A Fighting Chance (3 page)

But, as Santana discovered when he was shown into a cavernous living area, the heads in the hallway were nothing compared to the beast that eyed him from the far end of the room. The reptile was about eight feet tall and equipped with four muscular legs. Yellow eyes were set into a bony head. And there were lots of sharp-looking teeth inside a yawning mouth. A meat eater for sure.

“It’s a velocipod,” a male voice said. “I took it down with a .50-caliber Hawking. Anything smaller just pisses them off. The range was about a hundred feet. Closer than I would like—but that’s how it is with velocipods. They’re damned fast, so you only have seconds in which to fire.”

When Santana turned in the direction of the voice, he saw that a pair of easy chairs was positioned in front of a large window looking out onto the bay. One of them was occupied by a middle-aged man dressed in civilian khakis. He had a receding hairline with a prow-shaped nose and appeared to be in good shape except for the leg propped up in front of him. It was encased in a cast that produced a thumping sound when struck with a swagger stick. “I was gored,” the man explained. “A stupid mistake. But when another member of my party missed his shot—I went into a thicket of brush to finish the tusker off. It damned near went the other way!”

The last was said with a smile and obvious amusement. “Please have a seat. I’m Colonel Antov. And I assume that you are Major Santana.”

Santana confirmed that he was and took the chair next to Antov’s. They were separated by a side table that held a lamp, the swagger stick, and a pair of binoculars. “Can I interest you in a cup of O-Chi caf?” Antov inquired. “We produce the best beans in the Confederacy. Or did back before the bugs landed.”

“I would love a cup of O-Chi caf,” Santana replied. “It’s difficult to get a decent cup of coffee anymore.”

“Heedu!” Antov said loudly. “Fetch the major a cup of caf.”

The servant had been so quiet, and his slightly shimmery skin had blended so well with the wood paneling, that Santana didn’t know the O-Chi was present until he spoke. “Yes, Colonel. Right away, sir.” Then he was gone.

“So,” Antov said. “We gave you something of a warm welcome didn’t we? I was sitting right here when your TACBASE passed over the bay. It was quite a sight. My people knew the score. But it appears that Major Temo forgot to tell her troops about your arrival, so they mistook the TACBASE for a Ramanthian ship and opened fire. It was a regrettable mistake but an understandable one. Air superiority shifts back and forth all the time. And when the bugs are on top, they love to shoot the place up.”

Santana’s eyebrows rose as Heedu returned with a tray. “Major Temo?”

“Major Temo was my XO,” Antov explained. “Back before Governor Hardy was killed. Then, based on a very fanciful interpretation of the law, she named herself to replace him. Here, take a look through these . . . You can see the Temo family’s pharmaceutical plant on the north side of the bay. They make a number of drugs based on extracts from O-Chi plants. That’s how they make their money. Lots of it.”

Santana brought the military-style device up to his eyes as Heedu placed a steaming cup of caf on the table next to him. When he pressed the zoom button, the other side of the bay seemed to leap forward. He saw a businesslike dock, a jumble of low-lying buildings, and some higher ground beyond. “That’s where all of the AA fire was coming from,” Antov commented. “Back before she tried to supplant the planetary government, Temo was in command of the O-Chi Scouts. They’re good people and excellent soldiers.

“But most of the scouts are employed by Temo Pharmaceuticals. And the family continues to pay them even though they can’t ship any pharmaceuticals off-planet at the moment. That buys a lot of loyalty.”

“Maybe I should talk to her,” Santana said, as he put the glasses down.

“You’re welcome to try,” Antov replied, wryly. “But I don’t think you’ll get very far.”

“No? Why not?”

“You may have noticed that there was a group of houses on top of Signal Hill before you cleared it,” Antov replied. “The largest belonged to the Temo family.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly. But it gets worse. Major Temo’s grandmother was living there.”

Santana winced. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You had no way to know,” Antov said philosophically. “And you were under fire. Plus, that drop box must have been running low on fuel. How much burn time did you have left?”

