The Terran Mandate

by Michael J Lawrence

  Godfrey stared at General Kim. He gave her a single nod and waited. Unable to think of any reason to countermand his orders, she nodded her ascent and started walking back to her carrier.

  Her headset chimed again. "Guard Six, Eightball, we have your package inbound momentarily."

  She tapped her headset. "Guard Six copies." She quickened her pace, scanning the sky behind the trailing elements of her column. A glint caught her eye and she stopped to focus on a speck floating high in the air. The shape grew until she could make out the stubs of wings and hear the distant whine of its turbines.

  "Looks like our guest has arrived," she said.

  General Kim arched a brow. "What are you going to do with him?"

  Godfrey rubbed her chin. "He's kept his end of the deal. Maybe he's willing to go a little further."

  "He kept his end, but we did not," Kim said. "Why would he trust you now?"

  "Because we haven't killed him yet."

  "Do you want me to wait, then?" Kim asked.

  "No, send in the Third Battalion. It's easier to convince somebody when you have a stick in your hand. I don't want Dekker to to run if Lane can't pull it off."

  "Pull what off?" Kim asked.

  Godfrey smirked. "Being a general."

  Bait

  Lt. Simmons lay prone on the lee side of the ridge, peeking over its crest with her field glasses. "That is one squared away column," she said.

  Lying next to her, Sergeant d'Vane said, "I heard a rumor once."

  "Oh yeah, what about?"

  "They say General Kim has his troops do calisthenics every morning before chow."

  Simmons smirked as she studied the foot patrols strutting along the perimeter like toy soldiers. "That include pushups?"

  "Oh yeah. And pullups. Real exercise."

  Simmons twisted a knob on the side of her field glasses and tapped d'Vane on the shoulder. Her field glasses showed an electromagnetic flux ripple out from one of the carriers. She pointed at the vehicle and said, "There. One of them is starting up."

  "And they're folding back their panels. Looks like Second Brigade's getting ready to head out."

  Simmons scanned the carriers from the rear of the column, then swept her glasses forward up the line. She stopped when she saw that only the last third of the column was starting their vehicles. "Not quite," she said. "I see 18 regular tracks, a command track and a coms track. But that's it."

  The carriers eased back from the rest of the column and then turned in a single movement to form a line abreast. Simmons twisted the knob again and saw the shimmering red outline of their drivers through her heat detection filter. Even though she knew they couldn't see her, she couldn't help feeling that all those eyes were boring right through her. Two platoons of four tanks each rode up and took position on the flanks, completing the firing line formation. The tanks slowed but did not stop as the carriers surged forward.

  Simmons lowered her field glasses and stared at the nearest end of the formation. Realizing the path of the tanks would edge up on the slope of her ridge, she said, "This is going to be close."

  "Maybe we should displace," d'Vane said.

  "Too late. Just hunker down." She pulled back from the crest of the ridge and lay as flat as she could as the rattle of tank tracks floated over her from the other side. Billows of dust boiled up and washed over them as the tracks passed just feet from their position.

  After the dust settled, Simmons tapped her headset. "Enforcer Six, Badger. Immediate. Battalion strength carriers plus two platoons tangos south from grid 617 528. Out." She rolled over and grabbed d'Vane's arm, pulling him to his feet as she stood up. "Now we displace."

  Final Orders

  Dekker stood behind Sergeant Preston, watching his coms tech brush his fingertips over the switches and buttons on the main panel in the communications control center.

  "Can you sort this out?" Dekker asked.

  "Yes sir," Preston said. He touched one of the panels, his finger barely gracing its surface, as if he were studying a display in a museum. "This here is the UHF panel." He moved his hand along the panels, pausing to touch each one as he spoke. "LF, HF, TACAN, IFF -"

  "Alright, Sergeant. How does any of this help us with the STI?"

  Preston ran his hand over the panels again. "None of this helps us directly," he said. "I'll need to do some work on it."

  "What kind of work?"

