The Imperialists: The Complete Trilogy

by H. T. Kofruk

  The Saracen obviously knew his impulses. Although he looked relaxed, Paul could tell that Adam’s killer was deadly ready for any sudden movements. His armour had been deflated but he still had a sidearm on his waist and the clawed weapon on his right forearm.

  The Saracen said something in Arabic to Paul. When he saw Paul didn’t understand, he switched to the One Tongue and then to Chinese. “So you are the one who has been coordinating attacks on our beloved Mount Lebanon for the last three months?”

  Paul understood the One Tongue perfectly well but decided not to dirty his mouth with the bastard offspring of English. “I am Sir Paul Camileri, Knight of the Grey Order and commander of the Second Grey Army” he replied in Chinese.

  “And I am Colonel Nabil Abdul-Hadi, commander of the 19th Peace Alliance Infantry Battalion.”

  “Are my men prisoners?” Paul asked sharply.

  The Saracen chuckled. “Why would we rescue you just to hold you as prisoners? We have taken the weapons from your men just as a precaution, which is understandable given the conflicts of the previous months. But we have left yours, even your accursed sword.”

  “We didn’t need rescuing” said Paul unconvincingly.

  “Our observations told us that you did. Within minutes you lost a quarter of your men to those aliens. Your Orthodox masters don’t seem to require your services any longer”

  Paul found the irony of the situation almost risible. He had tried for months to fight his way to this position on one of the peaks of the cedar tree-clad mountains. He was finally there only after losing everything else. For all he knew, the reinforcement troops led by Sir Clovis Unther were all dead and Constantine had been bombed to radioactive dust.

  They were in a bunker at least ten feet underground and lined with bisimigen. Four Peace Alliance soldiers were standing in the dimly lit room, each one shouldering a pulse rifle. Paul knew he could draw his sword and cut down the four soldiers before they could get a single shot at him. The Saracen in front of him, however, was different.

  “They weren’t our masters” he said, well aware how weak he sounded.

  “Perhaps they weren’t” replied the Saracen without sarcasm. “That doesn’t make their betrayal any more commendable.”

  The Saracen walked to a metal closet and took out a sword. He turned to Paul and showed it to him. Paul recognised Adam’s weapon, Truth, immediately. He remembered seeing it hang at the dead knight’s waist, cleaning it as a squire, and being used as an effective tool of death. Seeing it in the Saracen’s hand made him want to cut him down. Upon seeing the recognition on Paul’s face, however, the Saracen handed it to him. “That probably now belongs to you” he added.

  Paul looked at the sword in disbelief. Why was the Saracen just giving it to him? Wasn’t it an effective rallying trophy? Didn’t he use it to cut down Catholic troops? But then he realized that Truth was malnourished. It had not been fed for months and was considerably smaller than he remembered. In other words, the rumour that the Saracen was using it to kill Catholics was false.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked after a few seconds of pondering.

  “Doing what? Keeping you alive?”

  Paul nodded. There was no logical reason to rescue the cornered Catholics.

  The Saracen walked to a chair and sat down heavily, almost as if to say that he was completely vulnerable if Paul chose to kill him. He gestured to Paul to take the only other chair in the room, to which Paul didn’t respond. The Saracen shrugged. “It’s ironic. You were the reason the Peace Alliance entered the war. You took a quarter of our territory in a few months while your comrades took almost all of Europe. Yet you could be our most capable allies.”

  “Allies with you? Why would we accept that? In our eyes, you are just as bad as the One God cult. I know of the wars fought between our religions.”

  “And so do I. It’s funny how we tend to easily remember the worst parts of history but have difficulty remembering the deeds of great inventors, peace-campaigners and altruists. Did you know the first mention of a binary system similar to the sequence of zeros and ones that kick-started the digital revolution in the twentieth century was by an Indian named Pingala in the fourth century BC? You probably didn’t but you can easily name the great admiral who dealt a decisive defeat to the joint Franco-Spanish Napoleonic naval forces.”

  “Horatio Nelson. He died shortly afterwards” replied Paul.

