DOWN THE WELLES
- XLIII -
Miakr called down from the bridge. "We've got targets!"
Jietlshaiepr hit the intercom, "Where are they?"
"About seven hundred kilometers south east. Heading
directly west. They ought to pass within three hundred
kilometers of us. Looks like three of the grav artillery
platforms and a G-carrier."
Shtam turned to Corporal Delt, "You said you saw two
G-carriers. We just accounted for two of them."
"They might hove recovered it." sighed Smith.
"It sounds as though they're headed back te their island."
announced Lt. Dragoon.
"After doing what?" mused Kfoks, "I wonder..."
"Jietlshaiepr," began Lt. Jones, "I hove a recon robot loose
upstairs, observing the mercs. If we could get an antenna above
the surface we could find out exactly whot they been up to."
- XLIV -
"...cord. Understand? DAMMIT! Are you recording this!?"
The mechanical voice of the recon robot replied,
"Affirmative."
Crulley's voice came back, tense and worried, "Oh... Dr.
Jones?... Able Spacehand Crulley 'ere... Uh... We got big
trouble... The mercs killed a dozen hostages... massacred an
entire town... They threaten more unless we surrender...
They showed up in the capital wi' their tanks... dropped off
some 'ostages..." Crulley swallowed, "They gunned 'em down. They
came over on loudspeakers that unless we surrender they'll start
destroyin' the towns one by one.
"The people are ta hand us over ta 'em or be destroyed...
They demanded us by name... If the natives don't hand us over ta
them, they'll destroy the towns...
"A mob came after me... I escaped, but that goddam robot of
yours fired on 'em... I can't get it ta follow my orders
right... It saw them trying ta attack and opened fire... I
don't know how many it killed... We had ta get out of there...
"Right now, I'm aboard the Pasadena, the big grav ironclad.
Lucky, not everyone's lost their 'eads. But, the Welles Navy
plans ta attack the mercs. Unless, we'll help 'em, they'll hove
ta try handin' us over.
"The recon robot should be able ta keep track o' where the
Pasadena is... I 'ope... I'm sending it ta find you. I think
it understands my orders.
"All right, that's enough, cut it... Do you hear?... Cut
it!... Understand?... STOP RECORDI!..."
- VL -
The plan was quickly formed. Negotiation was not even
seriously considered except as a delaying tactic. Surrender was
out of the question; anyone who did would undoubtedly be killed.
By themselves, the ironclad flotilla would be wiped out.
But, a commando strike supported by the natives in their grav
ironclads might just take the mercs down a notch or two.
- IVL -
The interrogation of the pirate turned messy. Lt. Jones
pulled him out of the low berth and stared into his mind. A
search light went on over the consciousness of the man. Facts
flowed from his mind like gelatin through the strainer of Jones
psionic probe.
Zylath, a small planet in a large asteroid belt held their
operational base... The Church of the Soverinity of Sol was
their recruiting office... Their main base was on... ? The man
himself was from... ? They were supported by the government
of... ? Their mission was to attack any and all shipping:
disrupt interstellar communication. Commandeer any possible
vessel for the forces of... ? All military vessels not
vulnerable must be harassed. Military cargoes took priority over
civilian. Use whatever force available to destroy that which can
not be captured. Do not engage superior forces. If captured use
the suicide capsule implanted in right upper molar. If you
survive, your full memory will be restored for you, but for now
absolute security must be maintained...
- IIIL -
Tuerz walked dejectedly into the crew lounge carrying the
black instrument case. "I couldn't get any more out of him than
you did."
"Our friends're quite paranoid." sighed Smith. "Memory
wipe's rather dangerous stuff te play wi'."
Lt. Jones noticed a wet hairy rag in Tuerz hand as he played
with it. It was an exceedingly familiar color. "Is 'e still
alive."
"Barely, though I don't think we'll get any more from him.
May as well kill him." Tuerz sighed and held up the lump of hair.
"Well, at least he wasn't bald."
