by Jay Allan
Ghana stood up, motioning for Sand to stand back. The security chief had leapt up the instant Roan had fired, and he was standing against the wall, his own pistol now in his hand and aimed at the sobbing man on the floor. Ghana could see the scowl of anger on Sand’s face, and he knew the newly-promoted major was ready to put a bullet in Roan’s head, despite the fact that the treacherous officer had just saved their lives.
Ghana felt a confusing wave of emotions. Anger at the betrayal, of course. Gratitude that Roan had repented and saved his life. Distrust for a man who had turned traitor…and respect for the risk Roan had taken to return to his old allegiance. But mostly…the realization that he needed Roan, that his plan would require him to rely on this man.
“Jangus, no.” His voice was calm, so much so that it surprised even him. “We have much to do if we are going to salvage the situation. Carteria’s men are all around this headquarters. If I try to leave…if they find out their assassin is dead, we are lost.”
“But how are we going to get you out of here, General?” Sand moved toward the desk as he spoke. His voice was shaky, filled with concern.
“We’re not, Jangus. I’m not going anywhere. But you are.” He looked over at Roan. “And you are as well, Massen…if you are serious about aiding me…the army.”
“Yes, General, what can I do?” Roan sounded nervous, but Ghana took that as a good sign, evidence of sincerity. “Anything.”
He’d be calmer if he was just planning to bolt…
“Jangus, Jinn Barkus was carrying a communique from me to General Lucerne, a proposal for peace, an attempt to prevent battle.” He paused. “It’s too late for that now…and we now know Jinn didn’t make it. But if you’re willing to carry it, I’d like to try again with a new message. I have an idea how to end this, how to save the army.” He paused. “But it will be dangerous…”
“Yes, General. I will carry your message.” Sand took another step forward. “I will leave as soon as it is ready.”
“I will record it now, Jangus. The sooner you go the better.” He turned toward Roan. “And Massen, I have an even more difficult and dangerous task for you, one I believe will be made possible by your former participation in the cabal against me.” Another pause. “If you are willing to do this for me. Your life will be at great risk.”
Ghana stared at the repentant traitor. It was troubling, deeply unnerving, to entrust the future of the army, the survival of his family…everything…to a man who had conspired against him. But he had no choice…and he knew Roan didn’t either. He’d killed the Carterian assassin. There was no going back for him.
“I will prepare an address to the army, Massen. And when it is ready you will take it to the comm tent…and you will transmit it over the main channel.”
Roan shifted nervously. “What message?”
“That is not your concern. You will go…and come back in one hour. The data crystal will be waiting here for you. Just take it and see that it is transmitted.” He paused. “I know this is dangerous, Massen, but I am counting on you. You are the only hope of stopping Carteria from gaining control of the army and the Badlands…indeed, of the entire Northern Continent. I know you faltered before, you made an ill-fated decision. But if you do this, you will earn forgiveness, from me…and from every soldier in the army. From every resident of the Northern Continent.”
Ghana could feel the tension, the fear. If Roan didn’t come through, it was all over. His lands, his family…all gone. He had a hundred men he would have trusted more than the treacherous officer standing in front of him…but none who could get to the communications tent with Carteria’s men watching. None save Roan.
The officer stood, frozen, and for a moment his expression was uncertain. But then his features hardened, and Ghana could see the decisiveness taking hold. “Yes, sir,” Roan said, “I will do it.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Ataphor Basin
“The Badlands”
Northern Celtiboria
The “Battle of Ataphor” – Third Phase: The Retreat
“Keep up your fire…and stay the hell down.” Blackhawk was on the sand himself, staring out at the approaching enemy troops. They were good, well-trained, though no more, he guessed, than Lucerne’s. Less, actually…or at least lacking the same elan. They were arrogant, certainly, but that wasn’t the same thing. But there was no question they were better equipped, an amount of money lavished on their weapons and support gear that Lucerne’s footsore legions could only dream about. And that had been the difference in the battle. Victory had been within the general’s grasp, at least when only Ghana’s legions had stood before him, but it had been ripped away by Carteria’s magnificently equipped expeditionary force.
