Stand Against The Storm (The Maxwell Saga Book 4) (13 page)

There was a hoarse tearing rasp of gunfire behind him, something with a very high cyclic rate. A line of holes appeared magically in the hardstand alongside Steve, dirt and bits of rock spurting in all directions, stinging his left leg. He dodged to his right, only to have another line of impacts appear on that side as the shooter tried to follow his movements. He dodged left again as he approached the gate, gasping with relief as the last of the hostages dashed through it – only to shout aloud in pain as a red-hot iron seemed to sear along his right calf. Stumbling, suddenly limping, he reached out a hand in a desperate attempt to maintain his balance. A Qianjin spacer standing behind the gate grabbed it and yanked him bodily through the gap, then he and another spacer swung the gates closed.

Sporadic rebel bullets beat against the gates, but their solid steel construction – reinforced after that morning’s attacks – was strong enough to absorb long-range rifle fire without being penetrated. Pausing just long enough to confirm that they’d hold, Steve nodded to the Qianjin spacer who’d pulled him inside. “Thanks! Come with me so I can lean on you.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He swung towards the newly liberated hostages, who were coming together in a group under the urging of more Qianjin spacers, and raised his voice. “I want you in three groups. Those needing medical attention gather over there; Commonwealth hostages assemble next to the guardroom; and able-bodied Colonial Guards report to the Eksalansari over there.” As he spoke the young Prince appeared at the main door of the Administration building. He’d hurriedly gotten out of bed and dressed in a utility coverall as soon as the rebel duo had certified that he was, indeed, inside. He wore the sunburst pendant of his royal status on his chest.

A Qianjin medic ran towards Steve, carrying a field case. “You’d better come to sick bay, Sir, so we can take care of that leg.”

“No time now. Put a field dressing on it. I’ll let the Doctor look at it later.”

“But, Sir –”

“Don’t argue with me, dammit!
Do as I say!”

“I – yes, Sir.” The medic reached for his shears and began to cut away the leg of Steve’s coveralls.

Steve realized he was still clutching the Eksalansari’s pistol. He applied the safety catch and slid it into its holster, then fastened the front of his coveralls. As he did so, Major Emory limped up.

“Well
done,
Lieutenant! Very well done indeed! Every single hostage rescued, and not one of us even scratched!”

“Thank you, Sir. How badly were you hurt this morning?”

“My leg was creased by a round – a bit like yours, from the look of it – and another grazed my head. Nothing serious. The Eksalansari’s bodyguard was hit in the shoulder.” He pointed to an older man in a senior NCO’s uniform. His right arm was in a sling. The young prince’s face had lit up at the sight of him, and the two men were exchanging a hug. “He’ll be OK, but he won’t be doing any shooting with that arm for a while.”

“Glad you’re both OK, Sir. There’s a hell of a lot to tell you, but there’s also a lot to organize here. May I respectfully suggest that you ask the Doctor to check you out and clear you for duty? I’ll be able to tell you more by the time she’s done that.”

“All right. You seem to have things pretty well in hand.”

“I hope so, Sir.” Steve carefully didn’t add aloud,
And in the sick bay you won’t be able to see what I’m doing and ask awkward questions – not until I’ve finished doing it, anyway!

He looked down at the medic, who was clipping a bandage around a field dressing. “Done?”

“Yes, Sir. It’s just a scratch, but you really should come to sick bay. You’ll need an anti-infection shot.”

“Later. Thank you.”

Steve tested his leg. It bore his weight, albeit with some pain. He limped over to the group of injured hostages. “These people will escort you to our sick bay. We have a doctor and medics there who’ll check your injuries and treat them.” Nodding to the Qianjin spacers standing by, he watched as they led the hostages away, supporting those suffering from leg injuries.

He stepped carefully across to the Commonwealth group. “I’m glad you’re all back with us safe and sound. These spacers will take you to one of our barracks, where you can get a shower. You’ll be issued with clean clothing, then taken for a meal. Get that inside you, then get some sleep. Tomorrow you’ll be returned to Marine HQ.” Muttering thanks, some of them holding out their hands to shake his, they followed their guides.

Steve turned back towards the Eskishi hostages. Most of them wore the uniform of the Colonial Guard. He was surprised to see it was dress uniform, not working clothes, but then recalled that they’d been on parade that morning when the rebel attack went in. The insurgents had clearly known the time of the Eksalansari’s arrival and the inspection that would accompany it, and had planned their assault accordingly.

