by Kali Altsoba
Several plots involve some sort of bomb, as would be assassins plan to kill Pyotr but to live themselves. An especially clever plan sees plastique explosive molded into ornate bottles in fifty crates of the finest Krevan apple brandy, with labels carefully backdated to before the war. It’s the rarest of vintages, since Acis was bombarded by a dozen nukes dropped by Kaigun battleships. Fallout ensures that even warehoused stocks are contaminated, and guarantees that Acis apple trees are all veined with poison. They’ll take a generation to replace, or longer. Even after that, it’s hard to see how the export industry can resume when the soil almost glows and orchard reputations are fatally tainted.
Everyone is looking for the prewar stuff that was already offworld when the nukes fell. You can’t have a first class, boastfully worthy party without original Acis apple brandy. That’s why a Resister sends fifty crates as a gift to Pyotr and the Jade Court, to celebrate victory. Brandy bombs are shipped and rerouted through three systems, to provide extra cover. The bombers know Pyotr never drinks anything he doesn’t watch opened and tested by his taster. That will get the bomb next to him, where uncorking a bottle to contact with air will trigger a truly impressive explosion.
Might have worked, too, if only the gluttonous governor on Glarus didn’t steal a case for his own cellar before sending the rest on to Kestino. Fat, greedy bastard! Hosts a bang up dinner party, though. Him, his wife, and seven guests get real plastered. Yeah, like all over the walls of the main dining room in the Governor’s Mansion. Takes days to clean up the greasy mess. Takes only minutes for a life saving warning to be sent to Pyotr. More arrests, though two bombers escape over the frontier with the Three Kingdoms and defect. They’re interned by that Neutral, which is playing by the old rules even as Pyotr plans obliteration of the Threes. Well, they’re not alone in that. Orion is still asleep to the idea of war.
When a Three police interrogator asks if the bombers think it’s permissible to kill Pyotr’s dinner guests along with their target, one of them, a Kaigun light cruiser captain, replies: “To free our homeworlds from this awful man, who's the greatest criminal in the history of the Imperium? Yes, it’s permissible to kill a few innocent people.” He’s placed in preventive detention. He’ll still be there when Rikugun ground forces land a few months later, and the Iron Kingdoms disappear from the map of Orion, like all the other small Neutrals of the old central buffer zone.
***
Back in Novaya Uda, a brave but feckless pair of Resister friends are getting terribly drunk in a barrio bar when they spontaneously decide to kill Pyotr. One of them pulls out a frag grenade he brought to the bar in an inner pocket, for no good reason he can remember at that moment. They can’t decide which of them should have the honor, so they hug and resolve to do it together. Liquid courage says they must stand close to Pyotr when the button’s pushed, and surely die themselves. But liquid stupidity as to when and how to do it overtakes them, in an alcohol fogged minute.
“If we’re going to do this, why wait? Let’s do it now!”
“Yes, let’s go! We’ll be heroes by morning’s first light!”
They stagger out of the bar and head for the palace, giggling and shushing each other like a couple of teenage girls sneaking out of their parent’s house to meet a disreputable boy. They're stopped trying to climb over the Jade Gate, so drunk they can’t remember their military ID numbers when challenged. The leader of a squad of Royal Canaries finds the grenade. He doesn’t bother to take them inside after he arrests them. He just stands them against the outer wall and masers them into two small heaps of smoking ruin. He keeps their grenade.
***
“These well intentioned fools will only make Pyotr reinforce his palace security fourfold! Wine bombs and grenades! Such idiocy!” Onur slams his small fist down on his teak desk when he hears the news about the drunk frag attack and summary executions. He glares at the bad news bearer, his adjutant and aide-de-camp, Major Oscar Winter.
“With Pyotr’s precautions sure to increase, we’ve got no choice. We must draw in the horns of the conspiracy, tighten networks and shrink overlapping circles of those in the know.”
“Agreed. But more importantly, we must shift our basic strategy now. Godsdamn it!”
“Shift, sir? How so?”
“Instead of asking reluctant generals and admirals to make a coup before the death of their emperor, we need to kill Pyotr first and foremost and proceed from there.”