Jietlshaiepr blanched, "All right, Tuerz. Get rid of him
quickly."
"Flush 'im." agreed Lt. Jones.
Tuerz nodded, "Well, Ok. But I won't enjoy it."
- IIL -
A skeleton crew was left on the Flamboyant. The rest piled
into the Gig and made for rendezvous with the Welles flotilla.
It was one of the strangest sights seen by man. Four ironclads
steaming majestically through the air exuding black oily smoke
from their stacks.
"We have a better grade of coal aboard: low sulfur content,
but we are saving it for the attack. For now we shall have to
tolerate the smoke." Captain Colorado of the Pasadena pointed
out. Nepotism aside, he was a capable officer despite his noble
position: heir to the first officership of the Prague. The
actual hereditary first officer, his mother was admiral of the
fleet. Yet Admiral Colorado was quite old so her son truly
commanded the fleet.
"She's a fine ship." nodded Jietlshaiepr. "What's her flank
speed?"
"Forty three kilometers per hour airspeed. The smaller
ships can make about fifty eight."
"We'd better come in on the windward side o' their base."
advised Jones.
"Agreed." nodded Captain Colorado. "I've been over our
charts and set course such that we should arrive on target at
dawn tomorrow. We'll sweep in with the wind, and try to catch
them with their defenses down."
"If I can get some of my team inside one of their tanks,"
thought Jietlshaiepr, "they'll have plenty to keep them
occupied."
"How do you propose to do that?" asked Colorado
disbelievingly.
"I am a noble of the Zhodani Consulate. I can teleport with
ease. The Droyne crew have a much better clairvoyant than I am.
They will give us a view of the target and we teleport inside."
"Can you handle that machine?" Colorado asked.
"Lt. Gresha has operated similar tanks, I will carry her
along with me. We can run it, but we'll need help."
Smith interjected, "That's where I come in. Those aren't
really tanks so much as mobile artillery pieces: 'eavy weapons
wi' a powerful computer te back it up."
"And te operate the guns there's the Droyne gunner from the
Kivas, Heet Kiv. It's a teleport as well." added Jones. "I'll be
going in wi' my security robot, Corporal Delt, Miakr and the
robot dog Vole. We'll attack the transport ships wi' demolition
packs. Thot way, we can insure none'll escape before
reinforcements arrive from the League o' Suns."
Captain Colorado looked Jones in the eye, "I'd be happy if
they just left. As long as they're off my planet."
"They'd come back." Smith pointed out.
"Possibly, but not till we'd had a chance to prepare."
"We must prevent 'em from striking another planet li' this
one." urged Jones.
"That won't bring back our dead, nor will it stop them from
burning our towns to ashes."
"No." admitted Jietlshaiepr, "But, it might prevent the
horror from striking another world. It may well stop another
holocaust."
- IL -
Dawn.
Red sky in the morning,
Sailor take warning.
The ironclad flotilla cruised in low skimming the waves as
they raced out of the sun to the island in tight formation. Sand
spread over bright red painted decks to keep them from getting
slippery with blood. Sunrise glinting off gunmetal six pounders.
Grape shot and round shot standing by. Artillery rockets set up
in the crow's nest. Gatling guns polished to an oily shine. Rum
ration quickly drunk. Welles Navy battle ensign flapping in the
wind. Signal flags: "Welles expects everyone to their duty."
- L -
The flotilla scattered as it soared over the beaches. Only
an unnamed mountain stood between the ironclads and their target
as the strike force jumped in grav belts. Jietlshaiepr relaxed
to save her strength; she'd every ounce soon enough.
The Droyne felt out with the combined strength of their
minds. Yes, the tanks lay unmanned; unmanned and unpowered. The
image burned in Jietlshaiepr. And in Smith. And in the Droyne
Warrior, Heet Kiv.
They were there. Jietlshaiepr puffed with the exertion and
distance as she and Gresha came into existence inside the grav
tank.
