'Let me see… yes, we'll be feet dry in 50 seconds, then it's 2 minutes 48 to Point Lima. I expect to have your size 500 feet on the ground in less than four minutes. Happy?'
'Yes, sir,' Bienefelt said. 'Can't wait. Good luck. Hope it all goes well.'
'Thanks. Command, out.'
'Sir,' Ferreira said, 'I think that's the NRA calling.'
'Patch me in, Jayla. It's about time,' Michael said. 'NRA, Helfort. Authenticate.'
'I authenticate Uzuma, repeat Uzuma.'
Relief washed over Michael. 'Roger. Stand by burst transmission… sending now.'
'Roger… receipt confirmed.'
'Message is encrypted; passkey is name of man who escorted me after the attack on DocSec convoy. Repeat, passkey is name of man who escorted me after the attack on DocSec convoy. Do you copy?'
'Understood.'
'Good. Tell General Vaas I'll be in touch. We've got work to do. Helfort, out.'
'Think they'll buy it?' Ferreira asked, her face set in an anxious frown.
'Yes,' Michael said more firmly than he felt. 'We've got too much to offer.'
Ferreira nodded, and Widowmaker's flight deck fell silent while the lander rocketed toward the coastline. If anything, conditions outside were deteriorating. The tropical depression was more than living up to Michael's expectations, dumping rain in thick driving sheets that smashed into the lander's windscreen, winds gusting more than 60 kilometers per hour, the night sky punctuated by the spectral white flares of lightning. Michael was happy with that; the thick layer of cloud and the intense lightning overhead were making the Hammer's elaborate spaceborne defenses all but useless and their formidable armory of ship-killing lasers and kinetic weapons impotent.
'Command, tac. Stand by decoy… now!'
'Command, tac. Stand by… feet dry. Coming right to 120.'
'Roger. Alley Kat, Widowmaker. Feet dry. Breaking away. Will confirm ETA at 5209 on completion of drop.'
'Alley Kat, roger.'
'Loadmaster, command. Two minutes to run. Stand by to launch pods.'
'Loadmaster, roger, stand by… LALO pods ready to launch.'
'Roger.'
'Command, tac. Point Lima coming up abeam. Turning in for drop run. All pods nominal.'
Michael had no time to reply before Mother slammed the lander over into a tight, banking turn, foamalloy wings biting hard into the air, artificial gravity rippling in its struggle to absorb the savage g forces. The maneuver was so brutal, so close to the limits, that afterward he would swear Widowmaker's overloaded wings and airframe screamed in protest.
'Command, tac. Ramp going down.'
Michael did not need to be told; his hands were clamped to the seat as Widowmaker bucked and heaved under him. The lander's aerodynamics resembled those of a brick at the best of times; forcing the ramp down at speed made it close to unflyable.
'Stand by pod launch… launching now… Launch was good, pods are good. Cleaning up.'
'Command, roger,' Michael replied, eyes locked on the lander's aft-facing holocams while they tracked the pods, fleeting blurs against the night sky, gone almost before they were seen. Anxiously he watched the systems status board; drop pod technology was good, but like everything built by humans, pods failed sometimes. In quick succession, the pods' tightbeam datalinks reported their progress: clean launch… pods stable in ballistic free fall… transition to winged flight… decelerating… established on vector to landing zone… chutes deployed… landed. He took a deep breath of relief and turned back to the command plot, his heart beginning to pound with excitement now that he was so close to rescuing Anna.
'Command, tac. Two minutes to target, and we're on schedule.'
'Roger. All stations, two minutes.'
What followed remained burned into Michael's memory for the rest of his days, burned deep by a mix of fear and elation: fear that Anna might not be there after all, elation that she might. 'Command, tac. We have tightbeam comms with Alley Kat and Hell Bent. They are 10 seconds from the IP.'
Michael studied the command plot while it updated. The Gladiator operations plan called for Widowmaker to arrive over the target after the two heavy landers had made their second pass. Without any detailed intelligence on the camp's defenses, Alley Kat and Hell Bent would trash everything outside the camp's razor-wire fences: guard towers, barracks, admin buildings, workshops, stores, everything. Then the landers would take out a planetary ground defense force training base next door. All had to go in an orgy of destruction that Michael knew the crews of the two landers were going to enjoy.
'Command, tac. Alley Kat reports first pass completed. No opposition. They're lining up for the second pass, then will take out the PGDF base before landing while Hell Bent puts the blocking force in position.'
'Roger.'
'Command, tac. Second pass completed. We are cleared to land.'
'Command, roger. Sensors, anything from the Hammers yet?'
Carmellini shook his head. 'No, sir. I'm picking up commercial channels with amateur holovid of one of the Hammer bases. Perkins, I think it is, in which case Redwood gave it one hell of a pasting. Place looks like it's been nuked, so I reckon the Hammers are a bit distracted right now. So far, all I'm seeing is search radars, and we're still below the detection threshold and will stay that way until we turn ass-on to leave.'
'Good,' Michael said. 'Jayla, any contact with our people inside the camp?'
'Not yet, sir. Alley Kat's been trying, but Sedova thinks the Hammers have been jamming all neuronics frequencies, and so far they've not managed to hit the transmitter.'
'Roger,' Michael said, his chest tightening. 'Tell Sedova to find it soon. Otherwise we'll have one hell of a job rounding this lot up.'
'Sir.'
All of a sudden, the blazing remains of Camp J-5209's defenses reared up out of the darkness; beyond the carnage, the matte-black shapes of Alley Kat and Hell Bent flayed the PGDF base with streams of cannon fire before sliding away into the night.
'Widowmaker, Alley Kat. Don't think the locals will be bothering us. We'll land when you're down.'
'Roger that. Landing.'
Widowmaker's nose lifted, belly thrusters fired, and with a shuddering thud, the lander's AI dropped the lander onto the ground. Michael wasted no time; throwing off his straps, he jumped out of his seat and slid down the ladder into the cargo bay. Pausing only to shed his combat space suit and grab an assault rifle, he waved Petty Officer Morozov to follow him. He hurried down the ramp after Widowmaker's complement of marines and out into the night, heading for the camp perimeter, oblivious to the rain sheeting down. A thunderous, head-splitting roar announced Alley Kat's arrival, followed by Hell Bent; their ramps went down to disgorge yet more marines, their chromaflage capes fading them into the night when they spread out to secure the perimeter.
Michael ignored them, intent on staying as close as he could to the marines heading into the camp. He ran a scan, but where he should have picked up the neuronics of hundreds of POWs, there was nothing. Bloody Hammers. 'Any luck with your neuronics?' he asked Morozov.
Morozov shook her head. 'No, sir. We might have to get this done the hard way.'
'Shit! I hope not. We can't hang around here.'
The pair slogged over the sodden ground and crossed the broken remains of the camp's two fences. Ahead lay a large building, the only one inside the wire-the camp's kitchens and mess hall most likely-and beyond it, two rows of huts of prisoners' accommodation.
'Come on,' he shouted, 'the idle bastards are still asleep.'
Running past the mess hall, Michael skidded to a halt outside the door of the first hut. Taking a deep breath, he hammered on the door. 'The Fleet's here, boys and girls,' he shouted. 'Anyone want a lift out of here?' He stepped back; the last thing he wanted was to have his head beaten in by an anxious Fed spacer. Then all of a sudden his neuronics filled with the babble of hundreds of Feds all asking the same question: 'What the hell is happening?'
Michael overrode the hubbub with a priority comm, a series of short, sharp orders telling the Feds to get out onto the muddy patch of ground between the huts-now! First one, then a flood of bewildered Feds streamed out of
