“We can lead this war better than your Admiral or your generals can.”
“Yeah, but we’re human. It’s not about the best road to take, but the one we choose. Let us do this.”
Irala slowly nodded in approval.
“I will, but I cannot guarantee my people will continue to support you if you take this course of action.”
“Then let’s cross that bridge when we get to it, agreed?”
He reached out his hand in friendship, and Irala took it.
Chapter 6
Taylor stood in the operations room once again, with Lasure and Irala either side of him. Both looked to him to act, and both looked uneasy. General White sat across from him and just nodded in approval. Six other high-ranking officers stood around them, but they all waited for Taylor to speak.
"First things first," he finally stated, "Our command structure is a disaster. Admiral, I understand the pressure I put you under when I elevated you to this position. You've done a fine job so far, but let's get you a little help."
Lasure looked relieved to hear those words.
"General White. I want you to assume command of all matters human that take place on this world. We need division of command between what happens with the fleet and what goes on down here. You okay with that?"
"Surely am, Colonel. I'm sorry to say that I am still in no fit shape to go to war."
"Managing our resources here is just as important as managing them in the battle for Earth. Lasure. I need ground commanders, Army and Marine brass that can coordinate what goes on when we start operating on a larger scale. I know we have plenty amongst the fleet. If they've not already been brought into the fold, do so. We need them on board."
"And you, Colonel?" Lasure asked.
"I've interrupted and meddled enough. I can't promise I won't again in the future, but I am a combat officer first and foremost. I need to be out there where I can do what I do best. And while that is my job, I cannot coordinate and manage resources, and nor would I want to. I have one purpose left in this war. You all know what it is, and I do, too. Point me in the right direction, and let me tear them down piece by piece."
"And when you are not out there fighting?"
"Then I will work as a military advisor here," he replied and turned to Irala.
"Your input is always appreciated, and I am glad to call you friend."
"Then you will not mind if I propose our next target?"
"Fire away."
But Lasure interrupted.
"Gentlemen, I have already discussed these plans with Irala, and I have many duties to attend to. I will be returning to the Diderot if you want to reach me."
The Admiral left and all looked to Irala for the next potential target. Irala pressed a few keys on a control device on his arm and a projection displayed before them.
"This military installation houses several thousand Mech warriors, but it is also has a factory that repairs and builds military craft."
"They've got that kind of operation up and running already?" Taylor asked in amazement.
"That's Volgograd," said White.
Taylor looked amiss, as the name meant nothing to him.
"A town of heavy industry. All they've ever built there are tanks and other heavy hardware. It's the perfect site."
"You say thousands, how many are we talking about?" asked Taylor.
"Five or six thousand, we believe. They are housed mostly in two areas of accommodation beside the factory," Irala added, pointing to two areas that had around twenty tower blocks each.
"So they just took up residence in the factories and accommodation already there? They certainly aren't wasting anything."
The room fell silent as Taylor looked over the 3D projected map and all its detail. He passed over warehouse after warehouse, stopping when he found a district that was walled off and had towers every fifty metres. It looked as large as one of the accommodation districts that the Mechs were using, although the buildings inside were just two storeys high.
"What is that? A prison?"
"Yes, for the slaves that assist at the site."
Taylor's face scrunched up as he tried to understand what Irala meant.
"Slaves? What slaves?"
And then it struck him, and his face became stark with sadness.
"Humans?"
Irala nodded.
Taylor turned to Jafar who had said nothing.
"Do they do that? Use other races this way?"
Jafar nodded. "Sometimes. They lost many in the war. They probably need human workers more than ever."
"Who are they?" he asked.
"Anyone strong enough to work. Soldiers, labourers."
He looked back to Irala, the horror showing on his face.
"You knew about this? Why didn't you mention it before?"
"Because we have seen you make brash decisions and act before you have thought it out."
"You're damn right. How many are in that camp?"
"Hundreds, maybe thousands. We do not know for certain."
"And you were just going to leave them there to rot and not tell us?"
Irala nodded without a second thought as if surprised that Taylor would have thought any differently.
He took a deep breath and looked at the map again, remembering how he felt when they freed Jones from an enemy facility. He began to feel sick in his stomach as he realised how many they had left behind.
"I never thought they would keep our people alive," he muttered.
"Demiran would not have," added Jafar, "But Erdogan is smarter and would not waste a resource."
"A resource? Is that what you think they are?" Taylor howled, as if in pain.
"To Erdogan they are."
"Well not to me!"
"Okay, Colonel, this is emotional for us all. Let's keep a cool head, and see if we can't work this out," said White.
Taylor tried to take longer breaths and calm down as he looked at the map once again. He could see a large oval building that was open topped. It was not far from the complex and appeared to be a stadium. It seemed to be brand new and was not of human construction.
"What is that?"
"An arena," replied Jafar quickly.
"For what?"
"To fight."
"For what? Sport?"
Jafar nodded.
