Guard at the Gates of Hell (Gladius Book 1) Page 12

  Shana wasn't going away happy and she was sure Theodore wasn't going to forget his wetting either. But he was egotistical enough that he might let up on the network if he made her feel punished. She'd have to handle the rest as it happened. And try to keep her job. "Okay, Adam, I'll do it. But anything he does goes on feed, got it?"

  Adam wasn't happy with that, but a tridio lens had a way of controlling politicians. He secretly sympathized with Shana, but this was disaster recovery for the network. And his job. Still, Theodore might control himself on a live broadcast. "Yeah, I understand. Just go out there and do the story. Theodore'll behave."

  Shana nodded grimly. "I'll eat crow for you, Adam, but I won't put up with that pig if he tries something."

  BAYVIEW

  The interview looked like it was going to be as bad as Shana expected. She gave the usual fluff stuff about the power station and its economic impact on the local economy. She could do that in her sleep. The bad part was putting up with Theodore's childishly vindictive ego as she prepared to smile through the interview. "Member, you have certainly scored a coup in bringing this economic boon to your district. How do you feel about that?"

  Theodore was on his best on-camera behavior. He smiled brightly into the tridiocam clipped to her left ear, well aware that her support crew was doing detailed shots for later editing with their own more capable equipment. Be nice, he told himself, this bitch was shooting live. That was a nasty surprise. Nobody had told him and his makeup wasn't in place. Well, the lower resolution cam on the bitch's ear wouldn't catch enough for him to worry about. He chalked up the live cam trick as something else she'd regret later. His time was coming. "Well, Shana, I work long and hard for my people, and I'm glad you recognize the fact." The superior smile said she'd better grovel some more.

  Shana took a deep mental breath and prepared to grovel. "It's certainly a sign of your dedication Member -"

  That's when the raid alarm broadcast started.

  PLANETARY COMMAND CENTER

  PCC personnel were some of the best in the Guard's ground component, priding themselves on stoic professionalism. They also had more experience than they wanted dealing with Wareegan raids.

  The tech on the outer system scan was tense, but didn't let it show. Her voice was the professionally approved level monotone made traditional over the millennia. "I have tachyon drive field collapse at twenty two light minutes, 2-2-4-5 mils relative, 1-2-2-9 mils declension. Time, one three oh seven oh three zulu... mark. Configuration and mass consistent with Wareegan mother ship."

  "Mils", known as "milliradians" on formal occasions, were the Imperial measurement of arc, with 6400 of them in a circle. "True" directions were based on a line from the star to galactic center. A "relative" direction in this case was based on a line from the planet to the star. Aboard a ship, "relative" was always based on the ship's current course. All of that meant that the Wareegans were coming in from a direction that was roughly four o'clock to the planet's relationship to the star and about two o'clock above the ecliptic.

  "Condition Red. Drones, get a scanner on that bogie now. I want details." The shift supervisor was equally tense, equally professional. "Fighter command, alert the ready squadrons on Luna and Lunetta. Commo, inform the Commander and start the call-in list."

  The next command took a second's thought. It was a new procedure. "Contact the legion commo center and get the Legate up on conference holo."

  "Looks like we have another one, boys and girls," he continued grimly. "Time to go to work."

  #####

  Less than ten minutes later, The Planetary Guard Commander and the Narsima Matic Ettranty were standing next to the holo image of Legate Corona. All three were watching the approach of the mother ship's symbol on the Big Board's screen. "They always launch a flight of landing beacons at thirty light seconds from Cauldwell," Imin said. "With luck, they won't modify their routine when they launch their assault shuttles. They'll get inside Lunetta's orbit before they drop shuttles if nothing's changed and I'm betting it hasn't. I've already ordered Defcon Four and Op Plan Delta One."

  The Narsima had only yesterday been briefed on the new defensive plans worked out between the Guard and the Victrix. The briefing did not make him happy. "I still say this is a waste of valuable defensive firepower, Corona," the Legate rumbled. "The Guard would be better used closer to Cauldwell."

