"We can talk about me later. Sit rep, Captain."
His brows went up in silent amazement at her perseverance; it was a significant indication of respect from the Fidelis commander. "We are falling back. The Falcons have regrouped and have entered the park. Our rear guard caught the worst of it. The Jade Falcons are closing on the DropShips and we are using the turrets for covering fire. We should have everyone on board in less than a minute."
"Greene?"
"He's on the bridge. Our guests are aboard this ship as well."
"Let's get out of here." The mission would still be a failure if the Jade Falcons managed to take the DropShips. As if in support of her thought, the Excelsior shook as it took a hit, replying with the whine of a nearby turret discharging its lasers. She drew a deep breath, and her chest ached as if to remind her of the extent of her injuries.
Boyne's wrist comm buzzed. He activated it, and she could hear the voice of Major Greene. "Boyne, we need to take off. The Falcons are practically knocking on the door to get aboard over here."
Boyne moved his wrist so that the comm unit would pick up Synd's voice. "Mongoose here. Order the Pontchartrain to take off immediately. Major. We'll be right behind them."
"Mongoose, it's good to have you back. We are dusting off now."
She looked at Boyne sternly. "I have lost enough people on this mission." She relaxed onto the cot and deliberately closed her eyes. It was out of her hands now. As the DropShip engines roared to life beneath her, she knew the fight was now in the hands of the DropShip captains and their crews. Her people had already paid their price.
Outbound to Nadir Jump Point Ryde System
Jade Falcon Occupation Zone
Fortress Republic (-15 days)
"We were told that our families would be with us," Doctor Andrew Brunner shouted, pounding his fist on the table. "This man lied to us." The doctor stabbed a finger at Greene, who seemed unmoved by the gesture.
"One of my primary objectives was to retrieve you and your team from Ryde. I did and said what was necessary to accomplish that goal." The ghost knight did not apologize. She and Sir Greene had debriefed each other, and she had spoken with him at length about what he had done. She felt that she would have found another way to achieve the goal rather than lying to the scientists. But when she thought about it, she wondered if that were really true. Would I have traded honor to achieve the objective—especially if achieving the objective meant saving lives? She didn't want to answer that question. What had changed in The Republic was forcing her to make decisions based on new criteria. And it bothered her that she believed he had done the right thing.
"I understand that you are upset. I would feel the same if 1 were in your shoes. However, we did what was necessary to preserve the future of The Republic. Our mission was to recover you and your data, and that is what we did." A part of her wanted to say "we were just following orders," but far too many crimes had been committed throughout history under that guise.
"You don't honestly think we'll work for The Republic after what you've done to us, do you?" Brunner's voice was filled with venom. In the tiny dining room aboard the Excelsior, his voice seemed to dominate the very air.
It had been a long three days since they had lifted from Ryde. Two harassing attacks by aerospace fighters had nearly destroyed the morale of the survivors of the raid. Her own emotions felt raw, and her body was in constant pain. Sir Greene opened his mouth to attempt a rebuttal, but Synd cut him off. "Doctor Brunner, I don't know or care what you do from this point forward. Once we leave disputed territory, we are going to take you to the rendezvous point and transfer you off this ship. What happens to you then and what you choose to do is not my concern."
"We didn't want to be rescued. We never asked you to come for us. The Falcons left us alone to do our work, but now our families will pay the price for what you've done." Brunner's voice broke. "New Dearborn is my home. We all have friends and families there. You have ripped us away from our lives. Damn you to hell."
"What we did, we did in the name of The Republic. It was necessary." If it wasn't necessary, we wouldn't have done it—wouldn't have lost so many good people.
"You are an evil person."
