The Orphaned Worlds (43 page)

Perhaps it’s a game for them, drawing us out with probing ground attacks, then when we’re at our most exposed in comes the air assault
.

In anticipation of this, Vashutkin had suggested forming three mobile squads of five fighters each, and all moving about on lightweight folding bikes. A renegade zeplin had flown in the night before and offloaded two crates of them, as well as medical and food supplies. Given the local terrain it made sense and everyone agreed.

‘Found just the spot for yer charges, chief,’ Rory said as they descended into the bushy green shadows of Glen Julius. ‘The next waterfall down has plenty o’ boulders and a bloody big overhang, just like the one over in Glen Augustus.’

‘Good to know, Rory,’ Greg said. ‘Thing is, how many DVF are down there? What are we up against?’

‘Four or five of them – I think.’

‘Ye think?’

‘Aye, well, I’m on my tod here, chief. Anyway, s’kinda creepy to me. I cannae understand why any of our people would carry on in the DVF, taking orders from Brolt officers. Unless they’ve been brainwashed, or got a dose of that happy dust that nearly did for you.’

‘Don’t remind me,’ Greg muttered, trying not to recall the Hegemony ambassador Kuros and the engineered nanodust with which he’d pillaged Greg’s mind. ‘Some of it’ll be just loyalty to their squad mates or unit commanders. Mostly, though, I’ll bet it’s fear. Did ye hear those rumours that all DVF troops and government police have been secretly implanted with tracking devices? So anyone who goes AWOL gets chased by hunter-killer drones and permanently retired.’

Rory gave a low whistle. ‘That would encourage me no’ to desert …’

By now they were clambering down among large mossy boulders in the shade of the few tall trees and many bushes that clung to the ravine’s steep sides. The rushing sound of a waterfall came from an indeterminate distance ahead, through the tangle of foliage.

‘Where did you last spot those snipers?’ Alexei muttered.

‘Below the second waterfall,’ Rory said. ‘But we should be okay – Pauly’s watching for them …’

‘Whoa! – what was that?’ Greg said. ‘He’s not dead?’

Rory slapped his forehead. ‘Did I no’ say? Sorry, chief – eh, aye, turns out he fell off a branch and brained hisself, the halfwit. Come to about five minutes after I called you on the …’ He waggled his fingers at his ear.

Greg didn’t know whether to laugh or give him a telling-off. Instead he shook his head. ‘Right, can we get on with this?’

Rory guided them to where the small river poured through a tumble of boulders and down a twenty-foot drop, all jutting rocks and curtains of spray. By the time they reached the foot of it, after a hair-raising downward clamber, they were all soaked through. Twice they heard the unmistakable thin crack of rifle shots from further along the ravine, causing involuntary ducking. Rory paused at one point, putting his hand to his ear, then he turned to Greg.

‘Pauly’s in trouble! – one of them’s climbed up on the left, got him pinned down …’

As he dashed off, Greg and Alexei switched their earpieces to short range and hurried after him. There was a shout followed by shots. Moments later they found Rory crouched over a still form in DVF forest greens, lying sprawled between boulders not far from where a twisted tree leaned over the waterfall’s brink, its leafy sprigs misted in spray. Rory glanced up and shook his head.

‘A waste, it is. They should be fighting wi’ us …’

Off to one side, a skinny youth in a thin camouflage cape straightened from his crouch, waved and moved along the water-fall’s boulder-choked lip to a new position. Greg and Alexei waved back to Pauly as he settled down with his rifle, scanning the foliage below. Greg thought for a moment.

‘I think the pair of ye should keep Pauly company in case they try it again,’ he said. ‘I’ll climb up and set the charges, soon as Rory shows me where the overhang is.’

Rory had retrieved the dead soldier’s rifle and was just handing it to Alexei, whose eyes lit up with surprise.

‘A Kellerman 5.56 – nice gun, pretty rare, much sought after.’

‘Aye, well don’t sell it too soon, eh?’ Rory said. ‘Right, chief, follow me.’

The overhang was everything Rory said it was, a massive outward-leaning pillar of rock. With his background in Uncle Theo’s Diehards, Rory had figured out the best detonation points, marking them with small wads of paper wedged into cracks. Moving up, from edge to edge, from point to point, Greg found he had a spectacular view of the surrounding rocky hills and pinnacles, a maze of forbidding crags and fissures. And westward, looming over it all, the imposing mass of Tusk Mountain. The entrance to the stronghold was just visible as a small dark mark against the stony grey face. The altitude there was 2,800 feet while the peak was another 1,600 feet further up, attainable only after a tough, demanding climb.

