by Chris Bunch
“All ships,” Inchcape said. “Acquire targets and fire.”
Again missiles spat out, and more Khelat died. “All units,” Inchcape said. “Cease fire and jump for home.”
All but two Shaoki cruisers obeyed, and those two became the only Shaoki casualties of the battle, spraying missiles at any target even as they died.
Inchcape’s destroyer came out of N-space, surrounded by other ships.
Their coms were yammering at each other.
Riss made out a blurt from the Shaoki flagship, someone shouting about fifty, maybe more, Khelat destroyed.
“I made it seventeen ships,” Vian’s weapons officer said.
“Any bets,” Goodnight said, “that it’ll be a hundred by the time we get back to Irdis?”
There were no takers.
“Pretty good short, sharp shock,” Riss said.
“It is. What worries me,” von Baldur said, “is where the hell their elite units have gotten off to.”
They found out within the week.
TWENTY
“Uh,” the scar-faced man said, twisting his garrison cap nervously, “we’ve got a problem, Miss King.”
Jasmine held back a smile. The mercenary, Liaros, one of Hore’s artillery specialists, must have seen a dozen wars, but was behaving like a raw recruit.
There were three of his fellows behind him.
“It’s about my contract,” he said. “Or rather, my money.”
The others nodded.
“I’m only drawing twenty percent due me,” he explained. “The rest the Shaoki are supposed to send home … to my mother. And she hasn’t seen any allotments in four pay cycles.”
“Oh.” Jasmine cursed to herself. She’d gone for the easy and let the Shaoki payroll departments take care of all monies sent out-system. She should have known better.
“Are you sure they’ve got the right transfer address?”
“Yes’m,” the man said. “And when I asked what was wrong, their finance department didn’t seem to give a … give a hang. And these other fellers have problems the same.”
“We can’t have that,” King said.
She was about to summon one of her clerks and put her in motion, on a priority, when the general alarm went off in loud clangs.
“All troops, all troops, man your emergency positions. This is no drill. This is no drill.”
The four mercenaries spun and doubled out.
Jasmine shrugged on the weapons harness that hung behind her computer station, went for Star Risk Central.
Thur, the capital of Shaoki II, was being attacked by the Khelat.
This wasn’t a raid, but an invasion.
Banks of coms were being trundled into Central and tuned in by technicians.
Von Baldur sat in the middle of chaos, seemingly imperturbable.
On the two center screens were Colonel Suiyahr of the Shaoki Council and a beribboned general.
“We must strike now,” Suiyahr was saying. “Hit them with everything.”
“Yes,” the general agreed. “First, give me soldiers on the ground to hold my city, drive them back before they seize all of Shaoki II.”
“Maybe,” von Baldur said in a neutral voice.
“Look,” Suiyahr said. “Screen eleven. They’re deploying on the ground, and they’re in the open. Hit them now.”
“Yes,” the general agreed.
“Very well,” von Baldur said. “Bring in your air.”
Both Shaoki started issuing orders.
“You,” von Baldur said to one of the techs. “Put screen eleven on the master.”
The technician nodded, and the street scene in Thur filled the three-meter-wide screen in the center of the room.
Riss was just coming into the room, buckling her combat harness, saw what was wrong instantly, as did von Baldur.
“Cancel that order,” he snapped, not pretending to be just an advisor.
But he was too late.
Two Shaoki destroyers came in on high cover, and half a dozen patrol ships roared in underneath them. One of them was part of Vian’s unit, the others were Shaoki.
The thin wave of Khelat infantry on-screen carried no blasters, but had small ground-to-air missile launchers.
They didn’t seem shaken by the ships attacking them, but rather aimed carefully. The sky was suddenly filled with missiles reaching up.
They were too small to be acquired by the patrol ships’ countermissile system, no more than a meter long, but big enough to destroy their enemy.
Four patrol ships were hit, tried to lift away. Two exploded in midair; the other two wobbled, lost control, and smashed into the ground.
That was the patrol ship that was part of Vian’s unit.
There were more missileers in sight now, their launchers being aimed, and the screen suddenly zigzagged, went blank.
“Get eleven back,” von Baldur said.
“Trying, sir,” a technician said. “Can’t. We’ve lost contact with the pickup man. I think he’s hit.”
Von Baldur scanned his assortment of images, chose another. A distant view of the battlefield bloomed on the center screen.
One of the Shaoki destroyers had taken a hit and was limping away, and there was no sign of the patrol ships.
“Give me a scan,” von Baldur said. “And put up a radar picture of Thur.”
“Yessir.”
The radar sweep was spotty, broken, and there was no sign of any ships in the air. Then a wave of blips soared into sight.
“IFF them,” von Baldur ordered. A technician touched a sensor for the Identification, Friend or Foe, and all of the blips glowed red.
“Shit,” von Baldur muttered under his breath, then forced control.
“The Khelat appear to have air superiority,” he reported to Suiyahr. The screen with the general on it fuzzed to black suddenly.
