Storm Force: Book Three of the Last Legion Series (19 page)

“Howzabout,” Dill said, emptying the pitcher into his glass, tossing it back over his head to thud down somewhere, “we just blow ‘em out of the skies and move on?”

“That will not work,” Alikhan said. “They will do nothing but fret for a time, then find themselves another dictator, and try once more.”

“So that means,” Huran said, “we’ll have to first beat their butts flat, then go in on the ground and play nursemaid for a generation? Shit, I don’t like that at all, at all.”

“Who knows?” Mahim said. “But I feel sorriest for the poor bastards around this table, who are going to make that landing, and get dead flattening butts.”

“That’s what we get paid damned little for,” Dref said.

“Shuddup, everybody,” Dill said, standing. From somewhere, he’d found another full pitcher. He clambered on top of the table, and started singing the age-old song:

Then, changing tempo:

He went back to speech:

“A hymn to the next of us to go south:

“Hymn … hymn … screw him …”

None of the other drinkers in the cavernous club, nor the barkeeps, thought of intervening. I&R mourned their dead in their way, and would retaliate terribly against any interruptions.

When the singing started, Jil Mahim put her head down on the table and began snoring gently. A considerate warrant moved her head out of the pool of beer it was lying in.

• • •

Monique Lir clambered the last few meters to the top of the sea mount just before dawn. A thousand and more meters below her, waves crashed sullenly on the rocks around the pillar and rocked the small boat she’d rented.

Lir had driven in a skyhook at midnight and hung a hammock from it, a little angry at herself that she’d take a third day to finish the ascent.

The top of the sea mount was about thirty meters to a side and had collected enough dirt for a few small, twisted trees to grow.

Lir slid out of her pack and her climbing harness, stretched, allowed herself two sips of water as a reward for this first ascent.

She sat, cross-legged, on the stone as the sun slowly came up, emptying her mind. As far as she could see, in any direction, was nothing but water. No boats, no people, no aircraft, no loudspeakers, no officers, no noncoms, no crunchies.

A perfect leave.

Lir knew there were horrendous stories about how she spent her leaves, from running a whorehouse specializing in sadomasochism to being a millionaire recluse on some far-off island where no one knew her real name. She didn’t bother to deny them.

All that mattered was this stillness, this peace atop a mountain, preferably one that had never been climbed, even more preferably one that was unknown or considered unclimbable.

She would eat, sleep until midday, then rope back to her boat and navigate for that second sea-pillar no one seemed to have gone up.

Monique Lir was having a wonderful leave.

“Here I thought you went and learned your lesson about doing anything without my kind fatherly hand,” Njangu Yoshitaro said briskly, swiveling in his chair to face Garvin. “But you didn’t. Which got you in a goddamned dungeon, rotting your toenails off.

“After that, you shoulda figured out you’re supposed to be the Perfect Leader, out there all nit and tiddy in your goddamned white uniform waving the saber, and I’m the guy that tells you when to charge and in what direction.

“Now, let’s talk about this flight-school shit,” Yoshitaro went on. “You’re gonna leave that frigging Penwyth in charge of me and I&R while you go farting around for what, six months?”

“What’s the matter with Erik?” Garvin asked.

“Not that much, actually,” Njangu admitted. “Rich people just make me nervous. Forget him. Go back to that six months you’re at Zoomie school.”

“A lot less than that,” Garvin said. “They’re doing a lot of hypnopacking, like they did with basic drill.”

“I thought hypnosis only conditions you to do things reflexively, like right face and to the rear harch and shit like that.”

“They think, with enough repetitions, they can give us more than that.”

“Us. Who’s us?”

“The old man’s ordered a big push on pilots. Anybody that’s ever wanted to fly is going to get a chance. No bullshit, no drill, just intensive hands-on stuff,” Garvin said. “Hypno can give you instant response to say, spin recovery, at least the book response, just like it can teach you how to do hup-ho inspection arms.”

He grinned sheepishly. “And don’t I sound like I know what the hell I’m talking about. We’ll find out whether that works in a week or so.”

Njangu stared at Garvin for a very long moment.

“One more time: We?”

“Oh yeh. I went and volunteered you, too.”

“You don’t screw around, do you?”

“Can’t,” Garvin said briskly. “We got a war to win. The first raid goes out against Kura tomorrow morning. Besides, weren’t you ragging me a couple of minutes ago about daring to do things without you being two steps to my right and two to my rear, butting in and telling me what I’m doing wrong?”

Njangu considered. “Well, shut my moneymakin’ mouth. I think I went and argued myself into an untenable position, like the educated sorts say.

“So I guess I’m gonna go learn how to crash into things. Maybe that’ll get me a couple extra credits a month, knowing how to swoop around the heavens.”

Njangu frowned, turned serious. “Actually, Garvin, m’friend, that does bring up an interesting thought.”

“What, you crashing into things?”

“No. Look. We’re gonna go beat up Larix/Kura, right?”

“Gad, no wonder I follow you in wonderment. You reach such amazing conclusions without needing any hard evidence like us commoners.”

