If that sounded illogical, there was a reason for it.

  According to Dr. Huber, the situation was similar to that of the ancient Carthaginians, who had a sprawling mercantile empire with small ports dotted along the Mediterranean coasts. In the hinterlands, barbaric tribes would travel to the ports to barter and trade. The Carthaginians hadn’t really controlled all that territory, although through their mercantile influence, they claimed wide swaths of territory.

  Likewise, the orbital stations had outposts on Earth where laser launch systems still operated. Those regions often possessed manufacturing plants, sending up badly needed materiel to keep the orbitals running, maintain the seventh Orion ship under construction, repair the others and take care of many other miscellaneous items.

  It was a patchwork system, as Earth seethed with rebellions, dictatorships, and other tyrannical systems. Corporate leaders tried to enforce their authority over a greater company; or former World Government or New World Conglomerates functionaries vied to control more provinces. It was a vicious cauldron with little peace anywhere. All of this was happening as doom raced from the Outer Planets to Earth.

  Perhaps because of all that, Petty was aging fast.

  Huber was still the same diminutive, almost dwarfish figure. He had chopped off his long, hippie hair, and it was now short. He felt that in this final hour, he needed to buckle down and apply everything he could to save the planet, and therefore look the part.

  The two were discussing regions in old China, much like Napoleon did in France after the disastrous Russian Campaign of 1812. Napoleon tried to scrape up every dreg, soldier and musket he could for the coming battles against the emboldened allies, as he had lost masses of men, horses and cannons. It was said he had recalled seeing a cannon on an old waterfront from years earlier. When others checked, the cannon was indeed there and thus hauled away to the rebuilding Grandee Armee.

  “You know,” Petty said, “I seem to recall something about more Phoenix rocket ships somewhere in China.”

  Huber blinked several times as he looked across the desk. “That’s right, isn’t it? If we could get more Phoenix capsules in space, we would have that much more in the final confrontation, or we could use the capsules to help ferry material.”

  “Where in China are these rockets? Oh, I know how to find out.” Petty leaned forward and clicked his intercom.

  “Yes, CEO?” a young, perky-voiced secretary asked.

  “Send for Senior General Bain,” Petty said. “Let me know as soon as he arrives.”

  “Of course, sir.” The secretary clicked off the intercom.

  Petty glanced at the whiskey, longing to get really drunk. He’d been holding his need at bay as he tried to hold Earth together, or at least the scattered parts that counted. It was funny. Those two nukes had shattered political unity. They needed Anwar Gray, or if not him, the times when Earth was united and had real manufacturing power.

  “Think of it,” Petty blurted. “We once sent eight Orion ships at the Valiants in the Saturn system. We had plans to do that year after year after year.”

  “It was a good idea,” Huber said. “We would have worn them down. That Iapetus railgun was just what they needed to break our industrial strength to build the Orion ships. It was a masterful stroke. What else can we say about it?”

  “Mike Steele destroyed the railgun,” Petty said. “We’re not finished yet. We’re still hanging on.”

  “Right,” Huber said. “We’re still hanging on. But when I look at what the Valiants are sending against us this time—”

  “No,” Petty said, holding up a big hand. “We’re not going to give in to despair. We’re not going to speak about how massive the alien advantage is, that tearing down the Voyager and turning it into the Enforcers and mobile asteroids— No!” Petty slapped the desktop. “I will not give in to despair myself, either. We’re going to beat them yet.” Petty pointed at Huber. “You’re going to come up with new and better solutions.”

  “Sir,” the secretary said, interrupting over the intercom, “Senior General Bain is outside.”

  “Send him in,” Petty said.

  The intercom clicked off, and the door opened.

  Petty shoved himself to his feet. Huber did likewise, as the CEO was honoring Bain.

  Bain strode across the office. The two big men shook hands over the desk. Bain was younger but big like Petty. He didn’t have the same confidence he’d shown against a raging Livia Drusus when she’d lost the Indonesian Islands. Perhaps fleeing to the orbitals had taken something from him.