"Yes, and entertainment, punishment, sacrifice."
"You're trying to tell us they're putting humans in there?" White asked abruptly.
"Yes."
Taylor shook his head in despair. He knew he shouldn't be surprised by the news, but it still disgusted him just the same. He turned back to Irala who was as calm as ever.
"You didn't tell us about this for a reason. I understand why, but that is not how allies work. You've told me how valuable your people are to you. How would you feel if I knew where some of your people were being held captive and forced to fight it out for entertainment? How would you feel if I knew that and didn't tell you because I didn't think I'd like the way you'd react to the news?"
Irala's head tilted slightly before he looked back to the prison displayed before them. It was clear to everyone that he had not given the prospect a second thought.
"We should have told you, but it would be foolish to attempt to rescue those prisoners."
"Maybe, but that's our decision to make. We're allies. We can't keep this kind of stuff from one another, okay?"
Irala nodded reluctantly.
"So, what are we going to do about this?" Taylor asked them all.
"We must attempt to destroy the facility and as many of the Krys as possible, but we cannot risk a rescue attempt," stated Irala.
"Why?"
"Come on, Colonel, you know why. The last rescue of human prisoners was a disaster, and you know it."
"You don't need to remind me, General," Taylor spat back.
"Clearly I do! The operation to rescue Commander Kelly and his people was green lit because you forced the issue. It resulted it n
ot one human soul saved, and at a great cost to you personally, to the fleet, and to all of us!"
"We were drawn into a trap, and that was my fault, General, but is that a reason to give up on the rest of our people?"
"I think you need to start thinking with your head and not your heart. This operation will be hit and run. We will not have the time and resources to free a few hundred or thousand prisoners, and be sure they do not pose a threat to us."
"We can find a way."
"Do you think it's fair?" White asked, "Fair to ask our people to risk it all like this?"
"If I may," Irala interrupted, "You’re thinking small scale, Colonel. It is your greatest weakness; that you first look to saving one, a hundred, or a thousand. We look at the entire picture, as I believe you say."
"Yeah? And what is that?"
"That saving one hundred of your people will save just one hundred of your people. Win the war, and they are freed along with all others."
"If they live long enough for that," he replied.
But he knew what Irala was saying, and he gave it some serious thought. He looked to the General for a second opinion.
"I hate to say it, but he is right. We're not ready for this yet. We go in and strike where it hurts them most, and then we get the hell out."
"Those people locked up in there, how long do you think they have?"
White shrugged.
"And how long do you think it will take us to win this war?"
White shrugged again as he rubbed his chin and avoided the question.
"That's what I thought - no idea."
"This isn't a matter of choice," Irala said, "We have selected a target that will damage the enemy most, while risking as little of our own resources as possible. This is the primary target, although we have selected nine more secondary targets that will be attacked simultaneously."
Taylor looked shocked.
"You can't win this war on your own, you know," General White said quietly.
"And they're all like this?" he asked.
"Strategic enemy targets, yes."
"With human slaves?"
Irala nodded.
"My god, there must be thousands, tens of thousands."
"And when we're ready and able to help them, we will," said White.
He turned to Morris who he could see was looming in the background as usual and had been listening. Taylor beckoned for him to come forward.
"What do you think, Captain?"
"It's not my place to get involved in operational decisions. I shouldn't even be here."
"Bullshit," replied Taylor, "I shouldn't be here making these kinds of decisions either, but that's the way it's gone. So let's hear it. Weigh in with your thoughts, and let's see if we can't come to some sensible conclusion."
Morris paced cautiously up to the table and looked around to see they were all looking at him. There was nobody except him below the rank of Colonel, and yet Taylor's introduction had given him a level of authority he'd never known.
"Speak up, Captain," said Taylor.
Morris coughed to clear his throat and finally spoke in a quiet and reserved voice.
"When I first heard there was a chance to rescue Kelly and so many of my friends, I jumped at the chance. But the reality was a sobering experience. I'd not want to leave a single human being to the mercy of Erdogan, but neither could I ask any one of those who fight with us to risk another disaster like we saw so recently. I do not believe in good conscience that we can succeed in this mission without losses that we cannot afford."
Taylor was amazed to hear it, but it seemed to mean so much more from coming from Morris.
"Even if Kelly and the others were in one of those places? Even if you could confirm they were there?" he asked.
"Even then, Sir. We have to focus on winning this war, and not letting our emotions cloud our judgement. You care more for those under your command than any officer I've ever known, Colonel, but sometimes that leads you into rash and dangerous decisions."
Taylor looked to Kelly for final confirmation. He simply nodded.
"Okay. Then we hit these targets and that's it. When do we go?"
"Forty-eight hours," replied White.
Taylor looked unimpressed.
"Why wait?"
"Come on, Colonel, you need some time to rest, as does everyone else. Equipment needs repairs and maintenance. New crews must have additional training time to get acquainted with crewmembers and equipment. We simply all need time."
