“Tell the loyalists to surrender to us,” Jasmine ordered. “We can protect them.”
Carl looked up from where he was peering out over the city. “Lieutenant, the population will want revenge,” he said. “The loyalists won’t be safe anywhere.”
“They need trials,” Jasmine said. She recalled the final days on Han, after the main body of fighting had been over, with a shudder. Rebels had been murdered out of hand ... as had a number of people who had been accused, with little real evidence, of being rebels. Later investigation had revealed that they’d been fingered by their enemies, people who had intended to take advantage of their deaths. No one knew if those people had faced justice for their own crimes. “Otherwise the planet won’t be safe at all.”
“It isn’t safe now,” Blake said. “But we’ll do our best.”
***
We won, Lukas thought, as he led his team down the middle of the road, just as Admiral Singh’s guardsmen had done. The Admiral is gone! We won!
He smiled as he saw the people, cheering and waving as the insurgents walked past. Some of them were very pretty girls; it occurred to him, in a moment of insight, that being part of the force that had raided Admiral Singh’s mansion would have perks beyond the obvious. He was going to be famous.
His thoughts came to an end as he saw a handful of people being hauled outside by their hair and dumped in the street, right in front of the patrol. The man looked to have been beaten half to death, while his wife and kids had clearly been slapped around by the crowd. His daughter’s top had been torn off, leaving one breast dangling free ... he looked away, embarrassed.
“They’re collaborators,” someone shouted, as silence fell. “They deserve to die.”
Lukas hesitated. He hated the collaborators, hated everyone who had prospered under Admiral Singh’s rule ... and the man certainly looked prosperous. But their orders had been clear. The collaborators were to be taken into custody, not harmed.
“They are under arrest,” he said, feeling his voice trembling. Now he understood how the enemy guardsmen had felt, facing outraged crowds. They’d been terrified of the crowd. “We will take them to the penal camp ...”
The crowd surged forward, pushing the patrol back. Lukas hesitated, then fired a shot into the air. There was a long moment when anything could have happened ... and then the crowd fell back, revealing five dead bodies. Lukas stared in horror. The young girl’s head had been crushed like an eggshell.
“Go home,” he snarled, lifting his gun. The crowd, having tasted blood, fell back and retreated. “Now!”
He reached into his pocket, feeling for the box he’d taken from the Governor’s Mansion.
It was broken.
Chapter Forty-Five
The chaos that followed the defeat of Admiral Singh should have been predictable – stopping it, on the other hand, might have proved impossible. In order to govern, she had stoked hatreds and tensions among her people. As soon as her steel grip was removed, those tensions exploded into the light. It would be years before the planet reached a new balance.
But it serves as an illustration of our overall theme. Admiral Singh recognised no legitimacy, but force. When her power base was effectively destroyed, she could do nothing but run. We had to do better.
-Professor Leo Caesius, Authority, Power and the Post-Imperial Era
“Welcome to Corinthian, Colonel Stalker.”
Edward returned Lieutenant Yamane’s salute as he inspected the honour guard. Three of them were clearly Marines, but the remainder were locals, all somewhat more slapdash than the Marines. That wasn't always a bad thing; Edward had once been told that the Civil Guard had units that looked good and units that were good, but the two never seemed to mix. Most of his experience on Avalon certainly proved that claim.
“Thank you,” he said. “You’ve done very well.”
“The Provisional Government is eager to talk with the Commonwealth,” Lieutenant Yamane added. “They’re expecting to speak with you as soon as possible.”
Edward frowned. There was something in her voice that was ... off.
“I look forward to it,” he lied, smoothly. He would have to speak with the Lieutenant alone, later. Whatever was bothering her had to be dealt with as soon as possible. “And I brought diplomats too.”
The Lieutenant cleared her throat. “I think they would prefer to speak to you first,” she said, diffidently. “And then I was hoping that you and I could have a word.”
Edward nodded. “We will,” he promised. “Take me to their leaders.”
***
Danielle looked around the Provisional Government’s chambers and scowled to herself. The previous council’s chambers had been destroyed by Admiral Singh, forcing the Provisional Government to use the Governor’s Mansion for a base. It had been badly looted before the rebel army had managed to seal the building off and clear out the remaining looters, leaving parts of the building looking oddly bare. And most of the stolen luxury items had been seen on the street markets in the days following the collapse of Admiral Singh’s regime.
It hadn't been easy to get the streets under control. If it hadn't been for the arrival of another insurgent army from the farms, it might have been impossible; Admiral Singh’s army had collapsed as soon as it had become clear that she’d fled. By the time the next dawn rose, Danielle had been seriously wondering if the rebels would win and then destroy themselves. It had taken several weeks to calm the streets enough for elections to take place and there were still some pockets outside government control. No one seemed to trust the Provisional Government any further than they had trusted Admiral Singh. The farmers, in particular, had inherited enough weapons to give them a power base that few others could match.
She looked over at Trevor and smiled. Her husband had been elected on the strength of his war record, just like herself. As a representative of the industrial workers, he had a strong power base of his own, a stronger one than Danielle’s own. But was it strong enough to overawe the others who might tear the government apart? No one living outside Landing City trusted the Government any longer. And why, she asked herself bitterly, should they?
