Brink of Destruction, page 18
“I took the Thunderer in early because we received a message from contacts on Eredin IV that had left the planet aboard another starship. The enemy was not watching those ships.” Commander Fox wasn’t going to completely bail Bannon out, but neither was he going to allow his special tasks commander to be crushed for the wrong reasons.
Eyes turned back to Bannon. “The fact remains, Lieutenant, that you did abandon your mission. The intelligence as to whether or not the Zolarians are recruiting the Eredinese chyotsu the same way they did the thura was vital, and instead you brought Columbians with no shared interest and a tale of another encounter with these ‘ghost ships,’ which we are not even entirely convinced are not a Zolarian artifice.”
There were frowns along the table at that. Apparently the Council was not as unanimous or stoic as they had first appeared.
Bannon couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard. “The ghost ships a Zolarian artifice?”
The skeletal councilor raised a hand. “Hyperbole does not suit this council, General.” His eyes turned to Bannon. “There is no serious theory that the ghost ships are Zolarian in origin.”
“Perhaps not in origin, but they may well be allies.” The jowly councilor was not giving up. “Possibly proxies like the thura, brought in to muddy the waters while the Zolarians grab all the territory and influence they can. Either possibility does not take away from the fact that the burgeoning war with the Zolarians is of far greater immediate import than unidentified ships.”
“If they are a Zolarian invention, or a proxy like the thura, then why would the Shihyanese know of them, and have history about them going back centuries?” Bannon asked.
“That assumes that the chyotsu you picked up with the Columbians is genuinely Shihyanese.” The hatchet-faced man to the jowly one’s left scowled down from the table. “There are billions, if not trillions, of chyotsu in the galaxy. How difficult would it be for Zolarian intelligence to fabricate a Shihyanese?”
“Have you ever dealt with a chyotsu, sir?” Commander Fox asked.
The general glared at him. Apparently the commander’s meaning was clear. “Any sophont can be bought.”
“That’s strange,” another councilor snapped. “I was under the belief that Corvanites couldn’t.”
“Corvanites are not chyotsu.” Bannon’s antagonist was losing patience. He stabbed a finger at Bannon. “None of this takes away from the fact that this officer did abandon his mission to chase ghosts.”
But Commander Fox was not finished. “For two years, I have received requests for information about the ghost ships, ever since Zhogalgan.” He remained at parade rest, but his eyes tracked across the Council. “They have demonstrated technological capabilities we never considered possible, and have killed Corvanites and Zolarians both. That they are unidentified and as powerful as we have observed—they are able to open wormholes anywhere—makes them a more immediate threat than the Zolarians. I believed that to be understood. So why is this suddenly a problem?” He might have maintained the deferential posture, but there was a challenge in his eyes and the set of his jaw, one that was not lost on the generals sitting above them.
Nor was it lost on his officers, who remained stoic, but must be wondering what the fallout of this encounter would be.
There was an exchange of glances, and for some reason, the man who had been most adamant that the Zolarians were the chief threat was silent. Finally, the one who might be General Kaminsky spoke, leaning his elbows on the table.
“It must first be understood that what you hear next will not leave this room, upon pain of death. Am I perfectly clear, gentlemen?”
There was no reply, but there didn’t need to be. The understanding was there, just by virtue of the words spoken. The general still scanned each face before he continued.
“The truth is, the general populace has not been told about the ghost ships. That remains classified. And as a result, the same populace is getting restive about our inactivity following Zhogalgan. They believe that we should be backing the Mytunese. Accusations of cowardice have been made.”
That would prick even the ego of a seasoned Corvanite officer. If these men had been sitting in this council chamber for as many years as Bannon believed, it would only make matters worse.
“There is some truth to the fact that we are at war with the Zolarians, if only in an irregular capacity,” the general continued. “That was sealed with the action at Zhogalgan. There is also truth to the belief that the Mytunese went farther than they should have, and they should be chastised for it.”
He steepled his fingers in front of him. “However, the Zolarians must be dealt with. To that end, we have been letting the Mytunese and the Zolarians fight one another while we mass forces in several otherwise uninhabited systems near the frontier with the Zolarian sphere.”
Bannon was starting to get the picture, and it wasn’t good. From experience, he agreed with Commander Fox that the ghost ships were by far a greater threat than the “enlightened” Zolarians. He’d seen the Zolarians firsthand on the ground on Zhogalgan, and he wasn’t impressed.
Commander Fox was apparently thinking along similar lines. “Councilors… I have fought the Zolarians around Zhogalgan, and Lieutenant Bannon here warned us about their alliance with the thura. He also saw the same ghost ships that attacked the Zolarians on Zhogalgan—disguised as our gunships, I might add—annihilate at least one megacity on Thuraban to protect that Zolarian-Suta Thura alliance, the same one that has been brought to bear against the Mytunese.” He looked each general in the eye, as best he could. “From what we have seen, to ignore this threat will only draw us into a trap. While I cannot say with certainty that I understand these xenobites’ psychology, I believe I can say with certainty that they seek our destruction, and as soon as we turn our backs on them, we will regret it.”
