Starfist: Kingdom's Fury (16 page)

The hole Wu looked through was only as wide as a man's hand, but the rock was a thin wall at that point. Beyond it was a huge cavern dimly lit by a few red lights strung overhead. A stack of crates next to the split blocked his view in one direction, but as far as he could see in other directions, the cavern was filled with rows of similar stacks, wide passageways between rows. A Skink stood on top of one stack directing two others who were maneuvering vehicles to move stacks. They moved three stacks out of a row, then maneuvered into the space they'd cleared and lifted two stacks that had been behind the three they'd moved and moved them out of sight, then came back and replaced the three they'd moved out of the way. They disappeared again in the direction in which they'd taken the two stacks and paused.

The changing pitch of the motors told Wu the mover picked up the stacks. The supervisor clambered off the stack he stood on, mounted a smaller vehicle, and drove in the direction of the removed stacks. The others sounded like they followed him with their burdens.

Wu listened to the whine of the motors diminish into the distance until he couldn't hear them any longer. Then he watched and listened for another fifteen minutes without seeing any motion or hearing any sounds other than his own breathing. He slipped his hand into the crack and slid it up and down. The wall was irregular on his side but smooth on the other—obviously, the cavern had been enlarged and finished.

In no place was the wall more than four centimeters thick. He probed for a thin spot, grasped it tightly, and snapped off a small piece which he carefully put in a pocket of his trousers. He picked up another piece from the pile below the crack and put it in a different pocket. He suspected that when the Skinks enlarged the cavern, they'd made this split and didn't notice it.

"Minnie," he whispered into his comm. Zhon reached into Sonj's pack and withdrew the minnie—in the tight confines it was easier to get the miniature recording robot from someone else's pack than from his own. He passed it forward.

Wu took the robot. It was eight centimeters high, six wide, twelve long, and camouflaged to resemble a rodentlike animal native to Kingdom. He keyed instructions into the minnie and reached through the crack to put it down next to the stack of crates. He watched for a few seconds as the recon robot scuttled along the base of the stack. If he hadn't known what it was, he would have thought it was a rat.

Then he whispered, "Continue" into his helmet comm.

A few hundred meters farther, the tunnel was completely blocked by a rock fall.

The fall wasn't recent. The Skinks probably didn't realize the tunnel existed. The recon team reversed direction. They stopped again for a few minutes at the crack to retrieve the minnie.

Brigadier Sturgeon allowed another day after the team led by 34th FIST's recon squad leader reported in, but none of the other teams reported finding a target.

Orders went out for the other teams to come in, though the disguised UAV birds stayed out on their surveillance flights. By the end of the fourth day of intensive reconnaissance, all but two of the fourteen teams were back inside the defensive lines. Contact had yet to be established with one of those two, and the other had walked into an ambush on its way back and was wiped out. It was time to begin to strike back.

"We have no hard data—" Captain Landou, 34th FIST's psy/ops section commander began. He cleared his throat and began again. "We have no specific data on how the Skinks will react to an action taken against an area they must consider secure. Nonetheless, it's probable that they will react defensively to a strike against what is most likely a major supply depot. We know they have not gotten resupply or reinforcements since the
Grandar Bay
arrived in orbit. This means they necessarily have a finite store of supplies. If we can destroy a significant part of their supplies, it must have an effect on how they conduct operations in the future, an effect that likely will be of benefit to us. Psy/ops concurs in the recommendation for a strike."

He looked at the commanders and staff assembled in the MEF briefing room, but nobody had any questions; not that he'd expected any. They had heard the report on what Staff Sergeant Wu had found in the cave and intently studied the vid made by the minnie. They were itching to act. "Thank you, sir," Landou said to Brigadier Sturgeon when he finished his report and stepped away from the lectern.

"Three?" Sturgeon said.

Commander Usner, MEF operations officer, stepped up to the lectern. His face bore an expression that could be described as a grim grin.

"Sir, we believe we can conduct a successful raid on the supply depot discovered by Staff Sergeant Wu and his patrol. It will take a minimum of one infantry company and a sapper section." It only took two minutes for him to describe the raid Brigadier Sturgeon had already approved. He could tell by the way they listened that both FIST commanders and their respective infantry commanders wanted the mission—just as Sturgeon had predicted.

