Desperate Fire (Angel in the Whirlwind Book 4)

by Christopher Nuttall

  Pat flicked his suit’s flashlight on and peered inside. Bodies. Lots of bodies, lying on the stone floor. Most of the corpses wore veils, but enough of them were bareheaded for him to see that they were women and children. Boys and girls, murdered alongside their older sisters and their mothers.

  He stumbled backwards, feeling his gorge rise. He wanted, he needed, to be sick. He’d thought himself used to horror, but this . . . this was beyond belief.

  “They killed them all,” he breathed. Nerve gas. It didn’t look as though any of the women and children had died peacefully. Judging by their expressions, they’d died in screaming agony. “Why?”

  He gathered himself. “Get a recording team down here,” he ordered sharply. “I want everything recorded, everything. Pictures of the bodies, cause of death reports . . . the works.”

  Bones sounded bitter. “Why?”

  “Because some asshole is going to make excuses for these bastards in the future,” Pat snarled, his voice full of anger and fury. “Some stupid know-it-all who doesn’t know a thing is going to question the whole story, then say it was somehow all our fault.”

  He knew it would happen. Humans were always making excuses for other humans. “And when they do, I want to rub his face in what these bastards did!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “Why did they do this?”

  Junayd studied the images on the display, feeling sick. He’d known it was a possibility, he’d even tried to discuss it with his handlers, but he hadn’t really believed anyone would do it, not really. And yet, he’d never been one of the little people, one of the men who knew nothing but radio propaganda. The men in the town had probably feared for the future of their wives and children if the Commonwealth won; they had probably believed that the women would be raped while the boys were taken away and turned into good little unbelievers. Killing the women and children would have seemed the better course.

  Kat glared at him. “Why?”

  “Because they feel they have no choice,” Junayd said tiredly. He had no idea what the common folk had been told in the time since his defection, but he could guess. “They think the women will be dishonored.”

  “They could just have run,” Kat snapped. “We have plenty of images of people fleeing their homes.”

  “But that would expose their women to other dangers,” Junayd told her. “They’d see death as the better option.”

  “Their women,” Kat snarled. “Women don’t belong to them.”

  Junayd looked up at her. “The vast majority of men and women on the planet below feel differently,” he said curtly. “And convincing them otherwise will take time.”

  He studied the images for a long moment. Kat was right, it was sickening. But not, perhaps, for her reasons. The Theocracy was literally eating itself, destroying its women and children in a desperate bid to preserve them from the future. He had no doubt, as word spread, that there would be riots and uprisings, but there would also be chaos. Social breakdown would be followed by looting, rape, and mass slaughter as old grudges were paid off. And the Commonwealth, for all its power, couldn’t do anything about it.

  “I need to find my family,” he said. “You did pass the word to the scouts?”

  Janice cleared her throat. “We did as you instructed,” she said. “But you know the risks.”

  “I know,” Junayd said. “Everything I told you could easily be out of date.”

  He looked back at Kat. “They’re planning something,” he said. “And you have to be wary.”

  Kat scowled. “What are they planning?”

  “They allowed four squadrons of superdreadnoughts and their escorts to retreat, rather than fighting to the last,” Junayd said. “That shows a degree of contingency planning.”

  “Or someone deciding that trying to fight and getting squashed would be nothing more than suicide,” Kat pointed out.

  Junayd felt a flicker of envy. Kat Falcone had definitely enjoyed a measure of independence—as a woman, as a starship commander—that he had never shared, despite his rank and family background. She didn’t understand the limitations facing her Theocratic counterparts. How could she? They were completely alien to her.

  “Every commanding officer on our ships has an official minder, an overseer, if you will,” he said softly. “And there will be a number of unofficial minders too, sleeper agents who will take steps if the commanding officer steps out of line. If the admiral in charge decided to take his ships out of the battle without prior agreement, he’d probably be shot in the back.”

  “You managed a mutiny,” Kat snapped.