"Vargr! What a ride!" breathed Gresha. Immediately, she
scanned the controls of the mobile artillery piece. Heavy
weapons, heavy power needs, heavy weight. "Find me a checklist.
Fast!" She began to guess her way through the starting
procedure. Can't give the thing a walk around, but they must
keep it ready for action... Fusion plant starting sequence...
Starting batteries... Fuel flow... Magnetic bottle...
Grrracht! Where's the vacuum pumps?!
"GaaaerrrrrrrRRRRR!" Capacitors discharged, pumps surged
deuterium flowed, a spark began to glow in the belly of the
monster.
"There, now we've power to close the damn door!" she panted.
"Now, all we can do is wait for full power."
The view screens looked outside. Bored sentries stood
outside. None looked more than half awake in the fingers of
dawn.
Slowly, a group walked out of a large barracks. Four
comrades walked side by side towards the lead grav tank. A man
and a woman flanked by two men. The man in the center: 1.85
meters tall, fair skin, short cropped blonde hair.
Smith zoomed the screen in on his face.
"Major Ollie Sutherland..."
The crew walked over to their grav tank and embarked.
A second crew began walking to the other grav tank.
The hull of the lead tank shut itself.
From the same barracks, two men walked out and turned to
face the barracks door waiting.
"How's our power?" asked Jietlshaiepr.
"Thirty six megawatts and rising... We'll need about fifty
two to get aloft... Thirty seven megawatts... about forty
seconds, four minutes after that we'll have full power."
One more figure came out of the barracks an joined the other
two. The three men stood together, talking and yawning in the
early light. A fourth came shaking a sleepy head. They walked
toward the last grav tank: theirs.
Smith glared into the tank commander's mind: "I've
forgotten something..."
He hesitated and started back. He got halfway back before
he turned around again. He ran to catch up when the one leading
the group fell flat on his face. Smith stifled a laugh as he
found his shoe laces tied together. A bored sentry laughed and
walked over to help him.
Smith sat silent.
Slowly, unnoticed, but sure and deadly, the pin worked out
of one of the sentries grenades.
The sentry and two of the tank crew shattered in a red
cloud. The explosion echoed over the base.
"Wake them, ought to." chirped Heet.
One echo suddenly came louder than the others, the burst of
a six pound load of grape shot as the first of the ironclads came
in range. They came flying over the northern foot hills of the
nameless mountain. They'd broken formation and were attacking at
will. The Weehawken came first, flying low followed by the
Bismark on the Weehawken's port side. To starboard drove the
Laramie while the Pasadena fell behind with her inferior speed.
Suddenly, the lead grav tank lifted off and moved away from
the camp.
"We've got flying power!" called Gresha.
"Keep it on the ground." snapped Smith. "We'll play dead
until we've got full power."
Ollie Sutherland's grav tank began belching six centimeter
shells from it's twin auto cannon. The G-carrier lifted off and
opened up with a five megawatt laser. Suddenly, the Pasadena was
on fire. The port bow gouted flame as iron plate melted and wood
ignited.
The guns were not silenced as the Pasadena took on a list to
starboard. The starboard six pounder spoke in defiance and the
gatling guns sniped at the mercenaries as they ran for cover.
A six pound shell burst on the G-carrier's side sending it
spinning. The armor plate cracked under the force of the blast
opening the hull like a walnut. Inside, the two crew looked out
the gaping hole in surprise before they regained control of the
spinning troop carrier.
An Air/Raft came whizzing in to intercept the Weehawken,
death spat from a VRF gauss gun as the raft strafed the ironclad.
Suddenly, the air thudded loudly with the sound of a
charging heavy plasma gun. A shriek as it fired, blazing out in
a deadly bolt which struck the Pasadena in the casemate.
The Pasadena shattered in a blinding flash as plasma found
the magazine.
- LI -
Niedrsha gripped the PGMP-14 tightly, and swooped up from
tree top flight to intercept the G-carrier as it came out of its
spin. Drert pulled up sharply to follow carrying a FGMP-14.
