Goddess of War (The Jessica Keller Chronicles Book 4)

by Blaze Ward

  Next to him was a compact Korean woman, maybe a meter–fifty–five, meter–sixty, who probably outweighed Dashyl despite only coming up to her mouth. But that looked like it was all muscle. Probably gristle and bile, too, considering the uniform patches meant Heavy Armor. Lumbering turtles who could never find anything without her scouts going out and hunting it down for the big jobbers to shoot.

  Loud, stinky, and annoying. And their tanks were worse.

  In the middle of the group was a woman who looked like a native of Zanzibar: tall, chocolate, and athletic. Fierce. She was a civilian, but somehow managed to look like a unicorn in a herd of donkeys rather than a dandelion in a bouquet of roses. Considering all the uniforms, her presence said something very interesting, Dash just didn’t ken what yet.

  The others were staff and support, like the other big marine Centurion, almost the size of his boss, plus a couple of bodyguards trying to look innocuous and paranoid at the same time.

  The only one that looked halfway interesting was the bald guy with the ginger handlebar mustache. He was tall and skinny, just like her. Keller had introduced him simply as Gaucho. And he was wearing a cowboy hat similar to what her unit wore, which was absolutely not standard issue on a starship. Plus, the hat was beat to hell, so it was something he wore a lot.

  To top it all off, he was the crazy sombitch that flew that crimson DropShip.

  And he was kinda cute.

  Ξ

  Jessica couldn’t help but smile at the image. Fourth Saxon Legion’s Legate had the erect carriage and bowed legs of a lifetime spent in the saddle. Ten thousand years of star flight, and the Republic of Aquitaine still fielded an entire legion of men and women riding horses into battle.

  And not just horse infantry, the kind that used the big beasts merely as transport.

  No, Fourth Saxon was an actual, dedicated Hussar, a term she’d had to dig up and translate from the ancient texts Suvi had once saved from being lost forever.

  But for what Jessica had in mind, they were exactly what she wanted.

  The Legate sat across from her now, with the rest of the two staffs mixed randomly, rather than fussing over pack hierarchy and seniority issues. That was a good sign. And one of the reasons she had picked Fourth Saxon in the first place.

  Jessica let the man study her for a few moments. Ground forces ranks were not immediately comparable to the RAN, but the two of them were nominally peers, and all of his Cohort Centurions would be roughly equivalent to her Command Centurions.

  But there would be no doubt of his place in the pecking order. The orders she had in her pocket declared her Margrave, and Wakely Palsgrave for the coming mission. Military Commander of the System and Civilian Governor.

  Legate Declan Burdge would be in command of his own troops, and the attached heavy armor element, once they were on the ground and in the field.

  Jessica knew, from studying his extensive campaign record, that she could trust his judgement. He needed to know he could trust her. That was why she had flown down here, to his turf, rather than ordering him to call upon her aboard Auberon, as nice as that might have been.

  Apparently, he saw something he liked.

  “Fleet Centurion,” Burdge drawled with a relaxed nod. His glance around to his people let them know, as well.

  “Legate,” Jessica answered. She knew all of the faces in the room. She turned to look at the one that probably didn’t belong, considering the rest, before she returned to Burdge.

  “Should Patrol Centurion Mitja be here?” Jessica asked the man.

  Jessica watched the woman blink in surprise.

  “Dash is Scout Patrol, First Cohort, Fleet Centurion,” the man answered. “She’ll be the tip of the spear when we get there. Wherever there is.”

  Jessica knew that. She already had memorized the names and faces of all of the three Cohort’s Patrol Centurions, as well as the leaders of LVIII Armored Ala Heavy, starting with Cohort Centurion Rebekah Kim, who had ended up on the other side of Vo Arlo from where Jessica sat now.

  Good enough.

  Jessica nodded.

  “For operational security, there will be a full briefing packet available once the Legion is loaded aboard Abbotsford and we transition to JumpSpace,” Jessica said. “For now, let me say that we’ll be hitting and occupying an Imperial world for an extended period. The terrain is rough, and I expect the local security forces to fade into the bush and undertake a guerilla war.”

