Fatal Blade (Decker's War#3) (21 page)

“Avalon claims to have damaged it, sir.  And believe me, the moment it lifts, we’ll see it.  The rebels aren’t the only ones who’ve gone shopping for hardware.  I’ve made a request to the home world for some surface-to-orbit missile launchers.  Once I have those, their ship will become a target the moment it appears over the horizon.”

“Let us hope that it remains hidden away until then, though I fear whatever it is that Verrill brought here will not remain hidden for long and your men will be the first to pay the price.”

Cedeno’s dry tone betrayed his irritation.  But then, Harend thought, the governor was not a happy man and probably never had been.  It was widely known that he had not volunteered for this assignment, though if he failed, he’d nonetheless pay a hefty price.

“There’s plenty more who’ll take the place of those killed by the rebels,” Harend replied, shrugging, “especially if the home world continues deporting those deemed to be undesirable.”

“You’re rather free with your soldiers’ lives, Colonel.”

“I’d hardly call the latest recruits soldiers.  Uniformed thugs would be more accurate, but they’re good at putting the fear of God into those supporting independence.  Admittedly, every now and then, I need to put the fear of God into my troops, but if there’s one thing they understand, it’s force.”

“Just make sure things don’t get out of hand to the point where the Senate has to take notice and send in the Marines.  Your men don’t stand a chance against regulars, and if the Fleet shows signs of intervening, Avalon will pull out what little they’ve provided so far, let alone agree to a contract for a few battalions of infantry.”

A cruel smile appeared on Harend’s square face.

“If the powers that be take notice, it’ll stem from rebel atrocities, sir.  You can count on that.  When I’m done, no one in this galaxy will want to be associated with Verrill’s bandits, not even Verrill himself.”

“Just keep in mind that if I go down, you’ll be coming with me.”

***

“What were you thinking of doing with our new friends, Verrill?”

Corde looked intently at her commanding officer over the rim of a steaming cup of tea.  Around them, the command post was quiet, with one technician monitoring communications and the perimeter sensors.

“I’d like to take Zack out on a raid and get his opinion on the way we operate.  Tran can’t stop singing his praises though I suspect part of the hero worship is due to Decker saving him from a life of slavery.  Once we get to see the man in action, I’ll decide how far to trust him and use him.  His partner?  I don’t know.  She’s a blank slate and Tran’s never met her before.  I’m a lot less comfortable with her than I am with him.”

“How about I use her as an analyst for a while?”  Corde suggested.  “She asked some penetrating questions over supper but was always careful not to pry into our business any more than she had to.  I’d say there’s a pretty sharp brain behind that disreputable haircut.”

“Sure.  Just be careful how much you reveal.  Until they’ve been blooded, so to speak, we need to proceed with caution.  Sometimes I get the feeling that Tran stumbling over his old CO, who just happens to be partners in a mercenary Q-ship, is a little too convenient.  Especially when I consider that Decker’s a former Marine Pathfinder.  You know what they say, right?”

“Once a Marine, always a Marine.  But we have ex-military types in the movement already, and they’ve been loyal to a fault.”

“Most of them are loyal to the idea of Garonne getting out from under Celeste rule, at least those who were born here or who settled here after leaving the service.  Mercenaries like Miko Steiger are loyal so long as we respect their contracts.  Where does that leave Zack and Hera?”

“In the wait and see category,” Corde replied with a wry smile.  “Now off to bed with you.  It’s been a long, long day and we have some planning to do tomorrow.  Your buying spree wiped out our last donation and we have to calculate how much we’ll need to ask from our benefactors.”

Verrill sighed, then stood and stretched out his tired arms.

“The voice of reason speaking.  Good night, Corde.”

“Good night, boss.  Sleep well.”

TWENTY-TWO

Decker, in the ghillie suit battledress worn by rebel soldiers and carrying one of their carbines in addition to his beloved Shrehari blaster, pushed aside the tarp covering the entrance to the briefing room.

Inside, two dozen rebels were chatting quietly while they waited for the appointed time for orders.  One of them, a middle-aged man with a weathered face and iron gray hair, broke off from the group and greeted Zack with an outstretched hand.

“You must be our brand new ex-Marine.”

They shook.  He was stronger than his lanky frame would indicate, a strength reflected in dark eyes that measured Zack with frank openness.

“The name’s Catlow.   I used to have a first name somewhere, but it became too cumbersome for a simple soldier.  I’m ex-army – infantry to be precise.  I hear you used to be in the pathfinders.  That means you’ll enjoy our little walk around the countryside.”

A grin accompanied his last few words, and he released Decker’s hand.  Turning back towards the others he called the room to attention.

“Folks, if you’re done gossiping about the governor’s sex life, we can start.  This here’s Zack Decker, former Marine, come to fight with us.  If we have new guns and fresh ammo, it’s because he and his partner flew it through the mercenary blockade.  Seeing as how his basic branch was pathfinders, Verrill figured it might be good to send him out with us so he can see for himself what the militia scum are up to around Tianjin.”

