Genellan: Planetfall Part 40

"What did you see, Sandy?" Dawson asked. Worry pinched her features. "Is it still burning?" She moved back from the cave entrance.

"Still burning," Tatum fretted. "It's been over four hours." After a few paces the ceiling lifted high enough to where even Tatum could stand, but he sat down heavily next to Goldberg and took Honey into his lap. Everyone stayed close for warmth. Tatum would not let them start a fire until darkness could obscure the smoke.

"What should we do?" Fenstermacher asked. Lee and her infant lay next to him, both covered in furs and fast asleep.

"Sit and wait," Tatum replied. "We're on our own."

"What happens if the bugs win?" Fenstermacher asked.

"No way!" Tatum shot back. "We'll tear them to pieces."

"How can you say that?" Fenstermacher asked. "The big uglies have the firepower. Wonder why Buccari decided to fight?"

"Because the fleet's back, and judging from what happened, it's a good thing she did," Wilson said. "As long as we're not captured, we can still be rescued."

"How long?" Dawson said. "How much longer can we hold out?"

"This is our planet," the taciturn Tookmanian suddenly interjected. "The kones don't know it, but it's ours. It's-it's our moral right."

"Moral right, Tooks?" Fenstermacher huffed. "Stick to your sewing!"

"Morality has nothing to do with it," Wilson said. "It's called survival."

"In the long run they are the same," Tookmanian replied, staring blankly at the opposite wall. Silence fell over the haggard survivors.

Buccari worked the soreness from her back and the burning ache from her old injury; it felt as if she had sand in her shoulder socket. Her hair was singed and brittle from laser strikes, her cheek blistered. But most of all, she mourned Hudson.

"Tonto says we took out maybe six or seven of them," MacArthur said. "That leaves only fifteen or sixteen. That's a pretty good day."

"So much for the element of surprise," Buccari said. "The rest will be a lot harder to hit." She looked around at the cold, tired faces. The silvery moon was three-quarters full, giving everyone a sinister and shadowy visage. She puzzled over their next step. "Ammo status?" Shannon demanded.

"Two hundred eight rounds standard-thirty pistol," O'Toole answered.

"Phew!" MacArthur replied. "Get ready to fix bayonets." "Can't we steal some of their weapons?" O'Toole asked.

"We need another breather canister for Et Silmarn," Buccari said. She looked at the big kone. Et Silmarn stirred, pushing off the furs.

"It-ah... makes sense.. .for me-e-e to go back-ah," Et Silmarn said. "It too cold, Sharl. My fuel is gone in five days or less. I am burden to-ah you." He stood on his four limbs and stared at the humans, the moon's reflection on his helmet visor making it brightly opaque. "Even if could-ah get-ah more fuel tanks, it-ah would-ah only be matter of time. I am dead-ah either way." He turned and ambled slowly downhill.

"Et Silmarn," Buccari said firmly. The scientist turned. "We will be rescued. When my people come, we will take you with us. We can make fuel for your breathing unit."

"But-ah will they come in time?" the kone asked.

"More fuel," Buccari said grimly. "We'll get more fuel." She turned to Shannon. "Sarge! The night's ours. It's too cold for the kones, but they'll have posted sentries. We're going back to the lake and liberate as many fuel tanks and weapons from those sentries as we can."

The Marines rumbled their approval.

"Yes, sir," Shannon replied, squinting up at the gibbous moon.

"Yes, sir," MacArthur said. He had been sitting quietly. "But with all due respect, Lieutenant..." He looked at Buccari, his eyes shrouded in the blackness of moon shadows. "With all due respect, I think, er.. .I recommend you hand off that carbine to one of the men, er... one of the Marines, and that you lead our konish friend, here, and the horses, up to the hunting camp. Someone has to get that stuff where it can do some good, and it makes more sense to have the Marines-not the generals-doing the fighting." He said the last sentence rapidly, as if afraid she would interrupt.

Buccari stifled a rush of anger. That certainly had not been her plan-but it made sense. There were not enough weapons to go around, and the supplies needed to reach the rest of the crew. MacArthur had a point. And, besides, he had promoted her to general.