“We can’t get a good line of fire from here…Major.” The lieutenant’s voice was stilted, uncomfortable, the resentment in his voice clear as he addressed Blackhawk by his new rank.
Advancement in Lucerne’s army was something soldiers earned. There was no patronage, no nepotism…only success in battle mattered. Courage, attention to duty. Yet Lucerne had inexplicably—at least from the perspective of his officers and men—bestowed a major’s commission on his newest ally. The act had taken Blackhawk by surprise as well, and he’d almost refused. But then he’d realized it was an accommodation, not a long term commitment. If Blackhawk was going to help the Warlord extricate himself from this mess, he’d need some level of authority.
“Neither can they, Lieutenant…and their weapons are a bigger threat than yours.” Blackhawk had volunteered to lead the rearguard, to buy whatever time he could for the rest of the army to get away. It was dangerous duty, but he knew if Lucerne’s people were going to have any chance, they needed his experience directing the holding force. He knew the enemy weapons, better than Carteria’s men knew their own ordnance, he suspected. And he understood just what they could do to a disordered, retreating army.
Blackhawk had tried to think of a way to fight against the enemy’s imperial weapons. If they’d been in the mountains, the jungle, anywhere but here, maybe. But the desert was too wide open. Save for a few rocky ridgelines, it was a perfect killing ground, a nightmare for a broken, fleeing army. He’d only come up with one idea. The imperial particle accelerators were powered by small nuclear fuel rods…and the reloads were breathtakingly expensive. Even Carteria, with all his wealth, could only afford a limited number of cartridges. And Blackhawk was willing to bet he’d only committed a limited number to his Northern Continent expeditionary force.
“I want the squad assault guns set up and firing, Captain. Now!” Blackhawk intended to buy time for Lucerne’s battalions to retreat…but he had another thought, one that was purely a gut play. If he could make the enemy burn through their imperial ordnance, he could blunt the enemy attack, possibly even allow Lucerne to reorganize his troops and counterattack.
It was dicey business, guessing how many reloads the enemy had. But Blackhawk tended to follow his hunches…and the four hundred soldiers Lucerne had placed under him were about to get a lesson in how it felt to be commanded by a true madman, one far colder and more willing to spend their lives for victory than Augustin Lucerne. And there was no question in Blackhawk’s mind…his force was a target, one he would use to draw as much enemy fire as possible.
* * *
Ghana was alone at his desk. Roan and Sand had hidden the assassin’s body in a supply room before they’d both gone. Sand had slipped away with the message for Lucerne and Ghana’s plea to move as quickly as possible. And Roan had gone with instructions to come back in an hour. Ghana figured he had at least that long before anyone came looking for Zoln Darvon…and the army was committed, its orders clear, to pursue Lucerne’s retreating forces.
He’d only needed a few minutes to record his address to the army, but he’d given himself the whole hour. It was a selfish decision, but he’d wanted time to think, to remember. To create another message, a private one. To Sinase, some things he’d wished
he’d said long before. And a few words to his children. He could only hope his plan was successful, that his messages were delivered. That Lucerne was victorious and heeded his plea to spare his family.
He’d watched the recording he had made, the address to his troops, and then he placed the recorder on the desk, right where he’d told Roan to find it. He wondered again how he’d ever gotten so desperate as to trust a traitor with something so important…with the survival of his army, his family, even the Northern Continent itself. But something inside told him Roan would do what he’d asked.
