Sword and Scepter (codominium)

by Jerry Pournelle

  In the starlit gloom she could almost see the miniature figures again. Falkenherg's impassive orders rang in her ears. "Kill this one. Send this one to the mines." Now the miniatures were joined by larger figures in battle armor. With a sudden start she knew they were real. Two men stood motionless in the draw below her.

  She touched Sergeant Hruska and pointed. The trooper looked carefully and nodded. As they watched, more figures joined the pair of scouts, until soon there were nearly fifty of them in the fold of the hill, two hundred meters away. They were too far for her squad's weapons to have much effect, and a whispered command sent Hruska crawling along the gully to order the men to stay down and be silent.

  The group continued to grow. She couldn't see them all, and since she could count nearly a hundred she must be observing the assembly area of a full company. Were these the dreaded Highlanders? Memories of her father's defeat came unwanted and she brushed them away. They were only hired men-but they fought for glory, and somehow that was enough to make them terrible.

  After a long time the enemy began moving toward her. They formed a V-shape with the point aimed almost directly at her position, and she searched for the ends of the formation. What she saw made her gasp.

  Four hundred meters to her left was another company of soldiers in double file. They moved silently and swiftly up the hill, and the lead elements were already far beyond her position. Frantically she looked to the right, focusing the big electronic light amplifying glasses-and saw another company of men half a kilometer away. A full Highlander battalion was moving right up her hill in an inverted M, and the group in front of her was the connecting sweep to link the assault columns. In minutes they would be among the ranchers in the defense line.

  Still she waited, until the dozen Highlanders of the point were ten meters from her. She shouted commands. "Up and at them! Fire!" From both ends of her ditch the mercenaries' automatic weapons chattered, then their fire was joined by her riflemen. The point was cut down to a man, and Sergeant Hruska directed fire on the main body, while Glenda Ruth shouted into her communicator.

  "Fire Mission. Flash Uncle Four!"

  There was a moment's delay which seemed like years. "Flash Uncle Four." Another long pause. "On the way," an unemotional voice answered. She thought it sounded like Falkenberg, but she was too busy to care.

  "Reporting," she said. "At least one battalion of light infantry in assault columns is moving up hill 905 along ridges Uncle and Zebra."

  "They're shifting left, Miss." She looked up to see Hruska. The noncom pointed to the company in front of her position. Small knots of men curled leftward. They hugged the ground and were visible only for seconds.

  "Move some men to that end of the gully," she ordered. It was too late to shift artillery fire. Anyway, if the Highlanders ever got to the top of the ridge, the ranchers wouldn't hold them. She held her breath and waited.

  There was the scream of incoming artillery, then the night was lit by bright flashes. VT shells fell among the distant enemy on the left flank. "Pour it on!" she shouted into the communicator. "On target!"

  "Right. On the way."

  She was sure it was Falkenberg himself at the other end. Catlike she grinned in the dark. What was a colonel doing as a telephone orderly? Was he worried about her? She almost laughed at the thought. Certainly he was, the ranchers would be hard to handle without her.

  The ridge above erupted in fire. Mortars and grenades joined the artillery pounding the leftward assault column. Glenda Ruth paused to examine the critical situation to the right. The assault force five hundred meters away was untouched, and continued to advance toward the top of the ridge. It was going to be close.

  She let the artillery hold its target another five minutes while her riflemen engaged the company in front of her, then took up the radio again. The right-hand column had nearly reached the ridges, and she wondered if she had waited too long.

  "Fire mission. Flash Zebra Nine."

  "Zebra Nine," the emotionless voice replied. There was a short delay, then, "On the way." The fire lifted from the left flank almost immediately, and two minutes later began to fall five hundred meters to the right.

  "They're flanking us, Miss," Sergeant Hruska reported. She'd been so busy directing artillery at the assaults against the ridge line that she'd actually forgotten her twenty men were engaged in a fire fight with over a hundred enemies. "Shall we pull back?" Hruska asked.

  She tried to think, but it was impossible in the noise and confusion. The assault columns were still moving ahead, and she had the only group that could observe the entire attack. Every precious shell had to count. "No. We'll hold on here."