"Okay, Sarge, I hate to admit it, but Mac's right. You're in charge," she said. "Good luck, good hunting, and bring everyone back with you." She turned to the kone. "Et Silmarn, you do not have a good choice. Sergeant Shannon will try to get more fuel. If he is not successful, then you must decide where you wish to die."

The n.o.blekone looked up and said, "You are right-ah. I am dead-ah either way-ah. I die free. Lead-ah and-ah I will follow, Sharl."

Buccari glanced at the Marines one last time, stopping at MacArthur. "We owe them for Nash Hudson and for Bosun Jones," she said grimly. "And for Commander Quinn and Virgil Rhodes. We owe them."

She collected the horses and started walking. Et Silmarn followed. They hiked all night. Gunfire broke the distant stillness on two occasions, yet Buccari was encouraged because each instance was short-lived. The n.o.blekone and the earthwoman kept walking. And kept climbing.

The unlikely duo and their horses hiked throughout the next morning, their view of the ruined settlement eventually hidden by trees and intervening terrain. The sun slipped from its zenith as they reached a tree-dotted ridge near the far end of the valley, the lip of an exposed, talus-strewn bowl. Past a last stand of yellow-barked firs, the bowl rose steeply to the final wall of the valley from which plummeted two separate billowing cascades. These crashing waters joined in a crystalline tarn nestled deeply within the sun-drenched bowl. The confluence of waters smoothly overflowed the granite-cradled pool and continued through a riven channel, journeying onward and downward to the lake in the distant valley, and beyond. Buccari' s and Et Silmarn's path lay across the bowl, opposite the water, where a rock-tumbled cleft angled across the bowl and breached the barren face of the escarpment-a challenge for the horses.

"We'll wait until dusk," Buccari said, wiping her brow. It would require two hours of hard hiking to cross the open stretch of mountainside. Taking the golden horses across the traverse in daylight could expose them to the searching eyes of the aliens.

"You are capable of great-ah effort," Et Silmarn said. The n.o.blekone had kept up, but the increasing elevation was taking its toll.

"Fear pushes hard," she replied. "It's easier to work than to worry."

"Ah, yes...fear. Slow death. It-ah is difficult to face death slowly," the n.o.blekone wheezed. He sat down on a slab of sunlit granite. "Too much time to...consider the, ah...meaning of living. I am afraid, and also very tired."

"You are brave," Buccari said. "Do not talk. Rest now."

"And you, too, are brave," the n.o.blekone replied. "I am not-ah so brave. I am afraid to sleep-ah, for I may never open my eyes. Itah is so cold."

"We'll get more fuel," Buccari answered. "Sleep. Go to sleep. It will be better when you wake up." She pulled supplies from the horses's backs and grabbed several fur hides. She covered the reclining kone with animal skins, wondering how he could be comfortable laying in the sun under layers of fur. The mountain air was brisk, but the exertions of the climb had caused her to perspire freely.

"Ah!" he groaned. "At last-ah warmth. Thang you, Sharl. Thang you."

"Go to sleep." Within seconds she could tell from the kone' s breathing that he had given in to his fatigue. It had been many stressful hours since either one of them had slept. After hobbling the horses she threw down another thick fur, but in the shade. She rolled herself in it and instantly submerged into the deepest of slumbers.

Direct sunlight a.s.saulted her eyes. Wet with perspiration, she blinked awake, wondering how long she had been asleep. The sun had traveled across a wide arc-she estimated three hours. It seemed like three minutes. She wobbled to her legs and looked at the slumbering kone. Her head ached, and her mouth tasted foul. She struggled to focus her eyes and was startled by a cliff dweller- Tonto-sitting alertly on a rock next to Et Silmarn's head. The hunter, bow in hand, an arrow nocked, was focused on the sleeping kone. Tonto turned and, seeing Buccari awake, hopped away from the kone, stowing his bow and returning the short arrow to its quiver.

Buccari checked the horses grazing across a patch of wildflowers and gra.s.ses growing in the shelter of the spindly grove. She moved her trail-battered body close to Tonto. Alert and unafraid, the hunter looked at her. She noticed the scars on his forearms, the vestiges of his broken arm. The day of the earthquake on the plateau lake seemed so long ago. They owed so much to the strange little creatures.

She signed: "Greetings, warrior." Tonto returned the salutation. Buccari pointed to his bow and to the kone and signed: "Why guard?"

