Backshot (26 page)

“Turn left,” he ordered.

Corporal Nomonon looked at him. “Don’t you mean right? Left takes us back where we started.”

“Anybody following us on the ground will see where we turned onto the road. Let’s go far enough for the dirt on the tires to beat off, then turn around without leaving the road and head the way we want to go. Nobody following the way we turn onto the road will catch up to us.”

Nomonon grinned. “You’re pretty smart, boss.” He turned left. A kilometer and a half after they turned onto the New Granum road, Corporal Pitzel reported they were no longer leaving dirty tire tracks in their wake. Nomonon stopped slowly enough to not leave marks on the pavement, then backed and filled without leaving the roadway until they were pointed northeast. He moved out at speed.

A couple of kilometers beyond where they’d turned onto the road, Daly saw a vehicle approaching from ahead of them.

“Take off your helmet and gloves,” he told Nomonon.

“What?”

“That driver up ahead might not realize that he doesn’t see your body, but he’ll certainly notice if he doesn’t see a driver at all in this lorry.”

“Good idea.”

Daly reached across and controlled the steering so Nomonon could use both hands to remove his helmet and gloves.

The driver of the other lorry waved as they passed. Nomonon raised a hand in reply, but low enough it wasn’t obvious his hand wasn’t visibly attached to an arm. The other driver didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

When the Fifth Independent Armored Cavalry Platoon reached the New Granum Road, Lieutenant Svetlanacek stopped his driver from turning left onto the road.

“But, sir, that’s where the lorry we’re following went,” Corporal Mirko objected.

“I know,” Svetlanacek replied as he looked up and down the road. One lorry was in sight in each direction. The one to the right was farther away, he thought both of them were too close to be the lorry they’d been following. Could their quarry already be out of sight to the left? Moreover, as slick as the raider commander was, would he still head directly back to the scene of his raid? That didn’t make sense. But if the enemy commander had gone left as a misdirection and then turned back . . . Yes, that’s what Svetlanacek thought he would have done. Svetlanacek decided to err on the side of caution. He got on the radio and requested a fly-by up the New Granum Road to check the registration number on the lorry headed toward the Cabbage Patch, and to see if the road held any other vehicles between his position and the Cabbage Patch. It took almost fifteen minutes for a flight to break off from its search pattern and fly up the road from the Cabbage Patch. The lorry Svetlanacek saw was the only one on the road. It took a couple more minutes for the flight to drop low and buzz the vehicle to record its registration number before an urgent command sent it heading back southwest.

The lorry’s registration number didn’t match that of the one they were following.

“That’s it!” Svetlanacek exclaimed, thumping the dashboard. “He’s slick, but he’s not as smart as we are, eh, Mirko?”

“Not nearly as smart, sir,” Corporal Mirko said, returning the grin. He turned right, to follow the other lorry, which had now vanished beyond a turn to the northeast. The other two armored cars fell in behind.

“How long do you think it’ll take to catch him?” the lieutenant asked. Mirko thought it over, then said, “The M-40 armored car has a higher top road-speed than the C-18 cargo lorry does, sir. We can do better than a hundred kph, he can’t.”

“What is his top road-speed?”

Mirko shook his head. “Empty, about ninety or so. I don’t know how much weight he’s carrying, but anything more than a driver and navigator will slow him down.”

“Then let’s hope he’s carrying a lot of troops—and casualties,” Svetlanacek said grimly.

“Don’t worry, sir. We’ll catch him.”

Corporal Mirko speeded up. So did the platoon’s other two armored cars.

The New Granum Road, Forty-Five Kilometers Northeast of the Cabbage Patch

“He’s gaining on us,” Corporal Nomonon said, looking at the rearview screen.

“I see it,” Sergeant Daly said, also looking at the rearview. He looked at his map, calculating how much longer it would be before they pulled off to head south to the waiting AstroGhost. He also calculated when the
Admiral Nelson
would be above the horizon so he could transmit a request for the AstroGhost to meet them along the way.

He didn’t like the results of his calculations—the chasing vehicles would catch up with them too soon after they left the road.

“Brigo,” he said into the command circuit, “are there any aircraft in sight?”

“Negative, Jak,” Sergeant Kare answered. “We haven’t seen any flyers since the flight that buzzed that southbound lorry.”

