The Mercenary

by Jerry Pournelle

  The men were silent, and Hamner thought they might have been carved from stone.

  “Follow me,” Falkenberg ordered. He led the way to the Stadium entrance.

  Lieutenant Banners stood in the doorway.

  “Halt,” Banners commanded.

  “Really, Lieutenant? Would you fight my troops?” Falkenberg indicated the grim lines behind him.

  Lieutenant Banners gulped. Hamner thought the Guard officer looked very young. “No, sir,” Banners protested. “But we have barred the doors. The emergency meeting of the Assembly and Senate is electing a new President out there, and we will not permit your mercenaries to interfere.”

  “They have not elected anyone,” Falkenberg said.

  “No, sir, but when they do, the Guard will be under his command.”

  “I have orders from Vice President Hamner to arrest the leaders of the rebellion, and a valid proclamation of martial law,” Falkenberg insisted.

  “I’m sorry, sir.” Banners seemed to mean it. “Our council of officers has decided that President Budreau’s surrender is valid. We intend to honor it.”

  “I see.” Falkenberg withdrew. He motioned to his aides, and Hamner joined the group. No one objected.

  “Hadn’t expected this,” Falkenberg said. “It would take a week to fight through those guardrooms.” He thought for a moment. “Give me your keys,” he snapped at Hamner.

  Bewildered, George took them out. Falkenberg grinned widely. “There’s another way into there, you know. Major Savage! Take G and H Companies of Second Battalion to secure the Stadium exits. Dig yourselves in and set up all weapons. Arrest anyone who comes out.”

  “Sir.”

  “Dig in pretty good, Jeremy. They may be coming out fighting. But I don’t expect them to be well organized.”

  “Do we fire on armed men?”

  “Without warning, Major. Without warning. Sergeant Major, bring the rest of the troops with me. Major, you’ll have twenty minutes.”

  Falkenberg led his troops across the courtyard to the tunnel entrance and used Hamner’s keys to unlock the doors.

  Falkenberg ignored him. He led the troops down the stairway and across, under the field.

  George Hamner stayed close to Falkenberg. He could hear the long column of armed men tramp behind him. They moved up stairways on the other side, marching briskly until George was panting. The men didn’t seem to notice. Gravity difference, Hamner thought. And train­ing.

  They reached the top and deployed along the passage­ways. Falkenberg stationed men at each exit and came back to the center doors. Then he waited. The tension grew.

  “But-“

  Falkenberg shook his head. His look demanded silence. He stood, waiting, while the seconds ticked past.

  “MOVE OUT!” Falkenberg commanded.

  The doors burst open. The armed troopers moved quickly across the top of the Stadium. Most of the mob was below, and a few unarmed men were struck down when they tried to oppose the regiment. Rifle butts swung, then there was a moment of calm. Falkenberg took a speaker from his corporal attendant.

  “ATTENTION. ATTENTION. YOU ARE UNDER ARREST BY THE AUTHORITY OF THE MARTIAL LAW PROCLAMATION OF PRESIDENT BUDREAU. LAY DOWN ALL WEAPONS AND YOU WILL NOT BE HARMED. IF YOU RESIST, YOU WILL BE KILLED.”

  There was a moment of silence, then shouts as the mob realized what Falkenberg had said. Some laughed. Then shots came from the field and the lower seats of the Stadium. Hamner heard the flat snap of a bullet as it rushed past his ear. Then he heard the crack of the rifle.

  One of the leaders on the field below had a speaker. He shouted to the others.

  “ATTACK THEM! THERE AREN’T MORE THAN A THOUSAND OF THEM, WE’RE THIRTY THOUSAND STRONG. ATTACK, KILL THEM!”

  There were more shots. Some of Falkenberg’s men fell. The others stood immobile, waiting for orders.

  Falkenberg raised the speaker again. “PREPARE FOR VOLLEY FIRE. MAKE READY. TAKE AIM. IN VOLLEY, FIRE!”

  Seven hundred rifles crashed as one.

  “FIRE!” Someone screamed, a long drawn-out cry, a plea without words.

  “FIRE!”

