Dean handed the truculent Corporal the remainder of his sandwich and started back to the Papal Palace. The walk helped Dean to calm down. The last thing he needed was to start a fight with another officer. He had known that his promotion would be ridiculed and that he would suffer unjustified attacks because of the publicity lavished on him after capturing the Urgglatta ship, but he wasn’t ready for the anger it sparked in him.
When he got to the palace he found Adkins and D’Vris asleep near the front door. They were in full battle armor, sleeping face down with their big shields covering their upper body. Dean knew it wasn’t a comfortable way to sleep, but the armor harness would hold the weight of the big shield off them while it offered them protection at the same time.
The physician was just coming into the Grand Reception room from the elevator. She looked distressed and Dean understood why.
“How many?” Dean asked.
“A dozen of the Pope’s personal guard are dead,” she said. “I never got your name, Captain.”
“Dean Blaze,” he said. “And you?”
“Esther Rosen,” she replied. “I serve his Eminence, the Most Holy Father, Nicolas VI.”
“Do the injured need anything?” Dean asked. “We aren’t medics but we can move bodies.”
“The injured are all dead, I’m sad to say. There is nothing more for me to do.”
“Actually, I have two Specialists being brought in from the local hospital. They were injured in the fighting. We had to bring them here straight out of surgery.”
“I will see to their care,” she replied gracefully. “Bring them back to the third room on the right in the eastern wing. It’s a fully stocked medical center for his Eminence.”
“Thank you,” Dean said.
She looked at him for a moment, then a coy smile played across her lips.
“What?” Dean asked.
“It is nothing,” she said in a soft tone.
“Doesn’t seem like nothing.”
“It’s just, I don’t even know what you look like, Captain Blaze.”
“Look me up online,” Dean said. “There are plenty of pictures floating around in cyber space.”
“So you are that Captain Blaze, the hero.”
“I’m just doing my job, Doctor. The same as you.”
She looked at him for a moment longer and then Chancy came in pushing an old fashioned wheeled gurney. The medic was right behind him, trying to control the small gurney with Staff Sergeant Chavez’s hulking form splayed across it.
“Where to, Captain?” Chancy asked.
“Follow me,” Doctor Esther Rosen said.
Dean watched as Chancy followed her, looking closely at Cat’s pale face. Her body was covered with a sheet, but he could see the bandages that had been wrapped around her body to secure the incisions that were made during surgery. Chavez’s eyes were open and he held up a hand to stop the medic as he started to pass Dean.
“Everything okay, Captain?” Chavez asked in a weak voice.
“A okay, Staff Sergeant. We have reinforcements and the compound is secure. Now get some rest.”
He nodded and the medic grunted, pushing the gurney away. Dean looked around the Grand Reception room and spotted a thickly padded chair in the corner. Once the medic was escorted back out of the Papal Palace by Corporal Chancy, Dean dared to lower his aching body into the seat. He scrolled through the various feeds around the compound. The city seemed quiet, and most of his platoon were sleeping. Tallgrass checked in and reported no other deficiencies in the compound wall. She had joined Ghost, Harper, and Chancy at the gatehouse.
Everything, Dean told himself, was under control. He could rest. It was okay to get a little rest. He set a timer on his TCU for two hours and leaned back into the soft upholstery. He had never been comfortable trying to sleep in his battle armor before, but at that moment he was so tired he didn’t care about comfort. He closed his eyes and fell immediately asleep.
Chapter 30
Dean’s TCU visor had darkened to keep the light out. When his eyes fluttered open he could still see but it was like he was looking through dark sunglasses. The battle helmet showed a countdown with more than twenty minutes still to go before Dean’s nap was over. But something else had roused him.
“Do it now, you old fool!” someone shouted.
Dean was on his feet and bounding up the stairs before he knew for certain what was going on. He knew there was trouble, but his vid feeds were minimized on his view screen inside his TCU and there was no time to scroll through them. Instead he raced up toward the sound of conflict.
