THE HELMSMAN: Director's Cut Edition (25 page)

“P-Please identify yourself, s-sir,” a voice responded unsurely from the guard shack.

Brim smiled to himself. Just as he guessed. “Identify myself,
indeed!”
he growled. “You will present yourself immediately to open the gate in person, fool.”

“But w-we have
orders…
”

“How” long, “ Brim interrupted, “has it been since your last fire-flogging, fool?”

“But sir…”

“You will
immediately
present me with your name for the Center's flogging roster or you will, alternatively, open the gate.”

“A moment, sir.”

“Immediately.
“

The door to the guard shack opened and a fat, slack-jawed guard waddled onto the stoop as if his feet hurt. His hand was palm up in a very unnecessary verification of the teeming rain. Behind him, Brim saw a second guard struggling into some sort of foul-weather suit. As the first stepped all the way out into the storm, a great arm materialized suddenly from the shadows and wrapped itself around his face. In the next instant, a jeweled knife flashed in the glare of the headlights. Then the guard's tunic was covered with a rain-thinned curtain of red before everything disappeared again in the shadows. Brim gunned the traction system to muffle any further noise when the second guard met a similar fate. Abruptly, Barbousse and Fragonard scrambled around the corer — battle suits surprisingly free of stains — and disappeared inside the guardhouse. Each carried a big Gantheisser ready at his hip. Light flashed explosively for a few heartbeats from the half-open door, then the two reappeared at a dead run for the main gate.

The huge, one-section gate must have been heavy, for Barbousse and Fragonard struggled considerably before it grudgingly slid aside. Extinguishing his running lights, Brim began to move through the opening. He slowed to a crawl while the two ratings boarded on the fly, then shoved the big traction system to its highest speed and roared into the campus toward their second objective: the hostage compound.

Moments later, Barbousse and Fragonard yanked the hatch open and clambered over the coaming, dripping rain.

“I think it's lettin' up,” Fragonard declared, popping off his helmet.

“Has to,” Barbousse agreed. “Can't be much left up there anymore.” He peered through the windshield. “They've got a map in the guard shack back there, Lieutenant,” he said. “We guessed right — that square fenced area is marked with the Vertrucht symbol for prisoners you showed me.”

“Good,” Brim said, nodding out ahead and to his left. “That's it, just off the port bow.” He switched off two of the three cable followers. “How'd it go back there?” he asked.

“Like it was programmed, Lieutenant,” Barbousse declared. “They never got the first warning out.” .

Brim smiled to himself. So far, so good, he thought — but the nasty business was far from finished. At about three thousand irals, he eyed the entrance to the hostage compound. He could just make out the roof lines beyond against the sky, and in that instant, the last details of his plan fell into place. “Second and third field pieces follow me!” he yelled at the COMM cabinet. “Last three shear off and take out anybody you find at the city-side gate. Got that?”

Five voices returned a confusion of assent just before the last three field pieces pulled out of line. The Carescrian grinned and flexed his shoulders. Then he disengaged the third cable follower and leaned hard on the left rudder pedal. His big machine banked wildly and skidded around until it was racing at high speed for the gate. The roar of the traction system was deafening in the cab. A glance over his shoulder assured him the other two field pieces were in close formation behind him, bobbing and swaying ponderously as they galloped over the uneven ground, battle headlights like the eyes of great steam-breathing nocturnal monsters.

“Halt and identity yourself!” someone yelled over a loud hailer from the guard shack ahead.

Brim opened the phase gate farther and the speed increased again. The big machine was barely under control now, swaying and skidding from side to side, clouds of steam belching from the cooling system and the rain streaming from its sodden flanks. “Buckle in!” he warned.

Ahead, a cluster of figures burst from the guard shack with blast pikes, kneeled, and began to fire, their charges pattering harmlessly against the armored plate of the rampaging field piece.

“Hang on!” Brim yelled over the howl of the straining traction system. Simultaneously, the guards seemed to realize what was about to happen. As one, they dropped their pikes and scattered in all directions — but much too late. They all disappeared beneath the front of the vehicle into the thrashing torrent of gravity from the raging logic lens. An open-mouthed head suddenly bounced forward into the glow of the battle headlights, rebounded from a rock, and trailed a smeared string of dark red offal across the armored windshield as it joined a ragged upper torso that spun lazily in their wake like a thrown rag doll. Then, with a tearing, shrieking crash, the field piece burst wildly over the guard shack, throwing a torrent of flying debris in all directions.