“They’ve hit our command post!” Suiyahr said. There was an edge of panic in her voice.
“So it appears,” von Baldur agreed. He slid out of his chair. Behind him were the other members of Star Risk.
All of them wore Shaoki uniforms — it does not pay to look special in combat unless you have to — but had current Alliance harness and weaponry.
“Chas … I think we could do with a little analysis. I may be missing something, and do not want to be cowboying around unnecessarily.”
Goodnight nodded, touched his cheek as he sank into a chair, went bester.
“Current situation,” he said. “I would suspect the Khelat, with air superiority, now will continue bringing in troops, and moving them into contact. I would anticipate other landings shortly, as soon as Thur appears to be secured.”
“I could have guessed that,” Riss said.
“How about strength?” von Baldur said.
“Thin on the ground,” Goodnight said tonelessly. “It looks as if they put in the missile crews without much in the way of backup, from what I see on-screen. If we hit them now and drive them back, we have the advantage. If they can hold Thur, the situation may be in doubt, so we need to put a rod up the arse of the Shaoki without any delay.”
“Come on out,” von Baldur said, and Goodnight unbestered.
“What a crock,” Chas said wryly. “For this I let the Alliance rewire me? Any sojer could’ve figured that out. Even a marine.”
Riss was about to respond, and von Baldur held up a hand.
“I think,” he said, “it is, unfortunately, time to go be brave in a public place. I don’t think we’ll have time for anything but noble inspiration. Try not to get killed.”
• • •
Two waves of armed transports had crashed into Thur’s center, where a great park provided an excellent landing field.
The Khelat landed a command and control ship in the midst of the assault wave, and three very large cruisers orbited above it.
Star Risk had made quick decisions, was deploying.
All of them except King had gotten instantly airborne — v
on Baldur to the central Shaoki command center, Riss to a armored lifter unit, Chas to a commando team. Both units were in motion toward Thur, and the Star Risk operatives had their lifters drop them on the units without ceremony.
Grok should have taken charge of the overall communications division, had growled a refusal, and was just landing at a self-propelled artillery unit, already rumbling into Thur’s outskirts.
Jasmine had wanted to go to Vian’s patrol leader ship, but Grok’s independent action had stuck her at the com center.
She promised herself some sort of revenge on the furry alien, paced back and forth as dusk fell, watching screens change to available light, infrared, or radar, and the flurry of commo specialists.
• • •
The Khelat should have pressed their attack.
But they did not, as if they weren’t sure what part of their success to pursue.
Their launcher teams took shelter where they could, without much infantry backup.
• • •
At least, Chas Goodnight thought, these commandos were half-trained.
Which was better than nothing.
They’d infiltrated through the fragmented Khelat positions into the rear.
He took two “volunteers,” crept forward on a compass course. It felt good, he thought, to be back doing what he’d been trained to do, sliding through darkness, moving silently, slowly.
He didn’t need any of his bester skills.
Goodnight crouched regularly, looked around for man-shaped lumps in the darkness.
He saw a pair of soldiers and a almost man-length launching tube.
A dagger slid into his hand.
Goodnight waited, breathed, then rushed the two.
One managed a gurgle as Chas slit his throat; the other was struck speechless.
He died, as well.
Goodnight motioned his backup onward.
Ahead of them, just where it should be, was a sharp rise, with two or three shattered apartment buildings atop it.
That would be his new home.
• • •
“I think,” Friedrich said calmly, seemingly unbothered by the confusion around him in the Shaoki command center, the semihysterical orders being shouted by various members of the council and the unfolding defeat on screens around him, “it might be time to consider sending in your air.”
“With what target?” Suiyahr demanded.
“Why, I’d suggest the nice fat transports and C&C in downtown,” Friedrich drawled.
“But … what about the Khelat ships in space?”
“They are not bothering us at the moment, so let us not bother them.”
“But — ”
“I am sending in my own forces,” von Baldur said. “Your naval elements are welcome to accompany them…. Your commanders have my signal operating instructions.”
“But … very well,” Suiyahr said dubiously.
• • •
“Fire mission,” Grok said, gave coordinates, and the SP battery around him fired on command.
The range was very close — less than a thousand meters. The rounds barely armed themselves before impacting.
One tube was a little late in firing, and Grok sent the battery commander over to wreak havoc on the gun captain.
He wished he had another ten — no, make it a hundred — guns that he could put track to track and level the terrain in front of him.
Or else a forward observer with some courage that would give him hard targets, instead of this firing into nowhere, hopefully over the heads of the Shaoki infantry in hasty positions ahead of him.
• • •
“Now,” Suiyahr said, “the council has decided that, since we have our forces in position, we will attack.”
“At night?” von Baldur asked.
“We will have artillery illumination,” Suiyahr said. “Plus the lighting from the ships overhead.”
“Don’t you think it wise to wait until dawn, after we’ve hopefully taken out the Khelat air?”
“Later is maybe,” Suiyahr said impatiently. “Now is for sure.”
