Guerilla: The Makaum War: Book Two

by Mel Odom

  “I am all that is left of the HatVeru family.” Rangha’s voice carried a threatening timbre, and Zhoh knew the man recognized the unspoken disrespect that he held back. “Faylas HatVeru was a great commander and fierce warrior. The Empire wanted that preserved.”

  So neither you nor your family before you has fought in a true battle in over four hundred years. Not only that, but your bloodline has thinned. That happened when a family tried to stay within the prime lineages. That was why Sxia’s father had pursued Zhoh’s father to set up the mating match, wishful of fresh blood to carry on his brood. Instead of a legacy, Sxia had borne damaged goods that had to be exterminated.

  Zhoh kept the thought to himself because if the words were spoken, they could not be taken back. The insult he would give so lightly was punishable by death, tantamount to suicide. He would not die that way. He would live and he would glorify himself in the war, and he would return to avenge his name.

  “As you know, Captain, bloodline is everything in the Phrenorian Empire. Those warriors who cannot deliver children to claim more prizes for the Empire are quickly forgotten.”

  Zhoh stood there and accepted the affront. As a lesser warrior, he was a target for rebuke and admonishment. Also, his failure to produce healthy offspring was a matter of public record. No lesser warrior could bring the subject up, but the general had free rein.

  Rangha snapped a primary at one of the chairs before the desk. “Sit.”

  After adjusting his weapons, Zhoh sat and curled his tail around the chair leg so the appendage would be out of the way. He breathed in through his carapace and distanced himself from the room, turning off his emotions as he’d been taught by his father and by his first instructors when he’d entered officer training at Ath’ormy Academy.

  The general did not sit and chose to remain standing. His primary hands hung at his sides while his lesser hands crossed his narrow, thin chest.

  “The presence of this stronghold has surprised you.”

  “The fact that we have not used the war machines that reside in that hangar surprises me.” Zhoh knew his statement bordered on insubordination, but it was also the truth and all within the room knew that.

  Walking to the balcony, Rangha peered out at the aerial units sitting idle on the ring of decks that clung to the walls. “You look out there and you see a way to take Makaum, do you?”

  “With those weapons? Yes, I do. Those are more than the Terran soldiers have.” Zhoh didn’t hesitate about answering.

  “You have been on this planet for two months, Captain. Yet you did not know about this place.” Rangha turned back to him. “Do you think it is possible there are Terran bases like this one that you do not know about?”

  “The Terrans do not have this kind of equipment at their disposal.” Zhoh believed that. The spies they had in place among the humans were thorough. “The Terran Army does not have a space station circling the planet. They believe their precious Fort York is enough to hold Makaum. They use the space they have leased from DawnStar’s space station. We know everything General Whitford has brought onto Makaum.”

  “We do,” Rangha agreed. “However, General Whitford could send for reinforcements from the Khustal System. Those units could be Gatestreamed into orbit around Makaum within days.” The general snapped a primary in the direction of the hangar. “Can you guarantee the Phrenorian Empire War Council that you can take this planet before the arrival of those reinforcements? And hold it once those arrivals took up arms against you?”

  Everything in Zhoh screamed to respond in the positive, that he could do such a thing. But the truth was that he might be able to deliver on those terms.

  “Can you guarantee that?” Rangha demanded.

  Zhoh forced himself to answer. “No.”

  “Neither can I, and having to do so is almost an insult to my revered ancestor.” The general’s response was cold and brittle. He took a breath and it hissed out of him when he released it. “A premature use of the weapons we have here would alienate the Makaum ­people, perhaps even unite them against us. Our standing here is improved as long as they are at odds.”

  The Makaum ­people were no threat in Zhoh’s mind. If not for the (ta)Klar and the Terrans, taking the planet would require no time at all, and within weeks a new supply route could ferry natural resources to the Khustal System. Those supplies were increasingly necessary, though the humans did not yet know that.