Their revenge had been terrible. Regime members, their supporters and collaborators had been ruthlessly hunted down and exterminated. Danielle had been half-inclined to let it go ahead before Lieutenant Yamane had pointed out that once the mob got a taste for blood, it would start hunting for new targets – such as the provisional government. Even so, it had been almost impossible to protect most of the collaborators, even the ones who would be needed to rebuild the planet’s economy. In the end, they’d had to lift most of them into orbit and sort them out there.
It had been a relief when they’d discovered that the Empire hadn't returned to the sector – and that Admiral Singh’s empire could join the Commonwealth instead. But even that was a gamble; too many people on the ground wanted complete independence, while the starship crews had largely declared for the Commonwealth as a body. Why not, when they’d seen the reports of even minor collaborators being torn apart? There were times when Danielle was sure that Corinthian would tear itself apart. The damage the planet was inflicting on itself was terrifying.
She smiled as Colonel Stalker was shown into the new Council Chamber. Perhaps there were people who wanted to keep Corinthian independent, but Admiral Singh was still out there somewhere – and there were other threats. And most of the off-planet facilities had also declared for the Commonwealth. Trevor had admitted that the industrial workers all felt the same way. How could they be blamed when they too were branded collaborators?
“Thank you for coming, Colonel,” she said, pasting a smile on her face. “We are very glad to see you.”
***
Horn looked up as the door to his cell cracked open, spilling in a beam of light. It had been ... months, perhaps, since he had been taken prisoner. Or maybe it was years. Somehow, he had lost all track of time. He blinked, trying to cover his eyes against the l
ight, as strong arms grabbed him and hauled him out of the cell. By the time he recovered himself, he was chained to a chair facing a judge and jury.
“Director Horn,” a voice said. “You have been found guilty of many crimes, including murder, abuse of power, abuse of prisoners ...”
When the list finished, Horn could say nothing. It had never truly crossed his mind that Admiral Singh could be defeated, not when his survival was so desperately reliant upon hers. Now, if the judge was telling the truth, she was gone ... and Horn was alone. He knew better than to think that any of his former subordinates would come to the rescue, not even Patterson. Even his most trusted ally would disown him rather than do something that might get them in trouble too.
“You will be taken from this place and publically hung,” the judge said. “And may God have mercy on your soul.”
***
“Lieutenant,” Colonel Stalker said.
Jasmine turned from the window where she’d been watching Horn’s march to his execution. As she had suspected, his courage had deserted him and he’d had to be dragged by two masked men, wearing the same uniforms as his own subordinates had done, back when he’d been the master of all he surveyed. At least Patterson was safe – and, once his wife and son had been restored to him, he had played a vital role in uncovering all of Horn’s crimes. There had been no hope of mercy, but at least there had been justice.
“Colonel,” she said, saluting.
“Well done,” Colonel Stalker said. “Very well done. I don’t think that anyone has managed to capture an entire planet with just a handful of men.”
“I had allies,” Jasmine reminded him. She dug into her uniform pocket and removed a sheet of paper. “This is for you.”
Colonel Stalker read it, slowly. “What is this?”
“My resignation,” Jasmine said, flatly.
The Colonel lifted his eyebrows.
Jasmine felt a dam bursting inside her. “Colonel, during the course of my operations here,” she said, “I took hostages, used torture and threats of torture and eventually sent hundreds of people to their deaths. I broke every regulation in the book.”
“I rather doubt that,” Colonel Stalker said, mildly.
Jasmine glared at him. “You should be putting me in front of a court martial, not complimenting me,” she said, sharply. “I was responsible for war crimes.”
Colonel Stalker gave her a long considering look. “We’re not bound by the Empire’s impractical rules any longer,” he reminded her. “If your actions were necessary, you should not be charged or punished for them. I can convene a court if you like, but ...”
“I held a little boy hostage to force his father into compliance,” Jasmine snapped at him. “How can anyone justify my actions? I’m as murderous as the fuckers who burned down the oligarch mansions while keeping them barricaded inside.”
“I do not see that you had much choice,” Colonel Stalker said. He held up a hand, cutting her off before she could say a word. “You did what you had to do – and you were captured, tortured and managed to escape before you were broken. What you did was unfortunate, but necessary.”
Jasmine looked at him. “I’m not fit to call myself a Marine ...”
“Not fit for duty right now, I’d agree,” Colonel Stalker said.
Jasmine flushed at the realisation that she’d been shouting at a superior officer. The Marine Corps might be informal, but it wasn't that informal.
“Take a leave of absence, regain your health and then decide if you truly want to resign,” Colonel Stalker added. “If nothing else, the job isn’t yet completed. Admiral Singh is still out there, somewhere.”
Jasmine nodded, mutely. He was right.
***
She’d been tricked.
Rani stared down at the report in her hand, finally seeing just how badly she’d been tricked into believing the worst. The Commonwealth had tricked her, forced her to flee ... and now she was cut off from her base. By now, they’d be ready for her if she went back.
