by John Bowers
The city power grid had been cut, so the escalator sat motionless, but the Star Marines scrambled down it. They emerged on a broad plaza that was nearly dark, but battery-powered emergency lights glowed every hundred feet or so. Wide pedestrian streets stretched out in four directions; shops and stores lined the mall, making the underground almost as dangerous as the surface above them.
"IR contacts," Rico ordered, "one eye only. Watch for laser readings — anybody else might be on our side."
A moment later they set out, turning left in what was generally a westerly direction. They walked quickly, keeping against the left side of the tunnel, everyone on edge, the only sound their heavy breathing and the tramp of their combat boots. At least down here, Rico reflected, they'd lost the signal that fed their headsets, and didn't have to listen to Periscope Patty.
They made two blocks in just a few minutes, seeing no one, and Rico began to dare hope. Two more blocks should put them under the highway, and then maybe another couple of blocks after that they might surface and get a reading on the situation.
He wondered briefly if this street stretched as far as the airport.
* * *
"BC! Get back!"
Rico lunged through a doorway into a souvenir shop as the chirp of lasers echoed out of the gloom ahead. Glass shattered above him and he heard the sudden hammer of a Spandau. Then someone screamed.
"Shit! I'm hit! I'm — I'm … "
Hamilton tumbled lifeless in the doorway, blood spurting from his neck. Rico stared at him in shock, then grabbed him and pulled his legs inside. In a display case beside the door, Chavez lay in a diamond field of broken glass, flame pouring from his rifle as he returned fire. From the street outside the rest of the squad also hammered back, then silence fell abruptly. Rico bent over Hamilton and checked him, his heart sinking as he saw the glaze in the eyes, the expanding pupils. He crossed himself briefly, then pulled Hamilton's datatags from the cord around his neck and slipped them into a pocket.
"Chavez, here." Rico tossed him Hamilton's bandoleer, then picked off his grenades and gave them to Gearloose. He stood up and walked out of the shop, peering down the street toward the intersection where three BC lay unmoving, their weapons scattered about them.
"If there's any more around," he told the others, "the firing may bring them here. Let's get going."
They made another block, then another. An escalator led up to the surface at this point, and Rico stared at it indecisively. He heard the muted thunder of explosions overhead. He turned away and led his squad on down the subterranean street.
Only eight of them were left.
Orbit of Beta Centauri
Wade Palmer couldn't remember when he'd slept. His eyes felt frozen open and his skin no longer had any feeling. He kept going on coffee and adrenaline. He'd watched the battle from the jump-off, had cautiously hoped he might be proven wrong about their chances of victory. The Star Marines had been hurt in the very beginning, but had rallied surprisingly well, pushing their perimeter more than six miles into the city. Some supplies had managed to reach them, and though casualties had been heavy, there was room for optimism.
Then, sometime last night, the roof had caved in. Wade had read the situation reports as they arrived, plotting them on a holomap, and within a couple of hours the picture gradually became clear — the enemy had turned the tide. They'd held armor in reserve — somewhere — had reversed the computer virus, and had moved in GAMs to assist the laser batteries. Perhaps the most telling moment had been the communiqué from the commander of 3rd Division, when he uttered the fateful words: "The issue is in doubt".
An iron fist was closing around the Star Marines in Periscope Harbor, and not even the Federation fleet could stop it.
Three hours before midnight, Wade turned to Cdr. Ferdigssen.
"We've got to get them out of there," he said.
"What are you talking about?" Ferdigssen looked shocked.
"It's over. The battle is lost."
"Hold on, Palmer! It's only the third day! Okay, this is a setback, but —"
"It's not a setback! The plan is flawed! It was flawed from the very beginning. There's no way those Star Marines can take the city. They can't even hold what they already have! If we don't get them out of there right now, we never will."
Ferdigssen was also tired, but he just shook his head.
"I think you're overreacting. But even if you're right, we don't make those calls. Only the mission commander can do that, or the Polygon."
"I want to talk to the Polygon," Wade said, feeling numb and reckless.