  The line of men clambering up the seats toward them wavered and broke. Men screamed, some pushed back, dove under seats, tried to hide behind their friends, tried to get anywhere but under the unwavering muzzles of the rifles.

  “FIRE!”

  It was like one shot, very loud, lasting far longer than a rifle shot ought to, but it was impossible to hear in­dividual weapons. “FIRE!”

  There were more screams from below. “In the name of God-”

  “THE FORTY-SECOND WILL ADVANCE. FIX BAYONETS. FORWARD, MOVE. FIRE. FIRE AT WILL.”

  Now there was a continuous crackle of weapons. The leather-clad lines moved forward and down, over the stadium seats, flowing down inexorably toward the press below on the field.

  “Sergeant Major!”

  “SIR!”

  “Marksmen and experts will fall out and take station. They will fire on all armed men.”

  “Sir!” Calvin spoke into his communicator. Men dropped out of each section and took position behind seats. They began to fire, carefully but rapidly. Anyone below who raised a weapon died. The regiment advanced onward.

  Hamner was sick. The screams of wounded could be heard everywhere. God, make it stop, make it stop, he prayed.

  “GRENADIERS WILL PREPARE TO THROW.” Falkenberg’s voice boomed from the speaker. “THROW!”

  A hundred grenades arched out from the advancing line. They fell into the milling crowds below. The muffled explosions were masked by screams of terror.

  “IN VOLLEY, FIRE!”

  The regiment advanced until it made contact with the mob. There was a brief struggle. Rifles fired, and bayonets flashed red. The line halted but momentarily. Then it moved on, leaving behind a ghastly trail.

  Men and women jammed in the Stadium exits. Others frantically tried to get out, clambering over the fallen, tearing women out of their way to push past, trampling each other in their scramble to escape. There was a rattle of gunfire from outside. Those in the gates recoiled, to be crushed beneath others trying to get out.

  “You won’t even let them out!” Hamner screamed at Falkenberg.

  “Not armed. And not to escape.” The Colonel’s face was hard and cold, the eyes narrowed to slits. He watched the slaughter impassively, looking at the entire scene with­out expression.

  “Are you going to kill them all?”

  “All who resist.”

  “But they don’t deserve this!” George Hamner felt his voice breaking. “They don’t!”

  “No one does, George. SERGEANT MAJOR!”

  “SIR!”

  “HALT,the marksmen may concentrate on the leaders now.”

  “SIR!” Calvin spoke quietly into his command set. The snipers concentrated their fire on the Presidential box across from them. Centurions ran up and down the line of hidden troops, pointing out targets. The marksmen kept up a steady fire.

  The leather lines of armored men advanced inexorably. They had almost reached the lower tier of seats. There was less firing now, but the scarlet-painted bayonets flashed in the afternoon sun.

  Another section fell out of line and moved to guard a tiny number of prisoners at the end of the Stadium. The rest of the line moved on, advancing over seats made slick with blood.

  When the regiment reached ground level their progress was slower. There was little opposition, but the sheer mass of people in front of them held up the troopers. There were a few pockets of active resistance, and flying squads rushed there to reinforce the line. More grenades were thrown. Falkenberg watched the battle calmly, and seldom spoke into his communicator. Below, more men died.

  A company of troopers formed and rushed up a stair­way on the opposite side of the Stadium. They fanned out across the top. Then their rifles leveled, and crashed in another terrible series of volleys.

  Suddenly it was over. There was no opposition. There wer
e only screaming crowds. Men threw away weapons to run with their hands in the air. Others fell to their knees to beg for their lives. There was one final volley, then a deathly stillness fell over the Stadium.,

  But it wasn’t quiet, Hamner discovered. The guns were silent, men no longer shouted orders, but there was sound. There were screams from the wounded. There were pleas for help, whimpers, a racking cough that went on and on as someone tried to clear punctured lungs.

  Falkenberg nodded grimly. “Now we can find a magis­trate, Mr. President. Now.”

  “I-O my God!” Hamner stood at the top of the Stadium. He clutched a column to steady his weakened legs. The scene below seemed unreal. There was too much blood, rivers of blood, blood cascading down the steps, blood pouring down stairwells to soak the grassy field below.

