Peacemaker: The Corona Rebellion 2564 AD

by Gordon Savage

  Jennings sat down stiffly in the chair. Commandant Winsock looked directly into his eyes. “Corporal, have you been using my web account to send out orders I didn’t authorize?”

  Jennings’ face stayed frozen. “No, ma’am.”

  “Don’t lie to me, corporal.”

  “Ma’am. I …” His voice broke.

  “The truth!”

  “I … Yes, ma’am,” he hesitated. “I was assigned here to issue orders in your name when the regional commander sent them to me.” Again he hesitated. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re a civilian and a politician, not a real officer. Headquarters put me here to make sure effective orders were issued on time.”

  “I see. Did you issue the orders that had Mr. August being watched?”

  “No, ma’am. Those went directly from the regional commander to Sergeant Grainger.”

  “This just keeps getting better. How many of the militia are issuing orders that bypass this office?”

  “I don’t know, ma’am.”

  “Make a guess. How many do you know of personally?”

  “Four of us now that Grainger is dead.”

  “Mercenaries?” Colt asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  ###

  It was nearly five o’clock when Lindsay and Brady picked up Colt at the visitor parking area. “You made it!” Lindsay gloated. “I watched the interview on the web. Do you really believe she knew nothing about the harassment?”

  Colt beamed at her. As he strapped in and the van lifted off, he said, “I’m sure of it. When I talked to Evan afterwards, he said he had just gotten word that she had been replaced as the Sykesville Commandant.” Then he looked back at Brady. “Hi, sport.”

  Interlude

  Quan paced back and forth in front of McKillip’s desk. He had just given her a report on another successful militia operation. A voice from the wall screen interrupted his thoughts.

  “And now a strange story out of Sykesville. Our field reporter, Martha Fletcher, is on scene.”

  McKillip looked up at the webcast from the report. She briefly tried to rub the haze of fatigue from her eyes, as the image switched to the office of the Mayor of Sykesville. A man dressed in garish clothes was taking a seat across from the mayor’s desk. Martha Fletcher stood in the foreground. She said, “This man is William August. Just a few minutes ago he was released from the city’s jail, where he was being held because he allegedly had threatened the life of the mayor. The local militia unit had been ordered to shoot him on sight, but he was able to surrender to one of the militiamen who turned him over to the mayor’s guards rather than shoot him. A shoot on sight order is virtually unheard of these days. This one was rescinded as soon as the marshal’s office confirmed his story. Let’s listen in.” She vanished from the image.

  The man spoke of militiamen kidnapping his fiancé’s son and how he was threatened when he tried to talk to the mayor, who was also the local militia commandant.

  When the newscast broke from the report, McKillip looked at Quan. “What the hell is this all about? Who gave that order?”

  Quan scowled and shook his head. “I don’t have any idea.” He looked at his display. “But I will say we’d have been better off if the order had been carried out. That man is the one I’ve been telling you about. He’s starting to become a real threat, organizing the locals in the southern half of the province to resist the militia.”

  “I don’t approve of assassinations,” McKillip pointed out. “And that’s what that would have been. I also disapprove of involving children – in any way. What’s this about kidnapping?”

  Quan looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he said, “We had people keeping an eye on August, but they were supposed to harass him, not kidnap the kid.”

  Quan looked at his display again. “This says the men who kidnapped the boy were killed by a merc named Grainger, and an off-duty Sykesville marshal shot him down. Grainger died in the crash. I met Grainger a while back. He had a hair trigger, but I can’t see him ordering a kidnapping. I’ll look into it.”

  “And what about this shoot on sight order?”

  “Apparently someone had bad information and was trying to protect the mayor.”

  “But the order would have to go through her, and Winsock was clearly as surprised to hear about it as I was. What’s this about a separate chain of command bypassing Winsock?”

  “Again, I don’t know. Clearly something is fouled up. I’ll have to check into that too.” He rolled up his display. “I need a secure net. I’ll be back when I get the query started.”

  Outside in the corridor, he opened his communicator. “Now what?” he growled to himself. When the communicator showed “connected,” he said, “We have to talk.”

  Chapter 29

  The following morning Colt took Lindsay aside. “I’m going over to Toby’s to check on the command post, and I’ll be gone most of the morning. After yesterday I don’t anybody will be harassing you, but just in case, if you see or hear anything suspicious just say the name Delilah. I’ve instructed Jeffrey to immediately call me and hook me up to his audio and video pickups if you say that. I’ll be on my way in thirty seconds or less.”

  “Do you think that’s necessary?”

  “I hope not. I think it’ll at least take the militia a little time to recruit someone new for the job. Plus with the news coverage, if they start harassing us again — the wrong people are likely to start investigating. Still, I’d rather be prepared.”

  “We’ll be all right.” She stepped back, as if to shield her doubt from his eyes. “See you this afternoon.”

  ###

  The “stink bug committee” had set up a command post in Toby Walker’s basement. From there, teams of observers kept constant watch on the messages flowing back and forth among the militia units, compiling a stack of potential intelligence. Nothing had seemed threatening for the first few days, but that changed shortly after Colt arrived that morning.