Brim jammed the thrust sink into full detent amid screeching protest from the traction system; they shuddered to a stop not more than fifty irals from the first four hostage barracks. He glanced over his shoulder again as the other two field pieces drew to a skidding halt nearby; the last spun dizzily out of control for a moment before coming to rest precariously against a solid-looking utility building. At the same moment, the sky to his right lit, blazing forth with terrific flashes of disruptor fire, followed by waves of concussion as the last three cannon went to work on whatever League forces they found marshaled at the city-side gate.

Leaving the controls set at a fast idle, Brim joined the two ratings at the hatch. “You know what to do,” he yelled over the hiss of the cooling system. “Each of you take a building; get the hostages out quick as you can. Any of 'em can't fly, get 'em on one of the field pieces — anywhere. Understand?”

“Understand, Lieutenant,” Barbousse answered, then he disappeared over the coaming, followed by Fragonard. Brim clamped his helmet firmly in place and clambered down the ladder after them. Outside, the storm appeared to have run its course. Only a few drops spattered against his faceplate before they were instantly cleared. Ahead, Barbousse was already inside the first building of the first row. Fragonard was heading for the second. To his right in the darkness, Brim made out six other figures heading in a low crouch for the second row of barracks. All the buildings appeared to be dark, both outside and inside.

Unexpectedly, a group of figures dashed from the third building, firing wildly in all directions. One discharge flashed blindingly beside Brim, knocking him from his feet and rolling him across the muddy turf. He lay low for a moment while deadly beams of energy crisscrossed only fractions of an iral above his helmet. Proton grenades flashed coldly in the darkness and guttural shouts filled the air. Then his vision cleared and he clambered stiffly to one knee, took Ursis’s great side-action blaster from its holster, and, in an Academy-perfect, two-hand crouch, blew the nearest Leaguer completely in half. Sodeskayan Bears, he observed, built
powerful
hand weapons. Moments later, a number of thundering Gantheissers suddenly joined his blaster, and the defenders rapidly disappeared in a welter of flame and concussion.

An instant later, he was back on his feet and at the entrance to one of the barracks. He blew the latch from the door and burst into the poorly lighted room — where he stopped short, shuddering in absolute horror. The stench of rotting flesh alone was almost enough to drive him gagging into the fresh night air before his battle suit switched to internal air. The far end of the room was filled by a pitiful knot of cadaverous things he guessed once were like the flighted people he had seen aboard
Prosperous.
Now they were unbelievably emaciated — with shriveled stumps where once there had been wings. No wonder he'd seen no one aloft! He'd been warned: Characteristic Triannic pragmatism. He stood for a moment, transfixed, then forced his mind once again into action. “Can any of you walk?” he choked.

“Y-You... an Imperial!” one of them stammered from behind starved, deep-set eyes. “Our hopes are answered.”

“Have you come to set us free?” a spectral woman asked in a thin voice.

“Yes,” Brim said, his eyes filling with tears. “Can any of you… walk?”

“We can walk if our steps lead to freedom,” a gaunt old man with a white beard and spindly, ill-matched wing stumps pronounced somberly. “Freedom of
any
kind.”

Brim fought his emotions back under control. 'Three League field pieces wait outside,” he said. “Climb aboard — anywhere. They're not very suitable, but…”

“They will serve, young man,” another haggard prisoner said. “We shall carry our comrades who can no longer walk. Come, my friends. We make our way to more useful employment. “

Brim nodded as the fleshless mass of humanity untangled itself from the end of the room and began to shamble for the door. Outside, he could see other halting lines of people already struggling to reach the waiting vehicles. Barbousse and Fragonard were both in the adjacent barracks as he ran along the walkway. The next building — opened by someone else by now — was a repeat of the last, emptying a pitiful remnant of emaciated bodies with blackened, deep-set eyes and torn, snapped-off wings. Some were already dead, as were many others in the remainder of the barracks he visited.