  The faces around her had been serious. Now they were intense, almost images graven in stone.

  “Infantry is good for holding ground, and we’ll have some with us aboard Auberon,” she continued. “But there are no roads in most places, and a great many trees and mountains, so wheeled and tracked Heavy Scouts and Rapid Assault forces would be a sub–optimal solution.”

  She took a moment to fix each of them with a hard smile.

  “This place was made for horses.”

  “I would have to check, Commander,” the woman at the left end of the table spoke up with a soft tone and a beguiling smile. “But I don’t remember Fourth Saxon ever operating with heavy armor before.”

  Jessica smiled back at the implied dig at what would be the Fourth Cohort when it was formally attached. First Cohort Centurion Eko Tri was Primus Pilus for the Fourth Saxon, literally First Spear. She was the field commander for the Legion. LVIII Heavy would come under her orders.

  She was a small woman, lush with curves and black hair, and a debutante manner, according to the personnel files. But she could make dock–workers blush and teach them new profanities when she was pissed, according to some of the people Jessica had asked.

  It might be fun to watch her and Rebekah angry at one another. Jessica already knew from personal experience that the tank commander was abrasive and opinionated on topics she considered herself expert in.

  And less than happy about being attached to a horse unit, herself.

  Oil and water. Maybe with fire thrown in.

  “It has only happened once, Primus Pilus,” Jessica fired back, just as sweetly. “One hundred and twenty–six years ago, for a single campaign season.”

  “It seems such an unnatural combination,” Tri smiled politely at Rebekah Kim.

  As if putting honey on the blade somehow made the razor cuts less painful.

  Jessica could almost hear Kim grind her teeth, but the woman kept her peace. She and Rebekah had already discussed in good detail what was likely to happen at this meeting.

  Fourth Saxon were an ancient, proud, independent, and very hard–headed group.

  “On the contrary, Tri,” Jessica fired back, just as nice. “It makes perfect sense. The cavalry runs them to ground. They will be dug in like ticks on the back of a hound, so using artillery to take them down will be an expensive and time consuming undertaking. But a Squadron of sixty–six millimeter particle cannons, sitting on a distant ridge, will be just the way to kick the door in.”

  The Primus Pilus subsided after a moment with a nod, allowing Jessica the point. Fourth Saxon could be prickly, but they were all professionals. Kim managed not to say anything that would require smoothing out later.

  Jessica let the air bleed out of the room for a moment before she continued.

  “I wanted to introduce you to two members of my staff who will be working in close concert with Fourth Saxon in the field,” she continued, pointing at the two men in question.

  “Gaucho is the pilot of Cayenne, the DropShip that brought me down here today,” she said. “You’re going to work with my Flight Deck engineers to reconfigure her to haul horses into hot drops and provide close support and resupply.”

  It wasn’t a question. She didn’t want them to think this was optional. She had promised Gaucho more excitement on this campaign.

  “Is he any good?” the Legate fired back, ignoring everyone but her.

  “How’s about you bring all eight of your pilots off Abbotsford and the whole gang off Achaemenes,” Gaucho smiled
back. “And we’ll have a rodeo to see. M’okay?”

  Jessica grinned slightly. Gaucho could fend for himself. There might be one or two pilots in those groups that could match him for pure flying skill. And maybe another couple that matched him for crazy.

  But those weren’t the same pilots. Gaucho was Gaucho.

  The Legate saw it as well. He grinned knowingly back. The Primus Pilus wasn’t as convinced, nor was Mitja. They’d probably have to find out the hard way. Jessica made a note to have Gaucho pack extra air–sickness bags. She wondered if horses puked.

  “This is the other,” Jessica continued, pointing. “Centurion Vo Arlo. He’ll be handling tactical communications to the fleet and air elements. I want him trained up as a full cavalry trooper so he can be on point with your teams.”