  “I had a plan,” Junayd countered. “And it wasn’t a mutiny, but an individual escape. And I barely got away with it.”

  He nodded towards the projector, which was showing the records from the battle. “Even if that admiral managed to get control of his ship, the other commanding officers would hesitate to follow an order to retreat,” he added. “And their minders would certainly take steps too. They couldn’t be subverted in a hurry.”

  “Really,” Kat said.

  “Oh, yes,” Junayd said. He laughed bitterly. “There are times when commanding officers are too afraid to cough for fear that someone will take it as a sign to start something violent. No, there was a contingency plan for a retreat. And I assume that means they have an idea in mind for the fleet.”

  Janice caught his eye. “A bargaining chip?”

  “I doubt it,” Junayd told her. “Surely the time to bargain was before hostile troops landed on their soil.”

  He took a moment to contemplate the possibilities. Four squadrons of superdreadnoughts could do a great deal of damage, but where? The Commonwealth’s closest system was a month away, on the other side of the Gap. And it was heavily defended. Four squadrons of superdreadnoughts would be torn to ribbons if they tried to attack. They could try to head farther into Commonwealth space, he supposed, but there weren’t many targets they could take. And basic maintenance issues would rapidly reduce their squadron to irrelevance if they didn’t manage to obtain more supplies.

  They might have a plan to reestablish the Theocracy somewhere beyond the edge of explored space, he thought. But they won’t have any of the resources the original founders had, back when we were kicked off Earth. Unless . . .

  He looked up. “They’re planning to counterattack your fleet,” he said bluntly. “That’s what they have in mind.”

  Kat didn’t look surprised. Any halfway competent commanding officer would have already considered the possibility. Her fleet wasn’t exactly weak, but it was over a month from the closest naval base and at risk of running out of supplies. Junayd had seen and admired the Commonwealth fleet train, yet he knew expenditure had already been higher than predicted.

  “Four squadrons of superdreadnoughts will not be enough to defeat us,” Kat said flatly.

  “It might not stay four squadrons of superdreadnoughts,” Junayd said. He rose and started to pace the compartment. “They’ll tell themselves, I think, that they have a chance to win a final decisive battle, that if they crush your fleet, they can force the Commonwealth to back off. I think they’ll call in everything they have for the final engagement.”

  “It won’t force us to back off,” Kat said. “Even if we lose the entire fleet, we’ll take one hell of a bite out of their remaining forces and obliterate their shipyards.”

  “You don’t understand how these people think,” Junayd said. “They’ll justify the tactical retreat to themselves by plotting a counterattack. And then they’ll throw everything at you because they think it’s the only way to win. They won’t give a damn about anything else, Commodore. They simply cannot imagine losing.”

  “Even with our troops on the ground,” Kat said.

  “They’re already throwing everything they have at the spacehead,” Janice put in.

  “Yes,” Junayd said. He straightened. “With your permission, Commodore, I would like to go down to the surface. I may be able to do some g
ood there.”

  “Once we know the spacehead can be held,” Janice said quickly.

  Kat’s lips thinned with distaste. Junayd had the feeling she wouldn’t have hesitated to let him go, despite the risk. She had tried to hide the fact that she didn’t like him, but she hadn’t managed to keep her true emotions from him. If he happened to be killed on the surface, she wouldn’t shed a tear. And, truthfully, that didn’t bother him.

  “Once we have finished landing and securing the spacehead,” she said. “We have yet to solidify our grip on the system.”

  “As you wish,” Junayd said.

  He turned his attention back to the endless stream of images. The horror in the church wasn’t the only one, he noted; the marines were stumbling over dozens of bodies, all killed to keep them from falling into Commonwealth hands. Women, children . . . and men, men who’d refused to join the mobs or leave their homes. Perhaps, just perhaps, they’d even tried to defend their families from the clerics. Junayd liked to think that he would have done that, if he’d had a chance.

  And I did send my family away, he thought. But did I send them far enough?