  “It’s over,” Falkenberg said gently. “For all of us. The regiment will be leaving as soon as you’re properly in command. You shouldn’t have any trouble with your power plants. Your technicians will trust you now that Bradford’s gone. And without their leaders, the city people won’t resist.

  “You can ship as many as you have to out to the interior. Disperse them among the loyalists where they won’t do you any harm. That amnesty of yours-it’s only a suggestion, but I’d renew it.”

  Hamner turned dazed eyes toward Falkenberg. “Yes. There’s been too much slaughter today. Who are you, Falkenberg?”

  “A mercenary soldier, Mr. President. Nothing more.”

  “But-then who are you working for?”

  “That’s the question nobody asked before. Grand Ad­miral Lermontov.”

  “Lermontov? But you were drummed out of the Co-Dominium! You mean that you were hired-by the admiral? As a mercenary?”

  “More or less.” Falkenberg nodded coldly. “The Fleet’s a little sick of being used to mess up people’s lives without having a chance to-to leave things in working order.”

  “And now you’re leaving?”

  “Yes. We couldn’t stay here, George. Nobody is going to forget today. You couldn’t keep us on and build a government that works. I’ll take First and Second Bat­talions, and what’s left of the Fourth. There’s more work for us.”

  “And the others?”

  “Third will stay on to help you,” Falkenberg said. “We put all the married locals, the solid people, inThird, and sent it off to the power plants. They weren’t involved in the fighting.” He looked across the stadium, then back to Hamner. “Blame it all on us, George. You weren’t in command. You can say Bradford ordered this slaughter and killed himself in remorse. People will want to believe that. They’ll want to think somebody was punished for- for this.” He waved toward the field below. A child was sobbing out there somewhere.

  “It had to be done,” Falkenberg insisted. “Didn’t it? There was no way out, nothing you could do to keep civilization. . . . Dr. Whitlock estimated a third of the population would die when things collapsed. Fleet Intelligence put it higher than that. Now you have a chance.”

  Falkenberg was speaking rapidly, and George wondered whom he was trying to convince.

  “Move them out,” Falkenberg said. “Move them out while they’re still dazed. You won’t need much help for that. They won’t resist now. And we got the railroads running for you. Use the railroads and ship people out to the farms. It’ll be rough with no preparation, but it’s a long time until winter-“

  “I know what to do,” Hamner interrupted. He leaned against the column, and seemed to gather new strength from the thought. Yes. I do know what to do. Now. “I’ve known all along what had to be done. Now we can get to it. We won’t thank you for it, but-you’ve saved a whole world, John.”

  Falkenberg looked at him grimly, then pointed to the bodies below. “Damn you, don’t say that!” he shouted. His voice was almost shrill. “I haven’t saved anything. All a soldier can do is buy time. I haven’t saved Hadley. You have to do that. God help you if you don’t.”

  XII

  Crofton’s Encyclopedia

  Of Contemporary History

  And Social Issues (2nd Edition)

  Mercenary forces

  Perhaps the most disturbing development arising from CoDominium withdrawal from most distant colony worlds (see Independence Movements) has been the rapid growth of purely mercenary military units. The trend was predictable and perhaps inevi­table, although the extent has exceeded expectations.

  Many of the former colony worlds do not have planetary governments. Consequently, these new nations do not possess sufficient population or industrial resources to maintain large and effective national military forces. The disbanding of numerous Co­Dominium Marine units left a surplus of’ trained soldiers without employment, and it was inevitable that some of them would band together into merce­nary units.

  The colony governments are thus faced with a cruel and impossible dilemma. Faced with mercenary troops specializing in violence, they have had little choice but to reply in kind. A few colonies have broken this cycle by creating their own national armies, but have then been unable to pay for them.

  Thus, in addition to the purely private mercenary organizations such as Falkenberg’s Mercenary Legion, there are now national forces hired out to reduce expenses to their parent governments. A few former colonies have found this practice so lucrative that the export of mercenaries has become their principal source of income, and the recruiting and training of soldiers their major Industry.

