Captain Warrant’s eager expression faded. Getting the Marines to the ship was one thing, but as powerful as a PICS was, it was nothing against a Navy man-of-war.
“I might think of something,” the ship’s weapons officer said.
Captain Warrant looked up with renewed hope in his eyes.
The alezerdes stood up and said, “Twenty minutes. Get back to me with a plan. We’ll run it through the AI, and if we’ve got a 33% chance or better of success, it’s a go.”
EARTH
Chapter 19
Skylar
At 12:37, the minister blew into his office like a tornado, trailing the vice-minister and three underlings. Sky jumped to her feet, and the minister held up a hand, palm out, to stop her.
“Set up a meeting with Archbishop Tallyman in twenty minutes in the Vault,” he told his EA.
Grace Jordache, who’d been the EA for no fewer than eight second-ministers, said, “He’s not going to agree to that.”
“He will if he thinks I can get the first minister to stand down.”
“Can you?”
“I don’t know,” the minister said, suddenly looking weary. “But we have to try. We can’t let the Lore incident pull us into a shooting war, and if we both send in tasks forces, that’s what’s going to happen.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get him there,” Grace said, leaving the office.
Sky had almost forgotten the crisis out at the Lore system. Just ten hours earlier, it had taken all of her attention, and now it had been pushed to the side in lieu of something much bigger.
He turned to Sky, and without civil pleasantries, asked, “How sure are you of this?”
This is it. Time to step up.
She was certain to her very core that what she said now could not only affect the Federation, but all of humanity. If she was wrong, the consequences could be simply too dire to even imagine.
“I’m positive, sir. I’m staking my professional career on it.”
“Your career means jack shit, Skylar. As much as I like you, I’d fire you in a second if I thought it would serve the Federation.”
“Right, sir. Then to be blunt, I’m staking my life on it. And in this case, it isn’t the Federation I’m worried about. It’s mankind.”
“I’ve read your report, Skylar. It’s just . . . well, it’s a lot to absorb. Jerry?” he asked, turning to the vice-minister.
Vice-Minister Jerome Lucient and Skylar were not on the best of terms, and the vice-minister had blocked Sky before. Sky steeled her face to listen to what Lucient said, readying her counter-attack.
“I hate to say it, sir, but I can’t find fault with it. I’m not ready to vouch for it to the chairman, but Ybarra could be right. I think we need to run it through some others and run some sims, though.”
Sky was surprised at Lucient’s response. She’d been expecting pushback. Instead, he seemed to offer a tentative agreement. His suggestion to run the sims was even welcomed. That would be a huge relief, she realized, taking the heavy load of full responsibility off her shoulders. She should have suggested that in the beginning, but she’d been too focused on getting the minister to initiate action.
“How much time do we have?” the minister asked.
That question took her by surprise. It shouldn’t have, but once again, she’d had blinders on in her efforts to let the minister know the threat. She had to think for a moment, but she didn’t have much to go on. The Klethos were hard to fathom sometimes, and their sense of time seemed to be far different from that of homo sapiens.
“I . . . I can’t honestly say right now,” she admitted.
This was too important to simply try and make a SWAG just to save face.
“Ten minutes? Ten hours? Ten days? Give me something, Skylar.”
“Not ten minutes. Days, maybe? Weeks?”
The minister looked at her with his famous piercing stare, as if he could read into her very soul. It took an effort of will for Sky to stare back, unflinching.
“Jerry, I want the Bravo group in the conference room at sixteen hundred. Get Knowles from First and Bue from Third to join us. I want this hashed out, and then start sims by this evening.
“Skylar, go check into the Metropole. You’re staying here for the duration. And get a nap if you can. I want you rested and ready at sixteen hundred.
“And now, I’ve got to go deal with the arch-bishop. I thought we were only trying to keep humanity from breaking out into war, but now we’ve got to worry about the Klethos, too.”
“Are you going to tell the arch-bishop about this?” Lucient asked him.
