His maintenance chief's body was still lying next to the carrier, unmoving. He clutched both control handles, working them in concert to walk the Cat back out of the compound until the chief's body was hidden from him behind the carrier. He cranked the Cat around until it was facing away from the compound and stopped. Reaching up to the console above him, He grabbed a wide red handle mounted on a large swivel and yanked it forward. Two jets straddling the side of the Cat lit up as two small wings flipped out above them. The Cat lifted off the ground, slowly at first, and then picked up speed until it was 200 feet in the air. Working the control handles, he steered the Cat in a long jump towards the low sandy ridges outside the compound. The ground shook hard when the Cat landed, the hydraulics easing it into a crouch as they absorbed the impact. He punched a button in the center display to confirm that the stabilizers were on line and then dialed in a heading on the thin strip of navigation controls along the top of the console deck. He flipped a switch and eased back in his seat as the autopilot took over and moved his Cat forward in a steady walk away from the compound.
Letting out a long sigh, he looked at the patch on his leg, relieved to see the blood from his wound had not soaked through. He reached into the medical kit and pulled out a small bottle of water. He ripped open a packet of antibiotics, washed them down with the water and let both drop to the floor. He briefly eyed the packet of pain killers and closed the lid.
Through the canopy, he watched the far horizon ebb into a dark blue haze as the brightest stars began to twinkle in the shimmering air. He felt a warm haze infuse his body and struggled to keep his eyes open. As his mind raced to unravel the meaning behind what had just happened, he fell asleep as his Cat stomped and whirred across the desserts of Shoahn'Tu, carrying him to the safety of his comrades.
The Enforcer
Colonel Dekker tucked his cover under his left arm and pounded on the wall with the palm of his hand three times.
Through the closed door, he heard General Lane say, "Come." Dekker took a breath and waited until he was sure his mind was settled before he swung the door open and stomped up to Lane's desk. He clicked the heels of the black resin dress boots he had shined to a mirror polish. He raised his voice, as if the General were standing ten feet away instead of sitting behind the desk in front of him, and said, "Colonel Dekker reporting as ordered sir." He stood as still at a statue and stared at the wall.
"This is the Marine Corps, Ben, not the SS. At ease." Dekker didn't move. General Lane came out from behind his desk, kicked the plastic chair on the other side at Dekker and said, "Siddown!"
With a steel edge in his voice, Dekker said, "Aye aye sir," and sat down, sitting straight enough to keep he back an inch away from touching the chair's back.
Returning to his seat, General Lane said, "We don't have time for this shit, Ben. I know you think I left your guys hanging the other day, but we don't need to go through all that again, do we?" The two men sat in silence as Dekker continued to stare at the wall. The image of the Marine he had put to sleep forever pushed its way into Dekker's mind.
General Lane smiled like a politician. "You did a damn fine job, Ben. You should know that."
Dekker wanted to believe the General believed his own words, but he knew better. Dekker lowered his gaze to General Lane and said, "Yes we did. And we would have done it better if we'd had some help."
General Lane closed his eyes and nodded. Looking at Dekker as if they were discussing the weather, he said, "I know, Ben. You're not the only one who makes mistakes around here. I screwed the pooch. Alright?"
Dekker's mouth opened slightly and he cocked his head to the side. "That's right sir, you did. But I guess I don't have a lot of room to talk about it, do I?"
Lane raised an eyebrow. "Sure you do. Do you want to?" He folded his hands and leaned back.
"I guess not. None of us could have known about the Second Brigade."
"But -" General Lane prompted.
"But somebody did."
"I agree. And we're going to find out who it is." He beamed the politician's smile again. "I promise."
"Thank you, sir. Is that it, then?"
"I called you in here to talk about something more important. We may not have to worry about doing better next time."
Dekker eased back into his chair.
"Had a visitor yesterday," General Lane continued. He leaned forward, beaming. "One each General Godfrey of the Terran Guard."
Dekker squinted. "The Red Bitch herself?" he asked.
