by Blaze Ward
The group was on a main street now, whereas they usually stayed to the back roads and parks. Vo knew the neighborhood reasonably well. Jessica had quartered the Republic folks down here, opposite where the Imperials were staying. Partly to keep everyone out of mischief, and partly to keep them away from the locals, who might also cause trouble.
Two figures were standing on the sidewalk as Cutlass approached. From their shadows, both were female, one long and lanky, and the other built almost like a compact version of Vo, all shoulders and upper body width. But absolutely female. And not ones he knew by shape in the dimness, so not Casey or Jessica.
Cutlass shifted subtly and opened up almost a bubble around them without breaking stride.
Audie Teagle, Decanus of Cutlass One, was on point this morning, leading the troop.
“Fall in,” he called in a hard voice as he approached them.
They surprised Vo by starting to jog with the rest of the group, sliding right into the mob as if they belonged. And being accepted by Cutlass troopers without a word.
Vo found himself in a second bubble, with only Ames close as the others shifted outward. The two strangers emerged from the group and suddenly Vo recognized them.
“Ladies,” he called out with a laugh in his voice.
“About time you woke up,” Dash Mitja replied as she came alongside.
Vo hadn’t seen Dash since he had lifted off from Thuringwell, oh so long ago, but he had been attached to her Patrol at the time, the scouts who found the bad guys and tangled with them.
She was Primus Pilus now. First Spear of the Fourth Saxon Legion, Grand Army of the Republic, like Alan Katche, back on St. Legier. Might be in line for Legate, one of these days, depending.
The other woman was someone Vo had seen more recently. Michelle Ali al-Inverness. Famous across the galaxy these days as Fourth Saxon’s long-time Armorer.
The swords worn on Thuringwell, by a detachment of Fribourg’s 189th Legion, still an Imperial force on a now-Republic planet, guarding an old Imperial monument, had been specifically made by al-Inverness and not just one of her weaponsmiths. As had blades for the wedding ceremony. And Vo’s longsword as Commander, 189th Legion.
In person, she was just as impressive as her resume. Tall for a woman, with the dark swarthiness of most of Inverness’s population. Muscles like a weightlifter in her shoulders and arms. A lifetime dedicated to learning the fine art of blacksmithing over a forge, where you made a sword with heat, patience, and a hammer, rather than pushing a button and having a three-dimensional press, lathe, and cutter do the work.
That was fine for guns and tanks, but a sword was a weapon where you had to be close enough to someone that they bled on you when you killed them, so Fourth Saxon had always had a team of armorers attached. Sword makers.
“Michelle,” Vo nodded as she took up a spot on his left, opposite Dash and protected on her far side by Ames.
Vo could not help his grin as he jogged.
Imperial Land Forces had exactly one woman in uniform, jogging with him this morning as part of Cutlass Force.
Victoria Ames.
Here he had just two of the most famous soldiers from the Grand Army of the Republic: Dashyl Mitja and Michelle Ali al-Inverness.
“Dash, how close are you to retiring from Active Duty?” Vo asked with a rumble.
The men around them would hear, but not comment.
“Depends,” she replied, keeping an easy pace with them as they jogged. “What evil have you got in mind, zu Arlo?”
It was the running part that surprised Vo the most. The men and women of Fourth Saxon had never walked anywhere, if they could ride a horse there instead. Dash must have picked up the habit of the morning runs from him and kept at it after he left.
Otherwise, there was no way in hell she’d be able to keep the pace with this troop, running twenty kilometers. She’d have been better off just scheduling a meeting. But Vo didn’t figure this was anything more than a chance to see an old friend in relaxed circumstances.
Vo zu Arlo hadn’t been home to Anameleck Prime in years, and might not for a while, if Lincolnshire was being pissy about borders and transit rights. They wouldn’t do something that brazen without permission from Aquitaine first. Which meant his old comrades were up to no good.
Not that Vo was surprised.
There were fools on both sides of the border who missed the war. Most of them had never worn a uniform.