  Jessica had made Arlo wear his formal dress uniform today, instead of his field uniform. There were two medals that got everyone’s attention when they turned to look at him. The Republic Cross was the second highest medal the Republic of Aquitaine Navy awarded. It could only be won in combat, and was frequently posthumous. It was also known as the First Lord’s medal, since that luminary had to personally sign off on the award.

  It was the other one that she wanted them to notice. Rather than a simple ribbon they might not identify at first glance, he was wearing the full medal for the Order of Baudin, the second highest civilian award the Republic offered. The smaller version was a metallic red circle with Henri Baudin’s tiny face etched on, hanging from a green ribbon. Today’s version, the larger, formal one affixed to his chest, was the size of Arlo’s palm, and Baudin’s smiling face could be clearly recognized.

  It was not a common thing to see in military circles. The Legate might be awarded one as a reward for a lifetime of service when he retired. That was one of two ways, and usually the more common.

  Dashyl Mitja broke the ice.

  “So how did you get the Order of Baudin, Arlo?” she asked laconically.

  Jessica watched Vo size up the woman. She didn’t flinch, even though the look on his face might have been used to polish stone. Nobody at this table was likely to flinch.

  “Shooting pretty girls,” Vo finally replied in a heavy voice.

  Not the way Jessica would have described Arlo’s adventures on Quinta, but probably closer to how he actually felt about the affair. She’d have to work on that.

  Because she was already looking that direction, Jessica caught Kim’s glance at the big man, and the small smile and nod that accompanied it.

  “Can you ride a horse?” Mitja countered. It wasn’t hostile, but it was certainly their measure of worth.

  “Not today, Patrol Centurion,” he said simply. “I will by the time it becomes necessary.”

  Nothing more, just that simple promise. The riders in the room all nodded to themselves and turned to Jessica at the same time.

  “Can you depart in seven days?” Jessica asked the Legate.

  His face got a mischievous look to it.

  “Four, if’n you’re in a hurry, Fleet Centurion,” he replied with a long drawl.

  “Make it six, then,” she said. “LVIII Heavy is already mounted up, but we’ll need to lay in a freighter full of hay to keep Fourth Saxon happy. And then we’re going hunting, ladies and gentlemen.”

  Chapter VII

  Date of the Republic March 3, 396 SC Auberon. Ladaux System

  The wee little whistles were really the silliest part of the whole thing, if Moirrey had to pick out just one. Not that she prolly coulda.

  One whole engineering bay had been converted to what her team called the playroom, twenty–five meters long and nearly half that wide, emptied to the bulkheads, and then filled back in with an honest–to–goodness toy train set. Filled with wee, little trains going hither and yon at her beck and call as she sat in one corner over a control board that looked lots like a sound board in a dance hall.

  It were hard not to giggle maniacally at the power. Almost as good as getting out the glitter gun.

  Still, time to get back to work.

  Moirrey shut everything down and watched the four–centimeter engines and cars come to a sudden halt in their little town. In the real world, they’d like to coast a ways afore friction caught up.

  She’d hadta had a couple of her girls work out a computer program to practice the fine art of getting up a head of steam and letting a stack of cars go softly. It were kinda like the ancient sport o’ curling, but without the ice or the brooms. And way bigger booms when your rocks collided.

  And damned if Oz didn’t have seven of the top ten scores. It were not fair how good that man was.

  Still, she was the undisputed master of stripping and rebuilding the prototype ion–electric locomotive they had built in the next bay over. Nobody could touch her times. Not even Oz.

  Moirrey stood up and studied the layout of the track one last time. Her team had built it from drawings she had worked up, but only she an’ her boss, Command Engineering Centurion Ozolinsh, Oz, had seen the actual super–secret airborne pictures of the place, to know that the big switching yard were more than just a fancy.

  They’d all finds out soon enough. Right sure.

  Then the funs would begin.

  Ξ

  Outside, Engineering were in a fine pickle this morning when Moirrey emerged from her break and put her officerness back on. Yeoman Robles had that look on her face.

