Spear of Destiny James Baldwin (free romance novels .TXT) 📖

long it took the 2nd Company to get here. We’ll literally have to send the fleet back tonight with Ignas’ ship.”

“And we have to take out Zoltan tomorrow.” I finished the thought. “Of the airships we have, only two Bathory-class skirmishers and the cargo ships belong to us. So that screws the pooch on a larger-scale airdrop. Those skirmishers can carry 200 people each, maximum, and we ideally don’t want them to contain a full load because of the altitude.”

“So, whatddya think we should do?” Suri leaned against the door, folding her arms. “Do we try and pull off the extraction? Or do we focus on the bigger picture, and forfeit Bas until the spring thaw? We can send Kitti off with the fleet, and she can shelter in Taltos. Zoltan won’t get her there.”

I bought up the KMS and surveyed our remaining forces. The new Destroyers I’d ordered from Litvy were still a week away from completion. The loss of the 2nd Company meant we had no mage corps, no high-mobility aerial units, and fewer specialists of all disciplines: artillery, engineering, infiltration, healing. It also meant the recall of the Knights of the Red Star, who had arrived in Krivan Pass this afternoon. Taethawn only had 811 units available, almost all infantry.

“What about recalling the Myszno Defense Force volunteers?” Suri asked, in response to my silence. “With our current Renown, we can muster up to fifty thousand conscripts, if we have to.”

“No. We’ll lose all that Renown if we do,” I said, linking my hands on the desktop. “The scouts said there’s about two thousand troops in Solonovka, about five hundred crammed into the actual castle. But the vast majority of Zoltan’s troops aren’t loyal to him. Once we cut off the head, the rebellion will collapse. With our two remaining warships, we can bus three hundred Orphans Company soldiers right into that fucking castle and take him out.”

“Three hundred against two thousand? Phew.” Suri shook her head.

“No. Three hundred against five hundred, at least two-fifty of whom will still be in their underwear.” I said. “I know it seems asymmetrical as hell, but we still have some fucking great units. You, Karalti, the Yanik Rangers, the Orphans’ Company elite… if we work together, we can pull this off.”

Suri thought about it. One side of her mouth curved into a wicked smile. “All the Yanik and Taethawn’s best gained their wings today, and they’re chomping at the bit to test out their skills. If we have the gear and the morale, we can pull this off. We expected to be the vanguard, but if we’re the main force, so be it.”

“I’ll call the officers back one last time, and we’ll speak to them and Zlaslo.” I selected the leader of the Yanik Rangers in the Kingdom Management System, and sent him an alert. “We send the Royal 2nd back to Taltos, but come hell or high water, we leave for Bas tomorrow afternoon. And once Kitti is back on her throne, we take the fight to Ororgael.”

Chapter 25

My own experiences as a paratrooper had drilled a set of images and smells into my memory: the cavernous spartan troop carrier, little more than a big flying tube with rows of folding seats down the length of the plane. Every seat held a grim-faced soldier. Some feigned relaxation. Some meditated or prayed, others jittered their legs or chewed bits of paper, or just ground their teeth and stared at the exit doors. I could still hear the roar of the engines fluxing, the sergeants barking over the radio, and taste the way the frigid cabin smelled like an old greasy gym bag.

Thanks to the Orphans, our journey to Bas was the literal opposite of the UNAC Grunt Experience.

Meewfolk were different to humans in one fundamental way: They were a predator species. Normal, non-psychopathic humans needed desensitization and training to overcome their social instincts, but every single one of these fuzzy Blue Ribbon cat-show champion-looking motherfuckers was a natural born killer. They gave about as much of a fuck about taking a life as real cats did—which is to say, absolutely none. Any one of Taethawn’s soldiers would happily tear someone’s head off, kick it around on the ground for a while, and then bring the severed torso back to their bae and leave it on their bed for them to find in the morning. They didn’t need to psych themselves up into Condition Red before a fight. They actually had to loosen up and shed the societal inhibitions that allowed them to function in society and not murder us or each other. So Taethawn’s men got ready for war by partying and taking drugs. Lots and lots of drugs.

We were an hour off the drop point, and a hundred armored catfolk hung out on the decks of the ship: hollering, hissing, laughing, and chugging kegs of what the HUD Item Identifier euphemistically labeled [Meewfolk Battle Tea]. Taethawn was in the thick of it. He was kitted out and ready to go, any visible metal painted a dark-blue grey to blend with the night sky. He and all the other Meewfolk had rubbed grease and ash into the white parts of their fur to darken it. As I headed toward his posse, he rolled onto his back and flipped agilely to his feet, spinning down into an athletic Cossack dance as his officers whooped and yowled.

“Come and join us, your grace! And you lot! Rise for the Voivode!” Taethawn roared as he swiped his mug off the ground mid-kick and spiraled up to his feet. His pupils were the size of saucers. “Mra’ha gai!”

“Mra’haaa gaiii!” His bloodriders sprung up as well, smacking their mugs together so hard the earthy-smelling contents spilled.

I couldn’t help but grin. “How’s everyone feeling, Taethawn? Ready to fly?”

“Are we ready? Of coursssse! My mother shot me into the air like