Troy Rising 3 - The Hot Gate (52 page)

“Gone,” Marchant said. “Close formation.”

“At least we’re exiting the AV fire basket.”

“Small mercies.”

* * *

“So you ask us to be merciful?”

Envoy Ve’Disuc recognized a break-through when he saw one. Speaking directly to the American president, functionally the Alliance Supreme Commander, was a breakthrough.

“The mercy cuts two ways, Envoy,” President Robards said. “There are tens of thousands of stranded spacers from both sides. Temporary truces to clear the wounded from the battlefield are common in even Rangora history. No more than that. Enough time to get non-combat ships into the system to clear the wounded. Your Marines on the Thermopylae, for example, are in a rather difficult position. They are short on consumables, cut off from resupply, outnumbered and in most cases frankly lost. We’ll supply them with consumables and permit them to be evacuated. You can have them back. No prisoners taken on either side. Remaining Rangora ships to be towed off by the Rangora, same for human ships. E Eridani to be in a state of cease fire until such a time.”

“And the Thermopylae?”

“Will take some time to move out of the system,” the President said.

“Unacceptable. Madame President, we hold the system.”

“For how long? You know the timetable on upgrades, not repairs, upgrades, on the Troy. In twelve days you had better have twice the fleet you have already thrown away. Or be gone from E Eridani. And, Envoy, we still hold ships in the Terran system. What do you have in reserve?”

“We have, I assure you, a quite sizeable reserve,” Ve’Disuc replied. “And we know your ship strength to the last corvette. So we know that you have no sizeable force available. I am authorized to discuss a cease fire to recover wounded and stranded in the system. No attempt may be made to recover the Thermopylae or any other derelict human ship. You may surrender them to the Rangora Imperium but not recover them. Furthermore, personnel aboard the Thermopylae and other human combat vessels in system shall surrender to our liberation forces and be taken prisoner pending further negotiations.”

“Unacceptable.”

“Then I suppose we are at an impasse, Madame President.”

“Agreed.”

“To our terms, Madame President?” Ve’Disuc asked.

“That we are at an impasse. Which is, frankly, too bad for your surviving Rangora since we have few ships left to do recovery. And we will, obviously, have to prioritize recovering human survivors.”

“Again, Madame President, we hold the system.”

“Not for long. Goodbye, Envoy. Admiral?”

“Ma’am?”

“Can we take the system?”

“No, ma’am. Not until the Troy is mobile again. But I think we can get them to agree to our terms.”

“One last cast of the dice, Admiral?”

“He fears his fate too much and his desserts are small…”

“Admiral, please don’t quote Vernon Tyler to me at a time like this.”

* * *

“Oh thank God,” Captain Whisler said. “Now I know how Villeneuve felt.”

“Not…quite,” Admiral Marchant said, looking at the updated tactical display.

“Where did those come from?” Whisler asked. “And what is that…thing?”

“Troy strikes again?”

* * *

“Skew us to engage the Thermopylae,” Captain Be’Sojahiph said. “Now that the light units are gone, that is the next priority.”

“And the survivors, sir?”

“The ones in boats will survive for several days,” Captain Be’Sojahiph replied. “The ones in suits…will survive or not. Begin rotation.”

“Skew aye, sir,” Colonel Ishives said.

“Aggressor squadrons redeploy to surround the battleglobe. Let’s see if we can support the Marines.”

* * *

“Not your first battle, is it, sir?” Sergeant Ghezhosil said.

“Not my first battle, sergeant,” Lieutenant Lanniph admitted.

Birds of a feather do indeed flock together. But in this case, Lanniph had simply followed orders to “rendezvous with reinforcing personnel.” He still wasn’t sure exactly what he was dealing with in Sergeant Ghezhosil.

“First battle in vacuum?”

“Not even close.”

“Ever notice how three day’s worth of consumables never seems to last three days, sir?”

“Yes. And I know the first rule of vacuum operations, sergeant.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously, sergeant. And I do have the bigger knife.”

“Cracker?”

“That’s “cracker, sir?” Problem with that, sergeant?”

“Just that it doesn’t seem quite fair, sir. You get the rank, you get the pay and you know the scams. There should be a rule, sir.”

“There pretty much is, sergeant.”

“Lanniph, Sector Fourteen control.”

“Fourteen control, Lanniph.”