  "Right, Miss." The sergeant seemed to be enjoying himself. He moved away to direct the automatic weapons and rifle fire. How long can we hold? Glenda Ruth wondered.

  She let the artillery continue to pound the right-hand assault force for twenty minutes. By then the Highlanders had nearly surrounded her and were ready to assault from the rear. Prayerfully she lifted the radio again.

  "Fire Mission. Give me everything you can on Jack Fire-and for God's sake don't, go over. We're at Jack Six."

  "Flash Jack Five," the voice acknowledged immediately. There was a pause. "On the way." They were the most beautiful words she'd ever heard.

  Now they waited. The Highlanders rose to charge. A wild sound filled the night. My God, Pipes! she thought. But even as the infantry moved the pipes were drowned by the whistle of artillery. Glenda Ruth dove to the bottom of the gully, and saw that the rest of her command had done the same.

  The world erupted in sound. Millions of tiny fragments at enormous velocity filled the night with death. Cautiously she lifted a small periscope to look behind her.

  The Highlander company had dissolved. Shells were falling among dead men, lifting them to be torn apart again and again as the radar-fused shells fell among them. Glenda Ruth swallowed hard and swept the glass around. The left-hand assault company had reformed and were turning back to attack the ridge. "Fire Flash Uncle Four," she said softly.

  "Interrogative."

  "Flash Uncle Four!"

  "Uncle Four. On the way." As soon as the fire lifted from behind them her men returned to the lip of the gully and resumed firing, but the sounds began to die away.

  "We're down to the ammo in the guns now, Miss," Hruska reported. "May I have your spare magazines?"

  She realized with a sudden start that she had yet to fire a single shot.

  The night wore on. Whenever the enemy formed up to assault her position he was cut apart by the merciless artillery. Once she asked for a box barrage all around her gully-by that time the men were down to three shots in each rifle, and the automatic weapons had no ammo at all. The toneless voice simply answered, "On the way."

  An hour before dawn nothing moved on the hill.

  VIII

  The thin notes of a military trumpet sounded across the barren hills of the Gap. The ridges east of Falkenberg's battle line lay dead, their foliage cut to shreds by shell fragments, the very earth thrown into crazyquilt craters partly burying the dead. A cool wind blew through the Gap, but it couldn't dispell the smells of nitro and death.

  The trumpet sounded again. Falkenberg's glasses showed three unarmed Highlander officers carrying a white flag. An ensign was dispatched to meet them, and the young officer returned with a blindfolded Highlander major.

  "Major MacRae, Fourth Covenant Infantry," the officer introduced himself after the blindfold was removed. He blinked at the bright lights of the bunker. "You'll be Colonel Falkenberg."

  "Yes. What can we do for you, Major?"

  "I've orders to offer a truce for burying the dead. Twenty hours, Colonel, if that's agreeable."

  "No. Four days and nights-a hundred and sixty hours, Major," Falkenberg said.

  "A hundred and sixty hours, Colonel?" The burly Highlander regarded Falkenberg suspiciously. "You'll want that time to complete your defenses."

  "Perhaps. But tw
enty hours is not enough time to transfer the wounded men. I'll return all of yours-under parole, of course. It's no secret I'm short of medical supplies and they'll receive better care from their own surgeons."

  The Highlander's face showed nothing, but he paused. "You wouldn't tell me how many there be?" He was silent for a moment, then speaking very fast, he said, "The time you set is within my discretion, Colonel." He held out a bulky dispatch case. "My credentials and instructions. 'Twas a bloody battle, Colonel. How many of my laddies have ye killed?"

  Falkenberg and Glenda Ruth glanced at each other. There is a bond between those who have been in combat together, and it can even include those of the other side. The Covenant officer stood impassively, unwilling to say more, but his eyes pleaded with them.

  "We counted four hundred and nine bodies, Major," Glenda Ruth told him gently. "And-" she looked at Falkenberg, who nodded. "We brought in another three hundred and seventy wounded." The usual combat ratio is four men wounded to each killed; nearly sixteen hundred Covenanters must have been taken out of action in the assault. Toward the end the Highlanders were losing men in their efforts to recover their dead and wounded.