The senior officer in the group, a Major, was listening intently to the Eksalansari. As Steve watched he straightened, saluted, then turned to the Guards and began to issue orders. They split into smaller units and headed off in different directions, each group under the command of a junior officer or NCO and escorted by a Qianjin spacer.

Steve limped over to the Major, who was again talking with the Eksalansari. As he came up the prince said, “Major Erdogan, this is Senior Lieutenant Maxwell, who rescued me this morning with the help of some Marines. He also freed all of you through his good work this evening.”

“Thank you very much, Senior Lieutenant,” the Major acknowledged, holding out his hand.

Steve saluted, then took it. “I’m glad everything worked out as planned, Sir – at least, so far. Our Marines are still busy out there.” As if to echo his words there was a thunderous explosion in the distance, followed by two more. “That was probably the three booby-trapped buses they used to bring you here. I guess Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear figured it’d be safer to blow them up than try to defuse them.”

The Major shuddered. “When they put us aboard them and warned us what was beneath our feet, I honestly didn’t think any of us would survive the evening.”

“It can’t have been fun, Sir,” Steve agreed. “The rebels had intended to ambush all of us as we drove away from the depot. The Marines were to smash the ambush, then on their way back look for the rebels’ transport. They’ll also go to the site where they erected mortars. There should be some prisoners there, temporarily paralyzed with neurotoxin darts launched by flitterbugs. The Marines will administer the antidote, then bring them back here for interrogation.”

“And the mortars?”

“You can use them for your mission tonight, Sir, along with all the other weapons we recover from the rebels.”

“Excellent!”

The Eksalansari put in, “Are you sure your plan will work, Senior Lieutenant?”

“I don’t know, Sir, but I don’t think there are enough rebels left to stop Major Erdogan and his people. Most of Métin’s people would have been needed to deliver the hostages, ambush us as we left, and then take control of the depot. If there are more than a couple of dozen of them still at the spaceport I’ll be surprised. You have three times that many Colonial Guards here. We’ll provide them with the rebel weapons – which were your weapons to begin with, of course – and a few transporters. They should be able to retake the spaceport by morning if they move fast. It’s critical to have it in our hands. It’s the only place near Surush suitable to bring in large quantities of supplies or reinforcements from orbit.”

The prince nodded. “You’ve clearly thought this through several moves in advance. I’m very impressed, Senior Lieutenant. Be sure I’ll be bringing your performance to the attention of my father. It deserves his recognition as well as that of the normal military authorities.”

Steve flushed. “Thanks, but let’s get this over first.”

“As you say. There’ll be time enough to worry about other things after our forces are back in control.”

As if to echo his words, the heavy clouds finally cut loose. The occasional spatter of raindrops was replaced with a rolling curtain of water, presaged only by a brief drumroll of approaching sound. They were all soaked to the skin within moments as they scurried to get under cover.

~ ~ ~

Steve stood in the outside doorway of his office on the ground floor of the Administration building, watching the last transporter roll through the gates. Two Qianjin spacers pushed them closed, feet raising splashes in the pools and runnels of water on the unevenly-packed temporary hardstand as the tail lights of the big vehicles disappeared into the rain and darkness.

“Where are they going?” a voice asked behind him. He turned, startled, to see Major Emory. The Marine had entered from the corridor after being patched up at the sick bay. He wore a new, gleaming white bandage wrapped around his head, and a fresh pair of utility coveralls – the only item of ‘uniform’ in plentiful supply at the depot.

“They’re on their way to take back the spaceport from the rebels, Sir.” Steve explained the plan he’d made with the Eksalansari.

Emory frowned. “Tactically, that’s a very good plan. It’s exactly what’s needed. Trouble is, assisting the Colonial Guards against the rebels is a violation of our orders.”

“Yes, Sir. So is fighting them, but both of us had to do that to rescue the Eksalansari, and I had to do it again tonight to free the hostages.”

“We certainly didn’t have much choice, did we? You’d better tell me what happened.”

“Yes, Sir.” Steve closed the outer door and crossed to the sideboard. “I’ll start the coffee brewing.”

“Great idea! I haven’t had a cup since early this morning.”

They sat down in the visitor’s chairs in front of Steve’s desk. He figured it probably wouldn’t look good if he tried to keep the desk between them, as if he were in charge and the Major a supplicant. He began by explaining the rescue of the Eksalansari and the attack on the rescuers as they returned to the depot.