She should have let that go, but she couldn't. "Don't you dare say that." Anger made the blood rush painfully to her face. "Taking you away from the Falcons cost the lives of thirty-eight good people—thirty-eight people who died to ensure your well-being and the health of The Republic. You're upset because you're worried about your families. That's fair. But because we have accepted this mission, my troops may never see our families again either. We've all sacrificed our way of life for you." She took a deep, shaky breath. "Evil? I assure you. Doctor Brunner, you have no idea what evil is." With those words she nodded to the guards, who led out the former Falcon hostages. Aside from Sir Greene, the only person who remained was Boyne. He had stood in the corner during the entire conversation, arms crossed, observing the exchange but contributing nothing.
"You are not correct," he finally said.
"About what?"
"Master Sergeant Franks died a few hours ago. There are now thirty-nine dead."
Greene shook his head. "Does one more death make a difference?"
"It does," Boyne replied, "if you are that person." Greene shook his head once more, rose to his feet and stepped out of the room, leaving Crystal Synd alone with the Fidelis warrior.
She closed her eyes. "You hide your emotions well, Boyne."
He surprised her by sitting down across the table from her. "From your perspective, I am not showing my emotions. But do not take my lack of expression as not caring. I have not slept since we left Ryde. At night, I see the faces of those who fell. Know this, Lady Synd: I believe they died the way they hoped to; fighting for The Republic."
"It sounds noble, Boyne. but the truth is most people would prefer to die of old age, at home with their families, after a long and joyous life."
"Not the Fidelis."
"That sounds like a Clan attitude," she replied.
He chuckled. "I am sure that the Jade Falcons would not appreciate the comparison. We do not fear old age: In fact, we have come to appreciate it a great deal. The difference is that you rarely get a choice in this life as to whether you see old age."
"I hope this mission was worth it."
The Fidelis nodded. "It was. We fulfilled our objectives."
Synd cringed. "I wish I had your faith. How can you ignore the dead and wounded? This mission cost us more than seventy-five percent of our troops. 1 have two operational 'Mechs remaining, and a few vehicles that may never see combat again. This unit may never be combat-ready again."
Boyne waited for a moment before responding. "What matters is the mission, correct? You and I are military personnel. We know that losses occur. We understand that some men and women will not come back. In this case, our mission went as planned. Our objectives have been achieved."
He spoke so confidently, with such self-assurance, that it was hard not to agree with him. She accepted that every military engagement ended with the loss of soldiers—but the losses she suffered on Ryde were so far beyond typical that they staggered the imagination. Most military units lose ten to twenty percent of their number and are rebuilt. "We achieved the mission, but the cost in blood was too much."
"You knew what the cost would be before we left New Earth," Boyne stated flatly, but not unkindly.
It was true. She had warned Damien Redburn what the cost was going to be. "You're right. I did know going in. But I have been fighting as a knight for many years, and in those years I've learned how to minimize losses. What happened on Ryde—that doesn't jibe with my understanding of The Republic." Afraid that she was beginning to sound petulant, she stopped talking.
"The Republic has entered a new era with these Fortress plans. Very soon, we will be sealed off from The Republic we knew. Soon, it will change, and we will be forced to change as well. My people have had to embrace ch
ange many times; but in the end, who we are in our souls never changes. Our goals as a people have never changed." Boyne's words were mysterious, almost mystic.
Synd thought for a moment. "I think I understand. Even though The Republic may change, I remain a knight; I do not need to sacrifice what was good about The Republic. I don't need to compromise who I am."
Boyne surprised her again. "Then The Republic lives on." She saw the flash of a smile and felt a glimmer of hope. He was right. If they believed in it, then the spirit of The Republic survived.
She decided to change the subject. "What you did back there with Morella. What was that?"
"It is the Blessed Release. Each one of the Fidelis has this device implanted in their left shoulder. When the vial is activated, it releases a chemical agent that corrupts our DNA. We leave nothing behind that will allow our enemies to identify us."
"But many Fidelis troops were killed in the fighting."
"I have checked. All received the Blessed Release. All of them achieved their final hour."
"Why do you do this? Why is it so important?"