"You're out of your mind."
He grabbed the Norwegian's shoulder.
"Look, Commander — I know those people! I know General Willard! He was the one who pinned these boards on me. I can talk to him, explain what we're seeing here!"
"He gets the same sit-reps we do," Ferdigssen said. "He just gets them about ten minutes after we do. Everything that comes in here is automatically subspaced to the Polygon."
"I know that, goddammit, but they aren't here! They can't smell the tension in the air, they can't taste it the way we can!"
Ferdigssen stared at him for a long moment.
"Did you work on this one?" he asked finally.
"Yes, sir, I did. I sat up nights working on it. And it's a bad plan. I knew it from the start, and I tried my damnedest to figure out a way for it to succeed. I failed, and everybody else failed, too."
He let go of the officer's arm.
"Look, Commander — let me try, okay? If I can talk to General Willard, he might listen to me."
"Did he listen to you before?"
"No. But now I've got data. Hard data. I might convince him to pull those guys out before it's too late."
Ferdigssen twisted his head around the room, his eyes stark with indecision.
"Jesus, Palmer! I could get fried for letting you do this!"
"Then don't 'let' me do it. Just leave the room while I do it. I'll take the heat. I don't give a flying fuck about my career, I just want to save those guys down below."
Wade saw lines in Ferdigssen's face that hadn't been there yesterday. The man stared at him again, long and hard. Wade didn't waver.
"I have to go take a shit," Ferdigssen said. "I'll be back in ten minutes."
Periscope Harbor, Beta Centauri
"I've got heat sigs!" Brown reported breathlessly. He pointed. "In there!"
He was pointing toward a narrow tunnel that led away into darkness. Rico squinted hard and blinked up the magnification of his IR contact. He saw them, too, at least half a dozen, crouching in the darkness, colorfully outlined in pastel reds and greens. He saw no bright reds that would indicate laser weapons. But they might be carrying slug rifles.
It was very possibly an ambush, but there was always the chance that whoever was waiting down that tunnel didn't have IR vision and couldn't see them. It was also possible they would just wait until Rico's people had passed, then step out behind them and blaze away.
Shit! He couldn't ignore this, though he desperately wanted to keep going.
"Okay." He swallowed, then issued orders in a quiet voice. "Maniac, move up against that wall and cover the tunnel. Chavez, take the other side." He pulled a battle flare off his belt. "I'm gonna light up that tunnel, and we'll see what happens. Tiny, get a plasma ready, in case we need it." He pointed for emphasis. "But don't use it unless I tell you. Got it?"
"Sure," Tiny said. "Hey, what if they're Star Marines?"
"Star Marines wouldn't be hiding in a trap like that."
"Maybe they're wounded."
Rico hadn't thought of that.
"We'll find out. Rest of you guys, stay here."
Maniac and Tiny moved into position, drawing no fire, and Rico moved up behind Maniac. When both men were ready, he pulled the trigger on the flare and flung it as far into the tunnel as he was able. The brilliant light reflected off the tunnel walls and they heard a gasp of fear. Rico dived to the
floor and skidded into the mouth of the tunnel, his Spandau aimed and ready.
He heard a woman scream.
"Hold your fire!" he shouted.
The tunnel was only forty feet long, leading to what looked like a service door of some kind. It was probably locked, for eight or nine civilians cowered in terror in the light of the flare, clinging to each other for what they probably expected to be their last seconds of life. Rico saw them clearly in the glare — five women and four small children, all blonde hair and blue eyes. They sobbed with terror as they stared at him, at the rifle in his hands, and he slowly got to his feet.
"Civilians," he said. "Let's get the fuck out of here!"
* * *
"General Willard, there's a subspace," the technician said, looking surprised. "It's a personal call to you."
Willard set down his coffee cup and stood up wearily, moving toward the communication console. He nodded and the technician put the call on speaker. Forty planners stood around the room and stared in disbelief as Wade Palmer's face appeared on the screen.