“Thanks,” Daly said absently, and went back to his map. There, seven kilometers ahead, the New Granum cut through a low hill instead of going over it. The topo lines showed the sides of the hill were steep, which was probably why the road cut through instead of climbing over it…They could pull off the road on the other side of the cut and lay an ambush on its top. If the vehicles had open bodies, the Marines could lay plunging fire into them and wipe out the infantry they had to be carrying before they could react to the ambush. If not they might not be able to kill them.

“Listen up,” Daly said into the all-hands circuit, and told the platoon what they were going to do. He made another time check and saw he’d be able to contact the
Admiral Nelson
while they were in their ambush position.

Lieutenant Rak Svetlanacek tensed as his armored car approached the cut hill. It was exactly the kind of place he’d set an ambush himself if he was being followed. The hill to the sides of the cut were steep—almost, but not quite too steep for his armored cars to climb. But the raiders had never stopped to fight. He didn’t know why they’d stopped the first time and abandoned their lorry only to return to it, but the only other time he knew they stopped was when they killed the Mad Max fighter. He was pretty sure they’d stopped then to hide from the Gyrfalcons. They might have stopped right before they turned toward the New Granum Road, but that could have been to communicate with their headquarters or to decide what to do next.

So it was unlikely the raiders stopped to set an ambush at the cut. Nonetheless:

“Mirko, top speed. I want to get through that cut as fast as possible.”

“Me too, sir. Me too.” Mirko accelerated as fast as the armored car would go. The trailing armored cars also maxed their speed.

Daly nodded to himself when he saw the approaching armored cars speed up; he’d probably do the same thing himself if their positions were reversed. He swore softly when he saw the cars were covered instead of open; he didn’t know if the fléchettes of the two assault guns could penetrate the armor. He waited until the lead car was almost through the cut, then gave the order over the all-hands circuit,

“Fire!”

On the ambush’s right flank, third squad let loose with its fléchette gun. Sergeant Kare, on the gun, fired in front of the vehicle, and let it run into the stream of armor-piercing darts. The darts dug divots out of the road’s surface, then chewed gouges in the hood and top of the armored car—but not deeply enough to penetrate the car’s top. Next to him, feeding the gun, Lance Corporal Ilon suddenly cheered when he saw the fléchettes grind a hole through the thinly armored rear of the car and shred its rear wheels. The armored car fishtailed wildly, out of control. Kare turned his attention to the second vehicle, which was already heavily damaged by the other fléchette gun. His fléchettes joined a mass of blaster bolts slamming into and through a growing hole in the rear of the armored car. It swerved violently and slowed, and the third armored car slammed into its rear, sending it spinning and bouncing off the walls of the cut before it screeched to a stop. After hitting the second armored car, the third flipped and rolled over several times until it settled, rocking, on its top. After a moment, hatches slammed open on the two cars and a few soldiers began scrambling out. The Marines poured blaster and fléchette fire into them. The cavalrymen were all killed or severely wounded before any of them had a chance to return fire.

* * *

Corporal Mirko worked the controls of his car, but the road was too narrow for him to regain control of the damaged vehicle in time. It slewed off the road to the right, then crashed into a tree. Lieutenant Svetlanacek’s head slammed forward and hit the navigator’s control panel. He was knocked out by the blow, but regained consciousness quickly. Mirko was dazed. At Svetlanacek’s command, he fumbled with the car’s controls, but couldn’t restart its motor.

Realizing the armored car wouldn’t start, Svetlanacek wrestled with his door and wrenched it open with difficulty. “Get out,” he snarled at Mirko. The corporal’s door opened more easily, but he was groggy enough that he fell to his knees when he stepped out. The lieutenant stumbled around to the back of the vehicle. He was so surprised to find the rear door still closed he didn’t immediately see the hole knocked through it by the fléchette gun and blasters. He gasped in near despair when he did. But he didn’t give in; he grabbed the handle and yanked the door open.

A horrendous sight greeted him—blood-and-gore-spattered bodies were piled at the front of the troop compartment! Were all the soldiers dead?

No! Someone moaned. Someone else twitched a foot. Svetlanacek didn’t notice Mirko scramble into the troop compartment with him until the corporal began helping him sort the bodies out. Three of the ten soldiers were dead and another was dying. Two were wounded, but would be ambulatory once their wounds were bandaged. The others were only dazed from the shock of the crash.

