Relentless (18 page)

“Here come the last three shuttles,” Desjani noted.

The operations watch called out right afterward. “Final evac shuttles landing in five, four, three, two, one, they’re down.”

All of the Marines in the last three platoons seemed to bolt as one for the shuttles. Geary wondered how long it would take the Syndic commandos to realize what was happening.

“
Relentless
and
Reprisal
are launching the covering bombardment,” the combat-systems watch reported.

Geary sat, watching the rocks head downward to where the three shuttles sat, the Marines just now reaching the shuttles and hurling themselves inside. On one side of the display, two time lines counted down, one for the shuttles to get off the ground and the other for the moment of impact for the bombardment. The two sets of numbers were far too close together for comfort.

Dauntless
’s bridge was as quiet as he’d ever heard it, quiet in that unnatural way when people waited to see the outcome of a life-or-death gamble.

“The shuttles have to lift within the next ten seconds,” Desjani reported.

“Yeah. I see.” He could also see a few final Marines sprinting toward their craft.

“Shuttle one is in the air, climbing at maximum,” the operations watch reported. “We’re seeing ground fire aimed at the shuttles. The Syndic commandos are breaking cover to engage the last shuttles. Shuttle defensive systems are firing back and engaging protective countermeasures. Shuttle three is in the air. Shuttle two reports a problem sealing the main compartment hatch.” Geary felt his breathing freeze. “Shuttle two is lifting with the hatch open. Speed and protection will be compromised.”

He could see the action, the tracks of enemy fire reaching for the shuttles as they tore skyward, counterfire from the shuttles racing downward to strike among the indications of Syndic commandos, who still remained almost invisible in their stealth gear. And, from above, just over a hundred bombardment projectiles seconds from passing through the same airspace as the shuttles.

It was strange how very long a second could be.

THE tracks of shuttles and bombardment merged, then diverged, the shuttles clawing for altitude and the rocks hurtling down the final distance to the surface. Geary heard the shuttle pilots yelling over their command circuit. “One of those damned things almost took off my ear!”

“Severe turbulence! Trying to maintain control!”

“We lost the main hatch!” That was shuttle two. “Make sure those Marines are strapped in and their armor is sealed! That’s all that’s going to be between them and vacuum!”

Beneath the fleeing shuttles, the entire central section of the former POW camp blew skyward in a single huge blast as the impacts of all of the bombardment rocks merged. Debris and shrapnel shot upward, chasing after the escaping shuttles as if the planet itself were reaching to grab them and pull the shuttles back to the surface.

Then another explosion burst out of the destruction on one side of the camp, an even more massive blast mushrooming toward the heavens.

“One of the Syndic nukes detonated,” the operations watch reported.

“Come on,” Desjani urged the shuttles in a whisper as they raced upward with shock waves and debris still in hot pursuit.

“We’re hit! Damage to starboard lift unit. Continuing on track, maximum velocity reduced twenty percent.”

“Climbing clear of danger zone.”

“Multiple strikes on our underside. Two penetrations. Shifting to backup on maneuvering controls.”

Geary could never be sure at which moment the crisis passed, the instant in which the three shuttles outran the death of the POW camp and the Syndic commandos within it. But at some point there was no longer any doubt.

“All shuttles clear.
Colossus
is closing on shuttle two for an emergency docking. Shuttles one and three proceeding as assigned to
Spartan
and
Guardian
.”

“Okay,” Desjani said, grinning. “It was my plan.”

“Right,” Geary agreed, almost laughing with relief as he triggered his command circuit. “
Relentless
and
Reprisal
, excellent shooting. Every ship performed with distinction, and every Marine and shuttle in this fleet went above and beyond the call of duty. As soon as the final shuttle is recovered, the fleet will proceed toward the jump point for Padronis.” He closed his eyes for a moment after finishing the transmission, breathing heavily. “And I thought fleet actions were tough.”

Far beneath the fleet, the only movements within the remnants of the former POW camp were caused by debris falling back to the surface and the mushroom cloud still rising on one side. Desjani was smiling. “Those Syndics successfully carried out the suicide part of their mission, anyway.”

