The Shorter Parts of Valor Read online

  The Shorter Parts of Valor

  Copyright © Tanya Huff, 2022

  First published as an ebook in 2022 by JABberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.

  “Not That Kind of War” originally published in Women of War, DAW Books, 2005.

  “You Do What You Do” originally published in Armored, Baen Books, 2012.

  “First In” originally published in Infinite Stars, Dark Frontiers, 2019.

  “To Dust We Shall Return” originally published in Apocalyptic, Zombies Need Brains, 2020.

  “Long Time Passing” originally published in The Shorter Parts of Valor, JABberwocky Literary Agency, Inc., 2022.

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN 978-1-625675-93-4

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by John Fisk.

  Published by JABberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.

  49 W. 45th Street, 12th Floor

  New York, NY 10036

  awfulagent.com/ebooks

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Author’s Note

  Not That Kind of War

  You Do What You Do

  First In

  To Dust We Shall Return

  Long Time Passing

  About the Author

  Also by Tanya Huff

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Yes, I know. We’re using the American spelling of Valor in the title and yet the stories use Canadian/UK spelling. Trust me, I’d have rather been able to use Canadian/UK spelling on the cover too but we’re trying to get it to match up with the new ebook series where we couldn’t change the interior to Canadian/UK spelling without having to charge you a whole lot more for each book. Which we didn’t want to do. Seriously, we didn’t. My biggest defining characteristic after Canadian is…um, frugal. Yeah, let’s call it frugal.

  But I could use Canadian/UK spellings for these short stories because they’re a lot easier to change than eight books first published with US spelling. And I didn’t have to change “Long Time Passing,” because I wrote it for this collection.

  Anyway, we’re aware. And we recognize some people might find it a bit weird. But we saved you money, so yay.

  “Not That Kind of War,” “First In,” and “To Dust We Shall Return” all happen before the novels. Yes, I know most of you will be able to figure that out on your own, but in case someone new has wandered in, it’s only polite to mention it.

  Not That Kind of War

  The Valor-verse was still fairly small when I wrote this, and I was still hooking up Torin’s battles with actual, real-world battles. Or actual, real comments from Colonel “Chesty” Puller at least. This story, however, wasn’t based on a real battle, but on the attack on Minas Tirith, and rests on Theoden’s comment to Aragorn before charging out of Helm’s Deep of how they should choose to make an end that would be worth a song.

  “We still have one hell of a lot of colonists to get off this rock before we can leave.” Captain Rose frowned out at Sh’quo Company’s three surviving second lieutenants and the senior NCOs. "And every ship going up is going to need an escort to keep it from being blown to hell by the Others so we’re on Captain Allon’s timetable. Given the amount of action up there…” He paused, allowing the distant crack of a vacuum jockey dipping into atmosphere to carry the point. “…we may be down here for a while. Bottom line, we have to hold Simunthitir because we have to hold the port.”

  “The Others have secured the mines," Second Lieutenant di’Pin Arver muttered, her pale orange hair flipping back and forth in agitation, “you’d think they’d be happy to be rid of us.”

  “I’d think so. Unfortunately, they don’t seem to.” The captain thumbed the display on his slate and a three-dimensional map of Simunthitir rose up out of the holo-pad on the table. “Good news is, we’re up against a mountain. As long as our air support keeps kicking the ass of their air support, they can only come at us from one side. Bad news is, we have absolutely no manoeuvering room and we’re significantly outnumbered even if they only attack with half of what they’ve got on the ground.”

  In Staff Sergeant Torin Kerr’s not inconsiderable experience, even the best officers liked to state the obvious. For example: significantly outnumbered. Sh’quo Company had been sent off to this mining colony theoretically to make a statement of force to the Other’s scouts. They’d since participated in a rout and now were about to make one of those heroic last stands that played so well on the evening news. No one had apparently told the enemy that they were supposed to be doing reconnaissance and they had, as a result, sent two full battalions—or the Others’ equivalent—to take the mines.

  “Lieutenant Arver, make sure your remaining STAs…”

  And what fun, they’d already lost two of their six surface to air missile launchers.

  “…are positioned to cover the airspace immediately over the launch platform. See if you can move one of them up here.”

  A red light flared on the targeting grid overlaying the map.

  “Yes, sir.” The lieutenant keyed the position into her slate.

  “Set your mortars up on level four. I want them high enough to have some range but not so high any return fire they draw may damage the port. You’re going to have to take out their artillery or we are, to put it bluntly, well and truly screwed. Staff Sergeant Doctorow…”

  “Sir.”

  Doctorow’s platoon had lost its second lieutenant in the first exchange.

  “…I want all accesses to the launch platform in our hands ASAP. We don’t need a repeat of Beniger.”

  With the Others beating down the door, the civilians of Beniger had rushed the ships. The first had taken off so overloaded it had crashed back, blown the launch pad and half the port. Granted, any enemy in the immediate area had also been fried but Torin figured the dead of Beniger considered that cold comfort.

  “Lieutenant Garly, I want one of your squads on stretcher duty. Get our wounded up into port reception and ready to be loaded once all the civilians are clear. Take position on the second level, but mark a second squad in case things get bad.”