“It was always one or the other, sir.”
“Major, if we can find a way to confront military leaders in the field with a fait accompli of Pyotr’s death, then I’ll give the coup order. We won’t wait for him to commence the invasion. Let’s see if we can’t kill him at the start, and use his death to push the pace and win through.”
“I agree, sir. But it’s risky. Many won’t be happy with the change.”
“They’ll just have to come around. We have to hope most of our people will hear the news of Pyotr’s death and, without waiting for my orders, instantly turn their guns on the right targets.”
“You’re asking senior officers to act independently, outside bohr coms, act with force wherever they find themselves when they hear the news? Act without knowing if they’re supported or not?”
“There are many good officers out there among our forces. They’ll put down SAC and Sakura-kai wherever they find those gray rats lurking. I know they will, if Pyotr’s dead. They are men of honor!”
“Maybe. I hope so, sir. But how can Pyotr be killed? We have plenty of willing assassins, including some who are ready to die in the act. I myself would do it. But how? How, sir?”
“To kill this Tennō we must encircle his court with power gathered right here, at the center of the Imperium in Novaya Uda. We need senior military men who command troops loyal to us who are ready to fire on his palace guards. If they’ll agree to do it, we must all take our chances.”
“General McAuley, sir. He’s your man. But now he’ll have to deal with the whole Eagle Corps, four regiments of Washi, not just dwarf guards. After the grenade fiasco, Pyotr is sure to bring the whole Palast Wache onto the grounds.”
“I’m sure that’s true.”
“They’ll be barracked inside the perimeter, behind the Jade Gate.”
“Not even McAuley has the forces to do it. We’re outnumbered across Kestino, with major war preparations underway even elevator platforms are chock with troops. The best we can do is keep the main Resistance forces within a few hours of Kestino, one or two bohr jumps away.”
“That will leave us open and vulnerable in the opening hours in the city.”
“We had a plan for that, but these serial premature attempts have gutted it.”
“Pyotr is already altering security protocols at the Waldstätte, sir.”
“It’s worse than that, major. An hour ago he insisted that I change the agreed ten hour wait time in the Go!’ order. It’s now down to three. That’s not enough time to get our reinforcements here: five hours total, instead of twelve.”
“No sir, it’s not.”
“We can’t wait for the ‘Go’ order as planned. Yet, we still need to hide our ship movements in the larger invasion plans. We can’t afford to have any more of these buckaroo fiascos!”
“What will we do, sir?”
“We need more direct action. We need an event that allows us to make our coup maneuvers on the ground here in Novaya Uda, to take on his Washi guards outside the palace walls, even without the built in delay we no longer have.”
“We reverse the order of the coup? We move here first, then set the ships in motion?”
“Yes. But there’s still the problem of local numbers. We need to do this in the open with the formations of Resistance armor and infantry already here in the capital. And we must bring Pyotr out of his now impenetrable palace where we can get at him, and kill him and all his Canaries.”
“That’s quite a tall order, sir. Do you have something in mind?”
&
nbsp; “As a matter of fact, my dear Major Winter, I do. I do indeed.”
***
Onur knows that Pyotr has a penchant for parades. He plans to use it against him. He knows that a good military parade lurches Pyotr back to the first days of the Krevan War, when he saw for himself, as well as heard reports from other Imperium worlds, that as they watched troops march past his peoples swelled with mass enthusiasm. And that they shouted “Long Live Pyotr!”
At their next daily brief on preparations for the coming Liberation War against the Calmar Union, Onur tells his emperor: “I think a big victory parade is in order, majesty.”
“What for?” Pyotr swivels and asks it with immediate suspicion, yet hardly concealing that his vanity is peaked.
“Your great victory over the United Planets.”
“The Krevan War’s not over. We’ve taken two-thirds of their worlds, but there are holdouts. The most distant won’t fall until the new attack wave starts, and we split those with Jahandar.”
“That’s all true, majesty. Krakoya and the other northernmost systems go to Daura. I read the agreement you made with the Tyrant.” Onur is skirting on the edge of insubordination, to call Jahandar that in front of Pyotr.