Tonto looked at the alien and signed back: "Danger. They kill."

Buccari nodded. She pointed to the cliff dweller and then to herself. "We also kill," she signed. "We friends," and "Bear-person is friend."

The cliff dweller looked over at the kone. The kone slept soundly. "Not friend. Bear people kill your people," Tonto signed.

"What?" Buccari gasped aloud. "What happened?" she shouted. Et Silmarn stirred. Buccari signed frantically, trying to find out what had happened to the Marines. The cliff dweller recoiled at her hysteria, his sign language confused.

"Take it easy on the little guy," MacArthur said.

Buccari whirled at the sound of his voice. She turned to see all six Marines hiking over the tree-lined ridge, carrying strange weapons and two large breathing-unit tanks. Et Silmarn was immediately on his hinds, his sleep-swollen eyes wide and unblinking, fixated on the metal tanks full of precious fuel. His death would come more slowly.

"Are-is everyone all right?" Buccari asked. Shannon lagged far behind, and Chastain was helping Gordon.

"Sarge hurt his back, and Gordon got burned pretty good on one shoulder," MacArthur reported. His voice was energetic, but he was clearly exhausted. "We iced two bugs, and it only cost us eight rounds. That's a good ratio."

"And we got these bazookas and eighty rounds in trade," Pet.i.t shouted. "h.e.l.luva deal!"

"Shoot!" O'Toole joined in. "We've taken out almost half of them in one day. This is going to be a piece of cake. A friggin' piece of cake!"

Tonto whistled sharply. He hopped across the campsite and climbed the low rise overlooking the valley. They heard a noise, a sickeningly familiar rumble. The rumble turned into raging thunder, dragging their gazes high into the dark blue skies. Two brilliant white-hot sparks fell from above, growing ever larger and emitting ever louder and more violent noises. The arc-light flames appeared to descend directly upon their heads, but as the infernos neared the surface of the planet, gradually slowing their descent, it became obvious the two newly arrived landers were settling on the lakesh.o.r.e, within kilometers of the first two. The awestruck onlookers covered their ears and watched as more trees exploded into flames and shock-induced ripples fanned across the distant waters of the valley lake.

The corrosive sounds of the lander retros died suddenly, and the anguished refugees removed hands from ears as if they were one being. The silence was deafening. Oily black smoke poured upwards from the expanded ring of destruction and was lifted and rapidly dispersed by a steady breeze from the northwest. Pebbles and small rocks, shaken loose from their precarious resting places, tumbled from the mountain behind them.

"A frigging piece of cake," O'Toole moaned.

"h.e.l.l! They got reinforcements!" Pet.i.t cried.

"What're we going to do?" Gordon whined, holding his shoulder. The surface of his leather poncho was blackened and shot with ragged holes. He was lucky to be alive.

MacArthur turned abruptly. "So what? So frigging what? What's a few more? There'll never be enough of them," He swept his arm across the verdant valley. "This is only one small valley. We'll hide. We'll fight! We'll use bows and arrows! Spears!" He looked at Buccari, his pewter-gray eyes shining like headlights from deep within a drawn, soot-blackened face.

Buccari looked back at the determined Marine, and her own spirits surged. "Mac's right," she said. "And don't forget-the fleet's up there. If nothing else, these clowns will draw attention our way. I'm counting on getting rescued, but if we can't be rescued, then by G.o.d, we'll fight!"

"Lieutenant," Shannon said quietly, as he limped from the group, his back contorted. "I'm with you all the way, but if you don't mind, I'm going to lay this old body down. I recommend everyone rest up as much as possible, 'cause we'll be needing it."

Chapter 42.

Conflict Runacres, in full battle armor, scanned a simulation of the fleet defenses, gaming his alternatives. He glanced at the main situation plot as the last corvette to reach station glided into position. A signal illuminated on his panel.

"Yes, group leader?" Runacres responded, clearing his screen.

"Screen commander reports all corvettes on station, Admiral," the corvette commander announced. "Countermeasures plan Beta Two implemented. Enemy engagements imminent."

"Very well," Runacres said stonily, cinching his harness. "All units cleared to fire, Franklin."

"Aye, Admiral. Weapons free," Wells replied. The operations officer punched an interlock release and warning lights flashed.