“That was an excellent piece of work,” Emory approved, “particularly since you don’t have an armed detachment here. How were you able to get enough equipment to form fire teams? I wasn’t aware that much in the way of weapons was stored here.”

“Er… let’s just say that after the raid on this place a few days ago, I figured we needed to be better equipped. I’d rather not go into details, Sir, if you’ll allow me.”

“Midnight requisitions, eh?” Steve grinned and nodded. “Very well, I won’t ask any more awkward questions, particularly since those same weapons helped save my life tonight.” The coffee-maker chimed, and he looked at it eagerly. “Let’s get some coffee.”

As they helped themselves to coffee, creamer and sweetener, Steve explained how he’d asked for volunteers with prior military service from among the Qianjin spacers to join his few Marines in defending the depot. Emory frowned.

“You armed
convicted criminals?
Didn’t the Eskishi authorities raise hell at the very thought?”

“I didn’t ask their permission, Sir. Frankly, they’re not my priority.” Steve knew annoyance was creeping into his tone, but by now he didn’t care. “I don’t blame your battalion for this – you’ve been fully occupied since you got here – but I found myself dumped in this depot without adequate external security, without sufficient troops and weapons to provide my own, and with no way to prevent further attacks like the one that almost killed two of us the other day. I’ve had to improvise from the start, and make decisions on the fly without adequate command guidance – sometimes with no guidance at all.” He hesitated for a moment, then made up his mind. He’d just saved Emory’s life, after all, so he might as well call upon whatever goodwill that had generated. “May I speak off the record for a moment, please, Sir?”

“Go ahead.”

They sat down again with their cups of coffee. Steve explained what he’d said to Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear after the first attack, then described his conversation with Captain Davis that morning, including the prohibition against acting independently or negotiating with rebels.

He shook his head in frustration. “Sir, it feels like I’ve been hung out to dry here. I’ve done my best, but I’ve almost always had to use my initiative. I’ve had little or no support in practical terms, and frankly it’s annoying the hell out of me. What was I supposed to do when the rebels threatened to kill all Commonwealth hostages slowly if I didn’t provide them with rations and hand over the Eksalansari? If I’d obeyed my orders and refused to negotiate, or done nothing to rescue you, I’d have been blamed for inaction. In order to take action, even with results that I think are pretty successful by any standard, I’ve had to disobey direct orders – but what else could I have done under the circumstances?”

“That’s a very good question.” Emory’s voice was firm. “It’s one you need to keep in mind. I’m sure you remember the Tactical Simulator at Officer Candidate School?”

Steve blinked at the apparent change of subject. “Of course, Sir.”

“All OCS TacSim facilities throughout the Commonwealth have the same motto on the wall, a quotation from Helmuth von Moltke. Remember it?”

“I do, Sir. He said, ‘No plan survives contact with the enemy’. I’ve done the Fleet’s first- and second-level Tac Officer courses as well, and they both stress that.”

“Precisely. That’s your first line of defense. You were confronted with enemy action that made it impossible or impractical to obey orders previously issued to you. In the absence of any opportunity to consult with your superiors – emphasize that! – you used your best judgment and acted accordingly. You also need to use Fleet Regulations in your defense. In any operation, who is the ultimate commanding officer?”

“Er… the officer who authorized or issued the orders for it, Sir?”

“Not during the operation. While it’s going down, the ultimate commander is the officer on the ground in local command – or, in the Spacer Corps, the officer in local command of the ship or ships involved in the action. The orders may have been issued by General or Flag Officers many light years away, or senior commanders hundreds or even thousands of miles distant. They aren’t on the spot, and can’t possibly know all of the conditions that apply at any specific time and place. That’s why our senior officers are so carefully selected and given so much latitude of judgment. The Fleet has to trust them to adapt their orders and resources to the circumstances they find when they arrive, so as to accomplish the mission. Those who can’t be flexible, who stick to by-the-book responses, usually don’t reach very high rank. In this situation, cut off from contact with Captain Davis or Lieutenant-Colonel Battista at Marine HQ, you were the officer in local command. You did the best you could under very difficult circumstances – and I don’t mind saying that from my point of view you did very well indeed! Without you I’d probably be dead. I’ll make sure to support your decisions in my report of proceedings.”