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“I estimate around five hundred warheads stored in hard cases,” Dyas reported after walking around the depot. “Enough to wipe out the better part of four continents on your average human settled world. And that’s the ones with chemical markings only. I couldn’t begin to estimate the damage those biologicals would cause.”
“More the reason for not letting any fall into hostile hands,” Delgado replied. “What do you think is possible?”
Dyas didn’t immediately reply, eyes panning the stacks of gray, oblong plastic cases about the size of an average coffin. Their yellow markings didn’t indicate which side in the war stored them in an ancient river cave on an airless world for future use. Fortunately, that war ended before their owners could return and deploy them.
“To tell you the truth, I’m a little leery of prying those cases open. We don’t know how the locking mechanisms work, what’s inside, or even whether the warheads deteriorated to the point of leaking. Sure, there’s no atmosphere to propagate chems or bios, but if we catch a whiff, we’ll be bringing it back to Tyrell, and we have no Class One decontamination facilities. Besides, I didn’t bring enough explosives and detonators to rig more than a few dozen with movement-triggered timers, and I’m not even sure that of those will work properly. We’re not exactly well equipped to build IEDs with complex detonators.”
“So, what do you suggest?”
“Turn the movement-triggered timers into anti-handling devices by removing the timer module and slide them between the cases nearest to the door, then daisy-chain the rest of the IEDs along the stacks. That way, if they move one of them, everything goes.”
Delgado didn’t immediately reply, and Dyas guessed he was discussing the proposal with Hak and Testo.
“Won’t they see the setup?”
“Depends on how sloppy they are. We’ll make sure our presents are as well hidden as possible. But even if they spot one or two, that doesn’t mean they’ll have an easy time of it. Besides, I’ll rig enough charges on the underside of the overhang to collapse it via remote detonation at your command. A reserved demolition if you like.”
“Okay. Do it. Niner, out.”
Dyas turned to his people. “You heard him. Let’s rig this place for the best fireworks show within three parsecs.”
**
“Rolf’s people just broke up a fight in Habitat Module Three,” First Sergeant Hak reported when Delgado returned from the heads, “and a few of the prisoners are getting a little antsy at being confined to a hangar we can space whenever it suits us.”
“Tough. And no, I’m not reopening the Reach. If need be, I’ll lock the habitat modules and let them indulge in free-form martial arts. We’ll patch up the survivors when this is over. If there are any.”
Movane let out a soft snort. “Getting a little tetchy, Major?”
“Someone has to, and as commanding officer, that responsibility rests with me.” When she glanced over her shoulder, Delgado winked at her.
“Let me speak with the straw bosses among the workers, and I’ll see they settle.” She climbed to her feet and left the command post.
“It’s a shame, you know, sir.” Hak gave Delgado a wry smile.
“What is?”
“That Madame Movane will calm the restless spirits. I think Alpha Troop is enjoying a bit of physical activity slash head knocking.”
A scoff. “I get it. Everyone is tense.”
“We’re past tense, sir. Ever read of a last stand in a place called Rorke’s Drift back before spaceflight.” Hak paused for a moment, searching his memory. “Late nineteenth century, or thereabouts. One of the Colonel’s favorite leadership examples from the old days on Earth. Outnumbered troops holding the line against all odds.”
“Vaguely? Why?”
“They fought off a few attacks before wondering whether the next one would be their last. That’s pretty much where we are.”
“We only fought off one.”
“No, sir,” Hak replied in a patient tone. “The first attack was internal — Hallikonnoen and her operatives. The mercs carried out the second.”
Delgado studied his first sergeant, wondering what he was trying to say without saying it. “And?”
“Reading the account, something stuck in my memory. Back then, the highest award for valor in battle awarded by the nation defending Rorke’s Drift — the British, as I recall — was called the Victoria Cross. They awarded eleven of them for that single engagement, seven of which were the most ever received in a single action by one regiment.”
“I still don’t understand your meaning.”
“The recipients survived the battle, sir. No posthumous awards. They won against all odds. And so will we.”
Delgado smiled at Hak. “I doubt any of us will earn a Commonwealth Medal of Honor here, Top.”
“No, sir. But we will see this through to the Admiral’s and the Colonel’s satisfaction, and that’s what counts. Medals, they can pin to the cushion carried by one of the mourners at your funeral. Being in the good graces of our superiors, that’s as close to immortality as it gets because it delays mortality at their hands.” Hak gave his commanding officer a knowing wink. Rear Admiral Talyn, who controlled most of Ghost Squadron’s missions, wasn’t the forgiving sort.
**
“Niner, this is Zero.”
Sergeant Kuzek’s voice in Delgado’s earbud woke him with a start. After greeting Charlie Troop in the hangar and confirming the reserved demolition would work when the time came, he and Testo had crashed, leaving Kuzek to run the command post. Delgado sat up, instantly awake. He tapped his communicator.
“Niner.”