  Instead of thinking about any of that, though, Zhoh focused on the one word that Rangha had inadvertently given him. Premature. A premature use of the weapons . . .

  So there was a plan in place for them. Even as he recognized that, Zhoh also knew that was a question he could not ask. If the general had wanted him to know those plans, he would have offered that information.

  Anger coiled inside Zhoh as he sat there in that office and knew that he was being kept from that knowledge on purpose. The lack of information—­the lack of trust—­was the general’s way of dismissing him as an inferior.

  And it was the way of the Phrenorian Empire.

  Zhoh’s anger was tinged with fear at being so far from the good graces he had always enjoyed, and he hated himself for it. He had never dreamed of being ostracized from the Empire. He had always been a loyal warrior. He had even married Sxia because his father and her father had agreed on the future of their families. Sxia was above Zhoh in station, but Blaold Oldawe had no sons to carry on the family name. The union should have brought them strength. It had before the primes, but the birth of their younglings had changed all of that.

  Looking back on things now, with the knowledge that Sxia had been the only child Blaold Oldawe and his wife had had, Zhoh should have known the family was hiding something. According to stories, Blaold Oldawe and his wife had lost the rest of their brood in a tragic accident at a young age.

  Cover-­ups and lies spun out of that family. Zhoh knew that now, but he had never before encountered them on such a level. Blaold Oldawe had needed an heir. Blaold would be free to adopt a young male from another family to look after his holdings. Sxia would live an easy life, and Blaold would have a champion who owed him everything until the day he died.

  Zhoh warred against the shame and outrage that threatened to spill over him, maintaining a level emotional state only by promising himself there would be an accounting. One day he would kill Sxia and break her open, then eat his fill of her and excrete her into the nearest dung heap. Then he would go after her father with the taste of his daughter on his breath.

  “Why have you brought me here, General?” Zhoh was surprised at how calm his voice was.

  For a moment, Rangha’s chelicerae twitched in surprise before coiling back into place around his mouth. “You have a part to play in this as well, Captain.”

  The statement could have been mistaken for a peace offering. Zhoh recognized it as yet another insult, telling him that out of this grand plan the Empire had, a crumb still remained for him. He was so ashamed of the way he looked forward to it.

  “Of course, sir. I follow the will of the Empire.”

  “So far the Terrans have been distracted by the drug cartels set up by the corps. This new sergeant—­” Rangha hesitated.

  “Sage, sir. Master Sergeant Sage.”

  “Exactly.” Rangha’s primary snapped irritably. “I was told you saved this man’s life.”

  The general’s accusation came out layered with thick, cloying pheromones that warned Zhoh to tread carefully. “I do not know him, General. To say I saved Sage’s life would be to say I was acquainted with him. I am not. He is an enemy combatant.”

  “You defended him against one of DawnStar Corp’s chief sec officers.”

  “I did so because having the Terran Army and DawnStar at each other’s throat can only be beneficial to us, General. United, they provide a much more serious threat level.” That was only part of the tru
th. Zhoh had also respected the way Sage had fearlessly marched in to face Velesko Kos despite the odds being against him. A warrior recognized the bravery of another warrior, even if that warrior was the enemy. General Rangha was not conversant with that concept.

  “That division is what I want you to concentrate on, Captain. Since this Sergeant Sage is so interested in combating the cartels, make certain you aid him.”

  “Sir?” Zhoh looked at his commanding officer in surprise.

  Rangha snapped his primary in annoyance. “The Terrans use some of the same spies we do. Make certain that information about the different cartels out in the jungle makes its way into the hands of the Terran Army. Keep them busy chasing those ­people, because the profits those black-­market enterprises make find their way into the money purses of several key members of the Quass, from what I am told. They will not be happy with Master Sergeant Sage’s success.”

  Reluctantly, Zhoh admitted to himself that it was a good plan. One of the major benefits of the Makaum civil unrest lay in how it kept the ­people separated. Polarized as they were by their wants, they could not change treaties or make decisions with any real speed. At this point, confusion was a potent weapon.

