The Final Battle (41 page)

“Good luck, Jakob.”

Time ran out. The shuttle began to come apart. Damaged clamps failed, and the stern ramp sagged open far enough to let the slipstream grab it. The air tore the massive piece of foamalloy off and whipped it away.

“Now!” screamed Karroubi.

The ejection system took over. It blasted Michael out into the night and into a violence that overwhelmed his senses.

This is wrong
, he thought as darkness claimed him,
all wrong
.

• • •

Michael awoke.

Rain hammered at the plasfiber capsule, the noise audible even over the insistent ringing in blast-damaged ears. It was light, a murky gray day thanks to the thick clouds that scudded overhead. He had been unconscious for … He tried to make his mind to do the math, but it refused. Since it had been early evening when the shuttle had picked him and Polk up, it was a long time. Commitment’s nights were prolonged affairs. He lay there for a long while, tired beyond belief. It was only with a huge effort that he summoned up the energy to get free of his safety harness and crawl out of the capsule, his shoulder and the rest of his body screeching in protest.

He tried to stand up. That was a mistake. He never made it past one knee before gravity reasserted itself and dragged him back down.

Guess I’m staying put, then
, he said to himself. He pulled the survival pack out of its stowage and wrapped himself in a space blanket. He was almost asleep when a voice snapped him awake.

“Over here,” the voice said. It was a man’s voice, a Hammer voice. Michael’s heart pounded.
Not now
, he thought.
Not after everything
.

Every instinct urged Michael to get away, but he knew he could not. He lay there and stared up into the rain. A face appeared over his. “Here,” the man called out. He knelt down beside Michael. “You okay?”

“Don’t think so,” Michael whispered. “Who are you?”

“Corporal Singh, B Company, 2/284th,
NRA
.”

“Where am I?” Michael asked, overwhelmed by relief.

“Just outside of McNair.”

“McNair, that’s goo—”

At which point Michael passed out.

Sunday, November 7, 2404, UD
McNair, Commitment

Arm in a sling and right shoulder buried beneath an impressive bandage, Michael sat atop a captured Aqaba main battle tank as it threaded its way through the milling throng, a mix of civilian and
NRA
, looks of dazed happiness and relief on every face. The tank slowed to a stop, and the commander stuck her head out of the hatch. “Central Station’s 500 meters that way, Colonel,” she said, pointing down a broad avenue. It was a sorry sight. Once blessed with a double row of imposing trees, most now reduced to shattered stumps, it was lined with bombed-out buildings and littered with the burned-out wreckage of Hammer fighting vehicles. “Sorry I can’t get you any closer.”

“That’s okay. This will do fine.”

“You look after yourself. We owe you big time.”

Michael’s face flushed with embarrassment “Not sure about that,” he said. He’d lost count of the times he’d been thanked for sending Jeremiah Polk into oblivion.

“Well, I am,” the woman said, a broad smile across her grease- and dust-smeared face, a face startlingly young, a face that radiated uninhibited happiness and faith in the future.

Michael looked at her; he felt a million years old. “Thanks for the lift,” he said.

“Need a hand?”

“No, I’m okay,” Michael replied. He eased himself down one-handed. It took a while. His body was still a long way from forgiving him for all it had been put through. He grabbed his pack and set off, trying to ignore the nervous twitching of his heart.

And there she was, sitting with her back against a wall, head back and eyes closed. “Anna!” Michael shouted as he forced his body into a reluctant trot. “Anna!”

Anna looked up, and then she was on her feet and running hard toward him, skidding to halt when she saw the sling. “Oh, Michael,” she said; she pulled him into an awkward one-armed embrace. “What have you done now?”

“Flesh wound,” he said; he buried his face in her shoulder. “It’s nothing. I’m fine … I’m sorry. I was so stup—”

Anna pushed him back. “Stop!” she said. “It’s over. Let’s leave it at that, okay?”

“Over?” Michael looked around at the shattered buildings flanking the debris-littered plaza. “I know it looks that way, but it’s not over, not yet. We still need to—”

“Michael!” Anna snapped. “Stop! It
is
over. Polk and most of his councillors are dead, every Doctrinal Security trooper still alive is being hunted down, the Hammer of Kraa is headed for the trash can, and General Vaas has sent a special ops team to destroy the Hendrik Island antimatter plant. The war’s over, and the threat to humanspace is gone.” Her voice softened to the barest of whispers. “You’ve done all you need to, so let it go. Please, let it go.”

“I have to make sure, Anna,” he said, eyes casting left and right. “I can’t just walk away, not now.”

Anna looked at him for a long time. Her green eyes dragged him back until nothing else existed but the two of them. “I’ve got something to tell you,” she said at last.

