by Daniel Gibbs
The nuns around her dropped the magazines from their rifles and reloaded with lethal bullets, while the squad that had been providing flanking cover reformed behind the same air-conditioning units. Kaufman paused to catch her breath, poking her head out long enough to view the enemy forces; nine soldiers in power armor. “Sisters, on my order, deploy from cover and eliminate the enemy!”
Counting down from three mentally, Kaufman braced herself. “Go, go, go!” she shouted at the top of her lungs while rising from a crouch, battle rifle steadied against the top of the metal housing. Drawing a bead on the nearest Monrovian to her, she fired a three-round burst directly into the center mass of the power-armored soldier. Superior CDF bullets sliced through the League power armor like a hot knife through butter. The breastplate collapsed, and the blood was visible even from ten meters away as the man collapsed in a heap. The other nuns opened up on the rest of the enemy force, felling all eight remaining men, but not before two more sisters were killed.
Kaufman didn’t have time to grieve or even acknowledge the losses as more Monrovians came out of the door. I’ll give this to them; they’re persistent. While three more power-armored soldiers emerged and engaged the nuns, a fourth stepped halfway out of the doorway as he raised a man-portable missile launcher to his shoulder. She immediately prioritized him above all other combatants, knowing that more shuttles were inbound. “SAM! Take out the one with the SAM,” she shouted while holding down the trigger of her battle rifle. The rest of her firing line joined in, and the hapless enemy stumbled as bullets slammed into his armor. At some point during the fusillade, he fell backward and accidentally triggered the firing sequence for the missile.
Kaufman stared as the scene in front of her seemed to grind to a halt and entered slow motion. The missile launcher had ended up pointed at the doorway behind him and blew out of its launching tube, flying less than two meters before slamming into the plasticrete stairwell entry point. An enormous explosion occurred as the warhead detonated and incinerated the body of the soldier who had carried it, along with the rest of the Monrovians near him.
One of the younger nuns near Kaufman glanced over at her. “That was one heck of a shot, Sister.”
Kaufman, in turn, made the sign of the cross. “Remember its cost,” she said, standing up. “Close in and secure that access point, Sisters! We’re taking this building and holding its occupants to account for the evil they have committed against their citizens and God himself!”
A ragged cheer went up from the remaining nuns, and they rushed forward. Kaufman noted with satisfaction and pride that despite the losses suffered, they were fighting as hard as anyone could ask. The roar of another shuttle assuming a hover position announced the arrival of reinforcements, and she walked across the roof to personally assess the stairwell. Peering down, she could see more Monrovians amassing at its base, what had to be ten to fifteen stories down.
“All right, Sisters, the good news is we own the high ground. The bad news is the enemy has great strength below us. We’re going to charge down into that mess and take the fight to them. Who’s with me?”
“We are!” the entire unit of nuns shouted as one with voices so loud, they could seemingly wake the dead.
“Follow me,” Kaufman shouted in reply before turning around and heading back into the stairwell.
Attwood barely dodged a piece of the ceiling as it fell to the floor in front of him. For what seemed like an eternity, the sisters had been bombarding their exterior security perimeter, and the sounds of battle raged. The guard in front of him that was trying to escort him safely to a safe room wasn’t so lucky; the man was caught in the head by a large piece of marble ceiling. Looking down at his lifeless body, Attwood pondered the cost of the entire conflict. We’re in the wrong here, we always were. Now we’re paying for our crimes. Either I can do something about it, or I can keep hiding and die for nothing. Shell-shocked as he took in the sight of civilians fleeing for their lives, screaming as they went, he reached down and picked up the fallen officer’s sidearm, and turned around—heading further into the complex and toward the command and control center for the Monrovian military.
Struggling to remember the way, he found his destination thanks to the military police standing guard outside. “Halt!” a smartly dressed young soldier said.
Attwood quickly showed his hands. “I’m Deputy Prime Minister Martin Attwood, Private. Please, I need to get into the command center.”
The young man recognized Attwood and stood aside. “Of course, sir. Where’s your security detail, sir?”
Attwood shook his head. “They didn’t make it.”
The soldier looked troubled as Attwood put his palm down on the scanner and the door swung open after the system accepted his identity. Walking through the doorway, he took in the scene of chaos before him. Military officers stood behind their stations, watching video feeds and computer displays. Orders were shouted into the communications systems, and judging by what he could make out on the command and control plot shown on a large screen in the middle of the room, the National Guard was being pushed back at all points of engagement.
“Deputy Prime Minister, we’re a bit busy here,” the deep voice of the general that was promoted to lead the Monrovian military after Monahan had shown his true colors intoned.
“I’ll only take a few minutes of your time, General Shriver.”
“What can I do for you?”
“You can tell me what the situation is,” Attwood replied. Before the general could respond, he added, “The real situation. Not the one sugar-coated for Fitzroy.”
Shriver’s mask of control seemed to fade away as he looked at Attwood. “We lost our air assets fifteen minutes ago. The CSV Lion of Judah is in orbit, and she took out every League 6th generation fighter we had on both bases. The enemy fighter craft eliminated the few we had in the air. They now have complete air supremacy over our capital. Sending our outdated interceptors at them would be nothing more than suicide for the pilots.”