When he finished, Sturgeon took the lectern. The Marine Expeditionary Forces commander also looked grim, but his grimness bore resolution.

"Gentlemen," he said after looking at the assembled officers and senior noncommissioned officers, "we will call this ‘Operation Doolittle’ and do it. Jack, Commander Usner and his people will work with your staff to help them draw a plan for Doolittle. I want the plans on my desk at dawn. Ram, I'm sorry," he said to Colonel Ramadan, "but 34th FIST has been getting most of the action. I wouldn't want Jack to think I'm playing favorites.

"If there are no questions, that is all." He paused a second, then stepped from the lectern and marched from the briefing room.

"Attention!" Brigadier Sparen shouted, and everybody leaped to their feet.

"Commander," Sparen said to Usner as soon as Sturgeon was gone, "if I may see you for a moment?"

The others took that as their signal to leave, and returned to their duties.

The plan for Operation Doolittle that Brigadier Sturgeon approved first thing the next morning called for one infantry company, reinforced by one platoon and an assault platoon from another company, plus the sapper section from the FIST's engineer platoon.

CHAPTER TEN

"Lord." The Over Master knelt on the matting and bowed his head to the floor before his commander. "I have troubling news." The Over Master quivered with fear in anticipation of the outburst he was sure would come. But to suffer the Great Master's anger now would be preferable to what would happen if the news were withheld.

"Our battle plan is proceeding according to plan, is it not?" the Great Master rumbled, his deep-throated tones cutting the Over Master like a whiplash.

"Operation Rippling Lava is most certainly proceeding as planned, Lord," the Over Master replied. "The news concerns the Earthmen pond scum by the great sea that we wiped out recently. Not all were eliminated in our attack. I seek your permission now to finish off the survivors."

"How did they survive?" the Great Master asked.

"We believe they were some distance apart from the main camp and were missed by the assault force, Lord."

"And who was in command?"

The Over Master named the Senior Master who had command of the attack on the City of God's encampment in the hills above the Sea of Gerizim. The Great Master wheezed angrily through his nearly atrophied gill slits. The Over Master cringed, anticipating an explosion. But the Great Master merely grunted. "Have him die, at once," was all he said.

"Yes, Lord, at once." It was apparent that the Great Master was in a good mood this morning. Were he not, he'd have ordered the deaths of all the officers involved in the City of God raid, not just the one in overall command.

"You will join me in a cup," the Great Master said, a certain sign that he was in a good mood and that the Over Master's life was safe—for the present. The Great Master signaled to one of the females stationed in the far reaches of the room. She shuffled to the Great Master's side, bearing a tray with a gracefully shaped ceramic pot and two delicate cups. After the preparatory ritual was completed, they sipped the steaming liquid gratefully, their lips making wet smacking noises; deep, satisfied, guttural sighs issuing from their throats.

The Great Master leaned back and stroked the pommel of his sword contentedly.

"Of the ones who survived," he said, "do not worry about them for now. Operation Rippling Lava must proceed, and our entire effort shall be devoted to its success.

We cannot afford to waste time and effort on these ridiculous barbarians. When we have destroyed the main body of Earthmen pond scum," he spit the word out like poison, "we shall deal with the others who remain. Those we do not kill we can use in our various enterprises. What of the prisoners?"

"They are being interrogated, Lord, but thus far our efforts have not been very successful. Most of them know nothing of value to us. But one whom we think does know important things, he is proving very resistant to our methods."

The Great Master indicated silence. "It is of no moment. Let the interrogations continue, if you want, but we know all we need to know to make Operation Rippling Lava a success." He signaled to one of the female attendants. "Lie with him," he commanded, pointing at the Over Master.

That unexpected reward was indeed a sign that the Great Master was in a particularly good mood and that his own courage in reporting the bad news had raised him slightly in his commander's estimation. One never knew with the Great Master which way his mood would fluctuate. Ahhh, the Over Master reflected as he let the female guide him to her mat in a dark corner of the room, things were going well, very well!

