Элизабет Мун - Into the Fire

“Weather looks difficult,” Molosay’s meteorologist said. “This is a serious snowstorm moving in—”

“It won’t bother them,” Ky said. “They trained both on Miksland’s southern half and up north.”

“But dark and snow—”

“They’ll be more used to it than our troops,” Ky said. “This may be why they hung around an extra day or so before heading into port. They want the dark and snow; they figure it will hurt us.”

On the way back to the Academy, Ky watched the shelf of high clouds as it closed in the sky, horizon-to-horizon. Beneath it, the first softer clouds moved out of the northwest like rolls of fluff. Sleet rattled on the roof of the car as it turned into the Academy gates to the Commandant’s Residence. It had stopped by the time she walked to the door.

She was halfway to her office when Rafe pinged her. “We lost visual satellite surveillance with the clouds, but the ships are not stealthed or silenced. Both ships picked up pilots; Xonsulat is within the harbor and will dock on the north side, near the foot of Ertanya Street. There’s an open berth behind that I’d bet Xonsulor will take.”

“As we expected. Weather says snow starting after dark, with mixed sleet, rain, and freezing rain until then.”

“That’ll make the streets slippery,” Rafe said.

“No problem for them with their tracked vehicles. I need to make calls now.”

In her office, she found messages from Joint Services Command, Neese Base, Harbor Point Base, and the President, who wanted to know if her removal from the Palace was really necessary since nothing had happened since she’d moved out.

“It’s happening now, ” Ky said. “The suspect vessels are docking as we speak.”

“Oh. Then I suppose you won’t let me go home—”

“No—your home address is too well known and just about indefensible. Please stay where you are and do not contact me. Your security troops will be with you very soon now.”

Molosay, at Joint Services Command, knew about the ships and wondered if Ky had put any surveillance drones up.

“No, General; we would rather they were less suspicious than more. It’s still too light—” Though the light was dimming as the lower clouds thickened. A snowflake danced by the window, followed by a shower of sleet.

“You expect them tonight.”

“Yes, General. Why would they wait? They’ve come in under cloud cover and it’s almost full dark now; what better time to surprise us? How are things at the base?”

“Trouble at Ordnay—fighting between the loyalists and the insurgents. We expect to be attacked here—” On a sprawling headquarters base that, like the government complex, had never been designed for defense in a serious war.

Ky reminded herself not to give advice that hadn’t been asked for and ended the call. She called a meeting of the faculty and staff who had passed MacRobert’s deep screening—they’d run out of time to screen them all—and gave them a heads-up. The engineer group reported all vehicles fueled and ready to position; that would begin within the hour.

She looked in on the cadet mess hall. No way—since the cadets had no implants—to give them four hours or so of good sleep before the action she expected this night. How long would it take the invaders to get all their equipment off the ships? How long to form up? She went back to the residence, changed into the base layers of her combat gear, and set her implant for four hours, with an override if her skullphone pinged earlier.

Ky’s skullphone pinged, and her implant informed her it was a half hour to midnight. Even as she rolled over and sat up, the red line’s light came on. “Commandant—Unit One. Cattle arriving at stockyard.”

“Enough for that Academy banquet?”

“Would think so. Send them on to processing?”

“Go ahead.”

Ky alerted her local commanders without using the main alarm system. Someone in the Academy was almost certainly on the conspiracist side and in contact with Kvannis. She went to the window: silence outside, and snowflakes dancing in the light from the room. In the distance, soft blurs of light; the forecast had predicted snowfall starting around midnight and becoming heavier toward the morning.

The red com beside the bed buzzed louder. In rapid succession she fielded calls from General Molosay, the two small airfields, and Rafe. She dressed quickly, including the chameleon suit, and made sure she could reach its controls.

Then she checked her weapons, ammunition, gas mask, and communications before heading for the Old Hall. Her combat helmet, pre-loaded with com codes, connected her to the Command Center at the base, to the Rector, and to her subordinate commanders; she ran through the checks to be sure all channels were live.

The long passage between the residence and the Old Hall, dim under emergency lighting, lay before her, empty and silent, any sound from the Old Hall baffled by the angles in the passage. Another skullphone ping. “Cattle arriving at entrance… route Mixer three-two. Alt route Prom two-nine.” So advance patrols were using the Military Avenue route from the harbor to the government complex, just now passing 32nd Street, and another group was coming up Promenade but had reached only 29th. Almost time to call the alarm, because the city police should have noticed troops in the street by now. Ky checked the elapsed time and switched to the general alarm channel.

“This is the Commandant. This is not a drill. Emergency Orders Local Zodiac; Emergency Orders Local Zodiac. All cadets, fatigue dress, with emergency kit, to the Old Hall immediately. Armsmaster and techs to the Armory. Faculty to the Old Hall, fatigue dress.”

“Commandant—is this a drill?” Someone always asked. She didn’t recognize the rather squeaky voice.

“This is not a drill. I expect all personnel to comply quickly and without panic.”

“Commandant, Armsmaster Tilley reporting on station at Armory.”

“We will need to arm those cadets who have qualified, Armsmaster.”

“For a riot or something? What is the Zodiac suffix, Commandant?”

She had not been certain of Tilley until MacRobert had cleared him late the previous afternoon. “There’s an attack on the city. Police report unauthorized troops in the city, including armored cars. Confirmation from the Joint Services Command base. Command believes it’s Kvannis and his allies.”

“They came here ?”

“Apparently. As per Emergency Orders Local: issue helmets, vests, weapons, and ammunition; I’ll be sending the fourth-years first.”

“Yes, Commandant.” He sounded solid enough, and nothing had shown up on MacRobert’s search of his records.

She turned a corner in the passage. Ahead, only dim emergency lights showed, with the dark maw of the stairway to the dais of the Old Hall on the left and the closed door to the assembly level on the right. If someone had been pre-warned, if she herself was considered a danger, attack would come here. Ky slowed, slipped her pistol out, and thumbed the safety off. She eased to the corner, and around it. Before she reached the steps, she saw a darker shadow move; shots rang out—her own and the other’s. Ky felt a hard blow to the chest; a wave of heat washed over her as her armor reacted. Behind her another several rounds ricocheted off the stone walls of the corridor. She heard the clatter of a weapon hitting the stone steps, the sound of someone falling. A breath, another breath, as her implant reacted to the adrenaline burst, as no more shots were fired. Whoever it was hadn’t had the weapon on auto override.

Voices from above… no one would miss the parallel to the situation with Marek. She walked forward, still poised to shoot again. The light on the stairs came on, revealing the fallen shooter: Colonel Bohannon, chair of the history department. Blood still oozed from the holes in his chest, staining his uniform, pooling on the floor. The exultation that had followed previous killings lasted only a moment, washed away by grief. She’d thought he was one of the loyalists.