The platoon commander of the Fifth Independent Armored Cavalry Platoon now had a command of only eight men, including the wounded, his driver, and himself. He didn’t know how large the raiding party was, but he knew there had to be more of them than he had. The raiders were also far better armed than his men—he hadn’t known they had guns powerful enough to break through an armored car’s skin.

He grabbed Mirko and ran back to the cab. Inside, he tried the radio, but it didn’t work—he couldn’t report the ambush! After a moment’s thought, he climbed to the commander’s cupola and detached the fléchette gun mounted in it. He handed the gun down to Mirko, then hoisted the ammunition tank. The gun was awkward to carry, and the tank was heavy enough that it required two men to carry it, but they were going to need the firepower if any of them were to survive the encounter.

“This way,” Svetlanacek ordered when he dismounted. He gave the ammunition tank to two of the least injured men. He led the way into the trees—and stopped abruptly. Directly in front of him was the lorry the raiders had escaped in.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The President’s Conference Room, Administrative Center, New Granum, Union of Margelan, Atlas

“This is a war council,” Jorge Lavager began. “Yesterday morning, as many of you know, troops from South Solanum, possibly with assistance from other nations, attempted to assassinate me while simultaneously launching an attack on the agricultural research facility at Spondu, commonly known as the Cabbage Patch.”

Lavager stood before his cabinet and other top advisors in the same clothes he had worn when he left the government buildings twenty-four hours before. Since then he had fought for his life, walked nearly twenty kilometers to safety, organized the demoralized troops at the Cabbage Patch, initiated a pursuit of the raiders, and not slept a wink. Now he was before his cabinet, looking a sorry sight in his rumpled, torn, sweat-stained clothing. But as he spoke it was as if he’d just gotten out of bed after a good night’s rest.

“General Ollius,” he gestured at the new Chief of Staff, “has dusted off and revised a battle plan the army staff prepared some time ago as a response to just this sort of overt aggressive act. A complete report of the events is in front of you. Mr. Goumeray.” He nodded at the Minister of Information.

“Gentlemen,” Goumeray, a short, balding, bespectacled man in his early sixties, began in his high-pitched voice, “when we are done here this report will be released to the citizens of the Union of Margelan. At the same time it will be released to the other nation-states of Atlas, as well as to the Confederation of Human Worlds at its headquarters on Earth. It is as factual and complete as we have been able to make it up to now. Please take a few moments to read through it, and then General Ollius will brief you on our response plan.”

“Where is General Ollwelen?” the Minister of Health asked.

“He is,” Lavager hesitated for just an instant but that hesitation spoke volumes to the cabinet ministers sitting around the table, “no longer with us. General Ollius has replaced him.”

“That’s truly shocking!” someone remarked. “I mean that General Ollwelen is—is—” The minister nodded apologetically at General Ollius.

“Yes, but no surprise,” Lavager responded quickly. “As you can see from the report Mr. Goumeray has given you, General Ollwelen was with me during the ambush. I have every reason to believe he knew of the attacks. He fled while we were defending ourselves in a cornfield. For all any of us know, he perished there in the fire though we haven’t found a body today. Now, General Ollius, give us the details of the war plan.”

Ollius stood. “This is called Operation Sea Lion. It will be a combined air, land, and sea attack against the major cities and agricultural facilities of South Solanum. H Hour is oh-four hundred our time tomorrow, oh-seven hundred when the first targets, the enemy’s military installations, will be struck by satellite weapons. Our forces are maneuvering into position even as I speak.” The room had gone completely silent. “This will be followed up with coordinated attacks by combined forces, which will complete the destruction of South Solanum’s defensive capabilities, and culminate with the occupation of their capital and the seizure and arrest of their government officials.” As he spoke, graphic images of maps and troop movements flashed across the large screen at one end of the room.

“Is there no chance for a negotiated settlement?” Minister of Education Uhura Lunguna asked. He was fairly new in his job. He looked plaintively around the table. Some of the ministers shrugged, others refused to look at him. When Jorge Lavager said something was to be done, it was a decree, not up for a vote.

“No, Mr. Lunguna,” the Foreign Minister answered at once, casting a sideward glance at Lavager.

“They launched a vicious and unprovoked attack against us, against the person of our leading citizen, and we shall deal with them in the same manner.”

“Sir,” Education Minister Lunguna addressed himself directly to Lavager, “we are going to war, just like that?”

