Gears of War: Anvil Gate (50 page)

Hoffman looked across at Mathieson. “Lieutenant, get me Captain Michaelson. I want to know what those subs are playing at.”

“Are we voting on this?” Ollivar asked. “Because we don’t actually give a shit if the COG survives or not, as long as these things are wiped out. That includes Gorasnaya, of course. You can rot in hell too.”

“You’re welcome,” Trescu said.

Hoffman rubbed his forehead, eyes shut for moment. “No vote. My decision. I just want ideas. If you don’t have any, shut the hell up and follow the plan.”

Dom gave Cole a discreet glance, and Cole just gave him his why-are-we-here look.

Why? Because we do all the weird shit with Lambent. Hoffman thinks we know as much as anyone does. Which is slightly more than jack shit, but not much
.

“Okay,” Marcus said. “I take a patrol boat out and piss off the leviathan, then slap the targeting laser on it. How I keep it there while the sat platform locks on is the tricky bit.”

“Ten seconds,” Baird said.

“We’d usually have Lieutenant Stroud to input the targeting coordinates, but she’s not here, so Baird can do that.”

“Hey, I’m not being left behind here.” Baird looked at Cole just for a fraction of a second. Dom spotted it. “I’m the glowie authority, remember?”

“And we can’t haul Stroud back just to help us out.” Marcus gave Baird his I-mean-it blank stare. “So you’ll have to suck it up.”

Dom thought Baird was probably more worried about not being around to watch Cole’s back, but maybe he was making too many assumptions about the man’s motive. Just because he looked like he cared didn’t mean that he did. He was certainly pissed off, though.

“Shit, a Raven gunner capped a leviathan at Pelruan, and we can’t?” Baird made it sound like a disgrace. “Come
on.
”

“Sorotki estimates it was smaller than the ones out there,” Marcus said. “Mitchell emptied all the ammo they had into its head. But we might not
get
the head.”

Hoffman cut in. “And it still nearly brought the Raven down. We’ve already lost one bird that way.”

Everyone was looking at the clock on the wall. Mathieson was sitting with one hand cupped over his headset earpiece, waiting for Michaelson to tell them what was happening with the hunting submarines.

“Got him, sir.” Mathieson switched the radio to the speakers. “He says they’re tracking it. Listen.”

“Victor, stand by,” Michaelson said. “Because once we fire torpedoes—even if they don’t hit the thing—the other one’s probably going to know all about it.”

“Where are they?”

“
Clement
can only detect one at the moment, so it’s going for that.”

Baird always found the fly in any ointment. “Shouldn’t we be out there with the laser ready to deploy
before
they start shooting? Because the first thing that asshole’s going to do when it hears its buddy turned to glowie soup is go for the source of the torp noise or head for us, depending on its IQ.”

Marcus stood up, like the decision was made. “Tell Michaelson to find a boat he can afford to lose. I’m going to prep the targeting laser. Baird, do your sat coordinates stuff.”

Dom jumped up and tapped Cole on the shoulder. “You keep saying you want to take up fishing, Cole Train. Let’s go.”

“Yeah, if the torps miss, I can always
puke
it to death.”

“There’s a Gorasni crew out there as well.” Trescu got up and headed for the door. “So I take Baird’s place.”

Hoffman looked resigned to the whole thing. It really was the only option left.

“I always knew a committee could run the COG better,” he said wearily. “Okay, do it. The fallback position if the polyps manage to land is that we channel as many as we can into the storage tunnels, seal them in, and pour fuel down there.”

“And then,” Ollivar said, “hope that there aren’t more on the way.”

Hoffman went red in the face almost immediately. It was like watching a squid change color. Dom took a step back, ready to jump between him and Ollivar.

“We fight until we run out of ammo or men or fuel or all three,” Hoffman snarled. “There’s nothing else we can do—except sit on our asses waiting for the right time to pull out all the stops. I have
been there before
, you goddamn parasitic bum. These choices do
not
get any simpler. And we’ve run out of time for fucking around.”

Hoffman pushed his chair back and strode out. The squad followed with Trescu. In the passage outside, Marcus blocked Hoffman’s path.

“You should keep Prescott where you can see him, Colonel,” he said. “Or is this something else?”

“His job is to deal with the civilians. He can do that just fine with Major Reid.” Hoffman pushed past Marcus. “And in case you forgot, one of our duties is to evacuate the civilian government to a place of safety in an emergency. Ten klicks up the road is the safest we can do for now.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come on this mission.”

“Think I can’t hack it, Fenix?”

“If you get killed, then the top command of the COG will consist of Prescott and Reid. Maybe Michaelson will get a look in occasionally, if he’s a good boy.”

Trescu just gave Hoffman a knowing look. Dom knew they’d never be best buddies. But the two men definitely had an understanding, even if that was a shared contempt for certain things—and people. If Dom hadn’t known Hoffman for so many years, and his inability to plot and scheme, he’d have suspected a coup was coming. But that wasn’t Hoffman’s style.

Dom didn’t know if it was Trescu’s, though. He suspected it was. And much as he didn’t like Prescott, the man was their own, the legal head of state, and Dom couldn’t recall him ever doing something that went against the army’s wishes. Just being an asshole wasn’t a disqualifier. He wasn’t a
dangerous
asshole.

“Yeah,” Hoffman said at last. “I’m more scared of that than getting my ass shot off.”

Hoffman will do the right thing. Maybe Prescott’s chickened out and is trying to save his own ass. Okay. I can live with that
.

In the end, all that mattered to Dom was that he kept Marcus alive. His best friend was all he had left.