There was a wail of pain, it was coming from the third floor. The curving staircase only rose to the second floor, but a smaller nearby set of stairs led up to what was essentially the Pope’s private quarters and guest rooms. Dean’s heart was racing. The wail had sounded like the Pope and Dean feared what Lieutenant Sawyer and his CCS were doing to the poor man.
Dean raced out of the stairs, and down the hall, bursting through the ornate double doors that led to the Pope’s suite of rooms. Sawyer and his CCS, a female Staff Sergeant named Rán Pfeiffer were on either side of the Pope. The Lieutenant was holding the Pope upright, although His Most Holy Father was on his knees, and it was evident by the way the older man was struggling to regain his breath that Staff Sergeant Pfeiffer had just punched him hard in the stomach. The blow had knocked the breath from the Pope’s lungs and silenced his wails.
“What in the devil is going on here?” Dean said furiously.
“We’re going to record this pompous old fart surrendering,” Lieutenant Sawyer said. “There’s broadcast equipment here. We can send his surrender out and end the fighting.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Dean said angrily.
He didn’t move, but used his TCU to send a command to D’Vris and Adkins to join him. He wasn’t sure if the order beeping in their battle armor would wake the two Heavy Armor Specialists, but he didn’t like being alone with Sawyer and Pfeiffer.
“Let him go, now,” Dean said in a commanding tone. “You are both relieved.”
“Bullshit!” Sawyer said. “This wormy fraud can stop the fighting. All he has to do is tell his troops to lower their weapons.”
“That is not our place,” Dean said. “We’re to hold the Pope, not coerce him into surrendering. The brass will take over and see that negotiations end the fighting.”
“Spoken like a true ass kisser,” Sawyer snarled. “You have no idea what the colonists are facing out there.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Dean said. “This is a sovereign colony. We are only here as peace keepers Lieutenant. You know that. Take your hands off of him, now!”
“Or what?” Sawyer demanded. “You going to file a report against me.”
He laughed and Staff Sergeant Pfeiffer joined in.
“This is outrageous, Lieutenant,” Dean said. “You are way out of line.”
“I’m beginning to think that you’re a church sympathizer,” Sawyer said. “You’re probably one of those arm waving pansies who thinks the universe was created in just a few days.”
“Stand down,” Dean said quietly.
“No, this is the right thing to do.”
“Hurting an innocent man is never the right thing to do.”
“Innocent?” Lieutenant Sawyer said, letting go of the Pope and charging toward Dean who held his ground. “This bastard had his sympathizers using assault weapons on the colonists. He armed roving bands of murdering thugs then gave them Indulgencies so they could do whatever they wanted without any consequences.”
“I’m not saying he’s right,” Dean said. “But that’s not our decision.”
“He’s a war criminal!”
“Perhaps, but our mission is to hold the compound and keep the Pope safe until Major McDowell arrives. Now, stand down.”
“I won’t, and you can’t stop me,” Sawyer said, turning and stalking back toward the Pope who was weeping on the floor. “He’s goin
g to end the fighting, right now.”
“No,” Dean said.
“Pfeiffer, apprehend the Captain,” Sawyer ordered.
The Close Combat Specialists looked at his Lieutenant. Neither Dean or Sawyer could see the woman’s face, but she was clearly hesitant to attack a Captain.
“Do it!” Sawyer shouted.
She turned and took three steps toward Dean, who didn’t move. He wanted to run, or draw his weapon and fire on both Pfeiffer and Sawyer, but he knew his battle armor was recording the entire incident. It would be reviewed and everything he did would be questioned. He didn’t want to fight Rán Pfeiffer, but he didn’t want to just stand there and get hurt either. If she pulled his arms behind his back and escorted him from the room, he wouldn’t be hurt, but keeping the Pope safe was Dean’s responsibility and one he would be held accountable for. He had to do something he just wasn’t sure what.
Then suddenly Pfeiffer stopped. Dean didn’t turn to look but he heard the servos inside the Heavy Armor suits. He was pretty sure that Adkins and D’Vris had moved in behind him, but there was a sliver of doubt. Sawyer was losing control and it was possible that he had called some of his own people back to the palace to help him carry out his fiendish plans.
