Imperfect Sword

Chapter Nine

The freighters were heading off in all directions, doing what freighters always did, seeking individual safety, even though under most circumstances the only way to stay safe was to stay together where friendly warships could protect them.

But these weren’t normal circumstances.

The Syndicate battleship had veered slightly off the vector that would have brought its flotilla to the inhabited planet. It was now heading for one of the fleeing freighters. Battleships were slow and cumbersome for warships, which meant they were vastly faster and more agile than freighters. Freighters were designed for economy, to haul large cargos across long distances by the most efficient means. Warships were designed to catch and destroy other ships as quickly and effectively as possible. All of the inefficiencies of their design, the extra crews, the extra propulsion, the weapons, combined to produce a platform that could easily annihilate efficient spacecraft.

Kommodor Marphissa glowered at her display as if her displeasure could somehow change the laws governing acceleration and momentum and mass. “He can’t get away.”

“No,” Kapitan Diaz agreed. “The freighter’s only chance would be if we caused the Syndicate flotilla to divert its path.”

“Can we offer it bait? Do you think CEO Boucher would take bait? A cruiser with its main propulsion out?”

“Hua saw that at Midway,” Diaz pointed out. “Manticore was truly disabled in that fight, and we still got away from her. She’s not going to abandon destroying that freighter to chase us. She’s going to destroy that freighter, then probably veer port to hit this second one, then swing from there—”

“I can see the path,” Marphissa snapped. Only those freighters fleeing all out for the jump point for Kiribati had any chance of escaping, and even a single, small Syndicate warship waiting at Kiribati would catch them there.

Diaz looked away. “Your orders, Kommodor?”

Instead of answering him directly, Marphissa hit her comm controls. “Sentry, Sentinel, Scout, Defender, remain above the ground forces providing what support you can, but take any necessary evasive action to avoid enemy warships. Your priority—” This was so hard to say, so hard to get the words out past something in her throat that wanted to block them. “Your priority is to avoid enemy attacks. If you must abandon support positions above the ground forces to do so, then take that action.” The small Hunter-Killers would not stand a chance against Haris’s cruisers or the Syndicate flotilla, and Scout had already taken damage from an heroic but reckless dive into the atmosphere to support the ground forces.

“Kommodor,” Sentry protested. “If we abandon the ground forces—”

“If you are destroyed, you will not be able to support anyone. Do not hold your ground support positions if that will result in your destruction by enemy warships.” She wanted to spit once she had said those words. Anything to get the awful taste of them out of her mouth.

“We understand, Kommodor. We will comply.” The answer came reluctantly. Sentry did not sound any happier than Marphissa did, but they could not argue the ugly logic that drove the order.

“Hawk and Eagle,” Marphissa told the light cruisers, “you will be flotilla two. Your mission is to shadow and attempt to engage Haris’s light cruiser. It will probably try to hit one of the freighters that the battleship cannot reach. Hawk is senior ship in your flotilla. Gryphon and Manticore are now flotilla one. We will shadow Haris’s heavy cruiser and attempt to bring it to battle. Everyone, do your best. For the people, Marphissa, out.”

She ended the call and slumped in her seat, gazing despairingly at her display. This is what her brave words had come to. Nothing. All her warships could do was try to keep Haris’s two cruisers from doing damage to the freighters, while the Syndicate battleship flotilla went where it would and did what it would.

She would keep her warships here as long as possible and try to support the ground troops if possible, but Marphissa knew that her ability to influence the outcome of events at Ulindi was almost nonexistent. She felt the bitterness of defeat even as she ordered Manticore and Gryphon into another hopeless charge toward Haris’s heavy cruiser to force it to veer away.

President Gwen Iceni stood in her office with her arms crossed, looking steadily at the man about a meter in front of her. “Colonel Rogero, you have had more than one opportunity to kill me under circumstances that could have been labeled an accident. Instead, you have used those opportunities to save me.”

Rogero frowned. “Madam President—”

“I am not done.” Iceni studied him as she spoke. “You became emotionally involved with an Alliance officer, placing your loyalty to her above your own safety, and have since her arrival here not attempted to hide your relationship. Those are not the acts of a snake.”

“I should hope not,” Rogero said.

“And, Captain Bradamont, who seems to have an exceptionally good head on her shoulders, trusts you.” Iceni raised one hand to point at him. “As does General Drakon. I am going to tell you something, Colonel, something that no Syndicate CEO in her right mind would share with someone like you. I do not entirely trust my own closest staff. I do trust you. I also trust General Drakon, though I often find him frustrating.”

Rogero gazed at her silently for almost a full minute before replying. “Thank you for your trust, Madam President. Do you believe that your safety is endangered here?”

“I’m not sure how to answer that, Colonel Rogero, but I do want you to know that you have my confidence. If for some reason we cannot communicate, I will be certain that you are acting in the best interests of myself and General Drakon. Do not hesitate to take actions you consider vital even if you cannot contact me to receive authorization from me. You understand why I had to convey these instructions face-to-face.”