  The Saracen continued. “The Chinese can easily name their great heroes from the Romance of Three Kingdoms but who was responsible for their Four Inventions? And did you know that the Greek philosophical classics were mostly forgotten in Europe and reintroduced by the Arabs who had translated and studied them for centuries?”

  Paul did know that but didn’t respond. He was getting slightly irritated and impatient to find out exactly what the Saracen wanted from him. Why was he querying him on history?

  “You know that the invasion of our territory by you Catholics has given a lot of ammunition to religious members within the Peace Alliance?” continued the Saracen, oblivious to Paul’s mood. “In the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, the Arab world was known for terrorism, an effective tactic in asymmetric warfare. Very often the motive for suicide bombings was religious, but deeper inside was a sense of powerlessness and loss of influence. The Peace Alliance today, obviously, wouldn’t necessarily go that low. But you would, I think.”

  “We have more honour than that” rebuked Paul.

  The Saracen laughed. “Do you think the terrorists of the time didn’t have honour? They were convinced that they were doing the most honourable duty in blowing themselves up and killing civilians. The definition of honour changes according to the context. Your situation is desperate.”

  “Do you care to elaborate?” said Paul with a raised eyebrow.

  “You have lost your ancestral home. Your current home, wherever it is, is probably being wiped from any galactic chart. Your people are being hunted by two incredibly powerful empires. You are the Palestinians, the Jews of our time. Homeless, chased and considered dangerous.”

  “What do you want, Saracen?” demanded Paul, unable to keep the scorn from his voice.

  The Arab leaned forward in his chair. “I want you to fight with us. Join us in our struggle against this enemy that uses a terrible alien army against fellow humans on Earth.”

  “I thought you considered us aliens as well.”

  “In technical terms, you are aliens. Don’t get me wrong, there are more and more elements within our forces that are calling for your complete annihilation. If your current home hasn’t been destroyed, then you are the last Catholics in the universe. That’s a very appetizing thought to the hundreds of thousands of Muslims who have lost loved ones to your army. My influence has grown somewhat within the Peace Alliance the past few months, but I can’t guarantee that it will keep you alive. Won’t you help us as fellow humans, as we have already helped you?”

  Paul recalled the intense moments of the battle. His guess was that the Orthodox and their Chinese allies had wanted a relatively quiet way of killing off the Grey Army. For all he knew, the First Grey Army operating in Europe had already been wiped out. He had killed with much difficulty two of the tunnelling aliens but had to witness hundreds of his men being slaughtered. They hadn’t been prepared for battle and many of them had been lounging around in the camp without combat gear.

  Colonel Aramian, the plump arrogant Orthodox liaison officer, had been standing perfectly still with a serene smile of satisfaction on his chubby face. He was merely thirty feet away but Paul knew that he wouldn’t make the distance to cut him down; either the twenty Orthodox guards surrounding him would open fire or an alien would emerge and disembowel him.

  The combined sense of rage and hopelessness had threatened to make him lose his mind. It had been an immeasurable shock when a sudden chorus of battle cries filled the air. He had been even more shocked when he heard the battle cries were in Arabic. The camoufl
aged figures had emerged from the darkness in their thousands.

  He had quickly observed Colonel Aramian’s face and seen confusion and anger. The Chinese, in their arrogance and perhaps willingness to show their Orthodox allies the ability of the aliens, seemed to have used only a few thousand aliens to attack the Catholic base. This was very effective for an unprepared force but the Peace Alliance troops were battle-ready, prepared and in an offensive formation. Incredibly, they had shouted to the Catholics to get behind their lines. Many of the Grey Monks hadn’t even known they were being rescued by Arabs.

  Paul later learned that the Peace Alliance troops had, in fact, advanced for a surprise attack on the Grey Army. They had seen commotion in the Catholic base and had rushed forward, thinking it an ideal opportunity. When they saw the carnage that was ensuing, Colonel Abdul-Hadi had urged a change of plan.

