The Valhalla Call (Warrior's Wings) (2 page)

“Not combat-rated vessels, but yes.” Parath nodded. “What concerns me is that they went from a maximum of twenty-eight times Parithan gravity acceleration to over five hundred times in, as near as we can tell, a single generation advancement. That indicates that they’ve managed to begin manipulating space-time on par with Alliance ships, though likely not to the levels of the Ross.”

“Diviner forbid,” Demescene swore lightly. “We have enough difficulty with one species like the Ross.”

“Be that as it might be,” Parath said, “we should not take them lightly. They control the jump nexus that holds the gate to nearly the entire arm. We may be able to find a path around, but it would likely take entire stellar intervals…”

“No, we’re taking their nexus,” the Master of Fleets declared. “The world the Ross’El want is the stepping stone. We must control it if we’re to find the device before the Ross.”

“They’ve already fought fiercely to retake it once,” Parath warned, “and even fiercer to hold it. I believe that they’re well aware that it stands on a jump nexus, otherwise I think they would have fallen back already.”

“That isn’t our concern. We need that system, so we’ve mobilized a fleet to take it,” Demescene said seriously. “A fleet that would have given pause to even the Ross themselves at the height of the war.”

Parath nodded grimly. He’d seen the fleet, at least part of it, when transferring over. There was no doubt, the Alliance was quite serious about taking that system, no matter how troublesome the current occupants were.

This will be a short conflict
, he supposed.
However, I believe it will not be so clean as the Master of Fleets believes.

*****

West Point Academy,

New York, NY, Earth

“Lieutenant!”

The woman was a slightly stocky five foot ten, and from behind she looked like most any one of the other uniformed people around her. When she turned in the direction of the familiar voice, however, it became clear that she stood out in at least one way.

In a sea of people at the epitome of physical fitness and youth, the lieutenant was clearly head and shoulders above her associates in both categories. Unlike the gym fit eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds around her, the lieutenant looked to be somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties, with sun-dried skin and eyes that looked a decade older at least.

She was also the only one of her fellow students who wasn’t carrying books or slab computers, something that only a particularly observant viewer might pick out. If they were close enough to look deep into her eyes, they’d realize why she didn’t carry those things, but then, if they were that close they either already knew… or they were in mortal peril for their lives.

“Lt. Aida!”

“Yes?” Newly minted Second Lieutenant Sorilla Aida looked to the speaker, smiling when she recognized him. “Ton! I haven’t seen you since…”

“The op on Hayden,” the big man grinned. “I was shipped out while you were shipped on. How have you been?”

She sourly glanced down at the gold bar on her shoulder, then rolled her eyes. “I’ve been regretting taking the Army up on their offer for promotion.”

Ton chuckled deeply. “Imagine that. It’s hard to see a butterbar in the sergeant I relied on, though.”

“Tell that to my professors,” she snorted. “I haven’t felt this stupid since boot.”

“You can’t tell me that classes are seriously giving you a problem?” Ton shot her a skeptical look.

“Did I say that? I said I felt stupid, not that I was stupid.” Sorilla grinned wide.

“Good. Good,” Ton said, glancing behind her. “Don’t look now, but I think you’ve picked up a tail.”

Sorilla didn’t have to look over her shoulder to know who he was talking about,.“They’re classmates.”

“Really?” The big man grinned, his white teeth gleaming bright enough to blind a person. “Well, introduce me then.”

Sorilla groaned. “Ton…”

“That’s Captain Washington to you, Lieutenant.” The big Marine kept on grinning. “Or would you prefer I made it an order?”

She gave him a look that clearly defied him to even consider it, but also realized that she didn’t really have any good options either way. The hell of it was that she knew he’d never once have even dreamed of doing the same to her when she was a master sergeant. There was something just wrong about being promoted and actually getting less respect than she had before.

Sullenly, Sorilla turned to make the introductions, mumbling under her breath just loud enough for Ton to hear her, “See if I drag your wounded arse out of any more jungles in the future.”

