Storm Force: Book Three of the Last Legion Series (28 page)

“Didn’t know you liked Byron,” Hedley said. “Hell, I didn’t know anybody on D-Cumbre even flipping knew who the guy was.”

“Something I read when I was a kid, about the night before some battle,” Njangu said, a bit embarrassed.

“You have depths,” Maev said, impressed.

“That’s me,” Njangu said cheerily. “Up to my heinie in deep things.”

• • •

Dant
Angara danced quietly with his wife, a small, very friendly, very cheerful woman. Some people tried to approach him, were steered off by an aide, who told them, as politely but firmly as he could, the
Dant
was off duty that evening, and wanted to spend time with the person he got to spend the least with.

Maev Stiofan and Njangu danced, not far from Angara.

“Aren’t you being a little too conscientious?” Njangu complained. “I doubt if any Larissan assassins got invited to this bash.”

“I’ve got the shift,” Maev said. “Did you forget you’re sleeping with a soldier?”

Njangu growled, then laughed, and she grinned back at him.

“Besides, T’Laan’s over there for backup,” she said. “So we can go for drinks or food anytime we want.”

“Maybe in a while,” Njangu said. “I’m quite happy here.”

“Then shut up and dance.”

“Yes ma’am,” Njangu said. Maev put her head on his shoulder.

After a while, Njangu asked, “Happy?”

“Surely,” Maev said. “You know what I’ve been thinking, Njangu? About after the war?”

Njangu flinched a little. “I’m superstitious about things like that.”

“Don’t be,” Maev said. “You’re too much of an evil bastard to get killed doing something legitimate like a war with uniforms and things like that.”

“Thanks. ‘Kay. What’ve you got in mind for … for later?”

“I’ve never been able to figure out what makes me tick,” Maev said. “Let alone anybody else.”

“Welcome to the crowd.”

“I was thinking, maybe, if … sorry,
that
afterward I could go back to school. Study psychology or maybe sociology.”

“Dunno if I like that,” Njangu said. “You go and get educated, you might be able to stay one step ahead of me.”

Maev laughed, a lovely silver tinkle.

“Darling, you are slow. I’ve
always
done that.”

• • •

“What do you think of children?” Hedley asked Ann Heiser as they put their plates down on a table and sat. A white-uniformed waiter asked what they wanted to drink, went away with the order.

“Be more specific, Jon,” Heiser said. “As a side dish, as students, as conversational companions, as physicists?”

“I meant, well, like having them.”

“Oh. Now
that’s
an original question,” she said. “Is there any particular reason you’re wondering?”

“Well, I … not flipping really, I just was, sort of flipping curious,” Hedley floundered.

“I don’t consider the idea inconceivable,” Ann said.

“That was a pretty bad joke.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Heiser agreed. “Since you seem to be having trouble enunciating, let me narrow the field of inquiry. You mean, having
your
children?”

“Well, sort of.”

“Sort of? Are you accepting the premise of Immaculate Conception?”

“Ann, would you flipping stop, already? I never thought I’d be asking something like this, but, well …”

“Yes, Jon Hedley,” Ann Heiser said, quite seriously. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask. The answer is yes.”

• • •

“And what does that signify?” Jasith asked Garvin as she examined the bracelet with a single charm on it.

“That is as close as the jeweler could come to making up a little model of a Larissan spaceship,” Garvin said. “Like the one you shot down. You’ll notice there’s space for more of them.”

“Hmm,” Jasith said. “Jasith Mellusin, Ace of the Legion. It sounds like a romance.”

“It does,” Garvin said.

“Why?”

“Well, I wanted you to know how impressed I was with what you did … and, well, what you are.”

“You may kiss me, Garvin Jaansma. I’m also impressed with you.”

Garvin did. After quite a long time, they broke apart, in time for Garvin to see Darod Montagna dance past with a rather tall and handsome
Cent
he vaguely knew.

He looked away, kissed Jasith again.

“And aren’t you passionate,” she murmured.

“I hope so.”

“Well, maybe you want to dance with me, at least until the bulge in your pants goes down,” Jasith giggled.

“That’s not likely to happen, especially the way you dance.”

“Then we better start looking for a dark corner.”

• • •

“That’s quite something,” Danfin Froude said, after congratulating Heiser and Hedley. “You won’t have to change the monograms of your sheets, Ann.”

The physicist laughed. “Men are so romantic, aren’t they, Ho?”

“Actually,” Ho Kang said, “sometimes they are. But what’s the matter with being practical?”

“Danfin,” Heiser said, “you better propose to her on the spot. I don’t think you’ll ever find someone better suited.”

Kang turned a little red.

“Actually,” Froude said, “I did have something like that in mind. But I never thought of having witnesses.”

“Then let us get the flipping hell out of here,” Hedley said. “This appears to be contagious. Besides, I’m lusting to show off my newfound talent at tripping the fantastic light.”

He grabbed Heiser’s hand, and they went for the dance floor.

“Were you serious?” Ho Kang said.

