Cluster Command: Crisis of Empire II (18 page)

As if to drive the point home, Merikur’s AID spoke softly in his ear. “Moskone’s AID is recording up and down all spectrums and transmitting in bursts. Giving me a headache.”

“Naturally,” Merikur thought. “Admiral Oriana wants a full record of the proceedings. Well fine. We’ll give him what he wants.” He forced a smile. “Well, Paul, it’s good to have you back. I wish you could stay, but I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

Moskone was visibly surprised. “Impossible, Sir? But the admiral told me . . . that is . . . he wanted me to stay and help.”

Merikur nodded sympathetically. “That’s what I like about Admiral Oriana, he’s so thoughtful. However, I want to send him a message. Things have changed here, rather dramatically in fact, and I’m sure the admiral would value your impressions. He speaks very highly of you.”

Moskone was suddenly alert. “Changed, Sir? In what way?”

Merikur waved Oriana’s letter. “Are you familiar with the admiral’s orders?”

“Well, I haven’t seen them,” Moskone replied cautiously, “but the admiral was kind enough to brief me before I left.”

Merikur smiled understandingly. “Good. Then you’re aware that he sent the Cernian regulars to assist me. And a helluva good idea too. I wish all our senior officers had a tenth of Oriana’s guts. But as I said, things have changed. The rebels have been pacified, they’re participating in planetary government, and I have control of the planet. All of which means we won’t need any assistance from Cernia. I’m embarrassed, of course to have asked for help and then turn it away. But after the admiral reads my report, I’m sure he’ll understand. So why don’t you and Major Fouts grab a cup of coffee while I draft a letter to Admiral Oriana?”

Fouts looked surprised. Moskone stood, his face full of doubt. “But Sir . . . I don’t think you should . . .”

“What?” Merikur asked with one eyebrow raised. “Surely you aren’t questioning my orders?”

“Well, no Sir, but I . . .”

“Dismissed, Commander. I’m sorry if I seem abrupt, but I’m a busy man. I have a planet to run, you see.”

“Yes, Sir.” Looking around the bunker for help and finding none, a confused Moskone followed Fouts up the ramp and towards the surface.

Merikur scowled after him. “Asshole.” He said it softly so only Eitor could hear him. Spy or not, asshole or not, you don’t criticize your officers in front of the lower ranks.

“A true guwat,” Eitor agreed cheerfully. “But you handled him admirably. I only wish the governor had been here to see it.”

“I’ll be glad to tell him about it,” Bethany added as she joined them. “You were superb, Anson. I haven’t read the letter . . . but I can guess what’s in it. Your strategy should neutralize Oriana.”

Merikur shrugged. “I’m arguably guilty of insubordination. But if we win, Oriana won’t dare make an issue of it. If we lose . . . well, we’d better win, hadn’t we?” His real fear had been that the Pact ships would try to enforce Oriana’s will.

Eitor said thoughtfully, “The Cernians may land anyway . . .” Then he continued more cheerfully, “But if they do, we will, as you humans put it, ‘kick their posteriors’.”

Merikur laughed. “That’s how we put it, all right. Well, one thing at a time. First, I’ll write the letter to Oriana.”

Stepping up to a small remote, Merikur punched in his code and dictated a letter to Admiral Oriana.

Dear Admiral Oriana,

I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help. But as Commander Moskone will explain, I already control Teller and won’t need the Cernian troops. With that in mind, I’ll release and thank them on your behalf. Again, thanks for your timely support and my apologies for all the trouble.

I agree with your estimation of Commander Moskone’s abilities and am transferring him to your command, hoping you’ll be able to provide him with the opportunities he so richly deserves.

Like a one-way trip to the frontier, Merikur thought grimly. He signed the document,
General Anson Merikur,
stored it, and printed out a copy for Moskone. Then he placed the printout in an envelope, sent it to Moskone via runner, and heaved a sigh of relief.

He wouldn’t have to look at Moskone again.

Half an hour later, Moskone’s shuttle lifted towards a cloudy sky. Merikur wasn’t there to see it. He was deep in the bunker talking with Jomu and Horsehide and finalizing his plans.

Shortly thereafter, all his troops, both marine and rebel, went on a higher state of alert. Merikur’s gig lifted and headed for a protected landing zone deep in the mountains. The marines around Port City dug their foxholes a little deeper, the rebels in the surrounding jungle drew already sharp blades across stones one last time, and Merikur’s remaining destroyer was ready to run.