“Well then? Aren’t you premature with your talk of a victory parade?”
“Your peoples don’t know your plans for more war, sire. They only want to celebrate your conquests. They know that you have recovered seven of our Lost Children already, and that you took the Krevan capital at Aral. They yearn to thank you for that historic victory.”
“You commanded at Aral. Are you sure this parade we’ll make is not more for you than me?”
‘Got him! That plural means he’s all-in.’ “Of course not, majesty. I’m your Chief of Staff and commander, but only an instrument of your will and policy. You started the Krevan War. You deserve all laurels for the great victory.”
“Hmmm. So, the parade is to allow the peoples to celebrate my conquests?”
“Yes, sire.”
“Where will you march? What route will my troops take?”
“Victory Avenue, the great boulevard of Novaya Uda, to lay laurels at your feet as you stand on the Jade Balcony high above the square, to receive the salute of your victorious armies.”
“You’ll ride at its head on a white horse, I suppose? Or maybe in your case, a pony? You are my Little General.” That’s rich, coming from undersized Pyotr. Still, he laughs at his own wit. He always does when it comes at the expense of men even shorter than he is.
“I had not planned on it, sire. But I’ll learn to ride the beast and will do so, if you order it. I am your most humble servant.”
“Make your military parade, Onur. Lead it down my Victory Avenue. I’ll review the troops and take their salute in the name of my peoples. But keep it a modest affair. I’m not a vain man.”
“One request, sire. May I be spared the white pony? I could ride atop an armtrak instead, or sit out the whole affair. It is your day of honor, not mine.”
“Agreed, field marshal. You may keep your dignity intact. You may stay in your headquarters and watch from there. Go, arrange my parade. Decorate the streets of my capital with bunting and boasting.”
***
“The plan is brutally simple, General McAuley.”
“I hope so. The more complex it is, the higher the risk of failure.”
“Let me first say thank you for adjusting to new events. I know your honor wanted you to wait for Pyotr to move to war, before you agreed to remove him.”
“I can see the buildup to war clearly enough. We’re going across the Calmari frontier. So the time for such fine distinctions is past. It’s time to act.”
“Major Winter, lay it out for the good general.”
“Yes sir. We march a half division of commandos and a battalion of armtraks across the Jade Square in tight parade formation. They’re supposed to be unarmed, so they’ll have to wear dress unis. We’ll supply live ammo as they head out.”
“What about their body armor? You can’t hide that under dress uniforms. They’re not the same as combat utes: there’s no protection in pretty parade cloth.”
“There’ll be no body armor, general.”
“My troops will take heavy casualties, in that case.”
“A necessary price,” Onur interjects. “Continue the brief, major.”
“Yes sir. When your armtraks reach the end of the route, open concentrated fire on the VIP Tower and take out Pyotr and his closest guards. A certainty, if he’s so foolish as to actually stand on top of the tower.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“We have a backup plan. If the podium attack fails, your troops will not stay under fire. They’ll be met at the Jade Gate by a Resister inside the Waldstätte.”
“Who?”
“Captain Kim Yong Hyun, my aide and liaison to Pyotr. You can trust that he’ll do the job. He’ll act as master-at-arms, opening the Gate from inside. Then he’ll be a ‘merchant of sudden death,’ pointing the way as you come through.”
“He’s reliable?”
“Yes. There’ll be no need to blast through the Gate’s ultrasteel and depleted uranium. Once it’s open, your armtraks can drive inside wide halls at speed and literally crush the Palast Wache. You’ll have a regiment of elite SOF infantry in support, under a man that you chose, Colonel Viktor Orban.” A tall, elegant looking SOF colonel bows and clicks his boot heels. He has dark black hair that sits in rigid waves atop his head, capping a wicked sly grin.
“With total surprise and superior firepower, general, you’ll slaughter that whole gaudy bird regiment in minutes and finish Pyotr for once and all.”
“Alright, field marshal. I admit, that’s not bad.”
“Well then, General McAuley, have your initial doubts about this mission been assuaged? Do you concur that this plan can work?”
