Picking Up The Pieces (Martial Law)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Welcome,” a harassed-looking usher said. “General and lady, you’re on the main stage over there, behind the Council Chairs and the President’s table. Can I show you there?”

  “Of course,” I said, graciously. I should have tipped him, but I couldn’t be bothered. I looked around for the President, hoping to see a friendly face, but all I saw were reporters, civilians and Frida Holmqvist, who smiled at me from her chair. As someone who had retained her seat, she was already seated along with two others. “Lead on, my good man.”

  The President might have been re-elected, but no one seemed to have any doubt that he was a lame duck. I listened absently to conversations that suggested that the Conservatives were considering resigning completely from the Council, or making deals with various factions of the Progressives, while the Progressives themselves seemed to be having trouble in the ranks. They’d stayed together while they’d been weak, but now they held most of the cards, cracks were starting to seep in. The Conservatives would be going fishing in troubled waters, but if Frida knew – or cared – she gave no sign. Her face was touched by victory.

  Good luck, I thought, sardonically. The entire planet was perched on a knife-edge. You’re going to need it.

  A trumpeter started to play a single series of notes and the crowds quietened down, almost by magic. I listened absently as the music swelled up into a single tune – the planet’s anthem, I guessed – and finally dimmed down to a single note. When it faded away and vanished, no one, not even me, could have said when it vanished. The silence seemed almost complete, broken only by the birds cawing in the distance. Even the reporters were silent.

  An elderly woman stood up and slowly made her way to the podium, but instead of taking a place behind it she stood beside it. She wore red robes that marked her out as a High Court Judge, one of the three most senior Judges on the planet. I hadn’t met her, but I’d heard that she’d read and approved the ROE we’d operate under, if it came down to war. She hadn’t raised silly issues or tried to turn us into a glorified police force, unlike some of the others. That suggested, at least, that she knew what she was doing.

  “The second election since the withdrawal of the UN occupation forces has just been completed,” she said, her voice ringing in the silence. The stadium had been designed to carry her voice to every ear. “The votes have been counted. The irregularities have been checked. The results, finally, have been reported. On this day, the new Councillors take their position. Give them great honour, as they deserve.”

  The crowd started to clap as the first new Councillor appeared from the side and stepped onto the stage. The clapping only seemed to grow louder, more like a beat than spontaneous applause. It took me a moment to realise that it was part of the ceremony, a reminder of the power of mob rule, and how quickly a Councillor could lose the respect of his people. The power to elect was also the power to dispose. I watched as they seemed to flinch back from the display of power, before taking their seats and pretending that it wasn't affected them at all. Inanely, I found myself thinking of a wedding, and smiled. This marriage wouldn’t work out perfectly, nor would they live happily ever after.

  “Councillors, you have been elected to represent the will of the people,” the Judge said. “Do you swear to uphold the honour of your office, to act with courage and compassion, wisdom and mercy, to serve as the governing body of this planet? Do you swear – or do you chose now to refuse to accept the honour, knowing that you are unworthy?”

  “We accept,” the Councillors said. I smiled to myself. Who would refuse after all the hard work they’d done trying to get elected. “We swear…”

  The oath seemed to take forever, but finally they were all sworn in. “The President has been re-elected,” the Judge concluded. This time, the cheers and clapping were much more spontaneous. “Welcome him back for another term of office.”

  I saw the President emerge from the rear of the stadium and make his way through the crowd and climb onto the stage. He looked as if he had aged overnight, yet his footsteps were firm and his eyes were bright. I didn’t envy him his position – the Progressives could ram whatever they wanted past him – yet I suspected part of him was enjoying the challenge. He might even beat the Progressives at their own game.

  He stood behind the podium and lifted a hand for quiet. “The UN was forced to leave our world,” he said, into the sudden silence. His voice was calm and very dignified. “We are no longer faced with the problems of war. We won the war and now, like an animal who has escaped from the zoo, we are faced with the question of deciding what to do about it. We are free.

  “We are…”

  A single shot ran out.

  As I watched in horror, the President stumbled and collapsed.

  Chapter Nine

  Although they wear many different forms, there are really two types of political party; systematic and counter-systematic. The systematic type seek to work within the existing political structure, while the counter-systematic type attempt to subvert and eventually replace the existing political structure. Typically, this is accomplished with a blatant disregard for the existing rules and a willingness to break them openly if necessary.

  -Army Manual, Heinlein

  “Get down,” I shouted, as the President crumpled to the ground. The entire stadium was dissolving into chaos. There was an unknown number of shooters out there and people were panicking. I hit the ground hard enough to hurt, dragging Suki down with me, while Peter landed on top of her to cover her. I barely heard her yelp of shock. The President was down! “Everyone get down!”