  Preston's hand stopped at the power switch. "Well, first thing -" He held his breath for a moment and flipped the switch. A green light next to it glowed. Needles on gauges fluttered and red LED displays came to life. The monitor in the center of the console flickered and then revealed a slew of green dotted text scrolling up the screen as the system's computer ran its power up tests.

  "Well, that looks pretty good," Dekker said, letting out his own breath. "Now what?"

  "This is all designed for ground and air traffic. Nothing here is designed for a satellite uplink."

  "Can you rig it?"

  "I think so, sir. I just need to figure out the best way."

  "Let's try the fastest way, Sergeant."

  Preston turned to look at him. He rubbed his chin and started nodding. "Alright sir. I'll need a minute to think this through."

  Dekker patted him on the shoulder and said, "I understand. I want a briefing in 30 minutes."

  "Aye aye sir."

  Dekker stepped away and paced to the hatch leading to the compound. He stepped outside to see one of the Marines standing guard scanning the sky with a pair of field glasses.

  "What do you have there, Corporal?" he asked.

  Still watching the sky, the sentry said, "Something inbound from the air. It looks like on of ours."

  Dekker's headset chimed. "Enforcer Six, Skywatch, over."

  "Go Skywatch."

  "Sir, we have an inbound contact requesting to talk to you."

  "Let me take a look, Corporal." The sentry lowered his field glasses and handed them to Dekker. "Say again, Skywatch. Somebody wants to talk to me?"

  "That's correct, sir."

  "Do you have an ID?"

  "Sir, they're squawking the General's command code."

  Dekker's head jerked back as he lowered the field glasses. He handed them back to the sentry and walked across the compound to the main gate where the weapons company was starting to prepare its defense. He clasped his hands behind his back as a shimmer of sunlight swept across the bottom of the approaching jumjet's wings. The Marines standing around the gate turned their heads as its turbines threw up a vortex of dust. Dekker narrowed his eyes, but did not turn his head, allowing the grit to sting his face is it swept across him.

  The turbines whined to a standstill and the canopy hissed open. Even before the passenger stood up to dismount the cockpit, Dekker recognized General Lane's face. The General climbed down the ladder, testing each step as if he wasn't sure he could hold his own weight. After the last step, he didn't hop down but instead planted one foot at a time on the ground. He held on to the ladder for a moment longer and then turned to face Dekker. Lane started to walk towards him, his face creased with the strain of trying to hide a limp. He was pale and his eyes drooped with pain. As he drew closer, Dekker saw the sheen of a bruise on his left cheek. Even so, General Lane managed the same smile Dekker had seen when he had received his orders to chase down the Paladin - orders that now seemed to come from another lifetime.

  As if Dekker wouldn't notice any of it, Lane kept the smile, a beaming mask of pleasantry that was as out of place as the General himself. When he was close enough, Dekker raised his hand in a salute. Lane cocked his head, broadened his grin and returned the salute. Behind him, the jumpjet lifted off and scurried back the way it had come. Dekker tapped his headset and said, "Skywatch, let him go. We'll call it a parley."

  "Wilco."

  As Dekker let his hand back down, Lane siezed it with a firm grip. "Ben, how the hell are you?" Dekker shook his hand, keeping his gaze glued on Lane's eyes.


  "Fine, sir," Dekker said. "I'm glad to see you survived the First Brigade's attack on the compound."

  "Yes, well, I guess I'm a little worse for the wear," Lane said, still smiling.

  "You managed to escape?"

  Lane's eyes shifted away for a moment and he let out a grunt. "Not exactly." His eyes moved to the Marines standing sentry at the communications center and then swept the compound. "We need to talk." He jabbed his thumb behind him. "Let's go for a walk."

  "I'm in the process of setting up a defense, General. I can't leave my post."

  "Captain Brandt can handle it. It won't take long." Still, the smile.

  Dekker felt his brow starting to shift as he realized the General didn't know what had happened to his XO. He caught himself and forced a blank look. What else did the man not know? "Time grows short, General."

