Louis Shalako
“Colonel.”
“Yes,
Harvey?”
“It’s
snowing.” He grinned. “Heavily. The locals say there will be half a metre by
morning.”
“Ah.
Thank you.”
“Er.”
“Get
to the boats, Harvey. Please.” Her own ride was sitting out front in a Puma,
and the sooner they got moving, the less chance of a missile or artillery
attack on the Command Centre.
“Yes,
Colonel. Roger that.”
Shouldering
his weapon, he grabbed one big bag by his desk.
The
door closed and it was just her.
With
Confederation contingents scattered all up and down the hills, her troops had
conducted one last series of night attacks on the Unfriendly positions just a
bare kilometre from the beginning of the commercial strip on the edge of town.
They could only leave it so late, as the Unfriendlies would clearly be expecting
it by now. For that reason, the attacks had consisted of sniper fire from
commanding heights, big dog attacks and mortar stonks.
The
enemy had lost some troops, some weapons and vehicles perhaps, not to mention
sleep. Her own people needed time to get down off of the hills and escape
through the back alleys and side-streets of Ryanville.
Her
last three laser-cannons were spaced out, on commanding heights or right at
street level, where a kink on Main Street allowed for some cover, good
concealment and a long, straight shot at anything coming down and around the
corner from that last little rise…
Every
automated weapon available had been deployed using such tactics. The local
civilians knew what to look for. By the time the Unfriendlies took the town centre,
all of that would be taken out of play. Probably destroyed, one way or another.
In the case of a laser-cannon, if a person came in from behind, there was a
simple switch to turn it off and an instruction tag in ten common languages.
Even
the Barker teams had been withdrawn and were proceeding to the rendezvous.
Command
Centre Three was all but deserted, all senior staff now making their way to the
docks.
It
was four a.m., at this time of year, a good three or four hours before proper
sunrise, and in this country, even longer before Deneb broke above the
hilltops. With this weather, it promised to be another dull, damp, chilly day.
Hopefully, a very snowy day. There was a sound behind her.
Thinking
someone must have stayed behind against explicit orders, she turned, hand
hovering over the key on their little device. After she hit that, she had no
choice but to leave. All businesses and dwellings within a three-hundred metre
radius had been evacuated, as the charge was a big one…
Perhaps
it was nothing. The place seemed totally quiet, only the distant thud of the
enemy weapons and the scream of incoming shells landing all over the town a
reminder of the current situation. Then there was the weather, which was
whipping up.
Probably
just a branch hitting the side of the building, an eaves-trough perhaps.
After
one last walk-through the various small offices and cubicles, turning off
lights as she went, in an impulse that seemed a bit off, she came into the main
room.
She
stopped dead.
“Good
morning, Lieutenant-Colonel Graham.”
Her
jaw dropped.
“Brigadier-General
Renaldo.” She shut her mouth firmly. “Ah—how in the hell—”
“Yes.
I’m sorry, Dona. The technology is highly classified. But, suffice it to say
that I am here, and that is all you really need to know.”
Eyeing
the station where the destruct button was, along with the switch to finally
begin jamming enemy radio traffic including the drones, she heaved a deep sigh
and dropped heavily into the hot-seat. The people at the docks would wait—she
had no doubt of that. If they didn’t, there were plenty of other boats lined up
along the wharf. She could probably canoe a hundred kilometres in four days
with calm winds.
She
had the typical ration-pack for three days in her pack and a few snacks and
candy-bars thrown in. There was plenty of fresh water out there…
“So.
General. What’s up.”
“You’ve
done a remarkable job here. A wonderful job. I am so very sorry to have to do
this to you…”
Her
face hardened.
“Do
what, exactly?”
There
was a faint knock at the door.
It
was the general who spoke.
“Come
in.”
There
were two of them, Sergeant Kelly and Trooper Noya. Kelly looked pretty grim,
but Noya flashed her a bright smile. They had their personal weapons, their
bags. They were all set to go—
She
watched, open-mouthed, as the General moved to her terminal and hit a button.
The chip popped out, and he pocketed it thoughtfully. Every bit of data gleaned
so far.
To
go.
She
stood.
