“Top Secret Gold,” Michael said, pushing his NRA identity card over for Jaruzelska to check.
“That will do,” the admiral said. “Come with me.”
• • •
Michael sat back from the holovid screen. “That’s impressive, admiral,” he said, “and this man Ngaro is right when he says UNMILCOMM’s assessment of Operation Juggernaut was, let me see … yes, ‘overly optimistic.’”
“He’s not Chief Councillor Polk’s chief of staff because he’s an idiot; that’s for sure.”
“Look here,” Michael said, his finger stabbing out at the screen, “where he says ‘Operation Juggernaut has given the NRA a mobile missile and laser defense capability, a capability that will allow them to sustain offensive operations outside their Branxton and Velmar bases for the first time.’ That must mean they know the NRA will attack McNair.”
“Of course they do, and that’s the problem with the NRA’s strategy. It’s all so obvious.”
“What choice do they have, sir? The NRA has to take McNair if they want to get rid of Polk and his crew.”
“This is now a war of attrition, Michael. The next time the NRA breaks out, all the Hammers have to do is throw everything at them, then grind them down and go on doing that until there is nothing left of the NRA but blood and dust.”
Doubt clouded Michael’s face. I’ve never looked past Juggernaut, he realized. I’ve always assumed that taking McNair was just a matter of time.
“And all the Hammers have to do is keep it together,” Jaruzelska went on. “Don’t forget that they have the resources of three industrialized worlds to draw on. That gives them more men, more armor, more missiles, more ordnance, more of everything. If they can outlast the NRA, then they win. Simple as that.”
Michael shook his head. “Ngaro’s not at all confident they can do that,’ he said. “He says morale in the military is at an all-time low and civil unrest is becoming a serious problem.”
“He can thank the Revival for that. Their agents are doing a good job of destabilizing things. Mindless vandalism, flash mobs hurling bricks and Molotov cocktails, sabotage shutting down factories, crippling transport, and disrupting power supplies, and no matter how brutally DocSec cracks down, it’s not showing any signs of stopping. If the Hammers are to lose this war, then that’s why.”
“So we’ve got a chance?” Michael asked.
“Oh, yes; just not as good a chance as I would have liked.”
Michael tried not to think what failure meant. “So what are your plans now, sir?”
“I’m joining your Anna’s battalion along with all the other Feds ENCOMM doesn’t have jobs for. We leave tomorrow.”
“You’re … You are kidding me, sir!” Michael said, eyes wide with surprise.
“Think I’m too old?”
“No, no, no,” Michael protested. “Just seems a waste of … you know … a waste of an admiral.”
“The NRA doesn’t need any admirals, Michael. It needs soldiers. Besides, what else would I do? I can use a gun, I can take orders, I’m a bit old but I’m fit, and it’ll be nice for someone else to do the worrying for a change.”
“Fair enough, sir,” Michael said, still trying to get his head around the idea of an NRA battalion stuffed with top brass playing at soldiers and commanded by an ex-lieutenant; he wondered how much more bizarre it could get. “Well, good luck with that, sir,” he continued, getting to his feet. “I’m here to see General Vaas, and I’ve got a few things to do first, so I’d best get going.”
“Off you go, but take care. We’re almost there.”
“I will, sir.”
• • •
Vaas looked up as Michael walked in. Oh, crap, Michael thought when he saw the thunderous look on the man’s face. I’m about to get my ass kicked. “You wanted to see me, sir?” he asked.
Vaas said nothing for a moment, then nodded. “Yes,” he said, his voice soft. He looked at Michael for a minute; his eyes were hard and unforgiving. “Now,” he went on, “did you or did you not understand my orders before you left for Gwalia?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“But you chose not to obey them. Is that it?”
“I’m not sure I follow you, sir.”
“Don’t mess with me, Colonel Helfort. I ordered you not to take any unnecessary risks, but you went ahead and did anyway.”
“Yes, sir,” Michael said. “Sorry, sir.”