Ton just laughed it off, chatting amiably with the kiddies while she stood in the background. He at least had the decency not to bring up any stories about her, though she’d have been genuinely surprised if he had. Most of the stories they shared were either of the boring variety or the private sort between squadmates. Some things stayed with the squad.

Finally he was done schmoozing the kids and Ton looked them over seriously. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to steal the El-Tee away from you for a bit. She’ll catch up later.”

Well, what could any of them say to that? They saluted and left.

I need to get Captain’s bars, or better yet, a nice Leaf on my collar. Doesn’t matter if it’s silver or gold.

Ton turned back to her after the kids were all gone. “You busy for lunch?”

“I guess I am now, sir,” she told him with a soft snort and a crooked grin.

“Good,” he said with his blinding smile. “I need to ask you some things.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“On the way. I know a nice little bistro not too far from here, by shuttle bus,” Ton said, extending his arm. “If it pleases m’lady?”

She rolled her eyes, knowing that it was all a game, but what the hell, it was a fun game once in a while. Especially when she wasn’t in a warzone. She took his arm and they walked off toward the closest public transit portal.

“So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?” she asked while they walked.

“Don’t know if you heard, but I was assigned to Task Force Seven,” he told her. “We’re shipping out shortly to fill out their TO&E for ops.”

“You headhunting, Cap?” she asked, a little hopefully.

“Sorry, Sar… Ell Tee.” He shook his head. “That just sounds wrong. “

“Call me Soeur,” she said, shrugging. “Most did when I was growing up.”

“Oh?” He blinked. The word sounded French to him, but that wasn’t one of the languages he knew, unfortunately. His career had leaned more toward middle-eastern languages, followed by far eastern. “Is that a word or just short for Sorilla?”

“Both. It’s French for sister. Sorilla is a variation on the Italian for the same,” she said.

“Ah, and Aida?” he asked, while they were on the subject.

“Japanese.”

“Seriously?” he blinked. “How the…?”

“Dad’s dad was Japanese American, third generation. Bit of a mix there, but the name followed down. Dad grew up with his mom, she was Italian,” she said. “Mom was Mexican.”

“Interesting mix,” he said, shrugging. “At any rate, no, I’m not headhunting. My team’s full up.”

“Pity,” she said sourly as they got to the transit portal.

The local transit portal was linked into the statewide transit system, which in turn cross-linked into the interstate, so as they took a seat in one of the available cars, they could have gone literally across the country if they had the time or inclination. They had neither, of course, so Ton just waved to the computer as he sat down.

“Stony Point.”

“Please remain seated while in transit,” the car said, pulling out of the lot and into the transit lane. “For your security, all passengers are required to…”

“Save it,” Ton said, tapping a cancel button. “We’ve all heard it before.”

The computer shut up as the car accelerated south along the Hudson, heading for the small town of Stony Point. Sorilla preferred cars she could drive herself, but the public system had its advantages. It was a hell of a lot easier to hold a conversation while taking the transit cars, for one, and they legally went a lot faster. The only way to get from one point to another both faster, and legally, was to use a private aircraft, and she got enough falling out of the skies on the job.

“So, what is it you’re after with me then?” she asked, settling into the seat.

“You are pretty much out premier expert on the aliens, didn’t you realize?” he asked, half chuckling.

“Me? Ton, I’m a glorified school marm.”

The big black man laughed outright. “If my school back in the day had teachers like you, I’d probably be a doctor now. You have more firsthand knowledge of the aliens than anyone else. There are a few scholars and researchers out there who probably know more theoretical bullshit than you, but when it comes to experience, you’re it.”

Sorilla grunted, though she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. There was a reason she was at West Point rather than on a fast track OCS program, and that was because while she was taking classes in leadership and so on with other butter bars, she was
giving
classes to full bird Colonels on enemy tactics and psychology. Granted, when it came to their tech, her knowledge basically extended to “will it kill you or not?” and ended right there, but she’d had a lot of time to ponder just why they acted the way they did and how they were liable to act in the future.