The G-carrier was just turning to bear on the Laramie when
the plasma gun blazed. A bolt of ionized plasma seared through
the aft end of the G-carrier throwing molten armor plate into the
air. An explosion rang from inside and flame blazed out of the
hole the six pounder had gouged. A moment later it began to fall
like a brick. It plowed a deep path through a glen before
burying itself and exploding.
Suddenly, Niedrsha's battle dress sensors went wild.
The near miss indicator screamed about flying metal. He
jerked his head to look as VRF gauss needles ripped his chest
open.
- LII -
Shtam and Kfoks peeled off after the Air/Raft closely
followed by Tuerz. Shtam's gauss rifle cracked 4mm death at the
crew. The gunner at the VRF gauss gun suddenly went into an
epileptic seizure as his body shook under the repeated impacts of
supersonic gauss needles.
The driver slumped when half his head exploded under the
storm of X-rays from Tuerz laser pistol.
The radio channel to Niedrsha and Drert was dead.
- LIII -
Lt. Jones, Miakr, Vole, Corporal Delt, and the security
robot flew in towards the transports just above the trees. They
on a different attack course from the others so they would not
attract too much unwanted attention.
Jones watched over his shoulder as Major Ollie's tank lined
up on the now blazing Weehawken. The air shuddered as the heavy
gun prepared to fire. A thousand devils screamed as it poured
its hell plasma onto the ironclad. A cloud blazed as the ship
disintegrated.
"Corporal Delt!" shouted Jones, "Halt! Stand guard over me.
The rest of you, get the charges planted!"
Jones went to the ground and stared at the menacing tank as
it lined up to fire on the Bismark. He wrapped his mind around
one of his demolition charges. Under his determined guidance, it
lifted into the air and flew towards the tank. His grip weakened
as it lengthened. He struggled to keep it aloft.
The air began to shudder again announcing the devil fire
when the magnetic charge attached itself with a loud click.
Inside, did they wonder what had hit them?
Jones flicked the detonator.
The grav tank was enveloped in smoke and flame. Can the
charge punch a hole in that armor?
As the smoke cleared, the tank began to wobble. The whine
of tortured machinery sounded across the island just audible
under the cannon fire.
The crew cockpit was smashed open like a ripped can. Armor
plates buckled around a gaping hole. The tank listed to
starboard and plowed through the island growths before it ground
itself to a stop.
Jones and Delt lit off to investigate.
- LIV -
Niedrsha stood in amazement.
The armored body lying before him made no sense.
Lying on the ground was half a figure in Zhodani battle
dress. In it's arms was a PGMP-14 apparently undamaged. On the
left shoulder was written 'Niedrsha'.
He glanced at himself in confusion. What am I doing lying
over there dead? Suddenly, something clawed at him. The weapon
in his hand...
was a fusion gun...?
I was carrying a plasma gun and Drert had a fusion gun...
This one!
He looked at his left shoulder patch: 'Drert'.
With rising dread he pushed the emergency release on the
dead body's helmet. It split into the two clamshell halves
revealing Drert's face.
- LV -
"We've got full power!" shouted Gresha.
"Take off!" shouted Smith, as Jietlshaiepr sat in grief and
confusion. "Get us out of the blast region! We're gonna smear
that tank over the horizon."
The last grav tank lay rounded, still unable to get power
up. A six pound shell smacked into the side of the tank and
bounced harmlessly off the heavy armor plateing.
"Those grreeches idiots are shooting at us!" growled Gresha.
She glanced at Jietlshaiepr as she sat frozen at the controls.
Not quite frozen. The air began booming as the heavy gun
stewed it's plasma blast.
Jietlshaiepr triggered the gun and sent the helpless grav
tank to oblivion.
- LVI -
Lt. Dragoon, Able Spacehand Turner, and Private Walker
soared in towards the mercenary command center. Dragoon's laser
rifle spewed visible wavelength photons wildly as she bore in on
the target singlemindedly. Figures in combat armor saw the three
Valkyries blazing death at them and returned fire with light
assault guns.
