Fatal Blade (Decker's War#3) (20 page)

She raised her eyebrows in question, waiting for him to elaborate.  Once he’d swallowed, the earlier grin returned.

“Maybe we can help sort this brush fire out before it turns into the kind of flaming inferno that gets the Senate’s attention, followed shortly after that by a few thousand Marines doing a heavily armed tour of Garonne’s sights.  That never ends well for the locals.”

“Pretty tall order for two intelligence agents, one of whom isn’t a ground pounder and the other isn’t a great strategist like Napoleon.”

“Napoleon had his ass handed to him at the end.  You can’t be great if you end your life on a God forsaken island with no entertainment other than a bunch of sea birds.  But I’ll go with your lame attempt at a joke and give you this thought: when the man won, it was because his opponents were crap.  When his opponents had their shit together, he lost, and usually ran away, leaving his troops in the lurch.  I’m hoping the colonial government and its militia don’t have their shit together.  In fact, I’m counting on it.”

“Just a small reminder, Chief Warrant Officer Decker, we’re not here to carry out a regime change but to find answers to the questions the analysts have been asking.  Once we have those answers, we’re out. 
Capisce
?”

Zack tossed off a salute.

“Aye, aye, Commander Talyn, sir.”

She held his eyes for a few moments, to make sure he understood that her order was non-negotiable, but she saw just enough of a rebellious hint in his stare to know he wasn’t going to go quietly.

“I mean it, Zack.  Captain Ulrich will strangle us with our own guts in front of the entire special operations section if we go rogue.”

“Only if we fail.  We nail this before it becomes a big problem, and it’ll be promotions for everyone.”

When she didn’t reply, he shrugged and got up to stow his empty tray.

“Time for one last taste of the good stuff.”  He took a bottle from the cooler, opened it and downed half in a single gulp.  “Ahh.  I’ll miss that more than anything else.  Speaking of which, you want to have a quick romp before I shut this thing down?  I doubt the rebel camp is big on privacy.”

“Beer and sex.  Why does it always come down to beer and sex with you?”

“Because I know how to enjoy life.  C’mon, I want to see my commanding officer in the buff one last time before we go where there are no showers.”

***

Talyn dropped her heavy pack by the airlock and turned to Zack.  Their grace period was over, the weaponry they and the freighters had carried was gone, and the latter had lifted, one at a time, to leave Garonne far behind.  The time had come to leave
Phoenix
behind.

“Talk me through the security measures one last time, big boy.”

“Right.”  Decker looked up at the deck head and ticked them off one by one.  “The virus is set and will wipe the computer core beyond recovery if anyone other than us or someone sent by the boss tries to access anything without the proper codes.  The weapons and ammo lockers might as well be welded shut for all the good it’s going to do anyone without the right passcode.  The navigation system is locked out, and the AI will not accept any orders unless it hears the magic word.  All airlocks, outer hatches, and the ramp are locked; the gun turrets and launcher bays are covered up and locked down, and once we step out of this airlock, the AI will shut it behind us.  This ship isn’t getting out of here unless you or one of our naval colleagues is at the helm.”

She nodded.  “Good.”

“My turn,” he said, examining her from head to toe.

They both wore vaguely military-looking clothes that wouldn’t seem out of place in a civilian environment but still provided the same protection as an issue battledress uniform.  Each carried a holstered side arm, in Zack’s case, his preferred Imperial Armaments fifteen-millimeter monster.

“What’s in your pack?”

“Change of clothes, ammo for the blaster and the scatter gun, spare power packs, solar charger, first aid kit, ration bars, water and water purification unit.”

He nodded approvingly and checked that the scatter gun strapped to her pack was secure.  Then, he quickly listed the contents of his own pack, which mirrored Talyn’s.

“No ale?”  She asked, smiling mischievously.

“Not even a bottle of Scotch for medicinal purposes.”

“You
are
taking this seriously.  I’m impressed.”  She punched him lightly on the arm before picking up her pack and leading the way down to the cavern floor, where Tran Kinnear waited.