"Lieutenant Palmer!" Willard said as he stared at the screen. "What's the occasion?"
"General Willard," Wade said, bending over his console so his face filled the screen. "Sir, I assume you're getting the same situation reports we are?"
"I assume the same thing, Palmer. The situation has taken a turn for the worse."
"Yes, sir. General, I know this is highly irregular, and I know I'm sticking my neck out … Sir, casualties have reached thirty percent, and Sirian armor is pushing the 3rd Division back into territory already captured. Our space power can't do much because they fly too fast and there isn't enough room to maneuver down there. Sir, I'm asking you to order a withdrawal before it's …"
"What! A withdrawal? Are you out of your goddamned mind?" Willard glared at him menacingly.
"Sir, this operation was doomed from the beginning. I told you that when I was on staff, and a lot of other people did, too. Those men down on the planet are paying the price for that, and I think we owe it to them to pull them out before they all die."
Willard was as tired as anyone else, as worried as anyone else, but he shook his head.
"Lieutenant, there is such a thing as a temporary setback. I believe the Star Marines will rally to the occasion and hold what they've gained. I believe they will turn back the enemy and take the city. I can't believe you would suggest a withdrawal this early in the battle!"
"General …"
"The answer is no, Palmer! And don't call me again!"
"Sir, the enemy is jamming their headsets! We can't even talk to the ground commanders …"
"I said that's all, Palmer!"
Wade stopped, frozen for an interminable second. Then his face contorted and he slammed a fist into his console.
"That is not all, goddammit!" he screamed. "If you don't get those men out of there tonight they are going to be slaughtered! Whose goddamned side are you on!"
General John Willard's face paled in stunned disbelief. Forty officers had witnessed this affront to his rank and authority. Had it occurred in private, he might have considered the nature of the circumstances and chosen to overlook it. With so many high-ranking witnesses, he could not. He pointed a trembling finger at the screen, as if Wade were standing in front of him.
"You are relieved of duty!" he roared. "You are to be placed under arrest and held pending a general star-court! Let me talk to your commanding officer!"
Wade stared back at him for a moment, his eyes hard and unwavering from five light years away.
"I'll have him call you, General. In the meantime, if you have any further orders for me, I'll be at Periscope Harbor."
He ended the transmission.
Orbit of Beta Centauri
Wade stood before the communication console shaking with rage. Willard could be so goddamned obstinate! Wade was so angry he wanted to hit something, but was clearheaded enough to realize that his initial goal hadn't been achieved. He'd hoped to talk Willard into withdrawing the Star Marines, but failed. Willard was the top man, too. Nobody outranked him.
Except …
Wade caught his breath, his eyes widening as the thought completed itself. Nobody outranked General Willard except the President of the Federation. Wade felt almost dizzy at the idea that was forming in his mind. By the purest chance, he knew the President personally. He hadn't talked to Henry Wells since before Wells had been elected. But he still knew him.
He glanced around the Strat Center. Ferdigssen wasn't back yet. Taking a deep breath, Wade opened another comm channel and twenty seconds later was talking to Space Force Central at Luna 1. He switched off the video pickup and spoke to the operator voice only.
"This is Jerome Obermeier," he said, deepening his voice slightly, "executive officer of UFF Anwar Sadat. Put me through to the White House."
Periscope Harbor, Beta Centauri
Rico stuck his head above ground level and peered cautiously in all directions, ready to dive back down the escalator if necessary. The street was dark except where houses burned a half block away. Heavy smoke stung his eyes. He was at the intersection of two streets inside the residential area. Immediately to his right was some sort of fuel depot, next to that a market, and everything else in all directions was houses. Nothing moved.
The sound of battle could still be heard to the east, and the silhouettes of skytowers were briefly visible when the muzzle-flash of artillery backlit them. The air above him sang with the passage of high explosives, on their way to someplace west of where he stood. For the moment, nothing was falling right here.
"Anything, Beaner?" Texas asked quietly.