"That's right. She was bouncing off the walls about troop dispositions and the Highlands." Lane turned back to pull the tablet from a desk drawer and slid it towards Dekker.
"I want you to take a look at this, Ben. Tell me what you think."
Dekker picked up the tablet and tapped the screen. His pulse quickened as he scanned the text confirming everything Godfrey had said: the stand down, consolidated lines, retention of ranks and units, integration of command, and, most importantly, safe passage to the Highlands.
Dekker looked up to see General Lane smiling - again. "This ends the war. I think we'll want to be careful here. Keep the battalions in place. Keep the Paladin someplace safe to make sure they mean it. But, if we can trust her - ." He frowned. "That part's kind of tough."
General Lane stood back up, keeping his fingertips on his desk and said, "Yeah, that's pretty much what I thought, too." He walked around the side of the desk, watching Dekker from the corner of his eye. "But we have a problem."
"Oh?"
"Not everybody agrees. We have enough parity to make it work. I don't think she can screw us too badly here, but you and I both know we can't win this thing. "
"True. Who's pushing back?"
Lane sat on the corner of his desk and sighed. "The Paladin."
Dekker scoffed. "Can't say I'm surprised. Major Walker is a man of his own mind."
"It's worse than that, Ben."
Dekker heard a faint ring in his ears as General Lane stepped to the porthole overlooking the MEF compound and placed his hand on the wall. With his back to Dekker, he said, "I told the Paladin about this plan last night."
"What did he think?"
"He went into a rage. I've never seen him like that before. He was furious, going on about how the Terran Guard are sworn to destroy us and every man, woman and child in the colony. He was frantic." Lane shook his head and turned around, leaning his back against the wall. "And then he resigned his commission."
"What?" Dekker asked, choking the word past the lump in his throat.
"Said he would rather fight alone and die to a man than give in to the tyranny of the Terran Guard."
"No." Dekker scratched the back of his head. "He's a bit of a rogue, but he's not insane. This doesn't make any sense."
Lane's eyes drifted to the floor. "There's more." He sat back down behind his desk, propped his elbows on top and cupped his fist in his hand. "He stormed out of here, mounted his C -2B and started shooting up the compound."
Dekker tried to imagine Walker mounted in the cockpit, leveling his guns. The picture wouldn't come together. It was a picture that couldn't come together.
"I sent out a detail to try and talk him down and he just gunned them down."
The picture still wouldn't form in his mind, but he had already heard the rumors. Listening to his commanding officer confirm those rumors brought a new reality to them. He tilted his head and whispered, "My God." He rubbed his brow and let out a sigh. The two men sat in silence as Lane's words swam through his mind.
"Where is he now?" Dekker asked.
"We don't know. That's where you come in."
Dekker took a deep breath and put his hand up - a reflex, as if he were trying to stop an enemy tank barreling towards him with its gun aimed directly at his face.
"I know, I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it for myself," Lane said.
"What does this have to do with me?"
"You know him pretty well, yes?"
Dekker shrugged. "Yeah." He stared at the wall, remembering something from a lifetime ago. "He was my Combat Trials Instructor. After that, he chose me to command his infantry escort company. That was back in the days when the Cats had their own infantry and a detachment from the air wing. My God, we were a sight to see." His voice trailed off as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"As I recall, that was a position of some prestige."
"Yes sir. You could spend your entire life to become a regimental commander and have something to really be proud of. Serving as the Paladin's Foot Guard - that was in a league of its own."
Lane pulled his mouth into another smile, more forced this time. He was officially the MEF commander, but the truth was he was noting more than a regimental commander himself because that was all they had left.
"No disrespect to the MEF commander, sir," Dekker said.
"That's why I need you, Ben. You know him better than anyone and this ceasefire doesn't have a chance with him starting a one-man war with the Terran Guard."
"Oh, it won't be just him, sir. His men are loyal to him. And him alone. If he goes up against the Guard, they'll be right behind him."
"Yeah, I know. Before that happens, I need you to find him and talk him down."
Dekker felt the room closing in around him.