“I don’t know. If I have to. If it comes down to the Klethos attacking them . . .” he said, leaving the sentence unfinished.
If it comes down to the Klethos attacking the Brotherhood, the Federation will have to support their fellow humans, she finished the thought.
She supposed she knew that, but it was sobering to have the minister refer to it.
Despite that, Sky felt a huge wave of relief sweep over her. Holding what she’d learned at the meeting with the quad had been a huge burden. Now, the minister was on it, and she no longer felt she had to save the galaxy alone.
SMS Zrínyi
Chapter 20
Hondo
“Up-check!” Hondo passed over the net. “I want to hear your greens.”
It felt good to be back in his PICS after fighting in what was essentially a plastic bag over his head. The fact that the official projection gave them a 42% chance of success didn’t dampen his mood. They were finally taking the fight to the enemy instead of waiting for them to strike first.
Four hours before, he’d taken his idea to the lieutenant; now he was in the assault force.
His plan had not survived the officers, both Buddie Navy and Federation Marine. He wasn’t surprised. “Simple” and “straightforward” were often foreign words to the Os, as if they had to make sure their fingerprints were all over everything.
For Hondo, at least, the mission was pretty clear, and he could ignore the other working parts. Those parts were what pushed the chance of success over the ship commander’s 33%, but none of them were in his control, so he didn’t have to concern himself with them.
“Make sure you’re on Null-G weapons settings,” he passed again.
It should be obvious, but it never hurt to check. A PICS’ weapons systems worked whether in the vacuum of space or on a planet. The targeting systems had to be adjusted, however. A kinetic round had a different trajectory under 1.2 Earth Normal than it did at .5 Earth Normal than it did in Null-G. Even energy weapons had different characteristics.
“Captain, are your weapons on Null-G?”
Hondo could see Captain Warrant mouth “shit,” but he said, “Don’t worry about me, Sergeant. I’ve done this before.”
Hondo wasn’t happy to have the captain along. He’d given the man his props in CIC for saying he’d lead the assault, but in reality, the man was probably going to be a liability. Hondo didn’t know him, and he certainly hadn’t worked with him.
To make matters worse, since the Charlie Company commander had interjected himself into the assault element, that meant Lieutenant Abrams had to come along, too. Hondo was surprised that Captain Ariç hadn’t joined the party, but there was no way she was going to let Captain Warrant go with Hondo without someone to run interference for him.
Hondo didn’t mind the lieutenant joining him. They’d worked together enough times, and they were a pretty good team, he thought. However, with only ten putt-putts aboard the ship, that meant ten Marines were going to make the crossing. That meant he had to drop a fire team, and with only two Marines left in First, that was Wolf and Pickerul.
Wolf was still glowering as he helped the rest of the Marines get ready. He’d tried to get Hondo to change his mind and leave behind someone else, but this made the most sense. Pickerul was even more pissed off, if that was even possible. She was assisting the Navy weapons tech in attaching the “pack
age” to Hanaburgh, but her body language screamed anger.
His PICS ready to go, Hondo walked over the Hanaburgh to check the progress. The weapons officer was standing in front of the Marine, going over the deployment of the weapon for what had to be the tenth time.
Hondo looked at the contraption warily. It looked like it was put together by a crazed scientist, but the weapons officer promised it would work—if it was emplaced properly. There were only a few locations on the frigate’s hull where it could be effective, and even then, unless the thing was kicked off correctly, it would all be for naught.
He didn’t like the fact that they had only one of the bombs. If Hanaburgh was picked off in the transit, they had nothing but their own PICS weapons, and while they could help blind the ship, or at least degrade her sensor suite, they couldn’t do much to the ship as a whole.
“OK, Burger, you’re ready!” Pickerul said, slapping him on the chest carapace.
“Hooah!” Hanaburgh shouted.
“Fucking A, Burger, it’s ‘ooh-rah,’ now, none of the fuckdick shit.”
Hanaburgh was prone to revert back to the FCDC “hooah” instead of the Marine “ooh-rah,” and he took a ration of shit from the others every time he did so. Hondo thought he might be doing it on purpose, though, to push back against the grief he took for being an FCDC transfer.