So we go elsewhere, she promised herself, bitterly. And then we rebuild and prepare to take revenge.
She stood up and headed for the bridge. It was time to reassert her authority ... and prepare a new home base.
And then she would be back.
And then all of her enemies would pay.
The End
Afterword
Ten years ago, I was in Manchester during the run-up to the Iraq War. The rational seemed clear to me; forget WMDs, Saddam's very regime was a blight on the Earth and anything that helped to destroy it was a Good Thing.
It was not a view widely shared by the local student community, most of whom were anti-war and marched in protest against the invasion. I found their attitude repugnant; they had the freedoms of a democratic population and yet they chose to use them in support of one of the worst dictators in recent history. Even those who disliked Saddam were reluctant to support an outright invasion, pointing out that even in the best-case scenario the Iraqi people would bear the brunt of the war. Why, they asked, could Saddam not simply be removed?
I have heard that question on many occasions, both when discussing current politics and when exploring counter-factual versions of the past. Why not end the problems in Libya by killing Gaddafi? Why couldn't Adolf Hitler have been assassinated? Would the USSR have survived if some kindly soul had put a bullet in Stalin's head?
The problem is that the world doesn't work that way.
Humans have a tendency to personalise politics. American Presidents such as Obama or Bush are often seen as metaphorical figureheads; they bear the blame for their subordinates failings, even though they may not have been remotely involved in the affair. We speak of the Obama Administration rather than the American or even Democratic Administration. In the West, however, the elected leadership comes and goes, but the political party remains intact. The precedence of the party is upheld by the system.
This is not true, as a general rule, of unfree states.
There are basically two ways to rule in human society; the rule of law, such as the United States and much of the West, and the rule of the strong. For the former, as I said, the system supports the elected leadership and provides a procedure for their replacement by the next elected official. The latter, however … does not.
The successful Dictator – Saddam, Gaddafi, Hitler – succeeds by creating a social structure that supports his position and crushes all opposition. An alternate centre of power is a deadly threat to a dictator; in order to maintain control, the dictator must either bring it under his control or destroy it. A dictatorship might, therefore, look rather like a pyramid, with the dictator on top and lines of control running down to the very lowest levels. The upper levels will be filled with the dictator's cronies (family is a favourite choice) who will often have as much blood on their hands as the dictator himself, forcing them to support him – or risk being torn apart by outraged fellow countrymen.
If we look at Iraq as an example (I acknowledge in advance that I have simplified considerably) we see that Saddam promoted the interests of the Sunni Iraqis over the Shia and Kurdish Iraqis. This gave him a constituency that had a very strong motive to support him. By promoting their interests, he ensured that the Sunni knew that a lapse in his power would unleash civil war and ethnic cleansing when the Shia looked for revenge. (And he was right, as post-invasion events proved.) In effect, by ensuring that terror and oppression were not distributed equally, Saddam ensured that his position was fairly secure.
However, the process didn't stop there. Saddam created multiple military and security forces, each one charged with keeping a watchful eye on the other forces as well as preparing for its primary mission. Spies were spread through every military unit, ensuring that no senior commander dared risk showing even the slightest hint of disloyalty. Failing to ensure that all of the spies attended planning meetings, as one senior officer noted in the aftermath of the war, would almost certainly lead to arrest and dete
ntion; the spy, once excluded, would start reporting the 'secret' meeting to his superiors. And as those spies were meant to be unknown to the officers they were meant to watch, it shouldn't surprise anyone that Iraqi officers began to become neurotic.
Even ordinary citizens were not immune. Saddam's spies were everywhere. Failing to show the proper respect would have been disastrous. (The next time you see one of those great anti-American protests in a third-world country, ask yourself how many people were forced to attend, given flags to burn, etc …) Iraq became a republic of fear, governed by a man many hated, but none dared oppose openly. Western observers talked of the inevitability of revolt. The man on the street knew better.
For Iraq, the results were disastrous. Taking a decision – any decision – could prove fatal, forcing the officials to push more and more decisions up the chain to Saddam's more trusted officials and Saddam himself. Even if Saddam had been ultra-competent and experienced, it would still have been difficult to run a modern state. As Saddam was neither (his only competence was in securing his own power base) the results were pathetic. And, when war came, the reasoned judgements of senior officers in the military were pushed aside by Saddam, who insisted on imposing his own plan on the generals. It should have been possible for Iraq to slow the American invasion down, maybe even force a draw. Saddam ensured that wouldn't occur.
And when Saddam lost his grip, the Iraqi state imploded with a violence that surprised everyone.
This should not have been a surprise. Saddam had achieved a far greater level of control – his agents penetrated all parts of society – than many outside observers understood. Iraqi society crashed back to the tribal, racial, ethnic and religious divisions that Saddam had deliberately chosen to strengthen to help underline his power. In the absence of a strong power willing and able to say no, Sunni, Shia and Kurd found themselves fighting for survival, with Coalition troops caught in the middle.
***
The Empire's Corps: Book 04 - Semper Fi Page 43