The Lost Stars: Imperfect Sword (33 page)

Scarcely impeded by the mostly ineffectual defensive fire, Safir’s soldiers crashed into the Syndicate line, in many cases literally smashing through what was left of ground-floor walls or into Syndicate soldiers who did not manage to dodge in time. To the naked eye, nothing distinguished the battle armor of regular ground forces from that of the snakes, but on the displays of Drakon’s soldiers, some of the enemy symbols glowed a poisonous green instead of the usual red. The green symbols vanished so rapidly they seemed to dissolve as the attackers pressed into the Syndicate positions, wiping out the snakes in this area.

As the last snake fell, weapons swung to bear on Syndicate soldiers, who themselves aimed at Drakon’s troops. For a long moment that lasted only a second or two, both sides held their fire, looking at each other.

Then Safir opened her helmet visor and yelled at the Syndicate soldiers. “We came here to kill snakes! Not you! Drop your weapons, and we’ll go finish off the snakes left on this side!”

Several Syndicate soldiers threw down their weapons, then others followed in a rush. “Third Company, guard our new friends!” Safir ordered, resealing her helmet. “First and Third Battalions, wheel right and hit them! Second and Fourth Battalions, follow me to the left!”

On both sides of the breach in the Syndicate lines, the attackers ran into disorder. The snakes had ordered the troops under their control to simultaneously shift fronts and counterattack toward the breach, which in theory would have been good tactics for hitting Drakon’s assault from both sides. But in practice, tired, reluctant Syndicate soldiers did not move quickly and surely, and the soldiers nearest the edges of the penetration had already begun falling back in disarray as the snakes nearest them were killed by the leading elements of the attackers. What should have been a fast change of facing and reinforcement turned into a tangled mass of soldiers who blocked each other and milled about in confusion. Snakes screamed new orders or demands to follow previous orders, adding to the chaos. Some of the snakes began firing at their own soldiers, the traditional Syndicate method to force compliance when all else failed, and many of the overwrought Syndicate troops began firing back, targeting not only the snakes but also any executives or other supervisors within reach.

Safir’s attacks ran into masses of Syndicate soldiers too busy fighting each other to pay much attention to Drakon’s forces. “Get the snakes!” Safir ordered, her soldiers taking up positions wherever they could get clean lines of sight and nailing snakes as fast as they could. “Split and go around this mess. Keep moving until you reach the lines held by Gozen’s people and don’t leave any snakes alive behind you!”

The attack split and split again, Safir’s soldiers breaking into smaller groups as they pressed through the broken buildings and dodged piles of rubble or strong points of resistance. Drakon felt pride as he watched them, knowing that regular Syndicate troops could not have operated that way, using initiative, speed, and adaptability to continue their assault while overrunning or isolating the defenders they encountered. But he had trained his soldiers to think for themselves, and it paid off in fights like this.

And everywhere Safir’s soldiers went, the poisonous green markers on their helmet displays that marked snakes went out like blown candles.

When the Third Battalion reached the line of defenders facing Gozen’s rebellious troops and wiped out the snakes there, the defenders simply dropped their weapons and ran toward their former comrades under Gozen’s command, hands held out and arms wide.

“Colonel?” a lieutenant asked. “Is it all right if they surrender to the other Syndicate ground forces?”

“The others aren’t Syndicate anymore,” Safir replied, her breath short from following her soldiers through the maze of shattered buildings. “Make sure they leave their weapons, though. And make sure none of them bolt into the city.”

By that time, Second Battalion had reached the other side of what had been the remaining Syndicate positions, where most of the Syndicate soldiers turned on the last snakes and helped wipe them out before putting down their weapons and standing with open hands.

The soldiers of Safir’s Second Battalion came to a halt, looking across a gap in the ruins at Gozen’s soldiers on the other side. Drakon waited to see if anyone would do something stupid, but after sizing each other up, the two sides backed slowly out of contact.

He pulled out the scale on his display, looking for symbols of still-active Syndicate soldiers or snakes, but as he watched, the last areas of resistance ceased fighting. “Send scouts into the buildings across the street,” Drakon ordered Safir. “Find out if there are any soldiers in those, and then spread your units through them to ensure none of the former Syndicate soldiers try to pull out and lose themselves in the city.”