  “Sir.”

  “Lieutenant Franks…”

  Torin felt the big man beside her practically quiver in anticipation.

  “…you’ll hold the first level.”

  “Sir!”

  Just on the periphery of her vision, Torin saw Staff Sergeant Amanda Aman’s mouth twitch and Torin barely resisted the urge to smack her. Franks—Torin’s personal responsibility—while no longer a rookie, still had few shiny expectations that flared up at inconvenient moments. He no longer bought into the romance of war—his first time out had taken care of that—but he continued to buy into the romance of the warrior. Every now and then, she could see the desire to do great things rise in his eyes.

  “You want to live on after you die, Staff.” He danced his fingers over his touchpad, drawing out a martial melody. “Having done something that makes it into a song.”

  Torin didn’t so much want Lieutenant Franks to live on after he died as to live on for a good long time, so she smacked that desire down every time she saw it and worried about what would happen should it make an appearance when she wasn’t around. The enemy smacked down with considerably more force. And what little she’d heard of their music, sucked.

  The captain swept a level stare around the gathered Marines. “Remember that our primary objective is to get the civilians out and then haul ass off this rock. We hold the port long
enough to achieve this.”

  “Captain.” First Sergeant Chigma’s voice came in on the company channel. “We’ve got a reading on the unfriendlies.”

  “On my way.” He swept a final gaze over the Marines in the room and nodded. “You’ve got your orders, people.”

  Emerging out of the briefing room—previously known as the Simunthitir Council Chamber—the noise of terrified civilians hit Torin like a physical blow. While no one out of diapers was actually screaming, everyone seemed to feel the need to express their fear. Loudly. Convinced that Captain Allon would send more escorts down from the orbiting carrier if he could only hear how desperate things had gotten.

  Captain Rose stared around at the milling crowds. “Why are these people not at the port, First?”

  “Port Authorities are taking their time processing, sir.”

  “Processing?”

  “Rakva.”

  Although many of the Confederation’s Elder Races took bureaucracy to a fine art, the Rakva reveled in it. Torin, who after twelve years in the Corps wasn’t surprised by much, had once watched a line of the avians patiently filling out forms in triplicate in order to use a species-specific sanitary facility. Apparently the feathers and rudimentary beaks weren’t sufficient proof of species identification.

  “They’re insisting that everyone fill out emergency evacuation forms.”

  “Oh for the love of God…Deal with it.”

  Chigma showed teeth—a distinctly threatening gesture from a species that would eat pretty much anything organic it could fit down its throat and was remarkably adaptable about both organic and fit. “Yes sir.”

  “Captain…” Lieutenant Franks’ golden brows drew in and he frowned after the First Sergeant. “Begging your pardon, sir, but a Krai may not be the most diplomatic…”

  “Diplomatic?" the captain interrupted. “We’ve got a few thousand civilians to get off this rock before a whole crapload of Others climb right up their butts. If they wanted it done diplomatically, they shouldn’t have called in the Corps.” He paused and shot the lieutenant a frown of his own. "Shouldn’t you be at the first level by now?”

  “Sir!”

  Torin fell into step at his right shoulder as Franks hurried off the concourse and out onto the road that joined the seven levels of Simunthitir into one continuous spiral. Designed for the easy transportation of ore carriers up to the port, it was also a strong defensive position with heavy gates to close each level off from those below. The layout ensured that Sh’quo Company would maintain the high ground as they withdrew. If not for the certain fact that the Others were traveling with both heavy artillery—significantly heavier than their own EM223’s—and sufficient numbers to climb to the high ground over the piled bodies of their dead, she’d be thinking this was a highly survivable engagement. Ignoring, of course, the possibility that the Others’ air support would get off a lucky drop.

  “Well, Staff, it looks like we’ve got the keys to the city. It’s up to us to hold the gates at all costs.”

  And provided she could keep Lieutenant Franks from getting them all killed. But that was pretty much business as usual.

  * * *

  “Anything happen while I was gone?”

  Sergeant Anne Chou shook her head without taking her attention from the scanner. “Not a thing. Looks like they waited until you got back.”

  Torin peered out over the undulating plains, but couldn’t see that anything had changed. “What are you getting?”

  “Just picked up the leading edge of the unfriendlies, but they’re packed too close together to get a clear reading on numbers.”

  “Professional opinion?”

  The other woman looked over at that and grinned. “One fuk of a lot, Staff.”

  “Great.” Torin switched her com to command channel. “Lieutenant, we’ve got a reading on the perimeter.”

  “Is their artillery in range?”

  “Not yet, sir.” Torin glanced up into a sky empty of all but the distant flashes of the battle going on above the atmosphere, the vacuum jockeys from both sides keeping the other side from controlling the ultimate high ground. “I imagine they’ll let us know the moment it is.”

  “Keep me informed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You think he’s up to this?" Anne asked when Torin tongued off her microphone.

  “Since the entire plan is that we shoot and back up, shoot and back up, rinse and repeat, I think we’ll be fine.” The lieutenant had to be watched more closely moving forward.