  “Local space is clear, Captain,” Cecelia said. “The enemy technicians don’t seem to be doing anything.”

  William hoped she was right. Small marine landing parties were heading to the nearest surviving enemy shipyard, even though the shipyards could easily be blown out of space by fire from the ground. Admiral Christian, may he rest in peace, had hoped they could capture enemy techs and interrogate them, particularly the ones who had been hired from outside the Theocracy. ONI had suspected, perhaps with good reason, that someone was bankrolling the Theocracy, although they hadn’t come up with any proof. Admiral Christian had hoped to find the proof before it was destroyed.

  “Continue to monitor the situation,” he ordered. The Theocracy might well have moved the techs elsewhere, if they’d expected an attack, but the shipyards had to be checked. “And watch for trouble heading our way.”

  He glanced at the main display. The fleet was holding station near the planet, launching an endless stream of shuttles, ECM drones, and sensor decoys towards the high orbitals. Without their network of orbital sensors, the PDCs on the ground were having problems distinguishing the real shuttles from the fakes, which hadn’t stopped them picking off a number of shuttles as they made the transit down to the surface. The spacehead was only three hours old and already several hundred men had died.

  Once we start clearing the PDCs, we can land more troops, he told himself. He’d seen the assault plans, although he’d been warned that they would have to be updated to fit the situation on the ground. And then we can advance on the Tabernacle.

  “Captain,” Lieutenant Richard Ball said, “I have a priority signal for you from the flag. It’s marked for your ears only.”

  William rose. Kat Falcone had assumed command in the aftermath of Admiral Christian’s death, although he had a nasty feeling that some of her commodores would seek to oppose or undermine her command once the spacehead was securely established. She was young, even if she was one of the most experienced officers in the fleet. And yet, her experience of fleet command was very limited.

  “I’ll take it in my office,” he said. He glanced at Roach. “You have the conn.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Roach said.

  Kat’s image was already floating in front of his chair as he entered his office and closed the hatch. “William,” she said grimly. “Have you heard the news?”

  William frowned. “About what?”

  “Two separate problems,” Kat said. “Pat uncovered an . . . atrocity on the ground, several atrocities. And our Theocratic friend thinks the enemy is preparing a counterattack.”

  “I wish I was surprised about the atrocity,” William said. “And a counterattack . . .”

  He scowled, stroking his chin. After what the Theocracy had done to his homeworld, he was prepared to believe that there simply weren’t any taboos the Theocracy wasn’t prepared to break. Rendering an entire world lifeless was horrifying, with good reason. It would unite the entire galaxy against them.

  “It isn’t like them to just give up, is it?”

  “No,” Kat agreed. “And we can’t give up either.”

  William nodded, turning his attention to the near-space display. ONI’s best guesses at the surviving enemy fleet strength suggested the enemy might be down to a mere thirteen superdreadnought squadrons at most, but several of them would be on the far side of the Gap. They’d need at least five to six weeks to get into position to challenge 6th Fleet, even if they were recalled immediately.

  Unless they were recalled earlier, he thought. We wouldn’t know.

  It was a bitter thought. The Theocracy could have withdrawn the remainder of their fleet from the occupied systems, perhaps wrecking the planets as they departed, and 6th Fleet wouldn’t know anything about it until they got the mobile StarCom set up. A fleet that could give Commonwealth vessels a run for their money might be closing in at this very moment—and they wouldn’t have any warning until the ships dropped out of hyperspace. Hell, the enemy might copy his tactic of returning to realspace at the edge of the system and crawling towards the planet under cloak. But coordinating such an operation would be an absolute nightmare.

  “All we can really do is prepare ourselves for the challenge, when it comes,” he said. “And start raiding the rest of the system.”

  “You’ll be taking control of the cloudscoops in the next two days,” Kat said. “And as many asteroid colonies as possible.”

  “If they’re not blown up first,” William said pessimistically.