Colonel Malin had a rare smile on his face. “You did it, General. Our sensors aren’t picking up any signs of resistance.”

“Keep monitoring activity until we know all of the last Syndicate loyalist soldiers have been disarmed and rounded up,” Drakon ordered. “I need—I need to answer this call from the
Midway
.”

The contrast between the recent visions of chaotic ground fighting amid ruins and the image of the neat, well-ordered bridge of the battleship was a jarring one. “What have you got, Kapitan?”

“General Drakon.” Kapitan Mercia waved to her own display. “There are two shuttles which have just lifted from a parking apron next to the location you asked us to watch. Really nice stealth jobs, but the amount of dust thrown up by all the fighting is letting us track them anyway. They are accelerating inland.”

The Syndicate CEO in charge of the ground forces division which had just ceased to exist had, as expected, decided that survival was the better part of valor. “Two shuttles,” Drakon said to Malin. “They must have left a lot of staff behind.”

“It is a Syndicate tradition in cases like this to abandon to their fates the workers and lower-ranking executives,” Malin commented.

“Kapitan Mercia,” Drakon said, “can you take out those two shuttles?”

“Anytime you want,” she replied. “If you want to minimize the chance of damage to whatever is below them, I can wait until they clear the city and nail them while they are over open country.”

“Will you be able to track them that far?”

“There’s enough dust and smoke extending out into open country for us to keep a solid track on them for about thirty kilometers from the city proper,” Mercia said.

“Then nail them when they clear the city,” Drakon said. “Are you seeing anything else up there that I should know about?”

“Personnel are fleeing from minor Syndicate military sites everywhere that we can see. We’ve stopped bombarding since I assume you will want a chance to get the abandoned equipment intact. We’ve identified very large numbers of what appear to be citizens in encampments outside the city you are in.”

“That explains why we didn’t see any civilians while we were fighting,” Drakon said. “I’m surprised. I didn’t expect Haris and his snakes to care how many civilians died.”

“I doubt the citizens were moved out of concern for their welfare,” Mercia said. “Very likely there were other reasons.” She studied something intently. “Those two shuttles will be over open country in thirty seconds. Hang on.”

Thirty seconds could feel like a long time when you were waiting through each one.

Mercia signaled a command. Hell-lance particle beams shot down from the battleship, spearing the two fleeing shuttles. “Both birds are dead. One down. Both down. Do you want the coordinates of the wreckage?”

“Later, if you please,” Drakon said, thinking that if things had gone differently, he might have been the one in a shuttle trying to escape, the Syndicate battleship swatting him from the sky with cold efficiency.

No. He would have died, but not that way, not running. Hopefully, like Conner Gaiene, on his feet, fighting to the end.

“Colonel Kai,” Drakon said, “send a company through the city to these coordinates. You should find the bulk of the Syndicate divisional staff there. Their CEO ran out on them and died. There may still be snakes among them. Round them up and see how much equipment, codes, and other useful things they will turn over to us intact.”

“General,” the comm specialist said, “Executive Gozen wishes to speak with you.”

“Put her on.”

Gozen’s face appeared before Drakon. The executive looked even more weary than before, displaying no evidence of joy in the day’s events. “It’s over, right, General?”

“Unless the Syndicate has more hidden units on this planet,” Drakon said.

“Nothing significant that I know of. They pulled in everything to hit you.” She smiled wryly. “Didn’t work.”

“No, it didn’t. Are you all right, Executive Gozen?”

“I’ll survive.” She gave him an intent look. “Are my workers going to be all right, General? No labor camps?”

“There are no labor camps at Midway. They were abolished, and they won’t be coming back.”

“That’s hard to believe, but you don’t have any reason to lie to me about it anymore. What will happen to them?”

“That’s up to them,” Drakon said. “Ulindi is going to need ground forces. I need replacements for the losses we sustained here. Or they can try to go home. I won’t stop them.”

Gozen’s brief smile was more like a grimace. “Home. That would be a ticket straight to a Syndicate labor camp for me. Are you going to disarm us?”

