Third Player

by Warren James Palmer

  ‘And you feel that the mission is only worthwhile if you can get this prophets bones without damaging them, or the holy ground he’s buried in?’ Jenson asked guessing the last part of the plot.

  ‘That’s right,’ Hillmead nodded. ‘If we’re seen to desecrate holy ground we lose the sympathy of the people. On the other hand, possession is ownership. If that monastery and the bones of our prophet are in the hands of the Democratic Army, it will appear that the gods are on our side.’

  ‘So you’re planning a frontal assault, up this sheer cliff to that monastery?’ Sandpiper asked.

  ‘That’s right,’ Hillmead nodded enthusiastically. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you’re bloody mad!’ Sandpiper told him.

  ‘How dare you!’ one of Hillmead’s officers shouted. From his posture Jenson reckoned he must be one of the Imperial officers who had converted to the democratic cause. ‘We’re veterans of many, many campaigns. We’ve pushed the Imperial forces back thousands of klicks to this point, with the minimum of resources. Everything is short; troops, weapons, food, transport—everything! And you dare to walk in here with your superior machines and arrogant attitude and dare to criticise us?’

  Jenson held up a placating hand. ‘Look gentlemen, we’re not here to tell you how to win your war. Hillmead asked Sandpiper his opinion and he was honest enough to give it. And I have to say a frontal assault looks like a good way to achieve heavy casualties very quickly—but that’s your business, not ours.’

  ‘So why are you here Terran?’ another officer demanded.

  ‘We’re here with information that has an important bearing on the war you’re fighting with the Imperial forces. Information that we’ve brought to you as soon as it became available. Now can we talk to you alone Hillmead?’ Jenson asked the ex-cop.

  ‘Whatever you have to say to me can be said in front of my officers,’ Hillmead said.

  ‘Not in this instance it can’t,’ Jenson replied firmly.

  ‘Then we have nothing more to say to each other,’ came the retort and Hillmead returned to look at the map, dismissing the Terran pilots. The other officers gave them a stony stare and returned to their deliberations.

  Shalok took Jenson by the hand and led him toward the door she came in by. He went with her reluctantly, nodding for Sandpiper to follow. His friend looked at the military leaders of the Democratic Front in disgust, then turned his back on them.

  ‘What the hell’s wrong with him?’ Jenson demanded of Shalok as soon as they were in the adjoining ante-room. ‘He’s got to be out of his mind to attempt a frontal assault on that fortress. It’ll be a massacre!’

  Shalok turned and poured two mugs of broth out of an urn, her face a picture of fear and dismay. When she passed the hot drinks to the Terran pilots, her eyes brimmed with tears. Jenson noticed her distress and in a lowered tone said, ‘I’m sorry Shalok—I shouldn’t take my anger out on you. You’ve both obviously been through hell.’

  She wiped her eyes angrily with the corner of her battle-dress. ‘No, I’m the one who should be sorry, I shouldn't be so wet! But you’re right it’s been hell… Sure we’ve managed to battle our way as far as here, but now it’s stalemate!’

  ‘Am I right in thinking that there’s been no more desertions among the Imperial forces?’ Sandpiper asked giving the young Dyason woman a comforting hug.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied shaking her head tearfully. ‘All the forces based in the southern territories joined our cause soon after the loss of Nimue and the Emperor; which was what we expected. There’s always been a lot of ethnic unrest in the southern states, so the officers and troops in those battalions have always been sympathetic to the idea of southern independence. However, we’ve not had one battalion from north of the Sayalamih mountain range join the Democratic cause. They’ve all remained loyal to the Empire.’

  ‘So the two sides are evenly matched. The Democratic Front doesn’t have sufficient forces to break through the mountain defences and the Imperial forces can’t push you back,’ Jenson said thoughtfully. ‘The two sides could be entrenched here for months, years even.’

  ‘Except that nobody can afford to be bogged down in trench warfare for months or years,’ Sandpiper added. ‘Because the biosphere will collapse entirely, long before then. Unless the clean-up process starts immediately it’s all going to be over in a few weeks’ time and there’ll be no winners; just millions of losers.’