  “I came as fast as I could, sir,” Bain said.

  “Good. Have a seat. Anything to drink?” Petty asked as Bain sat in the one open chair around the desk.

  “No, I’m fine,” Bain said.

  “Water then? Juice? Anything at all?”

  “I’m good, sir,” Bain said.

  “Fine,” Petty said. He sat down.

  Huber sat down after first shaking Bain’s monstrous hand.

  “You’re here for a specific reason today,” Petty said. “I seem to recall Phoenix rocket ships in China somewhere.”

  “Ah, yes,” Bain said. “The Shanghai launch site. I believe the warlord in charge has kept the rockets intact, no doubt to use them as a threat against the orbitals.”

  “Interesting,” Petty said, but by his manner, it didn’t seem he meant that. “Tell me about Shanghai and this warlord.”

  Bain explained that the Shanghai site had multiple launch pads just like the one near Delhi, India. If he remembered correctly, there were twenty-seven rockets in total. Whether they were fueled and ready for immediate takeoff he had his doubts. The rockets would need prepping before they could launch.

  “If you’re worried about a sudden attack from them,” Bain finished, “this is what I’d do. Keep telescopes aimed at the site. Your only worry will be heavily cloudy days when the cloud cover will blind your telescopes. In other words, watch them. If they start to fuel the rockets, you’ll know the orbitals could be the target.”

  “That’s not why I want to know about them,” Petty said.

  “Oh?” Bain said.

  “We want to grab them,” Petty said.

  “Oh,” Bain said. “You mean bring them up here?”

  Petty nodded. “We would put them under your command, as you and your men understand their tactical operations better than others.”

  “I see.”

  “Tell me more about this warlord,” Petty said.

  Bain proceeded to tell what he knew, which was precious little.

  After a time, Huber cleared his throat.

  “Go ahead,” Petty said, pointing at Huber.

  The little man gave a succinct description of the situation around Shanghai. According to him, the warlord’s forces were still armed with high-tech weaponry.

  Petty pursed his lips. “Perhaps we can nudge or bribe a few of his neighbors into making sudden incursions against him. That way, the warlord will have to shift the bulk of his forces to the threatened sectors. If we nudge enough of his neighbors, that might leave the launch site under-defended.”

  Huber grinned, naming a few people they could “nudge” to do exactly that.

  “How long would that take?” Petty asked.

  “Two weeks, if we start now,” Huber said.

  “Excellent. Then—”

  “Excuse me, sir,” Bain said, interrupting. “No matter what happens, the Shanghai launch site is going to be heavily guarded and probably with elite troops. The site represents a strategic threat against the orbitals, and the warlord knows and likes that.”

  “Tell us more about the launch site,” Petty said.

  Bain asked if he could first have a glass of wine.

  Petty spoke into the intercom.

  Soon, the pretty secretary in her short skirt and heels brought Senior General Bain a glass of wine. She smiled, and Bain grinned back widely at her. She turned, and they all watched her leave.

  Petty cleared his throat.

  Bain regarded him. “Excellent vintage,” he said, holding up the goblet.

  “About the launch site…” Petty said.

  Bain took a long sip of his wine, set the goblet to the side, and described what he knew about the Shanghai launch site and the forces probably there.

  “I suspect many of the personnel will be former missile command people from the old World Government,” Petty said.

  “Exactly,” Bain replied.

  “If you were there, would they lay down their arms for you?”

  Bain appeared alarmed, taking another long sip of his wine—the glass half-empty now. He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. The personnel will have given their loyalty to the warlord.”

  “I see,” Petty said. “How about codes and other data our people will need to unlock the silos and rockets if we manage to secure the area?”

  “Regarding that,” Bain said, “I can give you what you need. I can send over a detailed dossier on it.”

  Bain looked at Huber.

  “That would be good,” Huber said.

  They spoke longer, hammered out a few details, and then Petty dismissed Bain after first thanking him for his help. After the senior general left, Petty looked at Huber.

