by John Bowers
Wade paused for a heartbeat, and swallowed.
"Mr. President, please order him to withdraw those troops. If you don't, we—"
Behind Wade Palmer, Henry saw another man appear, a Space Force officer in his early thirties. The officer's eyes widened as he saw who Wade was talking to, and he grabbed the junior man by the shoulder, pulling him away in mid-sentence.
"Palmer! What the hell are you doing!"
Wade shrugged the other man's hand off, turned to the screen again, and made his final appeal.
"Please, Mr. President! This is me — I wouldn't ask you unless I knew it was the right thing to do."
The blond officer elbowed Wade aside and stared at the console with stricken eyes.
"Mr. President, I apologize! I did not authorize this transmission."
"What's your name, Commander?" Henry demanded, and the other man flinched.
"Ferdigssen, sir. Commander Treg Ferdigssen."
"Tell me, Commander — do you agree with Wade's assessment of the situation on the planet? Are we about to see a blood bath?"
Ferdigssen paled, glanced toward Wade Palmer, then turned back, chewing his lip. After an interminable moment, he nodded shakily.
"Yes, Mr. President. I'm afraid it's already started."
"There is no way to resolve the situation without a general withdrawal?"
"There may be, sir, but not without a tremendous loss of life. Palmer is right — the plan was flawed from the beginning. It never should have been executed."
Those words cut Henry Wells to the bone. He'd given final approval to the plan, because his advisors had assured him it would work. But nobody would ever remember the advisors — he was the President.
"Commander Ferdigssen, thank you. Let me talk to Wade, please."
Ferdigssen stepped aside, and Wade's face filled the screen again.
"Yes, Mr. President?"
"Listen, Wade, you took a big risk by calling me, didn't you; I want you to know that I appreciate it. As for your star-court, consider that order rescinded. As of this moment, you are on detached duty by Presidential order. I want you to feel free to call me about anything that needs my attention until this situation is resolved. Are you clear on that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you hear that, Ferdigssen?"
"Yes, Mr. President."
"Good. I have to go now, Wade. But when you get back to Terra, stop in and see me. Consider that an executive order."
"I will, sir. Say hello to Regina for me. I haven't seen her in a few years now."
Henry nodded, suddenly not trusting himself to speak. He dug out his voice again for a final word.
"Be careful, Wade."
"Aye-aye, sir."
Henry nodded to the technician, and the communication was cut.
"Get me the Polygon," he said. "I want to speak with General Willard."
Chapter 57
Sunday, 4 November, 0232 (PCC) (Day Four) - Periscope Harbor, Beta Centauri
Fresh squadrons arrived from Alpha Centauri to beef up those that had taken heavy losses during three brutal days of combat. Cdr. Ferdigssen stood in the front of a ready room where the crews of six squadrons sat facing him. Two were fresh from Alpha 2; the others were veterans of Beta Centauri, including the 313.
"The battle plan has changed completely," Ferdigssen told them. "We've received a general withdrawal order from the Polygon. You are no longer going to cover the invasion — now you're going to cover the evacuation."
He turned to a holomap that flashed angrily with bright red markers.
"The problem is that the enemy has slammed the door. As you well know, they now have GAMS down there, the ASC lasers are almost back to full strength, and the computer virus has broken down.
"The saddle is a death trap. The only way now to get into Periscope Harbor is over these mountains —" He pointed. "— or from the sea. The problem with an ocean approach is these offshore islands. They're a goddamn meat grinder, so anything coming in that way is gonna be in deep shit."
He turned grimly to face them.
"Unfortunately, we don't have a choice. We've got to evacuate twenty-six thousand men and we've got to do it fast. Every lander we've got left is gonna have to go in and start hauling men out. The wounded are a special problem, and we need to get them out first."
He sighed wearily as he scanned their anxious faces.