He glanced down at the desk again, scooping up the image of Sinase he’d set down earlier. It was an older photo, taken a few months after the birth of their first child. It had been a relatively peaceful period in his career, one that had seen him home for a far longer time than usual. As he looked back now, he realized it had been the happiest he’d ever been, indeed, perhaps the only time he had been truly happy. He’d felt the elation of victory many times, but now it all seemed pointless, empty. He had reached the end of that road, and now all he felt was a longing for those simpler days, to walk along the shoreline, to hold his wife’s hand as they watched the waves. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the jasmine scent of her, the sound of her voice in the still of the night, but it had been long, and the freshness of his memories had faded.
“I am sorry, my love, that ours wasn’t a different life. I am sorry, my children that you grew up without me there, that mine was a passing presence in your lives. Will you mourn me? Truly?
His eyes glanced at the chronometer. Five minutes left. It was time.
He reached down, opening the desk drawer, pulling out a dark object. A pistol.
He set it down softly, putting his hand on the switch to activate the recorder.
“My beloved soldiers, I have told you what you must do, and I beseech you to carry out these orders…my last orders.” He paused, looking into the camera. “As I tape this, I am a virtual captive in my camp, surrounded by Carteria’s soldiers. I have already survived one assassination attempt…and it will not be long until another is made. Or worse, until I am taken captive, used in some way to control your actions. I would not live that way, a prisoner, watching my soldiers yield to slavery in an effort to save me.”
He took a deep breath, his hand moving slowly across the desk. “So, my soldiers, know by my actions now that I am with you, as I always will be. Go now, all of you. Fall upon Carteria’s troops, attack them everywhere you can. Destroy the invader, drive them back into the sea. Do not fight General Lucerne and his soldiers. Stand together with them against the Carterians…and then I beg you all, swear yourselves to him, to his service. For though we were enemies, I know that Augustin Lucerne is a man of honor, and I trust that he will care for you all…as I can no longer do.”
He picked up the pistol and turned it toward his head. “Farewell, my brave warriors…and serve me one last time, follow my orders now and free yourselves.”
He took one last deep breath, savoring the air, the feeling of his lungs filling. He pressed the gun to his temple, steeling himself, putting all that remained of his courage into this last act. Then his finger tightened…and it was over.
Bako Ghana was dead.
* * *
Roan walked across the sandy dirt track that formed the main street of the camp. The headquarters was a small group of shelters, perhaps twenty prefab buildings dropped in an almost haphazard layout. He stared straight ahead, trying to look as natural as possible as he walked back to Ghana’s office, though inside he was barely holding it together.
He’d stayed away one hour after he’d left, and now he had returned, precisely on time. He was on his way to pick up the message the general had asked him to broadcast. He walked into the outer office, his eyes panning around the empty room. He and Sand had hidden the body of the murdered aide along with the assassin’s, and now the room was still empty, the station unmanned. Ghana had made it clear he didn’t want to be disturbed, and it appeared he had indeed been left alone for an hour.
Roan walked up to the inner door and knocked twice before he opened it and let himself in. His eyes panned the room, and it took an instant before they focused on the desk…and the dark form slumped over there. He felt a wave of panic as he saw it was Ghana, focused on the blood still pooling on the surface, running down in rivulets along the side of the desk. His first thought was that Eleher had sent another assassin, one who’d succeeded this time. He spun around, checking the room in a near panic, his hand dropping to his belt, pulling out his own sidearm. But there was no one else there, no sign of any struggle.
He almost turned and ran, sickened at the thought of what had happened. But he looked down, noticed the pistol on the floor where it had fallen from Ghana’s hand, and clarity came to him. The general had killed himself.
Roan was shocked, standing utterly still for a few seconds in stunned surprise. But then it began to make sense to him. He remembered Ghana’s tone earlier, his words. He realized he had listened to the general, but failed to truly hear. Now he understood. This is what the Warlord had intended all along.
Of course, he thought…I it makes sense. Whatever happens, he was never getting out of here. The Carterians are everywhere. There was no escape for him. Only a chance for us…for the army.