Vaas threw his hands up. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, sit down. I was briefed on what happened at Gwalia this morning. What the hell were you thinking?”
“Of the mission, sir.”
“No, you weren’t,” Vaas snapped. “The only mission that matters is defeating the Hammers, not blowing the head off the Gwalia base commander. Kraa damn it! I don’t need you to do low-level shit like that. You’re no good to me dead, and if I cannot trust you to obey orders, you are useless. I have to be able to trust you; you must see that.”
“I’m sorry, General,” Michael said, and he was. Deep down he’d always known what the right decision had been; the problem was that he had been too caught up in the moment to walk away as he should have. “It won’t happen again.”
Vaas looked at him; after a while, he nodded. “Nobody doubts your bravery or your dedication,” he said, his voice all the more damning for its absolute lack of emotion, “but I do doubt your self-discipline. I’m not giving you any more chances, Michael. Disobey an order again, no matter how dumb you think it is, and I’ll bust you down to trooper. And if I do, you won’t be joining the Federal Battalion. You’ll be spending the rest of this Kraa-damned war on sector security. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When we’re done here, I expect you to kick the ass of that sergeant of yours. She had her orders too, and I don’t give a damn whether you overruled her or not. She knew what she had to do.”
“I’ll do that, sir.”
“Speaking of security, you’ll be getting your own close protection detail. Call me a slow learner, but Sergeant Shinoda will be in charge, and ENCOMM is giving you four troopers with the right training and experience. You are to make it quite clear to Shinoda and the rest of the team that they are to take you by the scruff of your miserable neck and drag you to safety anytime they think your life is in danger whether you want to be dragged or not, and that’s not a suggestion, Colonel Helfort. That’s an order, and I expect it to be obeyed to the letter. Is that understood?”
“Understood, sir,” Michael said through gritted teeth.
“Good. We won’t mention this lapse of yours again. Now, how is Colonel Balaghi?”
“In a word, optimistic, sir.”
“That’s good to know. He’s a thinker, that man. Any issues I should know about?”
“One, but I’d like another couple of days to talk it through with the political affairs people over at the Resistance Council.”
That got Vaas’s attention. “The Resistance Council?” he said, eyebrows raised. “A bit out of our area of operations, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is, General. But as I see things, working across the boundaries is precisely what I’m supposed to do.”
“Can’t argue with that, but the Resistance Council can be prickly if they think the NRA is interfering in their business, so be careful.”
“I will be, sir.”
“Good. Let me know when you’re ready to brief me.”
• • •
“So is that clear?”
“As crystal, sir,” Shinoda said.
“I hope so,” Michael said. “I do not want another kicking like that again.”
“It won’t be a problem, sir. And I’ll make sure the rest of the detail understands things as well.”
“Who have we got?”
“Corporal Bavalek, and troopers Kleber, Mallory, and Delabi. They were all Hammer marines once, so they’re competent, well trained, and experienced.”
“I’ll catch up with them when we move out
in thirty minutes.”
“Where are we off to now?”
“The Resistance Council.”
Shinoda’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. “Thirty minutes, Resistance Council, got it,” she said. “We’ll be ready.”
• • •
Michael looked at Martin Ruark for a moment. The more the Resistance Council’s authority on the Hammer’s bizarre state-sponsored religion told him about the Word of Kraa, the more he realized how little he knew. “So,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “the Teacher of Worlds has the power of life or death over everyone below him: every high prelate, every priest, every deacon, every acolyte?”
“Every last member of the Brethren,” Ruark said. “They take what is called the Vow of Absolute Submission. That means there is no appeal against any decision made by Calverson. It’s very simple: The Brethren obey or they die.”
“What about Calverson? Who controls him?”
“In theory, his imaginary friend in the sky.” Ruark pointed to the ceiling with a grimace. “But in practice, he is constrained only by the networks of mutual obligation that govern all Hammer politics. Just like any senior Hammer, Calverson has to negotiate to get what he wants, though nobody should be in any doubt that he is an immensely powerful man.”