“You got that right,” Njangu said. “The first stage is going to be farting around in outer space, right? That doesn’t give a lot of opening for I&R, does it?

“Second stage will have to be a ground invasion. So we’ll go in front, like always, and get killed.”

“That sounds like SOP for Idiots and Runners,” Garvin said.

“Uh-huh. Then, after we beat Redruth to a bloody pulp, then what? Then we go looking for the Confederation to try to figure out what happened, right? Which will probably involve some folks of Evil Intent and, again, will be, at least in the first stages, fought or at least investigated in space.”

“Mmmh,” Garvin said. “I’m starting to track.”

“Yeh,” Njangu agreed. “It doesn’t sound like I&R’s gonna be a real astounding place to get medals, which translates to more money and loot, now does it?”

“You’re thinking it’s time to move on?”

“No way,” Njangu said. “What, go into one of the regiments and specialize in shining boots, spaceship corridors, and saying yessir in chorus? That idea blows
giptels
.

“I think what we’d better start thinking about is how we transition I&R, in toto, into the future.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’m not ready to tell you Steps Alpha through Omega,” Njangu said. “But I’ll give you a clue. If we go hootin’ after the Confederation, we’re gonna need a bigger army, right?”

“You don’t think the ten thou of us in the Legion aren’t going to conquer all, what with our clean livers and pure thoughts?” Garvin said. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get silly. You’re right.”

“Damned straight I’m right. The Force gets big, I&R gets big, too.”

“What, like a Recon Regiment if the Force goes up to a Division in strength? That’d make you a
Caud
and me, what?
Super-Caud
?”

“Think armies, bwana,” Njangu whispered. “Think beeeg armies. Think of all those Larries and Kurries we’re going to be drafting when this war is over. Think of that Star Marshal rank you’re always trying to bullshit me into believing you’re the illegitimate son of. By the way, does that rank really exist?”

“Hell if I know,” Garvin said. “Daddy might’ve been lying to Momma. I’m just a simple circus boy.” He looked out the window of the I&R office as a squad of new trainees doubled past.

“Beeeg armies, huh?

“Maybe we
better
do some serious plotting. And
also
see about making some under-the-counter investments in ship factories.”

• • •

The six Kuran ships lifted from scattered airfields, each heavy-laden with processed or fresh foodstuffs for Larix, and joined up out-atmosphere. There was an elderly patrol craft as group commander, more a formality than anything else.

They were about to enter hyperspace when the Parnell, the newly named
Nectan
, a third Kelly-class, and two
velv
spat from behind one of Kura’s moons. The patrol ship CO challenged them, realizing they were enemy ships only as the four Force craft launched missiles.

Suddenly there were four fire-streaked gasballs in space. The fifth Cumbrian missile detonated early, and the merchant ship that had been its target had an instant to yelp a mayday before a second launch blew it apart. The sixth ship turned back toward Kura and was in the ionosphere when a missile from one
velv
took it, and Kura’s night sky became a fireworks display.

The patrol ship scuttled for hyperspace, but a
velv
had a lock on it and launched. The modified Goddard went into N-space after the patrol ship, which was never seen again.

The Cumbrian ships jumped back into invisibility. War was now joined.

• • •

“This,” Ben Dill said into the microphone, “is going to be the most goddamned weird flying school any of us has ever attended.

“Look around.”

The sixty trainees, from recruits to warrants to officers, Garvin and Njangu among them, obeyed. They also considered the line of officers and enlisted men on the stage with two aliens, their future instructors.

“The standard thing,” Dill continued, “is say good-bye to the one on your right, the two on your left, or whatever the number the school figures it’s gonna bust out.

“That’s bullshit. We — the Force — want every swingin’ Richard of you to graduate, to get your icklepretty pilot’s wings. So help the woman or man next to you if you can. We’ll make a First in Class award, no more, so you don’t have to worry about backbiting for minor points. Everybody else is just Pass or Fail.

“We’re in a war, and we don’t have time for batshit. That means us instructors aren’t gonna worry about whether you shined your boots last night or if you’re even wearing boots. For those of you who’re fresh enlistees, you’ll get all that stuff hypnotically, like the more experienced sorts did.

“We want you to learn. Every one of you’s said she or he was interested in flying, and you’ve all got the brains. I’ve looked at your test scores.

“So you’re capable. Maybe you’re going to find out you really didn’t want to fly, don’t like space, aren’t that quick with your math or spatial relationships or have the common sense to not want to leave nice, safe dirt.

“ ‘Kay. You gave it a try, and you can go back to your home formation not feeling bad. Nobody’s going to be screaming at you, making you run up and down hills or do push-ups or any of the rest of the crap.

“The OIC of the school is Force Commander Angara. Everybody else works for him, no matter what the rank. That means I’ll be teaching, Alikhan here’ll be teaching, this little shit here named Gorecki’ll be teaching. We want to help, not hurt you. Sometimes one person’ll be instructing you, sometimes another. Don’t worry about changes in your instructors. Like I said, we’ve got a war to fight, so your instructor on one day might be out there beatin’ up Larries the next. This whole mess is gonna be catch-as-catch-can.

