by Eric Thomson
She pointed at a ragged strip of color between the sandy beige circling Hestia’s midriff and the extensive white polar region. A long, slender inland sea running almost from icecap to icecap cut across the surface.
“With an axial tilt of less than five percent, seasonal variations are minimal and mostly dependent on the planet’s uneven orbit around its primary.”
“Which makes the temperate zone rather chilly all year long,” Forenza said.
“And makes the polar regions extremely cold,” Drost continued. “The native flora and fauna are inimical to humans and there is no evidence Hestia was ever home to sentient beings. The chief town, called Arden by the settlers has the sole serviced spaceport. But the other settlements and the mining operations are served by rammed earth landing strips capable of taking a ship Kattegat Maru’s size, provided it required no ground support. Ser Forenza has kindly agreed to take over the rest of this briefing and discuss what he knows of conditions on the surface, and the probable locations of deportee labor camps.”
— Forty-Eight —
“If it weren’t for Ser Forenza and the young apprentice officer telling us there are human settlements on that dust ball, I’d figure this system was devoid of sentient activity,” Chief Yens said after a tense fifteen minutes examining Hestia and its surroundings from the hyperlimit. “No orbital stations, platforms, or satellites, no ships, no antimatter fuel cracking stations and no artificial power emissions.”
“But I am picking up radio waves coming from the planet,” the CIC signals petty officer said, “proving someone’s home, although I see no evidence they’re operating subspace transmitters or relays.”
“Outlaw colonies don’t have the money for them,” Forenza replied, “and the people operating illegal deportee camps don’t want to attract attention.”
“May we assume they’re not equipped to detect active scans from passing starships?”
“You may, Captain. And even if they detect your ship once we’re in orbit, what could they do with the information?”
“True. You may go active, Chief. Let’s see if the orbitals are truly bare. Then we can find out what’s on the surface.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Switching to active scan.” Shortly after that, Yens shook her head. “No trace of anything artificial in orbit. If Baba Yaga came here, she left already.”
“There wouldn’t be much point in her lingering after delivering Kattegat Maru’s crew,” Sirico said. “With two of his ships destroyed alongside the Shrehari corsair, thanks to the dastardly privateer O’Donnell, part-time sociopath, and terror of the star lanes, Tarrant would want Baba Yaga to make a fast turnaround so she can take care of other business.”
“Dastardly? Part-time sociopath? Unless your name is Larkin, those aren’t things you should say about me.” Dunmoore’s tone made light of her words. “I believe the term cunning is more appropriate.” When she saw the impish glint in Sirico’s eyes, she raised a restraining hand. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think about it.”
“I wasn’t headed there, Captain, I swear.”
“Bull,” Salminen growled. “Everyone knows what goes on in the lump that passes for your brain, Thorin.”
The combat systems officer put on a mock wounded air and raised his right hand to his heart.
“I’m deeply hurt by your insinuations. Besides the Captain forbade me to think.”
Chief Yens, eyes fixed on the sensor readout, shook her head in despair at her department head’s antics.
“Back to business, folks,” Dunmoore said. “We can ditch silent running. Fire up the sub-light drives and take us into orbit, Mister Holt. Kattegat Maru is to follow suit.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper. Hestia orbit it is.”
“Captain?”
Dunmoore swiveled her chair to face Salminen.
“Yes, Major?”
“Would it be possible to recover the platoon in Kattegat Maru during our transit to Hestia? I’d rather bring my entire company on the raid, and with Iolanthe keeping a close eye on her, Katie shouldn’t need extra bodies to repel boarders.”
“Sure.” Dunmoore paused for a moment, then added, “We’ll shift Carrie Fennon back here at the same time. She can identify her people for us more easily than your troops might by working off the pictures we took from Kattegat Maru’s crew roster.”
**
“We’ll need at least two recon patrols.”
Salminen, standing close to the conference room’s wall-sized main display, studied the high-resolution images of Hestia’s settlement area, near the shores of the pole to pole inland sea.