“Yes, field marshal. I now believe it can and must be done. We’ll kill Pyotr on the podium, at range with our heavies on the armtraks. Or we follow Plan B and rush the opened Gate, killing all the Canary guards and running Pyotr down on foot inside the Waldstätte.”
“Can you guarantee your troops will follow you in this? Will they obey your order? Will they attack the palace?”
“Yes. Colonel Orban will lead his regiment of elite commandos in support of my armtraks . He’ll handpick every man for the attack mission. I’ll personally select all the armtrak crews. Every man will be from the Resistance.”
“Colonel Orban, you know what to do?”
“Yes, field marshal. We stop by the palace main gate and let the rest of the parade catch up for assembly and ostensibly to perform a grand tattoo. As soon as we see Pyotr come out to take the salute on the Jade Balcony, we attack.”
“What else?”
“Pyotr Shaka is not to survive the assault, under any circumstances. If we miss him with armtrak fire that destroys the podium, you storm the Gate. Pursue him into the Waldstätte Palast, down into his chambers. That’s where he’ll run to hide. If we manage it, Altair Seljuk will kill him with the degen taken off Pyotr’s own body. If you have to, just shoot him.”
“We’ll not obey the blood taboo, sir?”
“No. That’s all Broderbund ritual and superstition. It has been decades since the Red Dowager. Time enough for all of us to be done with the cowls and their tripe religion. We’ll concede the degen, but only to honor his murdered mother. Spill all his damn blood, if you have to. But you make sure Pyotr dies.”
***
When the morning comes, the predawn silence of the great sprawling city of Novaya Uda is broken by the click of steel tipped boots on cobbles, the clack of chargers rammed into masers, and the rumble of heavy armtraks on paving stones. The armor and troops are on the move. The parade goes ahead. The lead regiment thinks it carries loaded weapons to the doors of the Waldstätte Palast, where a double agent is ready to let them inside if Pyotr fails to ascend the parade podium.
Then it all goes wro
ng. Captain Kim Yong Hyun is standing inside the Gate, ready to hit the motorized control that will swing it wide to receive McAuley’s armtraks and Orban’s special forces. Before he can move to key open the Gate he’s masered in the back by a volley of Royal Canary fire, and comes apart. The yellow guards shoot first outside at the oncoming putschists, mowing down lead elements of the Resistance attack columns while they’re still in ranks and parade formation. Heavy fighting breaks out, as Onur learns from a distraught Major Winter that Pyotr will never ascend the podium to be blasted by massed armtraks or chased into his stone bedchamber to be knifed by a vengeful, grieving father. Pyotr was whisked away from the Waldstätte hours earlier, by Takeshi Watanabe.
Onur doesn’t know that it’s even worse than that. Viktor Orban was betrayed two days before by one of his handpicked men, a low level spy Takeshi months ago promised a lifelong officership in the Palast Wache. He doesn’t know the spy switched out crystal ammo in the regiment’s supposedly fully armed masers, that all the attackers’ crystals are inert and that he just sent 3,000 men into a death trap. He doesn’t know the full Washi or Eagle Corps in and around the Waldstätte is armed with heavy spandaus and anti armtrak ground-to-ground missiles, and that the Jade Square is also jury rigged with camoed mines. He doesn’t know that Pyotr is beyond reach, far up the Novaya Uda elevator, watching the aborted coup and slaughter below. He only knows that his main target is out of his reach and heavy fighting covers the Jade Square. And that good men he sent there are dying.
***
Pyotr looks down onto his capital through the transparent armor floor of his tubular, wood paneled skycab. He’s focused on magnified images of fighting underway beneath his feet. He broods on blood vengeance, as reinforced Washi massacre disarmed troops in dress unis holding useless, powered out masers. He doesn’t sense the viper standing right behind, waiting to bite him with a serpent’s poison tooth. Takeshi stays respectfully distant from the fat emperor, watching for any display of fear or weakness in this critical moment. He’s thinking about how these odd events and the deaths of so many other men can advance his own path to ultimate power. It’s all he thinks about these days.
