He knew when to cut his losses; besides, just because he saw no evidence, that didn't mean the Earthers weren't mad at him. On the eleventh day, the fifteenth of September, he bought a ticket on the airship and headed for Little St. Peter.
He had not given up, however. The people of the Citadel had been too thoroughly corrupted to be saved, true, but the rest of the protectorate might not be so far gone; he admitted to himself that most of the client populations were probably as deluded as the people he had spoken to in the Citadel, but there were probably still some men who held to the true ways, and at the very least he could hope to organize some sort of resistance somewhere, even if only mercenaries from outlying areas. Open warfare was not possible, but quick raids and harassment could be effective. If he made life sufficiently difficult for the protectorate's client states, no more would join and some might drop out. The spread of the Heavener contamination would be stopped and the evil contained, even if not destroyed. The Heaveners could not expand peacefully if no one was willing to sign up, and if they switched tactics and tried to expand by force their evil intent would be out in the open, and John could exploit that, perhaps even foment the popular rebellion he had expected initially.
With that all thought out he boarded the airship in a mood of guarded optimism, ignoring Miriam, who was still following him.
She was not willing to be ignored, however, and shortly after the airship took off she demanded, “Fleeing for your life, Captain?” She spoke loudly enough that two of the five other passengers glanced in her direction.
“No,” John replied calmly. “Just looking for more promising ground to seed."
“I hope you find some, Mr. Meek/Mercy-I'm still looking forward to seeing the Heaveners finish you off."
“If you want me dead so much, Ms. Humble, why don't you kill me yourself? You tried once, but since then you've passed up a dozen opportunities. Try it again and let's get it over with-I'm tired of seeing you following me around."
“Oh, no; I want no blood on my hands. When I tried to stab you I was still mad with grief-and besides, I thought I was defending myself, I thought you planned to rape me; I didn't know you were queer. Vengeance is the Lord's, and He'll take vengeance upon you when He's ready-but I want the pleasure of seeing it happen, as a comfort for my own suffering."
“You don't seem to remember the fifth chapter of Matthew's gospel,” John said. “Taking joy in another's suffering is not Christian. I have no further quarrel with you; leave me alone and I'll trouble you no more. Let what is past be past."
“And what of yourself, then, if you're so concerned with good Christian behavior? Aren't you seeking your own vengeance? Haven't you killed people, and aren't you planning to kill more?"
“I am fighting to save God's truth from its enemies, woman; the things of this world, even the lives of men, aren't as important as the life of the soul."
“You're so certain that the Heaveners are evil?"
John looked at her closely. “I thought you wanted me to fight them, so that I would be killed."
“Oh, I do, and I think that you'd fight them regardless of whether you thought they were evil or not. They're your enemies; they killed your men, destroyed your stinking little empire. You'll fight them anyway; you're not one for loving forgiveness."
“Matthew Five, Forty-Four-I do believe that, and I would forgive them and welcome them with all my heart if I didn't know them to be agents of Satan. They did destroy the People of the True Word and Flesh, the last bastion of the one purely true way of God-what more evil do you need?"
“Your people destroyed themselves, by attacking a more powerful foe-you destroyed them, by attacking the Heaveners. There's no evil in defending oneself. It may not be the Christian way-one could turn the other cheek-but it's not evil."
“If it's not Christian it is evil."
“I don't believe that."
“I do. Christ said, ‘He that is not with me is against me.'-Matthew, Chapter Twelve, Verse Thirty."
“Well, we don't know for sure whether they're Christians or not-Matthew, Chapter Twenty-Four, Verse Fourteen, the gospel shall be preached to all nations. What evil have the Heaveners done? Why attack them so foolishly in the first place?"
“You need to ask? They wallow in the sins of the flesh; their homes are full of sinful luxuries, and they take their pleasures without thought. When I visited their headquarters a woman who gave an obviously false name, that she wouldn't be held to account, forced herself upon me, seeking a moment's relief from her lust-not even an honest whore, as she took no money, but simply humiliated me for her own amusement. These are the people of Sodom and Gomorrah, come again."
“And you're no Sodomite, yourself?"
“No."
“I almost believe you,” she said, staring at him. “This woman…” She trailed off.
John waited for her to finish her question, but when she did not he simply let it drop and turned away. He had had enough of the conversation in any case.
At Little St. Peter John left the airship and hired a ride into town; as the wagon crawled up the slope he looked around for Miriam, but saw no sign of her in the darkness. He wondered if he had finally managed to lose her.
He quickly dismissed her from his thoughts as unimportant, however, and concentrated on his plans to organize a guerilla resistance against the Heaveners.
He remembered James Redeemed-from-Sin at St. Peter's Inn, who had spoken so strongly on the Heaveners’ behalf; that, he decided, would be a very bad place to start. Accordingly, when the wagon dropped him in the market square, he asked a few questions and found himself a room at a small boarding house, owned and run by the widow Worthy-of-Heaven.
