No Remorse, page 27
“In five minutes, then?” Vinn’s mischievous grin brought a smile to Salminen’s careworn face.
“Four, if you want.”
“You’re making this too easy, sir.”
Salminen shook his head at the lighthearted banter. “We’ll let Fort Lothbrok know to expect your people within the next two hours.”
“Thank you, sir. Staff Sergeant Carrie Paulus will lead the recon team. They’ll be in civilian getup, with weapons and gear hidden on their persons and in their packs. Sergeant Paulus will identify herself to whoever greets the shuttle. Two ground cars would be excellent, but if you can only provide one, that’ll work as long as it carries eight people.”
“I’m sure we’ll manage two. There are enterprising noncoms in the 3rd Battalion who run a sideline selling used cars. Their fleet magically turns into rentals whenever visiting troops land in Vaasa. In your case, they’ll be glad to waive the fees.”
“We’ll pay for any breakage, sir. It’s in the budget.”
“I’m sure my entrepreneurs will be relieved to hear that.”
**
Decker tossed the sim gear aside and shoved his way through the emergency door out into Saemund Manor’s inner courtyard. Although his sweat-streaked face showed no emotions, Talyn could read the thunder in his eyes when she joined him to bask in the afternoon sunshine.
“Wasn’t that special?” He glanced at her right hand. When she did the same, his fingers danced.
Did you notice how the escape part of the simulation keeps feeling like an afterthought? Like they didn’t bother entirely formulating it? We’re meant to die.
Agreed. I doubt they intend to let your kid go either.
Yeah. We bust out, find Saga, and nuke this place.
Once you disarm the bomb in your head.
If I can’t, you bust out. Warn the targets. See that their security is vetted. The bastards may have a backup plan.
Decker saw the usual two goons step through one of the manor’s doors and stroll around the inner perimeter, keeping an eye on their charges.
How many tangos are we facing?
Those two, the woman. I saw two more earlier, so at least five. Probably a few more to handle surveillance.
Good odds for us.
Until the woman triggers your IED.
So I kill her before she can. One hand around the neck and squeeze.
At that moment, the woman in question, Trulock, stuck her head out.
“Break’s over, people. Let’s do this again. Until you’re sure of every bit, every reflex so you could do it half-sloshed, the simulator’s your best friend.”
“Choking her to death would be too kind,” Talyn muttered. “She gives psychopaths a bad name.”
“You just don’t like her style.”
“I hate the pixie haircut, especially on an intelligence officer.”
“What’s that?” Trulock gave them a strange look.
“Hera was just saying she’d love to know the name of your hair stylist.”
“I’ll introduce her after she kills Dahlstein, for which she still needs plenty of practice.”
Decker wrapped his hand around Talyn’s arm and tapped his fingers.
I know how you will die, or at least fail. Simulator imprint, so your reaction time is slowed when things go differently.
“Probably,” she whispered.
Two dead Fleet assassins. The Senate will go ballistic.
That night, after lights out, Decker plunged back into the recesses of his mind and studied the thing that would kill him in three days if he didn’t find a solution. And as before, his searching and probing proved to be in vain. Mentally exhausted, sleep overtook him the moment he came out of the meditative trance. But rest proved elusive.
**
“Ready, General?”
An aide-de-camp, a Marine colonel in full dress uniform, his right shoulder awash with knotted gold cords, came out of nowhere to join Decker in the otherwise empty antechamber.
It, like the rest of the palace, was once occupied by the Wyvern Governor General. But that worthy voluntarily vacated the premises when the newly formed empire decided on Wyvern as capital to replace Earth, which now had the status of a colony under an imperial administrator.
Decker took one last glance at his reflection in the full-length mirror standing to one side of large double doors. His black uniform didn’t lack for gold adornments either, though they were a flag officer’s ornate cuff, collar, and trouser piping, suitable for of a lieutenant general of Imperial Marines.
