“And they don’t have the brass to come after us in a fight,” Warshaw said. Clearly he liked that line of thought. It stroked his ego. He saw himself as the hero of Terraneau. If the Unified Authority was scared, that meant they were scared of him. Maybe he deserved the credit, too. He’d come up with the idea of using the broadcast stations to create a new network.
Warshaw nodded, and asked, “So they kill off the officers, and anyone left is so scared they just hand over command of our ships? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Something like that,” I said. “It’s just a possibility.” Most clones lacked the initiative to take over once the officers went down.
We had found a solution to the Double Y problem before we fully understood its significance. Interrogating the Double Ys didn’t help, the pathetic bastards did not even know as much as we did.
Freeman understood what was going on, though. I would ask him again.
“What are we going to do about Olympus Kri?” I asked.
Warshaw must not have told the other admirals about Freeman’s warning. I heard confusion in their whispering.
There was a moment of silence in which Warshaw sat glaring at me, clenching his right fist, then letting it relax, making his forearm and biceps bulge. If he had not mentioned this bit of intelligence to anyone, it was because he did not take it seriously. He probably hoped it would just go away. Now I had thrown it back in his face in front of his admirals.
By way of explanation, Warshaw said, “Harris believes the Unifieds are going to attack Olympus Kri.”
“That’s a pretty safe bet,” said Admiral Nelson. Of all of the admirals, he had the biggest stake in the matter. As the commander of the Orion Inner Fleet, protecting Olympus Kri was his responsibility.
“He says they’re going to attack early next week,” Warshaw said.
“How solid is your information?” asked Admiral Nelson.
“Pretty solid,” I said, not offering any details. Had any of them asked me that question a week ago, I would have vouched for Freeman without question. Now, though, I had reservations.
“How many ships do we have patrolling the planet?” Warshaw asked.
“Sixty-eight,” I said.
All heads turned to stare at me. That was not the kind of information admirals expected to hear from a Marine.
Nelson looked at his pocket computer and confirmed my number.
“How did you know that?” Warshaw asked.
“From the same source that told me the Unifieds were on their way,” I said.
“Maybe your man isn’t blowing steam after all,” Warshaw said. “What do you think we should do?”
“We need to send more ships to the area and land more Marines on the ground,” I said. I kept one recommendation to myself—that we needed to pray Freeman was really on our side.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Philo Hollingsworth met me as I arrived back on the
ad-Din
to tell me about his promotion. He waited for me in the landing bay and waylaid me as I came off my transport.
“Has Admiral Warshaw contacted you?” he asked. He gave me a proper salute. I did not yet know why he had come, but I could tell he was uncomfortable by the way he approached me. I half expected him to inform me that I had been relieved of command.
“I was just in a meeting with Warshaw,” I said. The staff meeting had ended a couple of hours ago. While the other officers rushed back to their ships, I went down to the officers’ mess and ate a leisurely meal.
Hollingsworth bobbed his head in agreement a bit too quickly, his eyes never quite meeting mine. Whatever news he had, he knew I would not like it, and he seemed almost apologetic. “Warshaw gave me a promotion,” he said.
He’d been a full-bird colonel; the next step up was general and the promotion was well deserved. Hollingsworth and I did not get on all that well, but he was a good Marine.
“You got your star,” I said, putting out my hand to shake his. “It’s about specking time.”
“Three stars, sir. He promoted me to major general.”
I had no doubt Warshaw had made that promotion to send me another message, and he’d been none too subtle. The promotion put Hollingsworth and me in the same pay grade.
“Congratulations,” I said, though I already had a premonition that his rise in the ranks signaled my fall.
I wished him luck. Hollingsworth suffered from the same character flaw that got in my way as an officer. He had the temperament of a combat Marine, not a fleet officer. Infighting and backroom deals did not appeal to him.
“When are you shipping out?” I asked.
“I’m not shipping out; my orders are to remain on the
ad-Din
,” he said.