Then the waiting began. Fouts’ com techs tried to contact the Haiken Maru ships but received no answer. Apparently, they were waiting to hear what Moskone had to say before talking with Merikur.

And there was lots of coded radio traffic between the battlewagon and the largest Haiken Maru ship. Actions speak louder than words. When the battleship broke orbit and headed out system, Merikur had his answer.

The Cernians had decided to stay.

The battleship’s escorts broke orbit, as well, and two hours after that, all four warships disappeared into hyperspace. But the Haiken Maru ships stayed, loaded with Cernian troops, circling Teller like vultures over a corpse.

“Well, it looks like phase two of their plan is going into effect,” Eitor said grimly. “The navy has discharged its duty and left. Whatever happens after they leave isn’t their fault.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Merikur agreed. “The other shoe should drop any moment now.”

Both laughed as Fouts called across the room. “It’s the Haiken Maru, Sir, apologizing for their late response and asking for you.”

Merikur looked at Eitor and Beth. Both smiled and did their best to look optimistic. Merikur smiled in return. “Well, here goes nothing.” He stepped in front of the com unit and nodded to Fouts, “Put them through, Major.”

There was a large screen in front of him. It swirled with color and locked up into a picture.

Nola Rankoo. The long hair, worn in a braid this time and draped over her left shoulder; the same penetrating eyes; and the same thin lips. She spit the words out one at a time. “Greetings, General. We meet again.”

“So it would seem,” Merikur replied evenly. “What can I do for you?”

Rankoo smiled slowly. “Very little. There are, however, some things I can do for you.”

“Such as?”

“Help you bring the rebels under control. My ships carry a thousand Cernian troops. With their help, we can control the rebels and put the mines back into operation.”

Merikur feigned surprise. “I’m surprised Commander Moskone didn’t tell you. The rebels are no longer rebels. They’re now part of a coalition government which rules Teller. I hope you’ll thank the Cernians on my behalf . . . and take them home. I’m sure Governor Windsor will draft a letter of thanks and send it through proper diplomatic channels. Meanwhile, I deeply regret that I must deny you permission to land.”

Rankoo’s lips became a hard thin line. “Since entering orbit, I’ve received several reports that the rebels are holding Port City and numerous other key areas. You may regard this as acceptable, but I don’t and I plan to do something about it. The Haiken Maru and the Cernian government have reached an agreement under which the Cernians will assume responsibility for planetary security while we continue to operate our mines. I remind you that Teller belongs to the Haiken Maru.”

Merikur said evenly, “And I remind you that the Haiken Maru operates under Pact law. Pact law requires senate approval for transfers of planetary ownership. You cannot
give
a Pact planet to Cernia. You don’t have the right. Nor can you legally land troops. Any such attempt will be met with force.”

Rankoo sneered. “Then prepare, to die, little man. My troops are on the way.”

Chapter 11

The screen had no sooner faded to black than reports began rolling in.

“One, two, make that three ships launching shuttles, Sir.”

Another voice, “Two ships have entered descending orbit, Sir . . . it appears they intend to land.”

And the first voice again, “Two ships headed out-system, Sir. They’re a lot faster than they should be . . . and it looks like they’re overtaking our tin can.”

Merikur absorbed the incoming data and began issuing orders. “I want projected landing zones on the shuttles ASAP. Ditto the two ships. Warn the destroyer. Two ships in pursuit. Speed suggests warships rather than merchant vessels.”

“Acknowledged, Sir.”

“Good. Now send the tin can this message: ‘Governor Windsor. Rebel problem solved. Coalition government in place. Corruption in high places. Under attack by combined Haiken Maru and Cernian forces. Intend to win. Please send ships along with a case of champagne. Signed, Merikur.’ As soon as they acknowledge, tell ’em to jump.”

The com tech grinned. “Yes, Sir!” Merikur’s message would soon spread and do more for morale than a hundred pep talks.

But Merikur was worried. Days would pass before a relief force
could
arrive assuming other pressures, political or military, permitted the governor to send one.