  “Gus, these messages I’m decoding don’t look good.” Troy Mercer looked up from his desk monitor. “Even when they’re translated, they’re still cryptic.” He switched to the latest message and the image on the monitor changed. “Look at this one. It says they’re preparing for practice maneuvers, but the coordinates are right on our northern border with militia controlled territory.”

  Colt studied the message for a few seconds. “This has them moving into position before sunup on Thursday. With neither Selene nor Luna up, that would be a good time for the militia to slip into position without being seen. We’d need night vision to keep a watch out for them. Looks like they’re preparing for a real attack. I think it’s time to assemble the troops.”

  He called across the room to Walker, “Toby, it’s time for a war council. Apparently the militia aren’t going to give us time to pull any more pranks.”

  An hour later everyone was in agreement. Colt listened in as innocuous sounding comm calls went out, all with the keyword “Peacemaker.” The volunteers invited friends who were also volunteers over for dinner or a game of cards. Colt knew that to outside observers the gatherings that would take place that evening would seem like normal visits. What they wouldn’t see was that when the flyers returned home after the visits, not all of the visitors would return. The men and women who stayed behind would deploy after dark to set up their defensive positions.

  Two days later the attack came.

  ###

  The spring wheat had been harvested, leaving much of the valley covered with dry, brown stubble that ran for kilometers in all directions, broken only by the occasional stream, road, and farm buildings. The militia, wearing night-vision goggles, headed directly toward several of those buildings. One was the house of the widow Hansen.

  Hidden by the dense bayberry shrubbery, Colt watched the approach from in front of the porch of Lindsay’s house. He wanted to be in the open in case any of the militia members got through and he had to stop them. He whispered into his communicator, “H
ow are we doing? Are any of the squads still out of the containment fields?”

  “This is Len. I’ve got one squad still hanging out on the road. I can’t see any reason for the delay.”

  “We’ll give them another two minutes. Let me know if they move,” Colt announced. “Anyone have squads that will be out of position by then?”

  There was no response. Two minutes later Colt keyed his mike and said, “Okay, troops. That’s it. Light ‘em up!”

  Immediately fires broke out all across the occupied fields. The stubble near the force field fences caught fire first, and a few militia stragglers were singed. Most of the militia was already well away from the field borders and wearing fireproof fatigues, so no one was seriously hurt.

  The leader of the squad that had been approaching Lindsay’s house was the first to recognize that the smoke was only rising about three meters and was rapidly spreading out inside the force field. He signaled his squad and broke into a run for the middle of the field.

  Colt heard him calling on the militia frequency as he ran, “The farmers have capped the force fields and the smoke can’t get out. Get to the middle of the field and get down. The fire will burn away from the force fences quickly. When it does, we can run through the flames to the perimeter.”

  It didn’t turn out to be that easy. The fires were sucking up the available oxygen rapidly. By the time the stubble near the force fences had burned out, the air was full of smoke and the oxygen had been depleted to the point that the fires were dying down on their own. Not a single shot had been fired, but the militiamen had been overcome by the combination of smoke, carbon monoxide, and lack of oxygen.

  The sky was brightening rapidly as Colt trotted through a gap between the fences. When he neared the road, he slowed to a walk. The smoke kept him out of sight, but he didn’t want to risk startling anyone from the stranded squad and being shot. Before he got to the road, the sound level had started changing as the force fields shut down. A stiff breeze out of the west began dissipating the smoke and blew it across his path. He had to hold his breath for the last ten meters to avoid inhaling it, but by the time he reached the road, the air had almost cleared.

  One of the militiamen saw him. “Hey! Stop right there,” he shouted, swinging a blast rifle around to point at Colt.

  Colt stopped. He said, “What the hemlock do you think you’re doing? I’m unarmed. Point that thing somewhere else.”

  The militiaman looked at the squad leader. She nodded, and he lowered his weapon.

  Colt turned to the squad leader, a green-eyed blond with three stripes on her sleeves. “Sergeant, we can use your help. As you can see, the rest of your division is on the ground.”

  He swept his arm around, indicating the open fields where the provincials were gathering weapons and checking the downed militiamen for vital signs. As they were watching, several provincials signaled for assistance and other provincials trotted over with litters. The litter bearers quickly loaded the inert forms of militiamen and hustled them to the nearest farm house.

  “We need to make sure no one was seriously hurt, and do so as rapidly as possible so we can get you folks on your way back home. You can help speed things up if you’ll leave you’re weapons here at the carriers and start checking the downed troops in that field. There’s a med station in that farm house,” Colt said.

  “Leave our weapons?” the sergeant asked warily.

  “The litter bearers have been instructed not to approach anyone with weapons, and even if you carry the ones needing treatment yourselves, the med station won’t allow you in with weapons.”

  The sergeant hesitated.

  “Those troops need your help, sergeant. Get moving,” Colt ordered.

  The squad members looked at their sergeant for direction. She removed her rifle and ordered, “Do it! Alpha patrol, take the west side. Bravo, take the east.” She dropped her rifle and pistol in the carrier. The rest of the squad followed suit. “Move out!” she ordered.