“OK, all non-essentials, out of the hold!” the deck officer shouted.
“You and Pickerul, get into your PICS and hook up with Sergeant Riordan. I’ll see you on the flip side,” Hondo told Wolf as most of the Navy crew started to leave the hold.
“Kick some ass for me, OK?”
“You got it.”
Within moments, the cargo hold was empty except for the cargo sled, the ten Marines, and four red-suited sailors. The ten Marines moved into position at the container jockeys. The first five—Hondo, Hanaburgh, Ling, Tony B, and RP—stepped forward so the force clamps could adjust to their shape and mass. There’d been some concern that Hanaburgh, carrying the bomb, might be better off going in the second wave, but Hondo insisted that he be with the first. The first wave had a better shot at making it across before they could be brought under fire, so unless there was a nasty surprise waiting for them at the frigate, this was their best shot.
The next five—Marasco, Joseph, Antman, the lieutenant, and the captain—took a position right behind the first five. As soon as the first wave was sent, they would take a step forward and the force clamps would grab them as well. The cargo chief said that it would take seven seconds to cycle.
Hondo turned and looked into the control booth where the chief and one of his cargo handlers waited. He gave them a thumbs-up, then waited for the weapons techs.
He didn’t like this part of the plan. The bomb—the sailors got upset when he called it that, but it was supposed to go boom, so it was a bomb, right?—was about to be taken out of the magazine. The red-suited sailors were going to cloak it in an attempt to contain any spewing radiation, but the cargo hold was going to be contaminated. And that meant the ten Marines would be, too. Their PICS would keep them safe, but that meant they would have to go through decon before they molted.
An alarm sounded inside the hold, the red light flashing. All ten Marines turned to watch the four techs enter, pulling a gravmule on which the bomb was packed. Almost immediately, Hondo’s PICS registered the rise in radiation. The techs guided the mule to the cargo sled where an arm descended from the overhead to pick up the bomb and place it on the sled. Two of the techs secured it while the other two headed for the decon station at the far end of the hold.
“This is it,” Hondo passed. “Let’s get it done.”
One of the two techs jumped off the sled and headed to the decon station. The lone tech stood there, looking up at the control booth. Hondo raised a gauntlet in salute. The guy had balls the size of watermelons; there was a good chance that he couldn’t get back in time, but the lieutenant told Hondo that the sailor had volunteered for the mission.
There was the slightest sideways pull, and outside the curtain, Hondo could see the stars start to spin. The hold doors were on the opposite side of the ship from the frigate, and while that posed no problem for the sled, it did for the PICS Marines being “shot” at it. They had to get a line-of-sight view. It was going to be a long twenty seconds before the maneuvering jet pods could turn the ship around enough for the Marines to be launched.
The tech on the sled whipped off the cloak, then bolted for the decon station. The sled lifted off and moved through the curtain, a ripple of distortion marking its entry into the black. Around the ship, Hondo knew that the escape pods were being ejected, full of the surviving crew, the zombied personnel, the EPWs, and all the remaining Marines other than Staff Sergeant Rutledge and Cara’s squad, packed inside the shuttle.
Up in the control tower, the chief gave them a thumbs-up, and suddenly, Hondo was being pushed along the overhead rails. He half-expected the G-force to knock him silly, but it barely registered.
And then he was out of the ship and into the black. Up ahead, bright in the reflected light of the system’s sun, the Brotherhood ship lay silent in space, menacing.
Hondo’s faceshield highlighted two spots on the ship, two of the three target areas. Luckily, one of them was their first choice, and his AI calculated that they were exactly on target.
Around him, escape pods filled the void, red emergency lights flashing. Hondo hoped that the four Marines were lost in the confusion of what had to look to the Brotherhood crew as if they were all abandoning ship—which they were, of course.
Hondo looked to his left just as a flash lit up the two ships. The frigate had just taken the sled out of action. They’d taken the bait. The two waves of Marines now had twenty seconds before the gun could engage them.