  The Theocracy had never struck him as the kind of government that was inclined to leave something intact for its replacement. Losing the cloudscoops would eventually plunge the entire planet into darkness as fusion plants ran out of fuel. They could be replaced, of course, but that would take time. He had a nasty feeling the Theocracy wasn’t going to give 6th Fleet that time.

  “We have to do the best we can with what we have on hand,” Kat said. She took a breath, running her hand through her hair. “I’ll have to call a council of war once the spacehead is firmly established.”

  “Ouch,” William said. His eyes narrowed. Was that a ring on her finger? “Shouldn’t we get the StarCom set up first?”

  “The techs are working on it,” Kat said. She didn’t sound entirely pleased. “We’ll have to warn the Commonwealth that the enemy might be sending ships in their direction.”

  “Agreed,” William said. He met her eyes. “Is that a new ring?”

  Kat flushed. “Yes. Pat gave it to me.”

  “Congratulations are in order then,” William said. “I hope the two of you will be very happy together.”

  He wondered, absently, just how many others had noticed. Kat wouldn’t have been face to face with anyone, apart from her tactical aides. It wouldn’t matter. Her marriage wasn’t a major issue, not when the fleet was invading the enemy homeworld. He had no doubt that Duke Falcone would eventually turn the engagement into a major issue after the war.

  “Thank you,” Kat said. She still looked flushed. “I hope you’ll do us the honor of attending.”

  “I will,” William said.

  The nasty part of his mind was tempted to suggest that she take the ring off, at least during the council of war. He could name three or four commodores who would be happy to make sarcastic remarks about allowing one’s partner to go into danger, then ask pointed questions about just how badly Kat would be distracted by worrying about her fiancé. There were reasons why intimate relationships between officers were discouraged, even when they weren’t technically illegal. But he trusted Kat. She’d sent Pat into danger dozens of times in the years he’d known her, and if she’d had qualms, she’d hidden them well.

  Of course, she put herself in danger too, he thought. And she has a right to wear his ring.

  “We’ll be adding KEWs to the bombardment, I think,” Kat added. “T
he enemy needs to be shaken up before the marines get to them.”

  “As long as they’re not under the force shields,” William pointed out. Accurately targeting KEWs at such a distance wasn’t going to be easy. “Or do you want to risk sending the fleet closer?”

  “We need a couple of monitors,” Kat said tersely. “Even superdreadnoughts can’t cut it.”

  William nodded. Naval monitors were supposed to be designed for bombarding targets on the ground while soaking up the enemy’s response, but the concept had never gotten off the drawing board. A superdreadnought could do everything they could do against an unshielded target, without needing a specialized ship, while a monitor wouldn’t be that much more effective against a shielded and defended target. There was just too great a chance of having the monitor blown out of space by the enemy’s ground-based defenses.

  But they would have come in handy now.

  “The marines can cope,” he assured her. “We’re moving reinforcements down as fast as possible, aren’t we?”

  “Yes,” Kat said. “But are we moving fast enough?”

  “I think so,” William said.

  Kat still looked grave. “Concentrate on taking the shipyards,” she said. “I’ll be watching my back very carefully.”

  “Good idea,” William agreed. “The threats don’t just come from the enemy fleet, these days.”

  Kat sat back in her office, feeling old, as William’s image vanished from the display.

  She’d thought herself immune to horror. She’d seen the aftermath of too many pirate raids to feel anything but a stark desire to hunt down and slaughter the perpetrators. She’d avoided many of the horrible disadvantages facing commoners, those who hadn’t been born into aristocratic families, yet she thought she understood them. She understood the limits they’d faced, even if they hadn’t existed for her.

  But she’d underestimated the Theocracy’s capability for sheer unending horror.

  Kat could understand stiff resistance, even fanatical resistance. It was the only logical response to being attacked by something like the Theocracy, where survival meant humiliation, shame, or helpless collaboration. And yet, the Commonwealth wasn’t going to slaughter or rape its way through the planet’s population. There was no need to kill women and children instead of letting them fall into enemy hands.