“Another thing. Don’t be afraid of asking questions or even pulling something semidumb. If it’s too dumb, and it doesn’t kill you, but it damned near kills me, then you’re gone. Otherwise, you get another chance at an instructor.

“This whole deal is going to be hard and fast, down and dirty.

“Make me … and the Force … proud of you. Now, let’s go to work.”

• • •

“Sorry to lift you from going round about in the middle of the air, Njangu,” Hedley said. “But you’re our current expert on what Redruth and his number two, that Celidon, might be thinking.

“You were copied the report on the first raid, which was a total success. What do you think the response from Larix/Kura will be to that?”

“I can’t say precisely, sir,” Njangu said. “But I’d think Redruth’s first reaction would be to beef up the patrols around Kura. Celidon might think we’re going back and forth to confuse them, so he might want heavy patrols around Larix, figuring that’ll be our next target.”

“Mmmh,” Angara said. “That’s exactly our plan for the next raid.”

“Then, what I’d suggest, maybe, is hit them as hard as you can. Celidon will probably be expecting another light raid as we escalate … and not have as heavy a response element as he should have. Maybe. Sir.”

“Not a bad idea at all,” Hedley said. “Assuming that we eventually are going to have to invade them, wouldn’t it be a good idea to take out as many of their warships as possible, right now?

“Thank God we’ve got the Musth nice and happy and mining half of flipping C-Cumbre for metal to sell back to us as
aksai
and
velv
, so maybe we’re actually able to build more ships than Redruth can shoot down.

“A slight veer, Njangu. I’ve read your report on these Naarohn-class cruisers Redruth supposedly wants to build. We’ve seen none in action or on the ground yet, although the heaviest intel I’ve been willing to commit to is a zoom-by pass on Larix Prime and Secundus. You said that Celidon was opposed to building these cruisers. Is there any possibility he convinced Redruth and we won’t have to worry about those pigs coming out of the woodwork?”

“No, sir,” Njangu said flatly. “If Redruth changes his mind, all on his own, then no Naarohns. But from what I saw, nobody’s got much of a chance to change anything with Redruth, once he’s set.”

“Like most dictators,” Angara said.

Njangu saw Penwyth look at the ceiling, could read his thoughts:
And Commanding Officers
. He buried a grin.

“If I may make a suggestion, sir?” he said.

“Go ahead.”

“If I were you, rather than screw around waiting for these cruisers to show up, I’d jump the gun and go after them in the shipyards, sir.”

“We don’t really have the ships ready for that heavy a raid,” Angara said. “Or, we do. But I’d have to assume we’d take significant casualties going after the yards with any kind of precision attack.

“Not to mention we’d have to find all of them … you only gave us three or four locations.”

“That’s why I’d go nuke, sir,” Njangu said. “Redruth’s already opened the option. If their damned shipyards are glowing in the dark, it’ll take time for them to rebuild.”

“No,” Angara said flatly. “The Confederation policy is to use nuclear weaponry only against a purely military target, and then only as a last resort.”

His voice didn’t encourage further discussion. Njangu caught Penwyth’s eye, and he nodded once.

“Yessir,” was all Yoshitaro said.

“I guess that’s all,” Angara said. “Jon, do you have anything more?”

“Nope.”

Njangu stood, saluted, and went out. Penwyth was right behind him.

“You see, you atrocity-committin’ radioactive snake, the way we upholders of truth and justice think?” the slender man drawled.

“Yeh. Damned glad we’re fighting such a
moral
damned war. And I think I can weasel out of the rest of the day’s training, since it’s only got an hour to go. You, you truthie justicer, can buy the first round.”

• • •

The next raid lasted longer and was a great deal bloodier. For both sides.

Two Cumbrian Kellys,
Caud
Angara on the bridge of the lead ship, dropped from hyperspace and took out the nearest patrol ship. It should’ve been a giveaway that they let the ship report before they blew it apart, then hung around, waiting.

Half a dozen of the new Larissan destroyers responded. They got the two Kellys on-screen, just as other Cumbrians arrived — two more Kellys, plus ten
velv
and supporting
aksai
.

The Larissans called for more backup and, outnumbered, attacked. No one had ever accused the Larries of lacking courage.

Another formation of destroyers, flanked with patrol ships, took off from Larix Prime. Celidon himself was on the bridge of the command ship.

Again, the Cumbrians stayed in Larissan space, and the battle was fully joined as other Kelly-class ships appeared. Ships swirled, darted in and out of N-space, took hits, and some died.

It was less a battle than a swarming melee, and no one, starting with the fleet commanders, had any idea of what was going on beyond his own short-range screens and bridge.

Caud
Angara had figured on the confusion, so each of the Cumbrian ships had a synchronized time tick. At the ordered time, the Cumbrian ships broke contact as best they could and jumped to a prearranged sector of “dead” space. The one Larissan destroyer and two patrol boats able to put tracers on the Cumbrians emerged from N-space into a hail of missiles, and died.