"All 'vettes report maximum readiness," the group leader said. "No exceptions."

"Very well," Runacres snapped, switching circuits to screen tactical. Transmission density was high, but radio discipline was sound; terse position and target commands flashed from ship to ship. Runacres watched and listened with grim pride as the disposition of picket units changed dynamically, flowing subtly to counteract the movement of the approaching foe.

The spearhead of the attack dove directly for the heart of the corvette screen. The initial engagement was like the first drop of rain hitting a metal roof. Eagle One, Eagle One, the flagship's lead corvette, called "weapons away," and the tactical status board depicted a spread of kinetic energy weapons being fired at the leading alien units. A kill was indicated. Runacres heard dim cheers echoing beyond the Legion transmitters, but exultation was brief; the onslaught-the downpour-pounded on their metal roof. Fierce engagements cluttered the radio as confusion and anxiety replaced order and control. the flagship's lead corvette, called "weapons away," and the tactical status board depicted a spread of kinetic energy weapons being fired at the leading alien units. A kill was indicated. Runacres heard dim cheers echoing beyond the Legion transmitters, but exultation was brief; the onslaught-the downpour-pounded on their metal roof. Fierce engagements cluttered the radio as confusion and anxiety replaced order and control.

Directed energy weapons sparkled in the immensity of s.p.a.ce; laser pulses arced at the speed of light to collide with oncoming warheads; missiles exploded in tremendous fireb.a.l.l.s; yet the explosions and laser blasts were but faint blooms and razor-thin coruscations in the overwhelming vastness of the lightless vacuum. The widely dispersed corvettes, arrayed in a three-dimensional stack, slashed and parried, striving desperately to keep the flood of targets from pa.s.sing, but the stream of enemy rockets approached too rapidly and across too wide a front. Runacres watched with approval as the screen commander initiated a large sag vector, but the defenses could not handle the rate of engagement or the enemy's speed advantage. It was over quickly; the incoming attack swept through the screen at time-distorting speeds.

"Attack has penetrated. Thirty enemy destroyed," the tactical officer reported. "Screen units in pursuit. Now thirty-three enemy destroyed. Now thirty-four."

Electronic icons representing more than sixty surviving enemy attackers streaked across the main situation display. Targeting computers designated each blip with codes: symbols for range and arrival times, velocity and size, probable destination target, and defensive responsibilities. Tasmania, Tasmania, lead ship in the column, was being tagged heavily as a primary target. lead ship in the column, was being tagged heavily as a primary target. Eire, Eire, second ship in the column, the flagship, was also lighting up. second ship in the column, the flagship, was also lighting up.

"Tasmania's on the bull's-eye," Runacres said. "Order her back to half interval. Direct on the bull's-eye," Runacres said. "Order her back to half interval. Direct Baffin Baffin and and Novaya Novaya to hammerhead the column. Close up the gaps." to hammerhead the column. Close up the gaps."

"Aye, aye, Admiral," Wells replied, keying his console.

"Forty-two enemy destroyed, Admiral," the tactical officer reported. "Screen units have closed to main battery range and are disengaging."

"Tasmania's opening fire, Admiral," Wells said. opening fire, Admiral," Wells said.

Motherships having clear fields of fire engaged the enemy interceptors with main batteries, their ordnance employment indicators flashing cheerfully on the status panels, but radio transmissions on the tactical circuits were deadly serious. Fifty-eight alien interceptors made it through the corvette screen. All but one were destroyed before reaching lethal weapons range.

Tasmania, in the van of the formation, was engaged by the highest density of incoming missiles. Her defensive systems saturated. One last enemy drone, mindless, yet with a singularity of purpose, breached the gauntlet of fusion beams and kinetic needles-a meteor streaking malevolently close aboard in the van of the formation, was engaged by the highest density of incoming missiles. Her defensive systems saturated. One last enemy drone, mindless, yet with a singularity of purpose, breached the gauntlet of fusion beams and kinetic needles-a meteor streaking malevolently close aboard Tasmania, Tasmania, where it finally dropped from radar. Tactical plot signaled enemy ordnance detonation. where it finally dropped from radar. Tactical plot signaled enemy ordnance detonation.

Runacres stared belligerently at the status panels. With the explosive destruction of the last drone, all enemy missiles and decoys had been accounted for. The first wave of attacks was over.

