by Blaze Ward
“Very good. Put Bösch on,” he continued.
Shivaji’s Executive Officer was there a moment after that.
“Go ahead,” she said quietly.
“Since nobody has jumped out, Cruz, I’m going to take a nap and then relieve you in a couple of hours. If they were coming, it would have been smarter to hit us first, to turn our attention skyward, then go after the ground when nobody could help.”
“My thought too, Commander,” she replied.
Alber’ smiled. His instincts for battle were always good. Nothing spoke to him of need today.
Tomorrow, an Imperial Fleet might come calling, might come a–courting. Leopard seals hunted Imperial penguins just as happily as they did Chinstraps. One of these days, Fribourg would discover that, hopefully the hard way.
Chapter LI
Imperial Founding: 174/07/18. Aquitaine’s New Starport On Thuringwell
No battle plan survives contact with the enemy.
It was an ancient maxim.
Dieter had spent a career trying to prove it wrong by out–planning, out–working, out–paranoiding the other man. If the eventualities were covered by a contingency, one was not surprised. One simply evolved the attack by following a new wrinkle already spelled out in detail on page twenty–seven. Or page nine hundred and six.
Aquitaine’s security teams for this base had not demonstrated a particularly high level of paranoid sophistication in his three days of observation. Dieter had to put this current impasse down to bad luck and not bad planning.
Sgt. Stoltberg was dead. There was no doubt whatsoever about that.
Private Killinger had not been all that impressive of a soldier under his command. The best Dieter could say about the man now was that his death had saved Dieter Haussmann’s life, however incidentally.
Perhaps Dieter would write him up as a hero later. The man might have a family somewhere that would appreciate that.
One moment Stoltberg was there, auto–carbine up and taking the occasional shot as the group closed on the next dragon.
The next, a flash of light and pain that left Dieter on his side, mildly charred and tattooed with a fine red mist that was probably mostly made up of Killinger’s blood.
He levered himself to a sitting position and shook his head to wobble the cobwebs loose.
Stoltberg had exploded. Correction, his missile launcher had exploded. Stolberg had been collateral damage. As had Killinger.
Dieter drew a breath and pulled it all the way down to his toes. The other men of this squad were still horizontal, although he could not tell if that was shock, fear, or death.
Movement caught his eye.
At the front of the dead train engine.
Incoming fire.
Stoltberg had been shot, possibly by the man over there.
For the briefest moment, Dieter wondered if the ghost of the dragon had returned to flesh as an avenging angel, set to protect her other two comrades from his wrath.
Focus, damn it.
He flipped the safety and aimed in the general direction of the man by the train. A quick burst forced the man to cover.
Dieter drove himself to his feet by pure will. The others in the squad were just now stirring. Casualties so far had apparently been limited to Stoltberg and Killinger.
Another burst caused dirt nearby to explode, like an angry, carnivorous vole attacking his feet.
Dieter shook his head again, concerned that he had a concussion impacting his perceptions. That would not do.
He couldn’t hear anything, so he fired a quick burst and pushed the other three to their feet. At least he could get them to cover before any more fire came this way.
Movement again. It was hard to identify. Certainly a man with a pistol. Probably an officer who had managed to react faster than his troops.
It was what officers were supposed to do. Lead.
Be better than the men they commanded.
It wouldn’t save that man. He had killed Stoltberg and destroyed the launcher. Killing the other two dragons would have to be done by hand now. Dieter had the explosives and experience to do that.
But first, that Aquitaine officer needed to die. The rest of the attack was on schedule, possibly ahead. The local security forces were only now beginning to respond. They could be pinned down long enough to damage the other two train engines terminally, before Dieter’s forces needed to withdraw and draw them into the next trap.
Dieter scanned the area. The officer had gone to ground.
Good enough. If he stayed down longer than thirty seconds, Dieter and his squad would have him.
