Stand Against The Storm (The Maxwell Saga Book 4) (25 page)

Moving slowly, almost painfully, feeling suddenly very old and terribly sad, he dragged himself to his feet. All the hostages were staring at him, as were the Qianjin spacers. Everyone was frozen, motionless, waiting. He glanced down at the little girl, lying frozen with fear on the floor, then looked around for her mother, gesturing to her. She gave a half-sob and rushed forward to clasp the child in her arms, lifting her, cradling her gently as she carried her to a vacant seat.

Steve crossed to the lifeboat’s control console. Kwok slid out of the pilot’s seat where he’d saved them all by releasing the clamps and separating the lifeboat from the cargo shuttle the instant before the charges went off. Steve nodded his thanks wordlessly, sat down in the pilot’s seat, and reached for the microphone. Setting the radio channel to a prearranged frequency, he spoke.

“Senior Lieutenant Maxwell calling Marine HQ, over.”

A brief pause as the signal flashed at light speed to the surface of the planet, then, “Marine HQ to Maxwell, go ahead, over.”

He gathered his thoughts. “Maxwell to Marine HQ. One. Inform Lieutenant-Colonel Battista that all the hostages have been freed and are safe, with only minor injuries. Bairam and his rebel guards are dead. Two. Please ask the Colonel to inform all relevant authorities. Three. I intend to land the lifeboat containing most of the hostages at Eskishi’s spaceport in approximately two hours from now. Please advise their families that they will be able to meet them there. Four. Please contact the freighter and have them send their cutter, along with the survivors it contains, to rendezvous with us at the spaceport. I respectfully submit the freighter should remain in orbit pending clarification of the situation.”

He took a deep breath. “Five. I deeply regret to inform you that Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear is missing, believed KIA, I say again, Kilo India Alpha. I’m sorrier than words can say that I can’t bring him back with me. His body is still aboard the cargo shuttle, along with those of the dead rebels, and will have to be recovered later. We have no spacesuits, equipment or facilities to do so. Over.”

Another pause, then a new voice, slow, filled with pain. “Emory to Maxwell. All copied. I’m very sorry indeed to hear about Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear. I know you two had become friends, just as he and I did some years ago. Please accept my deepest sympathy at your personal loss. I mourn him with you.” A moment’s silence, then, “Proceed to the spaceport as planned. I’ll ask the authorities to meet you there. I’ll also arrange for a Marine assault shuttle to recover all the bodies from the cargo shuttle. Over.”

“Maxwell to Emory, thank you, Sir. I’ll listen for further traffic on this channel. Maxwell out.”

He put down the microphone and looked up at Kwok. “You have the spaceport coordinates?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He rose from the chair and stepped aside, still numb. “Take us down, please.”

The pilot stiffened to attention. “Aye aye, Sir.”

One of the spacers sat next to a viewport, looking out as the lights of the spaceport loomed larger. He called, “Sir, all the floodlights around the hardstand are on, and there’s a mass of people waiting.”

Frowning, trying to shake his depression at Kinnear’s death from a brain that felt soggy with weariness and the release of tension, Steve rose from his seat and crossed to the viewport. The spacer was right. From this distance the figures were ant-like, but they thronged around the arrival building. He glanced at Kwok, who was still piloting the lumbering lifeboat. “This bird isn’t as maneuverable as a shuttle or cutter. You’d better set her down a bit further out than usual. I’d hate to squash a spectator beneath our hull.”

Kwok nodded. “Will do, Sir.” He didn’t take his eyes from the automated landing instruments, but fed corrections to the autopilot so that it would increase the safety margin it normally allowed. “Should I tell the cutter to do the same?”

“Good idea. Yes, please do that.” Steve crossed to the other side of the lifeboat and glanced out of another viewport. Sure enough, the freighter’s cutter was still in formation with them, a little further back and higher up, keeping station on their port quarter.

He turned back to his seat, very conscious of the eyes of all of the hostages on him. They were all belted into their seats, even the three-year-old girl whose panic had cost the Gunny his life. Steve smiled at her as he passed her seat, but she shrank away, reaching for her mother for reassurance.

The woman was still reeling under the shock of knowing that Kinnear had died to save her daughter. She whispered, “I – I’m so sorry…” She was unable to bring herself to look up at him.

Steve knelt down by her seat, took her hand in his and held it until she reluctantly raised her eyes to his. He’d had time to regain his mental balance, and now she needed to regain hers.

“Ma’am, you’ve got to stop blaming yourself and your daughter. This wasn’t her fault. She’s only three, and she’s been severely traumatized by what she’s been through. So have you, for that matter. I don’t blame her for behaving as she did. No child her age who’s experienced what she has should be blamed for their reactions. Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear wouldn’t blame her either, if he was here to speak for himself. He went under the bunk to get her knowing the risks, just as he did when he volunteered to join me in our rescue attempt. I’m very sorry he’s dead, but I’m afraid that goes with the territory. When we put on the uniform, we know what it may cost us. Most of us never have to pay the price, but this evening the Gunnery Sergeant’s bill came due, and he paid it. He died to save others. His example will live on in the Fleet. I’ll see to that personally, I promise you.”