  Lane's smile quivered. "I'm a little surprised at you, Ben. You've gotten - " Lane narrowed his eyes. "-testy."

  Dekker started walking away from the complex, slowing his pace to compensate for Lane's limp. He thumped the heel of his left boot against the ground as they walked, forcing himself to keep looking forward. Neither spoke as they put distance between themselves and the complex.

  "Where have you been, General?"

  "Negotiating."

  Dekker stopped and turned around. General Lane was breathing as if they had walked a mile even though they had been walking for only a few minutes. The smile was gone and he pressed a hand against his ribs.

  "Negotiating?"

  "Yes," Lane said, trying to suppress his wheezing. "Because of you."

  Dekker's face grew hot. He started to take a step towards Lane and stopped himself. "Me?"

  "The Paladin is still out there somewhere. And you're here." Lane swept his hand towards the complex, "defending a dead com center in the middle of nowhere." A wince fluttered across his face as he adjusted his hand on his ribs. "When you should be tracking him down."

  "The situation has changed since then, General. And I haven't been able to contact you."

  "You have orders, Colonel."

  "Orders?" Dekker spat the word. "Orders that took us out of position so the Terran Guard could overrun the compound while their Second Brigade roams free."

  "Colonel - "

  "Orders that have left me with the only credible force to help the Paladin defend against an attack that you and I both know is coming." Dekker took a step towards Lane. "But I wonder if you know why."

  Lane tried to scoff but he winced hard and clutched at his rib cage instead. He shook his head, a smile creeping back onto his face as the pain subsided. "They are attacking the one thing they're still afraid of, Colonel. The one thing that has kept this ceasefire from holding. The one thing you were supposed to take care of. They are attacking, Colonel, because you failed to follow orders."

  "You didn't come here to lecture me about orders, General."

  "No, I suppose not."

  "Then why are you here?"

  General Lane eased his hand away from his ribs and squeezed his eyes shut. He tugged at the bottom of his field utility blouse and sucked in a breath through his nose. He opened his eyes, the smile draining away as he fought to hide his pain behind a commander's scowl. "New orders, Ben."

  "Really?"

  General Lane took a step forward, blinking hard to hide another wince of pain. "Yes, really. Assuming you're still a member of the MEF. If not -"

  "Then there really isn't much you can do about it. Sir." Dekker stared at his commanding officer. If the wind had come up and toppled him over and covered him with sand, Dekker would have walked away and there was nothing anybody could have done about it. Would anybody have even cared? The man standing before him, shrouded in pain, slave to something that Dekker still couldn't touch, wasn't even a Marine. Not anymore. He knew that much. But he needed to know more. He needed to know who this man wearing the uniform of a Marine general was, and why he now stood in the desert sun acting as if he were still somebody who understood what a real order even was. Was he the same man he had always been? Or had he become something else?

  "What are your orders, General?" he asked.

  "It doesn't really matter who's right or wrong at this point. The war's over. You need to stand down, Ben. I know you can't see it right now, but you'll be saving lives. There are still colonists left and they'll be treated humanely. I might even be able to have you keep your commission and retain at least a token command. You'll be comfortable. All you have to do is let the Second Brigade do what needs to be done so they'll know that it really is over."

  "And what would that be?"

  "Let them take care of the Paladin. All you have to do is not get in the way. They'll handle the rest."

  "And what happens to him, General? He won't surrender. Ever."

  "The price for peace, Colonel." Lane slid his foot forward and placed his hand on Dekker's shoulder. Dekker resisted the urge to slap it away. "It was his choice, Ben. All he had to do was come home."

  "And if I refuse?"

  General Lane shook his head. "A full battalion of Terran Guard is already on its way, Ben. But you probably know that already. Out of respect for you and your men, I convinced them to let me talk to you first."

  Lane's eyes were drooping again, but not from pain. They were pleading with him. Were they pleading with him to save Dekker's Marines? Or were they pleading for the General's own life?

  "You see, Ben," General Lane continued, "I'm here on a mission of mercy."