"There are those who would come for us if they knew our true origins. The very fact of our existence would ignite hate that should be dead and buried. You are a knight. You know the power of hate and prejudice, and how those emotions can rally even good people to a wrong cause. The Fidelis also understand this. We have no desire to relive our past. Those fires are best kept smothered."
"Where are your people from?"
Boyne grinned at her. "Does it really matter? When The Republic needed us the most, we answered the call. If we were not here, your mission would have failed. Our origins do not define who we are, only where we came from. As a knight, you know this well yourself. Your family history does not define you. What defines you in my eyes is what you did on Ryde. I saw you fight. You risked death alongside my men and women. You have not compromised what you believe is right. Even now, with all of our losses, you have not changed who you are. That describes us as well."
"You understand our curiosity?"
"I do. Despite my personal desires, I cannot tell you. My word is my bond."
She leaned back in her chair and pain surfaced, aches that had been lurking for days but remained dormant as long as she didn't move. Her leg throbbed as she shifted. The blast that had taken her out had given her a broken ankle. Now the medics had her in a cast up to her thigh—she had probably compounded the damage by trying to walk on it during the evacuation. She used the pain as a reminder of the loss of her 'Mech and most of her command. She didn't fight the pain, but instead tried to master it.
"You know, Boyne, I was thinking. We need to go back to Ryde; you and I, and Greene, too. Someday Ryde will be free and part of The Republic again. When that day comes, we need to go back to Veterans Park."
"I am intrigued," he replied. She thought his tone sounded deliberately casual. "Why?"
"We left our dead there. We need to remember them and honor what they did. We have no choice but to let the Jade Falcons bury them, but they served The Republic: They deserve commemoration and honor. Do you agree?"
He nodded thoughtfully. "The dead always deserve remembrance. I will come with you if I am able. Meanwhile, I will honor them in the way of my people, by fighting for The Republic."
She reached for her crutches, which stood off to the side of her chair. Boyne reached them first and handed them to her. She thanked him and slowly, carefully, rose to stand first on her good leg. When she had them placed to her satisfaction, she looked up and saw Boyne still standing between her and the door. "Is there something else, Captain?"
Boyne reached into his right chest pocket, pulled out a small pin and handed it to her. She turned it over in her hand and saw a lone white star on a background of black. "When my squad and I were pinned in that building, you charged that Stalking Spider. You saved our lives. We—no—I appreciate what you did for us."
"I did what was required," she said. "I am a Knight of the Sphere."
"You fought like one of us. It cost you your Bat- tleMech, but you fought like a Fidelis. We do not forget that. The pin I have given you is a symbol from our past, the only insignia that we carry with us from the before times. I have discussed it with my troops, and they agree that you are one of us." He retrieved the pin from her and attached it to her collar.
"Do you know what 'Fidelis' means?"
She shook her head.
"It means 'the True.' You have shown yourself to be Fidelis, not just with us but with yourself. You are now one of my people—a sister in battle."
"I don't know what to say."
"Say nothing," Boyne replied. "While your family of knights has been separated by these Fortress walls, you cannot be separated from your kin in the Fidelis."
The True. She thought she understood. While she didn't know what the Fidelis were true to, she knew that she was true to her principles. She had pressed herself to the limits of what she considered acceptable, but hadn't lost who she was in the process. Boyne understood all that without it being spoken.
"The True," was all she said out loud.
Interpretation of Duty 12
Governor's Mansion Brandenburg, Callison
Former Prefecture VIII
Fortress Republic (+37 days)
This was the first time Cheryl had been summoned to the governor's mansion. She should have been surprised, especially at this time of night—but the message she had sent the governor practically guaranteed that she'd get her meeting. Cheryl had been waging a controlled war with Sir Erbe's Republic forces for hours since her miraculous escape from his clutches. As she waited in the comfortable room, she touched the tender skin around her black eye. Miraculous, my ass. Kristoff had punched her hard, but she'd deserved it. She had earned every ounce of his rage. She was shocked that he was actually capable of punching a fellow knight, and a female; but she found that she respected him more for hitting her.
