“Powers,” he said, picking up the receiver.
“Sergeant Powers,” said the caller. “It’s good to talk to you again. We met once before – perhaps you will remember?”
“Who is this?” said Powers, not recognizing the voice.
“You may know me as Jacob. If that fails to jog your memory, you may recall that last time we met, I said that I was tempted to put a bullet in the back of your head.”
“Goddammit, you’re taking one hell of a risk calling here,” said Powers, lowering his voice.
“Perhaps,” said Jacob. “Or perhaps not.”
“It’s not safe. You must know that. You are putting both of us in danger.”
“Oh, I rather doubt that,” said Jacob. “And I’m tempted to ask in danger from whom? It’s so difficult to know who to trust these days.”
“I’m not quite sure what you mean.”
“Oh, I think you do. Actually, if I may come straight to the point, I was hoping to speak to Major Carver.”
“Major Carver? I don’t know anyone of that name.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Major. Your secret is out, though I congratulate you on your efforts – you played the part of Sergeant Powers most admirably. A convincing performance, if I may say so, but now I think it’s time for the man who never existed to go into retirement.”
Powers had never had his cover blown before. It figured; it was something that generally happened only once, after which your usefulness in the field came to an end. As a general rule, being blown entailed things becoming either very exciting very quickly, or things becoming suddenly very quiet. The one thing Powers had never expected or envisaged was for his adversaries to ring him up and tell him all about it.
“Well then, it seems as though my performance wasn’t quite convincing enough. Is this what you’ve called to tell me?”
“In other circumstances, perhaps I might have considered it,” said Jacob. “And then again, maybe not. But I digress… It’s true that I had my suspicions from the very beginning. I told you as much, if you remember. However, you were able to persuade enough people on our side that you were genuine – enough people to make a real impact.”
“Well, that’s nice to know.”
“Enough people that now, in a roundabout way, you have managed to achieve your mission objectives.”
“And now I don’t follow you,” said Powers, genuinely puzzled.
“Let me tell you what I think,” said Jacob. “I believe one of our informers – for the time being I won’t say who – was caught, broken, and enough information was extracted to make the infiltration of our cell a viable prospect, to which end Brigadier Faulkner recruited you to act the part of a disaffected serviceman and go fishing out on the east side. Am I right so far?”
“You seem to have all the answers. Who am I to argue?”
“I shall take that as a yes. I witnessed one of your performances, by the way. I have to say you were quite compelling, and as I said, you were able to persuade enough of my colleagues that you were the genuine article.” There was something about the way he said ‘colleagues’ – the disdain in the man’s voice – that made Powers sit up and take note. “Despite my repeated warnings, those same colleagues still very much believe in Sergeant Powers. In fact, they’ve seen fit to grant him an Alpha 3 rating, and believe me when I tell you there are few ratings higher than that.”
“You say they still believe?”
“That is correct,” said Jacob. “I could enlighten them, of course, but recent developments have caused me to… how shall I say… take stock of my situation.”
“Go on,” said Powers.
“For various reasons, I find my position within the Combine intelligence services untenable. As a consequence, I wish to seek asylum within the Alliance.”
“Really? Just like that?”
“Yes, Major. I wish I wish to defect. I would ask you to contact Brigadier Faulkner and forward my request. I believe I’m in possession of quite enough information to make it worth his while. If he will guarantee my safely, I am prepared surrender myself at a time and place of his convenience.”
“And if he refuses?”
“Then I shall simply disappear, and you and the Combine can continue the conflict without me.”
“I understand,” said Powers. “I’ll get in touch with him and forward your request. Perhaps you could call again in say… twenty four hours?”
“Let’s make it forty eight. There are a few things I need to put in order first.”
“OK. I’ll be waiting,” said Powers. And then the line went dead.
Chapter 30: The End of the Line
Combine fleet transport.
“Gently does it,” said the sergeant as he and two of his men lowered the unconscious Major Redmayne into the pilot’s seat of the Raven. As the other two left, the sergeant fastened the major’s straps and then initiated the Raven’s start-up sequence – not that there was much left to be brought back on line. Propulsion was wrecked, as were communications and navigation. Main and auxiliary power were gone. All that was left were a few amps in the batteries. It might be enough to power life support for a few hours – if the machinery held out for that long.
His work complete, the sergeant gave the major a gentle pat on the shoulder. “So long, buddy,” he said without malice. Then he turned and left.
The Raven was sitting in the hangar of a Combine fleet transport travelling at point three light speed towards the Northern Territory border. The sergeant closed the Raven’s hatch and left the hangar deck, sealing the doors as he did so. He travelled the short distance up to the control room overlooking the hangar and made his final visual inspection.
“Hangar deck secure,” he said. “Initiating decompression sequence.”
As the pressure in the hangar fell to zero, the hangar’s outer doors opened to reveal the vastness of empty space beyond. In the control room, a boom operator deftly worked at his controls, gently pushing the Raven out into the void. She held almost perfect formation with the transport until several jets of vapor suddenly escaped from one of her damaged conduits. The reaction pushed her onto her back and away into the darkness.