  ‘Hence the last-ditch desperate plan—is that right?’ Jenson asked. Shalok nodded her head miserably but said nothing. ‘Well he obviously isn’t going to listen to what we’ve got to say until we find a solution to this stand-off. We can’t afford for another massacre to take place on either side. Dyason’s going to need all the troops and weapons it can muster very soon and this suicidal plan is simply going to deplete invaluable resources.’

  ‘What is the information you have Jenson,’ Shalok asked. ‘What’s going on?’

  Jenson sat down in a folding chair behind a desk and leaned forward, a determined look on his face. ‘I’ll tell you why we’re here Shalok and then I’ll tell you how we’re going to resolve this situation,’ he told her. ‘When is this suicide assault supposed to take place?’

  ‘Tomorrow at dawn,’ she told him.

  ‘Then we’ll have to put my plan into action tonight,’ he said decisively. ‘Okay here’s the game-plan. By tomorrow we should hopefully have the two sides talking to each other once more.’

  Daal was becoming increasingly dismayed at the lack of progress being made in the negotiations with the Dyason delegation. To have to deal with such a selfish, violent race, after the genocide of his own people, was almost more than the captain of the Valvia could take. At the end of each ship’s day he returned to his quarters near suicidal with pain and frustration. Only hours of strict prayer and meditation kept him going.

  The head of the Imperial delegation was the grotesque general Tylosk, whom Daal was learning to detest with a hatred he’d never felt against another person before. It seemed that the perverse, obese general, had an objection to every single suggestion the Heligsion made. Daal couldn’t believe that at a time when their planet was only weeks away from environmental catastrophe, the Dyason could be so arrogant, so obtuse!

  If it weren’t for the strict orders of the seer, Daal would be tempted to let the Dyason drown in their own excrement. If all that race were the same as Tylosk and his delegation, it would serve the bastards right!

  With a resigned sigh, he adjusted his formal robes and prepared to leave his quarters. As he checked his reflection in the full-length mirror he saw the cabin doors open and three heavily armed Imperial troops march in.

  Daal whirled round to face the intruders and demanded, ‘What are you doing here? Weapons are not allowed on the ship and Dyason are restricted to their designated areas! Leave here at once!’

  The tallest of the three troopers stepped forward and ignoring what Daal telepathed at them said,’General Tylosk requires your presence on the ship’s bridge sir!’

  ‘He does what?’ Daal exclaimed aloud. ‘He’s not supposed to be on the bridge. All operational areas are out of bounds to Dyason!’

  ‘The general can go where he likes Daal,’ the trooper said with a sneer, his assault rifle held loosely in his hands, the safety catch off. ‘Unfortunately for you, this ship is now in the hands of the Imperial navy, not the Heligsion... Now, please sir, follow us or we shall have to carry out our orders—the orders to shoot you if you don’t co-operate that is!’

  ‘This is outrageous!’ Daal exclaimed. ‘You can’t do this!’

  ‘But we can, and we have!’ the trooper retorted, ushering the Heligsion out of the cabin and toward the turbo-lift.

  The bridge of the Valvia was in a state of turmoil when they got there. Tylosk sat in the captain’s chair, his rolls of fat bouncing with joviality. He looked like a spoiled child with a new toy, as he played with the control panel built into the armrest. He look
ed up when he saw Daal, a wide, childish grin on his face.

  ‘Ah Daal!’ he drooled at the Heligsion. ‘It’s so good to see you! I’m afraid the negotiations were all getting a little tedious. Hence the reason we took matters into our own hands. As you can see we’ve resolved the situation to our Imperial satisfaction. The Valvia is now in our hands!’

  ‘You’ve got to be out of your mind!’ Daal retorted, then he saw the two dead Heligsion crew lying on the bridge deck, pools of blood spreading out from gunshot wounds. ‘What have you done? You’ve murdered my people! You won’t get away with this Tylosk!’

  ‘Oh but I can and I will!’ the fat general gloated. ‘Now the ship is under our control, we will start work on rebuilding the Dyason biosphere and the formation of a new stronger Empire! You and your people will help us, or I will have them shot one by one, while you watch. Do I make myself clear?’

