The sensors and detectors indicated that they had made their landing without being spotted.
Sweeps by Rick, Jack, and Karen on hovercycles, and, inevitably, a surveillance flight by Bela and Gnea on their flying horse, just confirmed the fact.
Then it was Rem who got stubborn, as Rick assigned him, along with Gnea, to guard the shuttle and man the commo-relay equipment, so that the recon team would be sure of getting a direct link to Farrago if and when it was needed.
"This whole mission is pointless if we can't report back what we find here," Rick fumed at him.
"Now, I don't want any more arguments from anybody!"
Rem subsided, and the team began loading up with weapons and gear. Lron casually weighted himself down with twice as much paraphernalia as any of the others and didn't seem to feel the burden a bit. Something was making him most untalkative, though.
As it was, Rick was more concerned with trying to get the right mix of equipment and weapons distributed among his team. Lron had revealed that the network of natural caverns and abandoned mines constituted a virtual underground roadway, and that the unit could make most of the distance to its objective that way.
That meant spare handheld spots, night-sight gear, and so forth. Rick let Bela keep her Wolverine rifle, but assigned Kami to a much more powerful but short-range Owens Mark IX mob gun, in case of close fighting down below. Rick took a Wolverine for himself. Karen was assigned an elaborately scoped sniper rifle, her marksmanship scores being the best of any of them.
Lron lugged the magazine-fed rocket launcher and an assortment of ammunition; Jack was given a solid-projectile submachine gun that fired explosive pellets. Rick made sure they were all wearing
"bat-ears," in case there was any subsurface fighting. The bat-ears amplified soft sounds, left normal ones unchanged, but dampened loud ones-so the scouts wouldn't be deafened in an underground firefight.
Bela didn't put up the expected argument about leaving Halidarre behind; even she could see how impractical it would be to drag the horse through the tight spots the team could expect to hit down below. She put aside most of her Praxian weapons, taking only her long knife.
Lron led the way to a mine elevator that smelled of must and stale air. He fiddled with a power connection that looked dead, and made the elevator's motor hum with readiness. The group boarded, turning on helmet lights. Rem and Gnea watched them descend into the darkness.
Veidt, Cabell, and the others were mystified by what they saw-or, rather, didn't see.
Long-range readings on the surface of Karbarra indicated that there had been little or no battle damage on the planet below. Their main city, Tracialle, was still shining and whole under its crystalline dome.
"This isn't logical," Veidt said. "The Karbarrans are fierce haters of the Invid, and we assumed the fighting had been furious."
But instruments definitely indicated heavy Invid military activity below, although there was no sign of combat. With some few exceptions, the industrial and technical infrastructure seemed to be intact and functioning to a modest degree, the buildings still standing for the most part, the social systems operating normally.
"Perhaps this is all some ruse?" Sarna wondered, turning to her husband. "Can it be that the Karbarrans went through all this to lure us into a trap? — but no. Surely they could have diverted the ship here on one pretext or another as soon as we staged our mutiny?"
"And it makes no sense for them to have risked their lives against the Pursuer, or again in combat against the task force we surprised," Cabell pointed out. "Then there's this business of the reconnaissance. Some piece of the puzzle is still missing."
They were interrupted by the ship's mismatched alarms again, and Lisa's voice came over a PA speaker that resembled a cornucopia.
"Battle stations, battle stations! An enemy force has left hyperspace for approach to Karbarra.
They have detected us and are maneuvering for attack. Skull Squadron and Wolff Pack, prepare for launch. All weapons stations prepare to fife on my command!"
For Jonathan Wolff, it was a relief to be called to the cockpit of his Hovertank. He had been driving his Wolff Pack all through the voyage, trying to wrench his mind away from the thoughts that tormented him, with preparation and drill, maintenance checks, and intense briefing and training sessions.
It hadn't helped. There was still the guilt that he had left his wife and son far behind so that he could share in the REF glory, and now it would be years before he saw them again.
But an even worse guilt, grinding his conscience raw and then grating at the bloody wound, was the undeniable image of Minmei, Minmei. The sound of her voice, the aroma of her hair, the face and eyes, her coltish charm. The recollection of how it had felt to put his arms around her in the garden at the New Year's Eve party on Tiresia. Her kiss, which had made him as light-headed as some school kid.
The ship was shuddering at the launching of the Skull VTs. Wolff snapped rapid commands, and his own Hover-tanks went to Battloid mode, sealed for combat in vacuum, following him in a dash for the designated cargo lock. The Destroids assigned to the GMU would be going to their firing positions, Wolff knew, and the Ground Mobile Unit itself would be warming up its weapons.
But there would be no question of an ambush this time; today both sides were forewarned.
Wolff had felt disappointed at not being included in the recon team, but that had proved premature.
Now, the Wolff Pack looked like it was going to get all the action it could handle.
And as for Hunter and the rest, trapped below? Wolff felt briefly sorry for them, then got his mind back on running his little corner of the war.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Of course I heard all those cracks about "aliens," and to her great credit, my wife let them pass, knowing what it was like for people fighting a war.
I'd hoped the Human race had learned, in meeting the Sentinels, to be a little less indiscriminately prejudiced. But few aside from the Skulls were.
Miriya overlooked all that, and fought like a tiger on behalf of the Human race and the Sentinels. And you're telling me that's alien? Then so am I.
Max Sterling, from Wingmates: The Story of Max and Miriya Sterling by Theresa Duvall
"Form up on me, Skull Team, and stick with your wingmates," Max Sterling recited automatically, his attention devoted to the tactical displays in his Alpha cockpit. He knew his wife, comrade and wingmate, would keep an eye on the team for him.
Max found a moment in which to be concerned for Rick. At least Rick wasn't out here trying to fly combat in a VT; he was a good flyer, a natural, and once he had ranked only behind Max in proficiency. But Rick was years out of practice, and that had been obvious the last time he had gone into space combat with Skull. If Rick and his gang just kept their heads down, they would be all right-perhaps a lot better than the Sentinels' main force was going to be, unless Skull got on the stick and took care of business.
Luckily, this new enemy contingent wasn't as numerous as the task force the Sentinels had handled when they arrived: two saucer troopships, and no command vessel at all. On the other hand, the Sentinels weren't going to get in any surprise Sunday punches today. Even now, the clam-like troop carriers yawned open and Pincer ships poured forth, interspersed with some Shock Troopers and even a few of the fearsome, armored Shock Troopers.
The Veritechs leapt to meet them in a mass duel. It was a mad, swirling combat wherein friend and foe were so intermingled that it was often dangerous to risk a shot. But those Invid who got through found that the Sentinels' flagship was throwing out an almost impenetrable net of fire, augmented by Wolff's tanks and the GMU's firepower.