Bannon had already been loyal to Commander Fox for some time, but even had he been ambivalent about his commander up until now, that last statement would have won his regard. To stand up to the Council of Corvan took a degree of courage that might even be on a higher level than combat.
More looks were exchanged up at the table. No words passed, but from subtle expressions, it was obvious that there was a split on the Council. Bannon suspected that some of them knew that he and Commander Fox were right, but others were concerned about the unrest that had been spoken of, genuinely wished to address the Zolarians’ push against the edges of the Corvanite sphere of influence first, or simply didn’t want to believe that the ghost ships—which had long been derided as “spacers’ tales”—were real.
The man who had been the most outspokenly antagonistic seemed to want to say something as he glared daggers at Commander Fox, but he didn’t get the chance.
“We have received your report, Commander.” The man who spoke had not weighed in so far, his hawklike face impassive. “You and your officers are dismissed while the Council deliberates. Stand by outside.”
Commander Fox came to attention, followed an instant later by the rest of the officers, most of whom had not said a word, though Bannon had felt a few eyes on his back. There were those who were envious of his position, he knew, and others who would much prefer a line command, with the sort of fire support such a unit got. The losses taken on Thuraban—as used to losses as Corvanites were by training and experience—had shown that it took a certain type to excel at Special Tasks. And some of his peers knew they weren’t that type.
With Commander Fox in the lead, the officers of the 33rd Regiment marched out of the Council chamber, leaving the aging generals to determine their fate.
***
It took less time than Bannon expected for the door to the waiting chamber to open. In fact, it had only been a few minutes. “Attention on deck!” Every man sprang to his feet, stiffening to full straightness as the Council emblem on the dark red uniform in the doorway registered.
“At ease,” the cadaverously thin man snapped. “Commander Fox.”
“Yes, sir.” Fox was standing as straight-backed as his subordinates, his eyes fixed just over the general’s shoulder.
“Those Columbians are still aboard the Thunderer?” The man’s eyes glinted as he studied Fox.
“Yes, sir. We kept them aboard until the Council would see fit to call for them. They are not prisoners, but neither do they have full freedom of movement until we have instructions from the Council.”
Bannon was increasingly convinced that this councilor was General Kaminsky. The old man nodded. “They told you they located a base?”
Fox tilted his head slightly. “They said they had narrowed its location down to a cluster of systems, sir. The Shihyanese operative concurred.”
Kaminsky’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Very well. You are to return to the Thunderer, break orbit, and return to the Eredin system with your entire task force. The Columbians didn’t tell you everything, judging by something your Lieutenant Bannon said. The ghost ship base might not be in the Eredin system, but there is something there, and that Sentinel unit found it. Otherwise they would not have pursued so avidly on your way out of the system. Find out what it is. Should it lead to that base, return word to the Kataros system. The commander there will have orders to support should you find a viable target.”
Commander Fox finally looked the general in the eye. “Am I to understand that the Council has decided to prioritize the ghost ship threat, sir?”
The general’s eyes flashed. “Are you questioning the orders of a Councilor, Commander?”
Fox stiffened to attention again, his eyes tracking above the councilor’s head. “No, sir.”
“Good. You have your orders. I suggest you hurry up and get to them.” With what might have been the faintest ghost of a smirk, the general turned on his heel and left the room.
For a moment, every eye was fixed on the door where it had slid shut behind the councilor. Captain Kuhl was the first to break the silence. “What exactly just happened, sir?”
Commander Fox turned, raising an eyebrow at his subordinate. “Do not question the orders of a general on the Council of Corvan, Captain.” He pointed toward the way out of the building. “We have our mission. Let’s get to it.”
CHAPTER 24
The assault shuttle shook, but it was only from the drive. Maybe something had gotten knocked off-kilter during the unplanned wormhole transit. The long-term effects of that nightmarish passage outside of known space and time still needed to be determined.
Draven knew that he certainly hadn’t been feeling the same since that flight.
He looked across the compartment at Captain Breck, who had his helmet sealed but was obviously watching him. The captain hadn’t been vocal about it, but Draven had been able to sense his eagerness to be off the Inspiration and back in action.
Draven couldn’t say that he blamed his commander. Being a passenger through the maneuvers executed during the fight, even with the command override that had allowed the officers and senior non-coms to watch the tactical situation unfold, had not been pleasant. Regardless of the desperation of their circumstances—and Draven was under no illusions about that; while the spacers had been reassuring, he didn’t particularly believe they had any idea where the wormhole had dumped them out—it was still a relief to be able to do something about it, whether it turned out to be useful or not.
They didn’t know what was on the barren planet below as they plummeted toward the night side. Not really. The intel reports were sketchy, amounting to the fact that there were artificial transmissions coming from the surface. There hadn’t even been time to send probes, or maybe the commanders had feared that probes might give their intentions away. The signals—unintelligible to Zolarian intercept equipment—had been localized, just over the day line, but that was all.