“Thank you, Madam President,” Rogero said, staggered inside at the enormity of such an order. Coming from anyone trained and experienced in the Syndicate system, it represented a tremendous placement of trust in him and a repudiation of much of that training and experience. Of course Iceni had no choice but to give such orders in person. If they had come over any sort of comm link, he (and anyone else) would have assumed a transmission with such instructions had been fabricated. And if anyone had intercepted such a transmission, they would have gained very valuable information about the extent of Rogero’s freedom to act. “I will not fail you.”

“I needed you to know that I believe you when you say that,” Iceni said, waving a dismissive hand and turning to face her virtual window, where the waves came and went heedless of human concerns. Still facing away from him, she asked a question. “What do you think General Drakon’s chances are?”

“I am… concerned,” Rogero said. “The Syndicate is playing the sort of underhanded game it knows very well. But, I am comforted by the fact that General Drakon is the one they are trying to trap. If anyone can frustrate their trap, it is General Drakon.”

“Are you whistling past the graveyard, Colonel?” Iceni asked.

“No, Madam President. General Drakon was exiled here because the snakes suspected him of frustrating one of their operations, but also because the Syndicate did not want him dead. They wanted him available if they needed him. They knew how good he was.”

Iceni lowered her head, speaking in a quieter voice. “If they know that, then they will have planned their trap accordingly, Colonel. Return to your headquarters and prepare for the worst.”

Fifteen minutes later, Rogero glared out the window of the government VIP limo carrying him back to the ground forces headquarters complex after the personal meeting with Iceni. He was not happy. Bad enough that Honore Bradamont had been sent off as part of a desperate rescue mission. Bad enough that, with General Drakon gone, he was senior ground forces officer in the entire Midway Star System, with all the extra responsibilities that role carried with it. Bad enough that President Iceni had made no secret of her worries that General Drakon might be facing very serious trouble at Ulindi, because people trained as Syndicate CEOs did not reveal worries like that unless the worries were extremely severe.

On top of that, his instructions from President Iceni were deeply disturbing. What level of concern would force a former CEO to grant a subordinate that much discretion to act?

He sat back, wishing the vehicle could get him to ground forces headquarters faster. Built to Syndicate standards, the VIP limo had equal measures of lavish comfort and hidden protection. Many armored fighting vehicles carried less protection than the limo. But it could not fly above the traffic in the streets, which, though clearing a path for the official vehicle, took time to do so in a crowded city.

In front of and behind him, two other limos moved as escorts, all three vehicles having been insisted upon by Iceni. Given what CEO Boyens had finally admitted knowing, it was understandable why Iceni was worried about Drakon’s safety, but why was the president so worried about security here as well? The rumors among the citizenry were still a concern, and the danger of individual assassins could never be discounted, but this kind of protection for Rogero, on top of her orders, implied that Iceni either knew of or suspected a much more serious threat currently out there on the streets of this city.

Rogero suppressed his annoyance with the flamboyant security measures and his anger that Iceni might know something important about dangers here that she was not sharing, and focused instead on the situation. He was a soldier, after all. He should be analyzing this situation to determine whether this security was being used effectively, and the best way to do that was to look at it from the perspective of an attacker. If he wanted to kill someone, and that someone was in a VIP limo escorted by two security limos, how would he go about it?

“Driver,” Rogero called, hitting the intercom control.

“Yes, sir?” the reply came almost instantly. The driver was concealed from Rogero’s direct view behind thick layers of internal armor that separated the driving seat area from the VIP compartment, but Rogero could see the driver’s image on the virtual window that covered the armor and projected a forward view as if nothing lay between them.

“What route are we taking back to the headquarters complex? Display it for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

A map appeared in the air before Rogero, showing a three-dimensional image of this part of the city, the limo they were riding in clearly indicated, a path snaking from it toward the ground forces headquarters.

The city had been designed so that the roads leading toward the ground forces headquarters, like those leading to other important locations such as the former snake headquarters and President Iceni’s offices, funneled down into a few wide boulevards that could be easily secured with security checkpoints. That made a great deal of sense if you were already inside the complex and worried about what might be coming your way, but if you were outside the complex and wanting to get in, it meant there were only a few paths you could take for the last stages of the trip. Even though VIP caravans routinely varied their routes to avoid providing predictable targets, there wasn’t much variation possible as the available roads necked down before reaching the complex.

Rogero looked at the map and realized what he was really unhappy about. If someone dangerous enough to warrant limo-procession-level security was out to get him, that someone would be dangerous enough to figure out how to get him despite the protection afforded by the limo. “Driver, alter our path. I want to turn right up ahead, proceed for half a kilometer, then follow the route I will show you. Tell the escort vehicles.”

