Fleet of the Damned (27 page)

Sh'aarl't waved a mournful mandible, the lock hissed closed, and the
Claggett
hissed away.

Sten and Alex boarded the car and, very slowly, floated, barely a meter above the ground, in the general direction of the arms depot. Their course was not plotted as a direct line but zigged toward the valley. If the unknown object that was their combat car was picked up by the Tahn, possibly a route that didn't point directly at the valley could be disarming.

Both men were lightly armed—if the drakh came down, their only plan would be to throw down a base of fire and then go to ground.

They had miniwillyguns and four bester grenades. Sten and Alex both carried kukris—the curved fighting knife they had learned to use and admire while serving with the Gurkhas—and Sten had his own tiny knife buried in the sheath under the skin of his forearm.

Sten landed the combat car when they were about ten kilometers away from the valley and waited for darkness. Through the twilight, he could see the mountain ring surrounding the valley. The view through binocs suggested that the valley might be an old volcanic crater. Certainly the mountain walls around it were very steeply sloped. That was all to the good—maybe no one would expect visitors from that direction.

At full dark, Sten crept the car forward, grounding it finally at the base of the walls. They pulled on hoods fitted with light-enhancing goggles, shouldered their packs, and started up.

The climb was a hard scramble, but they didn't need to rope up. The biggest problem was the loose shale underfoot. A slip not only would send them broadsliding back down but probably would set off alarm devices. Their pre-plotted course led them up toward one of the laser blasts near the canyon mouth.

It seemed as if Kilgour's tactical thinking was correct—no one would be looking for some stupid foot soldiers to try an insertion.

The first alarm was wholly primitive—a simple beam break set about a meter above the ground. Whatever smaller creatures inhabited the world could pass under the beam and not disturb any guard's somnolence.

Sten and Alex became smaller creatures and did the same.

The second line of defense might have taken a bit longer to circumvent, consisting of a series of small hemispherical sensors intended, most likely, to pick up an intruder of a certain physical type—it could be preset to go off when it picked up something moving of a certain size, a certain body temperature, or even by light ground disturbances set off by body weight. Kilgour was ready to subvert that sensor with a standard-issue Mantis bluebox, the so-called Invisible Thug transmitter. That proved to be unnecessary—the system wasn't even turned on. But just to make sure it wouldn't be turned on after they passed, Sten slid his knife out of his arm, slit the sensor's metalloid housing open, and stirred its electronic guts vigorously.

So far, the mission was very standard—a recruit halfway through basic Guard training could have infiltrated the site.

Next should have been a contact alarm set of wires. It was, and was carefully stepped through by the two men.

They shut the power down on their see-in-the-dark hoods, lay on their stomachs inside that wire, and started looking for the sentry. Ahead of them was the cliff rim, and bulking above it the laser gun, and beside it two mobile vans that would house the crew.

Sten scanned the area with his binocs set for light amplification, passive mode. If someone else was using a scope, the binocs would pick it up first. Negative. He switched to active mode.

He found the guard. He was sitting on the steps of one of the vans, his projectile gun leaning against the van walls. His attention seemed to be focused on the ground between his boots.

Sten could imagine Alex mentally purring "No puh-roblem." They turned their hoods back on and slid forward the laser.

Kilgour found the fire-control center input leads to the laser and, after making sure they weren't alarm-rigged, disconnected them. They sorted through the octopus of leads on their own bluebox. Luck was in session—one of Foss's leads fit perfectly.

The new lead was fed down the gun and under its base plate. Bluebox and backup power sources were then bonded to the base plate. Alex loosened the lock on the bluebox's one external readout, and it glowed dimly. If everyone was right, they were go, and the petard was hissing.

Sten and Alex became part of the night again and slithered downslope to the combat car. Sten knew this would not work—nothing that sneaky ever performed vaguely up to expectations.

The next stage, after and if they were picked up by the
Claggett
, might be interesting.