The frigate was getting huge quickly, and for a moment, Hondo worried that there’d been a malfunction, that they were coming in too fast. His AI assured him that it was OK. He’d be able to handle the shock of landing.
And then there were inside the cutout.
Hondo opened the net and said, “We’re in. Target number one.”
He still couldn’t see what made their target spot any different—it certainly looked like any other patch of hull to him, but every sim indicated this would give them the best chance of success. If they were trying to cripple the ship, Hondo thought that the big thrust cones would be the most logical place to attack the ship. At least he could see them. But the Navy braintrust said that the cones would be almost impervious to the small bomb Hanaburgh carried. They had to cripple the ship before the impulse stream reached the cones.
A hundred meters out, Hondo flexed his legs to handle the impact, but before hitting the frigate, the ship began to move. Hondo looked over at the thruster cones, expecting to see flames shooting out. That was Hollybolly, though, not the real world where the impulse was invisible to human eyes. But there was no doubt, the ship was slowly moving.
Too late, though. The four Marines landed just meters from the target point, their bootplates locking onto the hull.
“Place it!”
Tony B did the exaggerated hull walk to Hanaburgh and helped release the device from his back, a leash keeping it attached to him. Together, the two placed the bomb on the designated spot as the next four Marines came in. Three landed around the first four, while one hit hard and glanced off to rebound into space.
Hondo started to move when the lieutenant passed, “The captain’s dead. Got hit right before we made the cut-out. Form your perimeter.”
Hondo regretted any bad thoughts he’d been having about the captain. He hadn’t needed to come on this mission, but he did, even at the cost of his own life. He gave the body, now fifty meters away, one last look before focusing on the front.
It was going to take a minute or so to set up the device, then another minute before it would begin to have an effect. The nine Marines had to make sure it was undisturbed until then.
Hanab
urgh, with Tony B assisting, twisted the locking ring in place. It was designed to keep the device steady while the little torch inside did its job. Tony B gave it a few kicks, almost losing himself in the process as his other foot came free and he had to give his putt-putt a tiny burst to return.
“Watch it, Tony,” Hondo said needlessly.
Hanaburgh hit the test, and a series of lights flashed before settling on a steady green.
“I’m turning it on,” he said.
Hondo should have been watching outboard, but he couldn’t. He had to see if the thing would work.
Hanaburgh bent over and threw the large red switch. A horrendously bright light suddenly appeared through the edges of the locking ring.
It was working!
Whether it would have any effect was another matter, but at least it had touched off. Now, only time would tell.
“I’ve got something,” Corporal Marasco passed over the net.
Hondo was about to reply when the lieutenant asked, “How many?”
“Three so far. Standard EVA suits.”
Hondo turned to look, but the curve of the frigates hull blocked his view.
“Acevedo, shift right, and you two engage as they head towards us. Everyone else, stay in position.”
Hondo wanted to reorient the squad, but what the lieutenant said made sense. Three soldiers or sailors in EVAs would be far more maneuverable than the Marines, but not nearly so lethal. The Marines wouldn’t be maneuvering anyway. Their place was right there with the device as its photon torch cut through the hull.
“Above” him, the Zrínyi no longer had any sign of activity as the distance between the two ships started to lengthen. Hondo wondered if the tech who’d sat with the bait-bomb had made it off. As he watched, there were several flashes, and the slow process of the ship’s destruction began as it collapsed in on itself, each section slagging into a molten mass.
His alarm shocked him out of his trance.
Shit, I’m hit!
He turned towards Marasco, but he and Antman were engaged across the curve. He spun back, almost losing his grip, and two EVA-clad enemy were advancing, firing small hand beamers. His shields were still solid, but he couldn’t let them get closer. He lowered his left arm and fired a burst of his M90, sending 80 6mm darts that easily pierced the Brotherhood suits. The two bodies floated backwards, feet still attached to the hull.
The Price of Honor Page 12
