She shoved that thought away. The surviving enemy had better armor and more experience than her cadets—they were still very dangerous, more effective one-to-one. And they weren’t about to surrender yet. They could endure a higher percentage of loss before breaking than her green troops.
Those in the main plaza had regrouped and moved cautiously, using every bit of cover, toward Government House. Presumably they knew about the tunnel between that and the Palace. Not that it would do them much good. She called in another drone strike. This time they heard the drones coming and dove for the trenches on that side of the plaza, but the bombs targeted the trenches. The drones themselves went on south, to finish the attack on the two ships.
“It’s just… killing,” someone murmured. “They don’t have a chance.”
“It’s not a game,” Ky said. “They intended to kill the defenders, including our cadets, and seize the President and other government leaders, if not kill them. And there are plenty still alive.”
“If they surrendered—”
“If they surrendered, we’d put them under guard. I don’t expect they will; the media’s been savage ever since the Miksland survivors had a chance to tell their stories. They know they’re not popular. Even in Dorland and Fulland.” Her skullphone pinged; she held up a finger for silence.
“Academy’s now under attack—a small force, maybe six hundred, mix of uniforms and civvie. We’re handling it. Any change in engagement orders?”
“No,” Ky said. “Lethal force authorized.”
“Lethal force, understood.”
What she could now see in the screens showed the first real fragmentation and disorganization of the attacking force. And in that moment she felt for the first time a wrenching sense that these, too, were her people, on her home planet, some of whom she might have known if she’d stayed here. She knew, she felt, what they were feeling and thinking as their plans unraveled around them. She had felt that same confusion and uncertainty herself—and gone on to win engagements, or at least escape destruction. And where were their commanders? Here, or out at the base, or safely hidden somewhere else? She had a sudden urge to leave the command carrier and knew it for folly.
Instead, she reached for the link to Major Massoudian. “Put some pressure on them, advance fifty meters.”
“Fifty meters, understood.”
A new heat signature bloomed in the infrared feed as the earthmovers’ engines spun up. Behind them, the troops advanced firing steadily. Ky watched closely. If the attackers had any ace in the hole, now would be the time to play it.
“Ky—air strike on the way!” That was Rafe in her skullphone. “Under two minutes.”
Nothing showed on the screens. That meant nothing; the suspect air base had a squadron of stealth aircraft. She opened the all-units channel. “Air strike—pull back now.”
“Commandant?”
“Now! With luck they’ll hit their own troops instead.”
She signaled to the command car driver, who immediately started backing down the street. “We need to clear this route for those ahead of us. If that were me, in those planes, I’d hit the buildings on Promenade and Military and the street behind. Try to catch all the defense in one or two passes. This weather—”
A roar in the distance broke through the soundproofing of the vehicle.
“What if they attack the Academy?” asked Osinery.
“They certainly could. All the cadets there should be safe enough in the underground. But since Kvannis knows it will be mostly empty, attacking it would be a waste of his resources. He’s not stupid.” Her helmet picked up the infrared signatures of the four aircraft coming in low and fast. What were they carrying? Missiles, bombs? And what were they targeting?
In seconds they knew: the Palace, Government House, Defense, and Treasury. When the debris and smoke cleared enough to see, the infamous pink dome of the Palace was gone and the walls just east of it were piles of rubble. Government House had also taken a direct hit. But up in the clouds, blurry flashes of light revealed an aerial battle going on.
Ky concentrated on the ground fighting, concerned that her inexperienced troops would get into trouble, but the professionals were doing a good job of leading the cadets where they needed to be.
“Ships sunk,” Rafe reported on her skullphone. “Direct hits on both, and they’re now flickering hulks.”
“You’re getting poetic,” Ky said. “But glad to know they won’t be reinforced from there. Any word from Grace and company?”
“All fine so far. I expect some trouble here, but Stella’s safe where she is.”
President Saranife sat in a comfortable overstuffed chair in the living room of the house where she’d stayed since the evacuation. At her feet, a large, furry tan dog leaned on her legs, its heavy head on her knee, pinning her down.
“All right, Hester?” asked the Second President, Joram Cassidy, from a similar chair across the room. “You’re looking strained.”
“There’s a war starting,” Saranife said. “I should be strained.” She was not particularly fond of her Second President, a stiff man who rarely smiled and who had told her once he was more competent than she. She started to stand up and pace, but the dog leaned harder and put a big furry paw on her other knee.
“It’s more comfortable here than at the Palace,” Cassidy said. “You won’t find—” A loud whomp in the distance rattled windows. “What was that?”
“An explosion,” said one of their hosts, the tall rangy woman called Kris. “Somebody’s lobbing something at the base.”
“Should we… uh… find shelter or something?” Cassidy asked. Now he looked strained.
“Not yet,” Kris said. “Irene—let’s bring them all inside.”
Saranife heard a door open and the scrabble of many dogs bounding up the back steps, across the porch, and into the kitchen. Two of the dogs came right through into the living room. One was a reddish dog with a splint on one hind leg—Ginger, belonging to Sergeant Major Morrison. Suzy was the dog now leaning on her, and Billy, a match for Suzy, had now pinned Cassidy just as efficiently.
“I don’t really care for—” Whomp! “—this dog sitting on my feet.”
“Therapy dog,” Irene said, coming in with a tray of mugs and pastries. “They know when people are nervy.”
“I’m not nervy!” Cassidy protested.
Irene, a little shorter than Kris but radiating equal authority, raised her brows and said nothing, offering the tray instead. He took a mug in both hands, as did Saranife.
“You didn’t put anything in it—”
“No sedatives. You want to be clearheaded, I know. We have a storm shelter; we’ll move there if there’s need.”
“Do you know what’s going on?”
“A little. The ships unloaded troops into the city; the battle has started there.”
“I should be there,” Saranife said. “I should be in contact—”
“Safer this way,” Kris said. “They don’t know where you are, and you’ll still be here when it’s over, able to take charge of the civilian side. I know it’s frustrating.”
Kris was a veteran, Saranife knew. “Do you wish you were back in at times like this?”
The dark eyebrows went up. “ ‘Times like this’? This is the first armed conflict since the Unification War. Yes and no, is the honest answer. I never wanted to see combat—and didn’t—but I know people who are active now, and I’d like to be with them, helping them. But the best thing I can do is keep the two of you safe.”
“The two of you and that squad of cadets who think this is a great break from class and are chowing down on doughnuts,” Irene said. She sipped from her own mug. A series of smaller whoomps in rapid succession startled Saranife enough that her warm drink sloshed on her hand. The dog leaned even harder on her leg.