"You people are going to have to go in with them. Over the past three days we've tried sending you in right ahead of them and right behind them; it's helped, but the enemy always had a few minutes of clear skies to hit the landers. We can't afford that any more. When the landers go in, you go with them, keep the enemy busy, and take out as many as you can."
He got into specifics then, and Wade Palmer watched their faces as they digested each bit of data. He saw combinations of fear, fatigue, and a listless fatalism. In the Fighter Queen's eyes he saw only anger.
Once again, he felt a stab of guilt for remaining in the safety of a rear area while others put their lives on the line.
* * *
"How's it going, Star Marines? You men of the 33rd, are you still with me? I hope so, because I'd like to have a word with you. Are you ready? Titan. Remember Titan? You were there, weren't you? Oops! Sorry. No, you weren't at Titan, because the 33rd was wiped out at Titan. You fellows were still in training then, weren't you? Well, don't feel left out, because you're going to get your chance to join the original men of the 33rd. What happened to them will also happen to you, every last one of you. It looks like the 33rd is a hard-luck outfit.
"But it doesn't have to be. There's still time to surrender. If you just give yourselves up, you won't have to die on a foreign planet that nobody gives a damn about anyway.
"Think it over, fellows. In the meantime, here's a special favorite just for you men of the 33rd Star Marines … "
Rico ripped off his headset and threw it away. It was useless as long as that sexy bitch kept talking. Worse than useless — he didn't need her seductive voice scaring the hell out of him.
"Hey, you guys! Get rid of your headsets! Don't listen to that fucking whore for another minute!"
The remaining men of Second Squad did as ordered, ripping the wiring out of their helmets and throwing it away. They were now crouched in the ruins of a house that had lost its roof to artillery. They'd caught a couple hours' sleep before daylight, were completely out of food, and low on ammunition. It was midmorning of the fourth day.
Rico lifted his head and peered over the broken wall of the ruined house toward the downtown area. Smoke and dust obscured much of his view, but the artillery had never let up. Hovertanks had crossed the highway and were pushing toward the airport. Shells now fell sporadically around them, random shots designed to catch people out in the open. Rico ducked as one exploded in the street sixty yards away.
He looked up again, and caught a flicker of movement to the east. Squinting, he brought his Spandau to bear, just in case. He waited a moment, watching. Shapes materialized out of the swirling smoke that obscured the street in that direction. He lowered the Spandau and peered closer, his heart pounding. He made out fatigues like those he was wearing, and familiar helmets.
Star Marines!
"Hey, you guys, cover me!"
The squad scrambled to look as Rico stepped over the rubble toward the street. Carrying his rifle at port arms, he approached the ragged line of men that trudged toward him. Two drew down on him long enough to identify his uniform, then visibly relaxed. Rico stood on the sidewalk until they reached him. At least half the newcomers were wounded; the third man in line was an officer.
"'Scuse me, Lieutenant, you have any idea where I might find Delta Company? My squad got separated yesterday, and our headsets are being jammed."
The officer was also wounded, his right arm badly torn by shrapnel and riding in a sling. He squinted wearily at Rico.
"No idea, Corporal. Not that it matters a damn. The whole fucking front has fal
len apart. The division commander has ordered 3rd Division back to the airport."
Rico frowned. "You’re in communication with Division? All I get is Periscope Patty.”
“Same with everybody. Division sent out runners. If Delta got the word, they’ll be heading back too.”
"Is it that bad, sir?" Rico was shocked.
"Bad enough. What's your name?"
"Martinez."
"Well, Martinez, you're welcome to tag along with us. We're advancing in the other direction."
It took over an hour to reach the airport. Shells and missiles rained down on it in a steady, if uneven, shower. Buildings burned in the distance, runways were pitted with craters. Wreckage of spacecraft had been dozed aside to allow other spacecraft to land and take off. Wounded seemed to be everywhere. Inside the maintenance buildings, field hospitals were operating at full speed, and for every man receiving treatment twenty more waited. Hangars stood silent — the dead stacked inside made no sound.
