The Storm Maker (33 page)

       “Capitan,
your coffee.” A soldier handed him a large tin cup with steaming black coffee.

       “Appreciate,”
Jolvyt said and took a couple of sips as capitans of eighth and ninth division
walked up to him holding their own tin cups.

       “Capitans,”
Jolvyt said. “Look about a mile and a half east; looks like a small creek
there.”

       “There
is one, I remember from the map” the capitan of the eighth division said, “More
importantly I have fished there a couple of times.”

       “How
wide is it and what is the topography around there?” Jolvyt asked. “That
appears to be the most likely place where they will try to hold us off.”

       “Oh,
I agree,” he replied. “Indeed I was about to mention it to you as soon as we
started our march down the slope. The creek isn’t deep, my eleven year old son
stood in the middle with water coming up no more than to his waist. It is about
seventeen to twenty-two feet wide with dense trees and vegetation on both
sides. If they have decided to fight, they will probably be on the other side.”

       “And
we have orders to go straight ahead, no flanking, no maneuvering,” Jolvyt said
taking the last gulps of his coffee. “They want us to reach there fast. Will
cost us a higher dead count.”

       They
stood there for a couple of minutes after finishing their coffee taking in the
cool, light breeze and staring out in the direction of Coldwoods; soon
thereafter Capitan Jolvyt ordered them all to march out.

* * *

       “I
know a better place for us to land,” Coldwoods police chief said to the pilot,
“that will get me to the Capital faster.”

       “My
orders are to drop you off at the Southstar airport,” the pilot replied. The
police chief was being escorted in a helicopter by three Ranx Rangers along
with the photos, the tape and the signed documents the boss had given them. One
of them was piloting the chopper, the other two sat in the back with their Ranx
rifles and holding the objects they were to give to the chief after landing.

       “Your
boss wants me to get to the King Starryvk City as fast as possible,” the police
chief said. “At the Southstar airport I will have to wait to catch a plane,
which may be scheduled for hours later and then it will take more than three
hours to reach the Capital.”

       “What
are you suggesting?” the Pilot asked.

       “There
is an Air Army base just outside of Southstar. Land there. They can put me on a
fighter plane and I will leave right away and the capital in about an hour.”

       “They
will let us land there?” the pilot asked, surprised.

       “You
let me talk to them on the radio, I will explain.”

       “I
will do that,” the pilot said shaking his head. “But the fighter planes better
not shoot us down on the way back, or the Boss will kill some of his hostages.”

       “It
doesn’t make a difference,” the police chief said. “The fighter planes can
catch up to you in minutes even if you leave from Southstar. But I will tell
them to let you go back.”

       The
pilot looked back at his two mates and they nodded an affirmative.

       “Very
well,” the pilot said. “Show me this Air Army base on the map.” He took a map
from a side compartment and opened it up on the dashboard in front of the chief.

       The
pilot changed direction and flew towards the Air Army base. As soon as they hit
the army perimeter their radio cackled.

       “Hey,
who are you fellas?” the Air Army air traffic controller asked. “I don’t see
you on my list. And what are you flying? From your speed it appears to be a
helicopter.”

       The
pilot gave the radio mic to the police chief.

       “I
am Coldwoods Police Chief in a helicopter,” he said. “This is an emergency.
Please put your base commander on line right away.”

       “Alright,
but we are going to trail you,” traffic controller replied. “And stay away from
the runways till you have permission.”

       The
radio went silent, but within a couple of minutes they heard two thunderous
booms of fighter planes. All four of them looked out their windows and saw
fighter planes on each side, flying slightly higher.

       The
police chief felt relief. Some fighter planes were always on the alert, but for
them to reach the perimeter so fast meant that the army was most likely aware
of what was going on in Coldwoods and was on standby.

       “This
is base commander and Air Commodore Altar for Coldwoods Police Chief,” a voice
came on the radio.

       “Commodore,”
he replied, “this is the chief. Are you aware of what is going on near
Coldwoods?”

       “The
House of War told us,” Altar said. “We have a hundred fighter planes already in
the air, circling this base, waiting for further orders.”

       “Commodore,”
the chief said, “I was taken hostage and I am carrying a message from their
boss. Please give us permission to land so I can get this message to the House
of War promptly.”

       “You
got it,” the commodore said.

       “Another
matter,” the chief said. “The crew belongs to the boss. Please give them safe
passage on their way back. They have our hostages.”

       “Sure,”
Altar replied.

       The
Coldwoods police chief looked at the pilot who smiled. Then the chief decided
to take a gamble and added in formal Starfirian, a more complex and precise
version of conversational Starfirian that the foreigners generally did not
know. “Readvyk Stormyst Copyta.” Or ‘Be ready to storm the helicopter’.

       The
air commodore clicked off the radio on the other end.

       “What
did you say?” the pilot asked, slightly suspicious.

       “Formal
army salute,” the chief lied. “That’s the protocol to address a commodore.”

       The
pilot and the other Ranx Rangers had learned to speak and understand Starfirian
at a simple level, but this higher language required formal education. They
believed his last statement.

       The
fighter planes left them as they got closer to the airfields and the pilot
landed the helicopter in the middle of an empty runaway.

       “Give
him the stuff,” the pilot said to the rangers in the back.

       The
rangers gave the police chief the objects and he got out of the helicopter. He
quickly ran towards the five cars that he saw approaching from behind. Another
open car was fast approaching the helicopter from the front. A man stood up on
the front passenger seat and spoke in a megaphone.