Geary thought of what those commandos could have done to his Marines, his shuttles, and the thousands of Alliance prisoners who had been liberated, and nodded in agreement.

The next half hour felt like a major anticlimax as the shuttles found their assigned homes on different ships of the fleet. Far beneath the fleet, parts of Heradao’s surface writhed as forces loyal to rebel factions and Syndic central authority clashed, but none of them tried to target the Alliance ships. “Do we need to provide cover for those withdrawing Syndic guards and their families?” Geary asked.

“There’s no sign of pursuit, sir. It’s likely most people on that planet think the guards went up with the camp.”

“Good.” After all the frantic activity, Geary felt fidgety waiting for the time when he could order the fleet into motion. While he waited, a postponed question popped back into his head. He bent a puzzled look at Desjani. “Why the hell do the Marines call their deception devices Persian Donkeys?”

Desjani replied with her own baffled expression. “I’m sure there’s a reason. Lieutenant Casque, you don’t have anything to do at the moment. See if the database can explain it.”

“And who the hell named those things hupnums? It makes them sound cute.”

This time Desjani just spread her hands helplessly. “I’m sure it was a committee. What did they call hupnums in, uh, the past?”

Geary wondered just what phrase Desjani had hastily avoided using to describe his time a century ago. “They called them PNWs. Portable Nuclear Weapons. Nice and simple.”

“But every nuclear weapon is portable,” Desjani objected. “Some may be carried by very large missiles or ships, but they’re still portable.”

He glared at her. “Did you ever work as an editor at your uncle’s literary agency?”

“A few times. What does that have to with anything?”

“Do you
like
the term hupnums, Captain Desjani?”

“No! In the fleet we usually call them NAMs.”

“NAMs?” Why couldn’t the future come with a glossary explaining common terms? Though come to think of it, he had heard sailors using the term a few times.

“Yes.” Desjani made an apologetic gesture. “Nuclear-Armed Marines. It’s shorthand among the sailors for something that’s a bad idea.”

Geary fought to keep a straight face. “I guess some things never change. Do you think there was ever a time when Marines and sailors got along?”

“We get along fine if planetary forces try to mess with us,” Desjani pointed out. “And when there’s a mission to carry out.”

“What about in bars?”

“That usually doesn’t go so good. Unless there’s planetary-forces types in the bars, too.”

“Just like in the past,” Geary agreed.

“Captain?” Lieutenant Casque called. “The database says those things are called Persian Donkeys because of some really ancient story. These people called Persians invaded some other place and got trapped by an enemy that was more mobile, so they had to get away at night without the enemy realizing they were going. The Persians had these things called donkeys that the enemy hadn’t seen before, and these donkeys made a lot of noise, so the Persians left all the donkeys behind to fool the enemy into thinking all of the Persians were still there. I guess these donkeys were some kind of primitive deception device.”

Lieutenant Yuon gave Casque a pained look. “Donkeys are animals.”

“Oh. Captain, donkeys are—”

“Thank you. I know.” Desjani seemed skeptical as she questioned Lieutenant Casque. “How old is this story? What does ancient mean?”

“Captain, the source is marked as ‘ancient book—Earth’ and that’s as old as it gets. I guess the Marines read about it in that book.”

“Excellent assumption, Lieutenant.” Desjani made a who-knew gesture toward Geary. “There’s your answer, sir. The Marines heard this ancient story. Maybe they study it as the first documented case of deception in warfare. No, that’d be that wooden horse thing I heard about once. Anyway, old story.”

“Even older than I,” Geary replied. “At least I’m pretty sure that must have happened before I joined the fleet.” He’d never expected to be able to joke about how long ago that had been, but in the glow of relief after the ground engagement, such things didn’t seem to hold as much anguish as they once did.

“Sir,” the operations watch called, “all shuttles have been recovered.”

“Excellent.” Geary sent the orders accelerating the Alliance fleet toward a rendezvous with the repaired warships, auxiliaries, and escorts back in the region of the engagement with the Syndic flotilla. Once joined up again, the fleet would head for the jump point for Padronis. “Something just occurred to me. We knew how badly the Syndic fleet has been hurt lately, but how did the rebels in this star system know? They broke their leash almost as soon as we’d destroyed the Syndic flotilla here.”

