Suddenly Raynor could hear his father’s voice ringing in his ears. “We keep working and they keep taking… . It just ain’t right.”
And it wasn’t right. So, Raynor decided, if I can take something back, and pass it to my family, at least something good will come of this. The battle faded behind them as the trucks passed through a shattered gate. Fifteen minutes later the two-vehicle convoy entered the already devastated suburbs of Whitford. The night was black, the headlights were white, and the highway was gray.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“I used to light fires as a kid. A lot of fires. My folks were always giving me grief about it. They just didn’t understand. It wasn’t pyromania: it was a career move.”
FORT HOWE, ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II
Two days had passed since the Kel-Morian rippers had launched their surprise attack on Fort Howe, and as a jitney carried Tychus toward the command center, there was plenty of activity to be seen. Dozens of SCVs were hard at work repairing half-slagged defenses, filling craters, and clearing away debris. Civilian crews had been brought in to help, but there was still plenty left to accomplish.
The jitney Tychus was riding in was forced to detour around the burned-out wreckage of a Kel-Morian aircraft before continuing on its way. The battle had been far from one-sided, however. More than a hundred of Fort Howe’s marines were wounded or killed, and it was very likely that the base would have been overrun had it not been for some very good luck. The rippers’ commanding officer was killed early on in the battle, a squadron of Avengers arrived quickly enough to destroy three Kel-Morian transports, and half a squad of enemy soldiers was wiped out when a marine ran over them with a truck.
Meanwhile, miles to the east, the Thundering Third had broken through the Snakeback Mountains and pushed a contingent of Kel-Morian regulars back into the disputed zone. A victory for which Vanderspool was given credit despite the fact that Fort Howe had nearly been lost. It was a glaring miscarriage of justice that Raynor was still struggling to accept—and Tychus regarded with his usual cynicism. Vanderspool was a player, and a successful one, so what else was new? If it hadn’t been Vanderspool it would have been some other officer.
The question is, Tychus thought, why does the sonofabitch want to talk to me? He doesn’t know that we took the truck, not for sure anyway, because he would have sent the MPs after us if he did.
The jitney arrived in front of the command center, and Tychus jumped off as a couple of other people got on. He was dressed for the occasion this time, in crisp cammies and glossy boots. Rather than lug a rifle around, Tychus was armed with a pistol in a shoulder holster.
In the wake of the surprise attack two marines were posted outside the building. They demanded that Tychus submit to an identity scan, and like the clerk Tychus had dealt with on the day he arrived, the guards were too polite. Where are these people coming from? the noncom wondered. There was something strange about them.
Tychus went upstairs and entered the waiting room outside of Vanderspool’s office. The same red-haired corporal he had met before was on duty and instructed him to sit down. It was a longer wait this time because Vanderspool was being interviewed by a UNN reporter, so rather than let the opportunity go to waste, Tychus spent the next five minutes mentally undressing the corporal one item of clothing at a time. She was down to a pair of panties and her combat boots by the time the journalist left the office. “You can go in now,” she said brightly, and smiled.
Tychus thanked her, made his way over to the door, and knocked. Then, having heard the word “Come!” he took three paces forward and announced himself. “Sergeant Findlay reporting as ordered, sir!”
***
Vanderspool looked up from his calendar as a pressed and polished Tychus Findlay entered the room. I’ll be damned, he thought, the guy looks like he just stepped out of a recruiting poster.
Vanderspool had mixed feelings about his newly appointed sergeant. During the Kel-Morians’ sneak attack—the magnitude of which came as an unpleasant surprise to Vanderspool, who was expecting a simple raid—Findlay had led his squad to the armory with plans to defend it. Upon seeing that the facility was being looted, he and his men had not only given chase, but had actually recovered one of the trucks. Having it returned to Confederate hands didn’t help Vanderspool or his Kel-Morian partner financially, of course, but it did make him look like a hero. And for that, he was rewarded handsomely, with the honor of being named full colonel, a title he’d schemed long and hard to attain.
The missing truck was still nowhere to be found, however, which was very costly for both parties. At an emergency meeting the next day, his KM partner, Aaron Pax, was furious, accusing Vanderspool of double-crossing him by stealing the truck for himself. Vanderspool convinced him otherwise, promised he’d get to the bottom of it, and countered with his own questions about the attack. Why had things gone down the way they had, with so many extra men and firepower? All their other schemes had worked like clockwork, but this one was a total disaster. His partner claimed ignorance, but the colonel was not so sure.
But after interrogating the two captured drivers from the armory, Vanderspool had the name of a Kel-Morian superior, and was able to piece together why the small operation had turned into a full-scale assault. It was a classic case of greed gone wrong: The superior had discovered the scheme and piggybacked onto the mission, sending out his own troops and hiring civilian drivers to steal the trucks. But it was poorly planned, and, thankfully, turned out to be a failure for the interloper; as the trucks left in a convoy, they were intercepted by their rightful captors and reclaimed, which at least made Vanderspool feel a little better—he’d hate to think that the scheming pig had made off with any loot. Even so, Vanderspool was hell-bent on revenge, and he would get it. He always did.
For now, though, he needed to find the missing truck; it was the most valuable of them all by a huge margin—it was filled with components for weapons and armor upgrades, which were worth nearly eight million credits all by themselves—and Vanderspool was determined to find it. So where was it? Findlay was a convicted criminal, after all… . Not for theft, but the guy was depraved enough to attack his commanding officer. Something wasn’t right with him. Did he know where the truck was?
And what about the other members of Findlay’s squad? Were they a bunch of degenerates that finally found their rightful leader? Or was the entire group pure as the driven snow? There was no way to know—but he would do his best to find out. “At ease,” Vanderspool said, and forced a smile. “It’s good to see you again, Findlay… . Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you, sir.” Tychus sat down. He felt uncharacteristically nervous. What was Vanderspool’s angle? What was he after?
“It took guts to chase those looters and recover that truck,” Vanderspool said, “and I’m proud of you.”
The truth was that Tychus had been hell-bent on stealing both vehicles and hiding them in the ruins of neighboring Whitford. Raynor had talked him out of it. Because, as the younger man put it, “if you bring one of the trucks back, they’ll believe your story. And if you don’t it will look like the entire squad went AWOL in the middle of a battle. Which strategy sounds better to you ?”