That sealed the deal, I was on my way out. Warshaw might leave me marooned on Olympus Kri, or he might send me back to Terraneau. One thing was certain, the
ad-Din
did not have enough room for two three-star generals. Hell, there wasn’t enough room for two three-stars in the entire Enlisted Man’s Marines.
For now, I still had the upper hand. I’d held the rank longer. Trying to sound unconcerned, I said, “The last update I received, we were heading for Olympus Kri. Is that still the case?”
“Yes, sir,” Hollingsworth said. “I wanted to speak with you about that.”
I nodded and started toward the exit. Hollingsworth fell into step.
“Admiral Warshaw says you think the Unifieds are going to attack.”
“I do,” I said.
“We have a half million troops stationed on Olympus Kri,” Hollingsworth said.
“I did not know that,” I said, wondering why Freeman had neglected to mention it.
“Yes, sir.” Now that we were on equal footing, Hollingsworth seemed more anxious to get along.
“That’s a lot of men,” I said.
“I gave them orders to look for sonic cannons . . . in case the Unifieds attack.”
I had to think about that for a moment. Finally, I flashed back to Lieutenant Mars’s findings on Terraneau. “In case they have shielded armor,” I said. I vaguely remembered the conversation, as if it had happened years earlier instead of weeks.
“It was your idea,” he said.
I smiled and answered, “Yes, and if it doesn’t work, we can always try to get them to chase us into an underground garage.”
There were always wild cards in battle. If a sniper targeted you from two miles away, for instance, you would never know what hit you until God gave you the details. Even factoring land mines, snipers, and atom bombs, I always felt that as a combat Marine I had more control of my fate than sailors had of theirs.
When the shooting started, I could attack or run for cover. If I stayed alert, I would probably survive. Sailors, on the other hand, lived and died with their ships. Speed and reflexes cannot save a man when his ship explodes around him. Maybe it was a phobia; but I felt helpless riding into a combat zone on the
Salah ad-Din
.
Most of my Marines shared that phobia. The twenty-two hundred Marines on the
ad-Din
had survived the land battles of Terraneau, then seen what happened to the men on the ships. Walking around the Marine complex, I felt the tension. Fuses burned quickly. Tempers ran short. Stumble into another man, and he might curse at you. Step on another man’s toe, and a fistfight would likely follow.
Olympus Kri was not an especially large planet. With the
Salah ad-Din
and two more carriers transferring in, the space around it became even tighter. Admiral Nelson had his ships arrayed in perfect order. His sixty-eight ships patrolled well-defined routes. Battleships and carriers patrolled larger zones. Frigates and cruisers stirred in smaller circles. The blockade formed a nearly perfect net.
Nelson was that rare officer who comes off cocky, smart, and competent. I did not appreciate the logic of his tactics until Captain Villanueva explained the blockade.
“I don’t see any holes. How about you?” I asked.
Villanueva looked at the displays, and said, “Here. This one is probably the biggest.” He pointed to a spot near the top of the planet, circumscribing the vulnerable area with his finger.
“Think you could squeeze a ship through there unnoticed?” I asked.
“Not a big ship,” said Villanueva. “Maybe a frigate. I could slip a whole squadron of Piper Bandits through that hole unnoticed if they were cloaked.”
“So he did a good job blockading the planet?” I asked.
“Textbook,” Villanueva said.
“If the Unifieds attack, do you think we’ll be able to fight them off?” I asked.
“Depends what they send.”
I nodded, taking a certain satisfaction from the feeling of being prepared.
“How about your Marines?” Villanueva asked. “Can you hold out if you need to?”
“It depends what they send,” I said.
Villanueva laughed.
The Olympus Kri broadcast station floated 230,000 miles above the planet. We kept the blockade well clear of the station. The last thing we needed was for our patrolling ships to stumble into a broadcast zone and end up in the Cygnus Arm.
“What if they go after the broadcast station?” I asked.
“He has two carriers and three battleships watching it,” Villanueva said.
“Is that enough to keep it safe?” I asked.