  He clenched his fists. For hundreds of years, the One God cult had been their greatest enemy and the Catholics had sharpened their swords at the prospect of revenge. Today, they had been saved by the unlikely Peace Alliance, whose people they had butchered the past few months. They had been betrayed by their Orthodox brothers for whom countless Catholic soldiers had fought and died. Who was their enemy and who was their friend? Was he to strive to get revenge now from the treacherous Orthodox? What about his plans to avenge Adam? He felt that his men were being reduced to soulless mercenaries who fought for whoever promised them a home.

  The Saracen stayed silent while Paul fell deep into his thoughts. After a few minutes, he got up abruptly, bringing Paul out of his trance.

  “Speak to your men, Sir Paul. And please, my name is Nabil, not Saracen” he said before making to leave the room with the four soldiers.

  “Will you allow us to leave if I say no?” Paul asked suddenly.

  Nabil paused. “You know I can’t do that. All reason points against it. You do, however, have my word that none of your men will be harmed until all hostilities are concluded.”

  Paul nodded. After a few more minutes of staring into the dimly lit room, he got up and found the door had not been locked.

  The mountain was beautifully white and the sky was a shade of blue that he had never seen before on Tolsgrad. There seemed to have been reinforcement in the Peace Alliance ranks; they were much more numerous than he had thought and a good portion of them had darker skin. None of them took much notice of him as he drifted among them. Depth-mines were being drilled into the ground just in case the aliens were capable of tunnelling through hard rock. Artillery, surface-to-air weapons and a newly arrived squadron of drones were being prepared for any attacks.

  He then realized that the heavy weaponry was being put into transport mode. The mega-class pulse cannons, laser weapons, satellite attack coordination devices and tactical missile silos were all having their maglev and pulse-glide functions tested. In short, the Peace Alliance was planning an offensive.

  Colonel Abdul-Hadi was speaking in front of a tent with three other officers. Paul quickly approached him.

  “You’re going to attack?” he asked abruptly.

  The other officers, one major and two lieutenant-colonels, looked at Paul with disapproving expressions for his rude intrusion.

  Nabil, however, turned his eyes towards Paul with a look of mild amusement. “That is correct, Sir Paul. For the first time in this war, the Peace Alliance is going on the offensive.”

  Paul shook his head irritably. “You can’t do that. Not enough is known about these monsters being used by the Chinese. You’ll get massacred the moment you step out of these mountains.”

  Nabil maintained his amused look. “Why would you care, Sir Paul? We have been retreating and defending for months. This is the first time that we have garnered enough forces and willpower to push back.” Paul was about to say something but Nabil held up his hand. “You know that the Pacific Federation has been pushed back to the Americas?”

  Paul didn’t really care much about that part of the world. He had no animosity towards the Pacific Federation.

  “Do you know what that means?” continued Nabil. “That means that on the Eurasian continent, only we are able to fight against the Chinese Empire and the Orthodox. The British Isles and London will probably fall under Orthodox control within weeks. The Pacific Federation capital has already fallen and is likely in ruin. If we don’t give the Chinese and the Russians something to worry about right now, they’ll just finish their ethnic cleansing in Europe and East Asia and then finish us off slowly.”

  Paul saw the strategic logic. If the Peace Alliance could make the enemy dedicate more men and resources against them, perhaps the Pacific Federation and Atlantic Alliance would have the time to regroup and begin a counter-campaign. But tactically, their troops would be vulnerable outside of the mountains.

  “Your men are probably the finest human army on Earth right now. The only reason we were able to deter you was these mountains and the climate. You would be an invaluable resource if you chose to fight alongside us” said Nabil.

  Paul didn’t answer and instead swung round and walked away. Nabil looked at the knight’s back, unsure what his decision would be.

