Into the Fire

^{CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO}

Michael Quindlan had waited impatiently for this day, and now at last it was happening. Quindlan ships had brought the troops; Quindlan influence and Quindlan money had finally—finally—resulted in his being given a position in the upper echelons of the resistance. He would rather, he told himself, have been out there leading a squad or platoon or whatever they called it of Greyhaus’s soldiers, but Kvannis wouldn’t allow it. Ridiculous, the way the military pretended civilians knew nothing. He’d watched the movies and vid shows.

In lieu of that, he’d taken action within his own family. His niece Linny had done the second-level check on Benny that he’d ordered her to perform—her first official duty, one she knew might get her promoted. Those two had been antagonists since childhood, so if there was a dirty spot on Benny’s apparently perfect character, she’d find it. And she had.

Benny had betrayed him. Linny had befriended Benny’s idiot wife—well on the way to alcoholic if not there already—and pried out of her the fact that Benny had handed over a secret file to Stella Vatta. The boy had had a crush on Stella back when he was eleven or so, but supposedly his father had beaten it out of him. Not hard enough. Well, Benny would find out what happened to Quindlans who disobeyed the head of the family. He would find out in stages, starting with a tragedy he would not, initially lay at Michael’s feet. With luck, he might even blame the Vattas for the vicious attack on his wife that left her alive, but permanently damaged, and his children dead. He should be hearing about it any time now.

“Weather looks difficult,” Molosay’s meteorologist said. “This is a serious snowstorm moving in—”

“It won’t bother them,” Ky said. “They trained both on Miksland’s southern half and up north.”

“But dark and snow—”

“They’ll be more used to it than our troops,” Ky said. “This may be why they hung around an extra day or so before heading into port. They want the dark and snow; they figure it will hurt us.”

On the way back to the Academy, Ky watched the shelf of high clouds as it closed in the sky, horizon-to-horizon. Beneath it, the first softer clouds moved out of the northwest like rolls of fluff. Sleet rattled on the roof of the car as it turned into the Academy gates to the Commandant’s Residence. It had stopped by the time she walked to the door.

She was halfway to her office when Rafe pinged her. “We lost visual satellite surveillance with the clouds, but the ships are not stealthed or silenced. Both ships picked up pilots; Xonsulat is within the harbor and will dock on the north side, near the foot of Ertanya Street. There’s an open berth behind that I’d bet Xonsulor will take.”

“As we expected. Weather says snow starting after dark, with mixed sleet, rain, and freezing rain until then.”

“That’ll make the streets slippery,” Rafe said.

“No problem for them with their tracked vehicles. I need to make calls now.”

In her office, she found messages from Joint Services Command, Neese Base, Harbor Point Base, and the President, who wanted to know if her removal from the Palace was really necessary since nothing had happened since she’d moved out.

“It’s happening now,” Ky said. “The suspect vessels are docking as we speak.”

“Oh. Then I suppose you won’t let me go home—”

“No—your home address is too well known and just about indefensible. Please stay where you are and do not contact me. Your security troops will be with you very soon now.”

Molosay, at Joint Services Command, knew about the ships and wondered if Ky had put any surveillance drones up.

“No, General; we would rather they were less suspicious than more. It’s still too light—” Though the light was dimming as the lower clouds thickened. A snowflake danced by the window, followed by a shower of sleet.

“You expect them tonight.”

“Yes, General. Why would they wait? They’ve come in under cloud cover and it’s almost full dark now; what better time to surprise us? How are things at the base?”

“Trouble at Ordnay—fighting between the loyalists and the insurgents. We expect to be attacked here—” On a sprawling headquarters base that, like the government complex, had never been designed for defense in a serious war.

Ky reminded herself not to give advice that hadn’t been asked for and ended the call. She called a meeting of the faculty and staff who had passed MacRobert’s deep screening—they’d run out of time to screen them all—and gave them a heads-up. The engineer group reported all vehicles fueled and ready to position; that would begin within the hour.

She looked in on the cadet mess hall. No way—since the cadets had no implants—to give them four hours or so of good sleep before the action she expected this night. How long would it take the invaders to get all their equipment off the ships? How long to form up? She went back to the residence, changed into the base layers of her combat gear, and set her implant for four hours, with an override if her skullphone pinged earlier.

Ky’s skullphone pinged, and her implant informed her it was a half hour to midnight. Even as she rolled over and sat up, the red line’s light came on. “Commandant—Unit One. Cattle arriving at stockyard.”

“Enough for that Academy banquet?”

“Would think so. Send them on to processing?”

“Go ahead.”

Ky alerted her local commanders without using the main alarm system. Someone in the Academy was almost certainly on the conspiracist side and in contact with Kvannis. She went to the window: silence outside, and snowflakes dancing in the light from the room. In the distance, soft blurs of light; the forecast had predicted snowfall starting around midnight and becoming heavier toward the morning.

The red com beside the bed buzzed louder. In rapid succession she fielded calls from General Molosay, the two small airfields, and Rafe. She dressed quickly, including the chameleon suit, and made sure she could reach its controls.

Then she checked her weapons, ammunition, gas mask, and communications before heading for the Old Hall. Her combat helmet, pre-loaded with com codes, connected her to the Command Center at the base, to the Rector, and to her subordinate commanders; she ran through the checks to be sure all channels were live.

The long passage between the residence and the Old Hall, dim under emergency lighting, lay before her, empty and silent, any sound from the Old Hall baffled by the angles in the passage. Another skullphone ping. “Cattle arriving at entrance… route Mixer three-two. Alt route Prom two-nine.” So advance patrols were using the Military Avenue route from the harbor to the government complex, just now passing 32nd Street, and another group was coming up Promenade but had reached only 29th. Almost time to call the alarm, because the city police should have noticed troops in the street by now. Ky checked the elapsed time and switched to the general alarm channel.

