Harry Heron Savage Fugitive

by Patrick G Cox

  In the passage, Harry and his team flung themselves to the floor a millisecond before the grenade detonated. The shock wave bent the half closed door in its frame and deflected the blast from their prone forms, though they felt the shock through the floor.

  Harry was the first to his feet and leapt through the door, his ears ringing as he bawled, “Ferghal, if you hear me — join us quickly!”

  His feet skidded in blood and he almost went headlong. Struggling to maintain his balance, he collided with the only person to have a weapon drawn. A brief struggle saw the injured soldier disarmed and helpless in the grip of one of his crew. The blast had thrown everyone in the room from their feet, and no one seemed to have escaped injury.

  The door to Ferghal’s cell had been blown almost off its hinges, and Errol Hill combined his strength with Ferghal’s to rip it open. Ferghal emerged, his expression exuberant.

  “That was some device,” he said above the rising sound of moaning and whimpering from the injured. “Have I not said before that you are the most destructive man I know?” He looked for Dr. Johnstone and grimaced. “One, at least, will not pursue us any longer — I fear he must have taken the full force!” He knelt down and relieved the Guard Commander of his weapons, something the other members of Harry’s team were already doing to the other wounded.

  “Is this the one you asked us to spare?” Harry said, joining his friend.

  “Yes, and by the goodness of the saints, it seems he has suffered no worse than the concussion.” Ferghal clasped his friend and said, “Oh, Harry, how I have missed your company these months, but we must hurry! Their people will be on us if we linger. We need to get out of here now.”

  The team threw their remaining grenades into open doors as they departed, causing enormous damage and further confusion. There was no pursuit as they retired back to the cavern, the Canids materialising around them and chattering in their strange mixture of growling and yipping as they did so.

  Settling into the transport vehicle, Ferghal studied the Canids then looked at Harry. “You have a strange way with those you encounter, Harry. First the Lacertians and now these dog men are your allies. What is your charm?”

  “You ask me?” Harry laughed. “I do not know why you have followed me or stayed my friend these many long years.” He wiped his eyes to hide his emotion. “It is so good to have you returned, my friend — I cannot say how it has been to have you gone from my company.”

  “And I you.” Ferghal’s grin was lopsided. “But perhaps on the next occasion our reunion can be less explosive, though that does seem to be our usual way of doing things!”

  Around them, the team collapsed in laughter at this remark, to the puzzlement of the Canids, who watched this strange human behaviour with expressions of interest.

  The response team surveyed the devastated Iso-lab site with amazement. The barrack and administration domes were torn apart, and scenes of complete devastation met their gaze in every structure. The powerhouse nearby was nothing but a crater, and the destruction in the laboratory block left no doubt that something extremely violent had happened here.

  “What the hell did this?” The officer commanding the rescue team demanded to know. “I’ve never seen anything like it — plasma bolts don’t throw debris around like this.”

  One of his sergeants picked up a twisted bit of metal, evidently part of a cylinder, and sniffed it, his nose wrinkling. “Stinks, that does. Smells like burnt chemicals.”

  The survivors from the attack gave a very confused range of impressions of who had attacked them. Some thought it had been the natives, but others said it was humans in Canid clothing. The attack had been well planned and executed. It was obvious to the investigating officer the attackers had a detailed knowledge of the facility.

  The weapon described by the survivors made no sense to any of the team though. A cylinder with sparks coming from its end didn’t seem to be much more than something with an electrical short circuit — and that couldn’t possibly cause this level of devastation.

  “Must be something they got from the Rotties,” the officer reported to the Chairman and the Brigadier. “Never seen anything like this — some sort of blasting device. Dr. Johnstone must have been holding one or standing right next to it when it detonated.”

  “The medics say it caused massive trauma.” The Chairman’s voice was impassive.

  “It isn’t pretty. The others were lucky, only blast injuries or broken bones when they were thrown down by the blast. Some of them will be permanently deaf. If it’d had a fragmentation element, they wouldn’t have survived. Other domes were hit by fragmentation versions, and . . . well, I don’t need to go into detail.”

  The Chairman’s face was inscrutable. “Brigadier, I’ll assign more troops to you. We can’t afford to have this group jeopardise our operations here. Hunt them down and destroy them. If these, er, Rotties are involved, take them out as well. No more playing around. I know the research teams will want them captured, but we can’t afford another incident like this. I’ll leave it to you. See that it’s done.”

  Ferghal’s former guard lay confined in a med-unit, which gave him plenty of time to think about the event that put him here. Chiefly, he recalled, or thought he recalled, the care his former prisoner had shown in ensuring he survived. But he had some grisly memories too. The image of Dr. Johnstone catching the explosive would remain with him for life.

  Only his own lightning reflexes had saved him. His instinct for self-preservation had been triggered by the realisation the prisoner and the attackers were taking cover. His survival was miraculous nonetheless, his injuries the result of not being fully on the floor when the bomb exploded.

  He had much to think about while he recovered.

  News of the attack and Ferghal’s escape soon reached the other Fleet prisoners. The TechRates were the first to hear, as was always the way. Then it filtered through to Commander Nielsen and his group.