“Sir, that will take us around the complex instead of toward it. President Iceni ordered that you be taken back to your headquarters. I am not authorized—”

“I am giving you an order! Comply!”

Syndicate training insisted on obedience, backing up that insistence with vicious penalties for failure, but Rogero, like all Syndicate executives and CEOs, had long ago learned the problems that created when contradictory commands existed. Untrained at resolving issues for themselves, inexperienced with making their own decisions, and above all afraid to comply with the wrong order, workers often simply locked up like a machine told to both open and close a door at the same time.

The resulting delays could be fatal.

“Comply!” Rogero yelled again, as the limo went past the turn he had indicated and into the multipronged intersection leading into the nearest one of the main approaches to the ground forces headquarters complex.

The driver finally acted, jerking the limo to a halt in a vain attempt to back toward the missed turn. The security limo behind braked frantically, slewing to one side and narrowly missing the limo carrying Rogero, while the lead limo went onward several more meters before realizing that anything was happening.

Rogero, cursing the confusion, reached for the door release.

His hand had not touched it when the lead limo slid onward another meter as it began braking, and tripped a hidden sensor in the roadway. Massive shaped-charge explosions erupted from the roadway beneath and from locations on the façades of the buildings on either side.

It had taken far too long to get to this point. First, Morgan had been forced to infiltrate the outer areas of the snake alternate command center, following a route she had previously used, until she could activate the necessary loops on the taps in certain control circuits heading out from the command center. Having neutralized the snakes’ ability to set off their buried nukes, Morgan had then worked her way out past snake security, through more security checkpoints and columns of enemy vehicles, to where she could waylay a laggard soldier and use his gear to tap into the enemy tactical display.

Colonel Roh Morgan could finally see what was happening.

General Drakon was trapped, an entire Syndicate division of ground troops consolidating to form a solid ring around his perimeter, the enemy brigade occupying the base dug in and well supplied, lots of newly arrived artillery being moved into position to turn the unfortified buildings holding Drakon’s troops into masses of rubble before the enemy ground forces launched an all-out attack.

She had failed him. There was no way to stop this, no way for her, alone, to do enough damage in a short enough time to an entire division of enemy troops and all of their supporting weapons to make any difference in the outcome. Even if her arm hadn’t been injured and she had been at full physical capability, it simply wasn’t possible. The snake nukes had been neutralized, but that didn’t matter. The enemy didn’t need the nukes.

Morgan fought off tears, shaking her head with growing rage. No. No. Even if he dies here, even if I die here, our daughter will live. Our daughter will avenge us.

But all vengeance will not wait for her.

One more snake has to die this day, the snake who set this up, the snake who tricked me, and who is not going to live to enjoy his victory. Don’t worry, General. I failed you in everything else here, but I won’t fail in this. I’m going to make sure that snake dies.

She took the dead enemy soldier’s sidearm and eased onto the nearest street, heading back toward the snake alternate command center.

The echoes from the explosions near Midway’s ground forces headquarters were still resounding through the city when crowds of agitated citizens began pouring into the streets, blocking traffic and filling every public square.

Iceni looked from one virtual window before her desk to the next, at dozens of tiled scenes of embryonic mobs. Part of her had to admire whoever had set this up, priming the citizens with anxiety and fears that would burst into hazardous motion when a fuse like the explosions went off.

Only part of her, because the other parts of her were busy.

“Find out what Colonel Rogero’s status is!” she demanded of the senior police officer at the scene of the explosion. “I want to know the instant you find out, and I want you to find out immediately!”

Another virtual window was displaying messages flooding through social media, news, and other citizen communication feeds.

She slammed a comm control hard enough to wonder if it was possible to physically damage a virtual control. “Why aren’t these messages being stopped? Why are they getting sent all around the planet?”

A senior aide, looking terrified, shook his head. “We don’t know, Madam President. You have loosened restrictions on content—”

“And we have retained full control of every mechanism for distributing messages like these! Why haven’t we shut them down?”

A grim-faced woman answered. “Someone sabotaged the control software. We can’t activate any of the censor overrides. They’re letting through everything. Our software people—”

“To hell with the software people! Shut everything down! Kill the power!”

The woman blinked in surprise. “Oh. That’s a hardware solution. I’ll need to contact—”

“Do it! Pull the plugs!”

“Yes, Madam President!”

“Get everything except security comm channels off-line,” Iceni directed. “Then power it back up piece by piece with reloaded software. Start it happening now! We need those media channels back so we can start sending out our own messages to calm this mess!”

She could see the crowds reacting to the messages, see waves of growing anger and fear rippling through the masses of citizens, each wave reinforcing the others. It didn’t matter if the fears contradicted each other. It didn’t matter if the fears made sense. The citizens were moving past the point where logic, reason, common sense, and even their own safety and security had any restraining influence.

Everywhere in the cities on this planet, crowds were on the verge of becoming mobs.

