Coyote Rising (50 page)

Carlos nodded. Once White Company knocked out the landing fields on Hammerhead, Red Company would move in on Liberty from the north and Blue Company would take Shuttlefield from the east. The three attacks were scheduled to occur simultaneously at 0600 the next morning; taking out the Union Guard’s air superiority was vital to the operation’s success. The ashfall might have done so already, but still . . .

“Sounds a little iffy, Captain. Are we sure Hammerhead is down?”

A short pause.
“We don’t know for sure . . .”
Lee replied after a moment.
“We haven’t seen anything take off from Hammerhead, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t launch their gyros before the cloud moved over them. They’re probably just as confused as we are, so . . .”

“I see.” Carlos absently kneaded his hands together. It had taken months to put this operation together, and now that they were so close to achieving their objective, nature had thrown a monkey wrench into the works.
Damn! If it had only erupted a couple of days later . . .

“I say we go ahead.” Chris lifted his head. “We’ve got everyone in place. If we abort now, we might not get another chance for a long time.”

“He’s right,” Marie said. “We’ve come a long way already. . . .”

“Then we’ll just go back the same way,” Carlos said. “That’s not the issue.”

“Hell it ain’t.” Chris looked him straight in the eye. “C’mon, man, how much has it taken for us to get this far? Until now, they’ve had us by the short hairs. Now we’ve got them. You want to duck out now just because of bad weather?”

Carlos started to object, but stopped short. No one had been drafted; everyone there had volunteered because they wanted to be free, to live their lives without fear of Union Guard troops raiding their villages, not to work as forced labor upon projects created by the Matriarch for the further industrial development of this world. Their own lives were at risk, but also in the balance were those of countless individuals—not only in the present, but for years to come. The future of Coyote itself rested upon the decisions he’d make that morning, that moment.

He took a deep breath. “Sir,” he said, “I’ve decided . . . we’ve decided . . . to proceed.”

A short silence, just long enough for him to wonder whether they had debated too long and
Alabama
had already passed beyond range. But then he heard Lee’s voice once more:
“Glad to hear it. I think you’re doing the right thing. And for your information, Blue Company concurs.”

Carlos smiled. Of course, Lee would have been in contact with Clark Thompson. Blue Company was holding position on the Eastern Divide, waiting to march up the Swamp Road from Bridgeton to Shuttlefield. “Thank you, sir. Glad to know that Blue is with us.”

“So am I.”
Again, a short pause.
“There’s something else . . . I think we should consider advancing the timetable.”

The suggestion took him almost as much by surprise as learning that Mt. Bonestell had erupted. “By how much?” he asked. And more importantly, he wondered without asking, why?

“Let me ask. How long do you think would it take for your team to reach Liberty?”

Carlos snapped his fingers, pointed to the rolled-up map they’d been using to lead the flotilla. Chris quickly laid it out across the ground, placing stones on its corners to keep it flat. Carlos gave it a brief study; from
where they were now, they would have to travel about thirty miles southwest down North Creek until they reached the point where Sand Creek branched off, then another twenty-five miles to Liberty. Fifty-five miles. Yet they would be traveling downstream all the way, and with the water running high because the snowmelt farther north, they shouldn’t have trouble with shoals or sandbars.

“If we start out this evening—” he began.

“I’m thinking much earlier than that. What if you left now?”

“Is he crazy?” Marie whispered. “We can’t . . .”

Carlos shot her a look. “If we leave now, we could get there”—he made a quick mental calculation—“sometime tonight, shortly after sundown.”

“Sure,” Chris murmured. “And we’d get there too tired to fight.”

Carlos quickly nodded as he held up a hand. “Captain, my people have been rowing all night. If we spend the next twelve hours or so on the river, they’ll be half-dead by the time we reached Liberty.”

Not only that, he suddenly realized, but they’d also be moving in broad daylight. If anyone aboard the Union starship above Coyote were to focus their telescopes down upon New Florida, then they’d be able to see Red Company heading their way. The advantage of surprise would be lost.

“I realize what I’m asking you to do.”
Lee said.
“Clark Thompson voiced the same concerns, and he has the same problem.”
Carlos glanced at the map again. He was right; Blue Company would have to travel by foot for almost forty miles before they reached the southern end of Sand Creek, then cross the river and hike another dozen or so miles until they reached Shuttlefield.
“There’s a good reason for this. I’ve got an idea, one that may save a lot of lives. If it’s going to work, though, I’m going to need to have Red and Blue teams within striking range of the colonies by the end of the day.”

“So what’s your plan?”

He didn’t hear anything for a couple of seconds.
“I can’t tell you that right now.”
Lee said at last,
“so I’m just going to ask you to trust me. Can you do that?”

A leap of faith. That was what Lee was asking him to make. Chris had his face in his hands, and Marie was slowly shaking her head, yet Carlos found himself remembering the past. Two hundred and forty-five years ago, when they were only children, their fathers had made a similar leap
of faith when they’d joined the conspiracy to hijack the
Alabama
and take it to 47 Ursae Majoris. And three and a half Coyote years ago, after the first Union ship had unexpectedly arrived, Lee had trusted him to lead the original colonists from New Florida into the Midland wilderness. Once again, it came down to a matter of trust. And again the future was at stake.

