and I will report any results. Suffice it to say, the attack has reduced our ability to support operations against the NRA, thanks to the loss of three entire air wings along with all of their supporting infrastructure and personnel. The latest estimates I have suggest that it will be two years before Gwalia, Yallan, and Perkins PGDF bases are operational again, which will of course limit our ability to contain the NRA. That concludes my report. Are there any questions?'
Councillor de Mel was the first to speak. 'Yes, Admiral. The marine bases at Besud, Serkovitch, and Beslan were untouched. Why can't they make up for the loss of PGDF capability?'
Belasz tried to suppress a frown; he failed. 'That is a good question, Councillor,' he said warily, aware that at least half the councillors at the table enjoyed the support of the Hammer Corps of Marines and its legions of allies. 'The problem is the Constitution. The marines are to be used for internal security purposes only and, I quote, in 'the exceptional and rare event of Planetary Ground Defense's inability to contain a serious internal threat to the integrity of the Hammer of Kraa Worlds,' a form of words which successive commanding generals of marines had always interpreted literally… as General Baxter is doing now.'
'For Kraa's sake!' de Mel protested. 'Like we don't have a serious threat to the integrity of the Hammer of Kraa Worlds? What is the NRA if not a serious threat? Schoolkids just messing around? I think not.' He turned to Polk. 'Chief Councillor,' he said. 'You know how often I have to come to this council to ask for marine backup for DocSec operations. PGDF has to do the same any time they need heavy armored support. Far, far too often. I think it is time to bring the marines face to face with the cold, hard realities of life.'
Hand grenade thrown, Polk watched de Mel sit back as the meeting dissolved, as it always did, into a heated debate between supporters of the marines' hard-line position and their opponents. Polk had no illusions that anything would change; it never had before and never would, forcing DocSec and PGDF to come cap in hand to the Defense Council each and every time they needed support from the marines, an ever more frequent occurrence as the NRA became increasingly aggressive.
What a way to run a war, Polk thought despairingly. What a way to run a war. Tuesday, October 2, 2401, UD West Branxton Ranges, Commitment
Adrissa's voice cut through the usual premission chatter that filled Widowmaker's flight deck. 'All landers, this is command. We are good to go. When the NRA confirms the Hammers are responding to the attack on the ordnance depot at Chalidze, we'll launch. Good luck. Command, out.'
Michael turned to look over his shoulder at Anna. 'Set?'
'Yes, skipper,' she said with a smile from the comms station. 'We're online with the NRA.'
'Good.' He turned back to look at Ferreira. 'Okay?'
'Yes, sir. I swore that I'd never set foot on the flight deck of this thing after the last time, but here I am. Slow learner, me. How come there's not one lander tactical officer out of all those prisoners of war?' She shook her head in disbelief.
Michael grinned. 'Bad break, though let me tell you, walking out of here is no fun, so let's hope the NRA keeps the Hammers occupied. Chief Bienefelt?'
'Ready, sir,' Widowmaker's latest crew member replied from the weapons systems station. 'Let's hope we meet a few Hammers. I'm in the mood to dispatch a few to meet that damn Kraa of theirs.'
'Amen,' Chief Fodor muttered, his body, awkward in the bulky combat space suit, hunched forward over his holovid screen, eyes locked on the screen, watching to make sure Widowmaker behaved itself.
'Ferrite Four, this is Fractal Six,' Adrissa said. 'Stand by.'
'Here we go, folks,' Michael said.
'Ferrite Four, this is Fractal Six. Immediate execute Bravo-1, stand by… execute!'
Michael fed power to Widowmaker's belly thrusters; slowly, reluctantly the lander lifted off and he started to ease it out of the ravine, its holocams tracking Alley Kat and Hell Bent as they followed suit, their huge bulk emerging like alien machines from enormous clouds of steam boiled off the ravine floor by the white-hot plasma from landers' engines.
'That'll get someone's attention,' Ferreira muttered when Widowmaker cleared the ravine and started to accelerate hard away to the east.