  But there was another potential problem.

  “The plan is good, General.” Zhoh was not going to give Rangha credit for coming up with it. Doubtless the strategy had been drawn up by the War Council leader assigned to the Makaum action. “However, the (ta)Klar will not hesitate to take advantage of the situation to champion their own interests.”

  “Do not concern yourself with the (ta)Klar at this moment, Captain. As always, those creatures play their little political games behind the scenes, and this time they continue to be too far behind. They will take far too long to stop us. We gain momentum every day.” Rangha pulled open a desk drawer and took an ivory object from within with one of his lesser hands. He set it on the desk.

  Zhoh recognized the alabaster grin of a human skull at once. Taking such prizes in combat went against the rules of engagement between the Terran Alliance and Phrenorian Empire. Rangha would only get chastised by the primes and the War Council if it was discovered he had the artifact. Rank had its privileges.

  “I killed this human in combat on Akalo,” Rangha said. “For four days and three nights, I stalked him until he had no place left to run. Then I confronted him.” He dropped a primary hand onto the skull with a resounding crack. But the skull remained whole.

  Zhoh barely held back a sneer. Akalo was an outlaw world on the fringes of the Pagor System that had fallen nine years ago. The planetoid wasn’t part of the war and had existed only for spacefaring crews to pursue their vices. It was only a place the war had gone through, a blip on the path to victory. One day it had been there, and the next it was gone.

  “I killed him and I ate him and I claimed his head.” Rangha’s pheromones broadcast the sickening stench of pride. “I promise you, Captain, we will claim many skulls here.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Rangha’s chelicerae twitched expectantly, as if the general had wanted a more robust response.

  Zhoh wasn’t going to give it. He sat and waited till he was dismissed, and he was glad to be going.

  FIVE

  Fort York

  Loki 19 (Makaum—­colloquial)

  0357 Hours Zulu Time

  Did you see who it was?” Sergeant Pearson’s voice sounded surprisingly calm and he stood his ground.

  Still in a kneeling position, still panicked that he might be injured, Corporal Trevor Anders sighted along his Roley EMR 6 out of habit. Locked into the AKTIVsuit, with the onboard near-­AI doing the calculations for him, he didn’t have to aim. The suit more or less did the aiming. He just had to make the decision to pull the trigger, and that had happened without him truly thinking about it.

  “No!” Anders yelled. He swept the Roley over the rooftop across the nearby intersection where the suit told him the missile had come from. He still didn’t see whoever had fired the projectile that had hit him. He sucked in air and listened to his heart slamming in triple time. It was the first time outside of boot that he’d been shot, and the experience ripped away any ideas of how calm he would be in combat. The veterans had told him the Army was 99 percent boredom and 1 percent frenzy during firefights.

  “Calm down, Corporal,” Sergeant Pearson said. “You’re on comm. There’s no need to shout.”

  Anders cursed. He’d forgotten about the comm. He’d been—­maybe still was—­reacting to being shot. Thankfully he was still alive. He wasn’t even injured. The projectile had hit him right in the head. Right in the head! He was never going to take that helmet off when he was on patrol again. Never. He was lucky he was with Pearson tonight. Pearson was a stickler for rules and regs. Otherwise . . . Anders didn’t want to think about that.

  The main sec channel officer buzzed them over the helmet comms. Like Pearson, her voice was calm but held a hint of edginess. “What’s going on out there, Lima Three? I’ve got reports of gunfire.”

  Anders let Pearson take the call as he searched the area.

  “Roger that, Control. We popped off a few rounds after someone took a shot at us.”

  “Do you need sec units, Lima Three?”

  “Not yet. We’re confirming the situation. Looks like a lone attacker who just wanted to score pride points. Took a shot at us with an arrow. We’re uninjured.”