“I suppose that explains the frontal attack on government central.”
“Yes. With direct air support, they’ve been able to land troops all over the complex. They know exactly what they’re doing, Mr. Attwood. Coupled with the mass protests occurring all over our major cities that have divided our forces and prevent us from bringing in significant reinforcements without causing massive civilian casualties… I give us another two hours of resistance before they kill or neutralize everyone in their way.”
“Do we have any military options left?”
“Aside from wholesale slaughter of citizens, dropping strategic weapons on our cities, or receiving reinforcements from the League of Sol… no.”
“Then what are we still doing here?”
“Prime Minister Fitzroy told us to fight. That’s all we can do.”
This is either going to be like a lightbulb going on in their heads, or I’m going to get shot. “What if the prime minister… was no longer the prime minister?”
Shriver stopped and turned to face Attwood, looking him square in the eyes. “Are you proposing a coup?”
“I’m proposing that we remove the prime minister from her post for gross dereliction of duty. I’ve spoken to the shadow ministers, the backbenchers, and most of the major portfolio ministers. All agree that decisive action must be taken now.” That’s not exactly true, but it sounds good.
“If you have the political leaders behind you, why do you need the military?”
“Because Fitzroy has drawn her power from the military for the last year. Without your express support, she won’t see reason and step aside.”
“What’s your plan?” Shriver asked bluntly.
“You come with me, along with a few soldiers. I will try to get some MMPs,” he began, using the acronym for Member of Monrovian Parliament, “who haven’t fled or been otherwise incapacitated yet, to join us. We will all enter together, and I will persuade her to resign for the good of the planet. Then w
e announce an unconditional surrender to the sisters and negotiate a peace.”
Attwood watched as he could almost see the gears in Shriver’s head turning. This guy is far too transparent to ever play poker, he thought. Finally, the general spoke. “Do you realize what you’re suggesting could be construed as treason and get us all shot?”
“Throwing our soldiers at an enemy they can’t defeat is unconscionable. Not to mention, we’re on the wrong side of this, morally,” Attwood replied. Several people in the room stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him. I hope that’s the realization in them that someone in power believes what many of us know to be true.
“Okay, Deputy Prime Minister Attwood,” Shriver said, as if reciting his title would make what they were planning okay. “You’ve got the backing of the Monrovian National Guard. Major Jefferson!”
“Yes, sir!” a dark-skinned, pudgy man shouted from across the room.
“Assemble a tactical team. We’re shipping out with Mr. Attwood.”
34
Bullets whipped around Sarno’s power armor as she and several nuns that made up her headquarters element made their way toward Kaufman’s assault squad. She had made it clear that she didn’t want her Mother Superior in harm’s way, but Sarno would have none of it. The battle had raged around them for the better part of an hour, with the nuns making steady progress. Eventually, though, they came up against heavily entrenched Monrovian positions that refused to retreat.
“We’re taking significant casualties, Mother Superior,” Kaufman said, stepping back from the firing line. “Over two hundred sisters have fallen in battle so far.”
Sarno frowned inside of her helmet. “Such loss of life is a tragedy.”
“The Monrovians are using armor-piercing ammunition of League manufacture. It’s punching through our power armor if it hits head on.”
“We’ll have to increase the lethality of our actions,” Sarno concluded.
“I agree. I wish you would retire to the rear, Mother Superior. You’ll do no good for the order if you perish.”
“If it’s my time to go, child, then it’s my time. When I was in the TCMC, I detested officers who led from behind and seemingly never exposed themselves to hostile forces. I’d be a hypocrite if I did the same thing now.”
Kaufman shook her head and smiled. “You’re one stubborn woman.”
“Takes one to know one, Sister Kaufman.”
Sarno walked over to the mobile ammunition dump they’d brought with them; also included were some cargo containers that held other weapons. She punched in her access code, opened one, and hefted a grenade launcher. “Sister Kaufman, authorize the use of fragmentation and plasma grenades by sisters that are pinned down. The enemy strongpoint in front of us; what’s its makeup?”
“They’ve got several squad automatic weapons in there, and a 40mm cannon on a tripod that’s already taken out three power-armored sisters. We’re exchanging long-range fire with them, as a frontal assault seemed likely to produce significant losses on our side,” Kaufman replied.
“Deploy two grenade launchers. I’ll personally lead this assault.”
Kaufman popped up the faceplate of her helmet so that her facial expression was visible; blood red and her eyes flashing. “Mother Superior, you can’t risk your life here! We will carry the day, but our order must retain its leader.”
“Child, I understand your feelings. The order is greater than any single nun. It is greater than me. There was a leader before me, and there’ll be one after me. Most likely you someday. Today, I insist on doing my part and being at the front.”
“Yes, Mother Superior,” Kaufman replied, clearly forcing down her own emotions.
Sarno picked up a large mini-gun from the open cargo container. “I believe this will do nicely.” She locked the weapon into her power-armored suit as it was designed to be mounted on shuttles, or a fully power-armor encased soldier, seeing as it weighed over two hundred kilograms. Triggering the button to spin up the barrel, she confirmed it was in good working order.
