“You can, and you will,” Owensford said. “Remember the enemy’s objectives, Highness. They can’t defeat us as long as we keep our nerve, but if they can make the people lose confidence in the government, they’re halfway to winning. And for all practical purposes right now, you are the government. You’re already the good luck charm for half the soldiers in the Royal Army. That doesn’t mean you can’t risk getting killed, but it sure as Hell does mean you’ve got to be careful not to look like a fool.”
“I’ll work on that.” Lysander said. “Now show me the situation, and tell me what you think we should do.”
“That still doesn’t work,” Owensford said. “I may have it all wrong too.” He grinned suddenly. “Hell, neither one of us should be here, come to that. This is a job for a captain.” He projected a map on the bunker wall. “An expendable captain.”
Lysander didn’t answer. After a while Owensford said, “Here’s the situation. They’re dug in, here, a natural redoubt, with heavy weapons. They won’t want us to get close enough to spot for artillery and missile fire, so they’ll try to intercept us well short of their main area, probably here. They don’t know Miscowsky’s group has them under surveillance, which means we can pound them with Thoth missiles.”
“We didn’t bring any Thoth missiles—”
“I took the liberty of using Legion communications to send for the SAS support unit,” Owensford said. “I didn’t have them report to anyone in the Royals, but they’re out there. Anything Miscowsky can see, we can hit without warning.”
“You suspect a traitor in the Royals?”
“I suspect leaks in the Royals,” Owensford said. “Not necessarily a traitor, but that’s possible. Those Thoths are our main advantage, and we’ll want to use them properly.”
“So we can kill them any time,” Lysander said. “If we don’t mind killing the hostages too.”
“Something like that.”
“What happens if we wait for the rest of the regiment to come up?”
“Don’t know,” Owensford said. “But they have to worry about that. My guess is if they get worried enough, they kill the hostages and scatter.”
“But if they think they have a chance of getting me—”
“They’d take risks for that,” Owensford agreed. “But they’re not fools. They aren’t going to wait until you have a whole battalion of armor here—”
“What if we don’t bring the reinforcements here at all,” Lysander said. “Suppose I send the regiment around behind them, here. The main body won’t be in position until dark, but a scout platoon can be in position a lot earlier than that.”
“And then we go in after them?”
“More or less,” Lysander said.
“They outnumber us, you know,” Owensford said.
“Sure. But it’s what you’d do if I weren’t here, right?”
Owensford shrugged. “It’s what I’d expect from my hypothetical captain who ought to be in charge of this cockamamie deal.”
“Then we’ll do that.”
“An expendable captain.”
“So we’re not expendable,” Lysander said. “We’ll be careful. Now let’s go.”
* * *
Nearly dusk. Peter Owensford used the command tank’s optics to peer into the shadows ahead. Christ, here I am acting like a captain again. He grinned slightly. At least by God I’ve got someone to fight. Not just chasing ghosts. And someone to fight for . . .
Just ahead would be the enemy’s redoubt. This would be the tricky part. “They see you coming,” Miscowsky’s voice said in his ear. “They’re all spread out, waiting.”
“Command push,” Peter said. “Halt the column.”
The two lead Cataphracts slowed, stopped. The infantry fanned out to both sides. Ahead lay a four-hundred-meter escarpment topped with a dense stand of trees, the sun already lost behind it. Somewhere along the base of that escarpment, no more than two kilometers away, was the rebel ambush. Minutes ticked by.
“They’re getting nervous,” Miscowsky said. The signal was faint but clear. “Timing’s gonna be tricky.”
“The great thing,” Peter said aloud, “is not to lose your nerve.” His driver grinned slightly, then nodded. Five long minutes . . .
“Here he comes,” the driver said. He opened a port in the armor of the tank, and brought in a thin cable which he handed to the communications sergeant who sat in the loader’s seat.
After a moment the sergeant handed Peter a headset and microphone. “Secure communications, sir.”
“Right. Thank you. Report by sections. Report.”
“Section One set and loaded, sir.”
“Section Two in place and loaded sir.”
“Armor units ready.”
