had even managed to destroy an entire squadron of marine heavy landers without the loss of a single trooper.
Dollar for dollar, the most effective of all were the NRA's ghost squads. Two strong, they slipped out under cover of darkness, sliding their way past sentries, searching out exhausted Hammer marines sleeping the sleep of the dead. The ghosts would slip among the huddled shapes, cutting the throats of every second man, before slipping away into the night. Understandably, the effect on marine morale had been devastating.
The Hammers were now very jumpy, to the point where every marine and his dog would open up at the slightest suggestion of an attack. Only half jokingly, one wag from ENCOMM's staff had said that the Hammer's blue-on-blue casualties now exceeded those inflicted by the NRA. It was no joke, though; the Hammers were doing it tough.
Even so, the bastards still showed no sign of packing up and going home. How much longer? Michael wondered as Captain Adrissa called FLTDETCOMM's morning briefing to order.
'Welcome, everyone. Before we get into it, I just had a comm from ENCOMM. They confirm that at 06:00 this morning, the Hammers started to pull back from their beachheads in Juliet, Mike, and Quebec sectors. Quick- response forces are being de-'
The room erupted, a cacophonous mix of cheers, applause, and shouting, every last Fed present standing to acknowledge what Michael knew to be the NRA's greatest victory ever… and its least significant. He sat unmoved by the jubilation engulfing him. The Hammers might have given up, but that did not mean the war was over. Michael feared the opposite was true. The cost to the NRA in lives and materiel had been prodigious; any chance of the NRA making its long-delayed push out of the Branxtons and into McNair in '02 had now vanished, the ordnance and people they needed expended in the frenzied effort to keep the Hammers at bay.
'Okay, folks, okay,' Adrissa said, her voice raised to cut through the hubbub. 'Quiet, please. When we've finished here, there will be a meeting of senior staff. I want…'
Michael tuned out. What Adrissa did or did not want was not important; ending this godforsaken war was.
There had to be a way, he said to himself; there had to be a way.
Late that night, Michael lay awake, staring into the darkness, when the answer came to him. To be more accurate, it was a signpost pointing to where the answer lay. He swore. In all the work he had been doing for Adrissa, he had been looking in the wrong place. He would have to talk to Adrissa, something he did not look forward to.
More depressed than ever, he rolled over into sleep. Tuesday, January 15, 2402, UD FLTDETCOMM, Branxton Base, Commitment
Captain Adrissa made no attempt to mask her frustration, eyes and mouth screwed up into a frown of bitter disappointment.
'That's it, Lieutenant?' she said. 'That's the best you can do? The NRA can't finish this war on their own, so we have to go ask the Feds? For chrissakes, talk about a statement of the blindingly obvious. I could have come up with that.' Adrissa took a deep breath to steady herself. 'I have to say I think you've let me down… and yourself. You are without doubt one of the best tactical thinkers I have ever come across, so I find it very hard to accept that asking the Feds for help is the only way out of this war. Shit, is that the best you could come up with?'
Michael fought to keep his temper in check, his cheeks coloring an angry red. 'I'm sorry you feel that way, sir,' he said, staring right at Adrissa, 'but forgive me, sir, it doesn't matter what you think. If there's only one answer, there's only one answer… and it makes no difference whether you like it or not, sir. Trust me, there is only one answer, and that's to ask the Feds.'
Adrissa stiffened; her mouth started to open to respond. She caught herself in time and sat back, gazing thoughtfully at Michael before leaning forward again. 'I'm sorry, Michael. Forget what I just said. You're right. I hate to say it, but I think you are right. Thanks to Chief Chua and his microfabs, the NRA can make everything they need as long as it's not too big. What they can't make is solid-fuel rocket motors and warheads. If they could do that, they would not need the Feds. Without ordnance microfabs, not to mention the templates to drive them, they cannot make rocket motors and warheads. Not in a million years.'