Von Baldur was about to protest more, saw the look on Suiyahr’s face, kept silent.
• • •
Goodnight and his two men clambered up through the wrecked apartment building as high as they could go.
Below and beyond them was the park, very poorly blacked out. He could identify two — no, three — landed ships with his naked eyeballs.
What a strange image, he thought. Whoever saw an eyeball in formal dress?
He unslung the laser designator, turned it on, but didn’t “fire” the device. Instead he swept the area, making sure no one was waiting in ambush with his own pickup.
Nothing.
Very good.
He flipped the sensor on, and target heaven spread below him.
Now all he needed was a Device of Ruination.
He flipped on his com and heard nothing but confusion and unfamiliar signs.
Goodnight sent a com back to the commando unit, got no answer. He tried again, and got nothing but overriding chatter.
I suppose they went out for a glass of tea, he thought.
The fog of war was settling fast this night.
• • •
“Up,” officers shouted. “For Shaoki we die!”
The line troops weren’t either commando or night trained.
They reluctantly came out of their nice, safe hideouts, driven by warrants and officers.
There was — had to be — safety in numbers, and in spite of the ravings of their commanders, they unconsciously moved closer together, three long ragged lines of more than a thousand soldiers, advancing into Thur.
The Khelat awaiting them weren’t much better trained, but they had the advantage of the day’s victory behind them, and were fighting from cover.
They saw movement in front, hesitated, then artillery flares bloomed overhead and the attacking Shaoki were silhouetted.
Rather than freeze, they dove for cover, or started to, and that was enough for the Khelat to open fire.
A few Khelat had targets, the rest practiced the old infantry tactic of point, pray, and shoot.
The first line of Shaoki hesitated, and another volley slammed into them.
Khelat rockets and mortars dropped down around them, and the pavement of Thur gave little shelter.
“Fall back,” someone shouted — no one ever confessed — and then there were other shouts of “Retreat.”
The Shaoki line broke, moving back first at a walk, then a trot.
Their noncoms and officers were shouting at them to stop, then the panic caught them, too, and they broke and ran, crashing into the second wave. It, too, began a disorderly retreat.
The night attack had made it only a few hundred meters when it shattered.
The Shaoki fell back through their old positions and kept going. Some, but not many, of the soldiers kept their weapons. Others threw them away, along with their weapons harnesses and even uniforms.
• • •
Riss was sitting in the gunner’s hatch of the lead armored lifter when she heard shouting, screams, even over the drive whine and the noise of shell fire and explosions.
She grabbed a pair of binocs, swept the area in front of the column of lifters, and gaped.
Riss had heard of units breaking under fire, but it had been her good fortune to never have it happen to her. She knew any unit can panic, no matter how experienced, but that green units were more likely to break.
She also knew the book solution, had hoped not to ever use it. But here it was, in front of her.
She reached down inside the lifter, grabbed two blast carbines from their rack, tossed one to the Shaoki commander.
“Come on,” she said. “Ground this pig, unass the lifter, and play hero.”
Riss was sliding down from the turret as it landed on the torn pavement.
Evidently, the commander knew the drill, as well, because he was talking
into his throat mike, and the other lifters behind them grounded, too.
Riss didn’t need amplified light to see the men and women running toward her.
She fed a magazine into her blaster and sent bolts shattering into the roadway in front of her. Her fire was echoed by the Shaoki lifter commander.
That stopped them.
For an instant.
Then someone shouted that the Khelat were just behind them, pushed through, ran toward Riss. The mob started to roll forward again.
She took a deep breath and cut him down.
That stopped them again … for more than an instant.
Riss jumped back on the lifter, was behind a crew-served blaster, and ran half a magazine into the emptiness between the rabble.
“You men,” and she needed no loudspeaker to be heard. “Get back to where you belong.”
“They’re comin’,” someone shouted.
“Then don’t get shot in the back,” Riss called. “Come on. We’re going forward.” She motioned to the lifter commander, who gave orders.
The column of massive assault lifters took off, just centimeters off the ground, and moved forward slowly.
The broken unit had to get out of the way. They crowded off the road as the column bulled its way toward the Khelat. The pause had given some of them time to think, take a breath, and, rather shamefacedly, find arms of one sort or another.
Less then a third of the soldiers who’d broken kept retreating. Riss thought that was very good, and felt proud of herself.
She didn’t allow herself to think about the unarmed man who lay sprawled, dead in the road, that she’d shot.
• • •
“You had best get reinforcements in a hurry,” von Baldur “suggested” to Suiyahr.
The woman looked away.
“Yes, yes,” she said. “In good time. They are assembling even as we speak.”
Von Baldur had the grave suspicion that no Shaoki commanders were willing to get near what looked to becoming a serious debacle.
It figured.
• • •
Goodnight kept himself from swearing. Here, under his thumb — or laser, at any rate — was one of the fattest targets ever.
The only problem was, was nobody seemed to be interested in talking to him.
He decided on desperation, clicked his com on. “Any station able to ID Goodnight’s eye color, please respond.”