“Never more,” Froude said. He took a small box from a pocket, opened it, and a rather large diamond caught the swirling spotlights.

“Oh,” Ho said. “Oh. You
were
serious.” She touched her lank black hair, looked down at her thin frame. “I never thought anybody would ever — ”

“Shut up,” Danfin Froude said, taking her in his arms and kissing her.

“I guess,” Ho said thoughtfully after a while, “I’m not exactly left with many options, am I? Not that I want any other than the obvious.”

• • •

Others made less legitimate, more temporary liaisons, and left with newfound partners.

Angara saw them trailing off, figured next morning’s morning report would be either the least honest in the Force’s history as far as the number of troops present for duty, or, if honest, he’d be forced to take notice of the shattered ranks.

“What
will
you do, dear?” his wife asked. Angara thought he’d spoken aloud, then realized he hadn’t.

“It’s frightening when you’ve been with someone so long you don’t even have to speak,” he said. “I guess the Force is going to have the cleanest toilets ever.”

“You can’t just ignore things?”

“Of course not,” Angara said.

“Of course not,” his wife echoed.

• • •

Darod Montagna danced until the last number with assorted people, went back to her BOQ alone, not unhappy.

• • •

A week after Jasith’s party, the Force, in various elements, slipped into space for the final confrontation with Larix/Kura.

The first wave went after the Larissan ships in space. The Cumbrians took no chances, made no heroic moves. A Larissan destroyer would be attacked by three of the smaller Cumbrian units, more vectored in for the kill by the
Kanes
.

The
velv
simply swarmed the patrol craft that were their assigned prey, and the
aksai
were used, always in flights of four or more, to take care of auxiliaries and merchantmen.

Lone wolves like Dill and Alikhan fumed, but the casualties stayed low.

Larissan ships were driven back to their home planets, now as isolated from each other as the system of Larix was from Kura.

Other ships moved into Larissan space: the transports and their escorts. Aboard the ships, infantrymen and -women cleaned weapons, sharpened knives, and, as always, fed the rumor mill:

The Larissans were about to surrender, and invasion wouldn’t be necessary;

The Larissans had a secret weapon, which is why they pulled back to their homeworlds. The fleet would be hit at any minute.

There’d be an invasion, and it’d be bloody, for all the husbanded Larissan ships would come out of their hiding places and rip the Cumbrians before they reached the ground.

One favorite was that the invasion would be a walkover. That had some evidence on its side, since the Larissan soldiers hadn’t exactly fought like lions when they hit Cumbre.

A quick war, a lot of the officers agreed, sudden promotions, and everybody goes home would be the agenda.

Garvin, Njangu, and Maev flatly said this was foolishness. The Larissans fought badly on D-Cumbre because they were on an alien planet, and couldn’t understand attacking someone who shouldn’t be their enemy. Fighting on their own worlds, for their homes, things would be quite different.

They weren’t seriously listened to by most. It didn’t matter that the three were among the few who’d actually faced Larissans on the ground. Informed sources, as always, knew better, particularly when they didn’t have to be that specific about their sources.

Garvin was dismayed to find that
Caud
Fitzgerald agreed with the others. “We’ve seen how badly trained the Larissans are, how badly led,” she said. “All that’ll be necessary is a few sharp blows, and the white flags will start coming out.”

Dant
Angara and Hedley kept their own skeptical council.

Stage Three was begun. Small squadrons hit the three secondary Larix planets in-atmosphere, taking out whatever they could find in the air or on landing grounds.

But the main thrust was against Larix Prime. Phalanxes of warships swept over the land. Any ship that lifted or could be spotted on the ground was hit and destroyed, along with their fields, control towers, maintenance facilities, aerospace factories. The Cumbrian casualties mounted. Larix Prime’s antiaircraft crews were well trained, and their weapons first-rate, which included a rank of missiles, like the Furies except guided; radar-aimed 100mm autocannon; and synchronized chainguns for low-level attackers, capable of passing a target from gun to gun.

When aerospace targets grew few, the ships went after the Larissan government buildings, troop installations, public transport, waterborne ships, and the power grid. All too often the airstrikes went a little wide, and civilian buildings were hit, and more Larissans died.

One pilot bragged that the troops, once they were finally landed, would have a cakewalk. There wouldn’t be anything for them to shoot at, and all they’d have to do would be round up demoralized soldiers.

Dill, Boursier, and Alikhan remembered how ultimately ineffective Musth tactical air had been against the dispersed Cumbrian troops, kept their mouths shut.

They’d also noted how cleverly the Larissans dispersed their remaining ships. A warehouse, a park, a clearly marked hospital might conceal one of Redruth’s warships. And no one could find the surviving cruisers.

Larix Prime was a cratered moonscape, its road system pockmarked, its cities with gaping wounds here and there, but the landscape wasn’t quiet — the pilots never could quite suppress the antiaircraft gunners, and so Cumbrians kept dying.

Griersons and Zhukovs were committed to action, and they strafed, rocketed relentlessly. But the Larissans still shot back.

