“But Ferrero’s not alone in this, is she?”
“No, she’s not. The police are … well, they’re the police, so they’re being kept completely in the dark, and so are the intelligence services.”
“What about planetary defense?”
“Well, they’ve never had to fight the Hammers face to face, so they are much more equivocal. Like most Feds, they now see you as a bit of a hero, and they think Ferrero’s gone too far to keep the Hammers happy, but they’re also frightened enough not to want to rock Ferrero’s boat.”
“Which is why General Yilmaz is onboard.”
“Yes. Her first job is to convince the planetary defense brass that the Hammers are not to be trusted; her second is to persuade them to stand back and stay out of our way.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” Fellsworth said, her voice flat. “They’ll stick their heads up their fat butts while Fleet and the Marine Corps take all the risks and do all the dying, but as long as that’s all they do, then that’s enough.”
Michael nodded. “Okay. Next question. Let’s assume that we can maintain operational security. What are Juggernaut’s chances of success?”
“Not good enough. The last simulation we did says we have a fifty-fifty chance of meeting our mission objectives.”
Michael blinked. “Wah!” he said softly. “That’s not good. Why?”
“Thanks to the goddamned peace treaty, the Hammers have been able to withdraw most of their fleet to home space. They are many more ships around Commitment than when you dropped dirtside with your three dreadnoughts. But we’re working on it.”
“Kat Sedova. What’s happened to her? And Cortez and Hok.”
“Sedova’s tucked away safely. We’ve relocated her to … well, let’s just say somewhere the Feds and the Hammers won’t find her.”
“Good. I was worried. Cortez and Hok. What about them?”
“They are an integral part of the Juggernaut planning team, right here in Karrigal Creek. They’re running a sim at the moment, but they’ll catch up with you as soon as they can. The admiral’s asked them to brief you on the situation back on Commitment. Now, I should get back to work. You have somewhere to get your head down?”
“I do, thanks.”
“Good. We’re doing another sim of Juggernaut tomorrow morning. Since you’re the only person who’s actually planned and executed an opposed landing on Commitment, the admiral wants you to sit in.”
“Love to.”
“08:00, Conference 4.”
“I’ll be there.”
Michael lay on his bunk and stared at the ceiling.
His mind raced as he churned through all that had happened that incredible day. He shook his head. Dead man walking one minute, alive and kicking the next. So why did he feel so disheartened? No, it was worse than that. He felt terrible, his mind blanketed with a sick, flat feeling, a feeling that everything he had done, all he had been through, all he had put Anna and his family through, none of it mattered a damn.
But he knew why. Anna; that was why. While he was out saving humankind-not that the vast majority of them knew it, and even if they did, they probably wouldn’t gave a shit-she could well be lying dead in the mud back on Commitment with a bullet in her brain, yet another life wasted in the century-old battle to defeat the Hammer of Kraa.
And for all Jaruzelska’s cautious optimism that Juggernaut would succeed, Michael was not so sure. When he had ridden his dreadnoughts down to their fiery deaths on Commitment, the Hammers had been preoccupied fighting the Feds to a standstill. And nobody had ever seen an operation like his Operation Gladiator. Nobody-not the Hammers, not the Feds-would have imagined sacrificing three good ships in a Trojan horse assault the way he had.
Gladiator had succeeded, in part at least, because it had never been done before. So for all Jaruzelska’s talk of diversionary operations, surprise, weight of numbers, superior technology, and so on, the Hammers would never allow it to happen again.
Still, he reminded himself, Jaruzelska was the Federated Worlds’ most experienced combat commander. All he could do was hope that she would find a way. She had to. If she did not, he would never see Anna again.
Exhaustion washed over him, and he closed his eyes. Sleep was beginning to claim him when there was a knock at his door. “Goddamn it,” he muttered, forcing his eyes to open. “Yes, come in,” he called out, forcing an unwilling body to its feet.
The door opened. It was Cortez and Hok. For a moment, they all stood staring at one another. Then Cortez stepped forward and folded Michael into a bone-crushing embrace that left him gasping for breath by the time the NRA general released him. “Michael,” Cortez said, his voice soft, “we owe you.”
Michael flushed, his head bobbing with embarrassment. Then it was Major Hok’s turn to take him in her arms, her body soft and welcoming where Cortez’s had been solid and unyielding; just the smell of her-the soft scent of flowers-was almost overwhelming. For a moment, there was nowhere Michael would rather be, the hard, tangled knot of fear and uncertainty in his stomach easing for the first time since he had been abducted from Asthana.
Hok let him go and stepped back. “Like the general says, we owe you.”
Michael could only shrug his shoulders; he did not trust himself to speak.
“I’ll catch you later,” Cortez said. “Admiral Jaruzelska wants to talk to me.”
“I won’t ask how you’ve been,” Hok said once Cortez had left.
“Just look at me,” Michael said, finding his voice with an effort. “I feel like I look: a million years old.”
Hok broke the awkward silence that followed. “I know it’s late,” she said, “but I was born a Hammer, so I need coffee and lots of it. I’ll fill you in on what’s been happening back home while we get our fix.”
“That would be good. Lead on.”
Michael stared at the holovid screen long after Hok had finished speaking. It was an ugly sight, the cordon of red around the Branxton Ranges speaking more than words ever could of the pressure the Hammers were putting on the NRA’s heartland bases. “That doesn’t look good,” Michael said.
“From a purely military point view, no, it doesn’t,” Hok said, “but we shouldn’t be too pessimistic.”
“Hard not to be.”
“Look at this way. First of all, the Hammers still have not been able to penetrate our perimeter. Two months ago, the Hammer’s MARFOR 3 tried here-” A finger stabbed at the screen. “-with massive support from Fleet assets in low-earth orbits, and the NRA handed them their asses. All the marines had to show for their efforts was rubble and a shitload of casualties.”
“Just like the last time,” Michael said. “Slow learners, those people.”
“Come, come,” Hok chided, “be fair. We both know it has a lot more to do with the fact that our bases in the Branxton Ranges are close to invulnerable. We have hundreds of kilometers of caves and tunnels buried deep below tens of thousands of acres of limestone karst. They can drop all the bunker busters they like, but in the end they’ve got to come in after us. And when they do, we both know they’ll never get more than a few klicks inside, ’cause that’s when we blow the roof down on them.”
“Which is why we are all here,” Michael said. “Thanks to its bases, the NRA can survive until hell freezes over, but it cannot defeat the Hammers. Well, not unaided, that is, and that’s what Juggernaut is all about.”
“Exactly. But there’s one more thing working in our favor, and that’s the way Chief Councillor Polk and his cronies like to deal with the threats facing them.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Michael said with a shake of the head. “From where I sit, Polk’s tactics have been spectacularly successful. He’s screwed the Federated Worlds over every which way, and he’ll do the same to the rest of humanspace if we’re not careful.”
“All true, but he’s been able to screw you over only because your government played to his strengths.”
“Let me guess: Polk’s willingness to use massive force?” Michael said.