“You weren’t with me this morning,” Lavager responded drily.

“But, sir, this report,” he held up the Information Minister’s press release, “doesn’t even present any strong evidence that the South Solanians were responsible for the attacks! How do we know it was them? We are going to be asked that by everyone.”

“Tell them we have the confession of someone who was in on the attack, Mr. Lunguna. The identity of that source is confidential, that’s why his name is not mentioned.”

Lunguna looked again for support from the other officials at the table. None was forthcoming, so he stood. “Sir,” he bowed slightly toward Lavager, “I am an educator. I explain, I enlighten, I direct attention toward facts, and when I cannot do that, I am honest about it and let people form their own opinions. On the basis of the very slim facts you have presented, I have formed my own opinion about what you are proposing.”

“And that is?”

“This is an unjustified war of aggression that will lead only to tragedy for all concerned.” He paused and took a breath. “I hereby resign my post in your government—a government I cannot support under the present circumstances.” He turned to leave, but stopped when Lavager held up a hand and pointed at the minister’s chair. Lunguna sat down heavily. Lavager didn’t reply for a long moment. “Your resignation is accepted without prejudice, Mr. Lunguna,”

he said at last. “I deeply regret your decision to resign. You are an excellent educator and the children of Atlas could benefit from your talents. No, I did not misspeak. What we are doing out at Spondu will have far-reaching effects on our world, and in due course I will unite all the governments of Atlas under one, and you will have a place in that government, Mr. Lunguna, if you should change your mind.”

Lunguna stared at Lavager in disbelief. He felt sick at the thought that what Lavager had just said announced his megalomania. The devastating thought flashed through his mind that perhaps the attacks on the President and the Cabbage Patch that morning had been conducted by patriots, not enemies. Worse, nobody else in the room seemed aware of that possibility.

“I appreciate your honesty and moral courage,” Lavager continued. “If anyone else in this cabinet wishes to withdraw from my government, now is the time to do it.” He looked at the other ministers, but none said anything. “General Ollius, the attack shall begin on my command and only on my command. Marshall the forces and have them ready.

“Gentlemen, thank you very much for your support in this time of crisis. I have one more announcement to make and we are done here.” Lavager paused and produced an Anniversario. He clipped it expertly and lit the cigar. When the tip glowed red he smiled affably at his cabinet ministers. “All of you except General Ollius are confined to this room, without communications with the outside world, until the attack is underway.”

At first there was disbelieving silence and then all the ministers began shouting at once. Lavager held up his arms for silence and eventually it was restored. “Just a precaution, gentlemen, just a precaution. No one here is under suspicion. You will be accommodated very comfortably while you’re here. At oh-seven hundred tomorrow you will be allowed to leave, none the worse for a night spent at the office, I assure you.”

“Jorge!” It was the Minister of the Interior. “I want a bottle of bourbon and a deck of cards! If you’re going to confine us here until tomorrow morning, I want to get old Henri there into a game of poker and steal some of that money he’s been lifting out of the treasury!” Henri Parrot was Lavager’s minister of finance and no more honest official ever lived, but he was a notorious poker player. Lavager just nodded and made his way to the door. Lunguna caught up to him.

“Jorge, please, just one more word?” Lavager paused and nodded. “Do
not
do this! If unification of the nation-states of Atlas is your goal, you do not have to do it by war! Please, aggressive wars always end tragically. Do not inflict this on our people!” He looked imploringly into Lavager’s face. “I’m begging you to listen to me!”

Lavager sighed. “What we’re going to do to South Solanum tomorrow is not aggressive war. I am punishing those people for what they did
here, this
morning, pure and simple. I will unite the nations of this world, but not by force. This morning’s attack was designed to thwart the unification plan. What we’re doing out at Spondu will definitely change the balance of power in this world and some people don’t want that to happen. But it will, and soon.”

Lunguna’s shoulders drooped. “A super weapon,” he sighed.

“ ‘Super’? Yes; a weapon? Yes, a ‘weapon’ of sorts.” Lavager laid a hand on Lunguna’s shoulder. “Let people think what they may, you’ll see the results of my plan soon enough. Now, have something to eat, get some rest. It’s a long time until tomorrow, and for me, I need refreshment and rest as well.” Lavager smiled and, accompanied by his security detail, left the room. Annie Hall, the

Presidential Retreat, Outside New Granum

Lavager arrived at Annie Hall, the Presidential Retreat in the mountains outside New Granum, before noon. He introduced Gina to Candace, excused himself, and went to bed. The two young women became friends at once. Candace possessed a sophisticated outlook on politics and government that was complemented by Gina’s experience of life on a farm among working people. Gina also had an intimate knowledge of the forests, plants, and animals native to Margelan that Candace found fascinating. They sat in Candace’s room, listening to music and talking.

