The Final Battle

Michael’s spirits fell through the floor and kept on going.

“… but on the other hand, a lot more have been killed over the years by DocSec, so I don’t owe them any loyalty either, and I hate all that Word of Kraa bullshit. No, I owe all my loyalty to myself, not to anything or anybody else. Just me. This might be my home,” he said, waving a hand around the bridge, “but I don’t own the Merrioneth Star, and I don’t have any family here. Ten years ago my whore of a wife buggered off with a DocSec major, and my kids had the gumption to get the hell out of the Hammer Worlds the first chance they could.”

Michael had been biting his lip to keep from interrupting. Would the damn man cooperate or not? Ho seemed to have stopped, so Michael took his chance. “Does that mean you’ll help us?” he asked.

“Depends on how much you’ve got left on that card of yours.”

“A bit over fifteen grand. If you want it, it’s all yours.”

Another wave of the hand. “It’ll be the end of this, you know,” Ho said.

“Your call. But you need to make a decision soon. It won’t be long before we reach the Ahenkro Junction wharf.”

Ho nodded. “I know,” he said. The seconds dragged past before Ho spoke again. “One condition.”

“Name it.”

“I need to be on my way downriver before you make any move. If I’m alongside when the shit hits the fan, I’m dead meat.”

“How much lead time do you need?”

“An hour.”

“Okay, but it all depends on how the unloading works. Tell me how the Hammers do that.”

“Well, first …”

Wednesday, October 6, 2404, UD

Ahenkro Junction, Commitment

A series of gentle bumps told Michael that the Merrioneth Star finally had berthed. He had been going quietly mad waiting. They had fallen badly behind schedule, and Ho had not seen fit to tell them why.

Ho’s voice was crackled and tinny in the earpiece of Michael’s headset. “Sorry about the delay,” he said. “The convoy before us was attacked by the NRA.”

“We wondered what was happening. Did they have any luck?” Even as he spoke, Michael cursed his stupidity. Ho would know the captains in the convoy.

“Not if you were the poor buggers on the three barges they sank,” Ho said. If Michael’s insensitivity had bothered the man, he wasn’t letting it show. “You ready?”

“We are. Just let us know when the driver comes aboard.”

“Will do.”

Time crawled. Michael wondered why the Hammers were taking so long. A barge load of Aqabas was a sitting duck. He tried not to think what would happen if the Fed ground-attack landers came back.

“They’ve got the tarps off,” Ho said twenty long minutes later, “and now they’re putting the ramps in place, so stand by.”

“Roger. Okay, folks. Any minute now.”

“I’ve been ready for the last four hours,” Shinoda muttered from where she and Kleber waited by the hatch, looks of anticipation on their faces.

“Here he comes,” Ho said. A few minutes later, the hatch eased back out of its frame. A pair of legs swung in, followed by the body and then the head of one very shocked Hammer. Shinoda and Kleber dragged him in, one of Kleber’s meaty hands clamped down across the man’s mouth. It was only work of seconds before the Hammer had been cable tied into the commander’s seat. His eyes bulged in terror.

“Now, sonny boy,” Shinoda said, putting the tip of an enormous knife to the end of the man’s nose, “I’m going to tell my friend here to take his hand away. When he does, you keep your mouth shut and you listen carefully to what we have to say because-” She pushed the knife in a fraction; a tiny jewel of blood oozed out from the tip. “-we don’t want you to make any mistakes. Understood?”

Shinoda pulled the knife back. The man nodded, his face white with terror. He looked young and afraid.

Kleber pulled his hand away. Michael leaned forward. “Okay,” he said, “do what we want and you’ll be fine. That’s my promise. Now, take a deep breath and tell me your name.”

“Jo-jo-jonah Patel,” the man stammered. “Marine Jonah Patel.”

“That’s good, Jonah; that’s really good,” Michael said, keeping his voice calm, soothing. He was relieved to see the man relax a fraction. “Now, what’s the first thing you have to do?”

“Power up all six tanks.” Patel’s voice shook.

“Okay, then that’s what we want you to do, but remember, we do know how Aqabas work, so no mistakes, okay?”

Patel nodded his head hard. “Go on, then,” Michael prompted.

Patel’s fingers flashed across the tank commander’s master control panel. The Aqaba’s massive bulk trembled as the main fusion plant powered up. Michael left him to it. He wanted to check what was happening outside. Nothing to worry them, he was happy to see. He flicked the holocam down into the infrared. The heat signatures of two men appeared, stark patches of white in the cool of early morning.

“All six tanks are online and nominal,” Patel said. “I need to call that in.”

“Go on.”

“Okay. Wharf, this is Tank 1; we are ready to move.”

“Patel, you worm,” an angry voice barked. “Where the hell have you been? You think I’ve got all day?”

“Sorry, sarge. Tank 3 had a transient on her auxiliary power control module.”

Michael held his breath. Did an Aqaba even have such a thing? He glanced at Mallory, not at all happy when she shrugged her shoulders.

“Is it stable now?” the supervisor said a lifetime later.

“Affirmative.’

“Then what are you waiting for?” the man roared. “Get those fucking tanks off that fucking barge now! Take them to Golf-8.”

“Golf-8, roger that, sarge.”

“Do it,” Michael whispered. He watched as the young marine fed power to the drive train. He spun the tank on the spot, then eased its huge bulk down the ceramsteel ramp onto the wharf. His hand was soft on the sidestick controller. You’ve done this before, Michael thought. He admired the man’s effortless precision.

Patel soon had the Aqaba off the barge. It moved steadily up a muddy track. Michael watched the holovid screens with interest. The Hammers are not messing around, he thought. I’ve never seen so much ordnance in one place.

“This is where I park it,” Patel said. He spun the tank around and reversed into a wide gap between yet more Aqabas.

Michael wondered many of the damn things they had. “Now what?” he asked Patel.

“I bring the rest ashore and park them.”

“Okay. Do it.”

Patel did just that. “Wharf, this is Tank 1,” he said when he’d parked the last Aqaba. “All done, sarge.”

“Roger,” the supervisor said.

“What will he want you to do next?”

Patel shook his head. “I don’t know who you are,” he said, the tremble back in his voice, “but I’ve done what you want, so let me go and I won’t say anything to anybody.”

“I don’t think so,” Michael said. “Answer my question. What will the supervisor want you to do next?”

Patel just stared at him, mouth clamped shut, face set in an obstinate scowl. Michael sighed. “You’re not being smart. You help me, I’ll let you go. How about it?”

The Hammer marine shook his head. “No,” he whispered.

“Jonah, my man,” Michael sighed, his hand reaching out to take him by the throat. “Screw me around