“One per mining operation. Put each site under observation until we find our people. There’s no point landing in company strength until then. A single platoon split in half will do.”
She turned around to face E Company’s command group surrounding the oval table — her four platoon leaders, Lieutenant Jon Puro, and Sergeant Major Haataja. Dunmoore sat at her accustomed place, with Guthren, Holt, Forenza and Carrie Fennon on either side, observing Salminen’s planning session with great interest.
“Not much cover around the targets,” Haataja said. “Setting up long-range observation posts instead of patrolling will reduce the chances of being spotted.”
“True, but examine the security dispositions. Just like the rendition site on Temar. Everything’s turned inward. They’re not expecting an external threat.”
“Huh.” Command Sergeant Karlo Saari squinted at the image. “You’d figure the local population has its share of thieves, considering the value of the stuff extracted.”
“If I may,” Forenza raised a hand. “The free settlers appeared thoroughly cowed by the mining operations’ management, or rather their enforcers when I briefly passed through a few months ago. Objectors are rumored to be either taken out into the wilderness and shot or pressed into unpaid work. Whatever happened to them, the most vocal opponents supposedly vanished without a trace.”
Haataja nodded.
“So no big incentive to guard against external threats, but I’d still go with observation posts only until shortly before we insert.”
“Fair enough.” Salminen let her eyes roam around the table. “Which platoon gets the honor of being our recon force?”
Saari fished a deck of cards from his battledress tunic.
“How about we decide in the usual manner? Five-card stud? Eridani Hold’em? Old Maid?”
“Since when do we gamble in a Navy ship, Karlo?” Sergeant Major Haataja growled with pretend ferocity. “There are rules about these things.”
An unapologetic grin split Saari’s face.
“Especially when the captain, the first officer, and the coxswain are watching us, right, Talo? Tell you what. In that case, I volunteer my platoon for the recon.”
Salminen and her sergeant major exchanged glances. When the latter nodded, she said, “If the enemy spots you, 1st Platoon pays for the post-mission vodka issue.”
Saari’s grin widened.
“Deal. And what’s our reward if we run a perfect recon?”
“We’ll worry about that blessed event if, by a miracle, it occurs.”
“Challenge accepted, Major.”
“Then you can start by working on your platoon’s insertion.” She looked up at Dunmoore. “With Emma in Kattegat Maru, who should Karlo, and I for that matter, speak with about flight plans.”
“Chief Dwyn.”
“Thank you, sir. Karlo, I want to see your scheme of operations in three hours. Is that enough time?”
“Plenty, Major. Especially if I can get Gus Purdy and Eve Knowles as pilots. They’re used to my ways by now.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged. One last question, Captain. Do we go in as Varangian Company or Commonwealth Army?”
Dunmoore turned to the Colonial Office agent.
“What would you recommend, Ser Forenza, since this is your area of operations?”
He tapped his chin with an extended index finger, eyes
narrowed in thought, then said, “I believe Major Salminen’s unit should display their Army colors, so to speak. It would send a salutary message to others involved in this scheme that the Fleet’s reach now extends deep into the Unclaimed Zone.”
“Even if it’s an unofficial, if not unsanctioned raid well beyond our sphere?” Holt asked.
“Especially because it’s unofficial, Commander. Once word gets out, perhaps my office will have better luck persuading your admirals to extend their reach and ease some of the misery endemic in these parts.”
“Ask not for permission beforehand, but for forgiveness afterward.” The first officer nodded. “We’re getting pretty good at that.”
**
Dunmoore found Salminen and Haataja standing behind 1st Platoon on the hangar deck, listening to Command Sergeant Saari’s mission briefing. The two gunships assigned to carry them, piloted by Saari’s pals Purdy and Knowles, served as a backdrop. Both petty officers stood to one side with Sergeant First Class Maki Mattis, whose half of the platoon would scout Ruby Two as the smaller of the mines was baptized. Saari was taking Ruby One, the larger and more likely target, for himself.
