Tales From the War (Kinsella Universe Book 5)

by Gina Marie Wylie

  The two appeared dumbfounded. “War? With who?” Sam Murchison sputtered, astonished.

  Charlie laughed bitterly. “We have no idea! However, their trademark is trashing a planet. They use saturation nuclear bombardment against human-occupied planets. There is a list of planets that have been attacked in the data disks I brought. I have a tape that we’ll play over the local channels here when we’re ready.

  “I left early on, and the first news was mostly very bad.” He looked at the two men steadily. “The Federation had confirmed the loss of more than ten colonies at the time I left. The only successful defense was Fleet World. Undoubtedly more systems are gone now.” And God willing, more successful defenses.

  The Director sat down, pale, and obviously shaken. “This isn’t a test or some sort of sick joke? The courier didn’t say anything!”

  “They were under orders not to. Snow Dance is important. That was a very fast courier and they stopped long enough to drop me off and went on with the tasks involved with waging this war.

  “We need to keep things on an even keel on Snow Dance. In spite of the very real danger that Snow Dance will be attacked in the next few days.”

  “Attacked?” The Director choked. “Us? Here?” It was coming too fast.

  “They appear to be attacking all human-held planets. The aliens have evidently been monitoring our movements and perhaps our communications; they know where to go and what to hit. That’s the bad news. The good news is that they appear to be going about this systematically -- they have allocated about sixty ships to the task in this area and are attacking in a particular pattern. Preliminary analysis is that they will be here in six to ten days.”

  “We have to evacuate!” the Works Director said, frantic. “They have to take us off!”

  Charlie shook his head. Murchison simply cursed; he at least understood.

  Charlie went on remorselessly. “Sir, there is not going to be an evacuation. How could it be done? There are nearly a quarter million people here -- we'd need a hundred or more ships to take everyone off. There aren’t that many available at the best of times in the Federation. And if they were available now, they’d go someplace important. Gandalf was destroyed, nearly a half billion people died there. Agincourt and Shackelton -- another quarter billion dead. Nobody got off Shack; four Fleet ships made it away from Gandalf. Little more than two thousand people out of nearly a billion. Altogether, about a tenth of the human race had died before I left.”

  “We have to do something!” the man cried, frantic, terrified.

  “What?” Murchison said, desolate. “Launch our ships in defense? We have no ships! Tune up our laser batteries? In this muck? And we don’t have any laser batteries!” His voice broke. “Christ, we’re dead.” His voice bespoke hopelessness.

  “We could evacuate overland; we could get away from the colony!” the works director said, growing more frantic and agitated.

  “Where?” Sam asked evenly, doing Charlie’s job for him. “You said they use saturation bombardment?” Charlie nodded. “We’d still be dead; even if they just nuked the colony, we’d be dead. Crap, crap, crap!”

  Charlie’s voice cut through the despair. “On the other hand, like I said, Snow Dance is important. You can still spend gold and we use a great deal more of it in computers and other electronics. Ditto and then some for the other metals refined here. In a couple of days there will be two friendly ships in the sky. Another two ships will be here a few days later. It is hoped to have as many as six or seven, before they come.”

  The color began to return to the pair, and for a moment there was only rapid breathing, that and the smell of fear. “Six against sixty?” Murchison muttered. “Not very good odds.”

  “At Gandalf four Fleet ships went against eighty plus; all four ships survived; quite a few of the enemy did not, though they got the planet. More than a hundred against Fleet World which had forty-two defenders. Perhaps half the bad guys got away; we lost twenty-eight ships, but we kept the planet. It isn’t hopeless.” That and he’d been told that Snow Dance was likely to be attacked by two or three ships.

  Charlie slid a data disk across the table. “You will find a number of orders directed at you personally, gentlemen, complete with the proper code words.”

  The works manager looked at him, his face still pale; his hands were shaking visibly as he reached for the disk.

  “Foremost amongst them is a Federation Order-in-Council, declaring the State of Emergency. There is another placing Snow Dance under martial law and appointing me military governor,” his voice was low and firm.

