The Desert of Stars (The Human Reach) (32 page)

Second Lieutenant Salter swore.

“Yeah,” Neil agreed. “Any hope of fixing the thruster?”

“Trust me, no. Big hole, no patch, no EVA gear on board.”

“Then we need to call for help.”

“Comm laser, also busted.”

“Radio?”

She just shook her head.

Okay, no help here,
Neil thought. He said, “We’ve
got a team of engineering techs in the back. If anyone can rig up something,
they can.”

Twenty minutes later, the chief tech floated over to
Neil.

“Next time, give us a challenge,” she said. She gave him a
code, which he entered in his handheld. He heard a brief buzz in his ear,
followed by an annoyed voice.

“Vega One-Five, this is Ghost Two-Three. You shouldn’t be
talking to us, but your chief said we’d have a dozen dead on our conscience if
we didn’t help. What’s the story?”

Neil explained. “Who are you, by the way?”

“Not over an unsecure channel. Stand by; we’ll be
airlocking in twelve minutes.”

Salter retracted the armor covering the cockpit windows,
and Neil beheld the sleek outline of a Starhawk dropship as it rolled over for
a belly-rub with the wounded jumper.

When the hatch opened, the face looking up at them was grim.
“Let’s go,” the dropship crew chief said. “You guys have screwed things up
enough already.”

They hurried through the connection, and Neil’s suspicions
were confirmed: Ghost 23 was a special operations drop, carrying a reconnaissance
squad down to Sequoia continent to scout landing sites for the main invasion
force. The unit was mostly Navy SEALs, with a pair of Space Force Special
Tactics operators thrown in. They glowered at the new arrivals until one of the
operators saw Neil’s
Apache
patch.

“Thanks for the save up at Long Nu,” the SEAL team leader, a
lieutenant named Costa, told Neil. “This was supposed to be HALO drop, well out
of range of their triple-A. But because of the thousand kilos of dead weight
you’re bringing aboard, we had to dump fuel, and we can’t get back to orbit
from the drop altitude. General Grogan won’t abort the mission, so we’re going
to have to land and wait for a fuel pod before we can take off again.”

Costa let the Marines bring their personal weapons along,
but he insisted everything else be left behind, including the body of the dead
engineer.

The jumper burned up in Kuan Yin’s orbit thirty minutes
later.

Near Hill 2941, Sequoia Continent, Kuan Yin

Rand’s platoon was well southeast of Sycamore, in rolling
hills that marked the boundary between the mountains and the high plains that
dominated the center of Sequoia. Earth plant life had made few inroads into the
native regolith, but great boulders sat on the hillsides, providing excellent
cover.

Beneath the platoon was a long line of two-meter-tall Chinese
Stoats, their nosecones pointed at the nighttime sky. The soldiers who operated
and guarded them were busy enough: It wasn’t a sleeping night during Kuan Yin’s
16-hour-day.

Rand sighted his M7 on the woman who had done the most
pointing during the fifteen minutes he had been observing the Chinese unit, thought
for a long moment about Yancey, McKay, Pravitz, Ramirez, and Torren, and fired.
The rest of the platoon followed his lead.

Ghost 23, over Kuan Yin

Neil knew what the alarms from the cockpit meant.
We’ve
been detected.

“Everyone double-check your straps and make sure everything
is tied down,” the co-pilot announced over the intercom. “Bandits chasing us.”

The dropship jerked and rolled, and something like hailstones
battered its side, but the alarms quieted.

“Our screen is clear,” the co-pilot said. “Han interceptors
fired three missiles at us, and one burster got close enough to be a threat.
But our screens read green, so we’re all right.”

But as the plane descended, Neil caught a faint whistle at
the back of his hearing.
Not a normal operating sound. But I guess if the
ship thinks it’s okay –

The dropship bounced hard against Kuan Yin’s air, and new
alarms sounded.

“Ram’s gone Tango Uniform! We’re going in!”

CSS Qinglong, Sirius

ROUTINE MESSAGE

SECRET

1830Z14OCT2141

FR: SSGT DEAVER, JIRC, FORT BELVOIR

TO: LTJG MERCER, USS APACHE

CC: 1LT SINDORF, DIA

APOLOGIES FOR THE DELAY IN PROCESSING YOUR REQUEST. THE SERIAL
NUMBER YOU PROVIDED DENOTES A CHINESE CW-6 130MM SHORT-RANGE SEMI-GUIDED LASER
SUPPRESSION ROCKET. THESE ROCKETS ARE USED BY THE MILITARIES OF CHINA AND
KOREA.

PRODUCTION: THIS SPECIFIC ROCKET WAS PRODUCED AT PEOPLE’S
LIBERATION ARMY MATERIAL FACTORY NUMBER 12, IN HANGZHOU, ZHEJIANG, CHINA.