“Is there a problem, Captain?” D’Vris asked.
“Yes,” Dean replied. “Lieutenant Sawyer needs an escort to the Gatehouse. He’s through here in the palace, Staff Sergeant Pfeiffer too.”
“We should go, LT,” Pfeiffer said.
“I’m not going anywhere. I won’t take orders from a coward like you. You’re nothing, Blaze, just a PR stunt who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“I’m following orders, Lieutenant. I suggest you follow mine.”
For a few seconds no one moved, and then with the speed of furious outrage, Lieutenant Sawyer snatched up the Pope. He jerked the Holy Father upright on his knees again and pressed the muzzle of his gun into the side of the elderly church leader’s head.
“You’re not getting away with this,” Sawyer snarled.
Dean held up both hands, trying to calm the situation even as he heard Adkins and D’Vris’ utility cannons swiveling around to target Sawyer. Pfeiffer didn’t move, but her hand was on the handle of a wicked looking Kukri that was in a sheath on her left thigh.
“No one shoots,” Dean said, trying to decide what to do next.
He didn’t know what type of ammunition Sawyer had in his Martin 3A Defense Pistol, but even if it were the non-lethal flechettes there was no guarantee that at such close range the dart wouldn’t punch through the Pope’s soft spot and rip through his brain.
Dean was just about to say something when his command channel beeped. He flipped on his external speaker and set the comlink to the command channel.
“WolfPack leader, this is command, do you read, over?”
“Command, this is Captain Dean Blaze. I read you, over.”
“Blaze, this is Major McDowell, I’m on my way in to the compound. Meet me on the roof. Over and out.”
Dean tilted his head and waited. He could see that Sawyer was seething, even though he couldn’t see the Lieutenant’s face. Then, just as suddenly as he had grabbed the Pope, he released him and shoved his gun back into it’s holster.
“Adkins, take them down to the reception room,” Dean said. “And await my orders. D’Vris, you’re back on duty here. No one comes into this room without my express permission.”
Adkins and D’Vris both said Yes sir! and Dean didn’t wait to see that his orders were obeyed. Instead he left the room, his stomach felt hollow and his hands were shaking. If the Major hadn’t arrived at that moment he wasn’t sure what would have happened. He did know that if Lieutenant Sawyer had fired on the Pope, Dean’s career would have been over. Even if the Pontiff survived, Dean would have been held accountable for letting things get out of control.
He walked slowly up the steps, his fatigue clung to him like wet snow, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Major McDowell’s shuttle was circling overhead when Dean opened the metal door that led out onto the roof of the palace. He stood just inside the door, the sun glaring down and the shuttle’s repulsers kicking up dust and buffeting him with air. The shuttle was different from a regular Recon Platoon shuttle. It looked almost insectile, with two large pods that joined together in the center of the craft. It settled onto the landing pad but instead of a hatch opening downward, one of the bubble shaped compartments popped open, with the darkly tented glass top rising upward.
Major McDowell unhooked his harness straps and climbed out of the aircraft. Two more men joined him, but Dean’s TCU didn’t register their names and they didn’t wear the traditional armor of OWFR.
“You’ve got the Pope?” McDowell said as Dean saluted.
“Yes sir,” Dean replied.
“Where’s Lieutenant Sawyer?”
“He’s downstairs in the reception room.”
“Alone?”
“No sir, HA Corporal Adkins is with him, along with Sawyer’s CCS Pfeiffer. We’ve had an incident sir.”
“I’m not surprised. I just got word that Sawyer’s a card carrying member of the Atheist Reform League. There’s more than a little tension between the political agenda of the ARL and the Catholic church. Sawyer never should have been assigned to this mission. Is the Pope alright?”
“I believe so,” Dean said. “Although, in all honesty, Sawyer and Pfeiffer were alone with him for over an hour.”
“Take me to him, Captain,” McDowell said.