  “Whatever the attackers used tore the place apart,” he told the others. “It blew that bastard Johnstone to bits. He was holding the bomb when it detonated.”

  “Bloody good show,” one of his listeners replied. Glancing at Aral Clarke, he raised his voice. “It seems that Mr. Heron and at least some of our people survived and have managed to come up with some weaponry.”

  “They got Mr. O’Connor out, and vanished,” Commander Nielsen remarked, watching Lieutenant Clarke’s expression as he sat alone nursing a mug of hot coffee.

  “Our guards seem to be quite stirred up,” remarked another Lieutenant.

  “The Chairman is furious,” said the Commander. “They’re tearing the place apart looking for them. I hear they have orders to destroy those abandoned cities and shoot down any of the Canids who try to stop them.”

  “I hope to hell they give us an opportunity to get out of this dump,” one of the others commented. “I’d love to have a crack at disrupting this place a bit more.”

  “We’ll have our chance,” the Commander agreed. “Soon, I hope.”

  Aral Clarke bit back a response. What did it matter? Heron and his lunatic activities had put them all in danger, but the Commander and the others refused to see it, as usual.

  “Why wasn’t this anomaly reported immediately?” The Communications Major was furious. “And these portable interface accesses from the Iso-lab? There had better be a damned good explanation, mister.”

  “The signal was probably just a power blip,” protested Lieutenant Barclay. “At least that seems the most logical explanation, sir.”

  “Except it happens to coincide with someone accessing Top Security files in the database from a portable interface in the Iso-lab!” The Major glared across the desk. “The security code is one that has never been issued — so who the blazes do you think was using it?”

  “But the researchers were always using portable interface units there, sir. How was I supposed to know it wasn’t them?”

  �
��Did you check? I thought not. In future, I want all unusual or unexplained events logged and investigated. Clear?”

  Cam Khodro could see from Lieutenant Barclay’s expression there was a rough ride ahead. He wondered if it was too late to ask for a transfer to another station.

  Alone in his berth Harry wrestled with his thoughts. His people had performed well and come through the raid unscathed, and for that he was thankful, but he was certain they would not be so lucky again. The death of an enemy was regrettable, and he was all too aware of how many he had killed and injured. It didn’t sit well with his faith, but he was also trying to come to terms with the Canid culture. It was hard to understand why several of the more hostile ones now seemed to look on him as some sort of war leader.

  He had to consider whether further assaults could be justified now that Ferghal was free and safe. Should they just lie low or adopt another course of action? Perhaps sabotage? They needed weapons and med-units. Full assaults would be costly and very risky with little reward unless there was some hope of rescue by their own people. With these thoughts running through his head, he eventually fell into an exhausted sleep.

  Chapter 20 — No Backing Down

  The weather turned vicious, not that Harry and his team noticed, for they were deep below ground within the subterranean city that was their living host. Ferghal, Abram Winstanley, and Rasmus put this opportunity to very good use and built up a stockpile of grenades and larger charges. Maddie Hodges proved very adept at constructing the fuses Rasmus designed, and under her tuition, a team of several of the smaller Canids built more. The Canids learned fast, and had a few innovations of their own to offer.

  “Not such savages as our people think,” Harry remarked to Rasmus.

  “As you say.” Rasmus gazed at one of the larger workspaces. “No wonder they could provide all that we asked for so quickly.”

  Ferghal threw himself into the task of making a form of mortar that could be used to project their grenades onto an enemy. It was as well they had prepared these, for when the weather did ease, the Consortium struck, leaving Harry no option but to fight back.

  And it rekindled the hostility of the Canid leaders.

  Harry surveyed the scene. The once intact and surreal buildings had been reduced to rubble for the most part. Smoke billowed from one area, and the stench of burnt material filled his nostrils. The Consortium’s aerial attackers had withdrawn, but their ground troops moved cautiously among the wreckage.

  Slipping back into cover, he turned to his group. “There are far too many to take head on, so here is my plan. We will use our Bangalore torpedoes to destroy their vehicles. Mr. Winstanley, your section will move to this point and infiltrate the area where their vehicles are parked. I will take Moroti, Hill and Ms. Hodges. We will use the shoulder tubes to draw their attention. Ferghal, when we open fire, use your bombs to keep their searchers busy.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. Come on you lot, let’s get going.” The Coxswain and his companions followed a gully that led to their infiltration point. Ferghal studied the area ahead then moved off to find a position with the remaining people.

  “Ready?” Harry glanced at his team. “Let’s go.” He took two steps forward when Errol Hill touched his arm.

  “Still, sir.” Errol’s voice was quiet but urgent. “One of them is coming this way.”

  The group stood still as the Consortium trooper, obviously alert, advanced, his weapon ready. Conscious that their cover would be useless soon, Harry prepared to use the shoulder-launched rocket he carried. Untested, he had no idea whether it would be effective or accurate.

  The trooper tensed and stopped.

  Looking in the direction the man was peering, Harry realised he could see Ferghal setting up his mortar. Reacting quickly, Harry aimed his rocket tube and ignited the missile. Briefly enveloped in smoke and a shower of sparks, he lost sight of his target, but heard a shout and a loud bang as it detonated.