She squeezed his hand, a tear shimmering at the corner of her eye, and nodded. “Th – thank you.”

“Make sure your daughter knows you love her and don’t blame her, Ma’am. She’s too young for anything else. She needs you to reassure her and build her up again. Make sure your husband understands that, too – tell him I said so. She’ll need a lot of love and a lot of help to get over this. That’ll be the best way to thank the Gunnery Sergeant for saving her. He’d want you to do that.”

“I will.” She took a deep breath. “What was his first name?”

“It was Henry.” He smiled faintly. “I never used it. He was always ‘The Gunny’, capitalized. I guess that’s the military way.”

“Henry…” She tasted the name on her tongue. “It’s different from ours – those we normally use – but I promise you that if – when – my husband and I have a son, we’ll name him for your friend.”

Steve had to blink sudden tears from his eyes, and clear his throat before he could respond. “I can’t think of a finer tribute, Ma’am. Thanks, from me and on behalf of his comrades in arms.”

Kwok called from the console, “Five minutes, Sir.”

“I’m coming.” Steve crossed to the console and sat down in the second chair, belting himself in.

“Do you want to take over, Sir?”

“No, you’re doing fine. Bring us in.”

He watched as Kwok expertly maneuvered the unwieldy, ungainly lifeboat. It had been designed for an emergency landing on any convenient planet in the event of disaster, so it wasn’t equipped with most of the usual landing aids, because such locations would seldom offer the automated systems usually available. The lifeboat had only basic, essential instruments. Despite that handicap, the Qianjin spacer handled the pilot’s console like a master musician playing his instrument. His hands danced over the keyboard and controls, adjusting here, fine-tuning there, keeping the heavy craft balanced on reaction thrusters that were barely adequate to handle its bulk and mass.

The lifeboat drifted lower as they slowly crossed the boundary fence. Looking at a display on the console showing the view outside through exterior cameras, Steve could see that most of the spaceport’s buildings were in much worse shape than when he’d first landed here, showing the effects of the most recent battles fought over their possession. The arrivals hall was still structurally intact, but its shattered windows had now been boarded up. Many transporters and private vehicles were parked outside. What looked in the floodlights like thousands of people, but was probably no more than a few hundred, milled around outside. A couple of news crews were running around with vid cameras and lights, and a small group waited directly in front of the building – a reception committee of some sort, Steve assumed.

Kwok eased the lifeboat to the ground about a hundred meters from the arrivals building, its landing skids crunching down onto the plascrete hardstand. It rocked for a moment, then settled as the roar of the reaction thrusters died away. The pilot glanced at him. “Permission to open the ramp, please, Sir?”

“Yes, go ahead.” Steve turned to the hostages and raised his voice. “We’re back on Eskishi, safe and sound, and many of your families have gathered to meet you. You go out first. This is your moment.”

There was a series of clicks from unlatching seatbelts and a rustle of feet as people stood. To Steve’s surprise, no-one rushed to leave. The hostages seemed almost hesitant. Eventually the mother of the three-year-old girl Kinnear had rescued took a deep breath, picked her up, and walked slowly down the ramp. Watching through the opening behind her, Steve saw a smartly dressed man stare, then run forward from the crowd to meet them, sweeping the woman and girl into his arms. Tears were clearly visible running down his cheeks.

That broke the ice. The other hostages hurried down the ramp, spreading out to meet their own spouses and relatives as they ran towards them. A hubbub of laughter, tears and exclamations rose from the crowd as it gathered around the new arrivals. Steve glanced to his left, out of a viewport, to see a similar scene being played out around the cutter, which had landed fifty meters away.

He waited until all the hostages had disembarked, then looked at the Qianjin spacers. “I can never thank you enough for your help. Without you we could never have done this. I’ll make sure the Eskishi authorities show their appreciation in proper form.”

Kwok shook his head. “It’s we who should thank you, Sir. You treated us as professionals and equals from the start, rather than as convicts. You’ve helped to restore our pride. We owe you.”

“We owe each other. Come on, let’s get out of here. I’m sure you want to rejoin your comrades at the depot.”

He was conscious of a bone-crushing weariness, enough to almost – but not quite – dull the grief he felt at Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear’s loss. He pushed it aside as he forced himself to lead the small group down the ramp, all of them stepping out proudly, heads up. As his feet touched the hardstand he noticed a small group of people approaching. One of them signaled to him. He stared. Was that… could that possibly be Commander Doibro?
It was!