“Take your platoon left at the next junction. Report of human forward command post in that area. Assault, clear and report.”

“Roger. Fourteen higher. Several personnel with damaged suit systems. Request life support resupply. Ammunition low. Request ammunition resupply.”

“The humans should have both, Lanniph. Fourteen control, out.”

“Hmph. That would be, I suppose, incentive. How long, sergeant?”

“About twelve hours, sir. I suppose there’s always the Perrechoa Option.”

During one of the Rangora’s frequent minor civil wars, the Loyalist garrison on the Perrachoa battlestation found itself so low on consumables, mostly air, that wounded personnel voluntarily transferred their “consumables” to more functional combatants. Their Ma’Lholhafeqist opponents were not much better off. The battle mostly came down to who could hold out longer. Given that the Ma’Lholhafeqist wounded and clerks weren’t willing to give up their precious air to the hale fighters, the Loyalists won.

All seven of the regiment’s survivors.

“Twas a famous victory.

“Hopefully not,” Lanniph said. “Rather don’t want to go through that again. Move “em out, sergeant.”

“Yes, sir,” Ghezhosil said, getting to his feet. He started to look at the name karats and decided he really didn’t care. “You. Point. Rest of you, on your feet.”

“Why m…?” the private scrambled to his feet in the face of two laser rifles pointed at him.

“Because the sergeant gave you an order,” Lanniph said. “It was not a request.”

“Moving out, sergeant.”

“You’re quick, sir,” Ghezhosil said.

“And still alive,” Lanniph replied. He pulled out a sensor ball and contemplated it for a moment. “How many of these do you have left?”

“Balls? Don’t usually carry them, sir.”

“Hmmm. Learn.” The lieutenant keyed the sensor ball and dropped it in the corridor.

“Sir?” Ghezhosil asked. Since the LT hadn’t ordered him up front, he was just as happy to hang in the rear.

“Have you once in this ixi screw had higher give you a definite target? Beyond “find the control center.”

“No, sir,” Ghezhosil said.

“Nor I. Therefore I would like to know what is behind us as we go forward to this supposed objective.”

“Good thinking that, sir,” Ghezhosil said.

“That is my job, Sergeant Ghezhosil.”

“Yes, sir,” Ghezhosil said then paused. “Sir, what did you mean by “again”?”

“And here we go again.”

Two more battleship groups weren’t going to help in Admiral Marchant’s opinion. Not against seven remaining Aggressor groups and the semi-invalid AV. The rest, however…

The battle seemed to have taken days. In fact, since the Thermopylae entered the system and discovered more than the Horvath had come to call, a bare ten hours had passed. Since the Troy expended all its missiles, six hours beat their measured tune, slicing away the time until the heat death of the universe one precious millisecond at a time.

The Troy under optimum conditions produced four hundred missiles per minute. Twenty-four thousand per hour. Alas, conditions were not optimum. That assumed sufficient supply of critical parts which currently were not sufficient. However, since it had sent “all its missiles” it had produced seventy-three thousand Thunderbolt missiles. The partially functional Malta had produced an additional six thousand.

And then there was Vernon Tyler’s latest abortion. Although in this case the tycoon would probably blame Granadica.

“This time we’re not sending them all,” Field Marshal Hampson said. “God knows if the Rangora have more ships waiting in Galkod system. I think a sixty thousand is a nice round number.”

“Four waves,” Admiral Marchant said. “Twenty thousand to plow the road for the ships. Then the ships and the MinJolnir with a group of twenty thousand for interceptors. Then the rest since they can outrun our ships at a standing start.”

“Approved,” Marshal Hampson said. “Try to keep your casualties down. We’re going to need your ships to recover the survivors.”

“Intend to, Marshal.”

“Take back that system, Admiral.”

* * *

“We’re not taking this position, sir.”

“Noticed that.”

There might, in fact, be a command post up ahead. If so, one platoon of grunts wasn’t going to take it.

The human Marines were heavily bunkered in what were obviously hastily constructed fighting positions. But given that they were hastily constructed of wall material and the sort of thick NI hatches that had prevented the Rangora from moving forward repeatedly…

“Two more troops down,” Ghezhosil said.

“Fourteen higher, Lanniph.”

“Lanniph, fourteen higher.”

