Picking Up The Pieces (Martial Law)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “I’m sure that those boys and girls will have lovers on the outside and I can’t stop that,” I added. “I wouldn’t even if I could. I can stop them from having sex within the unit and I won’t hesitate to bust someone out of the force for doing it.” I smiled at the vague pun. “It doesn’t matter who, or why. I drew the line and if anyone crosses it, they’re out.”

  We reached a massive building, guarded by a pair of soldiers from B Company, who checked our IDs before allowing us to enter. The UN Supply Deport was large enough to take several starships – or so I thought – and utterly packed with supplies. I couldn’t understand how it had remained untouched until I remembered the Fleet garrison, who had kept it in trust for the planetary government. The circumstances of the pull-back hadn’t allowed for the return of all the supplies.

  Muna emerged from one of the stacks and waved at us. Her dark face was lit with a sly smile. “You won’t believe how much stuff they abandoned here,” she said, cheerfully. I hadn’t seen her in such a good mood for years, but I suppose that being drenched in enough supplies to make her job easier would please even Muna. “We could operate several divisions on this and never notice the loss.”

  I stepped further into the building and wondered if she might be right. There were spare parts for every vehicle in the UN’s inventory and enough weapons to outfit several fighting units. I passed a stack of machine guns and paused to examine a set of assault rifles, before studying a pile of gold coins and various stacks of currency. I couldn’t imagine why the UN General in command of the base had thought he’d need currency from a dozen different worlds. Perhaps it was the bribes he'd accepted – I never met a UN General who wasn't corrupt – or maybe he’d planned to retire one day. It didn’t matter anyway. We would put the money to good use.

  “There are several billion rounds of ammunition here and in the other bunkers,” Muna informed me, seriously. I could believe it. The UN sent out thousands upon thousands of boxes of ammunition, but there was so much paperwork involved with using it – every round had to be accounted for – that training sergeants tended to avoid using ammunition. Heinlein had taught us how foolish that was, but it had come too late. Earth’s civil war was still raging away back on the mother planet. “If the other supply bases have this much…”

  I followed her logic. “The Mountain Men have enough to fight and win a civil war,” I concluded. It wasn't a reassuring thought. The UN’s records of what had actually been in those supply bases were incomplete. They could have much more, or much less. “Have you established a distribution network yet?”

  Muna nodded. “I can have it sent anywhere, sir,” she said. “Where do you want it?”

  “Make as much as the trainers need available to them,” I ordered, shortly. We were not going to repeat the UN’s error and train our people on simulations only. They’d all have a chance to fire weapons before war broke out. “Get the Company Commanders to go through the listings and see what they want before we come to any other decisions. If we can equip a tank regiment…well, why not?”

  “I could give you two reasons,” Muna said. “Would tanks actually do us any good?”

  “Maybe,” I said. If we ended up fighting a war, Landshark and Goliath tanks might be very useful. “And the other reason?”

  “This planet is very short on fuel,” Muna said. “A petroleum-based industry exists, but it’s very limited. Unless we find a source of crude oil, we’re going to be permanently hamstrung if we become dependent on the vehicles.”

  “Oh joy,” I said. It was honestly something I hadn’t thought about, but the UN had a long history of limiting the use of oil-drilling equipment on the Colonies, in the name of protecting the environment. Other worlds used hydrogen-powered vehicles and never felt the lack. “Get in touch with the local oil concerns and see if you can find us enough, all right? The last thing we need is to be permanently short of fuel.”

  Chapter Five

  The Progressive Party claims that, if it were elected into power, it could force the ‘rich’ to help feed and support the poor, although naturally they don’t put it as crudely as that. Their arguments sound convincing, but in the hindsight of history, it is clear that their programs are the kiss of death to modern economies. This is not a flaw in the system, but a feature. It accounts for Earth’s collapse into an interstellar empire.

  -The Secret History of Svergie

  The first two weeks of training went surprisingly well. I’d been expecting that we’d have some incidents, but the few we had were swiftly squashed by the Drill Sergeants. A handful of recruits were rejected for medical conditions, a handful more were reluctantly allowed to quit when they discovered they couldn’t tolerate military life, but on the whole events went surprisingly well. I watched from a distance – half of running a military unit is knowing when to stand back and give your subordinates their head – as the recruits advanced towards becoming soldiers.

  “They’re going to be riflemen,” Peter predicted, one evening. “They’re not going to become specialists until we can set up training schools for specialists. There might be a sniper or two among them, but…”

  I nodded. “We’re not interested in building up specialist units yet,” I agreed. We’d have to hold off on building an armoured force until we’d solved the fuel shortage problem. I still wasn't sure how that had been allowed to develop in the first place, but knowing the UN someone had paid a vast amount of money to have the planet develop like that. “We just need an infantry force so far.”