He edged to his left and drew his men with him. The rest of the attackers had their orders. Dieter was going to kill the paladin protecting the dragons.
Chapter LII
Date of the Republic July 18, 396 Backcountry, Thuringwell
One of the advantages to working with Dash and Rebekah’s teams so much was that everyone was starting to think and act like a single entity.
Vo had gotten a direct message from the Flag Centurion on Auberon to supplement the messages coming through Fourth Saxon’s HQ.
Gaucho had apparently gotten a similar message, because he was already on the ground, bays open and ready to load horses when everyone started to arrive, pulling on boots and tightening cinches.
Across the big field they were using as a temporary base, the DropShip Tamarin was also loading up with the seven tanks of Cohort Centurion Kim’s combat team.
Rather than ride up the ramp, like about half the rest of the Patrol, Vo led Shevi by the bridle. Or rather, he was in front and the horse was headed aboard. Vo had no doubt if he dropped the reins right now and stopped walking, his horse would probably find his way to the right stall and back himself in.
The inside of Cayenne these days always reminded him of what lungs were supposed to look like. Big tubes branching off to smaller and smaller ones, until you got to the little sacks that would hold a single horse, with space for the rider to stand close by, and to mount up, safe and secure in the event of weird maneuvering. The whole Patrol could come charging down the ramp like an avalanche in a hot landing.
They practiced it frequently.
Right now, the order was to mount up and hold for coordinates.
Scout Patrol wasn’t going to ride to Moirrey’s rescue today. Most of the rest of First Cohort was going to be vectored in and dropped on the Yonin side of the base to drive the attackers towards Scout Patrol and the rebel force who were now allies.
It was going to be a strange day. Everything was pretty much turned around sideways.
At least Shevi knew where he was going.
Dash and Göll were already waiting.
“You know, Vo,” Dash smiled as she scritched her mount under the chin. “We could probably get the armorers to build you a stall aboard Tamarin, so you could ride with Kim.”
Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth right now.
“That would be great, Dash,” he countered in an equally–sweet tone. “But Shevi would surely get awful lonely without any other horses. You’d probably have to come with me.”
And not spend any time around Gaucho went unsaid. It didn’t need to be said. Most of the Patrol teased her about having a crush on the pilot. She didn’t exactly dispute them.
A noncommittal grunt was his only answer, which was far less profane than Vo was expecting. He got his horse turned around and backed into the stall, hooking up the side straps to keep them both safe in sudden maneuvers.
“Any idea where we’re going?” Dash asked suddenly.
Vo started to say something, and realized that everyone expected him to have a channel straight to the top lady. To know The Truth.
Truth was, he had no idea what the Fleet Centurion was up to. He got orders and messages from Enej Zivkovic at best, and that was usually it.
“Saddled up and ready to be dropped in front of the bad guys as they start to run,” he said.
“Story
of my life, Arlo,” Dash replied.
A voice over the address system ended all conversations before he could add something witty.
“All hands are aboard,” the loadmaster called.
Vo could visualize Takouhi Nazarian seated next to Gaucho up on the bridge, looking at all the various balance readouts with a jeweler’s eye. She was like that.
“Stand by for ramp closing in ten seconds,” the woman continued.
Even the horses perked up at that, but they knew the flight sequence at least as well as their riders did at this point.
Big, ringing sound as the outer world was cut off suddenly, followed by the internal air systems ramping up to handle the heavy smell of horse.
“All hands brace for liftoff.”
Again, the horses spread their legs out a little and leaned one way or the other. Cowboys and cowgirls did the same.
And then Cayenne was in the air.
Vo held on tight as the ship tilted into the air and raced away, forcing him and all the rest into the backstops built to catch them.
Having down move around from inside a ship was still a weird thing for Vo. The big starships had enough gravplates that down was always down, or you were in freefall. Here, he was in a massively oversized air–taxi, flying low and fast over the terrain instead of bouncing high in the air to land on the other side, like civilians traveled.