       “This
is your order from the Air Army. Do not fly your helicopter or we will shoot it
down.” He pointed to an anti-aircraft gun attached in the back seat of the car.

       “Bastard,”
the pilot said. “He told them in code to arrest us.”

       “So
what, just fly off,” a ranger from the back said. “That’s just cars.”

       “Look
out ahead,” the pilot said. “They have an antiaircraft gun in their car. At
this range even a fighter plane could not escape.”

       “Radio
the boss and tell him,” the second ranger said as the cars rapidly closed the
distance.

       “I
am trying, but the bastards have jammed our radio,” the pilot said. “I should
have never listened to the chief.”

       The
car in the front stopped and four of the five cars coming from behind
surrounded the helicopter. Four Air Army soldiers with ATRs jumped out of each
of the cars and walked towards the helicopter. The pilot and the Ranx Rangers
came out with their hands in the air and surrendered.

       The
police chief was picked up by the fifth car and none other than Air Commodore
Altar was a passenger in it. They drove back to the base building.

       “How
are you doing, chief?” Altar asked.

       “Like
I just woke up from a nightmare,” the chief said. “My men are still hostages,
along with SPASI guards that I didn’t know were coming.”

       “Your
worries are over,” Altar said. “The army has taken over the Coldwoods matter
now.”

       “Glad.”

       “So
what is this message for the House of War that their boss has?”

       “Some
photos, a tape and documents,” chief said looking at them. “Formal demands, I
presume. I have to get them to the House of War.”

       “Ever
ridden in a fighter plane?”

       “Never.”

       “You
will enjoy it and they will be flying top speed today,” Altar said, “I have two
fighter planes ready to fly you to the Air Army base just north of the Capital.
Also radioed the House of War; they are expecting you.”

       They
reached the headquarters building where a couple of soldiers stood ready with
airplane clothes for the chief who was still wearing his police uniform. He
hurriedly changed and then the car rushed him to the fighter planes waiting on
the runway.

* * *

       Boss
Hantex had Sayett and Slyntya escorted to the third floor of his tower in the
main technical control room of the storm machines. A dozen technicians sat in
front of panels and instruments with light bulbs, flashing signs, knobs, wires
and displays. Boss Hantex was smiling with a cigar in his mouth and a glass of
whiskey in his hand while Suka Manx, standing next to him, looked angry. A half
dozen Ranger guards with automatic rifles in their hands stood near the walls.

       “You
aren’t a Starfirian are you?” the Boss asked Slyntya, approaching her slowly.
Suka Manx walked behind him.

       She
did not know what to say. Had he discovered her true identity and also found
out about her husband? She stayed quiet, but Sayett answered the Boss with a
question of his own.

       “What
makes you say that?” Sayett said. “Do you think we would make an outsider one
of our Constellars?”

       “Don’t
be a fool, detective,” Hantex laughed. “She doesn’t look like you Starfirians
or like us Ranxians either. I would bet you are a Karalnar,” he said to her.
“Your accent, your looks...I kidnapped a few Karaln scientists and I see the
similarity.”

       “Would
that be a problem if I were?” Slyntya asked.

       “On
the contrary, better for me.” the Boss said. “Starfirians are a major pain.” He
turned to Sayett. “We decided to build the Storm Tower in your country, because
we knew defeating you from the outside would be very hard—you would not
surrender. You had to be taken from inside.”

       “What
makes you think we will surrender just because our enemy is inside?” Sayett
asked.

       “Because
now your civilian population will be facing the brunt of the storm,” Hantex
said. “Your armies will brave the storms even if it means their death, I will
give that much credit to you fellas. I mean to intimidate your state by
intimidating your people.”

       “That
is a low and mean way of fighting,” Slyntya said, “threatening us civilians,
including the women and children.”

       Hantex
guffawed. Suka scoffed. Sayett stayed quiet, but Slyntya was near tears.

       “I
forgot earlier,” Hantex said, “the reason I asked you whether you were a
Karalnar, well take a look.” He pointed to a large display screen that had a
map of Coldwoods and surrounding towns with mountains, roads, rivers etc. “You
have seen machines that show photos, but nothing like this. I stole this from
the Karaln Nation. Neither the Starfirians nor the Narducats have anything like
this; when they were experimenting with the storm machines, they had to use
pilots with binoculars and radios in airplanes to guide the experiments. But
this display machine allows me to target the storm where I want while sitting
in this room.”

       Slyntya
looked at the machine with amazement and for those moments forgot her fear and
grief. When she was still living in the Karaln Nation, there was only talk of
these machines in the universities and the technical journals: display machines
that would be fed maps of areas and then connected to other machines to allow
coordination of physical activities by personnel sitting in a central control
room. No more need for a large number of operators with radios and binoculars
calling in locations. She hadn’t taken the talk seriously, but here it was.

       “Tell
them about the three rangers,” Suka Manx said.

       “Forget
them fellas,” the Boss waived him away and started drinking whiskey.

       “No,
tell them,” Suka insisted then proceeded to tell it himself, “Your government
arrested three of my rangers who were escorting the Coldwoods police chief. I
should execute three of your SPASI guards in retaliation.”

       Sayett’s
anger was aroused but he knew better than to give it voice. Suka Manx held the
upper hand now, Sayett would bide his time.

       “Bah…”
Boss Hantex said. “I don’t want to kill people in cold blood,” then he
chuckled, “unless of course they get in the way of my plan. Suka, forget those
three rangers, I didn’t expect the Starfirians to react any differently.”