WARP world (61 page)

The platoon of troops filed in after them and piled into their seats–more of Kerbin’s breed, hostile and ready for action. For the first time since that night beneath Brin’s cottage, she felt confident. Seg was right, with this army and this ship, they were unstoppable.

The ramp hadn’t even finished closing when the vectored thrust fans kicked the craft into the air with a hard punch of acceleration. The craft flew south and made a quick strafing run over the Shasir positions before it moved on to the next objective.

What a craft!
Ama’s stomach dropped as it lifted off. The sharp, hard noises bothered her ears and she shook her head but the rush of flying kept her mind off them. She touched everything, the seat, the belts that held her in, the walls behind her, everything was sturdy and utilitarian. If she had a ship like this…

They banked hard and she marveled at how her body was pushed by some invisible force. It was a thrilling sensation, almost like cruising in big seas but more intense.

She looked at Seg and the soldiers in the dim orange light of the craft’s belly. Their faces were set and stony, focused on the job at hand. The warriors, other than a few sideways glances, ignored her. Caj. Beneath them. Unworthy of their attention.

But you’re working for me now. For me and my people.
After nearly a week on her knees, the thought made her smile.

The craft nosed into a dive and Ama, forgetting her surroundings, let out a hearty “Yee-aaaa!”, as she used to do when she slid her beloved
Naida
down the face of a big wave.

Seg favored her with a grin, then reached around her waist to adjust her combat utilities. “I haven’t had an opportunity to teach you anything about how to use all this,” he yelled into her ear over the noise of the craft, “but I don’t anticipate you will need any of it. Merely a precautionary measure.”

“Any luck?” Ama yelled back, her eyes directed to the comm helmet Seg wore.

He shook his head.

Suddenly the intercom chimed in, a disembodied voice reached out to them. “Craft commander to passengers. We are diverting momentarily to engage an air fleet moving south to support the Outer temple defenders. Should be quick and easy.”

Seg raised a hand to his helmet, opened his mouth to speak into his comm, but the craft banked sharply. Weapons blisters opened fire. A staccato hammering from the cannons mixed with the sound of rockets igniting and the hiss of the flechette drums. Abruptly, the craft shuddered, the engine took on a strange new pitch. There was a loud bang, then another, from outside the craft.

The troops looked at each other nervously, then the lights went out inside and the craft pitched over toward the ground.

Falling. Ama knew the feeling—she had done enough high dives—but this was no plunge from the mast, and there was no water waiting to catch them.

In the dark, she groped for Seg’s hand, found it and squeezed tight. She closed her eyes against the pull of the fall, the noise, the fear. The craft spun and tumbled. Someone yelled; the sound went on forever.

There was a scream of metal. And then there was nothing but blackness.

Seg worked his jaw and
gasped for air
. The onboard system had extinguished the fire, but it had made the air musty and sour. He fumbled around for the latch to his seat, felt it, tried to unlatch it. The impact had distorted the buckle; he groped around for his knife, pulled it free and sawed at the harness straps.

Moans and whimpers echoed in the compartment. He wasn’t the only survivor. “Ama,” he murmured and reached for her. She hung limply in her harness. His hands fumbled across her body and slapped at her face. “Wake up,” he ordered.

She gasped and coughed her way back to consciousness. “Seg?” she called, then let out a cry of pain. “I can’t move,” she choked out, her voice panicked as she struggled in her seat.

“Calm down. It’s just the harness.” He placed a hand on her arm and she settled as he cut through the straps. When he was done, he helped her out of the seat.

The craft was tilted, she stumbled to one side. “The others…?” she struggled to regain her balance.

“I don’t know.” The ship’s metal doors creaked as he pushed them open sideways. Sunlight flooded in and Seg steered Ama out of the wreckage. He checked her over quickly and, satisfied she was unharmed, took an amp-light from his pack and turned to go back in. “Keep watch out here, if anyone comes, call me.”

He struggled back into the interior of the craft. He already knew most of the platoon was dead—nobody could have survived on the right side, where the hull was totally smashed—but he had heard a voice, moaning, and clambered through the hulk of the craft to find it.

“Help,” a man said, “don’t leave me.”