“Contact, sir. Ground surveillance picked up two ships in orbit, sloops like the ones we captured. Neither is emitting radio waves, but we are being pinged by sensors. Looks like the second wave is here.”
Delgado glanced at the clock. Only eighteen hours had passed since Dyas and his people finished booby-trapping the ammunition depot, which meant the arrival of a Navy ship might not occur for several more hours. They were truly on their own.
“Stand to. Everyone in pressure suits, ready to button up, civilians included.”
Moments later, the alarm sounded throughout Tyrell, followed by First Sergeant Hak’s voice announcing the unidentified ships in orbit and passing on Delgado’s instructions.
Romana Movane showed up in the command post moments after Delgado and took her workstation to monitor Tyrell’s infrastructure status.
After a few moments, she asked, “What’s stopping the ships in orbit from dropping a few kinetic penetrator rods on us, Major? I’m under the impression we’re not dealing with people who have consciences.”
“Fear of retribution,” Delgado absently replied, scrolling through the duty log as per his habit when taking the command post after spending a few hours of downtime. “Mass murderers are almost always hunted down by the Fleet nowadays, especially when Armed Forces personnel are among the victims, and the current Grand Admiral has been doing so with ruthless vigor. Every merc outfit in the known galaxy understands SOCOM units will prosecute them with extreme prejudice, even well beyond the Commonwealth sphere.”
“Extreme prejudice?” She let out a humorless chuckle. “A euphemism for killing them, right?”
“Taking prisoners is not a major consideration. If they surrender, fine. Otherwise, they merge with the Infinite Void. Most of the blacker than black ops mercenaries — as opposed to the normal private military contractors like the ones we captured — prefer going out in a blaze of gunfire. They well know the only other choice is a slow, agonizing death on Parth’s Desolation Island.”
“You sound as if you speak from experience.”
He gave her a crooked grin over his shoulder. “No comment, Chief Administrator.”
“Don’t you think booby-trapping the munitions depot might make them angry enough to contemplate retribution despite the risks?”
A shrug. “Perhaps. But if I deny them access to those WMDs, then I’ll be doing my job. The rest is in the hands of the Almighty. Or if you don’t subscribe to any religious faith, in the hands of fate. Besides, they might figure we’re entirely ignorant of the Migration War ammunition depot. They wouldn’t know about the garrison duties being taken by a SOCOM unit sent especially for this sort of contingency.”
“Regular Marine units don’t make IEDs?”
“They don’t have nearly the same training and experience as we do, especially in adapting civilian material to military use.”
“I see.”
Movane fell silent, and they spent the next two hours monitoring the station, Erinye Company’s dispositions, and the tangos in orbit until, finally, “Why didn’t they launch shuttles yet?”
Delgado turned to his operations sergeant. “Good point. One orbit should be enough to take the lay of the land. I’ll bet there are shuttles inbound as we speak but coming up on the depot flying nap of the earth, beyond Tyrell’s line of sight.”
“Which is pretty much how we operate.” Hak nodded, eyes on the tactical projection. “Why wouldn’t the buggers learn from us.”
“Let’s hope your theory is right, Top. Because it means they’ll try to empty the depot without involving Tyrell.”
“Until it goes boom. Then, they might give us the stink eye.”
“Right. But we don’t have a choice.”
A few more minutes passed, then Testo said, “Contact. Four shuttles, civilian cargo pattern, just appeared over the western horizon, flying nap of the earth, pinging us hard with sensors.”
The primary display shifted from tracking the ships in orbit to the approaching craft, which looked as innocuous as any in commercial use — boxy, inelegant, covered with black streaks from too many atmospheric re-entries. They did not, however, display any visible markings, and their position lights were off.
Delgado stared at them for a few heartbeats. “Can’t see any weapon pods, but that doesn’t mean they’re not armed.”
“We could ping them in return and find out,” Testo suggested.
“Better not in case they’re equipped with threat detectors. I’d rather they believe Tyrell is in mercenary hands.”
Another few moments of silence, then, “They must know how low our guns can depress because they’re actually flying lower than that, Skipper. Not that their sensors will pick up anything other than cold emplacements and dead power circuitry.” Testo paused. “And they’ve slipped into the canyon.”
He touched his workstation screen, and the primary display shifted to a view from the remote sensor Sergeant Dyas placed in a concealed spot across the canyon and a thousand meters to the east of the ammunition depot. It had a direct line of sight to Tyrell so it could transmit via laser and thus not be detected by the intruders.
At first, they couldn’t see the approaching shuttles, but then Testo pointed at a slow-moving dot in the canyon’s shadows.
“There’s the lead.”
One after the other, the remaining three came into sight, though it seemed as if they were barely moving forward.
“Could it be they don’t have the precise coordinates?” Movane asked.
“Maybe, but if I were leading that raid, I’d be cautious on final approach no matter what,” Delgado replied.
A few minutes later, Testo said, “They have the coordinates. That’s exactly where Charlie Troop’s shuttle landed yesterday.”
“Here we go.”