“Yes, sir. I’ll pass that on and see what they say.”
Five minutes later, as another flight of Syndic aircraft was torn apart in midair, and two more Alliance bombardments blew apart another surface particle-beam battery and a missile launch site preparing to fire, Carabali came back on. “They agree, sir. They say they’re spreading the word for all of the guards to cease resistance and withdraw with their families toward the east side of the camp. They ask that we not engage them.”
“Agreed, Colonel, unless they start shooting at us again.”
“I’ll pass the word for cease-fire, but we’ll keep a strong force watching them, sir.”
Over the next few minutes the movements of the Marines closing on the center of the camp changed, some speeding up to reach the center quicker and others veering off to form a defensive line between the center of the camp and the enemy symbols, which began appearing as the guards broke cover to withdraw toward the east. Geary zoomed in the view, seeing through the dust filling the air infrared signatures that indicated groups of humans appearing and joining the withdrawal. Switching views again gave him a series of windows showing what was being seen by Marines watching the Syndics pull out. Targeting solutions danced on the Marine HUDs as they caught sight of Syndic guards in light battle armor shepherding civilians with no protection at all through the streets of the camp. Weapons were aimed and ready, but the Syndics behaved themselves, moving with haste, and the Marines held their fire. He paused in his sweep through the Marine views as a sergeant’s voice crackled. “Don’t even think about it, Cintora.”
“I was just practicing aiming,” Cintora protested.
“Pull the trigger, and you’ll be up on charges.”
“Sarge, they messed up Tulira and Patal—”
“Lower your weapon now!”
Geary waited a moment longer, but Cintora had apparently realized he wasn’t going to get away with anything and remained silent. If the sergeant hadn’t been alert, or had been as angry with the Syndics as Cintora, it wasn’t hard to imagine what would have happened.
Another urgent message drew Geary back to the big picture. “Our recce drones have spotted a third ground convoy en route the camp from the northwest, and what looks like infiltrators on foot closing from the southwest,” Colonel Carabali reported. “Request both targets be taken under fire by the fleet.”
Geary took a moment to look over the combat systems’ firing solution, then hit approve and watched another barrage of kinetic projectiles hurled down toward the planet.
“Sir, the Free Heradao governing council is requesting a cease-fire.”
“Free Heradao? Weren’t they just the Heradao governing council before?”
“Uh, yes, sir. It’s the same circuits they called on last time and the same transmission ID.”
Geary glanced at Rione. “Any idea what the name change means?”
She looked frustrated. “Probably not a lot. They may have merged with another group of rebels and picked up the ‘free’ from that, or they may have decided ‘free’ sounded better, or there may have been a turnover in their leadership. Or it could be something else. In any event, I wouldn’t assume the name change has any significance for us.”
“You’ve talked to them, though. Are they worth talking to again?”
“No.”
Desjani raised her eyebrows in surprise. “A short and straight answer from a politician,” she muttered too low for Rione to hear. “The living stars have given us a miracle.”
“Thank you, Captain Desjani,” Geary said. “Madam Co-President, please inform the Free Heradao governing council that we will engage any threat against our ships or our personnel on the surface or any forces heading toward the POW camp. If they refrain from posing such threats, we will not strike at them.”
“Sir, we’ve got another problem.” Colonel Carabali looked unhappy, which was a clue that this was a major problem. “My screening forces on the west side of the camp are picking up signs that highly trained enemy forces in maximum-stealth gear are trying to infiltrate past my Marines. Detections are fleeting and small, but our best estimate is that we’re facing perhaps a squad of Syndic Special Forces commandos.”
“How much of a threat are they? Are they just scouts?” Geary asked.
“Their mission profile and some of the signs our gear has picked up indicates they may well be equipped with hupnums, sir.”
“Hupnums?” It sounded like some whimsical creature in a fairy tale.
“Human Portable Nuclear Munitions,” Carabali elaborated.
No wonder Carabali was unhappy. Geary checked the time line. “Colonel, it looks like you’re getting close to being able to pull out. Even if those Syndic commandos manage to plant those things, they’ll have to set the timers to give them time to get free of the blast zone. Why can’t we get out of there well before the timers set off the nukes?”
Carabali shook her head. “Sir, I trained on Alliance hupnums, and everyone in my group, instructors included, believed that the timers on the hupnums were fake. We reasoned that any target worth sneaking in a nuke would be too valuable to risk failing a strike and perhaps having the nuke taken by the enemy during the time required for an individual to egress following planting the weapon.”
Geary stared at her. “Are you saying you assumed the nuke would go off as soon as it was armed?”
“Or very soon afterward, yes, sir. I assume the Syndics would be even more inclined toward that logic, sir. We have to presume the hupnums will detonate immediately after they’ve been placed and armed.”
That blew Geary’s time line all to hell. “Recommendation, Colonel?”
“I’ve diverted two of the shuttles on their return trips long enough to pick up two Persian Donkeys. With those -”
“Persian Donkeys, Colonel?”
Carabali looked surprised that he didn’t know the term. “Mark Twenty-Four personnel grouping simulators.”
“Which do what?”
“They… each simulate a large group of personnel. Each Persian Donkey uses a variety of active measures to create the illusion of many people. Seismic thumpers create ground vibrations appropriate to a crowd moving around, infrared bugs generate heat signatures all over the place, other bugs create audible noise, transmitters generate a level of message traffic and active sensor activity matching that of a military force around the site, and so on. For someone using remote nonvisual sensors, the Donkeys make it look like plenty of people are in a location.”
He got it then. “You want to fool the Syndic commandos into thinking their targets are still present until it’s too late for the Syndics to hit the real evacuation.”
“Yes, sir,” Carabali agreed. “But I need to keep a screening force in place, and by the time I get everyone else lifted, those commandos are going to be close. We can slow them down, but we can’t stop them.” An image appeared on Geary’s display, showing the colonel’s tactical planning screen. “I’ll put the Donkeys here and here, with any line of sight to them blocked from the directions the Syndic commandos are coming in. I’ll need to have platoons of Marines here, here, and here.” Rough, bent arcs formed of individual Marine symbols flashed into existence. “Right after my last evac shuttle lifts, three shuttles will ground at these spots along the edge of the landing area closest to my people. At that point the last three platoons run like hell for the shuttles and boost out of there. The Donkeys will be set to self-destruct immediately afterward.”