The airlock slammed shut with finality when Decker’s feet touched the ground.  They heard one last chime from the AI, its own version of a farewell, and then
Phoenix
went dormant, waiting for someone with the right codes to wake her.

“Zack, I’ve meant to ask,” Kinnear said, “why doesn’t your ship’s AI speak with you?”

“Because someone programmed it to sound just like my commanding officer, and one of her aboard is more than enough.”

“I love you too, Zack.”  Talyn blew him a kiss, then walked off to join the cluster of rebels heading deeper into the cavern.

TWENTY-ONE

For two long hours, they walked in a single file beside the river, on a narrow gravel bank that threatened to twist unwary ankles.  A few hand-held lights, scattered throughout the column, provided just enough illumination to prevent anything worse than the occasional stumble.

Talyn and Decker, at the tail end of the group, save for a section of heavily armed rebel soldiers, wore night vision glasses and were spared any near misses with unseen potholes.

The river’s flow sped up when the tunnel narrowed and they were forced to wade through the cold water when the banks vanished beneath the surface.  Then, moments before Zack was about to utter another pungent comment about the local tourist attractions, they caught their first glimpse of a faint glow ahead.

Soon after that, the column emerged into a verdant canyon and was met by a small detachment of men in camouflage uniforms.  The newcomers led them down a barely discernible animal track for another hour until they came within sight of the canyon’s mouth.  There, another surprise awaited the two operatives.

“Is that what I think it is?”  Decker asked, examining a worn façade carved into the reddish granite.

“If you think it’s the remains of a L’Taung era fortress, you’re probably right,” Talyn replied.  “It looks similar to other sites found in this part of the galaxy.”

“That means it could be up to a hundred thousand years old.  Our ancestors were barely homo sapiens back then.”  A note of awe crept into the Marine’s voice.  “To think modern Shrehari are such thick-skulled sons of bitches, yet their ancestors could build something that’s lasted ten times longer than human civilization.”

“We found it by accident about a year ago,” Verrill said, joining them at the foot of the cliff.  “It’s not on anyone’s records and from the air, it looks like just another worn-out section of the central range.  The interior’s not quite as impressive as the exterior, but there’s plenty of space, and the surrounding rock is enough to block scans from overhead flights.”

“A colonial rebellion’s lair inside an ancient Shrehari fort.  Only along the Rim…”  Decker shook his head, laughing.

“Shall we?”  Verrill waved towards an opening hidden by the shadows.

The moment they entered the ruins, a welcome wave of cooler air emanating from deep within the living stone washed over them.  Once their eyes got used to the low lighting, Decker could make out corridors cut with such precision that all surfaces looked like polished granite, even after a hundred millennia of disuse.

A sentinel, well placed to cover the passageway, waved them by with a smile.  They turned a corner and came face-to-face with a blank slab that shone softly under Verrill’s lamp.  He touched a spot on the wall beside it, and the pane of rock pivoted aside to reveal a brightly lit corridor with wires and conduits running along the ceiling.

“Welcome to Fort Independence,” Verrill said.

***

“Impressive command post.  All this must have cost a pretty penny.”  Decker could identify much of the gear assembled in this room, at the heart of the fortress, as military surplus, no more than a generation behind what the Corps currently used.

“Indeed.”  Verrill inclined his head briefly.  “We have wealthy off-world friends who are concerned with the rights and freedoms of colonists, and who contribute handsomely to help us achieve independence.”

“Handsomely indeed,” Talyn agreed.  “Do these friends also assist you with procurement?  I seem to recognize one or two items that are on the Fleet’s restricted technology list.”

“Perhaps.”  Verrill sounded unconcerned by her comment.  “But I’m sure you’ll understand that while I’m grateful to have experienced folks like you rallying to our cause, there are things I can’t discuss.”