Iceni hit another control. “Mobilize every police officer and order them to assemble at local stations. Call all government employees into their offices with orders to report immediately. Lock down all government buildings, security status one alpha. Get me someone at ground forces headquarters. Who is in charge there until we find Colonel Rogero?”

A wide-eyed woman stared back at Iceni. “We’re… going to use the ground forces, Madam President?”

Everyone raised in the Syndicate knew what that meant. Compliance measures using live ammunition and killing as many citizens as necessary to make the survivors submit to authority. If word started going around that Iceni was planning such an action, every crowd would explode into violence. “No! We need the soldiers to protect the citizens! Tell everyone that! Someone is trying to make the people riot, someone wants them to cause deaths and destruction! The soldiers will protect the people and their property! Now get me someone at ground forces headquarters!”

Brave words. Idealistic words. But if the mobs erupted into full-scale rioting, would she be able to abide by those words? Or would she have to order the actions necessary to stop the rioting?

Iceni paused, all of the comm links off so that for a moment no one could see her, and leaned heavily on her desk, her arms locked, head lowered, trying to find the strength inside not to give in to despair. She had to look strong, be strong, and, most important of all, be smart. Her enemies had clearly outthought her, and outthought Artur Drakon as well. A long, carefully thought-out chess game had reached a climax with both the queen and the king under threat of check.

But the queen was still the most powerful piece on the board.

Iceni hit another control with vicious force. “Togo! Where the hell are you?”

No response. She tried two more circuits, including the emergency circuit, then hit another control. “Where is Mehmet Togo?” she demanded of her chief of staff.

“I—I do not know, Madam President.” The chief of staff didn’t bother trying to hide his bewilderment since Togo always came and went purely by Iceni’s orders. No one was supposed to question or hinder Togo’s movements.

“When was the last time he was seen?”

The chief of staff barked an order to an underling, then waited nervously until the answer came. “His last sighting was thirteen hours ago, on a security camera.”

“Thirteen hours. Wait. He wasn’t seen by someone? He was recorded on a security camera?”

“Yes, Madam President.”

Iceni ended the call, staring at the top of her desk. Togo has the equipment to blind security cameras and knows where they all are. He never lets his movement be tracked by routine security equipment. Why would he let himself be seen by one?

The star display next to her desk, almost forgotten as she concentrated on the situation on this planet, suddenly showed a bright warning symbol near the hypernet gate as an alarm blared for her attention.

Iceni raised her head and looked at the display.

A lot of warships had arrived at Midway’s hypernet gate about four hours ago. A lot of large warships. Midway’s sensors were busy evaluating the new arrivals, trying to identify who they were.

Iceni realized that she was smiling, her lips tight in a snarl of defiance, as she gazed at the display. You think this is checkmate, don’t you? she mentally asked her faceless enemies.

You’re wrong.

“What’s your assessment?” Drakon asked. The building he was in shuddered as part of it collapsed.

“As the workers say, it’s root hog, or die.” Gaiene sounded happy, as if he were reporting good news. The origin of the phrase had long been lost in the mists of time, but everyone knew what “root hog, or die” meant. You’re on your own, to fail or succeed, and if you fail, you’re finished.

“Colonel Gaiene is correct,” Kai said impassively. “They’re not trying to punch through at a few points to split us up, General. I’m seeing even pressure all around the portion of the outer perimeter that my troops are defending.”

“They want to ensure our total annihilation,” Malin said, “by forcing our perimeter back upon the Syndicate forces holding their base. Right now, they are just maintaining pressure until their full force arrives and is in position. At that point, we can expect a barrage using all of their available artillery and surface-to-surface rockets, followed by all-out assault. It is already apparent that the Syndicate forces have significantly more artillery than expected.”

“They’ve got significantly more of everything than expected,” Gaiene pointed out.

“Recommendations?” Drakon said.

“We can’t hold very long,” Gaiene observed nonchalantly. “Even if we ride out the bombardments and hunker down in the rubble well enough to fight off assaults, we’ll only have a couple of days at the most before we run out of energy and ammo. Getting lifted out is impossible. The only available landing areas are covered by either the base’s weapons or the enemy troops now occupying the buildings across the street. Our shuttles wouldn’t last thirty seconds against the amount of fire those Syndicate troops can bring to bear.”

“With the Syndicate battleship here, going back to the freighters would just trade one trap for another even if we could do it,” Kai added.

“The freighters aren’t in orbit here anymore,” Malin said. “The shuttles could only move some of our troops to another location on the surface before the rest got overrun, but as Colonel Gaiene says, the shuttles would not survive any attempt to land.”

“On the other hand,” Gaiene said, “if we try to retreat on the surface, there’s only one way we can go, and that’s inward. We’ll run right into the defenses around that base.”