  “I want those Phoenix missiles. I also want to neutralize any strategic threat against the orbitals. We also must beef up our space forces in order to beat the Valiants.”

  “Agreed,” Huber said. “I should speak to Colonel Garvey then.”

  “Yes…” Petty said thoughtfully. “A swift attack from space, grabbing the launch site, and then taking off before any combat units can arrive. The Talons should be able to neutralize any missiles the warlord launches trying to destroy the rockets before we can lift off.”

  Petty pointed at Huber. “This is officially your responsibility. Tell me when everything is set so I can say yes or no.”

  “I should be ready four to six weeks from now,” Huber said.

  “Remember, time is no longer on our side.” We must gather everything as fast as possible. We must defend our planet against the aliens, worrying about round two when it comes.”

  “Yes, sir,” Huber said.

  At that point, Petty grabbed his whiskey and took a long drink, setting the tumbler down with a clunk.

  “I should go lift,” Petty said, “but I’m so damn tired. All right, you can go, but send the secretary here when you leave.”

  Huber looked uncomfortable, but he nodded and headed for the door.

  -5-

  Seven and a half weeks after the meeting in Petty’s office on OS Aphrodite, seven Vertical Descent Shuttles (VDSs) streaked through Earth’s atmosphere like fiery comets, their heat shields glowing brilliant orange. Each shuttle was designed for rapid deployment, plug-shaped with a much wider bottom than top. The shuttles hurtled down from low Earth orbit toward their target outside Shanghai, China.

  Inside the shuttles, space marine pods braced for landing, their exoskeleton armor whirring softly. There were seventy-two marines plus the pilots—a small number to secure a rocket site, but each marine wore special combat armor unique to their service.

  Each suit weighed 1.5 tons and was composed of BPC, or biphase carbide armor. The BPC was made from overlapping layers of carbon fiber, making it light and tough. The BPC also gave slightly at impacts, which helped the armor absorb kinetic and energy strikes. Each marine had a HUD and a comm link to the data net in his armored helmet. There were servos to help the marine move. Everything ran off battery power, which meant the suits were of limited duration.

  First Lieutenant John Steele was in one of the VDSs, separate from Colonel Garvey, who led them. They used .75 recoilless gyroc rifles, EML grenade launchers, and suit missiles. The gyrocs launched rocket-propelled shells, mostly APEX (armor-piercing explosive) rounds. They all had HEX, high-explosive rounds, as well, for anti-personnel fire. The EML was an electromagnetic launcher, giving them greater firepower. The suit missiles were for dire emergencies.

  As the shuttles approached the lower atmosphere, their descent slowed dramatically. Parachutes deployed from each, massive canopies blossoming in the sky, reducing their speed and guiding the shuttles toward the landing zone near the Shanghai rocket site.

  Heavy Talon space interceptors roared ahead, engaging the surface defensive emplacements. Precision-guided munitions and laser cannons tore through the defenses, explosions lighting up the landscape as the Talons paved the way for the incoming shuttles.

  Unfortunately, a problem arose. One of the shuttles’ guidance systems malfunctioned due to the intense heat of re-entry, causing it to veer off course. Inside, the marines held on as the shuttle shook violently. Steele’s HUD flashed with warnings as the shuttle began to spiral.

  “Stabilize the damn thing,” Steele shouted over the comms.

  The pilot fought with the controls, using manual overrides to bring the shuttle back in line. Sweat dripped from the pilot’s forehead as he engaged the backup gyros. The marines felt the shuttle’s erratic movements stabilize, but they were losing altitude fast.

  “Deploying secondary chutes,” the pilot said.

  Emergency parachutes burst open, their canopies straining. The shuttle’s descent slowed, but it was still coming in too fast. The pilot aimed for a clearing, away from the designated zone but safer than crashing into the nearby forest.

  With retro-rockets roaring, shaking the air around it, the shuttle came down too fast, crashing against the ground with a bone-jarring impact. Heavy-duty landing struts and their absorbers took much of the shock, but the force threw the marines hard against their harnesses.