A five-pointed star he recognized as the Medal of Honor, humanity’s highest award for valor, hung on a dark blue and silver ribbon around his neck. Decker’s other decorations and awards crowded his left breast, beneath Pathfinder wings embroidered with too many combat stars to count, while a sheathed sword hung at his left hip.
He still wore the insignia of the Third Imperial Expeditionary Corps on his right upper sleeve even though the formation was stood down after Earth’s pacification and its divisions scattered to other duty stations. All, that is, except one. It would permanently reside on Earth.
However, its garrison was nothing more than a monument to the memory of those who died when the last remnants of the Commonwealth detonated an antimatter device to obliterate their dying capital. Establishing the sacred site and supervising the monument’s construction were among Decker’s last acts before boarding a starship and leaving Earth to its fate.
Other corps commanders, in other star systems, were still busy imposing the empire’s will, but the Commonwealth died on that fateful day in Geneva, with no hope of resurrection. Yet he knew the rats that prospered beneath the previous regime’s rotten edifice already scurried about, finding new ways of rebuilding their wealth and reclaiming their influence.
The Coalition might have died along with its plans and ambitions when the Fleet set about to preserve humanity by destroying the sick, tottering edifice of a state inexorably sliding toward another destructive civil war. But many of its members remained at large, even now worming their way into the new power structure.
At least the murderous Sécurité Spéciale had followed its forbear, the Special Security Bureau, into oblivion, and the Imperial Senate would not tolerate any new agencies reporting solely to the ruler. Matters concerning intelligence and security now belonged exclusively to the Imperial Constabulary and the Fleet.
“I’m about as ready as I’ll ever be, Colonel.” Decker knew the summons to court was in honor of his seizing and pacifying the cradle of humanity, thereby humbling it before the galaxy. That punishment, harsh though it might seem, was necessary to quash the sort of hubris that almost always led to a civilization’s violent destruction and the extinction of entire populations.
Yet Decker wanted no more honors. On the contrary. He hungered for a chance to hand the emperor his resignation and slip into obscurity but knew permission to retire would be denied for as long as he remained sound of body and mind. The Marine grasped his sword’s sheath in his left hand, momentarily soothed by the cold metal, then squared his shoulders.
“Lead on.”
The massive doors made of dark, carved wood slid aside at the aide’s gesture, opening onto a throne room lined with men and women in every variety of uniform.
“Lieutenant General Zachary Thomas Decker, Imperial Marine Corps.”
At the far end of the polished marble floor, facing him, stood a man wearing a simple Marine’s black tunic. It was without rank insignia or adornments other than the medals he’d earned beneath a set of gold combat Pathfinder wings. The flags of every star system and every branch of the services hung from the wall behind him, framing the new silver galaxy banner now uniting the human species.
Decker took a deep breath and then marched at a slow parade pace toward his liege. He felt the eyes of his peers, the admirals, generals and chief constables who swore the oath of fealty to an empire whose genesis he still couldn’t quite understand, follow him. When he neared the man selected as ruler by those same flag officers now standing in attendance, Decker realized he couldn’t make out his face, even though everyone else’s was clear enough.
He stamped to a perfect halt three paces in front the throne and raised his right hand to his brow in salute.
“Lieutenant General Decker reporting to His Majesty as ordered.”
Then, the emperor, his retinue, and the throne room dissolved. He found himself in complete darkness, save for a baleful, pulsating thing that seemed on the verge of absorbing everything he was and might become.
Decker woke with a start, and when he turned his head toward Talyn, who was lying at his side, he saw her watch him intently in the room’s dim light.
“Bad dream? You were talking, but I couldn’t understand a word you said.” She reached out to touch his brow. “And you’re soaked in sweat.”
“Remember that dream on the way here, the one with a strange future?”
“Sure. How could I forget your foray into soothsaying?”
“I just experienced part two.” He described what he’d seen, conscious that his recollection of every little detail seemed more than unusual.
“We can’t blame hyperspace psychosis this time. So you could see everyone’s face clearly, but not the emperor’s? That’s strange.”