He snapped to attention as she hurried up to him ahead of the group, a beaming smile on her face, and saluted her. He couldn’t resist saying, “Senior Lieutenant Maxwell reports to the Commander under somewhat unusual circumstances, Ma’am!”

She stifled a laugh. “So I see, Lieutenant – and I understand congratulations are in order.” She looked around. “I don’t believe you’ve met Governor Sirhan yet?”

“No, Ma’am.” He saluted the tall man in his formal suit, and shook his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Sir.”

“No, Lieutenant. It’s I who am honored to meet you. My wife and I owe you more than words can say.” He squeezed the tall, willowy woman who stood pressed tightly against him, each of them with an arm around the other. Steve recognized her as one of the passengers in the lifeboat.

Before Steve could reply, the Governor turned to an officer standing a little behind him. “I understand you know Commodore Wu?”

To Steve’s amazement, he did. He saluted again. “Good evening, Sir. The last time we met, you were a Commander on Midrash.”

“Yes, and you were a Junior Lieutenant.” Wu returned his salute, smiling, then shook his hand. “I see you’ve been keeping yourself busy here.”

“Er… in a manner of speaking, yes, Sir.”

“Lieutenant-Colonel Battista sends his thanks and congratulations for all you’ve achieved, and his condolences at the loss of Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear. He’s headed back to his battalion to coordinate the recovery of the bodies from the cargo shuttle. He says he knows you’ll be busy tonight, so he’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“May I ask what you’re going to do tonight that will keep you busy?” the Governor asked curiously. “I’d have thought you’d want to shower and sleep more than anything.”

“I do, Sir, but there are Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear’s comrades at the supply depot. I need to tell them how he died; then, if we can find a bottle of something decent, we’ll drink a toast to his memory. It’s something of a Marine tradition, Sir.” He’d never forgotten the wake held for their fallen comrades by the Marines who’d served under his temporary command at Rolla, just over two years before. They’d probably be drinking more than one toast to the Gunny tonight… a lot more than one. He was pretty sure the Qianjin spacers would be able to provide enough bottles.

Commander Doibro put in, “You’re still officially detached to the Marines, Lieutenant, so go back to the depot for tonight. However, I’m going to recall you to
Cybele
as soon as possible. I expect that’ll happen sometime tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. It’ll be good to get back aboard.”

The Governor asked, “Are these the Qianjin prisoners who helped you aboard the shuttle?”

“These are the Qianjin
spacers,
yes, Sir.”

Sirhan didn’t miss the emphasis in Steve’s voice, or the implied rebuke. “Spacers, of course. Will you introduce me to them, please?”

Steve introduced Kwok, who in turn presented the rest of his crew. The Governor thanked each of them individually. “I’ll be co-signing the Eksalansari’s commutations of sentence for all of you tomorrow. As soon as we can arrange shipping, you’ll be going home.”

All the spacers broke into broad smiles. “We’ll look forward to that, thank you, Sir,” Kwok answered for them. He looked at Steve. “Where should we wait for you, Sir?”

“I’ll have to arrange transport for us. Wait in the arrivals hall, please.”

“Aye aye, Sir.” He led his spacers away.

The Governor’s eyes followed them. “I’ll have to think of an appropriate reward for them,” he mused. “There’s also the problem of what to do with the rebels aboard that freighter.”

Steve decided mentally,
To hell with it! What have I got to lose?
He said aloud, “Why not let them go, Sir?”

“Let them GO?”
All four of his audience spoke as one, goggling at him. The Governor added, “That’s… that’s insane! I can’t do that!”

“Why not, Sir?”

“They’ve got to be punished for all the damage they’ve done and the lives they’ve taken!”

Steve fought back the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him. “How do you plan on convicting them, Sir? Where are your witnesses? What about courts of law?”

“We don’t have functioning courts at present, but we can rebuild and restaff them. As for witnesses, they’re rebels! The whole planet knows what they’ve done!”

“Yes, Sir, it does; but that’s still not the same as convicting them on the basis of evidence in a court of law. Are there enough surviving witnesses to testify against them? What’s more, if you convict them, how will you punish them? Sentence them to life on a prison planet? They’re already here!” The Governor could only stare at him.

Steve continued, “What does it cost you to incarcerate one high-security prisoner, Sir? I presume the rebels would be classified as such.”

“They certainly would! It costs us about a million lira per year for every high-security inmate.”

“And how many active rebels are on the freighter, Sir, not counting their families?”

“Three hundred and thirty-seven.”

“Uh-huh. That’s three hundred and thirty-seven million lira every year to imprison them. If they stay in high security classification for ten years, that’s three-point-three-seven billion lira. Any longer than that and the cost gets even higher. How much rebuilding could you do with all that money if you didn’t have to spend it on incarcerating them?”

“Quite a lot,” Sirhan admitted grudgingly.