  “We better move, sir!” Errol Hill called. “He got off a report before your rocket blew him off his feet.”

  “Here they come,” called TechRate Moroti, indicating a group of troopers fanning out in an arc toward them. Hefting the plasma rifle he carried, he sighted it and sent several bursts toward the advancing troopers, sending them diving for cover.

  “Damn,” Harry muttered. He assessed the situation. “Fire our rockets at them. Pick your target carefully, but don’t let them get close. Use the grenades to slow them down if you can.” Loading his tube, he picked a target.

  The smoke and bangs of the rockets drew more attention, including Ferghal’s. A group of soldiers advancing to join those attacking Harry’s group found themselves diving for shelter as the bigger bombs from Ferghal’s team rained down among them. Then a series of larger explosions from their vehicle park drew their attention, and as the troops hesitated, Harry and his team retreated, meeting up with the Coxswain and then Ferghal as they ran to their hidden escape entrance.

  Harry was the last to dive through the opening just as the entrance sealed.

  “That was too close for comfort,” he said, dusting himself off. “We will have to find other ways to strike at them.”

  Harry studied the faces of the Canid leaders gathered in what he thought of as their council chamber. The Consortium’s attacks on the cities continued despite the desperate defence put up by the Canids and Harry’s team. Their explosives gave the Consortium troopers good reason to be wary now, but they could not counter the aerial bombardment.

  One, an elder of the group who had been hostile toward Harry’s party from the start, held forth at some length. From Grakuna, the elder who had brought them into the city, speaking through the interpretation device, he learned that this elder, called Rathol, was advocating that the survivors should be expelled and their explosives and weapons used to destroy all human occupants on the planet, including Harry’s crew. Others disagreed, and the debate became heated as Harry tried to find an opening into which he could speak.

  Finally, he bellowed, “If you wish to discuss me and my people, we have a right to be heard in this debate!” That bought him a moment of silence, and he took his chance. “Rathol wishes to seize the weapons we have created and shared with you, and use them against us while annihilating our mutual enemy. Is this the Canid way? Should not we work together against our common enemy?”

  There was a growl of dissent. All eyes were focused on Harry.

  “Our people are different in many ways, and my friends and I did not seek to be here, nor did we seek to make this war. Yes, my people have created weapons, but they are crude, and the weapons of those we fight are much more powerful. We need to work together if we are to succeed.”

  A chorus of growls and barks interrupted him briefly.

  “Yes, you are all more powerful than we are, but is that the way you treat guests? It is not our way. We are your friends. We are not like those we fight. If our people succeed in our war, you will not have to be afraid that we will interfere in your peaceful way of life as our common enemy has done. On that you have my word as an officer of the Fleet.” He knew he was taking a chance, as he really did not know what the North European Confederation would do to back him up, but he was pretty sure they would not treat the Canids the way the Consortium had done.

  Grakuna took the floor. His words seemed to convey a more authoritative and less aggressive tone. Following the discussion as best he could, Harry was reassured to learn that the majority of the Canids shared Grakuna’s view, but as the meeting drew to a close, he realised it was still a matter of some contention among the leaders.

  The small outpost looked ideal for an attack. A mining operation with a very small population of technicians maintaining the machines, it was lightly defended.

  “Perfect,” breathed Harry. “Only a dozen guards and no electronic defences. If we destroy that conveyor structure, it will bring the operation to a halt, and that processing plant cannot operate if it is
not fed a continuous supply of ore.”

  The others studied the site carefully. Unlike their previous assault, this one would not see them attacking a much larger group of battle-hardened soldiers.

  “My group will set the charges along the conveyor, sir. We can set the fuses as soon as you give the signal.”

  “Good. Remember, Swain, the flying fuse we’ve devised is uncertain in its timing. Once lit, you need to run for cover immediately. Those mines have Mr. Rasmus’s special powder in them. It is considerably more powerful than our original.”

  Ferghal joined them. “I have my mortars ready. I will target the guardhouse first. Will you deal with the AI and block the comlinks?”

  “I am already linked, my friend.” Harry grinned. “Let us begin.” He watched as Mr. Winstanley led his team toward the long conveyor system held aloft by its gantry towers. This close he could see how tall they were. If they wrecked enough of them, perhaps they could disrupt this operation. At the very least it would force their enemy to defend their outposts at the expense of their attempts to destroy any more of the cities.

  Immersing himself in the AI, he watched its routines as he sought the comlink controls. Finding them, he watched the communications stream, for the most part routine orders, instructions, requests for information and reports. If he disrupted it too soon, it would alert the enemy, so he waited, taking the time to learn as much as he could of the activities of this and all the other AI systems it was linked to.

  He started as he caught a movement in the direction of the conveyor, then relaxed. Mr. Winstanley had completed laying the charges. Carefully, Harry raised the long stick with a coloured cloth attached to its end, and waved it. The Coxswain waved then ducked from sight. When he reappeared, he and his team were racing toward Harry, ducking from cover to cover.