“But if he says ‘jump’ to the Brethren, they jump?”
“They do. And Calverson is not afraid to take Polk on, especially if he believes the Doctrine of Kraa is under threat. Remember the Salvation operation?”
“How can I forget?” Michael said. “We lost eleven ships that day.”
“That was all Calverson’s doing. He leaned on Polk to send a task force to clean out a breakaway Hammer sect on a pissant planet nobody cared about. And yes, it did cost you Feds eleven ships, but the Hammer fleet lost even more.”
“And he can do that because it is the Word of Kraa that gives the entire apparatus of government, Polk included, its legitimacy?”
“Exactly.”
“So Calverson will interpret any attack on Polk as an attack on the Word?”
“He has no choice, really,” Ruark said. “The two systems, secular government and religious practice, are intertwined. One protects and nurtures the other.”
“Why hasn’t this problem been addressed in the planning for the attack on McNair?” he asked.
“I’ve tried,” Ruark said with a tired frown, “and the Council has tried, but ENCOMM says it isn’t necessary. Their plan is to take McNair, destroy Polk along with DocSec and the entire apparatus of government, and then move on to deal with Calverson.”
“Will that work?”
“I don’t think so. Calverson will see any change to the status quo as an attack on him, and he will react with all the power he can command. And it doesn’t take him long to mobilize his forces. He can have the Brethren in their pulpits and on the streets telling the faithful what to do inside a day. I think … I’m absolutely convinced that Calverson’s strategy will be to make the Worlds ungovernable until the status quo is restored.”
“Which means putting DocSec back in charge?”
“Yes. That will never happen, of course, so we’ll be facing decades of civil war until things shake themselves out. Regime change is like that.”
“So how do you neutralize the man?”
Ruark took his time answering the question. “First, you suborn his deputy,” he said finally, “a man called Rakesh Malfroy. He’s a nasty piece of work: very ambitious and utterly ruthless. And then you kill Calverson. Malfroy takes over, and he keeps the Brethren under control until the new teacher is elected, one who is prepared to work with us.”
“Can Malfroy be bought?”
“Hah!” Ruark snorted in derision. “Of course,” he said. “The man’s a Hammer, isn’t he? He was born to sell himself to the highest bidder.”
“Money or power?”
“He’s almost as rich as Calverson, so money’s not a big motivator. No, he wants what he hasn’t got: power.”
Michael frowned. “But if the NRA topples Polk and DocSec,” he said, “the power Malfroy would have as Teacher of Worlds disappears. So why would he go along? He won’t.”
“We don’t live in an ideal world.”
There was a long silence while Michael digested the uncomfortable fact that solving the Calverson problem wouldn’t be easy.
“So suborning Malfroy is most likely impossible,” Michael said eventually.
Ruark nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“Why not kill both Calverson and Malfroy?”
“Same problem, different person. Henry Ndegwa is third in line, and he understands the game every bit as well as Calverson and Malfroy.”
“Bloody hell. Help me here, Martin. How can we fix this? We need to.”
“I know we do. The only solution I can think of is deceit.”
“Deceit?”
“Yes. We take Calverson and Malfroy out of circulation while making it look as if they are safe and well. That neutralizes Henry Ndegwa; he won’t even break wind without Calverson’s say-so. Calverson and Malfroy issue a string of communiqués telling the brethren to stay firmly on the fence until the new government is in place. That gives the NRA the breathing space they need to deal with Polk and the Hammer military. Then Calverson and Malfroy, along with Ndegwa and every other senior member of the Brethren while we’re at it, are made an offer they cannot refuse.”
“Let me guess: cooperate or die.”
“You got it.”
“Shit,” Michael hissed. “You don’t want much.”
“It’s the only way.”
“No wonder ENCOMM hasn’t wanted to get involved,” Michael said. “I don’t blame them.”
“Maybe not, but it needs to be done. If it isn’t, then like I said, we can win the war only to lose the peace.”