"I don't see how that's possible, sir."
General Lane reached down to open his floor safe. Dekker watched Lane's hands as they moved from the safe and placed the blue control grip on the desk. "You know what this is?" Lane asked.
Dekker's heart stopped cold. "That's an STI grip," he said. "I didn't think we had any left."
"Neither did anybody else," Lane said. "We found a satellite six months ago. I had some guys who used to work for Orbital Assets Command take a look and they confirmed it has one shot left."
"Well, hell, that right there could make sure Godfrey plays ball."
Lane scoffed. "Yeah, except the track is way the hell and gone in the middle of nowhere. Totally useless anywhere around here. But - ." He raised his eyebrows and slid the device across his desk. "If you can't talk him down, you can maybe lure him into the track."
Dekker felt the world crash in on him. He couldn't breathe. His hand began to tremble and he let it dangle next to him, hoping Lane wouldn't notice.
"You want me to kill him."
"No. I don't. I want you to bring him home. But if he won't come home - ." He glanced at the device before saying anything more.
Dekker's hand started shaking again as he picked up the device. He clenched his fingers around the grip hard enough to make his knuckles white as he tried to force his hand to stop trembling.
It felt heavy and cold as he stared at the faded blue plastic of the control casing and the cracked grip used to hold it in place while the operator punched in drop coordinates. He stared at the red trigger running the length of the grip.
"Call me for the codes if it comes down to it, Ben," General Lane said, as if he had just given him an order to pick up provisions or conduct an inventory of his battalion's supplies.
"It won't, sir," Dekker said. He set the grip back on the desk and pushed it towards Lane. "I don't need this." What he really meant was that he couldn't. He could find the Paladin. He could talk to him. He could knock him out cold with a punch to the face and drape him over his shoulder if he had to. But he couldn't even think about killing him without his stomach turning.
"I hope you're right. But know this. The MEF and the colony are depending on you to stop him."
Lane nudged the grip back towards Dekker.
"If you don't," General Lane continued, "I don't think any of us are going to survive."
He looked at the grip and then leveled his gaze on Dekker. "If it makes it any easier, Colonel, consider it an order. You're at liberty to take whatever action is necessary to stop the Paladin. But you must stop him. Take it with you. Keep it with you. If you run out of options, call me for the codes."
Dekker closed his eyes and picked up the grip. His hands still trembled, but he didn't bother to try and hide it any longer. He opened his eyes and turned the device in his hand as if it were a loaded gun that he was supposed to point at his own head.
Sky Rider
Emmet held Jommy's hand as they watched the rest of the farmers tote bundles and crates into the clearing. They were into the deep of the night now and darkness shrouded everything as they worked by the light of electric lanterns. Hasam, the colony foreman, directed the families as they deposited their packages and then backed away, forming a circle around the growing pile of supplies.
They brought vegetables that looked like they were rotting, a bit of grain that was already in short supply and processed food packages from the dwindling stockpile provided by the MEF. Everyone stopped and stared when one man brought a portion of meat. He had found and killed the only animal anyone had seen in years and most wondered if there would ever be another. Hunting was illegal and would have landed Hasam and a few others in the Marine stockade, if there had been any real reason to put them there. The unwritten rule was that the colonists could do whatever it took to survive as long as they were discreet about it.
What happened next, though, the MEF would have taken very seriously. The radio slung over Hasam's shoulder crackled and hissed. He stepped away so nobody could hear him speak with whoever was on the other end. When they were finished, he pointed to two men standing on a patch of dirt just beyond the pile of goods and yelled, "Light it!"
One of the men poured something from a clear plastic bottle on a pile of cord wood - the one thing that Shoan'tu had in abundance - while the other ignited a plasma torch and lit the wood on fire. As the blaze came to life, they trotted back to join the rest of the farmers. Nobody talked as they all scanned the night sky.