  “So far,” Peter said, reminding me about the Mountain Men, and the farmers, and the various political militia groups, and all of the other problems we would face. The planet might succeed in developing a stable political base, and even an interstellar-level economy, but only if it survived its growing pains. I assigned officers to monitor the situation and held frequent conferences with Commander Webster. Fleet’s view of the situation was similar to our own. The planet was heading towards a very rocky patch. “So, how many of the recruits came from a particular political faction?”

  I had my first inkling of the answer to that question two months after we arrived. The officer at the gate called my office and informed me that I had a visitor; Councillor Frida Holmqvist. I wasn’t particularly surprised. The political parties had been sniffing around our offices in town for weeks and had even tried to send inspectors into the spaceport, although I had deterred that as best as I could. I could give someone without military experience a completely useless tour and they’d never know what they’d missed, but I didn’t want to know how they would misinterpret what they saw. Suki’s reactions were interesting enough.

  “I see,” I said, when they informed me. I hadn’t expected the Progressives to make the first move. I’d been betting on the Conservatives being the first to ask to talk to me privately. “Please have her shown into my office.”

  I’d arranged procedures for handling visitors just after we’d taken over the spaceport. Frida wouldn’t be allowed to wander off on her own, or bring other people into the inner complex. I’d have preferred to strip search her, just in case, but the general level of technology on the planet precluded anything that could be smuggled past our defences. I wasn't pleased about it – they could have purchased something more advanced and dangerous from Heinlein – but there was little choice. Stripping her naked and carrying out a full search, including a cavity search, would probably have annoyed her. I didn’t need additional enemies.

  Frida looked as beautiful as ever, a real Nordic goddess, her appearance barely marred by her scar. I found myself studying her as I rose to greet her and made a mental note not to underestimate her. She had a mind like a steel trap. She wore a very traditional long skirt and a scarf in her hair, although it didn’t seem to serve any religious purpose. Her outfit also seemed to diminish her breasts.

  “Welcome to Camp Currie,” I said. We’d put our suggestions for names in a hat and someone – I suspected Russell – had won. I’d wan
ted something a great deal more sarcastic. “How may I be of service?”

  Frida smiled, but it didn’t quite touch her eyes. “You can explain why you rejected the officers we sent you,” she said, firmly. I tried my best to look as if her words meant nothing to me, but I knew what she was talking about, unfortunately. I was a little surprised to discover that she was being this blatant about it. “They all had good careers in the resistance and sound backers.”

  “I’m sure they did,” I agreed, calmly. “I must say, Councillor…”

  “You chose to order them to leave your camp,” Frida said, all trace of humour gone. “Why did you refuse to accept them?”

  I took a breath. “The problems of running an actual army and a resistance group are very different,” I explained, wondering if she would understand. “The resistance group must operate, if you’ll pardon my metaphor, as fish in the sea of the people. There is little discipline and no respect for the rules of war. The leader must operate by personal example and, if he is killed, the group may fall apart.

  “An army, by contrast, operates as part of a larger structure,” I added. “The problems of running an army include maintaining strict discipline, uniformity and strict respect for the rules of war. The kind of people who specialise in one set of skills may not translate well into the other set.”

  I paused. “And there is another issue. Back when I was in the UN, the kind of officers who got promoted were the officers who kept up with their paperwork and pleased their superiors, not the warriors who went out and got their hands dirty. The results tended to have incompetent officers placed in command of units and, if they were lucky, breaking them. If they were unlucky, they racked up huge death tolls. I will not commission any officer who hasn’t come up from the ranks and gained actual experience in military operations. He would merely get a lot of good men killed.”

  Frida scowled at me. “And yet they’re trusted by the government,” she pointed out. I don’t know how she managed to say that with a straight face. “What would you do if we chose to commission them anyway?”

  “I would refuse them,” I said, flatly. She looked as if she were about to explode, so I hastened to explain. “I was hired to build this planet a professional army. An army that becomes led by paper-pushers and clerks is not a proper army. The only qualification for advancement that I will accept is experience in combat, or experience in heavy training.”

  “They had experience in the resistance,” Frida said, coldly. “Or doesn’t that count?”

  “No,” I said. “As I said, the problems are different. Your resistance didn’t even come close to pushing the UN off your planet. You barely managed to annoy them; they certainly never committed millions of troops to holding you down. You won your war when Admiral Walker” – my close personal friend, I carefully didn’t add – “took the UN out of commission. As far as I’m concerned, your resistance men haven’t seen the elephant.”