“I agree. So can we work up a detailed proposal? I’ll only get one chance to convince Vaas, and I need to get it right.”
“We can.”
“Now?”
“If I must,” Ruark sighed. “I hate all-nighters, but if that’s what it takes. Let me go tell my boss what we’re planning—he’ll need to sign off when we’re done—and then we’ll get started.”
Monday, July 19, 2404, UD
ENCOMM, Branxton base
“I’ve read your report,” Vaas said, grim-faced, “and it was something I did not enjoy.”
“It’s a much bigger problem than we thought, sir.”
“And even harder to resolve.”
“Yes.”
“Kraa damn it,” Vaas muttered; Michael thought he looked exhausted. “You’re sure about this?”
“Yes, sir. Calverson and Malfroy can never stop the NRA from winning the war. The peace is another matter.”
“I hate to say it, but I think that’s right. Leave it with me. I’ll present it for discussion at the next staff meeting, and thanks, Michael. You’ve done a good job. This is exactly why I don’t want you swanning around being shot at.”
“Happy to help, General.”
“Good, because I want you to ride shotgun on a trial we’re doing tomorrow. Go see Major Marcovitz. She’ll brief you; she knows what I want.”
“Sir.”
• • •
“What’s the scoop, sir?” Shinoda asked as she and the rest of the security detail followed Michael into the maglev carriage for the long journey across the Branxtons.
“The 656th is doing trials of the first NRA-built mobile laser batteries, and General Vaas thinks the engineers are being a bit overoptimistic about how well they’ll work. He wants us to make sure there’s no cheating.”
“Sounds good to me, sir,” Shinoda said.
“Make sure you bring your helmets. There’ll be a lot of orbital kinetics coming our way.”
“Oh, great,” Shinoda muttered.
Tuesday, September 2, 2404, UD
Federal Battalion headquarters, Velmar base
“Every one?”
“I’m a
fraid so, admiral,” General Vaas said. “All the Juggernaut prisoners were shot yesterday by two DocSec battalions: the 154th and 352nd.”
“What animal would do such a thing?” Jaruzelska whispered, her face twisted into a mask of pain. Vaas thought the woman had aged ten years in as many seconds.
“Jeremiah Polk.”
“Why didn’t we know?”
“I can’t answer that, but I will find out. And we will find out the names of the DocSec troopers involved, and when we do, we will hunt them down, every last one.”
“I hope so. And thanks for telling me.”
“As the ranking Fed officer on Commitment, I thought you should know first.”
“Me, the ranking Fed officer on Commitment?” Jaruzelska said with a twisted smile of pain and loss. “Not anymore, General. I’m just a trooper now.”
“Ah, yes, you’re right.” Vaas thought for a moment. “Perhaps I should put a comm through to Colonel Helfort.”
“No, let me talk to her. She should brief the battalion. If you could sit on this until then, that’d be good.”
“We will.”
Friday, September 17, 2404, UD
ENCOMM billets, Branxton base
Michael was beyond exhausted.
As week followed week, Vaas had thrown task after task at Michael, the pace relentless as the launch of Operation Tortoise approached. The name still made Michael smile, and it was very apt. The NRA would make its push for McNair under a missile screen exactly as the Roman Army had moved forward under its testudo of shields. And every bit as unstoppable, Michael hoped.
But Tortoise could wait. If he didn’t get some sleep, he would collapse. Michael eased his aching body down onto his bunk and kicked off his boots, collapsing back with a grateful sigh. It won’t be long now, he reassured himself as sleep claimed him.
Sleep did not have him for long. A hand reached down to drag him awake.
“What?” he mumbled.
“General Vaas wants you, sir.”
Michael groaned. “You’re fu—”
“Now, sir.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll be there in two,” Michael said, cursing under his breath when he realized that he had been asleep for all of an hour. With an effort, he sat up. Forcing feet into boots, he set off for Vaas’s office, pausing only to liberate a mug of coffee from the drinkbot. He wouldn’t have made it otherwise.
The Final Battle Page 21