  Dekker brushed Lane's away from his shoulder. "Yeah? Tell that to the people who were on Dirt Hill."

  "Ben, I-"

  "No. Like you said, the Terran Guard will be here soon. You can surrender to them if you want. Again. Until then, stay out of my way." He poked Lane's chest hard enough to make him stumble back. "And keep quiet. Cross me and I'll shoot you where you stand."

  He walked past the General, knocking the man aside with his shoulder as he passed. It didn't even occur to him to look over his shoulder as he left the man who had once been his commanding officer standing in the Shoahn' sun clutching at his ribs.

  Fire Plan

  Dekker paced through the center compound. The weapons company's mortar crews were flinging dirt out of holes where they would position the heavy mortars while runners built leaning stacks of ammunition boxes behind each position. The compound was small and the mortars had to position themselves in two lines of four with barely ten meters between each position. He caught the eye of the section leader watching over the preparations and said, "That's going to be a tight sheaf, Sergeant."

  "Yes sir, but I think the Captain is leaving the 60's out with the main line, so we'll have a good spread for final defensive fires."

  Dekker eyed the buildings flanking the compound. "How about the masking?"

  "We checked it, sir. We're good up to 100 meters in front of the gate. The cards stop at 400 meters, so we'll be using our personal weapons at that point anyway."

  "Very well, Sergeant," Dekker said, resuming his walk through the compound. "Carry on."

  "Yes sir."

  Captain Douglas's command track was parked just inside the gate where he was bent over a sheet of paper spread across a folding plastic table and anchored at the corners by ammunition boxes. Dekker stepped up next to him and tapped the paper. "What's this?"

  "This complex isn't in our tactical database, so I had to sketch the battle plan."

  Dekker surveyed the chart - Captain Douglas had worked up a detailed plan in less time than he could have mapped one himself on a proper tactical board. "Run me through it, Captain."

  Douglas ran his finger up the middle of the chart, extending in a line north from the gate. "Final defensive fires here," he said, sweeping his hand across the width of the chart. "I'm laying everything for a 500 meter interlocked perimeter extending across the front and wrapping around the far side of each of the buildings on the flanks."

  Dekker leaned to the side to look past the carrier an
d noted crews were mounting heavy anti-armor missiles forward of the gate. "I'm placing four of my mounted anti-armor teams right in the middle here. I'm setting up a Ma Deuce smoker and a mounted grenade launcher on either side of those. Bravo Company will hang off the ones on our left with Charlie on our right. Company frontage is about 300 meters on each side."

  Douglas stood up and started walking toward the missile crews mounting their weapons on tripods and lining up the sights on stakes marking the 500 meter line to their front. "Another M2, grenade launcher and mounted AV missile team on each company's flank at the end of the line." He stopped and looked towards the horizon. "That's the main line. I'm expecting the Terran Guard to advance straight at us from the north. That's their fastest route and I get the feeling they're in a hurry. I have listening posts set up on three phase lines at one, two and three kilometers out. We'll register the mortars on each line for prepared defensive fires as the Guard crosses each one."

  "What about Alpha Company?"

  "It is my intent to keep the Guard bottled up in the middle here, but if they manage to get around our line, I have Alpha's first platoon setting up to refuse the left flank, reinforced with an M2, grenade launcher, mounted AV team and a heavy portable missile team. Same thing for their second platoon on the right. I'm splitting their third platoon and setting them up on the rooftops as an over watch and reserve."

  "What's your fire plan?"

  "Phase line Dog at three kilometers; when they trip that line, I'll open up with the mounted AV missiles and the heavy mortars. Phase line Tripoli is at two kilometers. There, we add in the heavy portable AV missiles, 60 mm mortars and heavy machine guns. That will be the first line of engagement for the companies - I've distributed two heavy portables on each of their flanks and am leaving their 60's attached under the direction of the company commanders. Phase line Exodus is at one kilometer. There, we light up with everything else. About a dozen medium machine guns and close to fifty light machine guns, along with fifteen light shoulder missiles and a hundred and fifty highly motivated riflemen."