In the meantime, Merikur’s forces were badly outnumbered. Rankoo claimed only a thousand troops, but the size of her ships suggested a much larger force, probably five to six thousand. That meant his three thousand rebels and marines could be outnumbered two to one. Not very good odds. And the Cernians weren’t amateurs either. They were well-trained and led by officers like Jomu. Victory wouldn’t come easily, if at all.

Eitor Senda appeared by his side. “I was on the radio with my brother. The Cernian commander, a crusty old war monger called Unolo, ordered him to attack your forces.”

“And what did your brother say?”

Eitor smiled. “First he told Unolo what he thought of the war party’s treachery and then he told the old geezer to sit on his own swagger stick.”

Merikur laughed.

“Excuse me, Sir,” interrupted one of the com techs.

“Yes, Corporal?”

“Our tin can just destroyed one of the pursuing vessels and jumped for Augustine. The commanding officer sent you this just prior to the jump.”

The tech handed Merikur a short printout. It said, “Sorry, Sir, but I just couldn’t resist,” signed Captain Siskens.

Merikur tried to frown. There were a number of junior officers around. “Siskens had no right to take unnecessary chances. When this is over, I’ll have a word with him.”
And buy him a drink.
But Merikur didn’t say that out loud.

Shortly thereafter, the flow of incoming reports grew from a trickle to a stream and then a flood of information. As it washed over and around him, Merikur became a machine. Absorbing data, sorting it, searching for patterns and opportunities. Some of his decisions were based on accepted military tactics and others were little more than educated guesses. Some of his decisions would be wrong as a result, but that very randomness explained why computers hadn’t replaced but could only advise human generals. Though better equipped to manipulate facts, computers can’t deal with emotion and emotion is an important part of war. Without emotions like love, hate, and fear, war wouldn’t exist. Perhaps two robot armies, each led by computers, could wage the perfect scientific war. But without emotions, why
would
they? So as long as soldiers can feel, generals will be required to do likewise.

###

“Orders, Lieutenant,” called Corporal Singh, dug in about twenty feet away. “Hold as long as you can then fall back into the jungle.”

Rain spattered against Lieutenant Shaffer’s visor as his light blue eyes scanned the sky. He looked even younger than he was because of the freckles sprinkled across his nose. “So what else is new,” he muttered. “Those are the same damn orders we had before. Silly bastards.”

Even though the Haiken Maru was popping surveillance satellites like party balloons, a few were still in operation. They said an enemy shuttle was headed Shaffer’s way and should break through the cloud cover any moment. Assuming the shuttle was Pact standard, it would hold about a hundred troops plus equipment. His twenty marines would be facing five times their numbers. Sure there were about thirty trolls in the surrounding jungle, but Shaffer didn’t know if he could count on them or not.

A cold hand closed around his stomach and squeezed hard.

Can’t let it show,
he told himself.
The troops are just as scared and depending on me to pull them through.
Unlike their lieutenant, most of his troops were veterans. He didn’t know if they were scared or not.

He sure hoped they were.

It wasn’t a bad position, though. Thanks to the Haiken Maru, station 032 was well-fortified against conventional ground attacks. Heavy equipment and chemical defoliants had cleared a free-fire zone all around the compound. Tons of earth had been scraped up into sloped embankments and topped with razor ribbon. But the Haiken Maru wanted the place back . . .

Damned if Shaffer could see why. It was just a jumble of collapsed pre-fabs, a rusty derrick, and an overturned crawler.

He shrugged. “Ours is not to reason why, ours is to do or die. Or something like that.” He couldn’t remember who’d written the line, but chances were the poet had served in someone’s army.

His AID spoke in his ear. “Sorry to bother you, Sir, but the shuttle will break through the clouds in thirty-one seconds and its present approach suggests a strafing run. I wouldn’t want to speak out of turn, but it seems to me that some sort of defensive action might be appropriate.”

The damned thing’s servile personality drove him crazy.

Shaffer activated the command channel. His fear was temporarily forgotten now that he had something to do. “Incoming aircraft. Into the tunnels everybody.”

He heard the roar of the shuttle dropping through the clouds to begin its strafing run. Cannon thumped and trees shook as explosive shells chewed their way through virgin jungle.

Shaffer waited for the last of his marines to duck into their bunkers then he turned, offered the incoming shuttle a one-fingered salute, and dropped down a ten-foot shaft into his own spacious tunnel.