Cheryl leaned over the portable communications unit and made sure her voice was crisp and clear. "You heard me. Captain. This is Midnight Angel to all units. The Light Horse is ordered to stand down. Authorization Alpha, Kappa, Psi, Zero, One. Disengage and fall back to your staging areas."
Fires still burned in the battle zone. The fighting had been focused on the warehouse district, and that's where the damage was the worst. She saw trails of smoke— gray, black, some white—twisting in the light breeze. Each a funeral pyre for the men and women who had died in the fighting there.
I could have struck sooner . . . maybe I should have. She shook her head. There was an even larger fire burning opposite the battlefield. Reports had been flooding in for the past hour that someone had bombed the governor's mansion. The flames were much higher than those on the battlefield. She could see the flicker of emergency-vehicle lights in that section of town. The mansion, perched on the high ground over the city, was fully engulfed. She had heard the rumble of collapsing timbers on her way back to the command post.
Other news reports were coming to her, not as commander of the militia but as the director of internal affairs. The Directorate investigators strongly believed the governor may have been killed in the fire. The lieutenant governor was missing, and she knew his loss would not affect the government. He had been a meaningless cog in the bureaucracy on Callison anyway. It will be a long time before they find his body. She should know. . . .
Her cease-fire orders to the Light Horse would quickly end the fighting. There were still a few things she had to wrap up. Switching to the broadband channel, she transmitted in the clear so that every member of both militaries would hear her words. "This is Cheryl Gunson, acting commander of the Callison Light Horse. I have ordered my troops to disengage. Sir Erbe, I request an immediate cease-fire. I additionally request a formal parlay."
She paused. There was no reply for a long few moments. Impatience began to rise. She had lied to the governor about him dying in order to meet with her— and kill her. Now she wondered if perhaps Kristoff Erbe had not survived the fighting. If not the knight, then what of Adamans, the Fidelis officer? Was she too late?
"This is Kristoff Erbe. I accept your cease-fire."
"I need two hours. Sir Erbe," she replied. "Then let's talk." It would take some time to be sworn in as governor—she would need to find a judge, and confirmation of Governor Stewart's death would have to be broadcast to the public. Formal assumption of the reins of power took time.
* * *
She met with Kristoff Erbe in the governor's offices in the city. The media covered this event with the same fervor they had shown for the chaos that had torn Calli- son apart. Cheryl greeted the knight in front of the media with a firm handshake, and escorted him personally into the governor's office. She took her seat behind the desk. Both of them still wore the dirt of the battlefield, though she had changed clothes for the hasty swearing-in ceremony. Her hair needed to be washed, but had been combed into a semblance of order. Her honored guest, Knight Errant Kristoff Erbe of The Republic, had pulled on an olive-drab jumpsuit stained with sweat. Neither of them cared. Both were so tired that for a long moment they said nothing. Erbe stared at her intently, then examined her blackened eye. His expression contained only curiosity.
"I saw the broadcast. Governor Gunson," he finally said, shattering the silence.
She allowed herself a tiny smile. "What happened to Governor Stewart was tragic. We have been looking for the lieutenant governor; if he can be found, I will step down and he can assume control of the government. In the meantime, under the law of Callison, I am forced to accept leadership of this world."
"They aren't going to find the lieutenant governor, are they?"
"I suppose it's possible. But I suspect it will be discovered that his health has failed him as well."
Erbe absorbed her words. "You have overthrown the government."
"I have done as I was ordered."
"Redburn ordered this?" Disbelief rang in his voice.
"My orders were to ensure that Callison remained a safe world, loyal to The Republic. I have interpreted those orders in this manner."
He was stunned. "I'm sure that Redburn never intended for you to seize control of the planet."
"My orders did not specify how I was to accomplish this goal. I was given full discretion as to how to proceed. Even the ghost paladin refused to advise me on how I might complete my mission."
"You staged a coup."
"I fulfilled my orders to the best of my ability, as did you."
"But why would you do this?"
"For Callison. For The Republic. Devlin Stone's message to Redburn said Callison is crucial to the survival of The Republic. We don't know why, but we couldn't risk it not being in Republic hands—I couldn't risk it remaining in the hands of Governor Stewart. Who better than a Knight of the Sphere to control the world and ensure that its people remain loyal and supportive of our cause?"
"People here hate The Republic." Governor Stewart had done a good job of turning public opinion against The Republic.
"People have been lied to," she reminded him. "In a few days, evidence will surface pointing to the deaths of the governor and lieutenant governor as part of a Marik - Stewart Commonwealth plot. I will tell the people that The Republic is our best hope for safety against their plans. I will tell them that my predecessor was misled by agents of the Commonwealth into thinking that The Republic had deserted them. In reality, The Republic is our future. In the end, most people hate change."
"I don't believe you're going to do this."
"Your belief is irrelevant. These were my orders to fulfill, not yours."
"You still don't know why this world was so important to The Republic's future?"
