finally, formally. “What are your orders?”
“The discipline and execution must be flawless,” Chack warned.
Another grenade preceded Matt, Gray, Stites, and the ten surviving Marines through the shattered door of the Dominion embassy. A second Imperial had been killed by a sniper from a second-floor window. The grenade burst amid another chorus of screams, and the group charged in, Gray’s Thompson spitting at a trio of men in uniforms crawling on the floor.
The entry hall looked different this time. The lanterns were askew and fresh blood pooled beneath bodies on the tile. The red walls didn’t seem any different, but they glistened where fresh color had splashed. The golden tapestries and accents ran with glittering purple-red. There must have been at least twenty men near the door when Gray’s first grenade dropped among them, and many had been killed outright. The rest, probably still stunned, had fallen to the second. A few more shots finished the survivors.
“Upstairs!” Courtney Bradford shouted. “Check upstairs! The buggers will likely be there!”
Matt pointed around at darkened alcoves. “You men,” he said to the Marines, “check those spaces! Make sure there’s not another way out of this joint!”
“Where’ll they be?” Gray asked, puffing.
“Upstairs, like Courtney said. I hope.”
They thundered up the spiral staircase. A pair of musket shots, fired wildly from above, shattered the banister just a few feet from Bradford, and his enthusiasm ebbed just a little. Stites hosed his BAR upward, stitching back and forth, and they were rewarded by a scream and a thud. As a group, with Bradford lagging slightly, they arrived at the top of the stairs. A man in the uniform of a Blood Drinker, probably one of those who’d fired, lunged at Matt with a bayonet inserted into the muzzle of his musket. Matt knocked it aside with the Springfield and drove his own bayonet into the man’s chest with a shout, pushing him back until he’d virtually pinned him to the wall. The dim, orangish light in the room reflected off the glazing eyes that stared back into his.
“Bravo!” came a voice from the far side of the chamber, standing before the garish golden cross on the wall. “You have me, it seems.”
Matt turned, yanking the bayonet clear, and saw Harrison Reed dimly illuminated, sinister shadows around his eyes and mouth. He stood with his arms crossed before him, a pistol loosely in his hand. The naked servant girl lay sprawled on the hardwood floor in the center of a spreading pool of blood.
“You will face the very fires of hell for storming this place,” he said conversationally. “This is not just an embassy-bad enough, I assure you-but a blessed house of God.”
“Where you just murdered a little girl!” Matt said, bringing the Springfield up. “I ought to kill you where you stand!”
Reed pointed the pistol at Matt in a classic style that showed he was proficient. “I did not kill the child. I presume Don Hernan sent her to paradise himself, before he left. He was quite taken with her.” He shrugged slightly. “I found her like this, and before you ask, I don’t know where Don Hernan is. Directing the completion of our plan, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Sumbitch has skipped!” Stites snarled disgustedly.
Reed ignored him, but wiggled the pistol slightly. “Perhaps, Captain Reddy, you would care to exchange my life for yours? You are here, so I assume the fighting went poorly at the dueling grounds?”
“Things were looking up when we left,” Gray said harshly. “We got reinforcements.”
Reed smirked. “Pity. Regardless, I remain optimistic.”
“You wouldn’t be if you’d stayed for more of the show,” Matt promised. “Is that why you hid here? I wouldn’t be ‘optimistic’ about anything right now, if I were you. Listen.” Even through the solid, windowless walls, a crescendo of distant musketry rattled incessantly. “Besides, you’re basically the reason we’re here.”
Reed looked genuinely surprised. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Your Commander Billingsley attacked our Alliance, abducted Princess Rebecca, and… took some other people who mean a lot to us,” Matt ground out. “That’s all on you. We came here looking for Billingsley-and whoever it was who put him up to it.”
Reed slapped his forehead. “Oh, dear!” he said. “It seems I was most dreadfully mistaken! You had me quite convinced the princess is safe and you had abundant proof of the conspiracy arriving with Achilles!”