He gave me a wicked smiled. I interrupted him before he could answer. “I know, it depends on what they—”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Villanueva said. “The way Nelson has his blockade set up, he can shift fifteen ships to any spot at any time. It’s a thing of beauty.
“See these ships over here? They can shift over to the broadcast station in under a minute.” He pointed to a battleship, three dreadnaughts, and a couple of cruisers. “I never liked Nelson, but the bastard knows his tactics.”
We had all the pieces in place, but I still worried. If Freeman knew how many ships we had patrolling the area, who else knew? What other secrets did Freeman know? I wanted to trust Freeman. I wanted to think of him as a friend; but Ray Freeman did not have friends.
“You look worried,” Villanueva said.
“I am,” I admitted.
“The blockade is solid,” he said, no doubt trying to reassure me.
Thinking there must be a flaw, I took another look at the plans. I saw nothing. We still had time to make changes. If Freeman had his facts right, the Unifieds would come in another day and a half.
The plan was for me to meet Freeman on Olympus Kri. I went to my billet, packed a small knife and a fléchette-firing pistol, and left for the landing bay. Sergeant Nobles met me at the door and told me he had requisitioned a new ship for me. He smiled like a boy with a new bicycle as he said this. He rubbed his hands together, and he had more spring in his step.
We entered the bay, and there it sat.
“A shuttle?” I asked. “Where the hell did you find a specking shuttle?”
Compared to the boxy transports around it, the shuttle looked sleek and modern. Transports had tiny wings that looked more like stubs. Shuttles had broad graceful wings.
“All of the admirals have them,” Nobles said. “I put in a requisition while you were at the summit.”
We entered the shuttle. It had a living-room-like main cabin, which included couches, chairs, and a wet bar. Aft, there would be a small office complete with sleeping accommodations.
“You bucking for a promotion, Sergeant?” I asked.
“No, sir,” he said. The man was always so damn cheerful.
“Well, that’s too bad,” I said. “Anyone who can pull off a coup like this belongs in the officers’ corps.”
He did not know if I was joking and looked at me, hoping to find a sign one way or the other. “I’ll put in your paperwork when this business is over, Lieutenant.”
“Are you serious about that, sir?” he asked.
“Just don’t start angling for captain, or we’re going to have a problem,” I said. “I hate wasting a perfectly good enlisted man by giving him bars.”
So the always cheerful Christian Nobles made his way to the cockpit a happy new officer. I sat in the cabin, still troubled. As we taxied through the atmospheric locks, I looked around my luxurious new digs. This bird was made for officers with entourages, Cabot would have felt at home.
I did not even notice when we took off, we moved so smoothly. Our entry into the atmosphere went the same way. Military transports entered most atmospheres like a hammer battering a nail. They rumbled and they shook, their fuselages audibly rattling as they pounded their way in from space. Not this shuttle. It sliced into the pocket like a sharpened scalpel cutting through skin.
I pivoted my armchair so that I could look out a window. It was nighttime on this side of Olympus Kri, the clouds below us were so thick that they blocked out the city lights below as we flew through. For a moment, the world outside my windows was all mist and cotton, then sheets of water streaked the glass, and I saw Odessa below me, a million million tiny amber-colored lights forming patterns that arranged themselves into streets and neighborhoods and tall buildings and riverside docks.
Odessa, capital of Olympus Kri, had survived the Avatari invasion pretty much intact. During the darkest days of the war, with the aliens closing in on Earth, the Unified Authority all but ceded Olympus Kri to the aliens. Without an army to defend it, the planet fell quickly; and because no one put up much of a fight, the Avatari ignored the people. They dug their mine, filled it with gas, and moved on to New Copenhagen.
“We’re coming in for a landing, sir,” Nobles radioed from the cockpit.
Looking out of the rain-coated window, I saw the sprawling lights of the spaceport. Runways stretched more than a mile in five different directions, their blue lights forming a pentagonal constellation.
We touched down smoothly, then taxied toward the multifaceted glass castle that served as Odessa’s air terminal. Once we stopped taxiing, the shuttle’s pneumatic struts compacted until the fuselage was only a few inches from the ground.