  Daal was so shocked he didn’t know how to respond. It was just inconceivable that after offering Tylosk and his delegation the opportunity of peace and friendship, they should start killing their hosts. Such behaviour was so completely foreign, so alien to the Heligsion culture, Daal simply couldn’t get his head around it.

  Tylosk continued to stare and gloat at the Heligsion with beady little eyes, until the door to the turbo-lift opened once more. The perverse general’s eyes moved away from Daal and focused on the lift’s occupants. His eyes went wide and his face blanched. Then like a foolish child who’s had his toys taken from him, he began to bawl, ‘No!’

  Daal span around just in time to see three Imperial troopers and four Terran marines storm the bridge. There was a brief firefight, during which automatic gunfire echoed around the deck. Within seconds, it was all over. The three troopers who’d escorted the Heligsion captain and four others of the general’s entourage were dead. Tylosk sat cowering in the captain’s chair, his hands raised in front of his face to protect himself.

  One of the new assault team marched up to the gibbering fat general. He drew a long combat knife out of the top of his boot and smashed Tylosk’s hands away. The leader of Polesy’s special assault forces drew the blade across the wobbling flesh of the general’s neck, severing the main arteries. Tylosk’s scream died in his throat as his blood drained away, staining the captain’s chair a deep red. The pile of pale flesh rolled forward onto the deck, twitched violently for a few moments, then lay motionless.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Sayalamih mountains

  Jenson really wished he had the talents of Moss or Myrddin. They could do with their ability to move around without being seen, about now. The monastery was much better defended than even he, had anticipated. Getting inside the massive stone wall was going to be an absolute bitch.

  The Imperial forces had, once again, anticipated the Democratic army’s next move and taken steps to counter any attack. The monastery itself was filled with troopers shoring up the ancient defences, while outside on the mountainside, heavy artillery was being placed at strategic positions. There was no doubt about it, if Hillmead and his men attempted a direct assault on this place, they would be massacred. The Imperial forces were too well prepared.

  The almost impossible odds spurred Jenson on with a sense of even greater urgency—they had to stop the blood bath that was being prepared here. Having the information that he and Sandpiper had now, Jenson was painfully aware that the civil war here on Dyason could prove to be the last nail in the planet’s coffin. That would leave just Earth standing alone against a galactic superpower. What he, Sandpiper and Shalok did or did not achieve tonight, could have unimaginable repercussions on the future of all the humanoid races. However, knowing that didn’t change their current predicament.

  ‘Well what do you think Han?’ Jenson whispered to his friend through his breathing mask.

  Sandpiper peered over the rock behind which they were hiding, and quickly scanned the walls of the monastery looming above them, with his night goggles. They rose some twenty metres above the precipice the ancient monument was built upon, supported by huge buttresses.

  ‘Well that’s where we’ve got to plant these charges,’ he said pointing to the rock face of the precipice. ‘Once that lot starts moving, the whole place will slide down the mountainside.’

  ‘It looks very solid to me,’ Shalok said in hushed tones. ‘Are you sure that you have enough explosives to bring it down?’

  ‘It’s not a question of how big the bang is, so much as where the bang is, gorgeous,’ Sandpiper told her. ‘These plastic explosives we’re packing are ample for the job.’

  ‘Which leads us on to the next question,’ Jenson added. ‘Can we swing on to that rock face without being seen from the sentries above?’

  ‘They’d have to be looking straight at you to see you from up there,’ Shalok said thoughtfully. ‘Besides, the average conscript trooper is not too bright. They’re not used to the concept of covert operations like this. Besides, their minds will be on the attack they’re expecting tomorrow, not on two climbers swinging across a precipice.’

  ‘Okay, well let’s get on with this stage of the operation. We can consider how we’re going to get inside the monastery afterward,’ Jenson told them. ‘Shalok, you anchor our ropes while Han and I lay the charges. Just remember we need to be quick and silent!’

  With that, they prepared to drop down the cliff face, directly below the monastery. The climbing equipment they’d stolen from the Democratic army stores wasn’t dissimilar from Terran kit and within minutes Jenson and Sandpiper were descending the sheer rock.