  “Affirmative, Lima Three. I’m standing by.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  “Do you see who did it?” Anders asked. He made an effort to hold it together. He’d been on the ground on Makaum only a few weeks. He’d been on the space station with Master Sergeant Sage when the sergeant lit up the bashhounds in the Azure Mist Tavern. Anders had thought all the soldiers in the place were going to get killed by cyber-­enhanced bashhounds that night. No love was lost between the Army and the secmen.

  Since then Anders had been on patrol a few times out in the Green Hell, but nothing had ever happened. Except getting confronted by some of the local wildlife. This was a direct attack by another intelligent being. This had been personal.

  “No, but you lit up that rooftop pretty good.”

  Switching to infrared and increasing the magnification on his HUD, Anders looked at the white meat of the shattered tree branches. A half dozen of them were bigger around than he was. The depleted uranium balls had smashed through everything he’d fired at. Flames danced along some of the limbs.

  “Probably got whoever shot me too.” Anders heard the pride in his own voice. He was from Lincoln, Nebraska, and nothing had ever happened there. That was why he’d joined the Terran Army. He’d wanted to see the stars and fight the enemy.

  Now he’d probably racked up his first kill, an attacker he hadn’t even seen. Part of him felt sick at the realization, but the rest of what he felt was fierce pride.

  “Yeah, but maybe you better hold off on the celebration.”

  Anders swallowed bile. “Why?”

  Pearson kicked the broken pieces of an arrow that lay on the ground. “Because whoever shot you with this knew it wouldn’t hurt you.”

  Anders stared at the arrow. “That doesn’t make any—­” Before he could finish speaking, Pearson grabbed him and pulled him back toward the barracks. Unable to stop himself, Anders sailed through the air as a section of the fence’s wire mesh turned into molten metal and blew up, spraying composite links out like shrapnel. They rattled against his armor. A follow-­up flash bomb specifically tailored to take out the HUD visuals burst like an exploding nova.

  The electric-­white flash rendered Anders blind right before he struck the ground.

  Visual systems are temporarily off-line. Stressors are evident in your nervous system. Do you require medication to remain combat ready? The near-­AI’s voice was feminine, as sexy as Anders could select. Only it didn’t sound sexy n
ow.

  Anders struggled to get control of himself as Pearson kept him pinned down. The corporal spoke calmly. “Control, Lima Three requires backup immediately.”

  Pearson’s words were lost in the loud explosion and sudden flood of agonizing heat that followed. Anders screamed as the suit tried to fight off the incendiary attack. On his faceshield, systems started failing, then he felt the flames eating into his body.

  0358 Hours Zulu Time

  Noojin struggled to roll over and force herself to drag her knees under her as she fought to suck in oxygen. The impact had driven the air from her lungs. Her first thought was for Telilu, hoping the girl was all right. The second was that the rounds from the soldier’s rifle had come within millimeters of them—­he had almost killed them. And the third was that two stories was a long way to fall without preparation.

  She pushed herself up to her knees and looked around as the echoes of gunfire rang in her ears. She tried to pull in air again, and this time she succeeded.

  “Telilu! Telilu!” Her voice came out in harsh barks.

  Images of the little girl’s body ripped to pieces by the gunfire threaded through Noojin’s mind, layering one horrible nightmare onto the next. Other images of the child impaled on a tree branch followed. Noojin didn’t accept any of them. She would never be able to explain what had happed to Jahup or Quass Leghef if Telilu was hurt.

  Or worse.

  Banishing that thought from her head, Noojin forced herself to her feet. It will not be worse! I won’t allow it! “Telilu!”

  “I’m up here.”

  Following the sound of the girl’s voice, Noojin looked up into the trees and spotted Telilu clinging to a branch three meters from the ground. Her face was scrunched up fearfully and tears shone on her cheeks, but Noojin saw no blood.

  “Are you all right?” The ringing in Noojin’s ears persisted as she reached up for the girl.

  “I’m okay. But why did the soldiers shoot at us?” Shaking and uncertain, Telilu climbed down the branches and dropped into Noojin’s waiting arms. She clung tightly, her arms wrapped around Noojin and her small body quaking all over.