Chapter 81
Peter: “After the agony in stony places”
He studied the report again in the slanting rays of the afternoon sun, frowning. So Kristana had her people pulling double shifts making metal objects: pipes and disks.. So what? He had to assume that her spies had reported some of his own preparations. It didn't change anything. Making a few or even a thousand swizzles and everflames wouldn't do much to slow down his tanks.
There was a knock on his door. “Enter.”
A corporal came in and saluted. “They're back, sir.”
Peter returned the salute. “Good. “Have some sandwiches brought in.” As the man left, his eyes went back to the reports. Had Xander found a way to use an everflame as a weapon? He made a mental note to have another talk with Ludlow about what that might portend, and how they could counter it.
There was another knock on the door. Without bothering to wait for an answer, It opened and Brutus and Jeffrey entered. He had to smile inwardly at the contrast. His son was practically scowling, whereas the Commander's face was composed. Once again Jeffrey wore his mask of moral outrage, and Brutus seemed unconcerned and amused by it.
“Have a seat gentlemen. Was your mission successful?”
Brutus lit a cigarette. “Completely. We destroyed the buildings, and the crews got plenty of practice at driving and firing the guns.”
“Successful?” Jeffrey snorted. “Noodle wasn't abandoned. Or it was repopulated by drifters. Whatever. They saw us coming, and Glock fired on them!”
“Oh?” He noticed that Brutus didn't seem worried about it. “Any casualties?”
Brutus blew a smoke ring. “Only the squatters.”
Jeffrey exploded. “They were people, damn it! Yes, they were blocking the road, but we were the ones threatening their homes. They lived within our borders, so we were firing on our own citizens!”
“Rebels,” Brutus scoffed. “And you wanted to risk your life and have a chat with them. Would have accomplished nothing. I saved you the trouble, and saved your softhearted ass. If their arrows had gotten inside the tanks you'd be rethinking your attitude.”
And he was probably right about that, Peter thought. “Gentlemen, take it down a notch, both of you. I will have respect for my offspring and my officers. Now tell me everything.”
As they filled him in on the events at the place formerly called Noodle, he had to shake his head mentally. The differences between them were as obvious as ever. Jeffrey, with his greater concern for human life, had wanted to negotiate a resettling of the occupants somewhere else. Glock, with his greater experience, had stayed focused on the mission objectives, and given the crews experience not just in destroying structures, but using the tanks against enemies.
Mentally he sighed. Part of him wanted to make Brutus his heir instead of Jeffrey, even if the title Runt would seem like a misnomer when applied to the tall seasoned commander. Brutus would carry on with the expansion of the Empire, no question about it. He never let anything stand in his way.
The problem was, he just couldn't do it. For the Empire to succeed, it needed clear and consistent succession of leadership, and he'd concluded that a dynastic monarchy was the stablest form they could manage. If he set the precedent of making his best commander the next Honcho, it would set the stage for generations of infighting and competition among the officers as each military family strove to attain enough glory to be chosen. That might be great for the initial period of expansion, with each field commander trying to outdo his peers.
But what about when they had finished subduing and unifying the entire continent? Would it then be a competition between captains, between admirals, when they built their navy and began the conquest of Eurasia?
The Empire would not survive such competition. There would be rebellions, secessions, civil wars. And then what would he have spent his life building?
No, he couldn't do it. Jeffrey would be the next Honcho. But that brought its own problems. Unless he changed his attitudes, he would always be at odds with his own officers. If he didn't get off his righteous high horse and face reality, there'd be a lot of courts-martial and a general loss of morale. He had to learn to let boys be boys, especial the boys who were men leading his armies.
“All right,” he said, when they were finished. “Here's what I think.” He looked at his son. “I appreciate what you tried to do to spare some hostile citizens. We'll need every man we can get to build the armies required for expansion. But you forgot that the Commander had operational control of this mission. Trying to take over in front of the troops was a mistake, and bad for morale and discipline. I'd be chewing him out if he'd let you get away with it.”
Jeffrey did not take this criticism well. “I know about discipline,” he said, his voice sullen. “But how am I supposed to be learning how to run things when you never let me run anything? Glock didn't get where he is today by always being a subordinate.”
Peter narrowed his eyes. “No,” he said. “But when he was a subordinate he followed orders. He didn't get promoted by pulling stunts like you did, walking up to hostiles thinking you could talk them into abandoning their homes.”
Brutus was enjoying this too much, he thought. He turned to face the Commander.
“And you, stop grinning. You accomplished your objectives, and I'm glad of it. What I'm not happy about is that you allowed this disagreement between the two of you to happen in full view of the troops. You know better than that, Brutus,” he said, using Glock's first name to take some of the sting out of the rebuke. “You can disagree with fellow officers in private, but you have to be united in front of the lower ranks. Understand me?”
A soldier came in with a tray of sandwiches and a pitcher of cider. Peter used the interruption to change his tone, underscoring his point. “Ah, good, thank you corporal. Now, gentlemen, let's talk tactics. Denver is going to have more than a rabble with bows and pitchforks. Have you had a chance to read that book on tank warfare?”
Jeffrey nodded. “The problem with it is that it is mainly about how groups of tanks fight other groups of tanks. Rado doesn't have any tanks.”
“Nor anything that can stand against tanks,” said Brutus.
”You've both seen the size of her headquarters building. Do you foresee any difficulty bringing it down?”
Brutus yawned. “Nope. It's just a matter of having enough ammunition. All we have to do is blow out the ground floor and the rest of it'll collapse under its own weight.”
Jeffrey shook his head. “Are you sure we want to level it? We probably can, but why? For the psychological advantage? They'll know when they've been beaten.”
Peter almost laughed as their differences came out again. Brutus, asked what he considered a practical question, gave a practical answer. Jeffrey, on the other hand, saw it not as a logistical problem but a human one. “They have to stay beaten, son.”
“Yes, but it's a ridiculous waste! We should occupy that building, use it as the headquarters of whoever you put there as your local representative. Same building, but under new management. Look, you'll need a local headquarters anyway, so why build a new one that won't be as good as the structures the Ancients made?”
Peter considered it. He'd kind of liked the idea of toppling Kristana's tower, a visible demonstration of his power and the fact that she'd lost and he'd won. But the lad had a point. Why waste resources during an expansion when you could use what already existed?
“In that case,” he said, “tell me what you would do instead, both of you. How do we take the building without destroying it?”
Naturally, this sparked off another argument. While they debated strategy and tactics, he sent out for more food and drink. It was going to be a late night for all of them.
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