The
Clagget's
command deck was armpit to elbow, since both Sten and Alex had insisted on witnessing the results, if any, of their great ploy.

Sh'aarl't had brought her tacship in-atmosphere at a distance carefully calculated to be just within the range of the Tahn satellite's sensors, then dived for the ground.

That, they hoped, would put the antiaircraft systems on full alert.

Then Sh'aarl't launched two remote pilot vehicles that had been modified to give sensor returns matching the tacship. Sh'aarl't and her weapons officer each wore control helmets—Sh'aarl't's looked more like a figure-eight safety mask that sat just above her eyes—and sent the RPVs streaking for the valley.

Four kilometers distance… Sh'aarl't murmured, "They have us"… three kilometers… and the fire-control system ordered all tracking weapons to open fire.

One of those tracking weapons, of course, was the laser that Sten and Alex had boogered. It swung, not away from the valley but toward its center. Its bell depressed, unnoticed, toward the valley's floor. The RPVs were two kilometers away from the valley when the cliff walls exploded into flame and violet light, as did a seventy-five-meter-high by 200-kilometer-square stack of ship-to-ship missile containers. The fireball rolled across the flatland, and two other dumps went up.

The fire-control system wasn't concerned with what was happening inside the valley. It continued firing. One RPV was hit by two laser blasts and three missiles. It vanished, and Sh'aarl't, back in the
Claggett
, swore and pulled her control helmet off.

An analysis computer—part of the fire-control system's backup—realized that one laser gun was dysfunctional and cut it out of circuit. That triggered the bluebox's own power source and activated a second program. On quickfire, the laser pulsed light beams back and forth across the valley.

Alarms in the gun's mobile vans clanged up and down. The techs darted out and saw that their gun was systematically destroying what it had been intended to protect.

They ran toward the override controls just as the second RPV, almost inside the valley's mouth, veered in flames into a cliff wall, and the entire arms depot blew.

Sh'aarl't had the
Claggett
screaming for space, one set of eyes scanning screens for any Tahn interceptions but most of her attention focused on the screen that showed a boil of flame and smoke on the horizon, blasting almost to the fringes of the atmosphere.

Sten and Alex looked at each other.

"It worked," Sten said in some surprise.

"Aye. When dinnae a ploy ae mine
ever
misfire?"

"Of
yours
?"

"Ah, leave us no be't choosy. A plan't
ours
."

"Well," Sten said resignedly. "I guess I should be glad he's giving me some of the credit."

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

F
leet admiral Xavier Rijn van Doorman's battle plan was ready to implement. He'd dubbed it "Operation Riposte." Sten might have named it "Lastgasp," but he guessed it wasn't apropos to disillusion one's heroes before they trundled into the valley of death.

Not that van Doorman had been particularly optimistic when the briefing began.

There had been eight beings in the room: van Doorman; Sten's instant enemy, Commander Rey Halldor; four captains; two lieutenants; and Sten. The captains were destroyer skippers; the two lieutenants helmed minesweepers.

Van Doorman had introduced everyone, then said that his initial appreciation was not to go beyond the briefing room under any circumstances. Probably quite correctly, since what he said was completely depressing. Most accurate, but still depressing.

The Tahn, he had begun, must be only days away from mounting a second invasion attempt on Cavite. If such an assault was made, van Doorman admitted frankly that the 23rd Fleet would be unable to stop it.

But it was intolerable to just sit and wait to be hit.

Van Doorman's strategy was not unlike Sten's operations—he wanted to hit the Tahn now and get them off guard. It was possible that what was left of the 23rd Fleet might be able to keep the Tahn off guard until the Empire could support Cavite, and then drive the Tahn off the Fringe Worlds.

From the intelligence operations Sten had seen, the Empire might be a long time in doing that.

But at least van Doorman had a plan, Sten had to admit. It was not, surprisingly, all that bad—at least in the briefing.

