by PJ Strebor
“Take five.”
As one, they slumped to the ground, bone-weary groans echoing around the tunnel.
Nathan sat to one side of the group, alone in his thoughts. The if, if, ifs of his mad endeavor kept intruding. One if at a time, he chided himself.
Doc Ning had administered shots to everyone before they left the embassy, but Nathan’s fast pace had worn down his friends. However, with time as their enemy, they had to make contact with…
“Are we there yet?”
Lucky’s trademark comment gleaned a few weary chuckles.
“How much further, do you think?” CC asked.
“I have a strong suspicion we’ll know fairly soon. I’m sorry, but we must keep moving.”
Uncomplaining, they dragged themselves to their feet. The journey continued for another thirty minutes, until the confines of the tunnel opened into an enormous grotto, its high rugged walls disappearing into the darkness. After a dozen paces, the pain between his shoulder blades flared.
He stopped so suddenly that Lucky plowed into the back of him.
“Nathan, wadda ya—”
“Shhh.” Nathan held a finger to his lips so everyone could see him.
Stepping forward, he placed his lamp on the ground, slowly released his pack and weapons webbing, held it out to his side, and let it drop.
“Disarm, slowly,” he said to his team, “and follow my lead.”
Taking two steps away from his weapons, he dropped to his knees and interlaced his fingers behind his head. Danger hid in the darkness, all around them. Nathan hoped that these were the people he came in search of.
Slowly, grey shapes formed from the pitch black, steadily materializing into a small group of stern-faced, sword-armed Cimmerians.
“Outlanders aren’t welcomed here,” one said, pointing a broad sword at Nathan’s head.
“Ensign Nathan Telford, Monitor Corps.” His name got an immediate and, he hoped, positive response. “Ah, take me to your leader.”
***
By the time Nathan’s group arrived at their destination, all were dead on their feet. They were shunted into a small room, with a table and chairs, and the smell of fresh coffee brewing. Nathan poured the hot, dark liquid into grubby mugs, passed them around, then waited.
Presently an elderly Cimmerian appeared, took in the group, then settled his gaze onto Nathan.
“You’re a bit off course aren’t you, Telford?”
“No, Gareth, I’m right where I need to be.”
“What do we do with them, General?” a rebel guard asked.
He stroked a tuft of greying fur at the side of his face. “Keep the rest here. Do not harm them unless they give you no choice.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Come with me,” the general said.
“Stay put. And don’t do anything stupid.” Nathan stared at Lucky, who held up his hands in compliance.
He followed Gareth through a maze of tunnels, coming eventually to a heavily guarded doorway. “General” Gareth passed through unhindered, with Nathan on his heels.
In the center of the room was a smooth, dark wooden table, with various chips and marks showing its age. At the head of the table a Cimmerian woman about Gareth’s age examined computer readouts. She set her gaze on Nathan as he approached.
“So, this is Telford?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the general said.
Nathan experienced a small discomfort from her unblinking scrutiny. This was an undeniably formidable woman.
“So, Ensign Telford, what can I do for you?
Good, straight to the point. Your majesty?
“You have the advantage of me, Ma’am.”
A short quirk of a smile touched her lips. Standing, she offered her hand.
“Felicia Ambrose.”
“Nathan.”
She offered him a seat. Gareth remained standing, to her right hand. Exactly where he belonged, Nathan wagered.
“Ah, Ma’am—”
“Your majesty,” Gareth corrected.
“Pardon?”
“Queen Felicia is the rightful heir to the kingdom of Cimmeria.”
“I bet King Everett wouldn’t be too happy to hear that.”
“Everett is a pretender to the throne, stolen from the queen by treachery at the conclusion of our war of independence against the Bretish.”
“General Sobers, I think we can leave the history lesson for another time.” She turned her gaze back to Nathan. “So, what can I do for you, Nathan?”
He had many questions to ask, not the least of which concerned his father. That would have to wait for another time.
“I’m a newcomer to your world. An outlander, as you’d say. But in my short time here I have witnessed poverty, brutality and rule by the sword. A regime of decadence and waste by those who indulge their whims while the people live in poverty. Respectfully, it’s time for a people’s uprising.”
The rightful heir to the Cimmerian throne smiled ruefully.
“We’re working on that. In a year, perhaps six months, we may be in a position to—”
“No, Your Majesty. Now!”
Gareth moved closer to his monarch, his hand resting on his sword hilt.
For her part, Felicia smiled in an all too knowing way that set Nathan’s teeth on edge.
“Your Majesty, perhaps you haven’t been paying attention to recent events,” Nathan said, “so let me recap. The King Charles Battle Platform has fallen into enemy hands. I suspect the involvement of the Pruessen Empire, but that is speculation at this time. Either way, no matter who has orchestrated this attack, it amounts to the same conclusion: invasion.”
“That sounds like more speculation, Telford.”