  “My first task is to secure the communications and sensor facility. It is now, what, about 1500 local time?” Murchison nodded. “At 2000 this evening we will broadcast President Van de Veere’s declaration of hostilities, plus the Federation Order-in-Council and the supporting information to the general populace.

  “Before then, I want the constabulary turned out. I want them guarding the power plant, the comm center, the docks; anything anyone might want to sabotage that might affect the survival of the colony.”

  “Sabotage?” Murchison asked softly.

  “The enemy is at least monitoring our ship movements -- and if they can do that, it stands to reason that they are listening to our communications as well. We have at this point in time, no way to tell if they have agents in place. We are reasonably certain that our attackers are non-human, but for the time being we will err on the side of prudence.”

  “And they sent just you to help us?” Murchison said, this time a little more forcefully.

  “You must understand that the entire human race is at risk. When the enemy attacks, they destroy the planet, if possible. Hundreds to perhaps a thousand gigaton nuclear detonations -- on the surface. Even if someone survived the immediate weapons effects, the fallout quickly sterilizes what’s left. As a result, the human race is mobilizing in a way never contemplated. Ships are moving to defend systems at risk.

  “Before the attack we had a few more than twelve hundred Fleet ships; not all of them warships. That number has declined by a quarter, perhaps a third. Billions of people are dead; billions more will die. We are doing what we can, as fast as we can. If Snow Dance didn’t have the mines, you wouldn’t have rated a courier with one officer. You’re lucky -- I am simply the first of many.”

  The works director leaned over and was sick into a wastebasket. Charlie held Sam Murchison’s eyes. “You need you to call out the Constabulary and I need an escort to the comm center. In a day or two we should have some Marines, but until then you will have to rely on the Constabulary. You had better get moving.”

  Murchison nodded, and reached for the phone and dialed two numbers, and asked the person on the other end to step into the works director’s office. A few minutes later a tall young man wearing constabulary blue entered the office.

  “Captain Worthy, this is ah,” Sam Murchison paused, “I don’t recall your mentioning your rank, sir.”

  “Admiral.”

  “Ah, Admiral Gull, from the Federation.”

  “Captain Jack Worthy, the Constabulary duty officer tonight.”

  The captain noted the pale and shaking director and it was impossible to miss that someone had tossed their cookies. His eyes narrowed slightly, looking at Charlie.

  Charlie stared back for a moment, and then nodded at the data disk on the desk. “In that disk are documents from the Federation Council and the Company. I have been appointed the military governor of Snow Dance. Captain, if you would, please get your commandant on the horn and ask him to come in at once.”

  “He’s at home, asleep,” Jack said forthrightly. “He’s working graveyard shift this month.”

  “A nice-to-know fact, but I requested you to get him on the phone and have him come in.”

  They traded stares for a moment, before Jack Worthy reached to his belt and pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number.

  “Sir, Captain Worthy. I think you should come in.”
A moment later he returned the phone to his belt and looked at Charlie. “He’s on his way.”

  Charlie nodded. “I don’t have time to wait; I’ll brief Captain Worthy on the way to the comm center. Mr. Murchison, if you would, brief the Commandant. You may use the cellular system to alert key personnel, including the Constabulary. Captain Worthy did quite well just now -- he used the minimum information to cause the necessary action. Remember it is possible that even now we are being listened to.”

  He gestured at the captain. “Right now, I need to get to the comm center, ASAP.”

  The captain shrugged. “You get your cold suit, I’ll call down to the garage and have them get my vehicle ready.”

  “He’s wearing one,” Murchison said, “damndest thing you’ve ever seen. Or not seen; it looks just like he’s wearing civvies.”

  The captain shook his head. “You have to wear a cold suit, sir.”

  “Captain, if there were a Dewar of liquid nitrogen in the room, I could swirl my fingers around in it, and then drum my fingers on the desk. Would you like to try that with your gloves?”