"I propose," van Doorman began, "to detach four of my destroyers to be the main striking element of what I have named Task Force Halldor." He nodded at the commander beside him. "Commander Halldor will be in direct charge of the combat maneuvering. Commander Sten and his tactical division have determined that the Tahn are moving planetary assault forces to the following systems." A wallscreen lit up, showing the immediate space around Cavite. Four systems gleamed. "The Tahn are taking no chances—they're moving their troop and assault ships in system, using the system ecliptics for screens, and moving close to the planets themselves, thereby utilizing them for cover. While they are providing heavy escort for these convoys, Commander Sten reports escort elements are very light between the convoys and the planets themselves. Gentle-beings, that gave me the plan."

The plan was for the task force to lurk just out-atmosphere of one of the planets that lay on the Tahn convoy route. There should be enough screen clutter to prevent the task force from being detected by the oncoming Tahn escorts.

"This will be," van Doorman went on, "the attack configuration to be used."

Another screen lit.

The two minesweepers would be in front of the destroyers, which would be spaced out in finger-four formation. This, van Doorman admitted, was not the ideal attack configuration. But with only six destroyers still intact, and having committed four of them to the task force, he was very unwilling to lose any of them to a Tahn minefield.

Sten's tacships would provide flank security for the destroyers. Van Doorman hoped that the task force could get inside the escort screen before they were discovered.

"If we are lucky," he said, "such will be the case. In that event, Commander Sten, you are additionally tasked with giving the alert when the Tahn ships
do
attack."

At least, Sten thought, he hadn't been ordered to stop the Tahn. A Tahn destroyer could obliterate a tacship with its secondary armament and without thinking. Heavier ships… Sten decided he didn't want to compute that event.

The destroyers were ordered to go for the transports and to avoid battle with combat ships.

"Get in among 'em," van Doorman said, a note of excitement oozing into his orders. "Like a xypaca in the poultry."

The destroyers were to make two passes through the convoy, then retreat. Sten's tacships were then to take advantage of any targets of opportunity before withdrawing. Sten was instructed to plot the retreating destroyers' courses and avoid them in his own retreat—the minesweepers would be laying eggs in that pattern.

"Finally," van Doorman said, "I shall be waiting one AU beyond the area of engagement with the
Swampscott
to provide cover. I would prefer to accompany the attack. But the
Swampscott
—" He stopped. Sten finished mentally: couldn't get out of its own way; had never been in a fleet engagement; had spiders in the missile launch tubes; would conceivably blow up if full battle power was applied. At least no one could say van Doorman lacked courage.

Van Doorman finished his briefing and passed out fiches of the operations order. Then, very emotionally, he drew himself to attention and saluted his officers.

"Good hunting," he said. "And may you return with your prey."

Prey. Sten had the same pronunciation if not the same spelling.

He stopped Halldor in the corridor. "When you attack," he started diplomatically, "what plots will you be using?"

"I'll provide your division with my intentions," Halldor said, most coolly.

Great, Sten thought. Brijit's in the arms of Morrison, both of us are losers, and you can't let it go. "That wasn't going to be my question," he went on. "Since my boats'll be out there on the flanks, and I guess you'll be launching missiles in all directions, I wanted to make sure none of my people get in the way of a big bang."

Halldor thought. "You could put your IFFs on when we go in… and I'll have your pattern programmed into the missiles."

"Won't work, Commander. We're squashable enough when the big boys play. Holding a flare in the air won't make us any more invisible. Maybe you could feed a size filter into them. So they won't want to play tag with us teenies."

Halldor looked Sten up and down. "You're very cautious, aren't you, Commander?"

Prod, prod, Commander. How would you like a prod in the eye? Sten just smiled. "Not cautious, Commander Halldor. Cowardly."

He saluted Halldor and went back to brief his people.

The battle off the planet of Badung might possibly have gone into Imperial history and fleet instructional fiches as a classic mosquito action.

That wasn't what happened.

Napoleon supposedly said, when one of his generals was up for a marshal's baton, after listening to a reel of the man's victories, "The hell with his qualifications! Is he lucky?"