“The enemy’s finally decided to take a stand. Unfortunately, it’s in a heavily bunkered position. We need heavy weapons to take this out.”

“Roger, wait one.”

“Sure, got nothing better to do.”

“Lanniph, Fourteen higher. Have you tried fire and maneuver and grenades?”

“Standby, Fourteen Higher.” Lanniph keyed his hydration module and took a sip of stale water. “So, where’ve you been lately, sergeant?”

“Tuxugah, sir,” Ghezhosil said. “Livith. Heraldon. Jittan.”

“So, do you think this is more or less of a cluster grope than Tuxugah? I was at Qoalh so I’ve no direct experience. I understand it was unpleasant.”

“I think this is a bit worse in some ways, sir,” Ghezhosil said. “There was actually something resembling a plan at Tuxugah. Just didn’t work, sir. But that ixi screw was…bigger?”

“My impression as well. Fourteen Higher, Lanniph. Negative effect on the grenades. Really could use a heavy system here.”

“Roger Lanniph. Stand by.”

“Standing by. Which wave were you in?”

“Drop capsules.”

“Sorry.”

“Kinda like hot drops, sir. Of course, you’re dropping from orbit as a screaming, blazing target. But with enough capsules and decoys it just comes down to if your number’s up or not. And drops are a rush and a half, sir.”

“Agreed. I prefer the initial atmospheric entry portion, personally. That first slam when you hit the upper troposphere… There’s really nothing quite like it.”

“You’re drop capsule certified, sir?”

“We were probably dropping in different areas on Heraldon. I had a platoon of the 42nd.”

“So I guess that you understand sitting in vacuum waiting for my air to run out is sort of a second choice.”

“Completely.”

“Lanniph, Fourteen Higher. We’re going to try to vector a heavy weapon’s team to your position.”

“Roger, Fourteen Higher. Might want to send some security with them.”

He leaned around the corner of the corridor and triggered a burst of fire down the side tunnel.

“State reason, over.”

“Cause we’re crapping surrounded!” Ghezhosil said, picking up the transmission from the LT’s sensor ball.

* * *

“We lost Sanbar,” Lieutenant Khan said.

“Might have something to do with the sensor ball in the corridor, sir,” Sergeant Del Papa said. “All we have to do, sir, is pin them until reinforcements come up. Got a heavy laser on the way. That should convince them to come out hands up.”

“Easier said than done, Sergeant. That is very accurate fire.”

* * *

“You…Yauk!” Sergeant Ghezhosil said. “Grab whoever that is down and get me his ammo.”

“You get it!” the private shrieked. He was huddling on the deck with his arms over his head.

“Okay, then, give me your ammo!”

“Screw you!” the private said, finally getting his rifle into use to aim it at the sergeant. Given that Ghezhosil was out, there wasn’t much he could do but take the laser fire.

Suddenly a knife appeared in a chink in the private’s armor by the neck seals which began gushing air and blood.

“Might want to turn his air off when you get the ammo,” Lieutenant Lanniph said, taking another shot down the corridor. “Waste not, want not.”

* * *

“Gate activation,” Colonel Ishives said.

“The additional Aggressor groups?” Captain Be’Sojahiph asked.

“Sol system.”

“They really think they can take this system with…” The captain stopped as the data on incoming came up. “Where did they get an additional twenty thousand missiles? Begin rotation. Have the Aggressors spread to…”

“Missiles are not targeting us, sir,” Ishives said.

* * *

“Oh…ixi shit.”

This was Captain Zoa Qa’Zafilach’s nineteenth battle. All but one previous during the Glatun War against Glatun battleships, cruisers and, notably, missiles. When, just prior to this engagement, he was given an update on the human’s Thunderbolt missiles his immediate reactions were, in order, that they were remarkably similar to, perhaps an improvement upon, the Glatun equivalent and that he hoped he never had to face them.

So far in this battle his wish had been granted. However, if wishes were skul trees…

“Tell me point defense is one hundred percent.”

“Point defense is…close? Say ninety percent. Shields, though…”

“Took damage from the human cruisers and battleships.”

“Yes, sir. Seventy percent on shields.”

The fleet had shot its wad of heavy missiles against the Thermopylae. To some good effect but at the moment Captain Qa’Zafilach dearly wished he had something, anything, to engage that tidal wave of missiles other than pop-gun lasers and mass drivers.