'No, they can't, sir. Yes, they do a great job stealing missiles from the Hammers, but the NRA can never steal enough to support a full-scale breakout from the Branxtons. All of which means they can keep fighting, maybe forever, and still not win this war.'
Adrissa nodded. 'Exactly… which means we have to find a way to persuade the Feds to lend a hand. Ideally, they'd supply us with ordnance microfabs and the knowledge bases to go with them.'
'Which they'll never do in case the Hammers get their hands on them.'
'Quite, so somehow they have to be persuaded to supply the NRA with the missiles they need. So, Einstein,' Adrissa said with a half smile, 'at least tell me you've worked how we do that.'
Relieved that Adrissa was back on his side, Michael returned the smile. 'Sorry, sir. Not yet. To be honest, persuading them comes second. We need to work out how we can talk to them first.'
'Ah, yes,' Adrissa said. 'Now, that will be a problem.'
'It will be. Our embassy's long gone from McNair.'
'Yes, it is. Who handles Fed business now?'
'The Confederation of Worlds, sir.'
Adrissa frowned. 'Shit! Precious doesn't even begin to describe that bunch of sanctimonious pricks. Somehow I don't think we can use them to get a message off-planet.'
'No, sir. In any case, I can't see a message being enough. This is going to take some serious negotiation.'
'Yes, it will,' Adrissa said, massaging her temples with the tips of her fingers. Michael thought she had aged ten years in the last week. 'Tell you what, Michael. Get that brain of yours in gear and try to work out how we do this. I want you back in that seat in two days with the bones of a plan, a plan that'll work. Okay?'
Michael tried not to grimace. 'It's a big ask, but I'll do what I can, sir.'
'Too late for that. We need to make this work. Two days, Michael, two days.'
'Yes, sir,' Michael said.
Oh, shit, he thought as Adrissa waved him out of the alcove that passed for her office. Wednesday, January 16, 2402, UD Yamaichi marine base, Commitment
The convoy of troop carriers eased its way down the night streets until waved to a halt by the marine security detail protecting the sprawling compound that housed Marine Force 8's senior officers. The sergeant in charge made his way over to the passenger window.
'Identification,' the man snapped.
Without a word, the colonel in charge of the night's operation flashed his card.
'That seems to be in order, sir,' the sergeant said, stepping half a pace back and saluting. 'May I know your business here to night, sir? I was not notified of your arrival.'
'No, Sergeant, you may not know my business. Now stand aside and allow my men to pass. That's an order.'
Confused and conflicted, the sergeant hesitated, torn between his duty as a marine and the overriding authority vested in all DocSec officers, an authority he had, along with every other Hammer, been taught from birth to obey. He made up his mind. 'Please wait here, sir. I will let the duty officer know that you-'
'Do that, Sergeant, and you'll never see your family again.'
The sergeant's face tightened into an angry scowl. 'That's as may be, Colonel, but I have my orders, too,' he said. 'Wait here, please.'
The colonel ignored the sergeant. 'Drive through,' he ordered his driver. 'That pissant bit of timber won't stop us.'
'Sir,' the driver said, stamping his foot down, the carrier accelerating hard into the security barrier.
Nobody was ever able to establish who fired the first shot, but it quickly became a matter of only academic interest; the marines made short work of the colonel's troop carrier. There was a moment of silence before, without a word being said, the marines fanned out and started to take out the rest of the DocSec convoy and any troopers stupid enough to show themselves. The night was torn apart by the flat, slapping crack of rifle fire, a terrible blood lust driving the marines through the night until the last panicked DocSec trooper was cornered and shot out of hand.
The sergeant in charge of the security detail leaned forward and spit on the man's body. 'Fucking DocSec scum,' he said. 'Lucky we didn't cut your balls off first, you piece of garbage.' He turned to look at the rest of his men. 'I don't know about you,' he continued, 'but I think it's time we made ourselves very scarce. I'm off to join the