For all that, the place was like an anthill. Nurses, corpsmen, riflemen — hundreds of people scurried about, everyone on the double. Occasionally someone was hit, but nothing interrupted the feverish activity.
Rico and his squad trudged wearily through this nightmare, looking for Delta Company. When they didn't find anyone they knew, they headed for a metal building where a field kitchen was serving hot food. They hadn't eaten since the day before.
Out on the runway, six landers streaked in from the direction of the harbor. Nothing could get in through the saddle any more. One lander was throwing smoke, but they all touched down safely and rocked to a halt. Rico saw them from a distance, saw a crowd of Star Marines break from shelter and scamper toward the little ships. They boarded quickly, officers and squad leaders shouting at them to hurry, and just that quickly the landers started rolling again, noses rising and tails sinking as their jets wound up and poured on thrust. A diamond formation of QuasarFighters streaked overhead to cover the takeoff, their turret guns hammering at some unseen target along the hillsides, and with a final blast of rolling thunder, the landers disappeared into the hazy sky.
Rico pulled his eyes off them and continued toward the field kitchen, aching with envy. The evacuation was under way, but he had no orders yet, and wouldn't be leaving until he did.
In the meantime, he was starving.
Presidential Palace, New Birmingham, Missibama, Sirius 1
Faces loomed over her, blurred and indistinct, moving forward and back. Regina twisted in misery, feeling pinned and smothered, her mind tortured. She broke into a sweat and panted freely, chilled to the bone.
She woke with a start, opened her eyes, and gasped audibly when she saw the man standing over the bed. She scrambled to a sitting position, clutching the sheet to her chin, her green eyes wide with surprise. The man didn't move, just gazed at her calmly. It took her a moment to recognize him, for they'd only met once.
"So you're the Feddie President's daughter," he said. "Not Scarlett Wallace."
Regina swallowed down her nerves. Her eyes hardened perceptibly. She made no reply.
He smiled lazily. "How you feelin', Miss Wells?"
"I've been better. Your men don't leave much to the imagination."
"No. They are very good at what they do. I trust you will not be permanently disabled?"
Regina cast her eyes about. Queen Ursula stood a few feet away, behind the President of Sirius. The redhead returned her eyes to his weathered face.
"What do you want with me?"
"I'm not goin' to harm you, if that's what you're thinkin'," he said. "I merely wanted to see you again. I didn't know the Feddies grew young women as pretty as you."
He smiled again, apparently intending it as a compliment. Regina only glared at him.
"I expect Field Marshal Vaughn can be forgiven for bein' seduced by your charms," he continued. "Too bad for him you turned out to be a spy." His smile faded and he looked almost sad. "Too bad for everyone, for that matter. Especially you."
"What are you going to do with me?" she asked. "A public execution?"
Adolph shook his head.
"No, we don't do much of that any more. Used to, but these days we just turn girls like you over to the army. Soldiers make short work of 'em."
Regina felt her body flash cold; a public execution suddenly didn't sound so bad.
"But, in your case," he said, "I think you are really much more valuable to us alive."
Regina's eyes narrowed.
"If you think for one minute that my father will pull back his troops just to save my life, you can forget it. He won't."
"I have no doubt that you're right," Adolph said. "President Wells is notorious for his opposition to the Sirian Confederacy. I would dearly love to hold a gun to your head and watch him pull back to the Sol System, but that would never work."
He pulled up a chair and sat down, crossed his legs, and gazed at her for a moment. She imagined he was uncovering her with his eyes.
"We'll have to settle for less than that," he told her. "By all the rules of civilized warfare, you should be executed as a spy. But you have a certain … commercial value, if you will." He smiled. "I am goin' to exchange you."
"Exchange? For what?"
"Prisoners. Normally we would trade a prisoner on a one-for-one basis, but in your case … I am goin' to get back a quarter million Confederate prisoners of war for your return. Not a bad deal, if I do say so."
