The Cresperian Alliance (32 page)

He did, and a substantial slab of asphalt, along with two K rails, vanished. Then Piki glanced at the battery.

"STOP! Stop, Bang-bang! We only have a third of the power left!” Piki shouted. “John! Can anyone—one of the other tanks, perhaps—help us?"

"I've been trying to contact them, Piki,” Tomlinson said in frustration. “Nobody else has a good angle on the PEP cannon!” He thought quickly. “Piki, get ready to change out the battery. I've got... hang on..."

This time it felt as if the tank nearly flipped over. It rocked high up on its side, then, with a rolling motion, eased back down.

"They shot below us,” Tomlinson noted. “They're taking advantage of the configuration of the shielding. I've got the timing down on the firing rate, I think, so Piki, you're going to have to change the battery when I tell you to, and do it fast."

Piki scrambled to remove their last battery from its stowage compartment, grabbing it and getting it to the power supply feed.

"How much power?” Tomlinson asked sharply.

"About twelve percent,” Piki answered soberly. “It might not be enough, John."

Tomlinson merely nodded. “Be ready when I tell you."

Piki glanced at a helpless Bangler, tears sparkling in her copper eyes. “Bang-bang, I love you."

"I love you, too, Piki,” he whispered, agonized.

"Guys, hang oooon...” Tomlinson said, eyes fixed on the chronometer. “HERE IT COMES!"

The interior of the tank glowed with green light.

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Terhune watched as the smaller, but more heavily armed, Earth fleet slowly but surely reduced the Snapper fleet. They'd lost the
Admiral Nelson
, as well as the
Ilan Ramon
, but both ships had each taken a Snapper spacecraft carrier with them via ramming just as they detonated. One of the ten invisible clipper ships, the
USSS Firebird
, had also met its end when a Snapper battleship maneuvered into it before it had time to react. The combined closing speed had produced a spectacular collision.

We've lost four, and they've lost... mmm, two thirds of their fleet,
Terhune estimated.
Not only that, but they've retreated a step—they're no longer encircling Earth, and have formed a defensive sphere. Time to ramp it up.

"David,” he called to his communications officer. “They've circled the wagons. Time to start riding rings around ‘em and firing those flaming arrows."

"Aye, sir!"

The bucky ball formation peeled away from Earth and formed around the main body of the Snapper fleet instead. As it did so, the Snapper ships began pulling back toward the moon, evidently intent on using its bulk as shielding to flee. On Admiral Terhune's order, the remaining clipper ships zipped behind the Snappers, cutting off their retreat.

The Snapper main ships formed a tight cluster, designed to be able to fire outward, while the fighter ships swarmed around the human starships. They were little more than ineffectual gnats, however; single sweeps of the automated cannonry took out hundreds at a time.

When entire batteries of cannons focused on the main enemy vessels, attrition took place rapidly. A mayday came in from one Earth vessel, the
High Flight
; its power generator was malfunctioning, placing the shields at risk. Terhune ordered it out of the battle, and the Earth fleet closed ranks yet again.

But soon the Snapper fleet was down to only half a dozen ships and a handful of fighters. Coordinated efforts by the
USSS Lady Liberty
and the Australian starship
AuSS Uluru
swept away the last of the fighters.

"Cease fire!” Terhune ordered.

The Earth fleet went silent, though the Snappers continued firing, to little effect.

"David,” Terhune asked, “is that damn translator thing working?"

"Yes sir."

"Wish I'd known we had one earlier. Turn it on and open a clear broadcast line—normal frequencies. We're close enough not to need satellite transmission."

"Yes sir."

"Klkppt Fleet,” Terhune began, not bothering very hard to wrap his mouth around the Snappers’ name for themselves, “this is Admiral Wayne Terhune, Commander in Chief of Earth Fleet."

The Snapper firing halted.

"All previous treaties were rendered null and void when you opened fire after instituting them. We now control the playing field. You have been defeated. Stand down your weapons, withdraw your troops from the planet, and surrender. We also demand you withdraw your forces from the Cresperian system. Do these things, and you will be allowed to go in peace."

There was a temporary pause. Suddenly the Snappers opened fire again.

"There's our answer, ladies and gentlemen,” Terhune noted, then his voice dropped to a growl. “Take ‘em out. Every last damn one of ‘em."