He was about to start down when his earpiece beeped. Leaning back against sunwarmed rock, he fingered one of the earpiece studs, switching into the long-range comnet.

‘Greg here.’

‘Greg, this is Bessonov – we’ve blown the gorge wall in Glen Claudius. Bad news is that some of their troops got through before it came down.’

‘How many?’

‘Hard to say – perhaps twenty, maybe more. We’ve lost two from our team and we are pulling back.’

‘Did you call up the mobile squads?’ Greg asked, suddenly worried.

‘One is on its way. The others are over in the Augustus valley. Vashutkin was meeting stiff resistance and called them in.’

Greg shook his head. Obviously, Vashutkin considered his mission of greater consequence. ‘Okay, get back to the foothills and link up with the mobile squad. We’ll be with you as soon as we can.’

Is this it?
he thought as he clambered along a natural ledge, keeping his head down.
Is this where it starts to unravel?

He switched back to short range, outlined the situation to Alexei, Rory and Pauly, then told them to move over to the opposite side of the ravine and keep back from the waterfall’s brink. Greg meanwhile had found a broad, solid shelf near the top of an overlooking ridge some thirty-odd yards along from the charges. Once he was seated on the cold, flat stone, he counted down from five over the short-range, then hit the trigger.

There was a crashing, deafening boom. Dark clouds shot out from the explosions and Greg could see the immense overhang tipping forward then falling through them. At the same time fragments big and small were flying in all directions and Greg watched, in amazement then panic, as one large piece came spinning out of the dust and chaos towards him. But its arc of flight fell short and it struck the top of the ravine wall less than ten feet away. Greg felt the impact, saw the rock face shatter and split, long shards toppling out. There was a deep crack close by and the shelf trembled underfoot then lurched. There were voices shouting in his ear but he was completely in the grip of fear as he whirled and leaped across a growing gap in the rock, scrambling madly up onto the clifftop.

A roaring rumble filled the air. The ground shook and grey clouds billowed up. Greg had found refuge on a scree slope of a small saddle ridge overlooking Glen Julius, and he sat down heavily on a boulder, trying to make sense of it. After a few moments the rumbling faded to an eerie silence. He was about to make his way back to the ravine when he heard a hum from somewhere in the vicinity. The hum grew louder and harsher and suddenly familiar just as Varstrand’s dirigible, the
Har
, bobbed up from the other side of the saddle ridge and banked before slowing overhead.

Shouting, Greg waved and saw the pilot mouthing something while pointing at his ear. Realisation struck and Greg fumbled with the earpiece’s stud controls, and was suddenly assailed by a jabber of voices.

‘… yes, I have him! He is safe …’

‘So why’s he no’ replyin’, then …’

‘Sorry, Rory,’ Greg said, catching the end of the rope ladder snaking down from the zeplin. ‘I must have muted the channel somehow in all the commotion.’

Rory laughed. ‘Commotion, aye! Right, see ye soon.’

A swift climb hand-over-hand and he was inside the gondola, dragging himself into the compartment then pulling the ladder in after him.

‘Lot of noise and clouds,’ Varstrand yelled over his shoulder. ‘Looks like success for you, I think.’

‘Hope so,’ he yelled back.

As he hauled in the last of the ladder, the
Har
was gaining height and moving towards the ravine, so the hatch was still open when the ravine and the waterfall came fully into view. He paused, staring down through a haze of drifting dust at the astonishing sight. As he’d hoped, the massive overhanging rock pillar had fallen onto the lip of the waterfall and smashed an irregular section of it, perhaps ten feet back, sending tons of rock plummeting into the gap below. But that wasn’t all – the explosions had cracked the ravine wall and undermined it, causing it to collapse into the ravine. From this height it looked as if some gigantic blade had carved a long gouge out of the ravine wall, dumping a lengthy mound of rubble along one side, crushing and shredding a swath of trees and bushes, burying every piece of foliage. Looking down, Greg felt a stab of guilt at having caused such wanton destruction in this pocket of Darien’s ecology.

Varstrand, though, was practically whooping with delight, praising Greg’s demolition skills in Finnish and Noranglic. Rory was equally impressed when he climbed up into the gondola ten minutes later.