  "Less than four hundred," the major said sadly. He stood to rigid attention. "Hae your men search the ground well, Colonel. There's aye more o' my lads out there." He saluted and waited for the blindfold to be fixed again. "I thank you, Colonel."

  As the mercenary officer was led away Falkenberg turned to Glenda Ruth with a wistful smile. "Try to bribe him with money and he'd challenge me, but when I offer him his men back-" He shook his head sadly.

  "Have they really given up?" Glenda Ruth asked.

  "Yes. The truce finishes it. Their only chance was to break through before we brought up more ammunition and reserves, and they know it."

  "But why? In the last revolution they were so terrible, and now-why?"

  "It's the weakness of mercenaries," Falkenberg explained crisply. "The fruits of victory belong to our employers, not us. Friedland can't lose her armor and Covenant can't lose her men, or they've nothing more to sell."

  "But they fought before!"

  "Sure, in a fluid battle of maneuver. A frontal assault is always the most costly kind of battle. They tried to force the passage and we beat them fairly. Honor is satisfied. Now the Confederacy will have to bring up its own Regulars if they want to force a way through the Gap. I don't think they'll squander men like that, and anyway it takes time. Meanwhile we've got to go to Allansport and deal with a crisis."

  "What's wrong there?" she asked.

  "This came in regimental code this morning." He handed her a message flimsy.

  "FALKENBERG FROM SVOBODA BREAK BREAK PATRIOT ARMY LOOTING ALLANSPORT STOP REQUEST COURT OF INQUIRY INVESTIGATE POSSIBLE VIOLATIONS OF LAWS OF WAR STOP EXTREMELY INADVISABLE FOR ME TO COMPLY WITH YOUR ORDERS TO JOIN REGIMENT STOP PATRIOT ARMY ACTIONS PROVOKING SABOTAGE AND REVOLT AMONG TOWNSPEOPLE AND MINERS STOP MY SECURITY FORCES MAY BE REQUIRED TO HOLD THE CITY STOP AWAIT YOUR ORDERS STOP RESPECTFULLY ANTON SVOBODA BREAK BREAK MESSAGE ENDS"

  She read it twice. "My God, Colonel-what's going on there?"

  "I don't know," he said grimly. "I intend to find out. Will you come with me as a representative of the Patriot Council?"

  "Of course-but shouldn't we send for Howard Bannister? The Council elected him president."

  "If we need him we'll get him. Sergeant Major."

  "Sir!"

  "Put Miss Horton's things on the troop carrier with mine. I'll take the Headquarters Guard platoon to Allansport."

  "Sir. Colonel, you'll want me along."

  "Will I? I suppose so, Sergeant Major. Get your gear aboard."

  "Sir."

  "It's probably already there, of course. Let's move out."

  The personnel carrier took them to a small airfield where a jet waited. It was one of forty on the planet, and it would carry a hundred men; but it burned fuel needed for ammunition transport. Until the oil fields around Doak's Ferry could be secured it was fuel they could hardly afford.

  The plane flew across Patriot-held areas, staying well away from the isolated Confederate strongpoints remaining west of the Gap. Aircraft had little chance of surviving in a combat environment when any infantryman could carry target-seeking rockets, while trucks could carry equipment to defeat airborne countermeasures. They crossed the Columbia Valley and turned southwest over the broad forests of Ford Heights Plateau, then west again to avoid Preston Bay where pockets of Confederates remained after the fall of the main fortress.

  "You do the same thing, don't you?" Glenda Ruth said suddenly. "When we assaulted Preston Bay you let my people take the casualties."

  Falkenberg nodded. "For two reasons. I'm as reluctant to lose troops as the Highlanders-and without the Regiment you'd not hold the Patriot areas a thousand hours. You need us as an intact force, not a pile of corpses."

  "Yes." It was true enough, but those were her friends who'd died in the assault. Would the outcome be worth it? Would Falkenberg let it be worth it?

  Captain Svoboda met them at the Allansport field. "Glad to see you, sir. It's pretty bad in town." "Just what happened, Captain?" Svoboda looked critically at Glenda Ruth, but Falkenberg said, "Report."

  "Yes, sir. When the provisional governor arrived I turned over administration of the city as ordered. At that time the peninsula was pacified, largely due to the efforts of Mayor Hastings, who wants to avoid damage to the city. Hastings believes Franklin will send a large army from the home planet, and says he sees no point in getting Loyalists killed and the city burned in resistance that won't change the final outcome anyway."