Regina's mouth dropped open. "Daddy will never agree to that!"
Adolph smiled.
"You underestimate your father's love, Miss Wells. He has already agreed. You are goin' to be exchanged for two hundred and forty thousand soldiers. I wish I had time to clone you; no tellin' what else I might get."
Her head was spinning. She glanced at Ursula, who merely smiled benignly. Her eyes focused on the Sirian again.
"You'd let me go? After all the information I learned?"
"Tell me, Miss Wells — what exactly did you learn? That we were goin' to ambush your carriers off Alpha Centauri? That battle is over. Or maybe you learned that we know the Federation plans for Periscope Harbor? Oops! Too late. The Star Marines are already in our trap. They are down to just a few thousand men and they're almost out of ammunition. We've cut off their supply line, and nobody can get to them."
He smiled like a cat toying with a mouse.
"Maybe you think we're afraid you will divulge the identity of Mister Lonely. Is that it?"
Regina swallowed uncertainly. She should have kept her mouth shut.
"Tell me, Miss Wells. Who is Mister Lonely? Why don't you tell me his name?"
She sat in mute silence for a moment, thinking, and her eyes widened slowly in disbelief.
"I — I … " She glanced at Ursula. "I know his name!" she insisted. "I just —"
"Can't remember, can you?" Adolph shook his head, still smiling. "We already took it from you, Miss Wells. Hypnotechnology is such a marvelous science."
Regina lowered her head and stared at the sheet. She couldn't believe it. The identity of the leak — Mr. Lonely — had been the primary goal of her mission. She had the information — and yet she didn't. To save her life, she couldn't pull the name out of her brain. She looked up at Adolph in despair.
"I guess I don't know anything that could hurt you," she admitted.
"I guess you don't. So, you see? We can let you go home, get our people back, and everybody is happy. Don't you just love happy endin's?"
He stood up abruptly.
"Queenie, help her get dressed. She has been gone a long time, I 'magine she's anxious to get back."
"You mean, right now?" Regina asked.
"Of course. Unless you'd like to hang around until after Sirian Summer. Such a pleasant part of the year." He smiled again. "It was a pleasure meetin' the real you, Miss Wells. Give my regards to your daddy. Tell him when the war is over, I just might offer him a job. He is a man I can respect."
Ever the Sirian gentleman,
Adolph bowed slightly from the waist, then walked out of the room.
After he'd gone, Regina was overcome with emotion. She was going home! It was too good to be true. She hoped it wasn't a dream.
Ursula helped her into the shower, primped her when she came out, and dressed her in a fine green dress that was not only a perfect fit, but contrasted nicely with her hair, bringing out the emerald in her eyes. The Vegan monarch finished her off with a minute spray of Vegan perfume.
Regina stood before her when the job was done and felt tears sting her eyes.
"I wish you were going with me," she said in a husky voice.
"Don't worry about me, dear," Ursula smiled. "I'm not the real prisoner here. My spirit is free, but they are prisoners of their own depravity."
The redhead threw her arms around the older woman and sobbed helplessly. When the emotion had passed, she blinked rapidly, biting her lip.
"I'll never forget you."
"Nor will I forget you, my dear. Just tell your father to keep the pressure on. You're going to win. And then I can go home, too."
Neither of them voiced the rest of the thought — the war might last another decade, and Ursula was no longer a young woman. Regina just nodded.
Major Griffen came into the apartment then and Regina felt her body stiffen at the sight of him. But he was on official business.
"I will be your escort, Miss Wells," he told her. "My orders are to guarantee your safety. If you are ready, we leave at once."
"Where exactly are we going?" she asked.
"We will board a battle cruiser that is to rendezvous with a Federation ship of similar size. I don't know the exact location, but it will be a neutral zone somewhere in interstellar space."
"Are you planning to 'interrogate' me again?" she asked warily.
Griffen just shook his head.
"President Adolph personally guaranteed your father that you will be returned safely. Those are my orders."