“The package is away,” said the sergeant, hoping the contents of the package wouldn’t cause him too many bad dreams. Shortly after, the transport fired her braking thrusters and turned away, heading back into Combine space.
Three light days behind them, a Combine frigate detonated a pair of anti-matter mines. If anyone was looking this way they’d see the blast… and in the course of time they’d see the Raven emerging from the same direction. They’d do the math and conclude that the Raven had hit a mine on the edges of Combine space, dropped out of warp and completed the journey at sub-light speed.
The major would not survive, but even he would have been the first to admit that all is fair in love and war.
* * *
Fleet Liaison Office, Loyola Field
“We’ll be sorry to lose you,” said the fatherly lieutenant commander. “I know you never really settled here and I wish we could have done more to make you feel at home. I hope you find whatever you are looking for in your next posting.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Powers, shaking the proffered hand. “But I think I should be the one to apologize. I know I haven’t been the best of company these past few months. It was… something I had to work out of my system.”
“I quite understand,” said the commander. “The war takes its toll on all of us. Anyway, I wish you well. Good luck, Sergeant.”
“And you, sir,” said Powers. He took a last look around the fleet liaison office and made his way off to the exit and the waiting car. He was only slightly surprised to see Brigadier Faulkner waiting in the back.
“Well then, Major,” said Faulkner. “Mission accomplished. I take it you have no objections to being posted out of the liaison office?”
“None at all, sir. Do I have you to thank for that?”
“You do indeed, Major. It’s in my own interests, of course. You are far too useful for us to leave you ‘shuffling papers around all day’, as you put it.”
Powers nodded. “In truth, I don’t suppose I’ll miss the place very much. Some of the staffers, yes. They’re a good bunch. It was a pity I had to keep them at arm’s length.”
“Goes with the territory, Major, and I can’t promise that your next job won’t be much the same. However, for the time being, you are ordered to take some leave. It’s time you got those cybernetic implants sorted out. I think we owe you that much.”
“Understood, sir. I’ll be grateful for that, though I have to admit I’ve grown quite attached to my old friend, here.” He twanged a rubber finger for old time’s sake.
“Well I don’t expect they’ll ask you to give it back. You can keep it for posterity, or the next time we ask you to play a disaffected serviceman.”
“Not sure the same ruse would work twice, sir.”
“Probably not – at least, not here on Tycho. By the way, you may be interested to know that Jacob’s request for asylum had been granted.”
“I imagined it would be… Forgive my suspicious nature, sir, but did it cross your mind that he might be trying to deceive us in the same way that we tried to deceive them?”
“A triple bluff to counter our double bluff?”
“Something like that, sir.”
“I suppose it’s possible, but he’s made it clear that this will be a one way ticket. He can’t go back, which will make it difficult for him to play the double agent. Either way, we’ll find out at his debrief, which is something he is unlikely to enjoy very much. If he’s hiding something, we’ll find it.”
“And if he is on the level…”
“Then who knows what kind of treasure he might be able to give us. If all goes to plan, he’ll come in during the next twenty four hours. And then we’ll know soon enough.”
* * *
Before Jacob surrendered himself to Brigadier Faulkner, there was one last task for him to perform. It was a matter of principle – a matter of honor.
Such concepts would no doubt be lost on Goss, Marten and maybe even on their masters at Tarsus Centre. They would doubtless think their reasoning sound, for honor and principle alone rarely won wars. Ruthlessness with a sprinkling of savagery was a far more potent weapon.
Perhaps all the various players in the game were but products of their time. For Goss and Marten, born into conflict, theirs was a total war, where ultimate victory was the one and only concern.
Jacob and Capper would consider themselves more of the ‘old school’, men for whom principle and honor had to mean something, even in their darkest hours – especially in their darkest hours – and even after decades of conflict. If not, then for what were they fighting, and what kind of universe would await them once the killing and dying had come to an end? Would a policy of ruthlessness still rule the day in times of peace?
In a very short while, the world would come crashing down about Goss’s head – and the heads of many others besides. Jacob wondered if he himself would survive the storm. Would Faulkner and his political masters respect their promise of amnesty? It all came back to principle and honor.
For his part, Capper deserved a far better fate than the one that lay in store for him if he remained at his post. He had earned a long and peaceful retirement. Jacob would do his best to ensure that he received his just rewards. In the end, all it would take was one simple signal: ‘Silverback’ – a code word that would tell Capper that his cover was catastrophically blown. Then like Jacob, Capper would flee straight to his bolt-hole. There he would find the means to make his escape and the financial resources to start a new life wherever he wanted. It was the least Jacob could do for his old comrade.
As for Goss, well… he might also make an escape – if he was quick enough, if he was lucky enough. He was good; Jacob had to admit that much. But if he dallied – as Marten had dallied when he he’d had that gun in his hand – he’d likely find himself swinging at the end of a rope, and sooner rather than later.