The naval base was now in the grip of a quiet chaos. The evacuation of civvies was still going on and now nonessential military personnel were leaving. Every vehicle was co-opted to do the shuttling. The only stroke of luck in the whole pile of recurring shit was that the weather was mild, and an overnight outside wasn’t going to kill people like it would have done at Port Farrall. Dom sometimes thought back to what it would be like there now, whether it would have been smarter to stay put and lose the weakest to cold and hunger instead of uprooting everything to come here.

But we can’t do that. That’s not how civilized folks do things
.

Michaelson stood at the brow of
Falconer
as the squad and Trescu prepared to board. He obviously planned on going along for the ride.

“I did a deal with Ollivar’s merchant navy,” he said. “Want to see what we’ve got bolted on the foredeck?”

“Can’t wait,” Marcus growled.

“I didn’t ask what they used it for themselves, of course.”

“Go on, sir, show me,” Dom said.

Dom still took some pride in being the seagoing Gear in the squad, even if it was from his amphibious landing days in the last war. Michaelson had been around for that, too. He was a lot thinner, grayer, and more wrinkled than he’d been during the landing at Aspho Point, but he hadn’t lost that bravado. Michaelson liked a good scrap and would cross the road to find one. Maybe that was why he and Hoffman got on so well.

There had been a 30-mm gun on the foredeck of the patrol vessel the last time Dom had been on board. The other guns were still in place, but this one had been replaced with what looked like a cross between a telescope and a missile launcher.

“Thar she blows,” Michaelson said.

Dom took a closer look. “Sir, that’s a
harpoon.
”

“Explosive harpoon, actually. I want to think our seagoing Stranded brethren save it for robust negotiations with one another
in trade disputes, but whatever they used it for, it might be a way of keeping a Lambent leviathan on the surface for a few seconds.”

“Shit, sir, that’s going to be hairy.”

Marcus strode up to look at it and cocked his head slightly to one side. “Water skiing. Maybe even being dragged to the bottom.”

“I’m game if you are, Sergeant,” Michaelson said.

“Hell, why not?”

“What did you swap it for?” Dom asked.

“Ten catering containers of canned pork. Don’t worry, it was well past its use-by date.”

Michaelson seemed in his element.
Falconer
headed south out of the base, trailed by Gettner’s Raven, and took up position about six kilometers offshore. Trescu leaned on the rail alongside the squad and they all stared down into the black water to watch for lights, as if being on this relatively small vessel was any protection against a leviathan that could break the back of a destroyer.

Trescu put his hand to his earpiece.

“
Zephyr
is transmitting,” he said helpfully. So he still had his comms link to his fleet, then; Hoffman must have gone soft. “She wants to make her move. Captain Michaelson, I suggest we do this
now
. We’ve lost four hours already. These beasts won’t wait forever.”

Michaelson pushed back off the rails and slapped Marcus on the back.

“Toss a coin for the privilege,” he said.

“It’s my job.” Marcus took off his armor plates and stacked them. Dom had never known him to do that before a mission. “You get ready to launch the lifeboats. If we blow that thing up, the shock wave’s going to rupture every weld and rivet on this tub.” He gestured at the armor and gave Dom a meaningful look. “You all might want to consider how long you can tread water in full fighting order.”

“Damn,” Cole muttered. “Whatever happened to a nice boat trip ’round the bay?”

Michaelson did an after-you flourish of his hand and Marcus
padded along the deck to the harpoon mounting. The leviathan had lights. At least they’d see the thing coming.

If it doesn’t come up right under the hull, of course
.

“Ready,” Marcus called. “Tell the boats they can blow its brains out any time they like.”

CHAPTER 17

Hoffman knew the tough reputation of Pesang troops but he’d never actually come face-to-face with one. Now he was looking at six of them, and he wondered if there’d been a mistake.

They were tiny. They were also very young—most Gears seemed to be, but not
that
young—and the heavy machetes they carried on their belts looked too big for them. They formed up in a line and stood to attention.

Shit. They haven’t even got full armor. That’s three-quarter grade
.

“Sah, we don’t speak good, but we understand okay,” one of them said. “You give us job, we
do
job.”

“I’m Lieutenant Hoffman.” For some reason, he took an instant liking to this lad. “What’s your name, Gear?”

“Rifleman Bai Tak, Hoffman sah.” He turned smartly and indicated
each man in the line. “Riflemen—Lau En, Cho Ligan, Jati Shah, Gi Shim, Naru Fel.”

Hoffman looked at Pad, realizing that this was all the support Anvil Gate was going to get. “Find these men some better armor, Private. I can’t send them out on patrol in their goddamn underwear.” He gestured to Bai Tak, tapping on his own chestplate to get the message across. “Heavy plate. You need more armor. And proper boots.”

Bai Tak frowned slightly as if he was running through a vocabulary list in his head. Hoffman hadn’t realized how little Tyran these men spoke.

“Ah,” he said, face lighting up in revelation. “Sah, no more armor. How we move around all quiet?” He stabbed a forefinger down at Hoffman’s regulation thick-soled steel-capped boots with their armored greaves. “How we climb in those? We fall and get damn
dead
, sir.”

“Good point, Rifleman Tak.” So they weren’t as green and innocent as they looked. “Okay, go with Private Salton and get yourselves settled in. When you’re fed and supplied, come back here for a briefing.”

They seemed to grasp things well enough, or at least they all moved fast and gave the impression of purpose. Pad gave Hoffman a knowing look as he followed them.

He drew his finger across his throat, clearly delighted. “I hear they’re very light on ammo, too, sir.”

Hoffman didn’t care how much ammo they burned through. He just wanted the Indies cleared out of the high ground behind him, because they were the ones who were going to drop mortars into the city, pick off his patrols, and harass any relief sent to the fort. They wouldn’t bring down Anvegad, but he didn’t want to lose a garrison and half the civvies stuck here just to prove a point about the strategic advantages of a gun battery on a mountain.