Kaufman passed the grenade launchers out to two other power-armored sisters, who loaded them with high explosive grenades while Sarno crouched behind the makeshift barricade they’d erected.
“Sisters,” Sarno shouted through the local commlink, gaining everyone’s attention. “The people we are fighting know that they’re on the wrong side of history. Some may fervently believe in their cause, but their number is few. If we can shatter them here and gain entrance to this most protected of buildings that house their leaders, we’ll prevail in one fell swoop. Stand behind me and press forward, no matter the cost!”
With a rousing shout, the nuns, led by Sarno and Kaufman, charged over the barricade, firing on full automatic from their battle rifles.
Sarno’s mini-gun spun up, and she unleashed a withering barrage of projectiles down the hallway, sweeping aside soldiers, desks, and tables they had hurriedly thrown up for protection, and blasting the power-armored soldier that operated his heavy weapon from the cannon’s perch.
“Press forward!” Kaufman shouted, putting well-placed three-round bursts on target and felling multiple Monrovians.
“Stop for nothing, Sisters!” Sarno shouted into her commlink.
The Monrovians, shocked by the appearance of heavy weapons and grenades exploding around them, first began to fall back in good order and then gave way to a rout. Men and women tossed aside their guns and ran away as fast as their feet would carry them, some with their hands raised, others merely running for their lives.
“We’ve got them on the run, Mother Superior,” Kaufman said excitedly, the infectious feeling of victory close at hand. “Now please allow us to finish this. Stay here with the HQ unit, and we’ll update you on our progress.”
The other nuns around them began to chant, “Mother Superior to the rear! Mother Superior to the rear!”
Giving in to their pleadings, Sarno raised her hand in defeat. “I’ll remain here. But you must now press the advantage. We’ve broken them in this sector. Push forward and consolidate our gains before they regroup! Onward, Sisters!”
The four protective service agents that guarded the prime minister’s office stood as a human shield in front of the door, guns raised and aimed at the contingent of Monrovian troops led by General Shriver and Attwood. Attwood was inwardly shaking in his boots; chatter over the commlinks as they made their way through the government complex told them that the sisters had gained the advantage and were pressing forward on all fronts.
“Gentlemen, please step aside,” Attwood said from behind the soldiers.
“Prime Minister Fitzroy has ordered us not to admit anyone, Mister Attwood. I’m sorry, but you must turn back. We’ll use whatever force is required to defend the prime minister,” the agent who Attwood assumed was in charge stated.
“There’s no reason for more bloodshed here. Most of the parliament is in favor of removing the prime minister, and we’re engaged in a war we can’t win. Please, step aside and let us try to reason with her. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to die today.”
The agents exchanged glances with one another. “That’s the deputy PM and the general in charge of the National Guard. Who are we to tell them they can’t go in?” one of the agents said to the one in charge.
“We swore an oath to protect the prime minister,” he insisted.
“You swore an oath to protect the office of the prime minister, actually,” Attwood replied, finding confidence from some well deep within himself. “Colleen Fitzroy happens to occupy that office for the moment. Once we speak with her, she will no longer. Your duty is to the constitution and the people of Monrovia. For the last time, step aside.”
The agents again looked at one another, but this time, two of them lowered their weapons, holstered them, and stepped out of the way. The lead agent, swearing under his breath, slowly lowered his firearm. “Fine. We couldn’t have stopped you anyway,” he said, as if justifying his action
s.
The soldiers quickly manhandled them out of the way, and Attwood rapped on the door to the inner office. “Prime Minister!” he shouted through the door. “We know you're in there! Open the door!”
“Blow the door,” Shriver interjected. “We don’t have time for this.”
Attwood scurried out of the way as a tall female soldier unwrapped a strip of detcord and affixed it to the door frame. They stepped back, and she shouted, “Fire in the hole!” A moment later, the explosive rope detonated with a loud thud; the door fell in a cloud of smoke.
General Shriver was the first one through the smoking doorframe, followed slowly by several soldiers and Attwood. Fitzroy stood defiantly behind her desk, her face smeared with soot, and a pistol in her hands, held in a shooter’s stance. “Not one more step, you traitors!”
“Colleen, let’s be reasonable about this,” Attwood said.
“You little weasel,” Fitzroy shouted. “You stabbed me in the back while an invader is overthrowing our government! I should have you all killed.”
“Put down the gun, Madam Prime Minister,” Attwood said, trying out a more formal tone. “There’s no need for more bloodshed today. Parliament no longer has confidence in your ability to discharge your office. Nor do I. For the betterment of our people, you must step down. Do it now of your own accord, and you can be remembered for making a noble sacrifice.”
“Marty, you’re so full of it. I know what’s going on here; you’re going to make me a scapegoat. You’ll tell them all it was my idea, and let the sisters hang me. I go down, you’re all going down with me.”
“I’ve accepted that I’m… going down, as you put it, Colleen. I should’ve done something sooner. I should’ve manned up sooner, regardless of the cost to my fortunes. I’ll go to my grave with that regret.”