  You mean over Beauregard and your fat priceless self, the Legate thought but didn't say. He and the Narsima maintained, at best, an armed truce in their dealings. "As I told you, Narsima," he said instead, "hitting them in near-Cauldwell space will protect the entire planet to the extent of the Guard's ability. They cannot hurt that mother ship, but they can kill assault shuttles and now know how to do it. We can handle the Wareegans on the ground, but every one they kill during the drop is one less for us to deal with."

  The Narsima wasn't necessarily adverse to Gladius casualties, but he was realistic enough to know his survival depended on the two men with him. Using that hidden Imperial courier boat to extract him and his Imperial liaison from the situation was out of the question as long as the mother ship was not engaged in combat. The courier boat would be run down and caught before it could engage tachyon field drive and the probable results of capture produced images the Narsima shuddered to contemplate. Well enough. Hopefully the Guard and the legion would fight back this incursion. Then other courses of action could be contemplated.

  He favored the Legate's holo image with a glare. "For all our sakes, Corona, I hope you know what we're doing."

  The Legate returned the glare with emotionless imperturbability. "It will work. The only question is casualties, and we hope to keep them to a minimum, if your shelters work." Both knew a great deal of the appropriated money had been skimmed off at various political levels, so the shelters weren't deep or hardened enough for good protection. Still, they were better than nothing.

  The Legate hoped that those shelters would keep collateral civilian deaths to a minimum, but he didn't nurse high expectations. There were going to be dead citizens. That was certain. Again he mentally damned the Narsima and all the other types that were concerned with nothing but their own enrichment and perks of power. Dying in one of these raids wasn't real enough to them and the average citizen didn't matter. Then again, if his own plans worked out, that situation would change.

  BEAUREGARD

  Member Theodore was sipping a cool drink, but was anything but calm as he surveyed the feed from the PCC's screen. The beautifully paneled walls and the quiet background music were all part of the VIP bunker, much more strongly built and far more deeply buried than the one built for the proles, designed to withstand the ten kiloton blast of the missile designed to obliterate a Wareegan raid. The public shelters weren't designed to that standard, but it wasn't necessary in their case. They could always spare some of the underclass, Theodore sniffed to himself, so skimming some of the public shelter money to build the power station was only logical. Besides, saving him and his fellows was simply necessary to the continuation of civilization. He'd felt no remorse as his bodyguards and handlers shoved people out of the way in their mad dash for the shelter. Saving him was only proper and they were sure to survive. So why was he nervous?

  ######

  Shana was already heartily sick of Adam yelling frenetic instructions through her broadcast headset. "Get panic shots! Crowd movement! Confusion! That's what grabs the viewer! Get it!"

  She was sending out live feed from her ear cam and Adam was getting his money's worth from the frantic flow of the crowd. The police were doing their best to keep things orderly, but trouble had started early when Theodore and his group had started a panic by barging off in a dead run for someplace, knocking men and women down, nearly trampling a child. She had shots of that, but she was pretty sure Adam had blocked them. Now she was getting the jostling crowds headed for the shelter. The sickening thought in the back of her mind was this wasn't the bad part. The public shelters were too sm
all to hold everyone. The real panic would start once the blast doors were closed and people were locked out. She put that worry aside and prayed to the Lord Above Bayview wasn't the target.

  PLANETARY COMMAND CENTER

  Imin sat in his command chair in the PCC, watching the mother ship's symbol creep ever closer to Cauldwell. Everything was set and all he could do was wait. In a way, he wished the Legate hadn't given him those chips on fighter tactics. The Guard used to fly in beautiful formations, vics of three, with him up there leading them as he should be.

  The first time they'd fought Wareegan assault shuttles, Imin thought, they'd come in fat and happy, with big beautiful formations and no idea what they were really doing. Lord Above, but they were dumb! They'd lost half their strength for their trouble, not to mention a whole city. He resolutely didn't think about the second one.