Traveling only by night in two landcars, it took Zechariah Brattle and his small party two days to reach the tenuous refuge of the caves they'd used on the way out.

During the trip, as her father carefully guided the landcar using the onboard navigation system and infrared sensors, Comfort watched him closely. Her father had changed since they embarked on this foray. Always before he had been a serious man, not without a quiet sense of humor once you got to know him, but somewhat dour to the world at large. Now, especially since they found the landcar, the weapons, and the beer, he was different. Zechariah, whose every personal trait she thought she knew intimately, was now like a man who had suddenly found a new interest in life, something he'd been searching for unsuccessfully for years but never knew he wanted until it was unexpectedly presented to him. She realized it was the present emergency that had changed him. Her father was right. God often acted in very strange ways. She hadn't quite made up her mind yet, but she was beginning to think she liked the change in her father.

"Daughter," Zechariah began, but the bouncing of the car over the rough terrain made him pause briefly to concentrate on his driving. "Comfort," he tried again,

"those folks from New Dedham sure came prepared." He slapped the hand-blaster that was now a permanent attachment. His teeth flashed redly in the dim glow of the vehicle's console as he grinned at his daughter.

"Father, have you ever killed anyone?"

"No. Not even in the wars, when I was mobilized. And I don't want to now, daughter. But there comes a time—you know this very well from your scriptures—when men must turn their hands to war. This is one of those times." He concentrated on his driving again, slowing the vehicle in order to take a forty-percent grade down a rock slope into a deep arroyo. It was nearing dawn and they were still a long way from the caves, so they would have to find a place to hide when the sun came up. They had used the very same spot on the way out.

The car following behind braked on the lip of the ravine, until Zechariah had successfully made his descent, then it came on cautiously. "I'm going into a slide!"

Amen Judah shouted over the two-way communication console. "My brake proportioning system warning light is flashing! Get out of the way, we're coming down!"

"Hold on!" Zechariah advised Comfort as he gunned the engine and their car jumped forward, out of the way of the descending vehicle. Amen applied his brakes, but that just cut off the inertial braking system designed to negotiate steep grades without interference from the driver. When his vehicle hit the floor of the ravine, it bounced and rocked heavily before coming to a stop in a swirl of dust. "Are you all right?" Zechariah asked.

The other vehicle began moving toward them. "We're okay. A little shook up, Zach, but we're all right," Amen reported. "Sorry." He paused and then laughed.

"The console was telling me, ‘Check with your dealership's service department as soon as possible!’ But the warning light's out now. I'll just be more careful taking grades."

Zechariah smiled. "Okay. I guess we'll have to check in at the nearest dealership."

He laughed. "The Lord will provide." Switching off, he turned to Comfort and muttered, "I just wish the Lord would provide until He provides!"

"Father!" For her father to have said such a thing was tantamount to his taking the Lord's name in vain, which she had never heard him do.

"Daughter, even our Savior must have had to laugh once in a while during His time among us." Comfort stared at her father. She said nothing because she did not know how to respond to such a remark.

Zechariah maneuvered the vehicle up under a rocky overhang, brought it to a stop, and shut down its power plant. It was the same spot they'd camped in on the way out. They would be safe from surveillance during the day.

"Daughter, let us dine and then rest." Given the circumstances, the emergency stores they had found in the vehicle—concoctions they wouldn't have fed to their animals in ordinary times—seemed nourishing and very tasty.

They'd also discovered two Remchester 870 Police Model shot rifles, 1.27mm shoulder-fired weapons using shells 7.62 centimeters in length, each loaded with five tungsten-steel pellets weighing a total of approximately 7.76 grams. Each rifle had a tubular magazine fitted under the barrel that would hold three cartridges. One in the chamber gave the weapons a maximum load of four rounds. They were fed into the firing chamber by working a slide, forward from the open breach position, to seat a round; pull to the rear to extract the fired casing; and so on until all four rounds had been fired. They were designed for killing men at close quarters, precisely the type of weapon Zechariah had trained with in the militia.