"No, but I have a guess. It's clear that our people will need a haven. Knights protecting the worlds outside of Fortress Republic will need a home, a place to rebuild. Callison can be that world. We will step up our armaments production, and over time institute a draft. The knights will be welcome here under the auspices of rotating in to protect us. The people—my people—will feel comfortable with that. It will buy us time to find out the truth as to why Stone felt this world was so damned important." She knew she was tired by her slip in using the word "damned" in reference to Stone's plans. She stretched, sliding against the leather of the massive chair. She realized that she must look even shorter than usual in the oversized office chair. I guess I can have this replaced. I've changed everything else in the government.
Kristoff studied her. "You're sure about this, m'lady? What can I do to help?"
She smiled. They were still peers, despite her new title. "I appreciate the offer. For what it's worth, this isn't exactly the solution I would have preferred; but it's the best I can do."
He leaned back in his own chair, the one she was used to sitting in. "For what it's worth, your solution is so unique it might just work."
"It has to."
"You have my support."
"Good," she replied, her eyes half-closed. "I have bent and broken enough rules for a week."
* * *
Sir Kristoff Erbe watched as the prime haulers maneuvered the DropShip engines to the Redball Express 13 and began loading them into the transport. Across the tarmac, the remaining Fidelis and Republic troops loaded their equipment aboard the Onondaga. The midday sunshine poured through the clouds, and for the first time he found himself basking in the sun of Callison.
The media had turned Cheryl Gunson into a planetary hero. She used plain, simple terms to explain to the citizens how the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth had plotted to turn Callison against The Republic. Even Governor Stewart had been fooled, and when she uncovered the plot, Commonwealth agents had her killed. Those who had bought into Allison Stewart's carefully crafted anti- Republic message protested at first, but their opposition quickly died out when polls showed overwhelming support for The Republic. Kristoff assumed the polls had been doctored, b
ut said nothing. Governor Gunson ruled Callison now, and he himself had publicly pledged to support and defend this world.
Adamans came up to him and handed him a note- puter. He surveyed the data. Their losses had topped thirty percent—fairly significant. The badly wounded would stay on Callison under Colonel Adamans' command; Erbe accompanied the DropShip engines to the rendezvous point. Adamans had shown no emotion when Kristoff related what he knew of Ceresco's actions. The Fidelis commander had simply crossed his arms and listened.
"I have received word that our people have arrived at this Fort Defiance. It is in rough shape, but can be repaired. We will begin work while you are gone." Fort Defiance was a mothballed military base in the Belvoir Plains. During the Jihad, it had served as one of Stone's many military bases. It had been empty for decades when Governor Gunson announced that she was turning it over to the Knights of the Sphere for their use. It might not be much now, but over time it would become a home. It had to be. The real home of the Republic troops was on the other side of the invisible wall of Fortress Republic. Home is where we make it.
Ceresco Hancock had altered Erbe's orders regarding the Callison militia materiel. In her role as governor, she was willing to provide the hardware to The Republic, but it would stay on-world and be moved to Fort Defiance. Related to this decision was the governor's stated intention to immediately increase the production of military hardware. Callison had both enemies and allies, and they would need all the gear they could lay their hands on. This decision ensured that the Light Horse would be refitted first with new gear, and it made the local population feel secure.
"We should be back in forty-eight days. Until that time, you are in command, Colonel," he replied.
"Very good, Sir Erbe. I will endeavor to serve well in your absence." He bowed his head.
"I know you will. Coordinate with the Light Horse commandant for supplies; find out if there's anything he can spare."
"If he cannot, I will avail myself of our mutual ally," he replied gravely.
"Will you and your troops be alright?"
"We will be fine. We have already salvaged much-of the gear damaged in the battle and have begun repairs. We can replace all but the dead."
"Remarkable, Adamans."
"No, sir. We are simply doing what we were created for."
His words sent a chill down Kristoff's spine. "Very well," he replied, saluting the Fidelis officer. Kristoff headed toward the Redball Express 13, then paused and looked out past the spaceport. Beyond the hustle and bustle around him he could see the scars of the fighting. On a hill above the city stood the charred remains of the governor's mansion, a ruinous monument to the chaos perpetrated on Brandenburg.
If it happened here, what has happened across the rest of The Republic? He felt the chill return to his spine, and this time it stayed.
Price of Service 3
Breezewood, Kwamashu
Duchy of Andurien
Fortress Republic (+798 days)
"Welcome to luxurious Kwamashu," Chin said, extending his hand to his fellow knight. A chilly breeze stirred the air. Sir Mannheim accepted Chin's hand and shook it firmly. Their landing at the spaceport outside the city had been met with no fanfare or even interest on the part of the locals. Mannheim, per instructions from Chin, had marched his "Duchy" garrison unit along the outskirts of the city and into the designated industrial complex. It was a parade with no one watching.
The industrial complex was impressive even in its present run-down condition. At one time it had been tooled to assemble large industrial machines. There was a tank farm on the outlying edge of the complex sprouting a maze of pipes that served the two dozen buildings that made up the complex. The fence was mangled in some places, where someone searching for something of value had obviously attempted to break in. At one point it looked like it had been used as a dumping ground for abandoned vehicles, their rusted hulks dotting what used to be the employee parking lot. The moist air was filled with dust, and a suggestion of mold stung Sir Mannheim's nostrils. His company was assembled inside the largest of the buildings. The BattleMechs and a handful of vehicles had been fanned out to secure the perimeter.
