“Second-years—” No grins here, but a sense of determination and unity the class had not had before. They wanted her approval now, wanted to succeed. “You will not be in the same action as the upper classes.” They didn’t like that; she could feel it. “You have a different assignment—because you have earned the right to it. You will be guarding important members of the government. You will be issued weapons and be transported to several different locations: Major Hemins will divide the class appropriately. You will be under the command of experienced combat veterans. We know there are criminal elements, allies of the conspirators seeking to take over the government. We know they will try to find and capture the President and other senior members of government. You must not let that happen.”
“Shots fired,” came a voice on the police channel. “Shots fired, police falling back as ordered.”
“Major Hemins, take your class to the Armory,” Ky said. She turned to the faculty, some of whom looked much less steady than others. “Major D’Albini, take your class to the bunker. Those whose names I call will report to Major Palnuss in the basement, with the first-years. You can assist there.” She read the list, skipping over Colonel Bohannon, and sent them on their way. “The rest of you received the supplementary orders; you know your assignments and your resources. Those with me—let’s go.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Outside, the snow fell more heavily; lights glowed through the falling snow, but visibility was limited. Another ping of her skullphone, this time from General Molosay’s staff at the base. “Air strike here; your guys IDed a ground force on the way—we’re ready. Good luck to you.”
“Going now,” Ky said. Her combat helmet gave her its interpretation of what she looked at, mixing multiple bands to provide a faux-sharp image that wiggled uneasily as thicker and thinner strands of snow crossed it. Another screen gave her a view from one of the drones poised above the government complex: looking down through falling snow dizzied her for a moment. The former gardens now looked like textbook earthworks, as they should, with rows of hot dots on the infrared view that the oncoming troops should assume were cadets.
“Commandant? We’re ready.” The command transport had pulled up beside her.
“Right.” Ky accepted a hand up the step and into an interior that reminded her a little of the ships she’d commanded: the glowing screens, the banks of instruments. Osinery followed her, looking nervous, the light on her recorder blinking. Once inside, Ky had a view of the two columns of personnel carriers ahead of them. One had already split off to the north. The other moved east.
“We’re on the tick,” said a familiar voice; she looked over and saw Corporal Inyatta grinning at her. “Column one is almost to the north end, well ahead of the attackers.” Seven of the survivors had argued their way onto this op, including the first three to escape plus Staff Sergeant Gossin, Sergeant Cosper, Corporal Lakhani, and Corporal Yamini.
Ky switched channels and contacted Neese, the northern base. “Cattle entering processing. Light the fires.”
She could hear nothing over the sound of the vehicle she was in, but imagined the big drones starting engines, the low whoomp-rumble rising to a high whine. Snow should muffle the sound; she hoped it would be enough.
“First enemy troops past the Defense HQ… President’s Guard and police opening sporadic fire.” Just enough to convince the enemy the defenders were there, but confused. Ahead of her command car, personnel carriers full of third-year cadets, and troops borrowed from the base moved out. At the head of each line was a squad of combat engineers with the armored earthmovers they’d used to rearrange the formal gardens into something resembling military earthworks. “Twenty percent past Defense HQ, coming up on Government House. Permission to launch—”
Here the attacking force would expect stiff resistance from the guard units normally stationed there.
“Launch defensive weapons,” Ky said. On both sides of the government complex, the buildings one street away from the original rectangle housed offices, not residences. Now the robotic batteries implanted in slightly hardened positions spouted fire at the attackers, fire they returned. The attack force’s movement slowed a little but did not halt. More and more of them poured out of the constriction of the business district onto the wider avenues that ringed the government district.
As expected, the attackers had personnel carriers, mounting both beam and missile racks, as well as dismounted troops in full battle gear. And with the first launch of missiles against the Presidential Palace, the battle was joined in earnest. As Ky had hoped, all those preparations in the great public gardens around the Palace had focused the enemy’s attention and convinced Kvannis—or whoever was commanding—that the defense plan hadn’t changed that much.
But it had. The robotic batteries simulated fire by actual troops—irregular and, though effective, less than what the batteries could produce. More and more of the enemy moved into the area, focused on resistance from the supposed defenders, pouring heavy fire at the trenches. The heads of their columns were now even with the Palace. Would they see what awaited them, through the snow now blowing out of the north into their faces? The big earthmovers had traveled dark, pushed by the vehicles behind them. Even infrared sensing might not spot them.
“In position,” Massoudian said finally. “Both routes blocked to the north. East still unsecured.”
“Set,” Ky said, and contacted the air base again. She felt the mix of alertness and calm so familiar from space combat. Once an engagement began, once forces were committed, the stomach-clenching wait was over. She watched the screens, the icons marking movement. Just as the attacking infantry overran the trenches and climbed up to the level beyond, the first flight of drones arrived, raining cluster bombs down on what had been the broad central walk. Debris clouded the sensors. Attackers still mounted in their carriers spun their beam weapons, trying to hit the drones, but those were long gone, heading for the harbor and the ships that had brought the attackers. The concussion and flare of that explosion traveled through the snow; for an instant all movement seemed to stop.
As if in answer, the snow thickened. Some of the attackers turned, tried to flee back across the broad avenues to the cover of buildings, but the cadets, stiffened by a few experienced troops, mowed them down. Belatedly, the personnel carriers turned their guns to the other side, but by then the smaller drones had locked in on them. Only two on this side, three on the other, were able to return fire before they blew, one after another, debris shattering windows across the street as effectively as their weapons.
“Timing is everything,” Ky murmured. Several people in the car gave her a startled look. “Old military axiom,” she said.
At both ends, attackers tried to get out of the now-obvious killzone. To the south, they ran into their own still-arriving troops; to the north they met the cadets and troops behind the earthmovers with their impervious blades.
“Should’ve brought real artillery,” Major Oslik said.
“Glad they didn’t,” Ky said. Some of the attackers now ran for the Presidential Palace, encountering the minefield that would’ve been obvious in daylight or clear moonlight. Compared with space battles, this one seemed faster in some ways, slower in others. In space, ships might have only a second or two to attack a target before it was out of range; here, stuck in almost two-dimensional space, troops could pound each other again and again. But the weirdest thing to Ky was the way all the debris fell onto the planet’s surface and stayed there, instead of expanding in a lethal sphere.