As one, every cannon on every ship, whether disintegrator, laser, or teleforce, opened fire at once.

Moments later, a small nebula near the moon, rapidly dissipating, was all that was left of the vaunted Snapper fleet.

"Sir,” David Williams, the communications officer aboard the
Lady Liberty
, reported, “I detected and recorded a transmission from several ships of the Snapper fleet in the last few seconds."

"Play back through translator,” Terhune ordered.

"Yes, sir."

"...estroyed. Repeat, we are outgunned and the fleet is being destroyed. We have lost the battle. Request immediate assistance..."

Terhune's face twisted in a wry smile. “Did you get the direction of transmission?"

"Yes sir, since it went right past us."

"Good. Configure our comm to match theirs as closely as you can, then patch in the translator again. When you've done that, let me know."

Five minutes later, Williams turned back. “Done, sir."

"Open frequency. Maximum range and power. I want to make sure my message reaches the sons of bitches."

"Yes sir.” A few buttons and switches, then Williams said, “Ready, sir."

"Klkppt Empire, this is Admiral Wayne Terhune, Commander in Chief of Earth Fleet. Your ships, which vastly outnumbered us, have been destroyed. Our planet is intact. And this,” he revealed, “was only using Fleet Alpha. Fleets Bravo and Charlie were never brought into play.” He covered the microphone as a gasp of shock went around the bridge. “Yes, kiddies, that was classified information until now,” he told his crew. “When we had all of the defense and space budgets to add to our own, for every nation concerned, the only problem was building ‘em fast enough.” He uncovered the mike. “In my history, there was a time when our motto was, ‘Don't step on me.’ The symbol that went with that motto was a deadly reptile. It holds as true today as it did then. Don't mess with us. Come to Earth again, and expect to get your asses blown away. Admiral Terhune out—for now.” He jerked his finger across his throat, and Williams cut the communications.

"Now,” Terhune noted, “we're not done yet. Let's take ‘em down and see about helping our boys and girls on the ground."

"Aye aye, sir!"

The remaining starships turned for Earth at maximum interplanetary speed.

The fifth impact from the PEP cannon knocked the Point tank through the side of the building upon which they'd gotten hung. It also exhausted available power, and the quantum shield went down, exposing the side of the tank to the last of the plasma projectile. The tank ruptured just as the wall of the building collapsed atop it.

When the dust settled, the tank was on its side, half buried in brick and mortar. There was no sign of movement, let alone life.

"SON OF A BITCH!” a horrified Shane Taylor yelled, at the risk of exposing his invisible location. “They got the Banglers! NO!"

A special, classified comm system using subvocalization and unreality transmission had been developed for the Special Forces infiltration units, and Taylor's commander made use of it now.

"Shut up, Taylor!” Mac called back. “Act, don't talk! MOVE! Before they target you!"

An angry Taylor immediately shifted position, running on silent feet to a new location, as several nearby Snappers turned lasers on his previous position.
Bastards are goin’ down for that,
he thought grimly, an idea occurring. He efficiently checked his supplies.
Bingo. Got it. Knew these would come in handy. Ray guns are only good for so much. Sometimes old fashioned is just as good, in the right situation.

Silently and swiftly, he infiltrated the Snapper emplacement, adroitly dodging Snapper foot soldiers to right and left, moving as only a Crispy enhanced human could, working his way deeper and deeper into their improvised site, headed for the PEP cannon.

When he reached the berm of asphalt surrounding the cannon, he paused long enough to determine the most strategic route up—knowing that the slightest misstep would send pebbles down, giving away his position—then eased up the side.

Not a single piece of gravel budged.

At the top, he stood, unseen, and gazed down at the weapon, studying it with a practiced eye.
Hm,
he thought, spotting the exposed combustion chamber.
Poor design. Stupid, too. I can take advantage of that.

Taylor slipped down the inside of the berm, around the various crew members of the weapon, and over to the cannon's combustion chamber.
Gotta love this Crispy technology,
he grinned to himself as he prepared a timed grenade.
Walk right in and right back out, with none of the bastards the wiser.

Seeing they were about to fire again, he snugged the grenade into a niche below the chamber, then turned and sprinted from the area, heedless of giving away his position, ensuring his personal quantum shield was at maximum as he did so. He keyed his subvocal unreality comm and cried, “Fire in the hole! Everybody out of the pool! Cannon's gonna go!"