“Call me Nathan. And yes, General Sobers, speculation is all I have at the moment. Yet I can’t help wondering who would wish to hijack the KC and attack the Bretish fleet in orbit. An outstanding feat of subversion, to be sure, but to what end? If not invasion, then what? A hit-and-run raid, perhaps? Steal as much trephine crystal as they can and leave?” For the first time something else occurred to him. “And, why stop there? Once they’ve stripped this planet bare, why not finish the job?”
“What do you mean?” Felicia asked.
“You have three major mining sites, all located on the same continent. Three torpedoes with high-yield nuclear warheads could contaminate your only resource for the next millennium. And kill millions of your citizens.”
Nathan reclined his chair, waiting for the full impact of his words to sink in.
The two Cimmerians exchanged a mute conversation.
“Scorched earth?” General Sobers ventured.
“Why not. If they took every bulk freight currently in orbit, loaded them to the brim with ore and nuked the rest, it would result, for them, in a two-way benefit. Firstly, they top up their reserves for their ongoing wars. Secondly, they strike a crippling blow, not only to Cimmeria, but to the entire League of Allied Worlds.”
“Such speculation could be dangerously in error, Nathan.” Felicia appeared to be sitting on a rickety fence.
“What do you think, Gareth?”
“From a purely tactical standpoint, it’s a sound proposition. But I’d want proof before proceeding.”
“Nathan?”
He took a deep breath. Could they be right? His proposition had only a gut feeling, with the unmistakable stench of Pruessen involvement adhered to it.
“General Sobers is right. I have no proof, apart from the obvious points I’ve raised.” He rubbed his bump. “And please forgive my abruptness. I’m a soldier, not a diplomat.”
“All right, Nathan, I’ll return to my original question. What do you want?”
Nathan smiled at his forthcoming audacity. “I want an attack force, strong enough to breach the security of the royal compound.” Leaning back, he forced a clumsy smile, and shrugged.
Both Cimmerians stared at
him as if he was mad.
I’m getting used to that look.
Felicia cleared her throat as if trying to make logical sense out of gibberish.
“Storm the royal compound. To what end?”
Nathan felt a stirring of surprise that she asked.
“It is my intention to break into the compound, steal the king’s Kamora fighter, use it to gain access to the KC Battle Platform, and try to stop what I believe is the prequel to a limited, but no less destructive, invasion of your world.”
Gareth shook his head and chuckled. “Damn, Telford, you’ve got a set of balls on you. Meaning no disrespect, Your Majesty.”
“None taken, Gareth. And you’re right: he has gonads the size of locally grown coconuts.” She considered him for a time before saying, “All right, Nathan. Convince me.”
CHAPTER 54
The landing boat approached from the south at high speed, her keel brushing against the tall grass.
“Pretty good flying, for a Bret,” Lucky said.
Nathan nodded.
The LB came to rest outside the compound, discharged its cargo and took off, heading to the southern horizon. Nathan, Lucky and CC went out to welcome the newcomers.
Admiral Barrington had offered him a company of Royal Marines with a senior officer in charge. Nathan admired the fighting qualities of the Bret marines, but for his plan to stand a chance, he needed exponents of a different style of mayhem. His special relationship with the Cimmerians sealed the deal.
Nathan greeted the Nihonese warmly and introduced them around.
“So Ken, did your captain give you any grief?”
“He tried to stop us, Nathan,” Yuki said.
“So,” Tommy continued, “we told him to get stuffed.”
The assembled group laughed, except for the two officers standing back from the rest. Nathan recognized Lieutenant Commander Hatori from the Kyushu Maru, but had only a vague memory of the young man beside him.
“Welcome all,” Nathan said. “It would be best if we moved inside now.” He pointed skyward. “There are eyes everywhere.”
As the group of young men and women strolled into the cavern, joking and laughing with the Athenians, Nathan wondered how well they would do in the forthcoming engagement. They were better exponents of the sword than he, but how would they translate practice into facing an enemy that outmassed them by two to one? How would they handle the blood, the death? How many of them will I get killed?
Nathan shook the unpleasant prospect aside as he approached the remaining officers.
“Commander Hatori, welcome.” They shook hands.
“Like everyone else, I’m out of uniform, so you might as well call me Jin.”
“Very well, Jin.” He turned to the other. “And you are?”
“Lieutenant Emile Moreau, on detached duty from the battleship . Sir.”
“Nathan,” he corrected.
He recalled where he had seen Emile before. “You were on the King Charles with Commodore Roussel, were you not?”
“Yes, ah, Nathan. There for the inspection and later to learn about the computer system.”
Nathan blinked. “So, you’re the computer expert I requested? The best and most experienced person with regard to the workings of the Polyphemus computer network?”
The young officer’s face drooped, then hardened moderately as his chin rose. “Outside of a small group of Bretish personnel, there are no experts on the workings of the Poly. I happened to be the closest thing available at the time.”
“Jin, what do you think?”
“As computer systems officer, I consider myself fairly proficient at my job. Emile is light years ahead of me, both in practical applications and the theoretical. Don’t let his age fool you, Nathan, he is quite brilliant.”
Yes, fair point. Tuck your prejudice aside; you have a job to do.
“Very well.” He noted the luggage stacked behind the newcomers. “Is all that yours?”