The command staff ran numbers, studied aerial holographs, ELINT and SIGINT. Angara transferred his flag to the
Bastogne
, a modified assault transport. He knew he should command from space and keep the clearest overview of the battle. But he was an old infantryman, and refused to send his troops where it might look like he was unwilling to go himself.

In the next day’s ALLFLEET com, he announced the hour and time for the first wave to land on Larix Prime.

Celidon was passed through a dozen guard stations, winding ever deeper into the Protector’s command post. Redruth had, a bit cleverly, not located it under the palace proper, but about half a kilometer away.

Clever, but not that clever
, Celidon thought sourly. While it probably protected him from a burrowing nuke, it didn’t make instantly responding to his summons any easier. Celidon traveled in an Ayesha ACV these days, with four others as decoys/support, and only when necessary. They’d barely evaded a pair of patrolling
velv
as they left Celidon’s own bunker near the largest spacefield, and an
aksai
had made a strafing run after Celidon’s ACV had set down outside the palace, and he was hurrying toward one of the tunnels to the command center, then down and down, past computer rooms, staff offices, even dormitories and cafeterias.

Two armed aides, Protector’s Own, ushered Celidon into Redruth’s Office, but didn’t leave the room. They remained, at attention, hands on their pistol holsters.

The room was huge, steel-walled, wood-floored, with huge screens and maps. Holograms came and went over a large table. The room was dark, illuminated only by a few hidden lamps here and there, and the screens. Celidon happened to notice, next to the aides, a dark stain on the floor.

Redruth was at a desk, examining a screen. Celidon approached, saluted him. The white-haired mercenary was very proud of his command face, utterly expressionless no matter what was going on around him.

Celidon was grateful for that, because Redruth looked terrible. His face had wrinkled, aged, although it had only been an E-month since Celidon had last had a face-to-face with the dictator.

Then he caught a flashed reflection of his own face in a screen, and realized he didn’t look that much better himself.

“Welcome,
Leiter
,” Redruth said, without returning the salute. “I’ve summoned you because I’ve finally developed a master stroke to shock the Cumbrians out of their foolishness and drive them back to their own system.”

His eyelid ticked once, twice.

“Here,” Redruth said. “The plan is on this screen. Examine it carefully, for I desire you to be the one to lead my dauntless soldiers into action.”

Celidon noticed that, for the first time since he’d served him, Redruth was wearing a sidearm in this, the safest place in what remained of his kingdom.

Celidon scanned the screen, again grateful for his stone face.

“Well?”

Celidon temporized. “The latest intelligence reports say that both the
Heifet
and
Qaaf
have been damaged by bombings, and are incapable of flight, so they wouldn’t be able to participate in your plan.” He didn’t add that the swarm of destroyers specified in the operations order simply didn’t exist anymore.

Redruth acted as if Celidon hadn’t spoken.

“Well?” His voice was sharper.

Celidon looked at Redruth, saw his dilated pupils, the glaring eyes.

“Do you want me to speak honestly, sir?”

“So I’ve always ordered you!”

“This is …” Celidon was about to choose one word, found another. “… not what I consider the wisest of maneuvers. Our cruisers lack the support ships necessary for such a bold stroke … which I assure you it is, and I admire your acumen in developing it.

“But I doubt if this would be anything other than, forgive me, Protector, suicidal, at this point in the war. I think — ”

“Enough!” Redruth said, voice rising to a near shriek.

“You’re like the others, without vision, without that final courage that divides great men from their followers, always thinking, thinking, thinking! I have been considering this move since the Cumbrians arrived in the system.

“I do not wish to be questioned. That is not your place or duty, Celidon! Your place is to follow orders, my orders, no more, and to carry them out as efficiently and precisely as I demand.

“I thought better of you, Celidon. You’ve always been the first to support me, to acknowledge my genius. Yet now you hang back, you quibble, like the rest of them.

“Very well. Very well. Perhaps I expected too much of you.

“Therefore, I give you the following orders: You are to immediately execute this plan of mine, which I have named Guiding Star, for its results will be like a beacon to my army, my people.

“Single strokes, if mounted by men of sufficient vision and genius, win battles and wars. Guiding Star shall be one of them!”

Again, Redruth’s voice rose.

“Now, I order you to take charge of Guiding Star, and lead it to total victory! Is that understood,
Leiter
Celidon?”

“Of course it is, Protector,” Celidon said, making his voice calm, certain, confident.

“Good,” Redruth said. “Good. I was afraid, for a moment, Celidon, that you would fail me too, like … like some others.

“My plan is quite precisely worked out. Go and carry it out within the day, then report back to me when you’ve decimated the Cumbrians!”

Celidon took the fiche with the plan on it, saluted as crisply as he ever had, about-faced, and marched to the door. The sentries saluted, hurled the doors open for him.

Celidon glanced down as he left.

He was now quite sure he knew what the stain on the floor was.

The word he’d started to use to Redruth, then rejected, was “insanity.”