  The crowd didn’t seem to hear me. They were running everywhere. A crowd is generally as smart as the stupidest person in it and the panic was spreading. The exits were jammed up as hundreds of people tried to escape, while hundreds more swarmed around, screaming and shouting. I crawled over to the President’s body, cursing my limited medical experience, and realised that he was still alive. He’d been shot in the chest and blood was flowing out of the wound, but he was alive.

  “Medic,” I bellowed, trying to be heard over the noise. I should have brought an experienced medic from the spaceport, or ensured that there was a heavily armed security force nearby. “Get a medic over here!”

  An explosion shook the ground. I looked over the stadium to see a towering cloud of black smoke and fire rising into the air. The noise hurt my ears, but it was easy to deduce that someone had brought a car bomb into the area and detonated it just outside the stadium. The carnage would be appalling, I realised, with a thrill of horror. I’d seen car bombs used before against UNPF forces, but the victims here would be unarmed civilians. I barely heard the shooting over the ringing in my ears and the deafening roar of the crowd, but it was clear that someone was launching an attack. If there was a sniper in firing range, he or she could be drawing a bead on us right this moment. Did they know the President was still alive?

  “Please,” the President gasped, between gurgles. I pressed down on the wound, feeling the strength leaving his body, even as I tried to stem the bleeding. “Don’t let them…please…”

  He blacked out. “Sir,” Peter said, catching my arm. “This place is untenable.”

  I looked up and saw that he’d rounded up seven soldiers and one policeman. The remainder of the crowd was exiting rapidly, despite the growing sound of shooting; I hoped that the shooters would allow them to leave, even though I doubted it. The car bomb and the shooting suggested a horrifying lack of concern for civilian casualties. The Judge stumbled to her feet and tried to come over to us, but a single shot echoed out and she crumpled to the ground. There was no point in trying to save her; the shot had gone right through her head.

  “Keep down,” I muttered to Suki, and looked around. Frida was lying on the ground, shaking, but most of the other great and good were trying to get into the Government House, where they would have held their first meeting. It wouldn’t have been a bad idea under other circumstances – Peter was right; as soon as the sh
ooters came in here, we were dead – but now…hell, it was the best idea we had. “Peter, help me to move him.”

  I didn’t want to move the President at all; moving someone who has been wounded isn’t always a good idea, but there was no choice. Between us, we managed to pick him up and half-carry him away from the bloodshed, down towards the entrance. Suki followed, shouting for Frida to follow us, and I watched as Frida crawled on hands and knees towards us. She looked terrified out of her mind. I wasn't sure if she were an innocent or not, but I doubted that she had expected all this carnage. We managed to make it through the entrance before the sniper fired again and I took stock. We had seven soldiers – nine counting myself and Peter – a policeman and a dozen politicians. It wasn't much of a force for a last stand.

  One of the soldiers was shaking in shock and half of the politicians looked as if they were on the verge of collapse. Peter took the shaking soldier and barked orders into his ear, forcing him to concentrate on what he could do and allow the training to take over. I wasn't too surprised that one of the newly-trained soldiers had had problems; the training hadn’t taught them how quickly everything could just go to hell. They’d probably have done fine in an engagement in open countryside, but urban conflict was something else entirely. It also wasn't easy to train a soldier to face.

  “Get a defence line worked out,” I ordered, grimly. It wasn't going to be easy. If they came at us through the entrance, we could greet them with a hail of fire…until we ran out of ammunition or they threw grenades into the building. It wouldn’t take long for the former to occur; I’d only brought my pistol and a couple of spare clips. I smiled, despite myself; I’d have to put myself on report later and issue a punishment duty. “No, on second thoughts, get everyone up the stairs onto the first level and we’ll set up a barricade there.”

  Peter barked orders, forcing the politicians to work to save their own lives and help carry the President up the stairs. Suki had taken his shirt and used it to staunch his wounds, but I had no illusions about her ability to actually tend further to him. The odds were not in his favour. He needed a proper medical ward and trained doctors, not our amateurish treatment. I looked down at him, wondering if he’d returned to awareness, but he still looked to be out of it. I hoped that that would last until we could get him to a proper hospital.

  I should have insisted on proper bodyguards, I thought angrily, cursing my mistake. I should have insisted on so much in hindsight, yet the President had had good reason to refuse all I could offer. He’d wanted to appear unafraid of his own people, yet some of his people had planned his death. There was no way that shooting him in the chest had been intended as a warning shot. Men had survived such injuries, even under UNPF treatment, but it required luck and prompt aid. The rioting outside ensured that there wouldn’t be any medical assistance soon enough to matter.