“This is the Commandant. This is not a drill. Emergency Orders Local Zodiac; Emergency Orders Local Zodiac. All cadets, fatigue dress, with emergency kit, to the Old Hall immediately. Armsmaster and techs to the Armory. Faculty to the Old Hall, fatigue dress.”

“Commandant—is this a drill?” Someone always asked. She didn’t recognize the rather squeaky voice.

“This is not a drill. I expect all personnel to comply quickly and without panic.”

“Commandant, Armsmaster Tilley reporting on station at Armory.”

“We will need to arm those cadets who have qualified, Armsmaster.”

“For a riot or something? What is the Zodiac suffix, Commandant?”

She had not been certain of Tilley until MacRobert had cleared him late the previous afternoon. “There’s an attack on the city. Police report unauthorized troops in the city, including armored cars. Confirmation from the Joint Services Command base. Command believes it’s Kvannis and his allies.”

“They came here?”

“Apparently. As per Emergency Orders Local: issue helmets, vests, weapons, and ammunition; I’ll be sending the fourth-years first.”

“Yes, Commandant.” He sounded solid enough, and nothing had shown up on MacRobert’s search of his records.

She turned a corner in the passage. Ahead, only dim emergency lights showed, with the dark maw of the stairway to the dais of the Old Hall on the left and the closed door to the assembly level on the right. If someone had been pre-warned, if she herself was considered a danger, attack would come here. Ky slowed, slipped her pistol out, and thumbed the safety off. She eased to the corner, and around it. Before she reached the steps, she saw a darker shadow move; shots rang out—her own and the other’s. Ky felt a hard blow to the chest; a wave of heat washed over her as her armor reacted. Behind her another several rounds ricocheted off the stone walls of the corridor. She heard the clatter of a weapon hitting the stone steps, the sound of someone falling. A breath, another breath, as her implant reacted to the adrenaline burst, as no more shots were fired. Whoever it was hadn’t had the weapon on auto override.

Voices from above… no one would miss the parallel to the situation with Marek. She walked forward, still poised to shoot again. The light on the stairs came on, revealing the fallen shooter: Colonel Bohannon, chair of the history department. Blood still oozed from the holes in his chest, staining his uniform, pooling on the floor. The exultation that had followed previous killings lasted only a moment, washed away by grief. She’d thought he was one of the loyalists.

“Colonel Bohannon? What’s happened?” came from above. She wasn’t sure of the voice.

“Stay back,” she said. “Don’t come this way; I’m armed and checking for more shooters.” They would know her voice. She heard someone’s shocked exclamation: “The Commandant!” but did not answer. She picked up Bohannon’s weapon, which turned out to be palm-locked to him. She took it anyway, and emerged at the top of the stairs to find Major Palnuss and Captain Ramos, standing well back and blocking the others’ approach to the stairs. Nobody had a weapon aimed at her, which proved only that they had good sense. Her gaze scanned the group: all the department chairs but Bohannon, the rest of the faculty, faces still expressing shock or concern.

“What happened?” Colonel Shin asked.

“Colonel Bohannon shot at me; I returned fire and killed him. I was hit, but my armor protected me.” She watched their reactions: shock, concern, and reasonably quick return to control.

“He said he was going to look for you—that he was worried you might have run into trouble.”

Ky didn’t say the obvious, that he had been the trouble. She needed them focused on the greater danger. “An enemy force has landed from two ships in the harbor, and is now beginning to move toward the government center. Those of you who’ve been specially briefed know what our plan is. For the rest, our orders have been modified by the Zodiac suffix; if you have not previously been briefed, remember that you are under the command of those who have. I’m assigning Major Palnuss to take over here, commanding the skeleton force to protect the youngest class; they have not yet had enough training to be of use in the field. As per the Orders, I will command the force that protects the government complex. Class advisers will stay with their classes.”

“But they’re not—”

“We have our orders,” Ky said. “Our more senior cadets are quite capable of doing what is required.” She looked at Palnuss. “Major, when the first-year class has arrived, you will take them to shelter and proceed to secure the Academy.”

“Yes, Commandant.”

She heard the clatter of boots in motion and turned to see the first cadets entering the Hall. As expected, these were the seniors, a half year away from graduation, lining up quickly in their usual formation.

“As other faculty arrive, Major Palnuss, you will check their credentials and—ah, Major Osinery—”

Osinery, white-faced, had come past Bohannon’s body on the way up the steps. “Commandant, there’s a bulletin—”

“I’m sure. You will take over as my communications aide. Record and relay as I tell you. Major Palnuss, on the basis of investigations so far, ensure that persons we have discussed do not have access to weapons.”

“Yes, Commandant.”

She turned to the cadets ranked below her. “The capital is under attack; you know from recent drills what is expected of you: obey all orders, hold your fire until ordered to shoot. These orders may vary from what you drilled on; we have received supplemental instructions. Do what you’re told and things should go well.” The fourth-years looked back at her with resolution. “Major Massoudian, take your class to the Armory now.”

“Yes, Commandant.”

“Third-years—” They had moved forward in order as the fourth-years left; the second-years were filling in behind them. “Major Leonidze will take you to the Armory next. Your class and the fourth-years are an essential part of this defensive plan. I expect you will do as well as they do—there’ll be a prize for the best class.” A few grins among them now, quickly smothered. Ky looked beyond them to the second-years. They certainly looked better than before. Her implant ticked. “Major Leonidze, take your class to the Armory.” He gave the order and she waited until they were gone. She imagined the progress of the enemy, the last of them just coming onto the decks of the ships that had delivered them, climbing into the armored cars, and starting off to the north, to the government complex.

“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.”