She joined E Company’s leaders, exchanging wordless greetings, and studied the three-dimensional holographic projection of the target areas serving as the briefing’s centerpiece. Though Saari had laid out his plan for Salminen and Dunmoore’s approval a few hours earlier, she still found it interesting to hear how that translated into clear instructions for the troops.
“Questions?” He asked after concluding.
As everyone expected, Corporal Vallin, E Company’s resident critic and barracks lawyer raised a fist.
“If we stumble across one of them motherfucking slavers and kill him without alerting anyone, does that still count as being spotted by the enemy? It would be a shame if that means you pay for the hooch.”
An evil smile crept up Saari’s face.
“What makes you figure I’ll be the only one paying? This is a team effort. All for one, one for all and if one fucks up, everyone coughs up a few creds. But let’s ask the Major. What’s the verdict on Vallin’s question, sir?”
“Knife ‘em silently before they raise the alarm, and it’s as if nothing ever happened.”
“Thank you, sir. Any other matters bothering you Corporal Vallin?”
“It’s about the rules of engagement once we raid the target.”
“And what of them?”
“Will the major let us use bug hunt ROEs on account we can clean up this place?”
“Nope. Even slavers are entitled to a quick drumhead court-martial before we shove them through an open airlock without a pressure suit. Those that surrender, I mean. If they won’t surrender, fill your boots, but don’t waste ammo. Two taps to the chest and one to the head.”
“Mozambique Drill it is, Sarge. And if they’re not human?”
“Shoot until they stop twitching. Any more pertinent questions?” He let his eyes roam over the assembled soldiers, then glanced at his platoon sergeant and both pilots. When they shook their heads, Saari clapped his gauntleted hands. “Helmets on, button up and get into your assigned shuttles. It’s almost midnight in the target area, and I want us settled into the observation posts before local first light.”
As the soldiers of 1st Platoon dispersed, Saari turned his eyes on Salminen.
“Permission to execute, sir?”
She nodded once.
“Make the Scandia Regiment proud, Karlo.”
“Yes, sir.” Saari saluted, pivoted on his armored heels, and jogged toward the nearest gunship. He took a last glance around, listened to something over the platoon push, and then vanished up the aft ramp.
Dunmoore nudged Salminen and nodded toward the hangar’s inner airlock.
“Time to clear the deck.” When she saw the expression in Salminen’s eyes as the soldier watched the gunships prepare to leave, she said, “Saari will do just fine. I’ve seen Marines with twenty years of starship duty less confident about a detached mission.”
“I’m not worried about Karlo lacking confidence, Captain.” She and Haataja fell into step beside Dunmoore. “My concern is him suffering from the contrary — overconfidence. Something tells me the moment Karlo spots our people, he’ll be looking for a way to rescue them single-handed while we’re still getting ready to launch.”
“The major’s concern is valid,” Haataja said. “Karlo’s taken to this lifestyle like no one else in the company, and that’s a double-edged dagger. He fancies himself the equal of any Marine sergeant on starship duty, and he’s not far off. But I’m sure his common sense will kick in before he tries to tackle the entire mission alone.”
“And if not, Sergeant Mattis will find a way to kick his ass by remote control,” Salminen added with a dry chuckle.
— Forty-Nine —
The two gunships flew nap of the earth for a long time, approaching their target areas from a considerable distance to minimize the chances of detection. With no moon, Hestia’s cloud-flecked sky was dark enough to hide the stealth-coated aircraft from prying eyes, if any roamed the veld beneath their wings. At the prearranged waypoint, the gunships parted company, each reaching for its destination via a network of shallow glens and canyons carved out eons ago by long-gone rivers.