  Now things were different. The Legate's chips were standard Impy training manuals, showing the way real combat pilots did it. That was enough for him to radically shift the Guard's tactics and operating procedures. Imin planned to win the next battle. This battle. Now they knew how.

  Imperial tactics dictated two ship flights, lead and wing man, moving in an interlaced pattern to make them harder to hit. Squadron direction under the new procedures came from the squadron commanders and they in turn got direction from an overwatch bird loaded with scanners and space control personnel. Entirely different, but everything worked. Very well, in fact. They'd practiced hard enough over the last weeks enough to know that. Now he was down in the PCC, ready to pass operational decisions to the controllers who, in turn, would tactically direct the squadrons. And maybe, just maybe, if the Guard and the Victrix did their part, they wouldn't lose another city.

  So far, the Wareegans were following the script. The Guard had drilled against an opposing force simulating the Wareegans' tactics and come out ahead nearly every time. After action reviews identified and corrected tactical faults. Imin wasn't worried if the damned raiders followed the doctrine they'd showed so far. If they changed, he had the flexibility to adapt, but it would create some temporary confusion and reduce the number of kills. He just wanted those bastards to come in like always.

  There! They'd launched a beacon flight. Ground defense would let the beacons through so he knew where to send the Victrix. The beacons were inbound and they'd get a course track in just a few... The course track blinked into being on the screen as the computers analyzed the data.

  Oh, Lord Above!

  He opened his personal communications channel to the Legate. //"We've got a landing site."//

  Imin had to swallow the nervous lump in his throat. //"It's Bayview."// He paused for a second. It seemed silly to talk about a single person, but they both knew her well. //"That's where Shana is right now."//

  The Legate was silent for a moment. //"Understood. And noted about Sim Ettranty. We're already formed and will be loading as soon as possible, but I estimate at least four hours before we can hit them. How long before you expect landings?"//

  Imin looked at his tactical screen. //"Less than that,"// he said flatly. //"Call it around three. They're launching now. We'll be hitting them as soon as they clear the mother ship's defensive fire envelope. After that, it depends on the Lord Above. All I can say is hurry."//

  The Legate's voice was grim. //"We will."//

  A red light began blinking urgently on Imin's control board. //"Legate, wait. Something important."//

  His face developed a sickly hue as he got the Analysis Section's report. //"Legate, they're doing something different. They've only launched twenty or thirty assault shuttles in the past, but Tracking says they've launched about a hundred. That might be their full complement. Analysis says this is no longer a raid."//

  //"They're coming to stay this time,"// the Legate finished the report for him. //"I was wondering what they'd do about your nuclear strike. Now we know. They'll take Bayview for a beachhead, set up antimissile defenses, and fan out from there under a defensive umbrella. They want to clean off the planet."//

  The Legate's voice was now flat and unemotional with the notorious Gladius calm. //"Commander, that is their plan, but it's not going to work. We'll get there in time to stop the anti-air defenses from being emplaced then it's our turn. Your job is to stop as many of those assault shuttles as you can, any way you can."//

  //"Legate,"// Imin said quietly, //"each of those shuttles carries around a hundred aliens. That means they've launched nearly ten thousand raiders. If we kill half of them, you're still outnumbered by sixty percent."//

  //"Commander,"// the Legate continued in tones that were just as quiet but far more relaxed, //"they are the Predator. They are what we hunt and kill. They will not see the dawn. Out."//

  "May the Lord Above be with you, Legate," Imin said softly to himself. "And with us." Then he looked at the tactical screen. The assault shuttles were just about in the right place. Time to start the party.

  He switched channels and spoke. //"Execute Delta One."//

  LUNA

  Fighter pilots were by definition aggressive and arrogant, and they reveled in it. Possibly it was reaction to being considered expendable. That at least was Squadron Commander Taduz "Bat" Berkowicz's considered opinion on the matter as he watched the feed on his fighter cockpit's small tactical screen. The feed was coming from the observation station on Jack Luna's Moon.