Cheryl had crafted her message carefully, knowing that it would take an urgent message to convince the governor's chief of staff to wake her. The governor's personal security guard had admitted her to the mansion. She was still wearing her MechWarrior gear and carrying her kit bag. The guards had searched it, but quickly and not very carefully. Cheryl forgave them their sloppiness. She was, after all, a high-ranking government official. They showed her into the governor's private study and left her alone in the dimly lit room. It had a magnificent library, much like Governor Stewart's office in the city. She walked over to one of the bookshelves and pulled out a volume. Thelos Auburn's A Study of Empires series. She slid it back on the shelf. Pity. It was a good book, from what she remembered.
The governor came in wearing a robe over her satin pajamas. Her hair was arranged in its usual casual style, but it was obvious that the little makeup Allison Stewart usually wore had been removed. She gestured for Cheryl to sit as she maneuvered her round body behind the desk.
"Cheryl, it pleases me to see you alive and well," she said, staring at her bruised eye. "Your escape is just the kind of thing our director of public relations will love to have as a story when this is all over. I was quite worried when I heard from the captain that you had been forced to eject."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"How is your eye? Did they do this when they captured you, or did it happen when you ejected?"
She shook her head. "Sometimes you just get hurt by the decisions you make." She offered no other explanation.
"Well, then. I received your message—is the fighting over?"
"Not yet. There are pockets of Republic troops that refuse to budge. However, Sir Erbe has been killed."
"Are you sure?"
"Quite. I checked his Hellstar's cockpit myself. He died on the field of battle." She rubbed her brow. "He fought quite bravely."
"It is sad when someone is confused and is killed for a lost cause. The Republic he was fighting for died the day Exarch Levin issued his Fortress Republic plans. This Fortress conce
pt is a stillborn child. I feel bad that you were forced to kill this knight errant."
"As you said, sometimes people are confused and fight for the wrong things." She bowed her head as if in respect for Kristoff Erbe.
"The media has been playing up the battle quite favorably for our side. The press still maintains that The Republic has turned against Callison. You have done your duty well."
"It isn't over, Governor."
"I know. You said there were some diehards out there still fighting. You will defeat them—I know you will."
"I appreciate your confidence in me, Governor," she said, rising to her feet. "But battles are not won on confidence alone. There are still many people who don't support your policies."
"Well, you serve as the head of Internal Affairs. We can ferret out and eliminate the opposition. Anyone who can kill a knight is bound to instill fear in ordinary citizens."
"I have to admit I had reservations about this assignment, but you have convinced me that I am doing the right thing. I thought at first I was heading down the wrong path, but having spoken with you, I have come to the realization that this is the right thing to do. In fact, it may be the only thing to do."
Governor Stewart smiled. She rose to her feet as well, and walked around the desk toward Cheryl. The interview clearly was over. Cheryl Gunson wobbled slightly, as if she were feeling dizzy. She touched the governor's shoulder for a moment to regain her balance. Allison Stewart jerked slightly at her touch, but pressed Cheryl back into her seat before returning to her own chair. "Are you alright, Cheryl?"
Cheryl sighed deeply. "Yes, thank you. I feel like the weight of this world has just been lifted from my shoulders."
The governor rubbed the shoulder Cheryl had used to balance herself. "I'm feeling a little light-headed myself," she said.
"I imagine you do. Then again, you have good reason to."
The governor's mouth hung open slightly, making her look a little stupid. She tried to move her head, but instead slumped limply in her chair. Her hand slid from her shoulder to her lap. Her eyes seemed glassy. None of this surprised Cheryl. She crossed her legs at the ankles and leaned forward to inspect the governor's condition.
Surrender Your Dreams Page 25