“No kidding. There were even a few familiar ones in the crowd, proving I’m not the only reprobate who makes good in an alternate future.”
She ran the back of her fingers over his cheek. “Was I among them this time?”
“I don’t know.”
The sadness in Zack’s voice was enough to send an unaccustomed chill down her spine.
— TWENTY-SEVEN —
“Another rough night, Major? Your brain wave activity scans were off the charts again, but this time in two separate spikes. One shortly after you went to bed, the other around three in the morning.” Decker ignored Trulock, sitting at the head of the oval table in Saemund Manor’s main briefing room and headed for the sideboard where a coffee urn waited. “What was that about?”
“You’re the one who fucked with my mind. Why don’t you tell me?” He kept his back to the Sécurité Spéciale officer while pouring. Then, mug in hand, he wandered to one of the windows overlooking the grassy strip between the manor proper and the high perimeter wall.
“I don’t know what goes on in your head, thankfully.”
“Then why bother scanning my brain wave activity?”
Trulock made a moue. “It’s merely a part of our overall monitoring. We wouldn’t want anything to befall our star assassins.”
“Not before they do the deed, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“Zack means he doesn’t trust you. Neither do I.”
“Fortunately, we need not run on trust, my dear Commander. It’s so old-fashioned. If you haven’t figured it out yet, the Sécurité Spéciale operates on incentives, where everyone has something dear to lose by not acting as desired. Conversely, the rewards for enthusiastic compliance with orders can sate the most rapacious souls.”
“Sounds charming.” Talyn joined her partner by the window. “Speaking as someone who apparently has no soul herself.”
Decker, oblivious to the exchange, was studying the tree line beyond the wall through narrowed eyes, unsure whether his mind was playing new tricks on him. Then, when another gust of wind ruffled the distant trees, he saw it again. A few old rags caught in the branches.
Except seen from the manor, they seemed to mark the four points of an elongated diamond shape, just like marker lights at the center of a drop zone. If it was what he thought, he should see similar signals elsewhere around the manor. Perhaps even from the side facing Vaasa Bay, though the steep, almost cliff-like shoreline would hide anything close in.
The Marine drained his coffee and turned to face Trulock. “I think that before we start on today’s never-ending rehearsals, I’ll take a walk around the grounds and clear my mind. You know how it is when you experience more than one brain wave activity spike per night.”
Trulock gave him a suspicious stare. “Fifteen minutes, Major. No more. I’ll use the time to review Commander Talyn’s performance yesterday.”
Zack tossed off a mock salute, then ambled down the hallway and out through the front door, trailed by his inevitable shadows, the goons he’d finally nicknamed Frick and Frack. They stayed at a respectable distance while he strolled along a gravel path bordered by rock garden style flowerbeds.
He stopped to gaze through the main gate’s iron grille and sure enough, one of the trees bordering a farmer’s field on the other side of the main road, bore a familiar marking. This one, made from broken branches, resembled a crude arrowhead — another common drop zone marker.
The Marine took a deep breath to still his growing excitement and resumed his walk, eyes now looking over the wall bordering the property’s other side. Once might be a coincidence, twice could be wishful thinking. But then he saw the third sign, a small, elongated strip of plastic caught in the upper branches of a dead tree, looking like a drop zone wind direction indicator.
What were the odds he’d see three innocuous marks on the landscape, put there by chance, that would appear so achingly familiar to any Pathfinder? Decker searched his memory to see if he noticed any of them before and came up with a blank. His gut instinct told him they were fresh, placed there overnight.
Nothing caught his eye when he reached the rear of the property, but it was more challenging to leave inconspicuous signs over water. Whoever placed the improvised drop zone markers was watching the manor, even if it was only from a ship in orbit, and would see him. But Decker had to leave an acknowledgment, something that told the watchers he’d received their message, without tipping off Frick and Frack.