Drakon felt himself smiling though he felt no trace of humor within. “I know what you’re driving at, Conner. We can’t hold, and we can’t retreat. That only leaves one option.”

“Yes, General,” Gaiene agreed. “It does. We need to attack.”

“Attack?” Kai asked. “A breakout?”

“Hell, no,” Gaiene protested. “We’re outnumbered two to one on the outer perimeter. I always prefer the path of least resistance.”

“Attack inward?” Malin said. “It’s true that the least reliable troops that Haris has are those holding that base against us, and we outnumber them. But they are dug in at the base, behind their fixed weapons and fortifications.”

“We can’t abandon the outer perimeter,” Kai said as if discussing a difficult simulation whose results would have no personal impact on him. “And as soon as the forces outside the perimeter realize we are attacking inward, they will redouble their attack on us.”

Drakon studied his display, letting options run through his mind. “If we can gain control of that base, we’ll be behind their fortifications and have access to their supplies. We’ll have protection against artillery bombardment. But there’s no way to hold the outer perimeter and attack inward with sufficient force to overwhelm the defenses of the base. Half measures will leave us using too few troops to take the base and too few troops defending the outer perimeter.”

“Use them all,” Malin said suddenly. “Every soldier on the attack. Completely abandon the outer defenses and shove everything at the base, all-out attack.”

Gaiene smiled broadly. “I knew you had promise, young fella.”

“It risks everything on one throw of the die,” Kai argued. “Can we afford to do that?”

“Can we afford not to?” Malin asked.

“We have to act fast,” Drakon said. “We’re taking more losses every minute, and we have no idea how much time we have left before the troops outside the perimeter launch their assault. We’ll go in simultaneously from all sides, using every surface chaff round we have to provide cover. We can’t afford to have the attack falter or hesitate, so we’ll personally have to lead it and keep everyone moving.” He moved his finger around the virtual display before his face, knowing that the motion would be seen by the others even though they were at different places around the perimeter. “I’ll lead the attack from this quarter, you from here, Conner, you from here, Bran, and you from this quarter, Hector. Have some weapons set up on the outer defensive line to fire on auto controls to make it look like the perimeter is still being defended. The moment I give the attack order, we completely abandon the outer lines. Everyone is to charge inward at the base.”

“Win or die,” Kai remarked with resignation. “It beats hiding in a hole until they come to kill us, I suppose.”

Malin spoke to Drakon on a private channel that neither Kai nor Gaiene could hear. “This is insane, General. I’m sure that Colonel Morgan would approve.”

“She’d be surprised that you came up with it,” Drakon replied on the same channel. “But, yeah, it’s the sort of thing she would do. Morgan is probably dead, you know.”

“Yes, General, I realize that.” It was impossible to tell Malin’s feelings about Morgan likely having died already. He ended the conversation without saying anything more.

But Gaiene came on next. “General, this is going to be a rough one.”

“We’ll get through it,” Drakon said. “You three, you and Kai and Rogero, have been my invincible trio through a lot of fights. This is just one more, right?”

“Invincible doesn’t mean indestructible,” Gaiene said, sounding wistful. “Since there is a more than reasonable chance that we won’t be able to talk after this is over, I want you to know that Lieutenant-Colonel Safir has my strongest recommendation to become commander of my brigade should there be an opening for that position in the near future. She is highly competent, respected by the troops for all the right reasons, and has been pretty much running the brigade anyway.”

“I’ll remember that,” Drakon said. “But you and me, we’ve got to make it, right? These kids wouldn’t know what to do without us.”

“Ah, yes, these kids.” Gaiene paused for a moment. “I should have had kids. But they would have been so ashamed of me the last several years. It’s better this way.”

“Conner—”

“Do not worry, General. I won’t let you down. My soldiers won’t let you down. We’ll take that damned base.”

“I never doubted that, Conner.”

Gaiene looked back at him with those dark eyes, and his mouth bent into that old grin. “I’ll see you later, General.”

“Yeah. See you later.”

“It’s Black Jack? You’re certain?”

“They are Alliance battle cruisers and escorts, Madam President,” the command center supervisor said. “We have positively identified several hulls so far, and one of them is Dauntless, Black Jack’s flagship. They are accompanied by the Dancer ships, but those have headed for the jump point for Pele at a high rate of acceleration while the Alliance formation has remained near the hypernet gate.”

Black Jack. Not the Syndicate. Not a coordinated attack, but a source of support. Iceni took a deep breath to steady herself, then froze again as the supervisor looked to one side with a startled expression. “What is it?”

“Colonel Rogero, Madam President. He’s alive. He’s trying to get through to you.”

She started breathing once more. “Link him to me. Private circuit.”

Iceni had been raised not to believe in higher powers that looked out for those who did the right things and punished those who did wrong. Most of what she had seen in the Syndicate, in which those who did wrong won higher promotions and gained higher salaries, and those who did right often ended up as victims, had done little to change her mind.