  Shalok watched with trepidation as the men swung expertly across the cliff face, rapidly placing explosives and detonators in strategic locations. Although she’d anchored the ends of the ropes as per Sandpiper’s expert instruction, she was terrified that one of them would slip and fall. Shalok knew she didn’t have the upper body strength to support their weight if that happened.

  She peered over the edge of the precipice, her night goggles showing two faint forms moving from outcrop to outcrop. Without the goggles she wouldn’t be able to see a thing; the night was pitch black. As she watched, one of the figures she knew to be Jenson, disappeared into some sort of crevice or opening. She played out more rope and then to her horror it went slack—the strain disappeared! Her heart was in her mouth and she couldn’t think of anything to do except sit and wait. Ten minutes went by, then twelve and fifteen. Sandpiper began to make his way back up the cliff face and was nearly at the top when Shalok felt the weight of Jenson on the rope again. It was with great relief, that she eventually saw his grinning face appear over the edge of the cliff once more.

  He collapsed beside Shalok and Sandpiper, panting heavily. After a moment he hissed through his mask, ‘You’re just gonna love what I’ve found!’

  Ten minutes later, Shalok found herself swinging from the end of a rope, descending toward Jenson, who was standing on an outcrop some fifty or so metres below. At first, she’d tried shutting her eyes, but that just made matters worse. In the end, she simply concentrated on the rock face directly in front and tried to ignore everything else around her. Nothing, during her time with the Women’s Imperial Service, had prepared her for this and it was with the utmost relief, that she finally felt the strong arms of Jenson guiding her the last couple of metres. She unclipped the rope and Sandpiper abseiled down to join them.

  What Jenson had found was a small tunnel cut into the rock face that rose inward and upward toward the monastery. Jenson reckoned it had been dug during the construction of the original castle, probably for the drainage of sewerage. It certainly smelt bad enough to be a drain. They had to walk nearly bent double to avoid smashing their heads on the low roof but at least the incline was fairly gentle.

  It took a while, but they eventually came to a rusted iron grating that blocked the end of the tunnel. Jenson took a risk and shone a light through the bars, to what looked like, a crypt beyond. The Dyason equivalent of rats shrieked and ran away, but the place lo
oked otherwise deserted. He nodded to Sandpiper, who placed a small amount of plastic explosives on the ends of the iron bars. He wrapped sound deadening compound around the explosives and they moved to a safe distance. Sandpiper pressed his detonator, there was a dull crump and to his satisfaction the grating fell to the floor.

  The crypt beyond was awash with foul, dirty water and infested with rodents, but it obviously hadn’t been used in years. They waded their way past rotting coffins, containing the bones of long-dead monks and soldiers. Jenson wondered if any of them had fought in the last great battle to befall this place back in the prophet’s time. Either way, he vehemently hoped this place wouldn’t be the last resting place for his own bones. He glanced behind at Shalok to check she was okay. She smiled weakly at him and Jenson flashed a grin back—the girl was one tough cookie. Hillmead didn’t know how lucky he was, to have the love of such a woman.

  After a while, they came to some stairs that appeared to ascend to the monastery above. At the top of the stairs was a hefty wooden door with an ancient iron lock, the timbers of which were rotten, but still firm. Sandpiper’s pyrotechnics made short work of the lock and they were soon carefully easing the door open. The corridor beyond was again deserted, but this time there were signs of occupation. Low wattage bare light-bulbs hung from the roof, casting harsh shadows over alcoves that were placed at regular intervals between stone arches. Jenson reckoned this corridor was only one or two below the courtyard and probably led to the kitchens or monks’ quarters.

  They rapidly made their way along the stone passageway, making the most of the cover afforded by the alcoves until they came to a junction with another corridor. Jenson cautiously stuck his head around the corner, then quickly pulled it back again. He motioned for the others to hide in the shadows which they did moments before a monk stepped around the corner.

  Jenson grabbed the man by the scruff of his habit and pulled him into the alcove, wrapping an arm around his neck and face to stop him from calling out. Sandpiper placed the tip of a blade against the monk’s plentiful stomach and whispered into his ear, ‘So long as you don’t make a noise we’re not going to hurt you. Do you understand?’ The monk nodded enthusiastically and Jenson eased his arm away.