He looked back to the fight arena still displayed.
"It's the one thing we don't have a lot of, General."
"That's where you're wrong. We've got a solid base here. We do have the time. What we don't have are the manpower and resources to throw away. Most of all, we need men and equipment on the top of the line. You think you are going to kill Erdogan?"
"Damn right," he snapped.
"Yeah, well how do you think you'd fare against him if you left in a few hours’ time and met him on this mission? How do you think that would pan out?"
Taylor was silenced.
"We need you at your best, Colonel. We need everyone at their best. Forty-eight hours. We'll meet at 0900 hours to discuss operational details. Until then, get some R&R. You deserve it."
He left and strode out with Jafar and Morris close at his side.
"You are going to accept this?"
Taylor looked at Jafar in surprise.
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Because you always do what you want."
Taylor laughed, an experience that had been all too infrequent lately.
"I don't like what we have to do, leaving those people there, but it doesn't change the fact that you are right, and so is Irala. We must look at the bigger picture."
"And you're okay with that?" Morris asked.
"Not really, but we can't always have what we want. Let's get the mission done right, and we'll be a step closer to getting them back."
They continued on to a covered staging ground where they found their Regiment all sitting about casually, cleaning their weapons and doing other maintenance. King sat at the head of them with his rifle half stripped on the table and his body armour in a heap on the ground nearby.
Not one of them moved when they saw Taylor approaching. They were all too intimately familiar with each other now that none of them cared for formality. Taylor knew they'd do anything he asked, and they knew he'd do anything for them.
"We got a job?" King asked.
"You make it sound like we're gonna hit a bank," Morris grinned.
"Bank? What the hell would we do with money?"
Morris shrugged, realising it was a fair point.
"Listen up!" Taylor called out to everyone.
No one got up, but they all turned their attention to the Colonel.
"Well done on that last mission. I know it didn't really go to plan, but you kept it together, and we got back home. Or what is home right now. We have been given a forty-eight hour respite. I will hold an operational briefing at 1200 hours tomorrow. Sergeant Major, I'd like you to oversee recruit training, and see if you can find a few replacements that meet our standards and can be brought in. The rest of you, aside from tomorrow’s briefing, your time is your own!"
Cheers rang out around the shelter.
"Easy to please this lot," King said.
"They earned it, and it's easy to forget what good a little time off can do."
"Yeah. Not sure you'd know, Sir."
Taylor was stunned by the Captain’s tone, but before he could get a word in, King continued.
"Join us. You haven't taken time out since Parker died. I know it sucks, believe me, I know," he said, holding up his hand that showed his wedding ring.
He'd never spoken of his wife, and Taylor had never thought to ask. He felt ashamed for not having ever inquired. He sat down before the Captain, and Jafar and Morris flanked them.
"You're right, and I'm sorry."
"For wh
at?"
"For your loss."
"Yeah, well shit happens to all of us. But she'll never be gone. Parker. She'll always be up here if you want her to be," he said, pointing to his head.
"I'd like to think so," replied Taylor, "So your wife, what happened?"
King took a deep breath. It was obviously a difficult subject for him.
"Killed in the first war. You know we were in Rome when the first invasion came, on vacation. By the time we knew what was going on and tried to make it back home, it was chaos. After a few days, I managed to get a ride on a civilian transport heading for South America. Cargo of expensive cars aboard and heading for some billionaire in Brazil, can you believe it? Pilot said the guy wanted to get them out before the war really got going, as if it was never going to reach him that side of the water."
"Not so crazy when you think about it. When has a war ever consumed the world quite like this?"
King shrugged, and they all listened intently as he continued to tell the story.
"I put a gun to that pilot’s head and told him to dump the cars on the strip. Loaded up almost a hundred Americans who were trying to get back home like us, me and my wife. Lots of them had come from the embassy there. We got out of there before any of the fighting reached the country, and we thought we'd made it."
He paused for a moment as he had visions of it flooding back into his mind, and he came close to tears.
"We were over the Atlantic and on the home run when we were hit. First impact took out two of the engines. Second blew a hole right through the fuselage. We lost a few dozen through that breach before we lost enough altitude. Some friendlies engaged whatever attacked us, and we never saw either again. We thought even then that we might make it. But the power to the remaining engines soon failed and flight controls were fucked."
He reached for a canteen of water and sipped from it as they all hung on to his every word.
"Pilot put us down best he could, but we pretty much dropped out of the sky. Flotation pods kept the wreck up for about fifteen minutes, but she was a goner. The crash killed the pilot and maybe another thirty or so aboard. Eighteen of us made it on the rafts. Distress signal was put out, and we just had to wait, couple of hundred miles off the coast at least. It was then I realised the clamminess of my hands as I held her - Catherine, my wife. Blood, pouring out quicker than I could stop. A piece of debris had punctured her back and gone right through. All the training in the world, but there was nothing I could do to safe her. Couple of minutes was all we had left together."
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