  Steele’s suit servos whined as they compensated for the impact. “Is everyone okay?” Steele asked.

  Affirmatives came through the comms, and the ramp door hissed open. It still worked, as they were made to take a pounding. The marines unhooked and strode out in their armor suits, weapons at the ready. The others were nowhere in sight.

  “Talon One, this is Steele. We’ve landed off course but are moving to the objective. Request air support.”

  “Roger that, Steele. Talon support is inbound.”

  Steele used a map on his HUD. They had to track over some rough ground and hills. At his orders, the nine other marines moved fast. It was like watching rhinos charge, their armored boots sinking into the soil. The servos and exoskeletons worked overtime, heat radiating from them as the suits sucked up battery power.

  Gyroc rifles sweep around for threats. Coming out of a grove of trees, they charged into half a platoon of Chinese soldiers. It surprised them both.

  Where are the Talons? Steele wondered.

  The Chinese wore combat armor akin to old-style SWAT vests and helmets. They carried the latest in assault rifles with sharp little knives acting as bayonets. They all wore shoulder patches with a roaring red dragon on it.

  The space marines were keyed up, the Chinese maybe still shocked by the thunder of the landing VDSs. The marines fired first as they waded through the Chinese. Their heavy armor and superior firepower gave the marines the advantage. HEX rounds, a few EML grenades, and blades sprouting from armored sleeves made it butchery.

  There was wild screaming, blood, and tumbling bodies hitting the dirt, and then it was over. The surviving Chinese sprinted away as they threw aside their weapons.

  “Time to move out,” Steele said. “That took too long. We need to compensate.”

  The pod of marines soon approached the designated LZ. One of them pointed at the other shuttles. The marines from them were already engaging enemy forces, supported by the Talons overhead. The orbital interceptors streaked down, blasting heavy-machinegun strongpoints and automated turrets.

  Steele nodded. That’s what had happened. The Talons had been engaged elsewhere.

  “Steele, get your pod to the southeast perimeter,” Garvey said over the comms. “We need to secure the area before we can take the rocket site.”

  “We’re on it,” Steele said.

  The rhino charge continued as the marines in the 1.5-ton suits jogged into position, taking enemy fire and returning it with compounded interest.

  Chinese defenders, armed with heavy assault rifles and machine guns, had entrenched themselves behind makeshift barricades. The sharp staccato of gunfire and the dull thuds of electromagnetically launched grenades filled the air. Smoke and debris swirled everywhere. Bullets ricocheted off hardened surfaces and space marine suits, and the ground trembled with explosions. A good distance behind the enemy position rose giant launch towers, their target. There were no rocket ships in evidence. Could the warlord have moved the Phoenix rockets?

  Steele decided he could worry about that later. He felt the vibration of some blasts through his boots. It was time to neutralize the enemy.

  Under his direction, his marines advanced, with their armor absorbing impacts that would have killed an unprotected or even SWAT-armored protected soldier.

  Sparks flew off Steele’s chest plate as heavy rounds struck him. He felt some of those, his steps faltering. That was unacceptable as far as he was concerned. His gyroc rifle hissed in response, the distinctive sound of rocket-propelled shells launching. Explosions against the barricades threw enemy soldiers back, their lifeless bodies landing amidst the rubble and concrete walls.

  “Keep moving,” Steele shouted. “Don’t let them pin you down. Our ability to maneuver under fire is baffling them.”

  His HUD highlighted enemy positions as Talons spotted them through automated AI markers. The Talons relayed the data to the marine pods.

  Explosions rocked the area, sending shrapnel in lethal trajectories. Steele’s HUD flickered with the tactical data.

  A squad of defenders, from behind a barricade of sandbags, rose up and unleashed a hail of bullets. Sparks flew as rounds glanced off marine armor. Then two of the space marines went down hard. The bullets struck the faceplates one after another, finally shattering the visors and killing the marines inside.