  Anne nodded, well aware of the subtext. “Glad to hear it.”

  The outer walls of Simunthitir’s lowest level of buildings presented a curved stone face to the world about seven meters high, broken by a single gate. A continuous line of battlement fronted by a stone balustrade that stood about a meter and a half high ran along the top of the buildings.

  Battlements and balustrades, Torin thought as she made her way to the gate. Nothing like getting back to the basics. “Trey, how’s it going?”

  The di’Taykan sergeant glanced up, her hair a brilliant cerulean corona around her head. “She’s packed tight, Staff. We’re just about to fuse the plug.”

  They’d stuffed the gate full of the carts used to move people and goods around inside the city. Individually, each cart weighed about two hundred kilos, hardly enough to stop even a lacklustre assault, but crammed into the gateway—wrestled into position by the heavy gunner’s and their exoskeletons—and then fused into one solid mass by a few well-placed demo charges, the gate would disappear and the city present a solid face to the enemy.

  As Trey ordered the heavies away, Lance Corporal Sluun moved forward keying the final parameters into his slate.

  “Heard he took a first in Go-and-Blow," Lieutenant Franks said quietly by Torin’s left shoulder.

  “Yes, sir.” Sluun had kicked ass at his TS3 demolition course.

  A trio of enemy planes screamed in, closely followed by three Marine 774’s keeping up a steady stream of fire. Two of the enemy managed to drop their loads—both missed the city—while the third peeled off in an attempt to engage their pursuers. The entire tableau shrieked out of sight in less than minute.

  “I only mention it," the lieutenant continued when they could hear themselves think again, "because there’s always the chance we could blow not only the gate but a section of the wall as well.”

  “Trust in the training, sir. Apparently Sluun paid attention in class.”

  “Firing in five…”

  “We might want to step back, sir.”

  “…four…”

  “Trust in the training, Staff?”

  “…three…”

  “Yes sir. But there’s no harm in hedging our bets.”

  “…two…”

  They stopped four meters back.

  “…one. Fire in the hole!”

  The stones vibrated gently under foot.

  “We’ve got a good solid plug, Lieutenant.” Trey announced over the group channel a moment later. “They’ll need the really big guns to get through it.”

  And right on cue came the distinctive whine of incoming artillery.

  This time, the vibrations underfoot were less than gentle.

  Six impacts…

  Torin scanned for rising smoke. “All sectors report damages.”

  Sectors one through five were clear.

  “Sector six caught a non-incendiary, Staff. Blew a hole through the exterior wall and into one of the warehouses.” Corporal Dave Hayman’s voice came over the com. “We’re tossing the slagged machinery into the hole.”

  “Casualties?”

  “A little bruising. We’re good.”

  “Try and keep it that way.” She turned to the lieutenant. “Looks like they’re aiming high, sir.”

  Franks lips thinned. “That means civilian casualties. Why the hell isn’t Arver pulsing their targeting computers?”

  Shots seven, eight, and nine missed the port entirely.
br />   Ten, eleven, and twelve were blown in the air.

  “I think it took them a moment to get the frequency, sir.”

  As the specialists seemed to be doing their jobs, the Marines on the wall ignored the barrage. They all knew there’d be plenty to get excited about later.

  “They’ll send an EMT next.” Franks squinted at the sky. “If they’ve got them. Take out the STAs.”

  They sent another three non-incendiaries. All three were blown in the air.

  Franks shook his head. “I’m sensing a lack of foresight on their part, and I’m betting there’s an artillery officer out there getting his ass reamed.”

  “If they have an ass to be reamed, sir.”

  “Assholes are a universal constant, Staff.”

  Electronics were easy for both sides to disable which was why the weapon of choice in the Corps was a KC-7, a chemically operated projectile weapon. Nothing disrupted it but hands-on physical force and the weighted stock made a handy club in a pinch. Torin appreciated a philosophy that expected to get pinched.

  Eventually, it would come down to flesh versus flesh. It always did.

  As another four planes screamed by, Torin took a look over the front parapet and then turned to look back in over the gate. “Trey, you got any more of those carts down there?”

  “Plenty of them, Staff.”

  “All right, let’s run as many as will fit up here to the top of the wall and send those that don’t fit up a level.”

  “Planning on dropping them on the enemy?" Lieutenant Franks grinned.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Oh.” Somewhat taken aback, he frowned and one of those remaining shiny patches flared up. "Isn’t dropping scrap on the enemy, I don’t know…"

  Torin waited patiently as, still frowning, he searched for the right word.

  “Un-Marine-like?”

  Or perhaps he’d needed the time to make up a new word.

  “Look at it this way, sir, if you were them and you thought there was a chance of having two hundred kilos dropped on your head, wouldn’t you be a little hesitant in approaching the wall?”

  “I guess I would…”

  He guessed. Torin, on the other hand, knew full well that had battle positions been reversed Lieutenant Franks would be dying to gallantly charge the port, screaming once more into the breach! And since her place was beside him and dying would be the operative word, she had further reason to be happy they were on this side of the wall. If people were going to sing about her, she’d just as soon they sang about long career and a productive retirement.