USE: THE CW-6 IS USED TO SUPPRESS GROUND-BASED TACTICAL
HIGH-ENERGY LASER DEFENSES AND ALLOW CONVENTIONAL BALLISTIC, SEMI-GUIDED OR
GUIDED WEAPONS TO REACH THEIR TARGETS. IT IS TYPICALLY LAUNCHED FROM
VEHICLE-MOUNTED OR TOWED MULTIPLE ROCKET LAUNCHERS.

CAPABILITY: THIS WEAPON MUST BE TUNED BEFORE LAUNCH TO THE
FREQUENCY OF THE LASER IT IS ATTEMPTING TO SUPPRESS. IT MAY BE SET TO DEPLOY AT
A PREDETERMINED POINT IN ITS FLIGHT PATH OR WHEN IT IS STRUCK BY A LASER OF
SUFFICIENT POWER. IT RELEASES A PLUG THAT RAPIDLY DISINTEGRATES INTO A PLUME OF
MICROSCALE ATTENNAE WITH SIGNIFICANT LASER-SCATTERING PROPERTIES. IF WEATHER
CONDITIONS ARE RIGHT, THIS CLOUD MAY REMAIN SUSPENDED OVER A TARGET AREA FOR
SOME TIME; HOWEVER, A LARGE BARRAGE OF THESE ROCKETS IS REQUIRED TO CREATE A
CONTINUOUS PLUME AND SUPPRESS MULTIPLE LASERS. IT IS MUCH MORE EFFECTIVE WHEN
USED IN CONJUNCTION WITH GUIDED WEAPONS CAPABLE OF DETECTING AND REMAINING
WITHIN THE PLUME FOR AS LONG AS POSSIBLE.

NOTE: THIS PARTICULAR
WEAPON WAS PART OF A SUPPLY CACHE RECOVERED BY ALLIED FORCES NEAR PUSAN, KOREA,
IN FEBRUARY 2140. FURTHER DETAILS REDACTED – REPLY WITH DESCRIPTION OF
NEED-TO-KNOW FOR ADDITIONAL EXPLANATION.

Why would an American Space Force intelligence officer
at Kuan Yin inquire about one of the Army’s rockets lost when the Japanese
landed near Pusan?
Kao Tai thought. She almost ignored it, but, she
decided, it was such an obscure and unusual request that it merited further
investigation.

Her first line of inquiry was into the Japanese invasion of
Korea, which was repulsed at such a cost to the Koreans that the Japanese
claims that it was merely an extended raid to degrade Korean capabilities
seemed plausible. And the Japanese made off with a good deal of weapons
technology after overrunning several supply depots during the attack.

But Mercer’s request wasn’t about the weapon system, it was
about a single
round
of high-tech ordnance. Obviously it had turned up
somewhere. On Kuan Yin? No, the Americans hadn’t landed there yet. Entente,
Mercer’s last station? Were they trying to supply these to the government on
Tecolote? She ran more searches.

And there it is.
A cable to Beijing, from China’s
ambassador in India, reporting on some false accusation the Indians had dredged
up.
It’s been fifteen years since we ran weapons to the Punjabis, but the
Indians claim to have evidence it is still happening.
Did the Americans
stumble on a Japanese covert operation, or is something else at work? And are
the Indians complicit in the lie, or the unwitting but eager victims of it?
She
had to consider the possibility that she was receiving disinformation, but to
what end? Her conclusion could only damage the American effort.

She notified her Second Bureau superior.

South of Sycamore, Sequoia Continent, Kuan Yin

The dropship had crash-landed well, digging a long furrow
through the ragged chaparral. But they were well south of its intended landing
zone.

No one was killed, but the craft had struck a boulder as it
slowed to a stop. The nose crumpled, and the pilot suffered a broken leg, and
the co-pilot had wrenched his back so severely that he could not stand. One of
the SEALs gave them both an injection, and they became quiet.

Stay put
, one of Grogan’s
staff transmitted from orbit.
Help is on the way.

Near Hill 2941, Sequoia Continent, Kuan Yin

“Anyone want to guess how long we have?” Rand asked.

“We’re pretty far out,” Patterson replied. “Unless they
happened to have some air nearby, fifteen minutes until the first gunships,
twenty-five for a rapid-response company.”

“Tell the team to start melting,” he said. Patterson saluted
lazily and left.

Rand walked through the command bunker of Stoat unit. His
troops had won the battle handily, and a dozen Chinese soldiers had
surrendered.
Gotta let them go,
he thought, pausing at a
still-functioning console. The notations on the screen looked somewhat
familiar.

“Yo Hal,” Rand said. “Take a look at this.”