“Is that Barrabas Monk and the Abbots?” Gina asked, “I just adore them!”

“Yes!” Candace turned up the volume and the music filled the room. “Father just detests them.” She laughed and added, “He just likes the old stuff.” The two rocked to the rhythm as the music blared from Candace’s sound system.

For a few minutes, Candace watched Gina, who seemed happy and unconcerned, then asked, “How can you be so—so—?” she began, then faltered. “I mean, after what happened at your farm, you just seem—”

“To be taking it so well?” Gina finished the sentence. “I put it in the back of my mind, Candie. I’m good at doing that, you know? My parents used to get on me all the time about my wandering in the woods, so when Mother or Father—,” now she faltered, but quickly pulled herself together and continued, “—when Mother or Father would get on me about wandering off from my chores I’d just concentrate on the chores, and when I was alone in the forest I’d concentrate on the trees.” She laughed. “So now I concentrate on you and what we’re doing right now, and that way I can almost forget about what . . . what happened. Besides, your father promised me he’d make the bastards who did that pay, and I trust your father. Everyone does. Your own mother was assassinated. You must know what I’m talking about.”

“I was very young, Gina.” Candace didn’t speak for a moment. Then, to get away from such depressing talk, asked, “So what will you do now?”

Gina shrugged. “Run the farm. I know all about the machines my father and his hands worked. I know the planting cycles, all about fertilizer and how to breed farm animals. I turned on the water that saved your father and his friends,” she added proudly. “I’ll hire people to help me and eventually I’ll get married.” She laughed again. Gina had a pleasant laugh that made Candace feel good to hear. “And how about you, Candie, what will you do with the rest of your life?”

“Oh, I’m going to university somewhere. Somewhere offworld, father says. Have you ever been off-world, Gina?”

“No, but I’d like to go! I’d love to see Earth. My father was there once when he was young, and he told us all about the place.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice—I mean if we could go to university together? I’d love to have someone I like along, to be my friend and help me study. Don’t you want a university education? Father could arrange it, I’m sure,” Candace’s cheeks flushed with excitement at the thought of her and Gina going off to college on another world.

“I don’t know, Candie, I guess I was born to be a farmer.” She shrugged. “I never thought much about it. My parents wanted to send me to agriculture college here on Atlas. But you know, I might like to be a forest ranger. Can your dad arrange that for me?”

There was a knock at the door and when they turned, Lavagar stood there. “I sure can,” he said. His voice boomed through the music, which Candace quickly turned down. Her father frowned theatrically and then grinned. “But right now, how about something to eat?” He stood there, rested, changed, looking fresh and eager. “We’ll have dinner at Ramuncho’s. How about it, ladies? My treat. I hear he’s got fresh dalmans.”

Candace blanched at the suggestion and struggled to find words. “Father, do you think you should go out? After what’s happened, I mean.” Gina caught the note of anxiety in Candace’s voice. She’d stood up out of respect for Lavager, but he motioned her to be seated.

“Sure. Lightning never strikes in the same place twice. Come on, ladies, be my dates for the evening!”

“Daddy!” Candace sounded desperate to Gina, who was embarrassed to witness what seemed to be developing into a family feud, but she certainly understood how Candace felt. A small knot of fear began forming in the pit of Gina’s stomach. “We can have the cook prepare a nice meal right here at home!”

Candace said. “Father, please, let’s stay home tonight.”

Lavager came into the room, took some of his daughter’s discarded clothing off a chair, and sat down carefully. “You never could keep a neat room.” He smiled wryly at Gina. “Ladies,” he began, “I want to tell you something, so listen carefully. As the head of state, I have an obligation to our people to always be before them, to set an example, the example I wish everyone to follow. That duty always trumps personal convenience. The people expect me to lead them and you don’t lead from inside a bunker! So I am not going to hide here on this mountaintop. This is my country and I will not let fear make a prisoner of me in my own land. What kind of a man would I be to do that?”