He found a wooden bench overlooking the bay and slumped into it until his shoulders were level with the edge of the backrest. Then, he turned his face up at the blue morning sky and stretched his arms above the crown of his head until his hands met, forming a large circle. Anyone watching the manor from orbit with naval-grade sensors couldn’t fail to notice the exaggerated grin on his face or the two-armed version of the jumper’s signal for ‘I’m okay.’
His heart felt lighter when he rejoined Talyn and Trulock in the briefing room though he kept the resurgence of hope well hidden behind a stoic facade. Unless he was gravely mistaken, Commodore Ulrich didn’t merely smooth his way into Fort Hardrada. He also convinced Admiral Kruczek, and through him, the flag officer commanding JSOC, to authorize the deployment of Special Forces operators to Scandia. God only knew how fast they traveled.
Garrett Montero must be responsible for dispatching them to his last known location the moment they arrived. Hopefully, they’d come aboard a Q-ship which was even now scanning Saemund Manor with its powerful sensors. If only he could disarm that damn IED in his brain, they would make short work of the Sécurité Spéciale contingent and find his daughter before hell broke loose on Friday.
Later, during a break in the morning’s simulation runs, Decker took Talyn out to the courtyard for a breather and via touch language let her know they were no longer alone, that the cavalry was here. And that he’d given them what he hoped they would understand as both an acknowledgment and as a signal to wait.
**
“Decker knows my folks are in Vaasa, watching him.” Vinn called up an image from Sorcerer’s sensors showing Zack on the bench, smiling as he made the okay sign. “If that’s not a signal, then he’s suffered a stroke or something equally debilitating. Besides, Sergeant Paulus has video footage of him examining two of the three sign and surmises he saw the first from inside. His promenade around the grounds was for no other reason. She’s convinced of that.”
“What about Talyn?” Montero and Regimental Sergeant Major Gulliksen, who’d appointed himself the Scandia Regiment’s liaison with Vinn, were in the latter’s office. His main display was linked to the Q-ship via a secure, encrypted channel.
Another image flashed on the screen, this time of the manor’s inner courtyard. “We took this ten minutes ago. Although it’s impossible to be a hundred percent certain, I’d say the woman beside Decker is Talyn. She fits her description. You can see them holding hands.”
Gulliksen chuckled. “Cute.”
“That’s the point, RSM,” Montero replied with a tolerant smile. “Everyone thinks they’re whispering sweet nothings at each other, but in reality, they’re communicating via touch. It means that while they may enjoy the run of the place, they’re still in hostile territory.”
“Precisely. We watched these two men,” a fresh image appeared, “follow Zack around during his inspection of the perimeter. They were also in the courtyard with him and Commander Talyn.”
Montero nodded. “Minders. If those are our usual opponents, they want something from Hera and Zack, otherwise, why keep them alive and allow them to wander around in the fresh air?”
The Special Forces noncom grimaced. “Considering what we think might happen the day after tomorrow, I’m sure it’s not something designed to help keep Scandia quiet, sir.”
“No, it’s not. What sort of signal would you expect from Zack if he was calling for an extraction?”
“Hard to say. Now he knows we’re watching, there are a lot of possibilities, but I’m sure we’ll recognize the signal when he makes it.”
Montero rubbed his chin. “No doubt. We should stay alert to the possibility he and Talyn are playing a deeper game and won’t want us to intervene until they’re ready.”
“I’d say that was a given. A shit-eating grin and the okay sign are clearly meant to tell us they’re good for now. If he were looking for an immediate rescue, we’d have seen something else.”
“Right. Keep up the surveillance but be ready to move at a moment’s notice. In my experience the deeper the game, the more urgent the emergency extraction.”
“True, sir. But we’ll still need about an hour to reach them from orbit unless Sergeant Paulus takes on the door-knocking job with her seven troopers. There can’t be much more than eight or nine tangos on the target, and the moment she knocks, Zack and Commander Talyn will become troopers nine and ten, meaning the odds will be in our favor.”