Then, once all the buildings had been opened, he found himself running headlong through the pitiful lines of shambling hostages. The wind had picked up now and the rain came in spurts. Nearby, Fragonard and Barbousse were boosting hostages gently up the ladder and onto the vehicle's broad back. All three machines were filling rapidly with pitiful knots of what once were graceful flighted men and women. “Get 'em up there quick as you can,” he yelled to the ordnance man. “I want us out of here before the Leaguers bring up some
real
reinforcements! “

As the six machines lumbered back through the gate and up the hill, running lights darkened this time, stars were showing through the clouds. Brim glanced at his timepiece and nodded. They were almost precisely on the schedule he had set. Less than a metacycle remained before dawn.

* * * *

The first recall signal was broadcast from
Prosperous
not long after Brim and his party rejoined the other three field pieces just over the crest of the hill. “League Battlecruisers on the way, Lieutenant,” Fragonard reported with a look of concern. “Operations gives us less than four watches before
Prosperous
leaves — ten metacycles at most.”

Brim pursed his lips, thinking of Sandur's warning, then he shrugged and smiled. “Ten metacycles gives us plenty of time,” he answered in what he hoped was a voice of confidence.

“If you say so, Lieutenant,” Fragonard muttered, but his face gave the lie to his words.

“Count 'em yourself,” Brim reasoned. “It took us only three metacycles to drive to the high bridge — so four will certainly get us back from
here.
And with another metacycle for shuttling up to
Prosperous,
we still have most of five metacycles to use looking for Colonel Hagbut.”

Fragonard's eyes looked as if someone had just slapped him on the side of the head.

Brim smiled sympathetically at the ordnance man's discomfort. “I understand how you feel,” he said honestly. “And I am also well aware of how close that could be cutting things. But we can't just desert those men without at least giving our best shot to bringing them home. Remember, once we're gone, they have no hope at all.”

“You're right, sir,” Fragonard agreed. “I understand. I'd surely want it that way if I were in their shoes.”

Brim nodded. “Besides,” he said with a grin, “we'll have some potent help locating' em soon as we call in the Fleet.”

Fragonard knuckled his forehead. “Sorry. I…”

“Sorry nothing,” Brim interrupted with a smile. “You gave me a chance to review my plans. Everybody needs a sanity check once in a while.” Then he winked and made his way to where the BATTLE COMMs were busily rigging a portable KA'PPA.

“Ready in a moment, Lieutenant,” a signal rating said. “By my timepiece, it's just about time to make your call.”

Brim nodded, remembering his last view of the research center as he had crested the hill just before dawn. All the lights had been blazing — too late, he’d noted with satisfaction. Now, in the early cycles of the morning, the clouds of the spent storm were disappearing rapidly and a cool breeze rustled the grass outside the field pieces. Everything smelled of A'zurn's rich, wet soil. The sirens were again quiet; he could hear chirps of morning birds and a low babble of conversation from the A'zurnians over the idling rumble of nearby traction systems.

“All ready to call the Fleet in from orbit, Lieutenant,” the rating declared. “Your time window begins… now.”

Brim nodded. “Call 'em,” he ordered.

Instantly, patterns of light changed position and hue on the console while overhead KA'PPA rings spread lazily from the beacon on its portable tower. “Sent,” the rating reported. Then, only clicks later, he added, “And acknowledged, Lieutenant. They're
ready
.”

Brim nodded. “Pack it up then, ladies,” he said to the BATTLE COMMs. “We'll be moving out momentarily. Then he trotted across the field and hoisted himself up the ladder. Climbing over the coaming, he turned to stare out the open hatch — listening.

He waited only cycles before he heard the distant rolling thunder. Nothing else in the Universe made a sound like that. Big, deep-space antigravity generators, a number of them, if his ears heard correctly. As far as his eyes could see, the overcast was shredded now into distinct layers of gray and white cloud tinged here and there by the gold of a still-hidden dawn. Below these, visibility was perfect. The rumble quickly grew to a crackling, pulsing thunder he could
feel
as well as hear. Soon the very air was steeped in it, a palpable, physical sensation that seemed to shake the very warp and woof of the planet itself. Direction was obvious now. Brim peered into the fleecy clouds — any moment now. From the research center, he caught the overwhelmed wail of sirens. He grinned to himself. Too late for those, too!