"Don't see anything. Couple of houses on fire, plays hell with the IR." Rico took one last look around, making sure no heat signatures showed up. "Okay, come on."
The remaining six men of Second Squad and their two new friends climbed cautiously up the escalator and stood on the sidewalk. They stared silently toward downtown for long seconds, each man silently thanking whatever deity he worshipped that he was no longer trapped among those skeletal black towers.
"Which way?" Maniac asked.
Rico didn't answer at once. Instead, he chinned the command frequency and tried calling Capt. Connor. All he got in reply was the silken voice of Periscope Patty.
"I know you men of 3rd Division have pride in your unit, but really, fellows — how long do you think you can hold out against overwhelming odds? Half the 14th has already surrendered, so they aren't going to help you. We have ninety thousand men in Periscope Harbor, and more than two thousand hovertanks. Why throw your lives away? Just raise your hands and step out in the open. No one will hurt you."
"Fuck!" Rico glanced about in indecision. He had no authority to lead his men away from the battle, but — goddammit, he didn't see any point in getting them killed needlessly, either! "This way," he said, and set off to the right, toward the airport.
White House, Washington City, DC, North America, Terra
Henry Wells napped in his chair. He hadn't left the office since the battle of Periscope Harbor began. He'd remained awake as long as possible, but was almost sixty, and no longer had the stamina to keep going around the clock. His aides and advisors would wake him if anything significant happened.
He heard someone speak to him, and opened his eyes instantly. He blinked a time or two, to focus his mind.
"Mr. President," the aide said apologetically, "there's another subspace. Sorry to wake you —"
"No, no, you did the right thing. Who is it?" Henry's mouth tasted like the bottom of an ashtray.
"The executive officer of the Sadat, sir. He refused to speak to anyone but you."
"Put him on the screen."
Henry stood up and straightened his tie, tightening the knot as he rubbed his face briskly to get the blood flowing. He walked toward the portable comm screen that had been erected against one wall. The picture blinked on, but it was dark.
"Sorry, Mr. President, it's voi
ce only. He's on the line."
"This is President Wells," Henry said in an even voice. "What do you have for me?"
There was a moment's delay as the transmission was relayed out to Beta Centauri, then the picture blinked on and Henry's eyebrows tilted in a frown.
"What the hell?" someone muttered.
The face was that of a junior officer, a Lieutenant by the boards on his shoulder.
"Mr. President, I apologize for the deception," the young officer replied, his face grim. "I was afraid they wouldn't let me talk to you if I told them my real name. I hope you remember me, sir."
"Wade?" Henry murmured. "Wade Palmer?"
"Yes, sir. By the way, sir, congratulations on your election."
Henry ignored the compliment.
"Wade, where the hell are you?"
"Aboard Sadat, sir. I'm attached to the strategy office aboard ship."
"What's going on? Why did you call me? This channel is reserved for official business."
Wade nodded soberly. "Yes, sir, I know that. Believe me, this is official business. It's very important that you hear me out, sir. Please give me just one minute of your time."
Henry felt annoyance, yet he'd always liked Wade Palmer. Somehow he was sure the boy wouldn't tie up a command channel for amiable chit-chat.
"Start talking, Wade. Make it count."
He saw relief in the young man's eyes. Wade started talking at once.
"Mr. President, I just got off the line with General Willard at the Polygon. You should know that he got so angry that he relieved me of duty and ordered a star-court for me —"
"What the hell did you say to him?"
"Exactly what I'm going to say to you, Mr. President. We've got to get the Star Marines off that planet down there, and we've got to do it now. If we don't, you'll be able to plant a forest and water it with Federation blood.
"Sir, I've been intimate with this invasion plan since its inception. From the first time I saw it I knew it wouldn't work, and now it's failing exactly as I was afraid it would. The enemy has counterattacked and we can't stop them. I'm sure you're getting sit-reps, so you already know all this. What I'm telling you is that, in my professional opinion, this operation is doomed. Every minute we delay translates into dead Star Marines. General Willard refuses to evacuate them, and you're the only man alive who outranks him."