After a brief reflection, Jacob decided that it was something he could live with.
Chapter 31: End Game
Trinity Base, Tycho
If there was one thing that a commander could positively rely on, it was the fact that his carefully laid battle plans would not survive contact with the enemy. No matter how detailed or meticulous the planning, no matter how many contingencies were allowed for, once hostilities began, something or someone would conspire to throw the plans awry or – in the worst case scenario – into complete disarray.
The enemy might prove to be more stubborn than anticipated. Conversely, they might run away. Someone might engage in an action so heroic as to swing the battle in their favor; another might falter at a critical moment. All things were possible.
Once the battle had strayed from the prepared script, all the Commander in Chief could do was trust in his corps commanders, who would in turn trust in their divisional chiefs, and so on down the chain of command until you reached the men who fought on the front lines – officers and enlisted men alike. You trusted in their training, trusted in their discipline, and trusted that they would keep the faith.
With the Alliance offensive scheduled to begin in twelve hours, Torrance had exactly that long before his own well laid plans began to unravel. The trick, of course, was to ensure that your enemy’s plans unraveled faster and more completely than your own.
And that brought you back full circle to preparation and planning, which necessarily involved whole departments of people. You gathered around you the ablest men and listened to their counsel, delegating to a trusted few but always leading, always guiding. The decision making process might be a co-operative enterprise but in the end it was the Commander in Chief whose signature finally made those orders law.
It was the consequences of those orders that presently occupied Torrance’s mind as he paced the courtyard within his headquarters, the gravel beneath his feet making a strangely reassuring sound as he rounded the perimeter in the gathering dusk.
Even as he walked, divisions of fighting ships were gathering at their assembly points, thousands upon thousands of sailors and marines all preparing their vessels for combat, sealing bulkheads, testing shields and priming weapons. And as they busied themselves, each crewman and woman would be lost in their own private thoughts as they waited for the ordeal to begin.
Torrance had been there himself and knew at first hand the thoughts that would be going through their minds. What would it be like? How would they stand up to the stresses of battle? How would they shape up under fire? Some might even wonder if they would still be alive come morning. The fortunes of war dictated that some of them wouldn’t, but from fighting admiral to lowly private they had all been granted the same chance – a fighting chance, a soldier’s chance.
All save one.
Aside from a marine guard who stood a discreet distance away, the courtyard was now deserted – in part due to the fact that many of the officers based at Trinity were now deployed with the fleet, and partly in deference to that ancient tradition that granted the senior officer the right to pace his quarter deck in privacy. The courtyard was a far cry from the sailing ships of old, but traditions had their own way of evolving.
Torrance paused to glance up at the darkening sky. One of the first stars to flicker into life was Mikata, an intense, blue star some twenty five light years distant. It was from Mikata that the first wave of Intruders would cross the border, taking out the disrupters and paving the way for the formations of battle wagons which would cross the void and batter the Combine defenses, the heavies in turn making way for the squadrons of cruisers and carriers on whose success would depend the outcome of the whole battle. In his mind’s eye, Torrance could picture every ship in the group, knew it by name, class, capability and officer commanding. Allowing the images to rotate through his mind, he turned his back on the distant
pinprick of light and made his way back indoors. There was little more he could do tonight and he should take the chance to sleep while he still could. Once battle was joined there would be little enough.
There was, however, one final matter for him to attend to before he turned in – a briefing with Brigadier Faulkner. Making his way to the duty desk, he summoned a car to ferry him over to Fleet Intel on the far side of the base. Fifteen minutes later, he was shown into the office where both Brigadier Faulkner and Admiral Tarr were waiting. Both men rose as Torrance entered the room.
“Good evening, General. How goes the war?” inquired Tarr, as Torrance sat down facing the other two men on one of the leather sofas in the center of the room.
“I was hoping that Intelligence might have the answer to that question,” said Torrance with mock humor. “Any news from reconnaissance?”
“Our Intruders report a considerable strengthening of Combine border fortifications in the Tarsus sector,” said Faulkner. “Long range scans indicate that they are also setting up a new defensive line behind the border forts.”
“Make up?”
“A mixture of mines, warp disrupters and static defense platforms.”
“And the Yao sector?”
“Some strengthening of border defenses, but in line with most of the other forward sectors. The latest estimates have already been forwarded to the fleet.”
“If they are strengthening the Tarsus sector to that extent, that’s where they most fear an attack. Any indication as to their fleet deployments?”
“They’re too far out of range to make an accurate assessment.”
“Wherever they are, they’ll fight a defensive action,” said Torrance. “They’ll stay out of sight until we cross the border.”
“And then we’ll know soon enough,” said Tarr flatly.
“I take it there is no news of the Raven,” said Torrance.
“None,” said Faulkner. “Though I never really expected any. We won’t know if the operation has been successful until the assault begins tomorrow.”
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