Flechettes cascaded off the trio's armor. They weren't
expecting armored targets...
Walker's PGMP-12 blazed once rending limbs from two
different defenders.
"Look out!" screamed Turner, "Warbots: four o'clock!"
Three medium Zhodani warbots, PPO series, came in at them
blazing light from laser rifles.
Walker glowed red for a moment and slumped. Her grav belt
continued to carry her over the base.
Turner dove for cover among the base buildings with a warbot
on her tail. Dragoon blazed laser light of her own at the
warbots.
- LVII -
Miakr was just approaching the transports when the warbot
cry went up. "It's a blasted good thing I..." he muttered and
flipped on the high powered transmitter he'd mounted on his belt.
He could only guess as to the frequencies used by the robots, and
Zhodani warbot security was tough. Still there was a chance...
- LVIII -
Lt. Jones and Corporal Delt leapfrogged over to the crash
site. The tank lay on its belly, leaning on its starboard side.
The main gun hung dead on its goose neck with the shredded
command pennant hanging by a thread. The cockpit had been
cracked and torn open by the blast. Delt covered Jones as he
leaped inside with his SMG at the ready.
Jones refolded the SMG into a small featureless box and
attached it to his belt: no threats here. Four bodies lay in
the couches. One of the three gunners were more or less intact.
One's head and right shoulder were missing. The driver at first
looked merely surprised. She sat slumped at the controls wide
eyed and blank faced, but a steel rod had run straight through
her head.
Ollie Sutherland was slumped at the controls for the main
gun. There was blood on his uniform and couch, but very little
on him.
He was deeply unconscious. Jones quickly went over him and
found... nothing? Jones took a step back and came to the
realization that his patient, while spattered in his own
(obviously fresh) blood, was perfectly healthy.
Jones slipped a tranquilizer into his blood stream. Well,
if he's Ok, let's keep him.
He told Corporal Delt to stand guard over the prisoner and
flew off to the fray.
- LIX -
The warbots froze and hovered. Only one was left near
Dragoon, the others had been harrying the ironclads.
Dragoon looked at Walker and Turner through the pain of the
laser burns on her waist and left thigh. Walker was still alive
at least. Turner's combat armor was far too grotesquely melted
for that diagnosis.
She turned on the command center. A figure in combat armor
crouched behind the doorway with a light assault gun. There was
a sudden flash in the door as Dragoon's laser illuminated it.
A round of high explosive blazed from a window and exploded
meters from her.
She paused to consider how best to send the defenders to
hell, when an Air/Raft swooped in with Tuerz at the controls.
Shtam sent burst after burst of VRF gauss needles into the
building while Kfoks and a confused looking figure in Drert's
battle dress held their fire: fusion guns would demolish the
entire command building.
Suddenly, the figure in the door held his hand to his ear,
stood at attention, saluted, and fell woodenly.
"'at's it!" came Jones's voice, "Their checking out!"
Dragoon charged in.
- LX -
Dragoon managed to kill one of the defenders before the
poison had completely finished him off. She kicked the door to
the commander's office open. Nobody home?
The camera system on her combat armor picked up the bomb.
Lt. Jones only got a glimpse of it through the relay before
Dragoon dived through a window and flew off shouting.
"Everybody get clear!" he called with authority over the
radio as he came barrelling in. He guessed it was only a kiloton
but that was enough.
Jietlshaiepr's commanding voice came over the circuit.
"Stuzzel, get that Gig in here. Miakr, drop the charges and get
on the Gig. Tuerz, take Turner on board the Air/Raft and get on
the Gig. We'll take Walker in the tank. Delt, carry the
prisoner to the Gig. Kfoks, warn the Laramie. Niedrsha?"
"Yeah, I'm here, I guess..." came a bewildered voice.
Her voice softened, "You warn the Bismark. Just tell them
to get clear of the island as fast as they can. Ok?"
"I... got it." he answered.
Jones swooped into the control building.
The rest swooped off to obey orders.