"Do we have drills capable of countering theirs?"
"One or two," the Initiate called back. "Makarta wasn't a mine. We can't stop them all."
Staffa studied the layout of Makarta again. "We'll have to decrease our area of defense. At the same time, we can use our units to counter drill. If we can place a charge and explode it, we should be able to damage their drill stem. They'd have to start a new hoe, wouldn't they?"
"They'll do the same to us," the Initiate countered.
Staffa glanced up. "But we're the target. We don't have to drill as far. We can set our charges first, closer to the caverns. We can surely slow them down, buy more time. Do it."
"Yes, sir." The monitor went dead.
"And what then?" Bruen asked. "Suppose you draw back — leave us with a tiny sphere to defend. We're still losing!"
Staffa tilted his head back. "True, but we've made the best bargain possible. On the other hand, we have the ability to bleed this Sinklar Fist. If we can hurt him badly
enough in the process, he might be more willing to compromise."
Kaylla studied the sensor data the Initiates were collecting. "From the looks
of things, he'll be able to tunnel down and free his people within a week. We have that long before we lose our bargaining chip."
Using a spotting scope, Sinklar studied the mountainside from the top of his LC. Each of the rigs was working, the drilling machines boring into the heart of Makarta, the horde of mining machines eating tunnels into the mountainside. Occasionally, one stopped as the Seddi detonated a counter charge, but they had too many for the Seddi to stop them all. In time, he would bleed them dry.
Below him in the valley, the total remaining manpower of Rysta's Divisions and his own, along with the Targan loyalists, practiced maneuvers and assault techniques.
Mhitshul — still subdued from the day before — coughed respectfully at the hatch.
"Yes?" Sinklar offered lamely, shamed by his previous emotional outburst.
"Comm, sir. It's comingout of Mac's line, so we only have audio. The Seddi Commander, sir. He wants to talk about Mac."
Sinklar followed Mhitshul down to the sally entrance and picked up the headphones. "Go ahead, Seddi."
"We're becoming concerned about your trapped Division. MacRuder is worthy of our respect and trust. He's attempting to hold out down there, but they've been out of water for some time. By now they've begun to lose power for their IR visors. We also suspect that within a couple of hours their oxygen will be depleted. To be sure, they have a reasonable space down there, but six hundred people produce a lot of CO. I think they'll be getting hungry, too."
"Then feed them, Seddi." Damn it, Mac! Sink's gut twisted and his fists knotted into balls.
"Not our responsibility. We've got more than enough to do with your drills and mining machines. Wonderful surprises are in store for your people."
Why did he have to sound so damn smug? "Our own surprises will more than make up for yours, I'm sure."
"There is another way."
Sink cocked his head, wary of the coming trap. "Go ahead."
"Let us leave. I give you my word that every man and woman in Makarta will leave the Regan Empire — and never return."
"Just like that? You think Sassa will take your kind?"
"I wasn't thinking of Sassa. Call the Companions, see if they'll take the Seddi. Ask for Skyla Lyma, the Wing Commander. Tell her an old friend from Etarus makes the request."
"I'm not a fool, Seddi. You're trapped, seeking to buy time. And why would I want your kind loose among the Companions? They'll be trouble enough without your agitation to spur them on."
"I'm trying to stop the bloodshed!"
"They why did you wait until now to seek a peaceful solution? No, I'm sorry, it's too late for you. too late for the Seddi."
The controlled voice on the other end replied, "You're sure you won't just let us leave? Allow me to place a call to my transport? It would be so much easier all the way around. No one need die — let alone your six hundred down here who continue to extol your virtues and honors."
Sinklar bit his lip, while his soul screamed — thank the Blessed Gods this wasn't visual. "As if you had a fleet. I'm sorry, but I've sworn on my honor to end your threat for once and for all. The way you die depends on your treatment of MacRuder's people. Harm them and—"
"Their treatment is in your hands," the man returned easily. "We'd hate to think what would happen if you invaded and we were forced to retaliate."
Sinklar paused, playing for time. "Who are you?"
"That, as I told you, is unimportant."
"I don't like dealing with faceless, nameless voices in the dark, Seddi. Are you the infamous Bruen?"
"No, I'm not the Magister. Call me… Tuff," came the reply. "A name I earned the hard way. And another thing. Allow me to make a point, Sinklar Fist. If you leave us in desperate straits, we'll have to take desperate measures to
ptect ourselves. Keep in mind, the most deadly enemy is the one that has
nothing left to lose."
Sinklar closed his eyes. / remember warning Mykroft to avoid just such an impasse. I could blast this thrice-cursed rock. if only Mac and my people weren't down there!
"I think this conversation is over," Sinklar whispered.
"Remember, Sinklar, each action will cost you. Every meter you advance into Makarta will be on rock slippery with Regan blood. As they read the casualty figures to you, ask yourself if it's worth it."
The line went dead.
At Mhitshul's signal, Sinklar ordered, "I want you to send a section of that tape — where he identifies himself as 'Tuff'—to Commander Braktov. See if she can ID it. Send a duplicate to Ily. Her resources should pin the rascal down. If we know who he is, we might be able to find a weak point." Please, Blessed Gods, let me find that weak point— before Mac has to pay the price!
"Sir? First?" a tech called. "I just got word from rig three. The Seddi must have drilled a counter-bore and detonated a charge. Rig three lost their laser bit and twenty meters of stem."
"We have more stem and bits." Sinklar turned to Mhitshul. "Begin plotting where they defend. Keep track of our geophones. You might need to shut down operations periodically, but if we can hear where they're working, we can play their game. Surely their resources are more limited than ours."
Mhitshul nodded, pain in his eyes.
"And Mhitshul…" Sink smiled wearily as he placed a gentle hand on his aide's shoulder. "I'm sorry about yesterday."
Mhitshul sighed and smiled. "I know, sir. We're all worried sick about Mac."
But all those lives aren't your responsibility. Sink dropped his head into his hands, imagining Mac and the rest down there in the darkness.
"He wants me to find out whose voice is on the tape?" Rysta cried incredulously, shaking fists over her head.
"Hell! That could take weeks! Insipid little bastard! I wanted to be out of here two days ago, but no, he loses half his command and can't get them out without blasting the whole of Makarta open. Fine job, this, Sinklar Fist!"
She stormed around the bridge, noting to her satisfaction that even the fop, Mykroft, stayed out of her way. "Well, let's play that thrice-cursed tape!"
The Communications First accessed the transmission and Sinklar's dicing with the mysterious Seddi who called himself Tuff echoed across the bridge.
Rysta stopped her tirade, listening. "Rotted Gods," she mumbled to herself. "That voice does have a familiar ring to it."
"The miners are ready to break through in Gamma Three, Lord Fist," a tech reported.
Sinklar was in the portable office the mining engineers had set up. In the center of the room, the holograph projected a spectral model of Makarta. Various threads of light indicated the tunnels and drill holes creeping into the guts of the mountain. Around the computer-laden walls, techs sat in squeaking seats, headphones on, eyes glued to monitors as they followed the attack on Makarta's geology.