Shortly afterward, a faint glow outlining a distant hillock’s crest alerted Sergeant Saari and Petty Officer Purdy their destination lay close by. The latter immediately cut his airspeed until they moved no faster than an autonomous urban transport pod while Saari searched for the designated landing zone using the visual component of the craft’s targeting sensor. It turned the ground’s inky black into an eerie greenish hell populated by strange plants and even stranger nocturnal creatures who froze in place rather than run at the approach of something they couldn’t comprehend.
“There.” Saari’s gloved finger touched the controls, giving birth to a targeting pip on Purdy’s navigation display. “Stick with a hover when we’re over the spot. Not too high. I’ll send Vallin and his winger to make sure the ground will take your bird.”
While the gunship slowed to a crawl, Saari climbed out of the gunner’s seat and entered the aft compartment where half of his platoon waited, helmet visors closed, weapons stuck between the knees.
“Rurik, you and Andres get ready. Sensors show nothing but local life forms within visual range.”
“Roger that, Sarge.” Vallin and his fire team partner released the seat restraints and stood. Their dark, menacing armored shells seemed massive in the small enclosed space.
“Don’t land on anything that bites. Damned critters around here look mean enough to chew through triple-laminate.”
The red light bathing the aft compartment died away, leaving the soldiers in total darkness. Then, the aft ramp opened onto silent, scrub-covered hills, velvety dark beneath a partially star-speckled sky.
When the sensation of forward movement ceased altogether, Purdy said, “I’m one and a half meters above what my sensors say is the ground. You can hop off at any time.”
Vallin gave him thumbs up, then he and Private Bergstrom vanished into the night. They landed with a faint rustle of crushed foliage but made no other sounds. A minute passed, then two before Saari heard a soft rapping against the ramp’s underside. Three knocks to signal the surface was adequate for landing. Purdy settled on the ground so gently it took the soldiers a moment to realize they’d landed.
With a sweeping hand gesture, Saari sent the rest of his half-platoon to join the corporal, then turned to wave at Purdy before disappearing as well. The gunship’s aft ramp closed seconds after Saari cleared it and the craft lifted off. It was headed for a box canyon just over thirty kilometers away where it and the one flown by Petty Officer Knowles would be undetectable while they waited for the rest of E Company or to give 1st Platoon air support in case the recon went totally pear-shaped.
Saari knew the same scene would play out with Sergeant First Class Mattis’ half o
f the platoon about twenty kilometers to the south. But since they were under tight emcon, he wouldn’t know what was happening at Ruby Two until one of them broke radio silence and either sent confirmation of the Fennon family’s location to Iolanthe or reported that the mission was compromised. Even then, it would be no more than a hard-to-trace microburst transmission.
Using only hand signals, Saari sent his soldiers toward a crest outlined by a faint orange glow. Anyone not equipped to see through the darkness wouldn’t notice them creeping through the scrub in two section columns a few meters apart, weapons at the ready, heads swiveling ceaselessly from left to right.
The Hestia night was almost halfway over before Saari, flanked by a pair of troopers, crept up the hill’s reverse slope, slithering between thorny bushes, looking for the perfect spot to place his observation post. After a few false tries, he found a natural depression surrounded by native vegetation that gave a decent and more importantly hidden view of Ruby One.
He left his soldiers to set themselves up for the first watch before reversing course to join the others in the low-lying thicket of trees they’d chosen as a hide. The night air, though chilly, didn’t penetrate their armor but even if it had, the bite would remind Saari and his troopers of home, a place so far away Scandia’s sun wasn’t visible to the naked eye from this backwater planet.
**
Dunmoore found Tatiana Salminen and Jon Puro hunched over their tea cups, lost in quiet conversation, when she entered the otherwise empty wardroom at two bells in the morning watch, or oh-five-hundred as both soldiers would call it. They glanced up and said, in unison, “Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, Tatiana, Jon. Can’t sleep either?” Dunmoore drew a cup of coffee from the urn and took a small, dainty pastry from the overnight tray.
Salminen grimaced.
“Fretting about my people when they’re on the surface by themselves, and I’m up here while we’re operating under full emcon, never gets easier. Please join us.”