They nodded.
“Let’s get it inside.” Nathan helped Jin with a large container and reached for a backpack sitting beside it.
“I’ll take that,” Emile snapped, wrenching it from Nathan’s grasp.
“Please yourself.”
His Prep warned him with a tiny spark of caution.
CHAPTER 55
Nathan attempted his regular meditation exercise to calm his roiling mind. The questions, constant questions, blocked his efforts. Then the nagging doubt intervened. Could his insane scheme actually work? So many unanswered questions, so many potential pitfalls, so many lives depending on his judgment.
Am I leading them to their deaths? For nothing?
He sat on the edge of his cot and slapped the heels of his hands against his head. It only resulted in antagonizing his growing headache. He slipped his shoes on and made his way to the makeshift mess. Stop thinking, stop thinking.
In the mess, the urn had turned cold. Nathan hunted around until he found a large bottle missing its label. Sniffing the contents, he winced. Wine, perhaps?
The wine tasted as if it had been strained through dirty socks. He was on his second mug when the buzz caught up with him. Peripherally, he spied someone walk past the opening, stop and turn back.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Gareth asked.
“Wish I could.”
Gareth joined him, picked up the bottle, took a sniff and grimaced.
“This stuff will kill you.”
“Want some?”
Gareth smiled and found a mug. They sat for some time without talking. Nathan rubbed his temples.
“Hard to sleep before a battle, isn’t it?
Nathan nodded. Now or never.
“Will you tell me about my father’s time on Cimmeria?”
Gareth stared at him. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“The records of his time here have been classified.”
“Very well.” Gareth took a long sip of the bitter wine. “Our war of independence had been underway for ten bloody years. We knew if we could hold out, we would win. With opposition growing against the war among League members, it was just a matter of time before popular opinion and political necessity brought the war to an end.
“The Bretish government of the time knew it as well. With ruthless determination to maintain their hold over our mineral rights, they appointed a new governor to change things on Cimmeria.
“I count many Brets as friends. They’re not a bad lot. But Marcus Davenport was anything but a friend to Cimmeria. A political appointee, granted absolute power over our world. His handling of what he described as the Cimmerian question became as brutal an exercise in misused power as has ever happened in Bretish history.
“Detention without trial. Internment camps. Near slavery of the population. This must sound familiar to you.”
It did. Nathan nodded.
“Davenport’s absolute control extended to the military. He ignored any entreaties toward a peaceful compromise, and crushed suspected dissidence without mercy. Then he decided to send a message to the loyalists who were fighting for their home world.
“Davenport had the navy bomb the town of Aldershot. Razed it to the ground. Why? He suspected it to be a rebel enclave. No proof, suspicion only. Six hundred civilians killed.
“My God.”
“The rebels stepped up their efforts. In response, Davenport bombed another town, and another and another. He appeared to have little regard for the mounting civilian death toll.
“During this period the monitor Brazen arrived. Athens’ contribution to the war effort. Like all other League worlds, opposition to the war had risen to fever pitch within the Republic.
“Wishing to spread the blame, Davenport ordered Brazen to launch her fighters against a suspected rebel town. Windermere. On this particular day, Brazen’s helm officer commanded her fighter squadron. His name, as you may have guessed, was Lieutenant Commander Lucas Tel
ford.”
Nathan could imagine, in his mind’s eye, every interlinking detail.
“Having served on Cimmeria, on temporary assignment with Athenian marines, he knew of the corruption endemic to the Bretish administration. He asked for target verification. Brazen’s skipper, not a bad fellow from what I’ve heard, tried to get it but was ordered to proceed with the bombing by the commander of the coalition forces.
“He passed the order on to your father.” Gareth snorted. “Any other officer would follow orders, but Lucas had doubts. He had no verifiable proof that Windermere posed a threat, and having seen the indiscriminate bombings of civilians, he took pause. Lucas ordered his squadron to maintain their position, and overflew the town, searching for proof of alleged rebel movement. Hovering his fighter above the town square, he invited fire. No anti-aircraft fire came from Windermere. Townsfolk and children gathered in the square and waved at him. It could have been a trick, but it wasn’t. Somehow he knew it. Lucas returned to his squadron and told them of his suspicions. Such was the level of respect they held him in, the other pilots formed a pact, refusing to proceed with what was a morally questionable order. The coalition commander became furious and ordered Brazen’s captain to fire a nuke — a nuke, mind you — at the town. Her captain refused outright.”
“As he should. Orbital bombardment is outlawed under the Oceanian Accord.”
Gareth nodded. “The story could have ended there, but Davenport ordered artillery brought up to level the town.” Gareth shook his head. “Lucas and his squadron buzzed the artillery, sending out calls to cease their movement toward Windermere. They refused. Now, this is the fun part.
“Your father lands his fighter in the town square. There’s an image somewhere of him standing on the wing of his fighter, addressing the townsfolk. It’s quite iconic. Anyway, he pleads with the people, telling them what’s coming their way, and tells them to evacuate the town. Records of what he said are mixed, but the results are not. The people believed him.