Civilians weren’t expecting to charge headlong into combat at the other end of the trip, either, just a quick jaunt down for coffee and a pastry, or whatever civilians did in the other world. Vo hadn’t been one in so long he had no idea what they were like anymore.
And Creator willing, he wouldn’t for a while yet.
But today, bad guys with guns were playing hide and seek in the trees.
And Fourth Saxon had to go find them.
Chapter LIII
Date of the Republic July 18, 396 Ramsey Starport, Thuringwell
She knew better than to stay in one place. Geese had taught her that.
For the briefest moment, Moirrey considered climbing up Brani’s side and ambushin’ the Bantam from up there.
If ’twern’t four on one, ya git…
Instead, she bolted for a stack o’ wood ties thirty meters away, close enough to a couple pieces o’ big, metal pipe to protect her butt from strays n’ keep goofball an’ his friends from stumblin’ o’er her in th’dark.
Deep breaths, young lady. Ya been running yer squares ever’morning inside the wire. Yer in better shape than most o’ Digger’s teams. Yous can out–jackrabbit all them fine shits all days. And Lady Keller’s counting on you to stop jackknobs like this. Digger won’ get here soon enough to save the other twos Cities.
Is up to you.
Explosions had mostly died down. World were startin’ to light up with a couple o’ autocannons sendin’ coppered lead downrange, so Digger’d final got his folks woked up. Help’s a–comin’, however slow.
Y’all keep that over there fer now, m’kay? Gots enough trouble here without yer incoming fire, thankyouverymuch.
Almost on cue, Bantam popped around the corner and killed a patch o’grass with red pulses.
Grenade right now’d’a’been daft fun.
Moirrey considered taking a shot, but they all popped back and hids quick ’nough. She settled for kneeling in the wet muck and pretendin’ ta be a bush some landscaper’d missed.
Ten seconds o’nothin’ an’ they popped out again, fit to kill that same patch o’ grass. Sod done boomed under the sudden–like witherin’ fire. One even shot the top o’Brani, right ’bouts where she’da liked to been hanging.
Them folks weren’t total incompetent.
Jes not watch geese.
Moirrey gargoyled. Movement rights now were what triggered the eye, not color. Pa’s favorite gander’d taught her that, once upons a time. She were just another lump of darker in dark if she kept still. Four o’them Grays was moving against Brani’s black hull, makin’ Kabuki ghosts.
Auto–carbine rights now and you’d be dead men, Bantam.
The four only paused for a second before moving to her right.
Yup, ya figered I’d go fer my tower and hide in a death trap, like a silly–ass princess from a fairy’s tail, didncha?
Bantam were second in line, head on a stick looking all directions at once.
Door to the tower were shut, and locked with a keypad. And a sparkle bomb in the overhead light fixture.
That were just fer Saana, who occasionally fergot to enter the right passcode before pullin’ on the door, having to remember so many different combinations.
But tonight, a wee bit of glitter might be the silliest things ever.
Moirrey moved like a sand dune, creeping up and lining her unicorn’s horns with the last man in line.
Wait fer it.
Bantam an’ front dude sidled up and shot the door lock, just like in all the bad videos. Chewed up the door jamb like her favorite pooch once done her shoes. Number one grabbed the handle and pulled, just as number three charged into the dark all set to fire.
And the Glitterbomb in the overhead light went BOOM!
Moirrey couldn’t suppress a giggle, so she pushed it out as she pulled the trigger.
Her gold strobe of light were hopefully hidden by an entire tube o’glitter the size of her thumb gettin’ blasted all over everywhere and everyone.
And glitter were forever!
Three glitterpimps was really pissed now. ’Specially when they turned abouts and see’d that number four somehows done gotted himselfs dead when nobody was lookin’.
Whoopsie. Were it poisonous glitter? Are we alls doomed?