The others nodded politely at Zack, undisguised curiosity in their eyes as, one by one, they introduced themselves, usually with just one name.  Whether it was first name, last name or nickname, Decker didn’t bother asking.

“Okay,” Catlow said once they were done, “everyone grab a seat and pay attention.”

A three-dimensional map projection appeared on the floor within the circle of chairs.

“Take a few moments to orient yourselves, folks.”

A red light appeared by a rocky spur near the Yangtze River.  Decker briefly followed the blue ribbon upstream to where they’d landed
Phoenix
a week earlier, then looked back at the marker.

“This is where we are, of course, in case any of you had forgotten or developed selective amnesia.”

That garnered a few chuckles.  The red light shifted downriver and through a gap in the last ridge before coming to rest on a town surrounded by agricultural settlements.

“Tianjin, where the Yangtze River leaves the highlands for good.”

“I wish I could leave the highlands for good,” one of the troopers muttered, to the subdued laughter of his buddies.

The light continued down the river and came to rest on a much larger town.

“And finally, Iskellian, home of Governor Cedeno, Colonel Harend and everyone else we’d like to ship back to Celeste.”

“Preferably via a rogue wormhole that connects with the Andromeda galaxy,” the same trooper added.

“As you can see, Decker,” Catlow smiled, “Gareth is our platoon clown.  He’s also the heavy machine gunner so he’s entitled to an extra ration of snark.”

“Damn things were built for Shrehari marines, not civilized human beings,” Gareth replied.

“Moving right along,” the platoon leader said, “are there any questions about our orientation to the ground?  Did anyone forget what planet we’re on?”

“Sure, boss, I got a question,” one of the women raised her hand, “I hear there’s a new liquor store in Tianjin.  Can you point it out on the map?  I want to make sure I can find it.”

Catlow snorted.

“You haven’t been paid in months.  How are you going to buy anything other than a good laugh from the sales clerk?”  He shook his head, still smiling.  “Okay.  I hope you got all the funnies out of your system.  Ladies and gents, orders.”

For the next half hour, Catlow went through the reconnaissance mission in exacting detail.  When he was done, he gave his troops a minute to think of any questions they might have.

“Okay,” he said once the time was up and no one had raised a hand, “since none of you are giving me the lost puppy look, I’ll assume you hoisted it all in, and that means it’s time for the oral examination.”

He quickly went around the circle, firing off questions at each soldier about various aspects of the orders they’d just received.  When he came to Decker, a sly smile replaced the serious expression and without missing a beat, he tossed a few Zack’s way, to show his platoon that the ex-Marine would be treated like anyone else.

Decker, who’d used the same reverse questioning technique every time he had issued operational orders, knew the score and played along to Catlow’s satisfaction.

The map projection faded away, signaling to the assembly that it was time to go.  They stood up and stowed their chairs against the wall.

“Grab your kit and line up in the corridor for inspection in five minutes.”

Zack obeyed along with the rest of them.  This was Catlow’s show; he was simply along for a familiarization tour.  Since there was no dead weight on an operation, Chief Warrant Officer Decker, former troop leader in the 902
nd
Pathfinder Squadron and now undercover as a fighter for hire, would just be another private soldier in the patrol.

Precisely five minutes later, he was lined up with the others, pack at his feet, weapons visible and helmet on his head.

Catlow went down the line and made each trooper recite every item he or she carried, show some of the critical ones and describe his role during the mission.  It was the last check.  They’d already had a thorough inspection in the barracks earlier.

When Catlow got to Decker, the Marine snapped to attention.

“Carbine, fifteen millimeter; blaster same caliber; fighting dagger;  five hundred rounds, ten replacement power packs, ten grenades and my share of the heavy machine gun ammo; radio, set to receive only, first aid kit, rations for five days, three liters of water, purification kit, bivouac bag; night vision goggles.”

“Job?”

“I’m your wingman throughout the mission.  I keep you alive and in command.”

The sly smile returned.

“No medicinals, especially of the distilled kind?  I’ve heard of what Marines consider essential rations.”

“Never on patrol, boss.”  Decker returned the smile with a knowing smirk.

“Surprised that we irregulars can find our asses with both hands?”

“I haven’t seen you try to find your ass yet.  Up to now, it’s just been foreplay.”

This time, Catlow laughed out loud.  He clapped Zack on the shoulder.

“I think you just might fit in around here, Decker.”  He turned around to face the rest of the platoon.  “Saddle up folks.”

When they filed out of the ancient fortress, the last light of day had already vanished.  Overhead, the long ribbon of the Milky Way dominated the night sky while unfamiliar constellations pulled distant stars into strange patterns.

Decker flipped down his goggles, turning the dark forest beyond the scree into a glowing green wonderland of outlandish shapes.

Then, the patrol disappeared beneath a thick canopy of trees, following a faint animal track towards the river and, beyond the pass, to Tianjin, a town that Colonel Harend liked to describe as a hive of separatist scum.

***

“Do you send out a lot of recon patrols?”  Talyn asked Corde, after watching Decker and the others leave.