In four days he found only one man who was willing to fight the Heaveners. Jonas Dust-to-Dust was perhaps not the most desirable recruit he had ever seen-fifty years old, but as bent and wrinkled as a man of eighty, not very bright and apparently ready to hate just about anybody, particularly if there were money or food to be had by doing so.
He was, however, a start, and he did happen to make one very useful remark.
“Seems to me,” he said when John had explained the situation, “that if you want to put together an army you should go where there's already some soldiers. All we got here in Little Pete is those fool guards on the walls, that work those big guns, and they ain't really soldiers at all."
John accepted the truth of this immediately. While it was true that he would have preferred to turn the people of the protectorate against their masters, it would be far faster and easier to find soldiers elsewhere. He had had no trouble recruiting allies for his disastrous first attack; surely he would be able to find ready allies for a guerilla war. The Chosen had seen what happened to their hated enemies; they might now be frightened enough to help. With Jonas in tow, he spent most of his remaining reparation money on three horses and set out for Spiritus Sancti.
No one in the protectorate paid much attention to them, but within an hour of crossing the border into the territory of the Chosen of the Holy Ghost they were surrounded by armed men, taken prisoner, and herded onward toward Spiritus Sancti.
John did not resist this treatment; he simply announced, over and over, that he carried an important message for the Anointed.
Jonas was less cooperative; despite John's example he put up a fight, knocking two men to the ground before someone broke his jaw with a rifle butt. He was bound and flung across his horse's back. John was permitted to ride upright, though the soldiers did confiscate the long knife he had bought in Little St. Peter, as a replacement for his own sword, which had somehow never been returned to him after his hospitalization.
To John's disappointment, they were not taken directly to the capital; instead, they turned off the main road and found themselves in a military outpost. Here, after delays that John struggled to take calmly, he was dragged before a harried-looking captain, leaving Jonas to wait his turn.
“Name?” the captain asked wearily, withou
t looking up from his desk.
“John Mercy-of-Christ, former captain in the army of the People of the True Word and Flesh,” John replied. “I have a message for the Anointed."
The captain looked up. He stared at John for a moment, then commented, “You're not in uniform."
“I said former captain, sir; I was relieved of my command."
The captain sat back, folding his hands behind his head. “Mr. Mercy, I sure hope you know what you're doing. It's traditional to use ‘retired’ or ‘discharged’ officers as spies; you could be hanged for espionage if you're not careful."
“I'm not a spy, sir; I have a message for the Anointed. I came into your territory openly, I haven't done or said anything out of line; what else am I supposed to do? I was relieved of my command, for leading my men into a massacre; should I lie about it, or wear a uniform I'm not entitled to? Besides, I haven't got a uniform; it was burned. They took my sword, too."
The captain leaned forward again. Even if he had not recognized John's name, he had certainly heard of the massacre the True Worders walked into.
“What's this message?” he asked. “Who's it from?"
“It's for the Anointed, from a group who want to keep the protectorate run by the People of Heaven from getting any bigger than it already is; I can't tell you the details, but we're hoping for some help."
“You didn't do very well with your first try-that is, if you were really in command of that attack."
“I was, sir-and that's why I won't try a frontal assault again. There are other ways, though."
The captain stared at him. “How many of you are there? The True Worders are too scared to fight; you must be an independent operation, right?"
“Well, sir, we aren't connected with the traitors in the True Worder government who sold out to the Heaveners, that's true. As for how many of us there are, even if I told you, would you believe what I said?"
“Probably not,” the captain admitted. He thought for a moment, still staring at John.
“All right,” he said at length, “if your buddy bears out your story, I'll send you to Spiritus Sancti with a recommendation that you be given a chance to talk to the Anointed. And if you are what you say you are, Mr. Mercy-of-Christ, I hope you get what you're after and wipe those bastards off Godsworld.” He motioned, and the two guards led John away.
Jonas apparently managed not to ruin John's story; the following morning the pair was on the road again, this time accompanied by four heavily-armed Chosen soldiers.
The Anointed heard John out politely.
“I take it,” he said after a thoughtful pause, “that you're the military commander of your little group."
John nodded.
“Your record against the Heaveners isn't very inspiring."
“That was the first time any army I led was ever defeated in battle-I didn't think they'd have any weapons that powerful. Now I know better."
“Even so, you'll understand that I'm not about to name you as my commander-in-chief and give you free rein. What I will do is offer my men a chance to volunteer. And I think we can sell you guns and bullets cheap-maybe even make it a loan. I don't think I like these Heaveners either, you know. And with the True Worders gone, I don't need my whole army here, sitting around eating and getting fat and lazy. Ah… answer me truthfully, now; how many men have you got so far? I know it isn't many, or I'd have heard about it."
“I can't say, exactly,” John said. “They come and go-men volunteer, others decide they made a mistake and go home. Not many, though, I'll admit that."
“Fewer than a dozen?"
Reluctantly, John said, “Yes."
