Diaz grimaced. “What about the Syndicate flotilla? What about the battleship?”
Marphissa blew out a long breath before replying. “I am hoping that, as we screen the freighters and try to take out Haris’s cruisers, one of us will come up with some brilliant and effective means of dealing with that battleship.”
“Kommodor—”
“Dammit, I know! Unless we come up with some other ideas, the only thing we can do is stay out of the engagement envelopes of the weapons on that battleship. CEO Boucher is not going to cut loose her remaining escorts. Syndicate regulations call for battleships to have escorts. She won’t go against Syndicate policy.”
Diaz gave her a grim look. “If she decides it is necessary, Happy Hua will bombard the hell out of that planet in order to get as many of our ground forces as possible.”
“I know.” Marphissa left it at that. She had nothing else to offer, no ideas to present. Instead, she touched her comm controls. “Sentry, Sentinel, Scout, Defender, you are designated flotilla three. Sentinel is senior ship for flotilla three. Proceed to a position in low orbit above the ground forces’ landing area and provide close support.”
She reached out to her display, designating Haris’s heavy cruiser and light cruiser as the objectives for intercept, then waited the fraction of a second for the Manticore’s automated systems to come up with the necessary maneuvers. “Manticore, Gryphon, Hawk, Eagle, immediate execute come port two three degrees, down zero two degrees, accelerate to point two light speed.”
The four Midway cruisers slewed about under the push of their maneuvering thrusters, their bows swinging past the vector that would have brought them into position above the planet. As they steadied out on the new course their main propulsion units lit off, pushing the warships onto a path that would bring them into firing range of Haris’s warships in twenty minutes.
Marphissa tapped her display a few more times, confirming that the weapons specialists on Manticore had adapted the bombardment plan to the new positions and vectors from which it would be fired. “Manticore, Gryphon, Hawk, Eagle. Launch bombardment using modified plan echo as your ships cross the firing point on your vectors.”
For better or for worse, the battle for Ulindi had begun.
Chapter Eight
The bombardment projectiles fell for kilometer after kilometer, picking up energy as they plummeted toward the surface, tracing streaks of fire across the planet’s sky as they dropped through atmosphere that grew thicker with every meter. Rocks had been among the first weapons that humans employed against each other, and these projectiles were really just refined versions of rocks, projectiles of solid metal that depended on mass and accumulated energy to inflict damage on their targets. But where humanity’s first ancestors had lobbed rocks with uncertain aim, human technology and ingenuity had advanced to the point where these projectiles could be dropped from great distances with incredible accuracy against targets that had no ability to dodge.
Targets like buildings on the surface of a planet.
Targets like the snake headquarters complex, heavily protected by walls and barriers, fences and mines, guard towers at frequent intervals, many portions of the headquarters buried under armor and layers of rock proof against most weapons.
The projectiles fell to earth, and the earth and the works of humanity broke beneath them.
Morgan woke to the shuddering of the building she was in. She knew that sensation and, in the instant of waking, unsure where she was or why, wondered if she was one of the targets of the attack. A moment later, as memory returned, she felt a lilt of savage joy at knowing it represented an orbital bombardment falling on her enemies some distance from where she was.
The joy lasted just long enough for her to recall the events of last night and for her to start feeling the stiffness and pain of her body. Morgan took several deep breaths, willing away the pain, putting herself once again in that state where mere physical limitations could not stop her. Going to a medical clinic to get her wounded arm looked at was out of the question. The snakes would have every clinic and hospital within a hundred kilometers of the transmitter site staked out, waiting for someone to show up with wounds from gunfire.
She twisted, pulling out the first-aid kit from the vehicle as well as some emergency medical supplies she had earlier stolen and stashed here in case they were needed. It took some awkward maneuvering in the limited space available to do what needed to be done to her arm to stop the pain and allow it to function again. There would be a price to pay later on for pushing the limb into use despite the injury, but there was always a price to pay no matter what. She took meds to clear her mind as well, and to compensate for the blood loss she had endured, then wolfed down special rations designed to boost healing and blood regeneration.
Having done what she could without access to medical care, the pain blocked, her right arm almost fully useful again, Morgan paused to think through the situation. The bombardment meant that General Drakon was here. He must be very close to the planet or already in orbit. Assault doctrine called for launching the landing as soon as possible after the preliminary bombardment to take advantage of the disruption and damage caused. The shuttles would be starting their drops soon.
It was too late to warn the general. She could not get to a sufficiently powerful transmitter in time even though the snakes who had been hunting her would now have a lot of other things to worry them as the attack went down.
But she had a major assignment yet to complete. Making sure that the snakes could not use their alternate command complex to detonate their hidden nukes on this planet. Morgan had done the preliminary work, but she needed to finish the job so that the codes would go nowhere even though the snake systems would think everything was working perfectly.
If she failed at this, the general would die, and she would as well.
Drakon paused before entering the shuttle he would ride down to the surface. It was already full of soldiers, inhuman in their battle armor, their armored faceplates offering no clues to the feelings of those inside. “Colonel Malin, how does it look on your ship?”
Malin, occupying a different freighter, answered immediately. “The troops are fine, General. I can’t say the same for the freighter crews. General, Haris has been waiting for us. There may be more surprises on the surface.”
“I’m aware of that, Colonel.” He managed not to snap the reply. Malin looked and sounded as if he were reciting an assessment of an issue in which he had no previous involvement. It would be very easy to lash out at Malin, to blame him for championing this operation, but that not only wouldn’t accomplish anything, it also wouldn’t be fair. The reasons for coming to Ulindi had appeared to everyone to be good ones. “I’m also aware that we have no alternative but to get down there and win.”
“General, have there been any messages directly to you from Colonel Morgan?”
“No. Either she hasn’t spotted anything unexpected on the surface, or she hasn’t been able to get to a transmitter.” The possible reasons why Morgan would not have been able to achieve that task, the sort of obstacles that could stop even her, worried Geary at the moment more than the Syndicate battleship light-hours distant.