“Colonel
Graham. You will please call, ah, Lieutenant Wheeler, or Lieutenant Tanguy,
down at the docks. Whichever one is still there. You will tell them that you
are unable to presently escape and that you have Kelly and Noya with you. You
are surrounded by a considerable force. Use the exact words. Tell her that you
will be all right and that there is to be no hare-brained attempt to come back
and get you out. That is an order.” Reluctantly, face tight and hard, she had
little choice but to comply.
She
kept it short, a brief text message.
Wheeler
responded immediately, ‘affirmative’,
and Dona clicked off.
On
some level, one had to trust higher authority, that didn’t mean you had to like
it. Her foot was tapping.
At
this exact moment in time, she rather hated him, and everything else.
“…what
in the hell is going on here, Brigadier-General Renaldo.”
“Hmn.
Yes. Not surprised by your reaction. What is going to happen is that Major Chan
will be taking over, with the able help of Captain Aaron. They’re on the scene,
and you will be unaccounted-for. They’re fully competent and up to the job. As
for yourself, your talents are badly needed elsewhere.”
Walking
over to the main battle board, presently beeping in warning mode, it was
immediately apparent that the Unfriendlies, noting the distinct lack of manned
defenses in front of them, were on the move again…
“We
don’t have much time.”
“We
don’t need much time. Get your kit, Colonel.” Head turning, he spoke. “Don’t
forget the coat.”
It
was all there, right beside the door. The mink hanging on a peg above it.
“Naturally,
you gentlemen will forget all about this.”
“Naturally.”
Kelly.
Noya
just seemed fascinated.
“And
where in the hell are we going?”
With
a nod, the General pulled out three small objects from the side pocket of his
jacket.
“Here.
Take these. Put your thumb-prints on the screen, please.”
“And
why in the hell should I?”
Kelly
cleared his throat.
“Honestly,
Colonel. It is still possible to lose
this conflict. I think we will win, we probably will. I’m pretty sure we will, but. Do you have any idea of what would,
ah, happen to you if the Unfriendlies got a-hold of you?”
It
wasn’t a pretty picture, in his words.
“You
don’t want to end up as some kind of a comfort girl to his herd of
field-niggers, ah, Colonel.” It was, apparently, still possible for the
sergeant to blush.
She
tore her eyes away from him.
Her
face was flaming—
Renaldo
silently regarded her, giving her a brief nod.
“I
concur.”
“Shit.”
The
coat, the fucking coat—
Shit.
Satisfied
that they had all been properly identified and located in the space-time
continuum, the general spoke briefly into his own device and in one slewing,
disorienting snap, they were aboard a ship—what ship she didn’t know, but it
was a ship.
“Wow.
That was fun.”
“Please,
Sergeant Kelly.”
Trooper
Noya stood there looking at her and at Renaldo, a faint smile on those handsome
features.
“General
Renaldo.” I’m waiting…
“First.
The self-destruction of our Mark Seventeen satellite did indeed result in the
destruction of the Unfriendly satellite—and they only have the one. As per
plan, our new Mark Twenty-Three-A satellite has been deployed, and the signal
is good. Command Four has already locked it up, and the verification codes were
satisfactory.”
“And?”
“This
is going to be a very big storm, perhaps one of the biggest ever recorded.”
That was the thing with the early stages of terraforming, the weather patterns
were also transformed, by everything from increased solar heating, new gases in
the atmosphere, an increase or a decrease in water vapour…higher air pressures,
the lot.
“So?”
“Well,
for one thing, you’ve won. General McMurdo will be receiving orders to
withdraw. Someone in his headquarters was dumb enough to send that little
video, all of them actually, off to the home world. Then authorities on Shiloh
were stupider enough to release them for general consumption, thinking it would
bolster their cause, perhaps. There was a bit of an uproar in Council. They
have their standards of decency. That false decorum towards women for example.
Up on a pedestal, and yet enslaved. The other thing is that they don’t much
like being embarrassed, Colonel Graham. As for the media, there are hints of
mild disapproval. We all know their aim is expansion. This is only a minor
setback to them. Anyhow. The people we have, will be sufficient to harry them
all the way back down that road. With an expected half a metre, maybe even more
of snowfall overnight, and some considerable drifting, it will take a good week
for them to dig out and clear the road well enough to travel.” Whereas the lake
would take another month or more to freeze.
Her
stay-behinds were all in place, fully equipped for winter, including snowshoes,
skis, snow-machines, one or two-man four-bys. Insulated coveralls, heated boots
and gloves.
Professional
troops. People who believed in the plan.