  "Poor Roger-he always tried to be reasonable, and it never works," Glenda Ruth said. "But Franklin will send troops."

  "Possibly," Falkenberg said. "But it takes time for them to mobilize and organize transport. Continue, Captain Svoboda."

  "Sir. The governor posted a list of proscribed persons whose property was forfeit. If that wasn't enough, he told his troops that if they found any Confederate government property, they could keep half its value. You'll see the results when we get to town, Colonel. There were looting and fires which my security forces and the local fire people only barely managed to control."

  "Oh, Lord," Glenda Ruth murmured. "Why?"

  Svoboda curled his lip. "Looters often do that, Miss Horton. You can't let troops sack a city and not expect damage. The outcome was predictable, Colonel. Many townspeople took to the hills, particularly the miners. They've taken several of the mining towns back."

  Captain Svoboda shrugged helplessly. "The railway is cut. The city itself is secure, but I can't say how long. You only left me a hundred and fifty troops to control eleven thousand people, which I did with hostages. The governor brought another nine hundred men and that's not enough to rule their way. He's asked Preston Bay for more soldiers."

  "Is that where the first group came from?" Glenda Ruth asked.

  "Yes, Miss. A number of them, anyway."

  "Then it's understandable if not excusable, Colonel," she said. "Many ranches on Ford Heights were burned out by Loyalists in the first revolution. I suppose they think they're paying the Loyalists back."

  Falkenberg nodded. "Sergeant Major!"

  "Sir!"

  "Put the Guard in battle armor and combat weapons. Captain, we are going to pay a call on your provisional governor. Alert your men."

  "Colonel!" Glenda Ruth protested. "You-what are you going to do?"

  "Miss Horton, I left an undamaged town, which is now a nest of opposition. I'd like to know why. Let's go, Svoboda."

  City Hall stood undamaged among burned-out streets. The town smelled of scorched wood and death, as if there'd been a major battle fought in the downtown area. Falkenberg sat impassive as Glenda Ruth stared unbelievingly at what had been the richest city outside the capital area.

  "I tried, Colonel," Svoboda muttered. He blamed himself anyway. "I'd have had to fire on the Patriots and arrest the governor. You were out
of communications and I didn't want to take that responsibility without orders. Should I have, sir?"

  Falkenberg didn't answer. Possible violations of mercenary contracts were always delicate situations. Finally he said, "I can hardly blame you for not wanting to involve the Regiment in war with our sponsors."

  The Patriot irregular guards at City Hall protested as Falkenberg strode briskly toward the governor's office. They tried to bar the way, but when they saw his forty guardsmen in battle armor they moved aside.

  The governor was a broad-shouldered former rancher who'd done well in commodities speculation. He was a skilled salesman, master of the friendly grip on the elbow and pat on the shoulder, the casual words in the right places, but he had no experience in military command. He glanced nervously at Sergeant Major Calvin and the grim-faced guards outside his office as Glenda Ruth introduced Falkenberg.

  "Governor Jack Silana," she said. "The governor was active in the first revolution, and without his financial help we'd never have been able to pay your passage here, Colonel."

  "I see." Falkenberg ignored the governor's offered hand. "Did you authorize more looting, Governor Silana?" he asked. "I see some's still going on."

  "Your mercenaries have all the tax money," Silana protested. He tried to grin. "My troops are being ruined to pay you. Why shouldn't the Fedsymps contribute to the war? Anyway, the real trouble began when a town girl insulted one of my soldiers. He struck her. Some townspeople interfered, and his comrades came to help. A riot started and someone called out the garrison to stop it-"

  "And you lost control," Falkenberg said.

  "The traitors got no more than they deserve anyway! Don't think they didn't loot cities when they won, Colonel. These men have seen ranches burned out, and they know Allansport's a nest of Fedsymp traitors."

  "I see." Falkenberg turned to his provost. "Captain, had you formally relinquished control to Governor Silana before this happened?"

  "Yes, sir. As ordered."

  "Then it's none of the Regiment's concern. Were any of our troops involved?"