“Imperial Land Forces Institute was in Werder,” Vo said. “We lost the entire staff, infrastructure, and most of our history.”
Our? Huh. Yes, he was as Imperial as it got these days. His Army. His city. His world.
“Okay?” Dash said as more of a placeholder than anything.
“Once you are no longer on active duty with Fourth Saxon, how would you feel about coming to St. Legier to teach?”
He could make that kind of offer. Not just as a General of the Army. Not just as Prince Consort Presumptive of the Imperial Court.
Because the Grand Marshal would listen. Arald Rohm had been a stiff-necked pain-in-the-ass, once upon a time. The Death Zone had broken the man. Cured him of his arrogance.
Turned a dilettante soldier into the sort of junkyard dog that Cutlass Force respected.
“You starting your own cavalry legion?” Michelle spoke up.
“Already have,” Vo turned back to her with a sharp bark of a laugh. “Anthohn Jenker, the former Grand Marshal, had tasked an old schoolmate of mine with making it happen several years ago. Olaf van Gorzen had managed to start a training school for horse soldiers, but that was about all, and most of the resources and effort were put on hold for the rebuilding. And making more starships.”
“You think they’ll be willing to learn from a woman?” Dash laughed loud enough for Cutlass to hear.
“Nope,” Vo admitted. “I’d recruit Declan Burdge for that if I could. Might yet, once other things settle. No, I was thinking about you teaching directly in the Institute itself. Tactics, history, theory. That sort of thing.”
“Why?” she asked bluntly.
“I know another woman at the Institute. Dash,” Vo said quietly. “You’ve obviously met Victoria Ames well enough to get invited to run with us this morning. Optio Ames would be greatly served by learning how to soldier from a woman who had made a successful career out of it. And a great many of the men with her should have some of their chauvinistic stupidity broken out of them at a young age. I don’t know anybody better suited to cracking those sorts of heads together than the current Primus Pilus of Fourth Saxon.”
Vo could almost smell the blush coming off Ames, even as they jogged through the morning darkness, broken only by street lights and advertisements. But she needed to hear it, as well as perhaps live it and learn from someone like Dash.
He could see a distant future where Victoria Ames held the sword forged by the woman jogging between them, Michelle Ali al-Inverness. The weapon of the General commanding the 189th Legion, Thuringwell.
“I’ll keep it in mind, Vo,” Dash said, her voice suddenly reflective rather than abrasive. “Done my twenty and could retire. Might try for Legate, as well.”
“Either works,” Vo replied. “We still have to rebuild the War College and the Field School as well. This is not a job I’ll finish in my lifetime.”
Victoria would need those schools as well, as she climbed the ranks and had to kick a few sets of teeth in along the way. If she wanted to.
It might just be that she decided she had done enough and walk away, at some point. She had only ever asked to serve, same as Vo. Maybe didn’t want to raise her own flag over a Legion. That would be acceptable, because she had already started something. Other women would demand the right to follow. And find an Emperor with a sympathetic ear.
Something flickered.
Invading a hostile planet altered your perceptions of the space around you. Vo had a miniscule jolt of awareness that trouble was coming, almost a precognitive moment ru
nning through him like electricity.
His eyes found a spot on a second story window down the street where movement and a reflection of light on a spotting scope caught his attention. He started to lunge to one side as a flash of light rushed him, followed by a roar of sound.
The shot hit him high on his left side. Felt like a pulse bolt from the way it spun him around in slow motion. Had one of the horses ever been so rude as to kick him, maybe.
More gunfire erupted, a wave of noise that presaged the apocalypse descending on them. The morning lit up with sound and fury as Vo slammed into the pavement.
Damn it, not again.
CHAPTER IX
IN THE TWELFTH YEAR OF JESSICA KELLER, QUEEN OF THE PIRATES: MARCH THE FIFTEENTH AT PETRON
JESSICA DIDN’T KNOW the man on the screen, but David and Desianna did, and vouched for him. She wasn’t in the mood to trust any stranger, but this man was apparently a senior-enough figure in the local security forces that he could take charge at the hospital.