  Chapter 15: Seeds of Change

  ‘This Holy Trial finds the accused, James Thomas Coke, formerly of the Atlantic Alliance Army, Fifty Sixth Artillery Brigade, guilty of the crime of spreading doubt and disbelief among followers. As a former officer of the Holy Army, I find your words concerning our outer-space exploits border on heresy. Two decades of service has failed to instil in you a sense of purpose and faith. In the name of God, his son Jesus, and Saint Andrew Palini, I hereby sentence you to excommunication and immediate execution by exposure to the vacuum of space.’ – Inquisitor Marco Felini-Dumas, sentencing of Major James T. Coke (ret), 2758

  Terry entered the botanical area of the IGN Virgin Mary wearing the uniform of a deceased army officer. He had the name and rank changed and also replaced the army insignia of two crossed rifles with that of a sword and a rifle to indicate that he was in the Marine Corps. Other than the slightly long sleeves, the second-hand uniform fit well enough but he couldn’t stop imagining what the former owner had been like. Captain Dennis Kaltenborn, born in Dortmund, Germany. Eleven years of service after graduating Sandhurst, Medal of Valour for actions on A’hnt, two Bronze Crosses, one Gold Cross. K.I.A aboard the IGN Virgin Mary in the orbit of Lordsphere, 22nd May, 2912. Survived by two daughters and one son now living in Sunderland, England.

  The botanical area of the Virgin Mary had been well maintained. Terry knew that though having such a facility on a warship seemed like a luxury, the air-filtering and oxygen-producing ability of plants was difficult and costly to replicate with machines. Plus, it gave the crew fresh food and a place to relax, another necessity during missions that could last months or even years. The whole area was quite large, about half a hectare, which was broken down into four zones depending on the temperature and humidity.

  Admiral Rick Hernandez was sitting in an area that replicated a temperate deciduous forest, with oak trees, horse chestnut trees and other plants familiar to Terry from his native England. A small ash tree with a fork low in the trunk looked remarkably like the one Terry had climbed in his backyard as a child, giving him a pang of homesickness. The admiral was sitting on a bench reading a book. Terry noticed how the elderly officer’s wrinkles seemed to become deeper when he was concentrating on something. Terry cleared his throat to gain the admiral’s attention. Rick looked up and smiled a warm smile.

  “First Lieutenant Terry Southend, reporting as ordered, sir” said Terry as he saluted.

  “Please, Lieutenant Southend, sit” said Rick, gesturing to large rock in front of the bench.

  Terry was curious about what the admiral was reading and peered at the closed book that was now on the bench as he sat. The title was in Spanish, ‘El Libro de Arena’.

  Rick noticed Terry’s glance. “The Book of Sand was the English title. Written by a very famous Argentinian writer i
n the twentieth century. Can you read Spanish, lieutenant?”

  Rick shook his head. The One Tongue was the only language used in higher education in the Atlantic Alliance, and many of the other rich linguistic traditions were now relegated to almost tribal status. That meant even Old English, the parent of the One Tongue in use prior to the twenty fourth century, was difficult to read since syntax and particularly spelling rules had changed quite dramatically. The main language of the Pacific Federation was closer to Old English and many people in the Atlantic, especially those who lived in the Americas and, therefore, shared a continent with the Pacific Federation, found reading documents and books from their ally a strenuous exercise at best.

  “I didn’t think so” continued Rick. “It’s a pity that almost a billion Spanish speakers have also lost the ability to read their language. This book is a collection of short stories, and the first one, El Otro, or the Other, has become one of my favourites as I have aged. It’s about a meeting between the aged and young versions of the same person. I often wonder how it would be wonderful if I could go back in time and meet my younger self, perhaps as a twenty-five year old, and talk some sense into him.”

  Terry honestly didn’t know how to respond. Was the admiral about to give him advice about how to live his life? He felt he had to respond in some way or another. “That sounds like an interesting idea, sir” he said trying to sound interested.

  “Wouldn’t you like your older self, perhaps from forty years in the future, come back in time to tell you what mistakes not to make and what you should do more of?” asked Rick.

  Terry thought for a few seconds before opening his mouth. “No, sir. I don’t think I’d like that. I think the excitement of life is in the uncertainty, the choices we make, the mistakes, and what we learn. If life were just a guided line in the sand to follow without event, then that means I’m no better than a beast that lives the life given to it.”