  Moirrey walked up and tried to estimate it, based purely on the amount of fidgeting her assistant couldn’t contain.

  It were a mixed bag. Hard to tell.

  “Oz?” she hazarded a guess. If it were big, Oz woulda pinged her, but he might wait fer now and have Saana standing right here.

  “Digger,” the woman replied, her short red hair bobbing.

  Crap. Nothing Moirrey could foist off on anyone else. Oz had foisted Digger and his men off on her in the first place.

  “Here or there?” Moirrey asked.

  “He would greatly appreciate your calling on him in Marine Bay Six at your earliest convenience,” Saana repeated, mimicking Digger’s tone almost perfectly, if up nearly an octave.

  Six? They must be playing with the big toys.

  Still, Oz had put her in charge of it. And Lady Keller were counting on her to make everytin’ smooth–like.

  “Right,” Moirrey said. “No time like d’present. Let’s go bug Digger and make him buy us beer.”

  “Right behind you, sir,” Saana smiled as Moirrey started moving. Yeoman Robles were at least half a head taller, and it were all legs, so she could keep up, even when Moirrey’s shorter legs were churning in a blur.

  Marine Bay Six were huge. And a mess. It took her stopping four of Digger’s people at different times and getting re–directed afore she found the man.

  She shoulda knowed to find him in the John Henry. It were his baby. All the other heavy earthmoving equipment in the bay come in a distant second to his first love.

  “Digger,” she yelled as she came through the hatch in the big boring machine’s butt.

  Another one of Digger’s people stuck a head out of an engine room and waved her closer.

  Digger had apparently heard her coming. He managed to get out of the engine compartment he had been face down in and was standing by the time she and Saana entered the compartment.

  She smiled up at him. Unlike her tinyness, he were average height. And average build. And average looks. And off–the–charts smart, like 3D puzzle–box solver.

  All kinds a’sexy.

  “Senior Centurion Wolanski,” Moirrey oozed sweetness all over his name. “You rang?”

  “Very funny, Moirrey,” he said, grabbing a towel off a counter and wiping something off of his hands.

  Better not asking.

  “I appreciate operational security,” he continued, trying to act serious–like. “But we’re all loaded and not going anywhere. You could tell us what kind of terrain we’ll be encountering so we can change out the cutting face on
the boring machine.”

  Old bulldog, slobbered–all–over–bone. Still, he had managed to go two whole days since the last time he asked.

  “Not my place, Digger,” Moirrey replied with a grin. “Lady Keller wants to tell everyone at once, and not all the cowfolk gots loaded yet.”

  “It will take a week to tune, Moirrey,” he pleaded unconvincingly.

  “And it’ll take at least four weeks ta gets there, Digger,” she fired back.

  “But you know where we’re headed?” he got a sly tone to his voice. “What we’ll be doing?”

  “Building roads, bridges, and tunnels, Digger,” she let some of her exasperation show. “Is why we loaded a whole Construction Ala in addition ta all the marines we’d normally take. More’n’at, I’m no at liberty to discuss. Anything else?”

  He still had that sly look. That up–to–no–good look she recognized from th’mirror.

  “Well,” he drawled sideways, all relaxed and circumspect alls of sudden–like. “I was about to head for chow and maybe a pint. Care to join me and discuss other matters?”

  Moirrey thought about letting that one go.

  Still…

  “Oh, what the hell,” she replied, turning to Saana. “Hungry?”

  “Oh, no, sir,” Saana said quickly, stepping back out the door and half turning. “I have a bunch of paperwork that needs doing.”

  “Paperwork, Robles?”

  “Aye, sir,” Saana smirked at her just before vanishing from sight. “With you officers partying all the time, someone’s gotta keep things running.”

  And then she were gone.

  And all Digger’s folks were suddenly clustered around the hole in the floor, all serious and intense–like. Totally ignoring the two of them.

  What were he up to?

  Chapter VIII

  Date of the Republic March 4, 396 CAX Shivaji. Ladaux System