  The CoDominium Grand Senate has attempted to maintain its presence in the former colonial areas through promulgation of the so-called Laws of War (q.v.), which purport to regulate the weapons and tactics mercenary units may employ. Enforcement of these regulations is sporadic. When the Senate orders Fleet intervention to enforce the Laws of War the suspicion inevitably arises that other CoDominium interests are at stake, or that one or more Senators have undisclosed reasons for their interest.

  Mercenary units generally draw their recruits from the same sources as the CoDominium Marines, and training stresses loyalty to comrades and commanders rather than to any government. The extent to which mercenary commanders have successfully separated their troops from all normal social intercourse is both surprising and alarming.

  The best-known mercenary forces are described in separate articles. See: Covenant; Friedland; Xanadu; Falkenberg’s Mercenary Legion; Nouveau Legion Etrangere; Katanga Gendarmerie; Moolman’s Commandos ...

  Falkenberg’s mercenary legion

  Purely private military organization formed from the former Forty-second CoDominium Line Marines under Colonel John Christian Falkenberg III. Falkenberg was cashiered from the CoDominium Fleet under questionable circumstances, and his regiment dis­banded shortly thereafter. A large proportion of for­mer Forty-second officers and men chose to remain with Falkenberg.

  Falkenberg’s Legion appears to have been first employed by the government of the then newly independent former colony of Hadley (q.v.) for suppression of civil disturbances. There have been numerous com­plaints that excessive violence was used by both sides in the unsuccessful rebellion following CoDominium withdrawal, but the government of Hadley has ex­pressed satisfaction with Falkenberg’s efforts there.

  Following its employment on Hadley Falkenberg’s Legion took part in numerous small wars of defense - and conquest on at least five planets, and in the process gained a reputation as one of the best-trained and most effective small military units in existence. It was then engaged by the CoDominium Governor on the CD prison planet of Tanith.

  This latter employment caused great controversy in the Grand Senate, as Tanith remains under CD control. However, Grand Admiral Lermontov pointed out that his budget did not permit his stationing reg­ular Marine forces on Tanith owing to other com­mitments mandated by the Grand Senate; after lengthy debate the employment was approved as an alternative to raising a new regiment of CD Marines.

  At last report Falkenberg’s Legion remains on Tanith. Its contract with the Governor there is said t
o have expired.

  ***

  Tanith’s bright image had replaced Earth’s on Grand Admiral Lermontov’s view screen. The planet might have been Earth: it had bright clouds obscuring the outlines of land and sea, and they swirled in typical cyclonic patterns.

  A closer look showed differences. The sun was yellow: Tanith’s star was not as hot as Sol, but Tanith was closer to it. There were fewer mountains, and more swamplands steaming in the yellow-orange glare.

  Despite its miserable climate, Tanith was an important world. It was first and foremost a convenient dumping ground for Earth’s disinherited. There was no better way to deal with criminals than to send them off to hard- and useful-labor on another planet. Tanith received them all: the rebels, the criminals, the malcontents, victims of administrative hatred; all the refuse of a civilization that could no longer afford misfits.

  Tanith was also the main source of borloi, which the World Pharmaceutical Society called “the perfect intoxi­cating drug.” Given large supplies of borloi the lid could be kept on the Citizens in the Welfare Islands. The happiness the drug induced was artificial, but it was none the less real.

  “And so I am trading in drugs,” Lermontov told his visitor. “It is hardly what I expected when I became Grand Admiral.”

  “I’m sorry, Sergei.” Grand Senator Martin Grant had aged; in ten years he had come to look forty years older. “The fact is, though, you’re better off with Fleet owner­ship of some of the borloi plantations than you are relying on what I can get for you out of the Senate.”

  Lermontov nodded in disgust. “It must end, Martin. Somehow, somewhere, it must end. I cannot keep a fight­ing service together on the proceeds of drug sales-drugs grown by slaves! Soldiers do not make good slave masters.”

  Grant merely shrugged.

  “Yes, it is easy to think, is it not?” The admiral shook his head in disgust. “But there are vices natural to the soldier and the sailor. We have those, in plenty, but they are not vices that corrupt his ability as a fighting man. Slaving is a vice that corrupts everything it touches.”