He felt a fresh wave of guilt. He’d succumbed to the advances of the Carterians because he’d allowed petty resentments to cloud his judgment, to wear down his loyalty to Ghana. He’d been upset at the recent defeats, and he’d blamed the general for the humiliation, for the friends he’d lost in the fighting. He’d convinced himself he’d been denied a promotion he felt he deserved…and the Carterians had known just how to come at him. Ghana had lost his edge, they said. He was a danger to the army. It was time to force his retirement, to send him to comfortable pasture. For the good of his comrades.
What a damned fool I was.
He stared at the body of his commander, the man he’d served for half his lifetime. He remembered the feelings he’d felt years before, when he was young and his loyalty was new, not worn down by hard service and defeat.
I am sorry, General…I will not fail you again.
Roan found himself invigorated, a feeling of urgency to see Ghana’s last orders carried out. The guilt over his treachery had turned around, become a driving force now, filling him with determination. He had to do what he’d promised the general. He had to get Ghana’s last message out, save the army from falling under Carteria’s dominion.
He reached over to the desk, pulling the data crystal from the camera. He turned, his eyes dropping to his fingers, red with Ghana’s blood that had splattered over the device. He walked over to the wall, wiping his hand, leaving a trail of red behind as he did.
His stomach was in turmoil, fear at the danger of what he must do, regret at Ghana’s death, uncertainty over what would happen in the hours and days ahead. He took a deep, ragged breath, struggling to calm himself as he stepped into the outer office and then, a few second later into the waning light of late afternoon. He could hear the sounds of battle, fading now, distant. Lucerne’s forces were in full retreat, and the Ghana’s battered units that had been driven back earlier had rallied and begun to pursue. There were officers running about, the business of the camp in full swing.
General Ghana had left orders he was not to be disturbed, but Roan knew it was only a matter of time before someone entered his officer shelter…and discovered what had transpired, that Ghana was dead, along with his aide and one of Carteria’s operatives. When that happened, the shit would hit the fan…and Carteria’s people would clamp down on the camp, take full control and arrest—or kill, Roan didn’t know which—the loyalist Ghanan officers and men.
He hurried his pace, moving steadily toward the comm shelter. There were two guards on duty outside, and an officer, Dal Fragus. The sentries were normal, but Roan knew Fragus was one of the conspirators, obviously there to keep an eye on the communic
ations center. He felt a chill, a ripple of fear running down his spine.
Okay, keep cool. Fragus thinks you’re one of Carteria’s supporters. Just act like you have business in the com center.
“Dal,” Roan said, nodding as he walked to the door.
“Massen.” Fragus’ eyes moved over him.
Roan felt himself freeze, but he fought to resist, to move smoothly through the door. He knew Fragus had no reason to suspect him, but it took all he had to keep himself from shaking uncontrollably.
“Are you okay, Massen? You don’t look so good.” Fragus had moved up right next to Roan, and he was whispering into his ear.
Roan stopped, his stomach twisted into a tight knot. He was busted.
“I know, Massen…”
Roan forced back the bile, clenched his fists as he fought to keep his stomach from emptying its contents.
“You know what, Dal?” He managed to get the words out, calmly…or at least something close to it. He stood in place, dreading the answer. He had a sudden urge to run, to flee for his life. But he kept enough control to realize there was no chance he’d get away. No, he had to see this through, try to allay any suspicions Fragus had.
“I know it is difficult,” Fragus said, his voice even quieter, his lips right up against Roan’s ear. “Killing Jinn Barkus couldn’t have been easy…and I know you’re beating yourself up over it.”
Roan felt a massive wave of relief. Fragus didn’t know why he was here…he was just sympathetic about the incident with Barkus.
“Yes,” he said softly. “It is difficult…but we do what we must, don’t we?” He paused. “Right now, I’ve got some business inside.”
Fragus stepped back and nodded.
Roan returned the nod, and he walked through the door.
Almost there…
Chapter Twenty-Seven