“I’m coming,” Seg shone his light in the direction of the voice. In the seat closest to the cab, he found one trooper bloodied but alive. There was nothing striking about the man’s features—raiders often appeared mass produced to Seg and this one was simply a dark haired model of the square-jawed line—what was noticeable was the trooper’s controlled expression and tone, despite the unnatural angle of his leg.

“Theorist,” the trooper said, “what happened?”

“I don’t know.” He pushed his way to the cabin, “I’ll be back to get you in a moment.”

The pilot was dead; debris through the window had seen him off. The copilot sat stunned but alive. She looked up when Seg settled in next to her and reached for the harness.

“Kargin’ junkers,” she muttered and shrugged loose of the harness straps. She jerked her head toward the back, “How bad back there?”

“Three survivors, counting myself.” Seg tugged at her arm to pull her off the seat, “One wounded.”

She pulled her flight helmet loose and tossed it aside to reveal a tangle of unruly black hair. “How bad is the limper?”

“Broken leg.”

“Fantastic. Can he walk?”

“We can splint him and help him along until we can get extracted.” He gestured to the smoking instrument panels, “I gave specific orders regarding our flight path. No diversions!”

“Not my call, boss,” the woman answered, with a shift of her eyes toward the dead Pilot.

“What happened?” he asked, his tone calmer.

“Debris. Those Outer airships…” she rolled her eyes, “Primitive. Structure’s wood and some kind of fabric or animal hide, makes for a low d-scan profile and if we don’t have clear line of sight for thermals the kargers can be right on top of us before we see ’em. This one blew up right in front of us, sucked it up straight through the inlets and the cockpit.” She grabbed a survival pack, then followed Seg back into the cabin.

Outside the crashed skyship, Ama surveyed the damage. They were lucky to have survived. If they hadn’t come down where they had, their descent slowed by the canopies of the old Veya trees, no one would be walking away from the wreck.

Unfortunately, the thick canopy would also make them impossible to find if Seg’s people were looking for them from above.

She considered their position, where they had left from, where they were headed when they crashed, the current geography. A relatively accurate map formed in her head. It wasn’t a promising map. If she was correct, they were a long way from the Secat, and deep in the heart of Welf territory.

Bad trouble.

With a keen eye and ear on the surroundings, Ama adjusted herself, pulled her hair out of her face and tugged off the heavy and uncomfortable belt load of ‘stuff’ Seg had strapped on her her.

After a lengthy wait, Seg emerged from the craft with two others, one of them limping. She knew from his expression that no one else was coming out. As he hopped down to the ground, he held his hand over the earpiece of his comm helmet.

“The temple blew up?
Completely
?
Survivors
?” he intoned to the microphone. “No, we’re non-functional. I have three survivors here. No. Yes. Understood. Yes. Very well.” Comm complete he shifted the raider’s weight to the co-pilot, then gestured for Ama to follow him just out of earshot. “The Welf detonated a store of black powder under the Alisir temple, my People are trapped there.”

“Your skyships?” Ama asked, already suspecting the answer.

“Are in use elsewhere and won’t be diverted at this time. I won’t be able to secure another gunship until the other targets have been taken and the vita has been extracted,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“We can’t wait here, this is Welf territory. If they find us—”

“I am aware of the danger. There is also the matter of my People to consider. The temple is our best strategy. If we can make it there and hold the ground, air support will come. Eventually. Once the gunships arrive, we’ll evacuate my People and then we’ll make our way to the Secat. However, we have to ensure that temple doesn’t fall to the Welf before then.”

Ama glanced over her shoulder, “There are only four of us and that one soldier can barely walk.”

“If I can reach Brin, and if your cousin is the man I believe he is, there will be more than four of us,” Seg turned himself so the others couldn’t see his face. “We will finish this,” he said, his expression as determined as it had been the morning he had taken over the raid planning meeting.

“I know,” Ama said, steel in her gaze as it met Seg’s.

Seg broke away and returned to the other survivors as he recast the frequency of his comm to Brin’s channel. “Kalder. This is drexla. Answer.”

There was a pause and once more Seg wondered if the comm had made it to its target or if Brin had entertained second thoughts about their deal or…

“This is Kalder…drexla. I hear you.”