“A little over two minutes.”

“There you have it,” Antov put in. “The Temos will file a formal complaint once they get the opportunity. But I will submit an after-action report to General Kobbi indicating why it was necessary to land on the hill. That should prevent any fallout.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome. But you won’t thank me for what I’m going to say next. Unfortunately, given my leg, I won’t be able to accompany you. And, before you depart, it will be necessary to do something about Temo. My Rifles keep the O-Chi Scouts out of Baynor’s Bay. But if they were to depart, Temo would take over the south-bay area in a matter of hours. Then, having named herself governor, she would use the Scouts to take over what remains of our planetary government.”

Santana felt a rising sense of anger. The need to deal with what amounted to a civil war before tackling the real mission was frustrating to say the least. But it wouldn’t do any good to say that, and he didn’t. “Yes, sir. Assuming we are able to resolve the Temo problem—what can you tell me about the mission itself ?”

Antov grinned approvingly. “Spoken like the fire-eating officer that Kobbi says you are. Let’s adjourn to my study. There’s something I want to show you. Heedu! Bring my crutches.”

Between the slight, thin-limbed O-Chi and the more muscular Santana, they were able to hoist Antov up onto his good leg. Then, with the aid of sturdy crutches, the militia officer thumped his way into a well-furnished study. The walls were hung with trophies, animal skins covered most of the floor, and a huge gun cabinet stood in a corner. There was a desk as well. But it had been pushed back out of the way to make room for the table at the center of the room and the meticulously crafted object that sat on top of it.

Rather than a holo projection of the sort the Legion’s Intel people would put together, it was a handcrafted model reminiscent of those that military leaders had employed thousands of years before. What looked like a small mountain had been painstakingly texturized to make it look real. Miniature fortifications could be seen, and a very convincing paint job had been applied to all of the component parts, including hundreds of miniature trees.

As Santana circled the table, Antov offered a running narration. “The mountain didn’t have a name until the bugs landed six months ago. Now we call it Headstone, because that’s where more than a thousand of our citizens are buried,” Antov said grimly. “That may not sound like a lot to you. Not given the millions who have been killed during the war. But it’s a large number for us. The planet had a population of about sixty thousand people before the war began.”

Santana looked up. “Was that the
total
population? Or the human population?”

“I don’t know,” Antov admitted. “It’s hard to say how many sticks live out in the bush.”

“Sticks?”

“We call them ‘sticks’ because they look like sticks,” Antov said irritably. “What difference does it make?”

Santana looked over to where Heedu was standing with his back to the wall. He was more visible now that the officer knew what to look for. The O-Chi was wearing a brown fez, matching vest, and a breechcloth. Heedu didn’t have a facial expression as far as Santana could tell. Although he had spent enough time with nonhumans to know that such perceptions were almost always wrong. Most species employed some sort of nonverbal communications. “The number of O-Chies could be important,” Santana said mildly. “It is their planet after all.”

Antov produced a snort of derision. “Please, Major . . . Spare me the social nonsense. This is war. We don’t have the time or resources to count indigs, initiate assimilation projects, or conduct anthropological studies. I suggest that you focus your attention on the task at hand.”

The tone was harsh, and Santana could tell that Antov was angry. “Yes, sir.”

“There are two ways to attack Headstone,” Antov said, as he picked up the narration. “By air, which is how the first assault went in, or on the ground. Unfortunately, an airborne attack is out of the question at the moment. Simply put, we lack the aircraft required to carry one out. Not to mention the fact that the bugs have had plenty of time in which to install antiaircraft batteries. Our scouts have gotten fairly close and report that the STS installation is surrounded by them.”

Santana knew that “STS” stood for surface-to-space, as in surface-to-space cannons. They were weapons so powerful they could reach into the void and destroy ships thousands of miles out. And according to the briefing he had received before leaving Adobe, if a cannon was constructed on top of Headstone, it would be able to fire on the neighboring O-Chi jump point.