The first thing they heard was a whining hiss in the distance and then the distant roar of turbines as a boxy hovercraft crested a hill and scooted in over the fire. With the dexterity that came from a lifetime of flying a freight hover that had hauled every manner of supplies and structures used to build, move and rebuild the colony, the pilot slowed the craft to a hover and then eased it onto the ground between the fire and the farmers waiting with their supplies.
Just as it landed, the crowd sprang into action and converged on the pile to haul packs, sacks, crates and bundles to the craft as the pilot stepped down a ladder hanging from the cockpit and hopped to the ground. As the first bundles arrived, he opened the wind-scarred side doors, swung them up on squealing hinges and latched them in place with rusting steel rods.
The farmers lined up and started handing their goods to the pilot. As each bundle was delivered, the donor said the same thing: "For the Paladin." The pilot nodded and smiled as he hoisted the goods into the freight box.
Emmet handed a bundle to Jommy and told him to get in line. When it came his turn and the boy handed over his bundle, the pilot signaled for him to wait. He climbed the cockpit ladder and fetched something from inside. He climbed back down and slipped it into Jommy's hand. He leaned forward to whisper something. Jommy quickly pocketed the item and gave a little hand salute.
He ran back to Emmet with a grin sprawled across his face. He stopped next to his father, looked over both shoulders to make sure nobody could see and then pulled the transmitter from his pocket.
"What's that?" his father asked.
"It's a radio," Jommy said. "He told me to use it to call him if I ever get lost."
Emmet gulped, hoping his son wouldn't catch it in the darkness. That Jommy was the youngest member of the colony wasn't something he thought about much. That the pilot knew this and had given him something that would only be useful if he were in danger ignited a stab of loneliness as he thought of how few they had become. He knew what the pilot really meant: it was in case Jommy found himself alone. He smiled and patted the boy on the head. "Keep it close to you son, and don't tell anybody."
"I will. And I won't." Jommy looked at his father and beam
ed as he stroked the edges of the treasure in his palm.
After the last bundle was loaded, Emmet joined the other senior farmers next to the freighter as the pilot folded the hatch back down and locked it in place.
"Is the Paladin coming back?" Hasam asked.
"I can't tell you anything right now, Foreman. Everything's a mess."
"Well we can't afford to just keep feeding the Paladin and his men if they're not going to protect us."
The pilot looked at the ground and grunted. "Look, I know y'all are scared right now. Everybody is. But look yonder." He pointed towards the MEF compound. "Y'all have the MEF guarding you day and night right now. I'm sure they'll look after you until this all gets sorted out."
Hasam raised the binoculars hanging around his neck and peered through their scratched lenses. "Yeah, and I see an entire brigade of Terran Guard parked right there on the Highlands." He lowered the glasses and glared.
The pilot smiled and asked, "How y'all know a battalion from a brigade anyhow?"
Hasam stepped closer to the pilot and said, "You don't farm Dirt Hill and not learn a thing or two about how things work." He jabbed his finger in the pilot's chest. "Now look, we need to know, when is he coming back?"
The pilot's smile vanished. "I honestly don't know sir. Like I said, everything's a mess. All I can tell you is the MEF ain't givin' him supplies right now." He kicked the bolt holding the freighter's hatch closed. "You're all he's got."
Pyramid
The twelve Cataphracts of Major Walker's Combat Armor Team were crouched in three box formations stretched across the base of the Pyramid. Four large tents made from thin sheets of green resin formed the command post. Smaller tents, serving as a field barracks, flanked the command post on either side. Lights mounted on thin poles next to the command post illuminated the camp as the sun fell behind the horizon. The Company First Sergeant and a detail of Marines stood in front of the command post, watching the freighter as it approached the camp.
The First Sergeant turned his head and held on to his cover as dirt swirled around the freighter from its turbines straining to lower it to the ground. As soon as the freighter touched the ground and the turbines started to spool down, he unbolted the doors, swung them up and latched them. Before the pilot had even dismounted, the Paladin's men were hauling crates and bundles from the freighter and depositing them in one the command post tents where the headquarters staff would sort, catalog and distribute them.
The Terran Mandate Page 9