Aguirre stepped over. “Looks like one of our orbital
tracking consoles back when we ran a laser battery.”

“Yep. See, those tracks look like friendlies descending to
bombardment orbits.”

“Right.”

“And this for damn sure wasn’t the only Han Stoat unit on
the continent. We did a little damage here, but the fleet doesn’t know what’s
about to hit them.”

“Sir, we still don’t have any comms to warn them.”

“I know one thing we can do,” Rand said.

“Sir?”

Rand ran to the bunker’s exit. “Patterson! Leave that
missile alone!”
I wonder how you say “miss on purpose” in Mandarin.

USS Apache

I ought to fry you, Neil, for leaving without telling
me,
Jessica thought, looking at the images of the crash site of Ghost 23.
She thought she could pick him out among all the people milling around at the
crash site.

The sensor chief said, “Sir,
Graves
is imaging some
Han heavy infantry moving toward the crash site. Estimate company strength,
with contact with leading platoon imminent. There’s also some air en route.”

“All right, fire mission, Barrett,” Captain Howell said.

“Aye, sir,” Jessica said. “Three minutes to optimum firing
angle.”

“Vampire! Vampire!” another sensor tech called. “Missile
inbound from the surface.”

“Lasers, Fire Control, get the defenses in-line,” Howell
said. “Did they build some silos and no one noticed? Or they get a suborbital
up?”

“Negative, sir. Map says it’s coming from an empty area. The
missile is pretty small, and … it’s going to miss us and everyone else by quite
a distance, sir. This is a new one, sir, some kind of surface-to-orbit missile
we haven’t seen before.”

“Why did they only fire one?”

“Can’t say, sir.”

“Sounds like they may have a few quality control issues,”
Lieutenant Ortega snickered.

“Signal from the flag,” said the comm officer. “Admiral
Cooper orders all ships to cancel bombardment runs and ascend to seven-hundred-kilometer
orbits until we can assess the new threat.”

“Captain Howell, Lieutenant Mercer’s down there,” Jessica
said. “They’ll be overrun without our help. At least let me take the shot we’re
lined up for.”

Howell glared at her, before nodding slowly.

Sorry, Neil. The best I can do.
She fired, tasting fear
and helplessness together.

South of Sycamore, Sequoia Continent, Kuan Yin

As a red sun rose over the distant mountains, they spread
out in the scrub, fearful that clustering around the dropship for cover would
leave them easy targets. And sure enough, when the first mortars whistled in,
they fell near the stricken craft.

They didn’t have enough rifles to go around, so Neil,
Salter, and the engineering and techs hid well back from the loose perimeter
the operators and Marines had set up.

Neil felt a brief surge of hope when he heard the thunderous
crack of a bombardment laser burning across the sky. But it only happened once.

“Angels flyin’ away,” Lieutenant Costa, the SEAL team
leader, transmitted. “Ground reinforcements are en route, but it will be a
while. So hunker down and pray.”

A moment later, a different crack resounded across the llano,
and Neil heard a scream.

USS Javier Benavidez y Diaz

“Sergei Pavelovich, I need your help,” Donovan said.

Komarov looked up from his handheld and smiled gently.
“Anything within my power, Mister Calvin, you shall have.”

“One of our special operations dropships has been shot down
near the Russian area of operations on Sequoia. Everyone on board survived, but
they are under attack by Chinese infantry. You have a KDV spetsnatz company
near there, but your special operations commander refuses to release them to
rescue our troops.”

Komarov blinked. “Those units have orders not to engage any
Chinese forces. They are scouting landing areas for our infantry. Pulling them
off that task puts both them and our primary forces at risk.”

“Sergei …”

The admiral held up a hand. “I haven’t said no. Tell me, how
does a Colonial Affairs apparatchik know so much about our operations?”

Donovan paused. Every instinct, every ounce of training insisted
on a particular response, one more strand in the web of lies.
If Komarov or
some other Russian has taken my picture on the Diaz, and they run it through
their border police database …

But lying won’t save the boy.

Donovan said, “I think you know why.”

Komarov pursed his lips. “Ah. In truth, we had speculated,
but didn’t know. What sort of secrets did you hope to steal from me?”

“Nothing in particular. My work really begins when we make
planetfall. Sergei, we don’t have much time.”

“Tell me, why spend such professional currency over a downed
special operations flight? You must know I am compelled tell my superiors about
you.”

Donovan paused.
Still no reason to lie.
“A friend is
on that drop.”

Komarov bowed his head slightly. “I am sorry to hear that,
my friend. I will talk to Major General Lapidus.” He rose and pushed himself
out of the galley, moving through freefall with the grace and ease of someone
who has spent most of his life in space.