  As Colt watched the squad work its way among the downed militiamen, Toby Walker approached on the road. “That was too easy,” he said, grinning.

  Colt nodded. “If they decide to try again, they won’t make the same mistake.” He started walking toward the farm house.

  “They can’t make the same mistake,” Walker agreed. “We don’t have any more stubble to burn.”

  “I mean underestimating us,” Colt responded. “A ground attack was just plain arrogant. They knew that the hick farmers in the south half of the province couldn’t put up an effective fight, and their leadership wanted to give them an easy victory.” He paused. “My main concern right now is that our troops remember that these people are still our friends and neighbors. We don’t want to do anything to them that they’ll resent later.”

  The militia squad called for litters several times before Colt and Walker reached the farm house. By the time they arrived, the ambulatory casualties were straggling up the front steps. Colt stood on the porch until the squad leader, trailing the last of her troops, approached supporting a groggy militiaman.

  Colt jogged over to her. “Let me help you with him,” he said, wrapping the man’s left arm around his neck and shouldering some of his weight.

  “Thanks.” The sergeant looked back where the carrier was parked. “What are they doing to my carrier?”

  “They’re putting it away.”

  “But …”

  “Don’t worry. We have buses coming to get you home.” He forestalled her next question by holding up his left hand. “If the carrier is personal property, leave a physical address and we’ll get it back to you.”

  “It isn’t, but out of curiosity, how soon?”

  “We’ll try to get all the personal items back to their owners tomorrow, but it will depend on how much we have to return.”

  “What about the weapons?”

  “Sorry, if nobody claims them, the weapons and other equipment go into storage.”

  “But the pistol is mine.”

  They had reached the med station and paused a moment to turn the dazed militiaman over to Doctor Strauss. She had him lie down on a gurney and ran a scanner over him. She eyed the results on the monitor, produced an injector, and gave him two quick shots. “The first shot was to clear all the contaminants out of your blood. It’ll take a couple of hours, and your blood will be good as new. The second shot was for your heart. It will take care of you for now, but I don’t recommend you play any more war games until you get your heart repaired.”

  Colt looked back at the sergeant. “Personal weapons will be sent back to their owners by delivery service. C.O.D. Again, just leave your address.”

  She laughed. “You have this all worked out, don’t you?”

  “We just wanted to make sure that no one got hurt.”

  She laughed again and extended her right hand. “I’m Diane Feldman.”

  “William August. My friends call me Gus.”

  “So Gus, what is going on here? You were obviously prepared for us.”

  “The way we see it, we’re not enemies,” Colt answered. “We simply have a difference of opinion. So we wanted to avoid doing anything that would make you mad at us. By disarming you and sending you home, we hope you’ll not try to bother us again.”

  “That doesn’t seem like much of a military strategy.”

  “I’m former navy, and the navy is called ‘Peacemaker’ for a reason. Why do battle if there’s another solution? Of course, if you happen to have a bigger club handy, it helps.”

  “I don’t think I want to know what that was.”

  A few minutes later a provincial Colt didn’t know stuck his head in the door and shouted, “The first bus is here. If you’re able-bodied, please help someone who isn’t and load up.”

  “Well, Gus, that’s me. In its own weird way, it was a pleasure to meet you. You know you’re on the wrong side, don’t you?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  She took the arm of one
of the still dazed militiamen sitting in the hall, wrapped it over her shoulder, and lifted him into a standing position. “Lean on me, soldier, and we’ll get you out to the bus.” She looked back at Colt. “This is our home. We’re going to be forcibly removed from it if we don’t break away from the Republic.”

  Colt helped another militiaman to his feet, and followed her toward the door. “You mean because of the Lodaanii?”

  She stopped and stared at him with her mouth open, “What else?”

  “If it were that simple, you wouldn’t need to use force. I suspect that whoever is giving orders has more in mind than simply declaring independence.”

  “What do you mean?” She began moving ahead again.

  “How about setting himself or herself up as in charge for the duration? I’ve noticed that durations don’t seem to have time limits.”

  “Oh, please!” They both helped the militiamen into seats on the bus.

  “Something to think about,” Colt responded. “See you around, Diane Feldman.”

  When he got off the bus, she was pensively chewing her bottom lip.

  Interlude

  Quan was still smarting from the latest confrontation on his communicator. McKillip looked at his dark face and said, “Why the scowl?”

  He caught himself before giving anything away. “This guy August is becoming a major problem. He was responsible for the debacle in southern Salish province. I’m trying to get a handle on him. One of my sources says he’s the Commander Colt who was supposedly killed trying to escape after the shuttle crash.”

  “He survived?” McKillip asked.

  “Apparently.”

  McKillip frowned. “I’m developing serious reservations about this pompous ass, Dixon. I thought he reported Colt was eaten by banshees.”

  “I know what you mean,” Quan agreed. With an effort he brightened. “If it is Colt, maybe we have a way to get him out of circulation.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Dixon is holding the crew of the shuttle. If we could leak their location, Colt might make an attempt to free them. All we have to do is make sure he’s caught when he tries it.”