  “Ah, no sir.” Liquid nitrogen would wet the gloves -- and that wouldn’t be good for his fingers. One of the first things a new chum learned on Snow Dance -- those that lived -- never, ever, get anything wet.

  “My equipment is better than yours, no matter what you think. In the worst case: I freeze solid just outside the door. Then you all can go suck up a rope and I won’t care.”

  Murchison rolled his eyes, but Charlie ignored it. He shook the burly young man’s hand; the Constabulary captain had a wicked gleam in his eye when he did. Charlie won the hand mashing contest, too.

  “Fine,” Charley told the two company officials. “I’ll leave you to go over the data disk. I’ll be back tomorrow morning, late, for a meeting. In the meantime, you’ll let the comm center know I’ll be going there directly?”

  Sam Murchison nodded.

  Charlie Gull added one last thought, “I can’t say this often enough -- this is still early days, but already several times there has been considerable panic. In many such places the panic was the single source of casualties. You will want to be careful, thoughtful and thorough.”

  “Snow Dance,” said Murchison “has taught us to be all of those things, Admiral Gull.”

  Charlie turned to his escort and repeated. “I need to get to the comm center ASAP.”

  “No problem, Admiral Gull.”

  “Call me Charlie, Jack.”

  “Whatever.” The two went outside; Jack Worthy led them to a small Sno-Cat and they got in.

  “Panic?” Jack asked Charlie when the two had settled in. “Why would the people here panic?”

  “Sometime here I figure the director’s going to lose it. I hope Murchison’s a good man.”

  The other blinked. “He’s going to lose it? What do you mean?”

  “You’ll see.” Charlie looked into the darkening sky. “My briefing said the Constabulary has about two hundred regular personnel, another three hundred reserves.”

  “Two hundred forty-seven and three hundred and ten.” Jack murmured. “Close enough.”

  “Any one else?”

  “Yes, sir. In addition we have something less formal, called the Corps. Basically, ex-military who have let it be known that we can call on them in an emergency. There’s about twenty thousand who meet the requirements.”

  “The Corps, eh?” Charlie chuckled. The other had a gleam in his eye.

  “Once a Marine, Admiral, always a Marine.”

  “It’s Charlie, Jack, just Charlie.” He looked at his watch. “When will be at the comm center?”

  “Twenty minutes or so.”

  “Then I have another twenty minutes to remember the good times I had back when I was retired and had a real life. Let me savor those memories for the few minutes I have left.”

  Jack snorted, but didn’t talk any more as he drove the cat through the streets. After about ten minutes they were at the ridge that sheltered the colony from the winds blowing from the west, and he drove steadily up a steep road. Finally they topped out, and Charlie could see the comm center.

  It wasn’t like most of the buildings. This was built to last -- a concrete pyramid, with only an elevator door in a small lobby at the top.

  “Only one man?” Charlie frowned at the single guard sitting casually in the lobby.

  “Half the time, when he’s sick or on vacation, we don’t fill the position.”

  “Well, call your Commandant. I want three men here from now on, at all times. Class two load-out.”

  “Oh, the Commandant will just love that.” He paused. “Are you back to being an admiral?”

  “I’m getting close,” Charlie said with a sigh. “Real close.”

  “And I suppose the director will okay the assets?”

  “He or Murchison; tell them ASAP.”

  The other made the call, and then they descended two hundred feet into the living rock. A bored face appeared at the vault door that led to the comms room. He saw Jack and promptly opened the door. Charlie pushed past Jack and walked and stood in front of the man who’d opened the door.

  “That will be the last time you open that door to anyone who hasn’t properly identified themselves. Each time, every time. If it happens again, you’re fired.”

  The man drew back, surprised, then laughed. “Like, sure.”

  Charlie held out his credentials, and the other merely glanced at them. “Those don’t mean squat to us here.”

  Charlie shook his head and pulled a folded piece of paper from his brief case. “This is an order of the Federation Council, federalizing the colony known as ‘Snow Dance.’ Everything, including this site, including you.”