  For a second, the irrepressibly whimsical portion of his brain wondered how in hell Cauldwell had gotten two moons named after First Ship's most notorious bootlegger and his daughter Lunetta, thinking of several hilariously wild scenarios. Bat quit woolgathering as the controller's voice came over his headset. //"All Zulu formations, command imminent. Zulu Two, execute on my command. Stand by."//

  Bat didn't reply. Com silence and all that. He knew everyone in his Second Squadron, Planetary Guard, AKA Jawbreakers, AKA Zulu Two, had lifted from their forward base on the moon and was ready. Directional transmissions had confirmed readiness ten minutes ago, after they'd settled into their hide in Luna's airless valleys. Zulu Three was here somewhere and Five would be coming off Lunetta. One and Four had the hard part, coming off the planet's surface. They'd be at a disadvantage because of the gravity well, but they justhad to get in front of the assault shuttles. Six was in the middle, swinging around from the planet's shadow as a reserve. Thank the Lord Above this happened in the middle of a duty day so all pilots and crew were already available to scramble!

  They'd practiced this in simulators and in space, with live opposition and in drills. It ought to work. Getting retrained because of information from the ground pounders was irritating, but the wonderful tactics they'd been given soothed bruised egos. Besides, the Gladii weren't really doing the training. All they did was tell them there was a better way and give them the materials on how to go about it. Every pilot in the Guard had undergone a religious experience when the new tactics were explained. Bat, the Commander, and the rest of the Guard leadership took it from there for five or six frantic weeks. Now they were about to test the result in the only examination that counted. And it was pass - fail. Bat intended to pass with flying colors.

  //"All Zulu formations,"// came the dispassionate voice, //"be advised Zulu One and Four have lifted."//

  Okay, Bat thought, looking at his tac screen, those assholes ought to be reacting soon. There were a hell of a lot of them. Lots more than previously. No matter. It was a classic target rich environment, as the ancient phrase went.

  Bat had only flown combat once in his career - the first raid - and had gotten his squadron's ass handed to him. So, okay, now they knew how the game was played by the big boys and they intended to play the same way.

  There they went, he thought, as the Wareegans spread out into a mutually defensive linear formation. One and Four were coming up and they were showing the old dumb tactics of going straight for the assault shuttles. Uh-uh, baby, not this time. Just stay in that wonderful line, waving your big fat asses at us. We've got a
surprise for you.

  //"Zulu Two, Zulu Three, Zulu Five, execute."// This time the controller's voice was showing a little suppressed excitement.

  No response. Still commo silence. The movement of his fighter as it slowly lifted up where the rest of the squadron could see him was enough. As soon as he came out of his terrain blind, Luna base would report execution via secure transmission.

  Sure enough, his tac screen showed the other five fighters in the squadron rising and falling into formation with him. Further out, Three was popping into view also. Time to go. //"Zulu Two,"// he said, coming up on the squadron net for the first time, //"go, go, go. Go, go, go. Go, go, go."//

  He got five triple tones in response as he applied full military power. Zulu Two and Three shot out from behind Luna to join Zulu Five in the first fully coordinated space attack in the Guard's history. They had a blood debt to settle.

  ITC 901

  The Legate was in full armor with his B-42 slung across his chest, helmet in hand, and his armor's refractive camouflage fully active as he jumped off the carryall, running up the nose ramp of the troop carrier and onto the bridge. He racked his helmet next to his seat and picked up his headset. He came up on the all hands channel. //"Victrix,"// he said, //"the Predator's coming."//

  The Legate could sense the grim anticipation his men radiated at that phrase. //"We're probably looking at five K plus, gentlemen, but we have a little advantage. They don't know we're here... and that fact will come as a most unpleasant surprise. Make the best use of it. As soon as you're seated, check your tactical downloads. I expect the raiders to be on the ground when we get there, so we'll go with Op Plan Hotel. I'll pass on which variant when we see what the raiders are doing.