Snappers were knocked over from behind as invisible beings ran right over them in their efforts to evacuate the area. Taylor, sprinting as hard as he could go, was hard put not to lose precious breath to laughter as one entire unit of Snappers went over like bowling pins.

Inside the tank, Jan Wersky lay, unconscious. John Tomlinson was crumpled against the far wall, which was now the floor, his lower body partially buried in brick and masonry. Ed Bangler was slumped over his gun console, groaning, a hunk of shrapnel from the side of the tank protruding from his abdomen. Piki Bangler had automatically reacted by erecting her personal quantum shield and was relatively unharmed, save for a nasty cut on her forehead, delivered by one of the first pieces of tank blown inward. Even as she deactivated the shield and stood up from the corner where she'd been thrown, the cut slowly mended itself. She looked around, and cried out in horror as she realized how seriously injured her tank crewmates—especially her husband—were. Then she recognized a vital fact.

It does no good for me to heal them if we have no protection from that cannon!

Piki spun, snatching up the fresh battery and throwing several bricks aside to reach the power supply connection. Then she stopped, frozen in horror.

The power supply had taken a direct hit from some very large piece of debris. The previous battery had been smashed, its contents seeping out over the nearby equipment. The connectors were so badly damaged that the battery Piki held would not possibly fit, even assuming she could figure out how to get the old battery out of the way to do so, even assuming she had the time.

A quick glance at the chronometer—miraculously still functional—told her she did not have long—perhaps thirty seconds, no more. Piki scrambled about the interior of the vehicle, activating each personal quantum shield before reactivating her own.

Then, anxious, she crumpled down beside her husband, doing what she could to repair the damage to the bodies of her husband and friends while she waited to see if it would be enough.

As the Snappers powered up their cannon, they heard an unusual “click” come from somewhere in the vicinity of the combustion chamber. Suddenly a double explosion ensued, as Taylor's grenade detonated the active chamber. The conflagration followed the combusting gases through the nozzle and into the exhaust stream. Abruptly the whole thing exploded like a blockbuster bomb, sending chunks of asphalt and Snapper body parts hundreds of feet in the air. A crater fifty feet deep and nearly a hundred feet in diameter formed instantly, taking out virtually the entire Snapper emplacement. Hunks of asphalt and raw Snapper meat rained down over the area. A cheer went up from the 101st platoon as well as the rest of White Horse.

On what remained of the human side of the battle line, McAllister, the Special Forces unit leader, disengaged his invisibility cloak, counting heads. “TAYLOR!” he shouted, letting it activate his subvocal comm as well. “HOTSHOT! Shane Taylor! Where the hell are you?! You better not have gotten yourself killed in your own handiwork, son..."

There was a long silence, during which fully half of the 101st soldiers moved forward to join their anxious White Horse brothers. Finally the combined forces saw movement in a trench dug in the asphalt. Several Snapper bodies were shoved aside by an unseen force. Then Taylor faded into view, rising from the trench where he'd taken cover after realizing he wouldn't make it out of range.

"I'm here, boss,” he responded on the subvocal comm. “Used a couple Snappers as—er, I guess I can't call ‘em ‘human’ shields. But they worked just the same, especially after I gutted ‘em.” He started walking out of the carnage. “I just got one request, sir."

"What's that, Taylor?” Mac said in relief.

"I smell like Snapper shit. Can I get a bath?"

"Dear God, yes,” Mac agreed immediately.

As the chronometer ticked down to the firing time, Piki moved as close to Bang as their shields would allow, then curled into a ball, covering her head with her arms, and simply waited.

A sudden, hard quake shook the tank wall under her, and several bricks rattled loose from the building, clanking loudly against the metallic shell of the tank. A couple tumbled into the opening, but bounced harmlessly off Wersky's quantum shield.

After several minutes, Piki dared to raise her head. Crawling to the ragged opening in the tank and climbing the pile of building rubble to peep out, she saw a gigantic hole where the cannon had been, ejecta still raining down, and bodies—lots of Snapper bodies. A few were still moving, and as soon as the last of the debris fell from the sky, soldiers fanned out through the battlefield. A few shots were fired, but for the most part, they all came from humans. Soon no more Snappers could be seen in motion.