Moirrey nearly lost it with a giggle fits. She had to suck air an’ grind her teeth ta keeps from movin’ an’ givin’ herself away. They mights be mad enough to charge across forty meters of slushie gravel and crap to where she were hidin’, fire er no fire.
Gargoyle.
Okay, they’s realized this is bad an’r going fer better cover. Tower’s a trap.
Hey, what’s th’big idea tossing a grenade in my office, ya git?
Crap. That’s that. Hopefully the glitter lab upstairs is no’ dead, now. Saana woulda been gacked if’n she were still in the tower, instead of bunked in safe over in the main barracks.
Moirrey counted eleven and then lined up with the other end of Brani. ’Tweren’t many places to move o’er here without running across two sets o’tracks and a bunch of flat, open, killing ground.
Sure ’nuff. Someone popped out at a dead run, zigsn ’an’ zagsn. He were to draw fire fer whoever were dumb nuff to shoot right now.
But I’s not here. Done runned off fer Digger or the tanks. Y’all’s all safe now.
Right?
Five count and number two popped out. He were only jogging, so her first shot weren’t as hurried. Click and zip.
The target dropped. ’Twere no big thing to snag the other one, just coming out from cover and running right into her line. She fired several more shots into the darkness, wicked little pulses of light and sound like an angry hummingbird.
I’m a gonne be’s a right, proper dead–eye, I keeps this up. Maybe I need to become a marine, after this.
The wood in front of her exploded with a wet squelch.
Moirrey flopped onto her side, happy the ties was deep enough that only one layer had gone boom.
Couple more shots and the whole thing’s gonna be burning.
From the ground, she peeked. Bantam were standing over there, hosing the area around her with red pulses. Angry pulses. Pissed–little–Bantam–done–lost–all–his–playmates pulses.
And he gots grenades. ’Er did have.
Diffinititely times to bug out.
Moirrey pointed her left hand in the Bantam’s direction and pulled the trigger a couple of times. Not really aiming. Almost giving him an aim point, but also driving him to ground.
He flopped forward and fired a few random shots back.
Standof
f.
Moirrey was up and running, wishing the rains would start up again. At least then, getting shot in the back with a pulse pistol might not be lethal. Fire suppression system done saved her ass on Alexandria Station. Weren’t none here.
Gots maybe half a power–pack worth o’shots, and one spare on the belt. Not enough fer a serious firefight with crazy peeples.
Maybe the weather gods will look down on me with favor.
At least the ground were all wavy an’ stuffff. Digger’d n’r gotten ’rounds to leveling everything to snooker regulation. I’d be deads if’n he had.
She jumped down into a small drainage run. Short as she was, the grass was over her head for the most part. She loped, parallel to the tracks, hoping nobody were coming uphill towards her. In the dark, it would be shoot and pray, and hope the other guy were in gray and not green.
Moirrey ran.
Chapter LIV
Imperial Founding: 174/07/18. Aquitaine’s New Starport On Thuringwell
Impossible.
Dieter’s entire command squad had been killed. Annihilated by one man.
Worse, the man was getting away. If he did, that man might be competent enough to upset the entire attack plan.
Dieter marked the location where his radio corporal had fallen as he got to his knees and watched his foe disappear from sight.
There. Gone to ground. I must kill you and then I can come back for the rest of the base. We are ahead of schedule, but I cannot allow you to survive.
Dieter’s anger drove his legs and roaring lungs.
No Republican officer would rout him.
It was not in his lexicon.
Defeat was what he did to others. Usually followed by banishment or death, depending on his whim.
Dieter circled to his right as he moved. Closer to the tower if he needed cover. Not rushing blindly into a foe that was expecting him.
Tactics.
Overhead lights to his far right came alive, followed shortly after by the hideous buzzsaw of a vehicle–mounted twin autocannon. It was an Aquitaine weapon. He had brought nothing so heavy. All of that was dug in outside the base waiting for reinforcements to try to rescue the engineers.
