Within a half-hour it was obvious the raidships were being moved to protect the command ship and transports, and that they were still under that relentless outside control.
"I guess we'll see just how mean one of those big-assed Empire babies is," Mouse said.
"I suppose we will, sir."
Hittite dropped hyper and went into action in an awesome blaze of weaponry. She and her escort settled into a quiet, deadly routine of systematic destruction. The Sangaree seemed unable to touch her. But invincibility proved an illusion.
"Hello, Iron Legion. Hittite here. Boys, I don't want to tell you this, but I have to. We've taken some drive damage. We'll have to pull out or lose our screens. Sorry."
"Sorry?" Mouse snarled. "Sorry don't help nothing."
"At least we softened them up a little for you." Hittite's Communications Officer had not heard Mouse. "We make it eleven solid scratches and a whole lot of bloody noses. Good luck, guys. Hittite out."
"Run the numbers," Mouse snapped.
"They're still going to get through, sir. Unless those bloody noses are worse than they look."
"Bloody hell! I didn't want to hear that."
Frieda made her first appearance of the new day. "What's going on?"
Mouse explained.
"Damn it all, anyway!" She flew out of Combat.
Mouse was returning to his quarters when he saw the body lying on the stretcher in the corridor. A girl of about fifteen. He did not recognize her. She had to be a daughter of one of the enlisted men.
"What the hell?" He knelt, felt her pulse. She was alive. Just unconscious. Or sleeping.
A sound startled him. He glanced up, saw two old men go into a cross corridor carrying a youngster on a stretcher. The one to the rear gave him a furtive look.
He started to run after them, became distracted when he passed an open dormitory door. The lights were on. A half-dozen retirees were lifting children onto stretchers.
"What the hell is going on here?" he demanded.
They stared at him. Nobody said anything. Nobody smiled or frowned. Two hunkered down, lifted a stretcher, came toward him.
He grabbed an arm. "I asked a question, soldier."
"Mouse."
He turned. Frieda stood framed in the doorway, not a meter away. She held a weapon and it was aimed at him.
"What the hell are you up to, Mother?"
She half smiled. "We're loading you youngsters aboard the Ehrhardt. We're sending you to your father. The Fishers will give you covering fire."
His thoughts zigged and zagged. That was a good idea. It should have occurred to him. Gets the children out. It would be risky, but Ehrhardt was one of the fastest ships ever built... But Frieda seemed to be including him in this Noah's Ark venture. He would not have any of that.
"I've got a job here."
She smiled weakly. "I relieve you of command, Mouse. Bring a stretcher, men."
"Don't try to pull anything on me... "
"Take your father a kiss for me, Mouse." Her finger tightened on the trigger.
Mouse tried to jump aside. He was not quick enough. The stun bolt scrambled his thoughts. He was falling, falling, falling... He never reached the floor.
Forty-Nine: 3032 AD
Storm flung himself out of bed. A real nightmare had closed in on him. An attack on his home... That was it. That was what he had overlooked. This was a war against his Family. He had left a flank unguarded.
"Is that true?" he asked, able to think of nothing else.
Thurston looked baffled. "Why would I lie about that?"
"Don't mind me. I'm just confused. Let's go."
Mouse had reestablished a continuous instel relay by the time Storm reached the war room. "Mouse, what's it look like?" he demanded.
The burst went out. The response came back, it seemed, no swifter than the speed of light. "It doesn't look good, Father. They're coming at us like they've gone crazy. No maneuver or anything. And it looks like they know our weak spots. We're holding, but we're losing outstations faster than the program allows. I think we need outside help."
Helmut whispered in Storm's ear while Mouse was talking.
"Okay, Mouse. Just do what you can. Helmut says we've instelled Ceislak and asked the Fishers to pass the word to Beckhart." He listened to Helmut a moment more. "Oh. You've done that, too. Good. Look. The arrangements are made. You've got a heavy battle group on its way from Canaan, two squadrons headed there from Helga's World, and Hittite somewhere in your vicinity on shakedown cruise. The whole damned Navy is headed your way."
Navy would, anytime, anywhere, drop everything else for a dustup with Sangaree.
"Hang in there, Son. The Fortress will see you through. I designed it myself."
Mouse laughed. "Thanks, Father. Mother sends her love. I've got to get back to work now."
Mother? Storm thought. Who?... Ah. He meant Frieda. How was Frieda handling the crisis? He shrugged. She would cope. She was a soldier's daughter and a soldier's wife.
Time would tell the tale. If the Fortress cracked before Navy arrived, he would be a poor man again, in several senses. All his treasures would be gone, with most of the people he held dear. He would be left with nothing but the financial wealth of the Legion... He forced his attention back to what was happening in the Whitlandsund.
Havik was taking a beating, but he was holding. An infantry battalion was assembling at the shade station. If Havik held till they crossed back to Darkside, Storm was sure he would win again.
He could do nothing but work up an ulcer here, he decided. "Thurston. Take over. I'm going for a walk."
"It's raining out, Father."
"I know."
After a while he realized he was no longer walking alone. Pollyanna, without intruding, was slouching along beside him. He had not seen her since the day Wulf died.
"Hello."
"Hi," she replied. "Is it bad?"
"They're attacking the Fortress."
"And nobody's there."
"Mouse is. And the families."
"But no one to fight."
"They'll fight. As well as any Legionnaire. It's mostly automated anyway."
"Couldn't you ask for help from Navy?"
"It's on its way. But it might take a week to get there. That's a long time to hold out if the raid-master is determined."
"And it's all because of Plainfield. Michael Dee."
"My brother is a pawn too. The shadow-master is a Sangaree named Deeth."
They walked a block in silence. Pollyanna said, "I like the rain. I missed that at the Fortress."
"Uhm."
"I couldn't go walking on The Mountain. The skies were too big."
"Uhm." Storm was not listening. His thoughts kept turning to the Fortress. "He must've gotten upset with the way things were going here. Or maybe because of Helga's World. I don't know. It doesn't make any tactical sense to move against the Fortress right now." He talked on, using a soft voice to describe how Helga's World had become a deathtrap for a major Sangaree raidfleet and how the Shadowline War might still go the Legion's way.
Pollyanna was not listening to him any more than he was listening to her. "Down here," she said, pausing at the head of a descending stairway. "I want to show you where my father lived. Where my heart still lives, I guess."
He followed her down to the tiny apartment she had shared with Frog. The dwarf's ghost was its only occupant now. Pollyanna now lived in quarters provided by Blake.