But at the moment, she was seriously considering offering any sacrifice demanded to whatever power was looking out for her.

The man whose image appeared before her wore a uniform torn and blackened by smoke, but his expression was strong and firm. “Madam President. If I couldn’t have gotten through, I would have acted as you previously directed. But I was able to establish contact and await your orders.”

Iceni gasped with relief before she could answer. “Colonel, I hope that Captain Bradamont will forgive me for saying that at the moment you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

Rogero grinned through the smudges on his face. “I’m sure that Captain Bradamont will understand.”

“How did you survive?”

“My vehicle halted just short of the weapons buried in the street, so none of the upward-focused explosions hit it. A blast from one side was absorbed by one of my escort vehicles that had came up on that side. The blow from the other side struck the forward portion of my vehicle, killing the driver and pinning me in the wreckage for a while. The doctors on the scene wanted to send me to the hospital, but with the help of some of my soldiers who arrived on the scene, I convinced the physicians that I had work to do. Do you have a plan?”

“I’m developing one. I need your ground forces,” Iceni said, grateful again that Drakon had chosen to leave Rogero here. “All of the ground forces. The citizens are within a hairsbreadth of erupting into violence at locations all over this planet.”

“Yes, Madam President, I agree. Request permission to speak freely.”

“Colonel, don’t bother with the formalities right now! We don’t have time. Tell me what I need to know.”

“Very well.” Rogero gestured all around him. “I’ve already given orders for all ground forces to mobilize. They are gathering at mobilization sites as we speak, but I must to tell you that we have to handle them carefully. They are on edge. My soldiers trust me, but the local ground forces are less reliable.”

“What has them on edge?” Iceni asked. “Anything specific, or the same sort of anything-that-could-possibly-be-wrong rumors running through the citizenry?”

“Something very specific concerns them,” Rogero said, both voice and expression now grim. “They fear being ordered to undertake compliance actions against the people.”

“And you believe they might refuse such orders?” Iceni said.

“Yes, I think the local ground forces will certainly refuse to obey those orders, and even my own soldiers probably will not obey.”

“I want alternatives, Colonel,” Iceni said. “All of my training tells me to send every soldier out with orders to open fire on any citizens who don’t disperse and return to their homes. My instincts tell me that such actions would shatter, perhaps beyond repair, my efforts to create an alternative to the Syndicate way of governing.”

“I concur, Madam President,” Rogero said. “If we send armed troops out to confront the rioters, some of the soldiers might open fire, either out of obedience or out of fear if confronted by a dangerous mob.”

“And there is this, Colonel,” Iceni added. “Whoever stirred this up, whoever brought this planet to the brink of mass chaos, wants me to order compliance actions. They want me to kill large numbers of citizens. Do you agree?”

“Yes.”

“Then give me options that don’t involve mass murder.”

Rogero inhaled deeply, looking away as he thought, then back at her. “There is one option that might work. It is a dangerous option, because if it fails, we won’t have the ability to try anything else.”

“Tell me.”

“Listen up,” Drakon said over the universal command circuit. “You’ve been told the plan. When I give the order to fire chaff, I want every round we’ve got dropped into the area in front of the enemy base. Ten seconds after the fire command, I’m going to order the assault, and at that point, everyone is to head all out for that base. Don’t pause, don’t delay, don’t hesitate. Your colonels and I will be leading the assault. Once we get inside the base, some of you will be designated to occupy the base defenses and turn them against enemy troops from outside our perimeter who will be pursuing us once they realize what we’re doing.”

He didn’t have to lay out the results of failure. The Syndicate, especially a Syndicate star system where the snakes had such a strong presence, would not offer any mercy to rebellious soldiers. Drakon’s troops knew that they had to succeed in the assault if they wanted to live.

Drakon didn’t think there was any chance of getting through to the warships that might or might not still be in orbit overhead, but it couldn’t hurt to try. “This is General Drakon. Request that you immediately start hitting the buildings across the street from our perimeter with any weapons you’ve got. I say again, begin bombarding the buildings across the street from our positions. Do as much damage as you can as long as you can.” Even if the bombardment with hell lances did not cause much damage, it might make the Syndicate ground forces believe that Drakon was about to launch a breakout attack.

He didn’t think the Syndicate would expect a break-in attack.

Only a couple of minutes remained. He knelt near a ragged opening where a window had once been, letting the recon probe on his armor stick out enough to view the enemy base. The defensive fire coming from the base wasn’t steady but frequent enough to make it clear that the defenders were not sitting passively. For the first time, Drakon wondered if those defenders knew about the trap. Were they aware of how many reinforcements were outside, pressing on Drakon’s troops? Or did they think they were still facing a desperate fight?

Well, they were facing a desperate fight. In a few minutes, the defenders of that base were going to find out what a lot of desperate soldiers could do on the attack.

“Stand by,” Drakon said.