“Of course.”  Zack returned the man’s smile.  “I’d be concerned if you were to start blabbing your secrets to relative strangers, even if one of your guys vouches for me.  I’m a big fan of need to know and what I need to know right now is where your facilities are.  After that, we can discuss my need to know when the chow hall opens and what the passcode to the beer fridge is.”

After a helpful soldier had guided Decker to the nearest latrines, Talyn walked over to a large map projection and searched for their location.  Verrill joined her and pointed at a spot near the river they’d followed most of the day.

“We’re right here, near the Yangtze River.”  His finger moved upwards and over the contour lines of the last mountain ridge before the coastal plain.  “And this is the main settlement area, with Iskellian, the capital, just inland of where the river flows into the Gulf of Sorrows.”

“Gulf of Sorrows?”  Talyn’s eyebrows shot up.  “Interesting name.  Is there a story behind it?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure how true it is.  Apparently, when the first colonists set up shop on the location where Iskellian now stands, they had supply containers dropped from orbit, but the shipper who’d brought them at significant cost from Celeste wasn’t terribly concerned about accuracy.  One of the containers went off course and landed in the middle of the Gulf, never to be seen again.  Legend has it that this particular one contained the colony’s entire stock of booze for the year.”

“You need to tell that story to Zack.  He’ll love it.”

“What will I love?”  A voice asked behind them.

“How the Gulf of Sorrows got its name.”

“Someone lost a bottle of one-hundred-year-old single malt in it?”

“Close.  The first colonists lost a whole container of the good stuff.”

“Ouch.”  Decker winced.  “That must have hurt.”

“Fortunately, we have our own distilleries now.”

“All of which are guarded by the militia, right?”  The corners of Decker’s mouth quirked up.  “Speaking of which, can you show me their garrisons?”

Red squares materialized on the map like magic seconds after the words had left his mouth and he spent a few minutes in complete silence, studying the display.

“I won’t ask you to project your own positions,” Zack finally said, “but if you can show me where the hotbeds of support for independence are, I’d sure appreciate it.”

When the technician had added those, in blue, to the map, Decker nodded.

“They’ve apparently read Mao Zedong.”

“Pardon me?”

“Mao was a very successful revolutionary leader on pre-spaceflight Earth who waged a long guerrilla war and won it decisively enough that he died in bed, still revered as the Great Helmsman.  One of his more famous dictums is to the effect that the guerrilla must move amongst the people as a fish swims in the sea.  If you look at the overlap of militia posts and areas supporting independence, it’s clear that they correlate to a very fine degree, and I’m sure that’s at least in part aimed at preventing you from moving among your supporters.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that Colonel Harend has read your Mao’s writing” Verrill replied.  “He’s the commander of the Garonne Militia, but he’s also a former Celeste National Guard officer, a regular.”

“A militia blowhard who doesn’t call himself a general?  I don’t think your Colonel Harend is a
former
guard officer.  More likely he was hand-picked for this job and is still drawing a paycheck from the guard.”

“That’s what we figured,” Verrill replied, pleasantly surprised by the big ex-Marine’s incisive analysis.

“Got a picture?”

“We have candid portraits of nearly the entire militia and colonial administration.”  Verrill made a motion at the technician and the map vanished, replaced by the image of a stocky, bald man in a close-fitted, rather drab uniform.

“Definitely active guard.”  Zack nodded at the photo.  “A militia blowhard would wear a tin pot dictator’s assortment of gewgaws.  This guy just has a modest fruit salad, a colonel’s oak leaves and stars, and nothing else.”

“You almost sound like you approve of him?”  Verrill’s lips twitched in amusement.

“I approve of folks who stay professional, even if they’re murderous sons of bitches.  It makes killing them a simple business transaction and not a guilty pleasure of the kind that eats away at your soul.  Ask Hera.  She keeps saying she lost hers.”

The rebel leader’s faint smile became distinctly quizzical as if he couldn’t decide whether Decker was serious or pulling his leg.  A soft bell kept him from asking any further questions.

“That’s the mess hall telling us the evening meal is ready.”

“Excellent.”  Decker beamed.  “Now all you have to do is point me at your beer fridge and my happiness will be complete.”