That was important because even though ships could enter hyperspace just about anywhere, jump points were like shortcuts, which could save both time and fuel. So capturing and controlling such sites was important to both sides. “Okay,” Santana replied. “An air assault is out. But what about air cover? Will there be any?”

“We have five CF-150 Daggers and an in-atmosphere transport generally referred to as
The Hangar Queen
. That’s it,” Antov replied. “The good news is that the
Lictor
dropped some much-needed parts and ammo into the atmosphere—and we were able to retrieve all but one of the containers. So the 150s will remain operational for a bit longer, and we have enough ordinance for the mission and plenty of field rations.”

Santana nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. We brought supplies of our own—but not enough to equip your forces as well. So tell me about the ground attack. What’s the best way in?”

Antov’s crutches made a thumping sound as he moved in closer. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it,” he said. “Unfortunately, I don’t see any alternative to a direct assault up the west side of the ridge. The first half mile won’t be too bad. But then you’ll come to a very steep section
here
. The bugs know that’s the most likely route, of course, so they’ll be firing down on you from prepared positions.”

Santana eyed the nearly vertical slope, knew the quads wouldn’t be able to negotiate it, and felt a growing emptiness in the pit of his stomach. “And then?”

“Then you’ll be on this flat area,” Antov said, pointing a blunt finger. “As you can see from the model, that’s where the Ramanthians placed their support structure. Two-thirds of it is located underground. So you’ll have to force your way in and clear it. Then you’ll be able to access the lowest level and a corridor that leads to an elevator. That will take you up into the STS battery itself.

“Meanwhile,” Antov continued, “I suggest you send part of your force up along the ridge to create a diversion and pull most of the defenders in that direction. That should do the trick.”

The last was said so casually that Antov could have been describing a walk in a park rather than a hellish assault that was certain to claim hundreds of lives even if successful. For one brief moment, Santana wondered if Antov’s wound was real. But Kobbi swore by the man, and there was no denying his record in the Marine Corps.

No, the injury was real. And consistent with the man’s personality. Just as he had been willing to enter a thicket of brush looking for a wounded tusker—Antov would think nothing of attacking Headstone with little more than a swagger stick.

Santana was about to ask a follow-up question when Captain Kimbo charged into the room. “Sir! A Ramanthian submarine surfaced in the middle of the bay. It’s firing on the TACBASE.”

Then, as if to emphasize the seriousness of the situation, a siren began to wail. Baynor’s Bay was under attack.

2

A monarch should be ever intent on conquest; otherwise, his neighbors will rise in arms against him.

—Akbar
Mughal Indian emperor
Standard year circa 1572

PLANET HIVE, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE

As the destroyer
Star Taker
dropped into orbit, the War Ubatha looked up through a viewport to the planet floating over his head. The mission to Bounty had been a waste of time and energy. But there was no way to have known that in advance.

Security around Hive had always been tight, but in the wake of the surprise attack that the Confederacy had launched eight standard months before, even more ships had been assigned to protect it. A show of force was necessary, of course, but the War Ubatha thought that another attack was unlikely, especially since the humans and their despicable allies were losing the war.

A patrol vessel issued a challenge to the destroyer. Codes were exchanged, checked, and double-checked. Then, and only then, was the
Star Taker
allowed to proceed to one of twenty-four heavily armed space stations that orbited Hive. It took the better part of an hour to dock and match locks. Finally, the War Ubatha was allowed to disembark. He, like all other incoming personnel, regardless of rank, had to pass through a Detox Center, where highly sophisticated sensors were used to detect off-world pathogens, cyborgs, and cleverly designed intelligence-gathering nanos. Some of which were only microns across.

Once cleared, the officer was released into the station proper. Rather than being forced to wait for a regular shuttle, the War Ubatha was escorted onto a military transport that departed moments later. The ship bumped its way down through the atmosphere and entered a high-priority flight path.