“We do have proof. Plenty. We know you sent Agamemnon back to kill the girl, along with three other ships. We destroyed Agamemnon and captured the others, but Billingsley already had Rebecca and our people on Ajax. We came looking for him… and you.”
Reed shook his head. “I underestimated poor Billingsley! He may have been an apostate with no idea what the true stakes were, but it seems he served me quite well, at any rate. The irony is, he would have been utterly horrified to learn who I serve!”
“The Dominion,” Gray spat.
“Don Hernan,” Reed corrected, “and the True Church.” He twitched the pistol. “Don’t mistake me; I love my country-this land-but no power on earth can hope to oppose the Dominion for long, nor should it.” He smiled. “You see, oddly enough, I’ve become a Believer. In any event, I decided it was better to join the Dominion Church and serve from within, than to be conquered and suffer the devastating consequences. I’m a patriot, working to secure New Britain’s proper place within the Dominion, as a partner-not a possession!”
“You’re a traitorous son of a bitch, serving a sick, perverted, cartoon church full of freaks!” the Bosun stated simply.
Reed’s eyes flared. “You may sing a different tune when this day is done!”
“Perhaps you refer to the Dominion fleet coming from the south?” Courtney asked. “Of course you do. In that case, I propose it is you who will be dreadfully disappointed. We discovered its advance quite early this morning and… um… sufficient fleet elements have sortied to intercept it. All of Home Fleet and the harbor defenses have been alerted as well. No fleet can pass those forts, sir! We once nearly stopped a much larger fleet with much less!”
For the first time Reed’s expression showed uncertainty. “That’s a lie!” he snarled.
“What?” Matt asked. “That we know about the fleet? Or that it’ll be stopped? Obviously we know about it, and that’s enough to stop it. Courtney’s right about those forts. Besides, where is Don Hernan? You don’t really believe he’s off leading a charge. My God, you stupid bastard. Why’d he kill that poor girl? The bastard bolted, leaving you with the bag!”
Harrison Reed seemed to sag. “Very well,” he said. “Perhaps you’re right.” He straightened and his aim steadied. Gray tensed, ready to spray him down. “I won’t hang,” he said simply. “You surprised me today, Captain Reddy. You killed one of my very best.” He snorted. “Not exactly sporting, your ploy at the end, but you did hold your own and manage to get the job done.” He took a breath and slowly lowered his pistol to the chair beside him. “I’m no Lemuel Truelove,” he confessed, “but I challenge you to kill me man to man. You will have your revenge, and I will have paradise.”
Matt hesitated only a moment, then inverted the Springfield and drove the bayonet hard into the wooden floor.
“Skipper!” objected Gray, but Matt ignored him while Reed smiled and drew the ornate rapier at his side. Before anyone could say another word, Matt’s hand went to his belt and came away with his 1911 Colt. 45. Flipping the safety off with his thumb, he shot Harrison Reed four times in the center of his chest.
“The hell with you, you murdering bastard,” Matt said as Reed gasped and dropped to his knees. “I hope that didn’t hurt much. I’d hate for you to even Think you were going to paradise!”
Stites giggled. “ Damn, Skipper!”
Matt looked at him, then glared at Gray. “C’mon,” he said, “we’ve still got work to do.”
Commander Frankie Steele was actually secretly a little surprised at how well his first independent action was going. Walker was battling virtual behemoths, but all their massive power was no match for the old destroyer’s speed and maneuverability. The enemy battle line had broken, immediately sensing Frankie’s main objective and trying to put their ships between Walker and the remaining transports. The troop-filled transports were the key. Without them, the whole Dominion operation was pointless. Massive red-sailed ships of the line, or “liners,” veered to defend the steamers and bring their guns to bear. In so doing, they lost cohesion, massed firepower, their advantageous wind-and all semblance of organized control.
Ponderously, the mighty ships turned, thrashing the sea with their heavy guns, as many as fifty to a side,
