Кристофер Банч - Vortex

"But once we have withdrawn from this dung heap of a cluster, what will be our next duties?"

"I—I guess you will return to the service of the Eternal Emperor. At least until your enlistments are up." Sten puzzled at this total irrelevancy, wondering why the Gurkhas were wasting his time now, but his backbrain told him that these soldiers often went obliquely to a vital interest that concerned the moment.

"I do not think so," Lalbahadur said firmly. "We must consult with our king, back on Earth, and with our superior officers in the bodyguard to be certain. But I do not think so.

"We Nepalese withdrew from Imperial Service when the Emperor was killed, refused all offers from those yeti afterbirths who called themselves the privy council and other gangsters, and returned only with the Emperor."

"Ancient history, Jemedar. And I am very sleepy."

"I will make my point rapidly. It is our opinion that we were in error to come back. This Emperor we agreed to serve is not as the last one my people served. I think it is not he who was reborn, but a Rakasha, a demon who wears his face."

"My grandfather's grandfather," Mahkhajiri Gurung added, further confusing the issue, "would have said his aspect is now that of Bhairava, the Frightful One, and can only be worshiped in drunkenness."

"As much as I'd like to get sloshed with you gentlemen," Sten said, feeling waves of exhaustion crash down on him, "could we get to the point?"

"Very well," Lalabhadur said. "If we are not in violation of our contract, and even then I will consider breaking it, we would wish to enter your service on a permanent basis, sir. And once more I speak not just for the three of us, but for the other twenty-four as well."

Wonderful, Sten thought. That would further endear him to the Eternal Emperor.

"Thank you. I am honored. And I shall keep your offer in mind. But—and I am not saying what I shall be doing when we get out of this dung pool—I doubt I shall need bodyguards."

"You are wrong, sir. But you will see that, later. And thank you for honoring us ."

The Gurkhas saluted and withdrew, leaving Sten to wonder what the blazes that had been about.

The hell with it. He was too tired. And he still had to figure out a way to get out of the Altaics.

"Base… this is Little Ear Three Four Bravo," the com drawled, in a voice that had been carefully built to never show strain, stress, or fear.

"I have many, many hostiles on-screen, headed yours. Estimated time of arrival, two AU off yours, twenty E-hours.

"Units' main course, main orbit—"

The signal from the picket boat stopped.

The officers in the com room of Mason's new flagship, the Caligula , knew Four Bravo would not make another one.

"Admiral Mason," Sten said. "Stand by for orders."

"Yes, sir."

"I want you to lift clear of Jochi with all fleet elements. I want you to take an offensive position—of your own choosing—about five AU off-planet."

"Yes. Sir. I am not arguing, but I assume you are aware my ships are outnumbered at least eight to one."

"More exactly about twelve to one by my calculations. But that does not matter. You are not, repeat not, to engage the enemy. You are only to engage any Suzdal or Bogazi ships attempting to attack you in your holding pattern. You are to maintain, as much as possible, the integrity of what we're going to keep a straight face and call our fleet. Is that clear?"

"It is. So you want to try a bluff?"

"Exactly. Feel free to make any kind of threatening feints or ugly faces, so long as they don't violate my orders."

"What makes you think I'll be able to draw them off, or at least get their attention? I'm not sure they'll believe I've either got some kind of secret weapon, or else I'm about to make a suicide run."

"If you were Suzdal or Bogazi, and you'd just seen the number that imbecile Langsdorff pulled, wouldn't you think that the Empire's capable of almost anything? Just as long as it's stupid?"

Mason considered. "Worth a try."

Without saying more, he palmed his screen switch and broke contact.

Sten really hoped Mason survived this. Clot the dark alley and the blackjack—Sten was going to turkey-gobble-stomp Mason into the pavement in broad daylight—in the middle of the parade ground at Arundel Castle.

"Okay, troops. Gather around." Sten's shout echoed through the Victory's vast tacship hanger. All of his tacship pilots, and the pilots from the other two squadrons from the Bennington , had been ordered to this briefing.

"We'll make this quick. You can brief your crews independently.

"Here's what's going on. The invasion fleet is coming in, hot and heavy. We can't stop them. What we're trying to do is make life difficult enough for the bastards so us cowardly civilians and the crunchies can haul ass.

"You guys are gonna do it for me, and justify those clottin' white scarves and the flight pay that comes out of my taxes."

The pilots laughed and relaxed. All of them knew Sten's killer record as a tacship pilot/combat commander.

"Admiral Mason has what heavies we've got left offworld. He's going to do a tap dance and convince our friends he's about to attack. They'll have to at least form some kind of defensive line between the troopships and our BUCs. Then it'll be your turn."

Sten was suddenly serious. "Flight commanders… squadron leaders… attack in any formation you wish. Your targets are the transports. Only the transports. Kill them. If you hit them offworld, don't hang around for the finish. If they're in-atmosphere, make sure none of them will be able to make a forced landing. If they deploy troop capsules before you kill the mother ships, take out the capsules.

"If you're in-atmosphere, and close to the ground, and you see any enemy troops—hit them. This includes Suzdal, Bogazi, Jochians, or Torks. Draw double units of fire for the chain guns. If your ships are fitted for antipersonnel bombs, carry them and use them.

"That is a direct order.

"I want a big butcher's bill on this one. And any pilot who decides to play ace or dogfight star, I will personally ground and break.

"And remember—every soldier you let land on Jochi is a soldier who'll do his damnedest to kill an Imperial Guardsman.

"That's all. Dismissed."

Sten was getting very tired of saying "That is a direct order." But he wanted to make sure none of his pilots or captains labored under any illusions this battle was anything other than a last-ditch fight for survival.

He had seen, years, centuries, geological epochs ago, what happened when one side attempted to fight a war in civilized fashion—and he not only had seen his first command wiped out, but had personally buried too many bodies of friends to feel anything other than murderous purpose toward the bloodthirsty beings of the Altaics.

The Suzdal and Bogazi admirals analyzed the situation as their fleets closed on Jochi. There appeared to be no Imperial units in-atmosphere or immediately offworld.

In fact, the only warships in the system were those of the small Imperial fleet far off Jochi, orbiting in a ready position between two of Jochi's moons. First question: Could this fleet be ignored? Negative. If the Imperial ships attacked they could wreak havoc among the troopships. Second question: Should the landings be postponed until the Imperials were destroyed? Also negative—the threat was not that significant.

Besides, as one politically perceptive Bogazi pointed out, "Our confederation glue not sticky. Torks. Jochians. Suzdal. Sooner, later, they behave as normal and stab backs. Best sequence: Secure Jochi. Destroy Imperial soldiers. Destroy Imperial ships. With Jochi as base, any changes with allies easy for response."