They
would carry it out.
Kelly
stood there, eyeing her with a quizzical look.
“What
ship is this, er, General?”
“It’s
the Rodney, Sergeant Kelly.”
“And
what about us?”
“Well,
that’s entirely up to you. You can always go home, or we can find you another
assignment.”
“Ah.
Thank you—I think.”
Noya
listened intently, head down.
“As
for Trooper Noya. We’re very interested in you, young man.”
“Ah,
yes, sir.” A stiff little nod, the eyes and the face were now carefully blank.
So.
That
was it—reassignment.
“And
Paul?” And Vicky, and Harvey, and a hundred others whom she’d liked, respected,
ate, slept and drank with, and might never, ever see again.
“When
the time comes, a week or ten days maybe, it will be announced that you have
successfully evaded capture, along with your companions. A little bit of
legend-building, nothing more. And nothing less, Dona. You somehow made your
way off-planet by borrowing a small civilian cargo vessel.” There were, in
fact, a few of those sitting on the pad at Deneb City, grounded for the
duration. “The other thing is that the Unfriendlies still have to get off of
this rock.”
Erebus and Terror—Bluecoat II, as he called it.
Then there were the fire-teams south of Deneb City.
The
cargo ships’ owners were under orders, not just from the Unfriendlies, not to
get involved, or to try and escape. The Confederation, after all, was
responsible for their safety. Not that the enemy wouldn’t phrase it in similar
terms—
“Your
people have been well trained. They have enough experience of your tactics to
go on. Think of the great burst of confidence, for example, in Major Chan, who,
while competent enough as an executive officer, has so far shown no great taste
for independent command. As for Lieutenant Wheeler, she is long overdue for
promotion—and opportunity.”
“I
see, sir.”
Shit.
“I’m
sorry, Colonel. I really am. I know how this must feel. However, I can assure
you that your next assignment is a very challenging one, and, that you are
going to need all of your skills on this baby…” An opportunity for personal
growth, as he put it— “The Organization never does anything for no reason, Lieutenant-Colonel Graham.”
“I’m
in.”
“What
was that, Sergeant Kelly?”
“Yes,
sir, General, sir. Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.” His eyes glittered, and
he clearly meant it.
As
for Trooper Noya, he appeared to be listening very carefully.
One
had to admit, the money was good. He hadn’t been doing anything particularly
important anyways. Not lately, and that was for sure.
And
then there was Dona—Lieutenant-Colonel Graham. Well. That was one nice lady.
End
Previous Episodes.
Part One.
Part Two.
Part Three.
Part Four.
Part Five.
Part Six.
Part Seven.
Part Eight.
Part Nine.
Part Ten.
Part Eleven.
Part Twelve.
Part Thirteen.
Part Fourteen.
Part Fifteen.
Part Sixteen.
Part Seventeen.
Part Eighteen.
Part Nineteen.
Part Twenty.
Part Twenty-One.
Part Twenty-Two.
Part Twenty-Three.
Part Twenty-Four.
Part Twenty-Five
Part Twenty-Six.
Part Twenty-Seven.
Part Twenty-Eight
Part Twenty-Nine
Part Thirty.
Part Thirty-One.
Part Thirty-Two.
Part Thirty-Three.
Part Thirty-Four.
Part Thirty-Five.
Part Thirty-Seven.
PartThirty-Eight.
Part Thirty-Nine.
Part Forty.
Images.
Image
One. Collection of Louis Shalako.
Image
Two. Confederation Public Communications Office.
Image
Three. CPCO.
Image Four. The book cover for the 5 x 8" Createspace paperback.
Image Five. Buddy, can you spare a dime.
Louis
Shalako is the founder of Long Cool One Books and the author of twenty-two
novels and numerous short stories. Louis studied Radio, Television and
Journalism Arts at Lambton College of Applied Arts and Technology, later going
on to study fine art. He began writing for community newspapers and industrial
magazines over thirty years ago. His stories appear in publications including
Perihelion Science Fiction, Bewildering Stories, Aurora Wolf, Ennea,
Wonderwaan, Algernon, Nova Fantasia, and Danse Macabre. He lives in southern
Ontario and writes full time. Louis enjoys cycling, swimming and good books.
Louis has all kinds of books and stories availablefrom Amazon, including the completed novel, Tactics of Delay. Please take a
moment to rate or review this product.
Thank you for reading.