"Sir, Tasmania Tasmania has taken a hit," the tactical officer said. "Damage control reports are coming in. Radiation levels have been contained within radtox critical, but she's been hurt. Overpressure shields were penetrated, and hyperlight generators are seriously damaged. She's drifting." has taken a hit," the tactical officer said. "Damage control reports are coming in. Radiation levels have been contained within radtox critical, but she's been hurt. Overpressure shields were penetrated, and hyperlight generators are seriously damaged. She's drifting."

"Captain Wells, bring Tasmania Tasmania down the line," Runacres ordered. "Keep her in the grid and maintain HLA links. Order down the line," Runacres ordered. "Keep her in the grid and maintain HLA links. Order Eire Eire to take the guide." to take the guide."

Planetary Defense Council convened, decreeing all global disputes suspended.

"Our first wave has engaged the enemy fleet," reported the Planetary Defense Force briefer, a senior officer with a p.r.o.nounced southern hemisphere accent.

A rumble of excitement arose from the audience representing the thirty-three nations of Kon. Emperor-General Gorruk and the ten northern hemispheric governors, all under Gorruk' s imperial hegemony, reclined in prominent front row lounges to the left of the center aisle, their staffs and retinues filling in behind. Chief Scientist Samamkook, silent and brooding, sat behind Gorruk. On the right side of the briefing center sat the southern hemispheric leaders. The southerners had squabbled over seniority and protocol, causing Gorruk to grind his teeth in frustration. How could his armies have been defeated by such rabble? The presence of Marshall Et Barbluis, his battlefield nemesis, as a member of the southern delegation particularly rankled.

The Planetary Defense Force command staff, including Gorruk' s appointed legation, occupied seats around a semicircular table beneath the briefer's podium. Heavily armed PDF troopers guarded the entrances to the auditorium. Gorruk chaffed at the necessity to submit to the decisions of the Defense Council, yet he took solace in having controlled the meeting site selection. The Planetary Defense Council was convened in Gorruk's new command bunker, a magnificent edifice. Gorruk's reign was still young, but he had thrown every resource into completing his seat of government, and befitting its military character, the buildings were heavily fortified and secure. Gorruk laughed at the presence of Planetary Defense troopers. Ten thousand of his battle-hardened soldiers were mere seconds away. There could have been ten times that number, but Gorruk had been forced to deploy the bulk of his remaining forces to maintain control over the dispersed militia troops.

Of course, the members of the southern delegations and the Defense Council had objected to the venue, but Gorruk exercised his prerogative as leader of the largest populations, and as a general officer in the PDF. The Council had no legal alternative. The need for common defense outweighed the fear and distrust all of Kon held for the leader of the northern hemisphere.

Gorruk returned his attention to the briefing. Displayed on the immense luminous wall screen behind the briefer was a planform depiction of the planetary system. The scale was set to optimize the orbits of Kon and Genellan, both planets represented by points of white light. The planets, orbitally opposed, were separated by the full width of the display. The sun-star in the display's center was a three-dimensional orange globe.

"One missile penetrated the enemy defenses," continued the briefer. "We have no damage reports yet, but it appears that, at a minimum, we have disrupted their picket screen." The briefer pushed b.u.t.tons on the lectern; the display zoomed rapidly into the region of conflict, giving the viewer a sensation of tremendous acceleration. Planets and stars disappeared, and a schematic representation of the alien fleet filled the screen.

"Composite radar returns received from our attacking missiles reveal the disposition of the alien fleet at the time of attack. Eight interstellars are confirmed, and at least thirty smaller ships- pickets, or scouts. Updates from the second and third waves are beginning to arrive. As you can see, their picket array has lost its organization. It will cost them fuel and time to regain position. Each subsequent attack will further degrade these defenses."

The wall presentation zoomed away from the alien fleet to reveal multiple brilliant red arrows. Relative to the great distances of the planetary system, the arrows were already near the battle zone.

"Our second wave-twenty piloted interceptors and eighty drone missiles-will engage by this time tomorrow. Third and fourth waves, the same mix, will arrive simultaneously less than four hours later. Preparations for additional attacks, if necessary, are underway." The audience stirred as the briefer paused to review his notes.