***

“Mao?  Really?” Talyn asked hours later when they had bedded down in a small cell carved out of the rock.  “He was responsible for seventy million deaths.  I don’t think he’s exactly the inspirational figure you want to emulate.”

Decker laughed.

“Oh yeah, the man was a murderous tyrant for sure, but he ran a successful insurrection and didn’t end his life contemplating bird poop on a small island, so there’s something useful to learn from his guerrilla doctrine.  Besides, like one of Chairman Mao’s ideological soul mates once said, the death of one man is a tragedy; the death of millions is a statistic.”

“Good thing I know you’re not a psychopath, honey.”  She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.  “I don’t like competition.”

They fell silent, lost in thought, tired after a long and eventful day, but happy to be deep inside a secure fortress where they could relax for a while.

“Speaking of fish in the sea,” Decker eventually said, “I wish we could take a little trip through the countryside and get a feel for the mood of the colonists.  Unfortunately, I doubt Verrill would be thrilled by the idea of letting relative strangers who know about this place roam the outback without supervision.”

“How very perceptive of you,” she teased.  “I’m sure we’ll get the chance to accompany a patrol soon enough; or at least you will, considering you’re the super-duper ex-Marine with decades of combat experience.”

“At least the food around here is decent.  I’d be curious to see what their supply system looks like, but that’s another area where too many questions may not please our new friends.”

“Might I suggest we find out if the sleep is decent as well?”  Talyn yawned to underscore her request.

“Sure, but before I drift off to dreamland, I’d like to point out that you have many more decades of experience than I do when it comes to doing nefarious deeds.”

“Are you saying I’m old?”

“I thought we already established that if you’d had a child shortly after reaching puberty, it would be my age by now, so technically, you are old enough to be my mother.”

“Darling, you do know what that makes you, right?”  She reached down to squeeze him.

“Of course and I thought you were too tired.”

“I am.”  She made a face at him before turning on her side and promptly fell asleep.

***

“The governor will see you now, Colonel.”

Harend rose from an uncomfortable chair, the only spare seat in an equally spartan antechamber, and pulled his tight-fitting uniform tunic down.  Nodding his thanks at the aide, he entered Cedeno’s office and came to a halt the regulation meter from the wooden desk and saluted.

“Reporting as ordered, sir.”

Cedeno motioned him to sit down.  His bland face revealed nothing, though its hardness more than hinted at displeasure.

“I’ve heard the excuses and bafflegab from our Avalon contractors,” he said by way of introduction, “but I find it hard to believe they’d be so inept.  Avalon is one of the biggest private military corporations in the Commonwealth, and they didn’t become that way by acting like incompetent dolts.”

“From what we were able to piece together, sir, the rebels engaged the services of their own mercenaries in the form of a Q-ship that thoroughly surprised the Avalon folks and gave them a bloody nose.”

Harend’s tone was deferential, cautious even; Cedeno didn’t particularly like the colonel, and he had enough connections on the home world to warrant a respectful attitude.

“Fair enough.  But how did three of them subsequently escape Garonne and the fourth vanish?”

“The Q-ship did extensive damage to our satellite constellation, basically destroying our ability to monitor the surface from orbit.  We’ve repositioned some of the surviving ones to restore communications, but large swathes of the planet aren’t under constant surveillance anymore.  The escaping freighters managed to lift off and reach low orbit before anyone could detect them.  They were pursued by one of the Avalon sloops, but it may have shown a bit too much caution in fear of meeting another Q-ship attack.  As to the fourth, the one that attacked the sloops, we’ve been unable to find it.”

“Surely an FTL-capable starship of that size can’t just hide under a bush?”

“As I said, sir, with the destruction of the satellites, we had no way of tracking its course and subsequent landing.  There are any number of places on this continent alone where it could hide, and those are only the ones we know about.”

“I find the notion that Verrill’s scum have an armed ship at their disposal to be rather alarming, Colonel.  Don’t you?”