Michael nodded. 'Sure will,' he said. The weather was far from perfect. Unlike the week before, there was no convenient layer of cloud to protect the landers from wandering battlesats, only a thin layer of high altocumulus, enough to take the edge off the Hammers' lasers but not enough to shut them out.
Proof of which arrived seconds later. 'We've been locked up,' Carmellini shouted over the screeching of alarms, the threat plot erupting as space-based radars illuminated the lander.
Michael did not need to think; he reacted. He rammed the engines to full power and slammed the lander hard over to one side and an instant later back again just before the air outside was torn apart by a burst from the battlesat's pulsed ultraviolet laser. 'Close,' someone said.
'Have faith, folks,' Michael said. 'The armor on these-'
A sharp crack ran through the lander. 'For chrissakes, shut those damn alarms off,' he shouted, and threw the lander left and right, zigzagging in a frantic race for safety, running hard for the protection of a thicker patch of clouds a few kilometers ahead. 'Damage?' he snapped, handing the lander over to Mother; he was a good pilot, but the AI would do a better job of keeping the lander under what little cloud there was.
'Minor. Atmospheric attenuation's doing a good job for us,' Chief Fodor said. He flinched when another flat chattering crack resonated through the lander, a long one this time, while the battlesat kept the laser on target.
'Roger,' Michael said. 'Sensors. Any air activity?'
'Yes, but not directed at us. I have multiple ground-attack landers from'-Carmellini stopped when yet another stream of laser pulses hit Widowmaker-'from Amokran marine base inbound on track for Chalidze.'
'Roger,' Michael said, allowing himself to relax a touch; the NRA's diversionary attack was having the desired effect. 'Nothing from Besud or O'Connor?'
'Nothing yet, sir.'
'Anna. Sitrep.'
'NRA confirms the assault on Chalidze is under way. Initial reports confirm little organized resistance. Hammer air from Amokran will be on task over Chalidze in thirty minutes. NRA confirms multiple Locusts.'
'Roger.' He hoped the NRA withdrew before the Hammers arrived. The Locust ground-attack lander was big, fast, and tough. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the NRA's shoulder-launched Goombah missiles would bounce off the Hammer landers-they might as well throw pebbles at them-and the one Klaxon ground-attack lander they'd managed to get airborne would not be much help, either. Their best chance was to get the hell away. He scanned the plots and eased back on the throttles; screaming along at full power was all very well, but they would soon have to start decelerating. Thus far, their frantic run to safety was going to plan. Behind Widowmaker, Alley Kat and Hell Bent ducked and weaved to avoid the incoming battlesat lasers but with less success, their greater mass making them easier targets. Not that the lasers bothered the heavy landers. Their armor made Widowmaker's look like tissue paper.
'Command, tac. Four minutes to run. The NRA has confirmed we are cleared in.'
'Roger, tac. What-'
Alarms screamed. 'Oh, shit,' Michael hissed as the AI slammed Widowmaker over onto its back in a desperate dive to earth. Missiles! Where the fu-
Widowmaker's flight deck filled with the racket of cannons and lasers, her automated defenses letting go with everything in a frantic effort to destroy the pair of missiles streaking toward them. Michael had enough time to register that fact before, with a sickening, shuddering crunch, the lander was thrown bodily upward.
No sooner had it started than it was over. Feverishly Michael checked Widowmaker's status boards. To his shock, the lander was untouched, its systems nominal, the good news confirmed by a thumbs-up from Chief Fodor.
'What the hell happened there?' he asked, unable to keep the shock out of his voice.
'Hold on, sir,' Ferreira said, a tremor in her voice. 'Yes. Looks like we ran into a trap. Bastard Hammers knew we were coming. Ground-launched missiles; sensor AI says Gordians. I have absolutely no idea how we kept them out.'
'Luck,' Michael said, grim-faced. 'Pure, blind luck… and a weapons AI paying attention. Alley Kat and Hell Bent?'
