREAK!”
* * *
“Ah, perfect,” Conner said as the orcs began running for the camp. The legion was following at a slower pace, not keeping in contact or breaking to pursue, which was unfortunate but wouldn’t really matter. By the time the
second force was through the gates they’d be out of position to be supported by the archers. He looked behind him and smiled as the tide of orcs started spilling out of the portals. They had been drilled carefully. Walk to the portals and then run down the corridors to the north gate. He felt the gate under him creak and smiled as the first of them started spilling onto the field. The retreating orcs had also been drilled. If they came for the main gate they’d be slaughtered like pigs. Go for the sides. And they were, splitting into two streams, the one to the east gate larger by far since it was closer. The main force approaching the legion was masked by the ones in retreat. They might be noticed by the archers, but it was unlikely that even Edmund Talbot…
“Dragons!” one of the sentries yelled, pointing to the east.
“Ah,” Conner said, looking over at Rachel. “And now your vaunted dragons turn up. A day late and more than a credit short.” He turned to look out over the retreating host and grinned. “And they’ll come in and drop their load of fire over the poor retreating orcs, then fly back to their ships. By the time they are turned around, the legion and your elite bow corps will be slaughtered and we’ll have our anti-dragon defenses up and waiting.”
“General,” a messenger panted, coming up the stairs out of breath. “Balmoran…”
“What?” General Kossin said. “What about Balmoran?”
“They’ve sortied, sir,” the messenger said as the orcs pounded by below.
“A forlorn hope?” the general asked. “A cohort?”
“All of them, sir,” the messenger said, desperately. “It’s the whole legion!”
“I don’t have the forces left to repel that,” the general said, angrily. “Unless… move the reserve company to the south gate,” he continued to one of his aides then turned to the others that were hovering around. “Move all forces to the south gate. Hold them off. We’ll deal with them when the rest are through the gates…”