“Do I need to?”

“No, sir.”

“Then hang on to your weapons for now but stay within your positions. We are disarming the prisoners we took when we captured the portion of your lines the Syndicate still controlled, but we’ll turn those soldiers over to you if you want.”

“That would be a really nice gesture, General. I’ll let my soldiers know they’re going to have some real options for the first time in their lives. That’s going to feel strange.”

“You start to get used to it after a while,” Drakon said. “Just to be all formal and everything, are you submitting yourself and the soldiers under your command to my authority?”

Gozen took a deep breath, then nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“We’re still sorting out things inside the base. I want you to get in touch with Colonel Malin in about half an hour. Here’s his comm ID. Let him know what sort of support you need. Shelter, rations, that sort of thing. If you can tell us where other nearby stockpiles of such materiel can be found, it will help. How are you fixed for medical?”

“We can use any medical help you can provide, General,” Gozen said.

“We’ll get that moving.”

“Thank you.” Gozen’s control finally cracked a little, but she straightened and nodded to him again. “It’s been a long day, and I’ve got a lot yet to do.”

“No rush. We’re not going anywhere until our warships round up any of the freighters that brought us here that didn’t get destroyed.”

Gozen looked surprised. “You’re not going to take the troop transports?”

He tried not to look surprised in turn. “What troop transports? The ones that brought you here? Those are gone.”

“No. They’re not. I told you we got dropped here just a short time before you showed up. Troop transports aren’t the slugs that freighters are, but they weren’t fast enough to clear the star system before we were told you might show up. If you had seen them, it would have ruined the trap. Plus the CEO wanted them close. They were told to park themselves with the star between them and any of your ships until they got a recall.”

“The star?” Drakon said.

“Yeah. You know, that big, glowing thing up there? The star.”

“Troop transports are still there?” Something else that Gozen had said registered on him. “Why did the CEO want them close?”

“From what I heard,” Gozen said, “after we rolled up you guys on the ground, and the Syndicate flotilla wiped out your mobile forces, the plan was to load us up again fast and head for the star system that you came from. Us in the transports and the Syndicate flotilla as escorts. We were to hit whatever guys you’d left back there before they could even hear about what had happened to you and put an end to your revolt.” She concentrated. “I think . . . I remember hearing they were to stay within ten to fifteen light-minutes from us.”

Drakon stared at her as what Gozen had just told him filtered through his brain. “That was a pretty good plan.” Far too good a plan. “I’ll let you go now. Thank you, Executive Gozen. You’ve got my comm ID. Contact me directly if there are any problems.”

The moment her image vanished, Drakon made another call. “Kapitan Mercia, I have some very important information that you will want to relay to Kommodor Marphissa.”

Mercia blinked at him, trying to focus. There must have been some long days for the mobile forces as well. “What happened?”

“There are a bunch of Syndicate troop transports hiding behind the star, the same transports that brought the Syndicate ground forces division here. If they lifted an entire division at once, I’m guessing there will be between ten and twelve of them. They are supposed to be maintaining position within ten to fifteen light-minutes of this planet.”

Mercia froze for a second, then looked impressed. “Nice. Do you want working transports or wreckage?”

“As many working troop transports as possible.”

“I’m sure that the Kommodor will be happy to accommodate your request, General. She’s been coming on behind me with the cruisers that got beat up fighting the Syndicate, and our Hunter-Killers, and is almost here. Do you have any idea why the troop transports haven’t run for it already?”

“They had firm orders to stay near this planet, orders from that CEO whose shuttle you destroyed a short time ago. Now they’re probably hoping we go away without spotting them.”

“That could have happened if we’d stayed fairly close together,” Mercia said. “They could have just kept changing their positions to stay behind the star relative to us as this planet we’re at orbited. I’ll notify the Kommodor, General.”

That task done, Drakon finally sat down again, the chair creaking under the weight of his battle armor, and realized that he could finally take off his battle gear if he wanted. But first he keyed his general command circuit. “To all personnel. The fight is over but for the mopping up. Ulindi is ours. We’ve won. Well done. All of you. Very well done.”