Seg let out a long breath at the crackling voice.

“Good. We’ve arrived ahead of schedule,” Seg replied.

There was another pause but Seg thought he heard a laugh through the static. “Yes, brother, we figured that out from the smoke and explosions.”

“We’ve encountered a situation. I need your support. I’ve got men trapped at the Alisir temple, I mean to relieve them. I need fighters, as many as you can spare and can safely travel with.”

“I have only a handful. I’ve sent runners to gather your fifty but…” Brin’s voice faded.

“I understand,” Seg answered. “Extraordinary circumstances, as always. Do what you can; even a handful of men could make the difference.”

“Where should we rendezvous?”

Seg consulted the holographic map of the area that he had pulled up, with the crash site and Alisir temple highlighted.

“There’s a wide valley about ten kilometers south of the temple, with what appears to be a large bridge across a body of water, ” Seg said.

“The Cradle Fork, yes, I know it.” Brin said.

“We’ll travel north-east toward the bridge and meet up there.”

After Brin’s confirmation, Seg disconnected, then looked at the others. “What are your names?”

“Fismar Korth, Theorist,” the raider answered, with a salute.

“Shan Welkin,” the woman said, “kin to the Eraranats, if it matters.”

“It doesn’t,” Seg said. “Can you keep pace, Fismar?”

“If I have to crawl out of here I will, Theorist.”

“Ama, this is your world.” Seg turned to face her, “You lead. If you see anyone, you get low and signal us. We don’t engage, we make our way to the Cradle Fork and link up with Brin and his men. Then we go and relieve our forces at the temple.”

“What happened?” Shan asked.

“The Welf detonated a bomb under the temple. The structure is mostly shattered, and the remnants of our force are cut off and besieged. We can’t pry them a warp window for twenty-six hours.”

“Can they hold that long? Can we?” Fismar asked.

“They’ve fifty troopers and some heavy weaponry. Given a clear field of fire and some air support—”
The Marshal
had been uncertain as to whether the air support would be forthcoming. The precious rider that had just gone down constituted a significant portion of the raid’s aerial capacity and from all accounts it seemed recovering the troops from Alisir had been assigned all but the lowest of priorities. But these troopers didn’t need to know that. “Shan, can you run the sensor array?” He thrust the sensor kit into her hands.

“I guess I’ll learn.”

Seg unloaded his gear onto the ground. No more need for vita sensing or any other extraneous equipment. Water, a couple of ration bars, and the heavy needler he had recovered from inside the gunship would serve.

“You know how to handle that, Theorist?” Fismar asked dubiously, his eyes on the large weapon.

“I fired one in qualifications, and we’ll need all the firepower we can get,” Seg answered, checked the displays and dug into his memory on the operation of the weapon, as he hefted the stabilizing harness over his shoulder.

Fismar nodded and shrugged.

“We march. Ama, lead.”

She set off at a fast clip with a course already in mind. The high winding buttress roots of the Veya trees would make for slow going in parts. They would have to climb over them. Alternative routes were too rocky and steep for the injured soldier. Plus, the roots would make for suitable cover if needed.

Seg’s people weren’t clumsy but they weren’t used to negotiating the forest and Fismar was injured; Ama frequently slowed her pace so they wouldn’t lose sight of her.

As they approached a clearing she heard the crackle of footsteps and waved for Seg and the soldiers to get down. When they did, she scurried up a small widgewood tree, and scouted the area. The striped back of an imheth, nosing through the brush for rodents, elicited a sigh of relief.

She gave a low whistle as she swung back down to earth and pressed forward, with a cursory glance over her shoulder to ensure the group was behind her.

At a patch of sedweed, Ama pulled out her knife and cut off four stalks. One she kept for herself, the remaining three she tossed back to the others and demonstrated to the two soldiers how to drink from them. The nectar was sweet. Good energy, especially in the heat of summer, when it was too easy to dehydrate.

Later, when they reached a small stream, she paused and waited for Seg and the soldiers. If they wanted water, this would be a good spot to stop. The limping soldier gasped for breath and was soaked in sweat. To Seg, she whispered, “Will he make it
?
”