"It's quiet."
"Breezewood is what you might call economically depressed. It never recovered from the beating it took in the Jihad; half the city is deserted, and the occupied half does not shelter the best citizens of the Inner Sphere," Chin replied, sarcasm twisting his voice. "The good news is that if you're into prostitutes, especially ugly ones hooked on drugs, this is the place for you."
Mannheim winced at the unsavory image conjured by Chin's grim humor. "I assume from the signal we received on approach that the local garrison commander believes your cover story?"
"More or less. He's not likely to be inviting us to dine with him anytime soon, but he has accepted my explanation of our presence here."
Mannheim didn't care if the man was happy with him being on Kwamashu or not. What mattered was that he believed they were part of the Duchy of Andurien's armed forces and that the local garrison would stay away from Breezewood. "Very good. What about the civilian population?"
"I hired a good-sized crew to clean out this portion of the plant. Most of the facility is in total shambles, but we got the roof repaired here and the offices are usable." He pointed to a staircase rising off the massive production floor that led to a balcony and office space beyond. "We finished up a few days ago."
"Was it wise to involve the locals?"
Chin smiled, his expression clearly stating "I have this under control, old man." Mannheim had only been separated from the ghost knight for a few weeks, but he'd gotten used to the lack of constant irritation he had felt when they were together. The younger knight just couldn't resist showing off. "This is part of my side of the business. Getting the locals in here, paying them with wages above the norm, circulating the right rumors about what we're doing here—it's all part of getting the attention of any intelligence operatives on the planet. Word will spread fast, especially from poor people who suddenly have money in their pockets."
It was worse than his usual cockiness: He was right. It was a good move. "What about billets for our troopers?"
"There's an office building adjacent to this structure, a yellow four-story building you passed as you entered the complex. The first two floors have been cleaned and set up for use as barracks. I wouldn't drink the water that comes from these pipes, but it's tested fine for showering."
As Mannheim looked around, he realized how far they were from home. Even though their JumpShip remained at the zenith jump point, rigged with a Duchy of Andurien transponder, with orders to recharge, sit and wait, it would take days to reach the JumpShip. And when they reached the JumpShip, they were still three jumps from the nearest prefecture.
We are strangers in a stranger land. It had been a long time since a Republic force had operated behind the lines of another government. If they ran into trouble, there was no one to come and help.
He quickly abandoned that line of thinking and turned his mind to the task at hand. They had already established a security screen around the complex. The next step was to create the illusion that work was being done to reactivate the plant.
"I studied the map of this facility on the way here, but it's obviously dated. Do you have anything current?"
Chin pulled out a datacube and tossed it at him. Mannheim had to scramble to catch it. "That gives you a full inventory of the assets at our disposal. For safety reasons, there are a number of the buildings that I marked as off-limits on the blueprints. They've been used to store stuff that may pose a biohazard if disturbed."
"Will they pose a problem when we create our simulated disaster?"
Chin looked away and shook his head. "No. Not at all."
* * *
Chin felt most comfortable wearing everyday working clothes. Ratty dungarees, a grubby maroon T-shirt and two days' worth of beard made it possible for him to blend in anywhere. Not bathing for
a few days simply added an aromatic touch to his cover. The key to successfully blending in is taking into account the little details.
He had come back to New Bedford to plant rumors. He had been in several bars over the last two nights, letting the local grapevine pick up on the arrival of Mannheim's troops. While nothing had appeared in the local media, the word-of-mouth network was talking about it. He'd mention that he was in town from Breezewood, then the questions would start to fly. Flashing money and talking about his great new job refurbishing the assembly plant there also attracted attention.
He had a dossier of the government agents known to operate on Kwamashu, though he was quickly confirming how woefully out of date that list had become with the loss of the HPG network. Even working with old information, he was confident that he'd identified three or four potential spies. The real problem was that he couldn't be sure they were still in "the business." His job tonight was to follow up on one such case he'd identified a few days earlier, a man named Francis Kaff. He blended in pretty well with the bar clientele, nursing a dirty look and a half-empty glass of cheap whiskey. Chin slid onto a wobbly barstool two down from the potential spy, then spent a moment worrying that the stool wouldn't hold up.
The bartender provided Chin a drink for which he overpaid generously, enough that it caught the attention of the chronically uninterested bartender. "You plunkin' that down to keep the drinks flowing?"
He shook his head. "Nah, it's just a tip. I came into some money recently. Might as well share the wealth." He took a sip of his drink while the bartender eyed the money cautiously, as if he suspected it was counterfeit. Then he topped off Chin's drink, a gesture meant to loosen up some more cash.
Chin held up his drink to toast the barkeep and made eye contact with Kaff. He chugged another gulp of the whiskey and felt the heat pulse through his body from his stomach upward. Kaff nodded genially. "Come into some cash, eh? Somebody die in your family?"
Money always worked as bait. Kaff was his: Only one person could play off a spy so easily, and that was another spy. "Nope. I landed a job in Breezewood a few weeks ago. The pay was incredible."
Surrender Your Dreams Page 15