  That wasn't the only problem. From what little we’d been able to learn, the real resistance men had come from the mountains, where they could fight an underground war against the UN on their own terrain. The miners had supported them and, from time to time, protected them. The cities had been too firmly under the UN’s thumb to generate much resistance, although there had been some spectacular attacks. The Generals in command of the war, however, had known that they were not going to lose it. They’d only withdrawn when the UN collapsed.

  And I was sure that the officers the Government had selected had been selected for their political reliability. I wouldn’t have put it past Frida to try to stack the deck in favour of people she knew and trusted, delivering the army I’d built into the hands of the Progressives. It probably wouldn’t work out perfectly – soldiers are not dumb animals, no matter what the UN says – but if they got their hooks in deep enough, it might not matter. The militia wouldn’t be able to mount a defence.

  “I see,” Frida said. She leaned closer, stroking her chin. “May we be frank with one another, Andrew?”

  The use of my first name only heightened my suspicions, but I smiled. “Of course, Frida,” I said, with false cheer. “What do you wish to tell me?”

  “The Progressive Party currently holds eight seats in the Council,” Frida said, with the air of a woman making a speech. “As you are no doubt aware, we will almost certainly win the next election and with it the government. We want to know where you will stand when we take power.”

  I frowned, trying to compose a reply. “I know little about how your government works,” I said, stalling for time. “How can you be sure of victory?”

  Frida smiled. “There are twenty-one districts on the planet and each of them elects one councillor,” she explained, with the air of someone who enjoyed lecturing. She probably told her subordinates the same to keep them working towards their goal. “There are, therefore, twenty-one seats on the Council. The President is directly appointed by majority vote and serves as the Head of State. He also has vast influence over the Council and may, if his party holds most of the seats, rule without effective opposition.”

  It sounded oddly primitive for a developed world, but I’d seen worse. “I see,” I said. “And you hold eight of those seats? That’s not a majority.”

  “No,” Frida agreed. “The Liberty Party holds four, the Communists hold one, the Independence Party holds one and the Conservatives hold seven. In the next election, assuming that the polls are accurate, the Liberty Party will lose at least two of its seats and probably crease to exist as a competitive political party. The Communists support us if pushed. The Conservatives have no appeal to those living in the cities. I suspect that we will wind up with ten to twelve seats; an absolute majority.”

  I see,” I said, finally. “And you want to know where I stand?”

  Frida nodded. “At the moment, you’re training the army,” she said. “That makes you one of the most powerful people on the planet, unless you piss Fleet off and they send in the Marines to remove you.”

  “True,” I agreed, carefully. My objective was to stabilise the planet, but if Frida was right and the Progressives did win the next election decisively, the planet would very rapidly become unstable. “If I may be equally frank with you” – she nodded – “my men and I work for the people who pay us.”

  “Mercenaries,” Frida said. She made it sound like a curse. “And you have no loyalty to anyone?”

  “Each other,” I said. I couldn’t blame her for her opinion of mercenaries. I didn’t regard most of them very highly myself. “Oh, we won’t switch sides on you if someone offers us a higher price; our contract specifically precludes that, unless you refuse to pay us. You have our services as long as you meet your obligations.”

  “I see,” Frida said. Her smile was very cold and calculating. “And then you would support us if we became the planetary government?”

  “As long as you pay us,” I confirmed, untruthfully. I would have to give some thought to the matter. The planetary government was unstable, but if one party gained an advantage the other parties would see no choice, but open rebellion. Civil war would break out and spread rapidly. “I might add, however, that I do not tolerate political interference with my men.”

  “Of course,” Frida said, having filed me away under ‘easily bought.’ “What do you have to say about the complaints from the police department?”

  “Complaints?” I asked, as innocently as I could. “There have been complaints?”

  “Your men have been involved in fights,” Frida said, coldly. “Those fights have caused considerable damage and injuries to civilians.”

  I matched her tone. “My men, while drinking in bars on leave, have been attacked by street toughs, Communists and protesters,” I said, firmly. “They have authority to defend themselves if attacked. So far, I don’t think anyone’s been killed, but everyone who got hurt thoroughly deserved it.”

  “And the demands for compensation?”

  I looked into her blue eyes. “They
started fights with my men,” I said. “If they survived the experience, they should count themselves lucky and leave it at that. I am not in the habit of rewarding people for accidents and injuries caused by their own stupidity. I note that no one, not even the Communists, have attempted to bring my men up on charges.”

  “No,” Frida agreed. “It was feared that you might react badly.”