Rione answered, her voice thoughtful. “There’s bound to have been rumors among the citizens of the Syndicate Worlds, but the only ones who would know the true extent of the fleet’s losses would be senior personnel and CEOs. Which means some of the senior Syndics and CEOs are part of the forces that are trying to overthrow Syndic control of Heradao. The rot is just as bad as we suspected.”

“Then this could be happening in a lot of places as news spreads,” Geary said.

“Perhaps. But the Syndics still have considerable ability to try to retain control of individual star systems. Any collapse of the Syndicate Worlds will take a long time to work its way through all of the star systems.”

“A long time? Too bad,” Desjani murmured as she checked her display. “The shuttles bringing some of the liberated POWs to
Dauntless
are preparing to off-load.”

Geary came to his feet. “Let’s go welcome them.”

“Yes,” Rione agreed, “if the commanding officer of
Dauntless
doesn’t object to my presence as well.”

“Of course not, Madam Co-President,” Desjani replied with a professionally detached tone of voice.

They arrived at the shuttle dock as the first bird dropped its main hatch, and the former prisoners began walking down the ramp. The liberated prisoners filed off the shuttle, gazing around with expressions of joy and disbelief. In the remnants of their old uniforms and cast-off, badly worn civilian clothes provided by the Syndics, they looked very much like the prisoners who had been liberated way back at Sutrah Star System. The entire scene, the emotions present in everyone, felt like that at Sutrah.

“I guess the thrill of liberating our own prisoners of war never goes away,” Desjani murmured, somehow echoing Geary’s own thoughts.

Just about then a voice called across the shuttle dock. “Vic? Vic Rione?” One of the newly liberated prisoners, tall and thin and wearing commander insignia on an old coat, was staring their way, his eyes widening with disbelief.

Victoria Rione was peering back at the man, her expression puzzled, then she gave a quick intake of breath. Recovering quickly, she called out a reply. “Kai! Kai Fensin!”

Rione stepped forward to meet Fensin as he left the line and walked quickly toward her. Some of the sailor escorts herding the former prisoners along to sick bay made abortive motions to stop Fensin but halted when Desjani made a quick gesture. “Vic?” Fensin asked in a wondering voice as he reached them. “When did you join the fleet? You haven’t aged a day.”

“Vic?” Desjani muttered too low for anyone but Geary to hear.

“Be nice,” he muttered back to her before joining Rione.

Rione was shaking her head and looking embarrassed. “I feel much older, and I haven’t joined the fleet, Kai. May I introduce the fleet commander, Captain Geary?”

“Geary.” Commander Fensin smiled, his expression disbelieving. “They told us on the shuttles who was in command of the fleet. Who else could have brought it here to free us?” Looking suddenly aghast at himself, Fensin straightened to attention. “It’s an honor, sir, a great honor.”

“At ease, Commander,” Geary ordered. “Relax. There’ll be plenty of time for ceremony later.”

“Yes, sir,” Fensin agreed. “I served with another Geary once. Michael Geary. A grandnephew of yours. We were junior officers together on the
Vanquish
.”

Geary felt his own smile slide away. Fensin caught it, looking anxious now. “I’m sorry. Did he die?”

“He may have,” Geary answered, wondering how his voice sounded. “His ship was destroyed in the Syndic home system, covering this fleet’s withdrawal.”

“He pulled a Geary?” Fensin blurted, invoking the last stand for which Black Jack had become famous. “Of all people. I mean . . .” Fensin seemed simply horrified at his own verbal gaffes.

“I understand,” Geary said. “He didn’t think much of Black Jack after having to grow up in his shadow. But he seemed to understand me better at the end, when faced with the same situation.” Time to change the subject to something that would hopefully be more comfortable. “How do you know Co-President Rione?”

“Co-president?” Fensin’s stare shifted to Rione.

She nodded back to him. “Of the Callas Republic. And, uh, member of the Alliance Senate, of course, because of that. I went into politics to serve the Alliance after Paol . . .” Rione paused, blinking rapidly. “I’d been told he was dead, but recently learned he was still alive when taken prisoner. Do you know anything?”