“I thought so.” The Anointed leaned back with a contented smile on his face. “That's all right, though; you know the enemy better than we do. I'll call for volunteers and send them along. You'll have to wait just across the border-can't have any hostile acts on Chosen land. The Heaveners might be watching, with those airships of theirs."
“I suppose they might,” John agreed calmly. He forced himself to smile back.
Chapter Thirteen
“Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest."-Joshua 1:9
****
The Heaveners had, in a way, been very obliging in settling in the high hills; John and his men had no trouble finding places to hide amid the rocks and valleys surrounding the Citadel. Had the city stood on an open plain, or gently rolling countryside like that around New Nazareth, they would have had to find concealment within the walls, and confined themselves to sabotage and assassination instead of raiding.
John's company was a good-sized one. Eighty-five of the Chosen had volunteered, including three officers, and every one brought a rifle and five rounds; John guessed that that must have virtually emptied the Anointed's arsenal. As soon as he and the Chosen had their home camp set up and a basic organization established, John headed for the nearest town, intent on more recruiting; he did not like being one of only two non-Chosen in his own army.
He quickly discovered that the handful of survivors of his own destroyed True Worder army were still scattered about the Citadel and a few of the surrounding towns; the Heaveners had simply turned them loose when they were sufficiently recovered, just as they had with John himself. He had assumed previously that, as commander, he was given special treatment, but such was not the case. Of these men, fourteen were successfully recruited; the other survivors either refused to join or were never found. John considered this a disappointingly small response; he had hoped for greater loyalty from his own men.
As word of their presence spread, though, a handful of other recruits turned up. Eight volunteers drifted in from True Worder lands, three of them soldiers in Habakkuk's army who felt guilty about turning back before the massacre, the other five civilians who had disagreed with the decision to surrender and join the protectorate, army or no army. Four other men and two women also wandered in from various places.
John was surprised that Miriam never came looking for him, to wait for a chance to watch him die, but there was no sign of her.
With over a hundred men John felt ready to begin his campaign. He had hoped for more, perhaps enough to split into several bands, but he would take what he had and use it as best he could.
The Anointed had provided tents, but John had refused to set up such ideal targets, and had used the oilcloth to roof over a washed-out gully instead, scattering dirt and various red plants across the top for camouflage. The result was a cool, dim interior, long and narrow, with steep sides and a rough, slanting, uneven floor. John made his headquarters at the upper end; below that was the kitchen area, and the remainder was divided up between sleeping areas wherever the ground was relatively flat and dry, and open commons wherever it was not. One walled-off corner of the lower end served as a latrine, the other as a stable.
It was rather pleasant throughout most of September, but late in the afternoon of the final day of the month, the twenty-third, as John sat cross-legged on a rock planning the last few details of the opening raid on the Corporate Headquarters building, scheduled for that night, the fall rains arrived, drumming heavily on the fabric roof and dripping down through the seams.
Men who had been outside for one reason or another came rushing in, hands on their heads; of the dozen who had been gathering fungus for the kitchen supplies only one kept hold of his load, the rest dropping the pasty red lumps wherever they were, so as to run better. The clouds had been building for days, but had not been expected to break quite yet.
The trickle of water down the center of the gully widened perceptibly as John watched. He sighed and put down his pen and parchment. The rain would be good cover for the raid, but he was sure the men wouldn't see it that way. They would only notice that they were cold and wet.
“All right,” he called over the general hubbub, “those men going on tonight's raid, let's get moving; this weat
her is going to slow us down. If we want to get there and get back before dawn we'd better get started."
“But Captain,” someone called, “we can't go in the rain!"
“Why not?” John demanded.
“Won't it ruin the guns?"
“Not if you're careful. Come on, then.” He clapped his own helmet on his head, slid the waxed-wool rust-protector over it, then picked up his bundled supplies; his new sword, bought a week before in the protectorate village of Christ's Corner, was already on his belt, and his heavy leather jacket on his back. He had no rifle; he had never liked them.
Reluctantly, the others he had selected gathered about him: eight of the Chosen, two of his loyal True Worder soldiers, and a blacksmith from Truechurch who had resented the Heaveners’ trade in plastic. All ten soldiers carried rifles, with two rounds in each; the smith carried an assortment of explosives and a good sword, but like John himself, no firearms.
A few months earlier John would have considered twenty bullets an incredible extravagance for a single raid, but since the Heaveners had turned up with their apparently infinite supply of powder-if it was actually gunpowder they used, and not something else, as John had heard suggested-bullets were suddenly more plentiful, and had the advantage of being useful at long range. Guerillas could not afford to get in close enough to a fortress to use blades.
Besides, the Chosen were supplying the ammunition; it cost John nothing, and the Chosen officers had assured him more would be forthcoming if he needed it.
He had no grandiose ambitions for this initial raid; it was simply to get the men doing something, rather than sitting around letting the weather deteriorate. A raid would stir things up, would encourage the men, and might even attract more recruits. John had a dozen of his most reliable and intelligent men scattered about the local markets and taverns, looking for likely candidates as well as trying to pick up useful information about Heavener activities or organization.
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