Dean lead the way through the building and into the Pope’s suite of rooms. D’Vris had helped the elderly man into a chair and poured him a small snifter of brandy. The towering HA Specialist in full battle armor helping the distraught church leader was almost comical.
“Who is this?” the Pope asked.
“I’m Major McDowell. I’m sorry if things have been a bit crazy around here. You’re safe now. The rebels are anxious to talk and I’ll be arranging that shortly. For now, you’re safe and we can begin to get things set back in order.”
For the rest of the day Dean stood watch on the city gate while his platoon and Sawyer’s was tasked with moving the Swiss Guard out of the compound. The tranquilizer flechettes could put a grown man to sleep for eighteen hours, Dean learned. Anyone hit with multiple flechettes would be unconscious from twenty-four to thirty-six hours. In a way, Dean envied them, but then the drug had lingering effects like memory loss and disorientation that could last for days afterward.
McDowell was busy organizing a summit between the church leaders and the organizers of the rebellion. Dean had taken a moment to check on Cat and Chavez, but they were both resting. Doctor Esther Rosen had reported that both looked to be making good progress. Chavez had sustained a broken rib that had cut into his lung. The surgery he underwent was a minimally invasive endoscopic proceedure and not life threatening, but he would need a few weeks to get back on his feet.
More platoons were arriving to help secure the Pope’s private compound. By mid-afternoon the power was back online and the riots had been quelled by the city’s security forces. The militia was still armed and there were reports that the fighters loyal to the pope were slipping into the city, which made Dean nervous, but there was nothing more he could do. It was the Major’s show, and the EsDef Brass had high expectations for a positive end to the civil war. They wanted the conflict dealt with, and Dean had no doubt they would get it. He also had little doubt the peace would last.
He had looked up church Indulgences using his TCU’s link to Rome Three’s information network after reaching the compound gate. There were the usual conflicting explanations, but Dean was surprised to find out that the practice of granting Indulgences dated far back into the dark ages. According to many anti-Catholic sites, someone with an Indulgence was essentially given a free pass for any sin committed within the time period set by the granting church offical. The counter argument by pro-Cathoic church sites was that Indulgences merely red
uced the amount of penitence one needed to offer for sins and was used to make exceptionally long penitence less burdensome. The issue of money for Indulgences was the biggest factor, with one side claiming that the church sold them for profit, and the other side claiming that Indulgences were earned by good works, such as giving money to charities.
Dean realized that if the Pope on Rome Three was encouraging his militia to hunt down dissenters by giving out Indulgences, nothing short of a regime change would bring lasting peace, but luckily that wasn’t his concern. At that moment, his only real issue was staying awake on duty. He could have claimed privilege of rank and spent his time with McDowell and the other officers at the Papal Palace, but Dean wanted no part of the administrative work involved in planning the summit.
“Captain, may I join you?” Sergeant Eleanor Tallgrass asked.
“Of course, Sergeant,” Dean said.
He was leaning on short barrier on top of the gatehouse, not really sitting down but not standing on his feet either. He could watch the wide plaza via the MSV Harper had set up and there was no need for him to stand along the wall and peer over it.
Tallgrass moved quietly up beside him and looked at his arm. The gel was holding just fine, although it hurt to move the arm too much. His chest on the other hand ached, and his shoulder sent phantom pains shooting up his neck occasionally. She didn’t touch Dean, but he could see that she wanted to. He wasn’t sure if her concern was out of loyalty or if perhaps her feelings for him ran deeper. That thought led to his own feelings about Esma.
“You guys are finished moving the bodies?” Dean asked.
“For the most part,” she replied straightening up. “I’m concerned about your injuries.”
“Don’t be, I’m fine,” Dean said, feeling like a cowboy in an old western shrugging off his bullet wounds.
“No you aren’t. You should see a doctor.”
“I did see a doctor. The Pope’s personal physician. She fixed my shoulder, see.”
He moved his arm around, but he was careful. The fear of accidentally popping the shoulder out of socket was so strong he limited his movement and kept things slow. Tallgrass wasn’t impressed.
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