  “Keep him as comfortable as you can,” I told Suki, and clapped her shoulder. She looked a right state; her tiny dress had slipped down, revealing more of her charms than she had intended. She looked as if she were on the verge of going into shock herself, but as long as she was focused on tending to the President, she should be fine, I hoped. Another explosion shook the building, sending plaster drifting down from the ceiling, and I concentrated. The situation was almost beyond recovery.

  “Peter, keep them working on building barricades,” I ordered. “I’m going to call Jock.”

  My earpiece was buzzing when I inserted it in my ear, running up the stairs towards the roof…and a place where I could see what was happening to the city. The noise from the outside was only growing louder; shots, screams and more explosions, as if the entire city was being torn apart. I winced as the voice of the dispatcher screamed in my ear and cut down on the feedback. I’d been so focused on getting the President to safety that I hadn’t checked in with the spaceport. They probably thought I was dead!

  “Cut it down,” I snapped, and gave a quick outline of the situation. “Get Ed on the line.” I switched channels before they could reply. “Jock, this is Andrew; report!”

  There was a worryingly long pause before Jock answered. I’d sent the four Specials into the city disguised as normal citizens, but even the Specials would have problems coping in the midst of a riot. I trusted that Jock would have seen to their weapons and equipment, but if they were in trouble there was no way we could come to their aid. I doubted that they could even help us.

  “Boss, there’s a riot going on and it’s turning into a revolution,” Jock said, his voice echoing in my ears. Jock was normally a larger-than-life character, boasting of the women and enemies he’d conquered in one breath, and then terrorising the supply clerks with the next. Like me, he’d known John Walker before he became famous. “The policemen are all down and dead while shooters are occupying the surrounding buildings. I made at least a hundred armed men near your position. They don’t know we’re here yet, but that could change at any moment.”

  I cursed under my breath, forgetting how sensitive the earpiece was. If the building had been isolated by now, the enemy – whoever they were – would be able to storm it and bring us all down in body bags. They’d planned it carefully, I realised, as I slipped onto the roof and stopped dead. The entire city was in chaos. There was always an element of chaos in the beginnings of a military operation, but this was different. The civil authorities wouldn’t be prepared for violence on this scale. The towering pillars of smoke bore mute testament to their lack of imagination.

  “I see,” I said, finally. I trusted Jock. If he said that they were safe, they probably were. The building was tall enough for me to be fairly safe from snipers, but I didn’t dare show my face anywhere where someone might try to improve my looks by putting a bullet though them. “And the bombs?”

  “I counted at least seven explosions,” Jock said. “Two of them were over in the rich district, the others were placed to deter civilians and kill policemen. I think we can safely say that the city is completely out of control. There’s no sign of any response from the local authorities.”

  The police chief might be dead, I thought, as another burst of shooting echoed out in the distance. I wouldn’t have chosen New Copenhagen as the place to hold a battle, but evidently my enemies disagreed. If they’d hit the civil authorities hard enough, they might keep them completely out of the picture until they’d overrun the government and proclaimed victory. What would happen then?

  I switched the earpiece back to the main channel. “Ed,” I said, “what’s going on over there?”

  “A handful of mortar rounds got tossed into the compound,” Ed reported, calmly. His voice steadied me and I took a long breath. “We fired a single shot back with the counter-battery weapons and took out the launcher. The enemy apparently retreated without trying to engage the perimeter security force, but I have everyone armed or in shelters just in case. I have no contact with the civil police or local military headquarters. What is your situation?”

  I gazed towards the north, towards another pillar of black smoke, and knew what had happened to the local military headquarters. The enemy had decapitated it in a single blow. Whoever was behind this had evidently studied carefully before launching their coup. It just wasn't perfect.

  “Bad,” I said, and outlined it. “Ed, I want A Company and 1st Svergie to mount up and come to the rescue. Get the choppers to provide security from the air; ROE are Beta-Three, understand?”

  There was a pause. I’d just given him authority to fire on anything that even looked as if it were a threat, without waiting for it to fire first. It made sense in open countryside, but in a city it threatened a bloodbath. I was past caring. I wasn't going to lose men because the enemy decided to hide in civilian clothes.

  “Yes, sir,” he said, finally. “I had them ready to move once the first shells started to land. They’ll be at your position inside of thirty minutes.”

  If we’re lucky, I thought. There was no bridge between the spaceport and New Copenhagen, but the en
emy could probably delay a relief column with a little effort and minimum risk. The helicopters could be here sooner, but they’d face the possibility of handheld SAM weapons stolen from the UN deports. We’d never traced even half of the weapons the UN had shipped onto the planet. Still…