“I have good news, Your Majesties,” he said. From the images he was projecting, he was alone in a small office he had commandeered. Or been stuffed into by Cutlass to keep him out of their way. “General zu Arlo was wearing field armor under his jacket. It absorbed most of the bolt and he’s in surgery now. Doctors expect no long-term trouble. The sniper was also taken alive. He’s in surgery as well. Prognosis is not as good, but the medical team understand that there are people who want to talk to the man.”
“Cutlass Force took him alive?” Jessica was more amazed by that fact than by an assassination attempt in her own capital.
“That’s right, Your Majesty,” the man said.
Jessica leaned back and considered what that meant. What had gone wrong that a professional let himself be captured? Or which amateur had tried something so amazingly stupid?
She looked around the main conference room, counting noses. Desianna and David, both drinking coffee to wake up, in spite of it being nearly three hours after dawn. Torsten radiating a rage she hadn’t seen since news of The Bombardment reached them. Girisha Misra looking like he wanted to literally beat someone to death with his staff right now.
Other men she didn’t know as well, but were part of David’s staff as Regent. The folks who ran the government for her so that she didn’t have to be here personally. So everyone could get used to David being king, until they just accepted it and she could retire to a Dowager status, still walking around with blades if you felt stupid enough to try the old ways.
Uly Larionov opened the door enough to slide in and closed it again.
“The Emperor is en route to the hospital,” Uly announced to the room, still staring at her in case she wanted to respond. “Also, I have reports that the entire Aquitaine squadron, plus all of the Lincolnshire ships attached to it, broke orbit a little over two hours ago and went into Jump.”
Jessica slammed a hand down on the table to get people to shut up from the roar that erupted.
“Where’s Em?” she asked Uly.
“With Casey,” Uly said. “And every Imperial Marine who wasn’t someone’s personal bodyguard. Things are likely to get a little rough at the hospital.”
“Pull all of our security troops back to a ring around the Imperials,” Jessica ordered him. Or whoever was responsible for that. “Cutlass Force will not be feeling charitable right now, and anybody that starts a problem with Vo’s people probably won’t live long enough for me to deal with them personally.”
Uly nodded to her and then to one of the aides around the edge of the room. One of the few females, who immediately rose and departed without a word.
Huh.
Uly had women he trusted in a crisis, when so few of the others did. But he also had Kari Estevan as a niece.
“Send a signal to the Imperial Fleet,” Jessica continued. “Red Admiral’s compliments and move to Red Alert until otherwise notified, just in case they haven’t already.”
“Somebody stupid enough to try those people?” David asked, aware of the number of ships currently laagered in high orbit.
“Someone was stupid enough to try to kill Vo,” Jessica snapped back. “I suspect that they wrote off any other plans they made given that they probably expected the Emperor aboard a mere Flag Cruiser.”
Uly’s comm chirped and he stepped back into a corner to listen to something.
“Send her in,” he said with a savage snarl. “Yes, with guards. And disarmed. I don’t care who she says she is. Or thinks.”
Everyone had turned to Uly and fallen silent.
“Primus Pilus Dashyl Mitja,” he explained. “Claims to have been there and can provide an eyewitness account. We vouch for her?”
“She was with me at Thuringwell,” Jessica said. “Vo was attached to her Patrol for the invasion. I’ll vouch for her, but I don’t know about the rest. Cutlass usually runs alone in the morning.”
“They do occasionally accept guests,” Torsten spoke up, fighting to speak in a normal voice. “Both Uly and I have run with them while they were here, when we had things to say to Vo that perhaps were not supposed to be official.”
Someone knocked, opened the door, and escorted Dash in. Jessica had seen her at events, and spoke with her in passing, but she had really been more of one of Vo’s friends. As well as a representative of Fourth Saxon, and the ties that bound Empire and Republic together.
The tall woman came to parade rest, as if the four men around her were an honor guard and not her jailers.