  The other shook his head. “I doubt that. The Company’s leasehold says you can’t.”

  “The Federation Constitution says the Council can declare an Emergency, and then do whatever they please. This is one thing that they pleased to do first. Don’t get behind the curve here, mister. I want to see your senior watch officer, now.”

  “That’s me.”

  “You have people on duty now, ones that can handle the equipment?”

  The door to the elevator hissed open behind them; someone who hadn’t needed help in getting through. “Horace!” the man said, “Get to your desk! Call the emergency roster; as of now, we’re working twelve and twelve. And I want every one here in an hour for a briefing. No excuses.”

  The newcomer nodded at Charlie. “Admiral Gull, I’m Harry Kim, the site manager; my apologies, sir. The director informed me that there would be a colony-wide broadcast later this evening and that in the meantime I was to offer you all assistance.”

  Horace was standing unmoving, obviously still fuming. “Horace, I told you to do something. Make those calls at once,” the comm center manager snapped.

  The other turned and left, angry. “I have some computer mods to make. Do you understand, Mr. Kim?” Charlie said calmly.

  “The director told me officially, that the reason for the broadcast is a public war warning.”

  “That is partially correct; it’s not a warning, it’s a declaration of war. In addition, we expect Snow Dance will be attacked in the next few days.”

  Jack started. “What the hell?”

  “It will be explained,” Charlie said patiently. “Mr. Kim, I hope you didn’t mention the subject of the broadcast to anyone.”

  He smiled thinly. “Not to Horace, not even to my wife. I know my job; I assume you have my call up papers, someplace close to hand.”

  “We’re going to be attacked?” Jack persisted.

  “Mr. Kim, I’m glad you know your job. Yes, I have your papers. Jack, it will be explained. Right now I urgently need to do some work on the computers here. Call your commandant; I want to know when his people are deployed. After that we’ll make the general broadcast.”

  “This way,” Harry Kim told Charlie, and led them down a hall and into another room with yet a
nother vault door. Harry punched keys, and a moment later it opened. A technician looked up from his desk; he was reading something that didn’t look very much like a manual.

  “Ivan, if you would please, observe. Take notes.”

  “You have a full system back up?” Charlie asked the tech, who nodded.

  “Data backups every day, system backups once a week. We haven’t had any system changes for nearly six months.”

  “On site?”

  The other shrugged, “A copy of the last one, yes. The others, no.” He pointed at a rack of small jewel box data disks.

  Charlie sat down in the seat the other had vacated, typed a password into the system, and was immediately in. He pulled his briefcase open, and took a series of jewel box cases, and began to feed them into a drive next to the console. Finally there was a last dialog. “System update is ready. Key implementation code to implement and then reboot.”

  Charlie typed in a string of letters and hit enter. The lights on the main CPU froze for a second, and then began to flicker. Almost at once someone was calling in, “Ivan, the system went down! What’s up?”

  “Tell them you’re rebooting, twenty minutes,” Charlie told the computer tech.

  The tech looked nervous. “And if I have to reload the system and the user files -- those would take a day.”

  Charlie smiled. “I was told back on Earth that the upload is fool proof. The person who told me that was a computer boffin who wore a white lab coat.”

  The tech grinned. “Well, in that case I sure hope you’re at least a fool. Right now there’s not much traffic. The regular cargo flight is delayed. I hope they won’t make an appearance now.”

  “They won’t.”

  The technician looked at Charlie, started to say something, but then thought better of it.

  Ten minutes later the sign-on screens lit up, and Charlie gestured to the other to return to his seat. “From now on, all outgoing traffic goes into holding buffer; there it will be analyzed, and if necessary, an alert will tell a human being that something that shouldna hadna oughta is on the queue. Until further notice, I am the only person who can approve questionable transmissions. If one is sent anyway, the person who originated it will be shot, as will the person who bypassed security. Shot, as in a firing squad. And no, this isn’t a joke.”