“Good-bye, General,” Gaiene answered on a private circuit. “And thank you again. I could not die under any conditions but the best, and you have given me that.”

“Conner, what the hell—”

“I’ll say hello to Lara for you. Take care of my soldiers, General.”

And then it was time, with no room left to demand that Colonel Gaiene stop acting foredoomed. “Fire chaff!”

Scores of rounds arced into the area before the base, blossoming into fields of smoke, small strips of metal, heat decoys, noisemakers, and every other device known to humanity for blocking or confusing the sight and senses of any and all sensors and targeting devices.

“Go!” Drakon shouted. “Follow me!”

On the heels of the ancient exhortation, Drakon leaped to his feet, charging out the nearest gaping opening in the building and across the open area before the enemy base. On his display, he could see a mass of thousands of symbols doing the same, all suddenly in motion, all heading inward. Then he entered the chaff cloud, and all of the decoys and jammers and screens that blocked enemy sight and sensors also blocked his own. To either side and right behind, he could sense the movements of the soldiers closest to him, but his display could only show an estimate of what was happening, assuming the attack kept moving forward at the same rate.

It took a few seconds for the base to react to the sudden assault, then with a roar that filled the sky every defensive weapon opened up. Many of the defenders’ weapons fired blindly into the chaff-created murk, hoping for lucky shots. Others exploded into spheres of shrapnel that did not need guidance to find anything unfortunate enough to be too close and in their paths.

The attackers didn’t form a perfect square as they converged on the base, instead forming into four blunt angles whose points were centered on the enemy fortification. At the center of each point, leading the way, were Drakon and his three colonels.

Drakon didn’t feel anything as he charged except a sense of dislocation, as if he were somewhere else watching himself running full tilt toward the enemy’s fire. He saw the alerts on his display screaming of incoming fire that came close enough to be spotted through the chaff, he felt the force of nearby explosions and saw the track of shots passing very close by him, heard his breath rasping in and out, and it all felt unreal and a bit distant in time and space. How could it be real? Who in their right minds would be doing this?

As Drakon and the others leading the attack came through the final layers of chaff and out into the open near the base, a storm of defensive fire lashed at them. At the same time, their displays finally updated as the network between their battle armor automatically reestablished links. Markers sprang to life on the display, some of them almost immediately dimming to show soldiers who had been struck by the defenders’ fire.

An energy pulse hit Drakon on his lower abdomen, his armor’s outer surface ablating to absorb and dissipate the heat. A solid projectile clipped one of his shoulders, glancing off the armor and causing Drakon to stumble as he ran.

He saw one marker in particular flare to show a soldier had taken a solid hit, heard that soldier grunt with pain. Gaiene. He called up the window to show the view from Colonel Gaiene’s armor, saw that view tilted in a way that meant Gaiene was on one knee, wavering a bit, red damage markers flaring on his battle armor’s display. “Onward!” Gaiene yelled to his soldiers as they streamed past, his voice hoarse. “Take them, lads and ladies! Make me proud!”

The enemy sensors could spot comm nodes if they were close enough, and now they focused their fire on Gaiene, reducing the amount of shots aimed at the soldiers near him. The view from Gaiene’s suit rocked as another round hit him, more danger markers flashing as his helmet display flickered.

Gaiene gasped from the pain of his second injury, then started laughing, sweeping his rifle slowly from one side to the other, firing continuously at the enemy fortifications as his soldiers began reaching them. “That’s it! Onward! Onward!”

The view from Gaiene’s armor went blank.

Drakon, still running toward the enemy, saw that the symbol for Colonel Conner Gaiene on his display had gone out.

He was suddenly here again, completely here, charging for the point where an engineering team had placed a breaching charge, following the charge through the enemy defenses right on its heels so that the blast and his entry were almost one event. He saw defenders frantically turning toward him, defenders wearing Syndicate battle armor, and he knew Syndicate battle armor, he knew its every weakness and every flaw, and he killed six of the defenders without pausing or thinking, barely aware of anything except that lack of a symbol on his display where Conner Gaiene should have been.

But something clicked inside him as the surviving defenders at this spot raised their hands or huddled on the floor, their weapons cast aside. Drakon’s hands hurt from the pressure they were putting on his weapon, but he controlled them, he controlled himself. Because Conner Gaiene had not died so that Artur Drakon could massacre enemy soldiers who were trying to surrender, had not died so that Artur Drakon could forget his duties and his responsibilities to every other soldier in these two brigades.

He started directing the soldiers streaming into the breach behind him. Some to continue onward to roll up resistance inside the base. Others to take over the defenses and watch for the Syndicate soldiers who were surely pursuing them from the outside by now.

In the breaks between issuing orders he checked his display for updates, but it was full of gaps now, gaps created by the inability to get signals through the base and enemy jamming. But the gaps were shrinking rapidly, and he could see symbols marking his own units pouring through the base like water into a basin, scarcely pausing as they rolled over scattered resistance.