She wasn’t a psych expert, but she knew how to hum a few bars.

“Huh,” she said finally, “never thought about it.”

“You’ve been too busy with everything they’ve thrown onto you, I’d bet.” Ton shrugged. “You’ve almost not stopped since that first op on Hayden, aside from some mandated medical leave, which barely counts as time off.”

That much was true, she supposed.

“Your missions records are required viewing,” he said. “I’ve ridden with you through every second of combat and intelligence gathering you were involved in since your first drop on Hayden, but it’s not quite the same thing as experience.”

That was true enough, she knew. There was a world of difference between riding a log record and actually being there, despite the wide array of sensie data you got in the record. You could only see what decisions the original person made, how they reacted and acted. You couldn’t make those same decisions yourself, and often you couldn’t even see what it was that led them along the path they chose.

It was an invaluable tool, especially for after action reviews, but it had its limits.

“All right, well, ask away and I’ll do my best,” she said simply.

“Never doubted it, Sister, not for a second.”

*****

USV
Barry Sadler

Unknown System, Three jumps from Hayden

The Sadler was a small picket ship assigned on a deep space patrol that they’d been working on for too many weeks by the time they’d jumped into yet another unnamed system.

It actually had a name, it was just one of those generic names from a few hundred years ago that no one but an astronomer or a navigator cared to remember. As far as Lieutenant Alder, who was sitting watch, could remember, it was named after some Middle Eastern king or prophet or something. Most of the stars in the entire region were listed with Muslim and Arabic names, actually, save those few that had been renamed.

For the most part, the only place a star’s name showed up was on the mission reports, and the computer filled that in automatically, so for him and the others on the Sadler, it was just another reef in the darkness.

Alder finished his top-of-the-hour checklist and unbelted, drifting just above his acceleration bolster. The Sadler was on a ballistic course, sweeping around the primary star in a high speed three-week orbit that would bring them close enough to query the eight known jump points that surrounded this particular
reef
.

He was idly reading an old science fiction novel on his slate, mostly just because he liked reading about all the ways people could get the future wrong and the few ways they could hit the nail on the head. He only managed a few pages this time, however, before a signal tripped the Sadler’s warning network and made him put the book down in a hurry.

He secured it properly, an instinctive reaction for any experienced spacer. Most everyone had a story about the one time they didn’t secure something, the best result being that it was shattered into pieces when the ship accelerated. Alder’s story didn’t have a best result ending, and his nose now had a permanent angle to it that he hadn’t been born with.

The chair straps came next, but he just looped them over his shoulder to hold him down while he worked. There was very little that could sneak up on the Sadler and get so close that they’d have to accelerate before he got his straps done up, and if there was anything that close, they were dead already.

He slapped the shipwide open and opened a checklist with his other hand.

“Wakey wakey, boys and girls, we’ve got a hit on the long-range scanners from a buoy sitting near this star’s Epsilon Jump Point. Secure everything, including yourselves. We may have to light the fires.”

Alder closed the com and went straight to work.

The satcom hit was just a notification of a gravitational event near a jump point, which could mean any of a number of things. The Epsilon Point was three light minutes from their current location and, either fortunately or not depending on what exactly was happening, almost dead ahead.

He killed all power and active scanners—they were only good for short-range work anyway—and put the Sadler into deep listening mode.

Somewhere out there, something was about to make a lot of noise, and the Sadler’s job was to hear every last bit of it.

Even in space.

“What’s going on?” Chief Bitte demanded as he swung himself onto the command deck of the Sadler.

“Hold on, data is still coming in. We’re looking at an unknown gravity event at Epsilon JP,” Alder said, not looking up. “First visual data is compiling now.”

“Roger,” the chief said, settling into the chair beside Alder.

The Sadler was a scout/courier class ship, built probably the better part of a century earlier as part of the initial push out into space. It was intended to locate planets that could be colonized and to act as an emergency courier and transport for vital materials. She was a fast ship from the days when fast was a relative term.