‘Job done, chief! When you’re doin’ a bit of remodelling, you don’t mess about!’

‘Aye, but I wasn’t planning on knocking down half a mountain’s worth and creating that eyesore.’

‘Och, give it a year or two and ye’d hardly know anything was out of place.’

Greg frowned. ‘What’s keeping Alexei?’ He fingered his ear-piece for the proximity channel as he leaned out of the side hatch and into the rushing backwash of the
Har
’s right prop. Alexei was standing next to Pauly several yards off to the side and Greg understood. ‘Are you staying behind?’ he shouted.

‘Yes, just to be sure that our friends don’t pay us any more visits.
Kharasho
?’

‘
Kharasho
, okay! But be careful, both of ye!’

He waved to them then slid the hatch shut and shouted at Varstrand to get aloft.

‘Do you want us to be heading back to the mountain?’ yelled the Finn over his shoulder.

‘No,’ Greg said as he and Rory settled into the rickety passenger couches. ‘Take us over to the western end of Glen Claudius and find somewhere to moor, up high with a good view of the gorge.’

‘As you say.’

Greg turned to Rory. ‘Let’s find out what Vashutkin’s been up to,’ he said, and switched his earpiece to the long-range comnet then cycled to Vashutkin’s channel. ‘Alexandr, this is Greg Cameron. Are you receiving? Please respond …’

‘Ah, Gregory, my dear friend! – I was just about to notify you of our successes. The entrance to the Augustus valley is now closed! It took two sets of charges, and a bit of fighting, but it is done.’

‘Any sign of any enemy air support?’

‘No, nothing.’

‘Many casualties?’

‘A few, some wounded …’

‘Okay, Alexandr, listen – some enemy troops broke through in Glen Claudius so please tell the mobile squads to move up to the western end of Claudius. We’re heading there right now …’

He broke off as Rory grabbed his arm and pointed out of the cockpit windscreen. ‘Chief, what the hell is that?’

Tusk Mountain was directly ahead, its lower eastern flank less than half a mile away. Following Rory’s outstretched hand Greg saw a bright spot moving up over the steep, rocky ground. Frowning, he grabbed a pair of binoculars from where they dangled from Varstrand’s dashboard, and trained them on the mountainside. A moment’s refocusing and he was seeing it clearly, a patch of brightness flowing up the slope, over boulders and scree. As he watched, it accelerated, sped up towards the strong-hold’s barricaded entrance then slipped out of sight behind a tumble of rocks.

Lowering the binoculars, Greg shook his head. ‘I don’t …’

Light stopped him, a brilliant white light that engulfed the mountain. Dazzling white light blocking from view the slopes, the rocks, the crags. A torrent of light, sending an unbearable flare into his eyes, cutting through to his worst fears.

Two and a half seconds later the shock wave struck, but Varstrand was ready, pointing the
Har
into the oncoming wall of heated air, gunning the engines to their maximum. A booming roar filled their ears and the gondola shook violently as if in the hands of a petulant child. Varstrand was snarling as he held on to the control column with a white-knuckle grip. Greg’s vision was blurred, his eyes watering, and somewhere Rory was babbling, holy crap, was it a nuke? was it a nuke? as the gondola shook around them. Ignoring his discomfort, Greg anchored himself to a hull strut with one arm while staring through the binoculars at the clouds swirling around the mountain’s upper half, and the fires burning within.

Then the turbulence was past and the dirigible surged forward. Up on the mountain high winds were whipping away the smoke in a long dark tail, stark against the blue sky.

‘Where to, Mr Cameron?’ said Varstrand.

‘Up there,’ he said, pointing.

‘But what about the radiation …?’

‘It wasn’t a nuke,’ Greg said. ‘No mushroom cloud, see? If it had been a nuke we’d have been burnt to a crisp by now. No, I bet it was a particle beam strike from that bloody battleship o’ theirs. Now, get moving.’

As they ascended, the dust clouds and smoke veils drifted aside to reveal the full extent of the destruction. Varstrand gasped, Rory cursed, and Greg stared in disbelief.

The particle beam had punched into the craggy slope where the stronghold entrance was, and left behind a burning hollow eighty, perhaps a hundred feet across. It was as if something had taken a massive bite out of the mountainside.

‘Now we know why they had no air support,’ Greg said.

‘But why send in they troops?’ Rory said. ‘Why no’ hit the place earlier when we were all inside?’