“Yup.  From here and from the other operating bases.  We always have a few going.  It’s the only way we can figure out what the enemy’s doing, stay in touch with our supporters and collect enough information to plan our next strikes.”

“Lose many of them?”

The woman shrugged.

“We get the occasional casualty when a patrol’s unlucky enough to run head-long into the militia, but we’re getting better at it.  Back when we started, a couple of them vanished without a trace.  I figure we’ll eventually find a few mass graves near the place where they did their last radio check.  Every time that happened, we had to shift one of our bases.”

“How do you decide a patrol’s been compromised?”

Corde pointed at the communications alcove.

“Every six hours, they send a status check via microburst.  The message itself is nonsense if anyone ever manages to decrypt it, but there are a few variations that tell us whether they’re fine, running, have taken casualties or are fighting the last stand.  Miss one check and the patrol’s parent battalion goes on high alert; miss two checks and the battalion sends out a security perimeter while the rest begin to pack up.  If they see militia moving in their direction, the entire unit shifts to an alternate hide.”

Talyn nodded.

“Makes sense.  Is there any danger of the militia triangulating on the sender?”

“There was some, but after you and your partner turned most of the satellites into scrap metal, the chances are pretty slim.  If we have to talk to the patrol, we use a laser communications relay to a burst transmitter a long distance from the base.”

“Impressive.”

“We have a few Fleet-trained commo techs in the ranks.”  Corde sounded pleased with the compliment.  “And we’ve found some good suppliers who don’t ask too many awkward questions when it comes to restricted gear.”

When Talyn didn’t rise to the bait, Corde waved towards a cluster of field desks in one corner of the command post.

“Do you want to spend some time looking over the intelligence digests of the last few months before going to bed?  I’m afraid I can’t offer you any other entertainment.”

“Sure.  My entertainment options left with Decker.”  She winked knowingly at Corde.

***

Anton Cedeno, reluctant governor of Garonne, looked up from his tablet when the door to the living room opened to admit a slim, tanned woman of indistinct age, wearing a long sundress and more gaudy jewelry than was decent on a Rim colony.

“Hello, hello, Lord and master of the planet,” she blared in a nasal voice, making him wince.  Shala meant well, but their marriage was dynastic and some days he felt like he’d gotten the short end of it.

“Darling.”  He tried to smile.  “How was Zeli?”

“Dreary,” she replied, dropping into an overstuffed chair.  “We had rain most of the week and then those nasty rebels did something to the water supply so it was misery and the runs for everyone.  Thankfully, I was sticking with the good stuff so it didn’t take me, but most of the guests at the resort had a bad time of it.”

She looked around for a servant and her face lit up with a smile when the maid appeared with a flute of bubbly wine.

“You’re an angel, Mara.”  Shala Cedeno took an appreciative sip of the straw-colored liquid and sighed.  “If the rebels are going to start targeting the Turquoise Coast, I don’t know how we’ll enjoy this place anymore.  Perhaps Harend will come up with a way to flush them into the open before things get too bad.  He’s ruthless enough to get results once he finds the right lever.”

Though she sounded flighty, Cedeno knew the outer shell of a bored socialite hid a shrewd and sometimes cunning mind, and isolated as they were on Garonne, he was more than happy to share matters of state with her.  It was their marriage’s biggest saving grace.

“The trick is to make sure his ruthlessness doesn’t call down the wrath of the Senate, and through them, the Fleet, dear.  There are days when I wonder whether he’s not letting his enjoyment of the job override caution.  By the way, the rebels may have received something of a boost while you were down south.”

“Oh?”  She sat up, a spark of interest in her eyes when he related the arrival of the freighters and the disappearance of the mysterious mercenary Q-ship.

When he told her about Harend’s notion of turning the rebels into scapegoats for war crimes, she gasped.

“If that backfires, we’re all going down.”

“I know, Shala.”  A resigned sigh escaped his pinched face.  “But some days I get the sense that Harend’s agenda isn’t the same as mine and that my authority over him is nothing more than a masquerade.  His resistance to hiring off-world soldiers, for instance.”

Her eyes narrowed while she contemplated the half-full glass of wine.

“He’s afraid that their commanders will take orders only from you, which might marginalize his influence on the campaign against the rebels.  After all, he took this assignment in the hopes of promotion on his return to Celeste.”

“Incisively stated, my dear.” Cedeno smiled at her.

“Thank you.”  She sketched a sitting curtsy.  “Though I fear we shall have to take measures that will permit us to disavow Harend the moment he does something stupid.”

He was pleased with her use of ‘we’ and ‘us’.  Dynastic marriages among his caste did have the advantage of interested loyalty when it came to social standing, power, and wealth, things neither had in sufficient quantity to escape censure, should the home world look for scapegoats.

“I suppose we will.”  He dropped his tablet on the sofa and touched a call screen.  “I think I’ll have one of those as well.  It’s been a long week.”

***

“You’re sure about this?” Verrill asked Miko Steiger.