“What?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Michael heard the words, but they made no sense. He shook his head, confused. “Pregnant? What do you mean … Ah, you’re pregnant!”

“Ten points, Einstein,” Anna said with a smile.

“Oh,” Michael said. He choked. Unable to speak, he pulled her back into an embrace that lasted five lifetimes.

“Hey, spacer boy,” Anna murmured at last, “we have to go.”

“No, we don’t. I’m not moving. You’re pregnant … I don’t believe it.”

“You should, and yes, it’s yours in case you’re wondering.”

“Anna!” Michael hissed in protest.

“Sorry,” she said; she kissed him full on the lips. “My idea of a bad joke.”

“You’re right. It’s over. So what now?”

“I’ve got us a ride to McNair spaceport. We’ve got places on the
Morkosh Star
, and we’ll be onboard when it breaks orbit tomorrow. I never want to see this asshole of a planet ever again.”

“Whoa, slow down. The
Morkosh Star
. What’s that all about?”

“All the Feds are shipping out over the next few weeks, but I’ve fixed it so we go tomorrow with the first batch.”

“Why the rush? It’d be good to catch up with Admiral Jaruzelska. Vaas too.”

Anna frowned. “I’m sorry,’ she said, her eyes filled with anguish, “but Jaruzelska‘s dead.”

Michael’s head slumped. “Why her?” he said after a while. “After all she’s done, after all she’s risked, she deserved …” He couldn’t say any more, crushed by the brutal injustice of it all. “She was a brave woman,” he said at last. “I’ll miss her.”

“We all will. But she died—”

Michael put his fingers to Anna’s lips. “Not now, later. I just can’t take any more, not right now. I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath to flush the emptiness out of his soul. “What’s the plan?” he asked.

“General Vaas says the Feds have done their bit and we should leave the Revivalists and
NRA
to finish the job. Having us around will only confuse things. The locals have enough to think about without worrying that we might be trying to take over.”

“But I can’t go anywhere near the Federated Worlds. FedPol … they’ll arrest me. You know.” Michael shivered. “I can’t risk it.”

“I know, but who said we were going home?”

Michael frowned. “Where else would we go?”

“The
Morkosh Star
’s first port of call is Scobie’s. I’ve booked us on a ship to Jagnesh, and once we’re there, we’ll find the most exclusive resort the place has to offer and then take … oh, I don’t know … a month to make that decision. Maybe two.”

“I’d like that,” Michael said. “We can get the family over as well. I have some serious apologizing to do, not just to my mom and dad but to yours too.”

“You don’t need to apologize for anything.”

“We’ll see, but there is one tiny problem. You said Jagnesh?”

“Yup. No extradition treaty with the Federated Worlds and great beaches.”

“Isn’t it the most expensive system in humanspace?”

“Not quite, but it’s in the top hundred for sure. But so what? Who cares?”

“Money, Anna. We don’t have any. I spent all mine chartering that freighter I trashed, and the last time I checked, an
NRA
colonel’s pay is peanuts.”

“All true, my love,” Anna said with a smile, “which is why General Vaas asked me to give you this.” She whipped out a card and waved it at him.

Michael stared at Anna in disbelief. “Vaas gave you a cash card?”

“He sure did: a million FedMarks, to be precise. Reimbursement for expenses incurred, he said. He’ll be in touch when things settle down. Now, our lift won’t wait forever. Are you coming or not?”

“Try and stop me,” Michael said, the urge to leave all the pain and suffering behind almost overpowering.

They picked up their packs and walked across the plaza in front of the station to where a massive truckbot waited, its Hammer markings obscured by crude slashes of black paint.

Five minutes later, the bot set off. Michael was utterly content to lie with Anna beside him and stare up at the sky.

Not once did he look back.

Photograph © Andrew Sharp Paul

Graham Sharp Paul was born in Sri Lanka. He has an honors degree in archaeology and anthropology from Cambridge University and an MBA from Macquarie University. He joined the Royal Navy in 1972; he qualified as a minewarfare and clearance diving officer in 1977 and reached the rank of lieutenant commander before transferring to the Royal Australian Navy in 1983. Graham left the RAN in 1987. After working on a range of business development and corporate finance projects, he retired in 2003. He lives in Sydney with his wife, Vicki, has three sons and two granddaughters.

HELFORT’S WAR BOOK V: THE FINAL BATTLE
is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, places, incidents, and persons are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual names, characters, places, incidents, or persons alive or dead is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © Graham Sharp Paul 2012. All rights reserved. Published by
Graham Sharp Paul
.

Cover Art Copyright ©
Chris McGrath
2102.
Cover Design Copyright ©
Alessio De Vecchi
2012.
E-Book production by
52 Novels
.

e-Book ISBN 978-0-9872613-1-1