Draven didn’t like it, but that was the reason for ground reconnaissance and the popper drones. It was slower, but if the enemy hadn’t detected them yet, it might be safer.
He didn’t know what to think about that. It could be taken to mean that the ground troops were more expendable, but there hadn’t been any of the ghost ships nearby when they’d come out of the wormhole. That might have been for any number of reasons, including the possibility that the Zolarian starships, not being calibrated for the artificial wormhole emergence point that the ghost ships had created, had come back into normal spacetime in an entirely different place than the ghost ships.
Maybe even a different system.
That was why their orders were simultaneously vague and open-ended. Reconnaissance was the primary mission on this barren world. They had to know who was down there before a course of action could be decided on.
It was still better than riding a starship without any control over what was going on.
The weight on his chest increased as the assault shuttle’s drives ramped up for the final deceleration and descent phase. It wasn’t terrible—Draven had endured worse during the fighting on the other side of the wormhole—but it was noticeable, and it was enough to put him into a higher state of alertness.
Visions of the devastation on Dina Chandra danced through his head as the drive vibrated at the base of his spine, and he clenched his gauntleted hands on the armrests, gritting his teeth as he waited for the blast that he’d never see coming.
They weren’t on the ground and back in control of their own destinies just yet.
No energy weapons or kinetic rounds slammed through the shuttle’s hull. The thrust died down as the vessel settled on its landing jacks, the slight rebound not nearly as violent as a combat drop would have been.
The drive rumbled away to silence, and then it was time to go to work.
“Scout crawlers out, get the first set of poppers up!” Draven levered himself out of his acceleration couch and planted his boots on the deck. “I want perimeter security out in the next five minutes and then start staging the combat crawlers for movement.”
Here we go again.
***
The kilometers sped by as the column moved up behind the forward reconnaissance vehicles, dust rising into the vacuum from beneath their wheels, though at just slightly less than one gee, it settled back much more quickly than it would have in an atmosphere, or on a low-gravity moon like Dina Chandra. There was a strange, yellowish cast to the regolith, somewhat explained by the plume rising from a volcano on the horizon.
This nameless rock might be airless and devoid of life without artificial means, but it was still seismically active.
Very seismically active. Another quake shook the ground beneath the crawlers, and the crawler shuddered and slid to one side. The tremor subsided quickly, unlike the last one that had required a halt, as the lead drivers were worried they were going to lose control on the rocky ground. There was no support to be had on this desolate planet, at least not beyond what had already landed. The entire regiment—the part that had made it through the wormhole, anyway—was on the ground and moving. So the entire unit was being slightly more cautious than usual.
That was also why they hadn’t launched poppers yet. The source of the signals was still over three hundred kilometers away, and the officers didn’t want any more warning put out there than necessary.
That bothered Draven. They were going into the unknown again, and the officers, out of a sense of caution that might or might not be excessive, were keeping the troops blind until the last moment.
There was no way, he thought, that the people at the source of those signals hadn’t noticed the swarm of assault shuttles descending, even over the horizon. They knew the Zolarians were coming, whoever they were.
Draven, sitting just behind the gunner, watched the tactical display in his visor. Captain Breck hadn’t been too explicit about it, but he’d still made it clear that he wanted Draven to stick to his directive role, rather than taking over a turret and leading from the front. He wasn’t sure just how to read the captain’s terse instructions. Breck had never been all that open to his subordinates, with rare exceptions when speaking with Draven, but there was something different about him since they’d passed through the wormhole. A distance, but one that wasn’t just the same reserve that his rank had forced on him before. It was as if he was expecting something, looking for a doom that had not yet loomed over the horizon.
It wasn’t making Draven all that comfortable or confident, if the truth be told. He had come to respect Captain Breck, even look to him as one of the most competent combat leaders he’d followed. He’d had his doubts on Dina Chandra, until he had been afforded a brief look into the captain’s history, allowing him to understand the call on the landing zone there that had gone so badly.
That the man seemed resigned and distracted was concerning, and Draven hoped the rest of the soldiers hadn’t picked up on it.
They probably hadn’t. Captain Breck wasn’t known for fraternizing much.
An alert popped up on the display in front of his face. The forward scouts had just gone to ground in a gully about fifty kilometers ahead, and they’d sent back a burst transmission to warn the rest of the unit that there was a threat ahead. Several of the officers were already clamoring on the company, battalion, and regimental nets for more information.
The scouts didn’t respond. They were probably too busy, and after a moment, most of the officers either figured that out or got shut down by their more experienced commanders.
Those that had more experienced commanders. It was an interesting mix, this deployment.
“Able Company, move up to Hill 475 and assume covering positions for the scouts.” Captain Breck was taking the initiative, while the other officers dithered and demanded more information. From what Draven could see in the tactical display, they weren’t going to get it for a while.