“General?”

“Yes, Colonel Malin.”

“I’m near the base command center. Those inside are offering to surrender.”

“Tell them they won’t be harmed as long as they turn over the command center intact.”

“Yes, sir.”

Another call, this time a woman speaking with mixed anger and grief. “General Drakon, this is Lieutenant Colonel Safir, acting commander of the Second Brigade. We have taken every enemy position except those already occupied by units of the Third Brigade. I am reinforcing defenses along the base perimeter.”

“Thank you,” Drakon said, trying to accept the fact that he would never speak with Conner Gaiene again. “You are field promoted to colonel and are assigned command of Second Brigade, on the specific recommendation of Colonel Gaiene.”

“I—Thank you, sir. I—Damn that man!”

“I know,” Drakon said. “But he died the way he wanted to. You’ve got a lot to live up to.”

“I will,” Safir vowed. “General, my troops have spotted movement at our old positions.”

The pursuit had taken longer than expected. The Syndicate division commander must have feared that Drakon’s attack was a feint, a trick to lure the outer perimeter of Syndicate soldiers into the open, and thus advanced cautiously.

Colonel Kai sounded a bit out of breath, but otherwise unruffled. “Chaff rounds are being fired opposite sector three,” he said.

Malin, in the base command center, had done his usual wizardry with the Syndicate operating systems. New lights glowed on Drakon’s display as Malin’s work provided all of Drakon’s soldiers access to the base sensors, weapons systems, and plans. The sectors into which the base perimeter was divided were now references for Drakon’s ground forces just as they had formerly been for the enemy.

“Contact at sector five!”

“Medics are receiving fire!”

“Cover them!”

Drakon pulled up the right views to see the areas outside the base where his force’s medical personnel were still in the open, treating wounded from the attack where they lay and hauling inside those ready to move. Syndicate fire had begun reaching out from the buildings which Drakon’s own forces had recently abandoned, threatening the medics who worked with their usual stubborn tenacity at trying to save every injured soldier that they could. “Get some troops out there,” Drakon ordered. “Lay down heavy suppressive fire on the buildings to force the Syndicate soldiers to keep their heads down, and help bring in every casualty who is still outside the base.”

“General, the medics say some of the casualties can’t be moved—”

“Both medics and casualties will be moved!” Drakon said. “Anyone who doesn’t move will die out there. Get it done!”

“Attack under way at sector one! Require reinforcements!”

“Handle that,” Drakon ordered Safir. Despite the losses suffered in the assault, he still had twice as many soldiers as the understrength enemy brigade that had previously held this base. But he still had casualties being brought in, he had medics still working outside the base with total disregard for their own safety, and he had over a thousand prisoners inside the base to worry about, as well as the likelihood that snakes were hiding wherever they could within the base. “Malin, make sure the patrols looking for snakes inside the base check every possible hidy-hole.”

“Yes, sir,” Malin said, his voice rushed, some of the elation of an at least temporary victory uncharacteristically audible in his voice. “General, some of the surrendered soldiers are volunteering to assist in the search for snakes.”

“Negative. Some of those volunteers might be snake agents. Until we can screen the prisoners, everyone is a potential snake. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. Base sensors are spotting heavy enemy forces massing opposite sector three.”

Drakon moved as quickly as he could through the underground passageways of the former enemy base, the soldiers he encountered flattening themselves against the nearest wall to make room for him to pass. “I’ll be at the command center in two minutes. Colonel Kai, what have you got available to reinforce sector three?”

“Nothing,” Kai said. “All of the people I have are on the line, guarding prisoners, or searching the base. The final wounded are being brought in now. I will shift locally as necessary to deal with pressure at each point.”

Hopefully, that would be good enough. “Colonel Safir, if the Syndicate troops follow doctrine, they’ll be preparing to hit sector six on the opposite side of the base within a few minutes of the attack against sector three beginning. Be ready for it.”

“Yes, sir. We’re dragging in the last of the medics and the wounded. They’ll be under cover within a minute, but we’re going to lose some of the wounded.”

Damn. “Getting them inside the base was their only chance,” Drakon said.

“No argument there, General,” Safir said. “Uh-oh. We’ve got incoming.”

“I see it,” Drakon said as his display lit with warnings. “How heavy is this barrage, Colonel Malin?”

“It looks like they’re throwing everything they’ve got at us,” Malin reported. “We’re about to find out how well this base was constructed, General.”

“Let’s hope they did a good job,” Drakon said, eyeing the massive artillery barrage that was seconds from impacting. “The ground attacks will come as soon as the barrage ends. Everyone on the outer fortifications get into the nearest blast bunker now!” If there were any snakes hiding in the base’s surface structures, they were about to discover how big a mistake that had been.

He entered the command center as the barrage landed, and the world around him shook.