"But not at the price you want, Fist. Anything else?" A look of distaste crossed her face.
"You refuse us a just settlement for being stranded here as a soak off for Imperial politics?"
"We do," Rysta snorted.
"Very well, we expected as much. Please forward our regards to the Emperor and let him know that we have every faith in his honesty and integrity. We attribute our problems to the Minister of Defense and Council politics which he was no doubt unaware of… and hope the imperial Seventh will be concerned enough to see justice done to his loyal servants of the First and Second Targan Assault Divisions. We will continue to hold Targa in his name."
Her hard eyes gleamed in the lengthening silence. Sinklar refused to drop his gaze. Behind him, Shiksta mumbled, "Damn right!"
"You know, I've seen some brash bastards in my day, Fist," Rysta growled, "but I'm gonna enjoy bustin' your balls, boy, because you take first prize!"
Sinklar raised a hand. "Please. There is nothing to be gained by Regan fighting Regan. Not at this late date. The Empire can't afford it.'9
"Surrender, Fist!"
"We are not in a position to surrender to anyone. We haven't-,
"You're about to get your asses kicked!" she roared, You think all those lives you're talking about are worth it?"
"I definitely do not. Both the First and Second Targan Assault Divisions sincerely regret any and all casualties they would have to inflict on-"
"You stupid peasant fool! You think your rabble can take veteran troops? There won't be a one of you standing when
this is all over." She snorted in derision and added, "If you decide to come to your senses and change your mind, have your boys patch through to Gyton. This is going nowhere." Comm went dead.
"Well, gentlemen, there it is." Sinklar sighed. "Mhitshul, I hope you got all that."
"I did." The private rubbed his neck and flipped switches on the comm.
"Then broadcast it. I want that conversation blared over the entire planet." Sinklar smacked a fist into a palm. "Send out a planet-wide alert. They'll be coming for us and I don't want our people caught sleeping."
Mhitshul pressed a stud and spread his hands. "That's it, Sink. I sent everything. Do you want us to shoot at invaders on sight? "
Sinklar frowned, absently aware he was chewing on his thumb. "Let's wait and see what happens in the-" "Message coming in." Mhitshul's fingers flew over the COMM.
"Kap here, Sink!" his Section First's florid features filled the holo. "Got LCs dropping out of the sky like flies!" "You know the drill! Mhitshul, sound alert. We're being invaded."
"All stations on," Mhitshul called. "Rotted Gods, I got signals coming in from all over!"
"Get our LCs under cover. Scramble Battle Ops one!" Sinklar ground his teeth as he paced back and forth. "And pray to the pustulant Gods they follow the Holy Gawddamn Book to the letter again."
Outside a siren blared a warning.
"Reports are coming in." Mhitshul looked up as Shiksta left at a run, stopping only long enough to pull battle armor off the couch.
"Give me status information as it comes in." Sink cocked his head. "Mac? You there?"
"Here, Sink," Mac's voice came in through static. "They're trying to jam. Good thing you relocated those transmission stations. Uh, I'd say we've got a whole Division landing on Kaspa alone!"
Sinklar turned to look out the windows. Black dots filled the sky around him. "Same here."
Mhitshul bent to the comm, occupied with codifying data.
Without raising his head, he added, "From comm projections, it looks like five full Divisions."
"Five Divisions? Rotted Gods! That's more than Rega wasted on a whole unfriendly revolution!"
"Worst is yet to come Sink. I've got ID codes on the ones dropping. These guys are Regan regulars. Veteran Divisions, like from regular army — career soldiers." Mhitshul swallowed. "Just like she said they'd be."
Sinklar reached up to scratch his ear. To the battle comm he called, "All right, people! This is it! Let's go! You all know what to do!"
One by one Sections checked in.
Sinklar turned to stare out the window where the LCs dropped like perverted rain from orbit. This fight will make or break us. Never have the stakes been so high. Never have so many hung on the line!
"Got orbital fire support!" Ayms chimed in. "These guys are backed up all the way, Sink! Makes us a little mad thinking about the times we couldn't even get recon intelligence!"
"Break and scatter! Move, Ayms! They'll have you on pinpoint! Go!"
"We're gone!"
"LC support!" Kitmon called in. "We're covering. Ayms ain't the only one getting orbital bombardment." A resounding bang came through comm. "We're breaking!"
"Go, people, go!" Sink shouted, eyes closed as he envisioned the planet in his mind. He considered the data comm provided and built a picture of the invasion, filling the gaps by intuition.
"We've got trouble here," Mac called. "We're harassing their landings. We could cut the hell out of them, Sink. On a one-toone fight, we'd clean them up and dump them away. Only problem is there are so many of them!"
"Don't overextend," Sink called. "Mac, before you take casualties, pull out! Break and scatter! Group by Group! If we take them head on… we lose! They have us outgunned, outmanned, with better transport and communication! We can't take them in a stand up fight. Move! Break off, Mac. Use your skills!"
"Affirmative, Sink," Mac's voice sounded worried — more worried than Sinklar had ever heard it. "We're breaking!"
Jaws grinding, Sinklar tapped his forehead with a clenched fist. Five Divisions? How did he counter five Divisions? Where could he find a weakness to exploit?
Anguished, he looked up at the board, mind staggering, as he realized something was amiss. "Gretta? Where's Gretta?"
"We're breaking!" Ayms called in. "There are just too many of them Sink! My Section can't face an entire gawddamn Division. We're breaking!"
"Go!" Sink shouted. "Stay alive, Ayms! All of you, stay alive! Save your commands! Break and scatter, everybody! Go to ground. I taught you how to fight. Stay alive and make them pay. Use the Holy Gawddamn Book against them!"
"That means us, too?" Mhitshul asked, looking up from the comm.
"Yeah, that's us, too. Gyton will be setting up to blow this building off the map. Let's get out of here."
"What about comm?" Mhitshul asked as he began gathering up the maps.
"We've got an LC hidden in the brick factory, don't we?"
"Affirmative."
"Guess that will have to do for comm. Should give us planet-wide communications — and the ability to run if we need it. Best we can do. Surecan't defend this place with only three Sections in the city. Orbital will make this building into smoking junk if we do." He jumped to help stuff sensitive documents into the thick graphstic bag.
"Any word from Gretta? She said to page her through comm," he asked as they started down the carpeted stairs, stopping only long enough to grab combat armor and weapons.
"No, sir. Not a peep," Mhitshul replied over his shoulder.
Sinklar's stomach flipped as icy fingers traced his spine. Fear, aching fear, a constant companion now, left him shaken. Had the whole of Free Space gone crazy that Regans were battling Regans?
And worse, his command lay in shambles. Everything they had worked so hard to build — to turn themselves into a functioning unit the likes of which no one had seen for centuries — was broken, disorganized. A Division in chaotic retreat.
As they pounded across the courtyard, a beam of violet ' light struck the top of the ops building, blasting the structure in a gout of light and fire. Concussion slammed them to the ground as fragments of mortar, steel, and duraplast! rained.
"Guess that was supposed to be us, huh?" Mhitshul | gasped
"Yeah," Sinklar managed through a dry throat. "Guess it was. Let's get the hell out of here."