“I was on the ground, Your Majesty,” Dash said without preamble. “Victoria Ames sent me to report to the palace while she took charge at the hospital.”
Ames took charge? Jessica had met Vo’s protégé as well. Spoken with her enough to be impressed by what the young woman had accomplished, and what Vo thought she might yet achieve. She probably was the only person Cutlass would listen to, at least until the Grand Admiral and the Emperor arrived. Assuming Em could get through to them.
“What happened?” Jessica asked simply.
“I had joined Vo and his people this morning for their run,” Dash said. “Michelle al-Inverness was with me. My understanding was that they took a different route this morning from their usual one in order to meet with us.”
Jessica watched the woman’s eyes focus inwardly.
“Vo must have sensed something, because he was already moving sideways when the bolt hit him,” the Primus Pilus continued. “One shot, armor-softened, left shoulder. The shooter did not get a second shot off before someone hit him with counterfire.”
“Counterfire?” Uly asked.
He was still standing close by. Normally, a tall woman like Dash would tower over him, but Larionov might be three meters tall today.
At least in his rage.
“Cutlass Force travels armed, Sri,” Dash turned her attention to the Comptroller of the Court. “Lead elements opened fire for suppression, while a second team charged the building and three other teams covered the sides and flanks. Ames’ only order was for prisoners, and I gather that the teams also had grenades handy.”
“How did they capture the man alive?” Uly pressed, taking on the role of Court Executioner that he still occasionally held.
Jessica saw the first honest emotion break through the hard shell of anger around Dash Mitja. Pride, and a little awe.
“They ran right up to the building, Sri,” she said simply. “Five men built a human pyramid on the fly without words. Two holding a third on their thighs. Two more braced themselves in front of that. The sixth man got lifted, carried, and then tossed into the second-story window bodily, followed by four more before the rest of the team surged around the building and captured the getaway driver who hadn’t reacted fast enough.”
“In through a second-story window?” Uly’s voice fell.
“Think circus acrobats,” Jessica said. “With guns. Cutlass Force is Vo’s personal unit. The hardest, toughest, best hundred men he could find from the twenty thousand a
pplying for the job.”
She turned her attention back to Dash now.
“How was it the assassin didn’t flee?” she demanded.
“Ames’s theory is that one of the first shots fired back nailed the man,” Dash replied. “I have my doubts at one hundred meters, but anything’s possible.”
“Danville,” Jessica said simply.
“Ma’am?”
“You’ve never met Hans Danville as anything more than one of Vo’s close troopers. Cutlass Ten,” Jessica said. “At one hundred meters, in the dark, with a pistol, Danville probably decided to just wound the sniper.”
“Seriously?” David spoke up, having been silent before. “At that range?”
Jessica smiled cruelly. Let the rest of the room feel her disdain and anger.
“Hans Danville helped Vo storm the Imperial Palace, with Vo, Moirrey, and another trooper you’ve met named Iakov Street,” Jessica informed them. “The inner core of the 189th Legion.”
She returned to Dash now. Fixed the woman with a hard stare. If Vo’s team had followed a different path today, into a sniper’s scope, it was possible that Dash had set him up, even accidentally.
“Were you aware that your fleet has just fled to JumpSpace?” Jessica asked.
Dash blinked several times, trying to process the words.
“What?”
“The Aquitaine squadron that had been in orbit for the last month turned and ran to JumpSpace, at almost the same moment that Vo was shot.”
“But why would they do that, unless…?”
Jessica was willing to listen to Dash now, watching the confusion turn to enlightenment, followed by rage so pure that it could forge diamonds.
“Son of a bitch,” Dash snarled under her breath.
“Unless they knew what was coming,” Jessica finished the thought.
The men and woman around the room growled. There was no other way to describe the sound unconsciously emanating from so many mouths.
“I’ve just been thrown to the wolves, haven’t I?” Dash said, carefully not moving, even in her rage, as all the men with guns around her got anxious.