That would be Lysander, of course. If I let that kid kill himself, John Christian will have my hide. Christ, he’s all that’s holding this goddam planet together, and here we are playing company commander. “OK. Here’s the situation. They don’t suspect the SAS team is observing them. They know we’re here, and they’re stirring around, wondering why we’ve halted. It’s a war of nerves.”
“It will be dark soon enough.” A female voice. I might have known Lydia would be talking for her father.
“We’ll give Mobile One a little more time,” Peter said.
The wait seemed endless.
“There’s a group moving out. Riflemen. One grenade launcher. I count eleven, moving toward your position,” Miscowsky said. “Bearing one niner five at four five zero meters relative my position. They’re moving out now. Call it vector niner zero.”
Somewhere out there, miles away near the horizon, a Legion SAS signal section had sent up a balloon and tethered it in line of sight to Miscowsky. It would be able to receive Miscowsky’s narrow beam signals without any possibility of interception. Of course signals the other way to Miscowsky wouldn’t be secure at all, but there was nothing they could do about that. Owensford plotted the enemy patrol’s position on his helmet display. “Visitors coming,” Peter said. “Call it a dozen, moving due east. If they continue on course that will put them right on top of Section One.”
“Scout Section Four moving to intercept.”
“Roger that.”
“Getting dark, General.”
“Scout Four here. We see them. They’ll have Section One in sight in six minutes.”
And here we go. Peter punched in codes. “Thoth Daddy, fire mission, roll four anti-personnel,” he said. “I say again, Thoth Daddy, roll four anti-personnel. Relay to SAS One they’re on the way.” Then without waiting for acknowledgment he changed channels. “Scout Four. Intercept and destroy that patrol, Scout Four.”
“Will intercept and destroy. Scout Four out.”
“Sections One and Two load concussion. Armor units stand by.”
“Acknowledge four birds on the way,” Miscowsky said. “They do not appear to have intercepted the alert to me, I say again they are not reacting. Thoth Daddy, give me four more, anti-personnel, I say again, four anti-personnel.”
“Thoth Daddy here. On the way.”
Timers on Peter’s console began their countdowns, flickering sets of red numbers.
From ahead and to the left came a sudden stammer of rifles and machine guns, then grenades. Contact. “Execute alpha,” Peter said. “I say again, all units, execute plan alpha, I say again, execute plan alpha. Move out!”
The Cataphract engines were loud in the falling dusk. There were more shots and the bright flash of grenades to Peter’s left. Then the Cataphracts moved over the ridge.
“Incoming!”
Something burst overhead. Cluster bombs rained around Owensford’s position. Any uncovered infantry out there would be in trouble. More bombs fell around them. They’re using their big stuff. Good.
Peter stared at his console. There was nothing he could do now, it was up to the computers. Green lights flickered. Antennas they’d spent the afternoon putting out a klick to each side backtracked the enemy’s artillery shells. Pulses came into the command computers. Analysis. A light flashed. Locked on. More lights, as information went at the speed of light from the command unit to the tiltrotor aircraft twenty kilometers away, then to Miscowsky and his missile control unit . . .
“Got it,” Miscowsky said. “Four missiles acquired. Guidance set. Locked.”
There were flashes from over the ridge. Four missiles, lofted from the aircraft named Thoth Daddy, landed among the enemy’s heavy weapons with an accuracy better than one meter.
“Thoth Daddy, give me more,” Miscowsky said. “Anti-personnel, stream it.”
“On the way.”
* * *
“Rebel commander, Rebel commander,” Owensford said.
He looked down at the screen, split to offer him views from any of the vehicles. Not much to be seen. The Helots were well dug in among their boulders. No artillery left. No perimeter guards left. Not likely to have much communications, they may not hear me. Peter touched his console to change communication channels. “Move in fast.”
“Sergeant Cheung, Spartan People’s Liberation Army,” a voice replied. “You got something to say, Cit?”
Sergeant. “Let me speak to your commanding officer.”
“That’s me, Cit.” A laugh, that might or might not have been cut off short. “What you want?”
Officer dead, or escaped? No time for that— “You’re surrounded, your heavy weapons are destroyed, and we have you located. Surrender now and you’ll be treated as prisoners of war.”