“Yes, sir,” he said, “I can.”

“I won’t keep you then. You’ve got a lot to do. We’re remaining aboard
Alabama,
so you’ll be able to reach us again in another couple of hours. But do so only if you have to.”

Back to radio silence. “I understand, sir.”

“Thank you. Good luck. Crimson Tide over and out . . .”

“Good luck to you, too. Red Company out.” He signed off, then disconnected the satphone from his pad.

Marie regarded him with disbelief. “Wow, that was easy, wasn’t it? And he didn’t even thank us. . . .”

“He’s grateful. Believe me.” Carlos folded the satphone’s antenna, then stood up. “You heard him. We’re on a new schedule. Go wake up the others, tell them to break camp and load up. We’re shipping out.”

His sister started to say something else, but one look at his face told her that it wasn’t the right time. Heaving an expansive sigh, she stood up and marched away. Chris slowly stretched his arms. “I think I’d mind a lot less if I knew the reason why.”

“He knows what he’s doing. And like you said, we may not get another chance.” Carlos forced a smile. “Look at it this way. If everything works out, then you get to see Luisa again a little earlier than you expected.”

“Now that you put it that way . . .” Chris heaved himself to his feet, then walked away, clapping his hands as he whistled sharply. “Okay, people, wake up! Time to ride!”

0902—URSS
A
LABAMA

“Crimson Tide to White Company. Please respond, over.” Lee listened
for a moment, but heard nothing through his headset but carrier-wave static. “White Company, this is Crimson Tide. Do you copy? Over.”

“Give up, Robert. We’re not getting anywhere.” Dana pointed to one of the screens above the com panel. “Transmitter’s working fine, and we’ve got a good fix on where they should be. We just can’t break through all that—”

“I know, I know.” One more try, just for the hell of it. “
Alabama
 . . . I mean, Crimson Tide to White Company. If you copy, boost your gain. Repeat, boost your gain and respond. Over.” He counted to ten, then finally surrendered to the inevitable. “Feels almost like they can hear us, but . . .”

“If they did, we would have known by now.” She unfastened her seat belt, then floated out of her chair and pulled herself along the ceiling rail until she was next to him. “I’m sure they’re fine,” she added, putting a hand on his shoulder. “They just can’t talk to us, that’s all.”

Lee absently took her hand as he gazed out the porthole. Once again,
Alabama
’s equatorial orbit was taking it over the Midland Channel. Indeed, they were passing directly over Hammerhead, yet the only way they had of knowing that was the ground track displayed on the nav station’s flatscreens. The terrain itself was rendered invisible beneath the volcanic plume that covered everything between Mt. Bonestell and Mt. Pesek. Even from this distance, they could see the tiny sparks of St. Elmo’s fire that roiled within the thick clouds. Short-range radios on the ground might be able to penetrate the electromagnetic interference, but from space . . .

“I guess . . . I hope you’re right.” If Fred LaRoux was correct, then White Company was immobilized. If that was the case, they could still clear enough ash from the skimmer’s fans for them to restart the engines and retreat back down the channel. If worse came to worst, they could always abandon the missile carrier and make their way on foot across Midland until they reached Defiance.

Nonetheless, White Company’s mission was a key part of the operation. Even if Fort Lopez’s gyros were grounded, there was no guarantee that military shuttles couldn’t be launched. And with several hundred Guardsmen garrisoned on Hammerhead, the Union still had the ability to repel Red Company and Blue Company as they moved in on New Florida.

Lee shut his eyes. Five hundred years ago, his ancestor must have faced these same choices. Yet even at Gettysburg, all General Lee had lost was a battle; the Confederacy might have perished, but America itself survived. The stakes for which he was fighting were far higher: freedom not just for a country, but for an entire world. And what he intended to do was something his great-grandfather would have never imagined. . . .

“Robert? Robert, are you . . .”

“I’m fine. Just thinking, that’s all.” He opened his eyes, gave her a tired smile. “Better get to work. We’ve got a lot to do before the next orbit.”

“Sure.” Dana released his hand, but she lingered by his side. “You didn’t tell Carlos what you mean to do. Or Clark either.”

He shook his head. “They might be caught. If so, I don’t want to risk either of them telling . . .”

“You know them better than that.”

He couldn’t fool her, and he should have known better than to try. “It’s better that they don’t know,” he said quietly. “If anything goes wrong . . .”

“Then let’s make sure we don’t screw up.” Dana grasped the handrail, started to pull herself away. “So what do you want me to do first? Take the helm, or . . .”

“I’ll handle navigation. You go prime the main engine.” He checked his watch. “Another hour and forty-five minutes before we’re in range
of Liberty. Move fast.” He started to unbuckle his seat belt, then he snapped his fingers. “And we’d better tell—”

“Kim. I know. She’s going to love this.” Dana grinned at him. “Y’know, I bet she thinks we’ve been fooling around up here.”

“Believe me, I wish we were.”