by Ian Miller
"Then why don't we just abandon Harvey?"
"Because then GenCorp'll fall, and if it falls, we fall. And make no mistake! If we fall, we'll be lynched! So remember, you're fighting for your life!"
"Oh shit!"
"And don't think about deserting! If you try to run, there're others with orders to kill."
"You mean." came the aghast voice, "we've got to –"
"Win tonight or die," came the flat reply, "so let's win."
"With a choice like that . . . What's that?"
"What's what?"
"I heard a click. Something landed over there."
"You're hearing things," the commander sneered.
"Shuddup! There it is again! Listen!"
"I think you're right," the commander said, this time reaching for a weapon and a flashlight. "It's from the other side of the building. Let's take a look, but be careful!"
The two men crept to the far side of the building. The third man near the fire watched them go, then slowly began to follow. The two leading men approached the railing at the edge of the roof area, then peered around.
"There's nothing here," the commander whispered nervously.
"I tell you, I heard something!" the other said angrily.
"Shshsh!"
"I tell you, something's here," came the whispered reply. "Hey! Look over there!"
The commander's eyes followed the pointed finger. At first he saw nothing, and was about to vent his anger on the other, then he saw it. Attached to the railing was a large grappling hook, and disappearing over the side of the building was a thick, taught rope. Further along the rail was another hook.
"How'd that get here?" the second man asked, shaking his head.
"Who cares!" the commander shook his head. "At least we know what they're up to!"
"Surely they're not going to climb over fifty flights?"
"Any other reason?"
"They're mad!"
"They'll also be tired by the time they get here," the commander nodded. He leaned over the rail to peer into the inky black below. The rope seemed to disappear into nothing. He reached for his flashlight.
"No!" the other said, grabbing his arm.
"Get your hands off me!" the commander spat. "What the hell do you think you're doing? I'm the boss here!"
"Sorry," came the abashed reply. "I just thought if you show a light down there or grab the rope, they'll know they've been spotted, and they might come inside the building."
"Where our other men'll get them!"
"Are you going to warn the others?"
"Well, no. I thought we might take care of this lot ourselves."
"Then let's give them a surprise," the other said, "but don't warn them."
"Fair enough," the commander said. "This is what we'll do. Let's see how many more of these there are. Then we'll wait until we see what's coming up, or until the ropes go slack. If they're still on the ropes and we can see them, we'll cut the ropes, and let them all fall forty or fifty flights. That ought to fix 'em. You lot! Two of you to watch the street. The rest over here!"
Five men made their way towards the grappling hooks, while the remaining two continued to peer down the street below. Nevertheless, soon, all eight men were lined along the far side of the roof, peering into the inky depths below. They waited, and waited.
"It's taking them a long time," one of the men muttered.
"It'd take you a while to climb fifty flights too," the commander scowled. "Shuddup and wait!"
They waited and waited. Then, suddenly the silence was broken by an excited whisper. "I can see someone!"
There, in the inky depths below, a murky shape could be seen slowly climbing upwards.
"You've got to hand it to 'em," someone muttered. "What a hell of a long way to climb!"
"And just a few seconds to fall," another said gleefully.
"Quiet!"
Slowly, murky figures emerged from the depths and began to take shape. Each rope appeared to have about eight men on it, all laboriously climbing with military precision, each with a heavy pack, none of them apparently noticing that they had been observed.
"Cut the ropes!" the commander ordered, at last, when it appeared the leading men were about six flights below them.
"What the!!"
"What's wrong?"
"The knife went straight through the rope!" came the amazed reply. "So did my hand!"
"Freeze! Don't anyone move!" A firm order from the centre of the roof. Lights suddenly turned on them, and the ropes and hooks simply disappeared. "What you were looking at was an illusion," the Australian accent continued. "The weapons you probably can't see for the lights are not. Drop your weapons!"
The weapons were dropped, and the men looked sheepishly at each other.
"How'd you get here?" one of them asked.
"Like this," Harry grinned. "Look up over there!"
The men looked, and at first saw nothing, but then, out of the gloom, large black shapes emerged, and the shape of blackened airships became apparent. Then when they concentrated, they could hear the very faint sound of the fans driving them. The commander began to feel wretched. He had heard the noise, and had taken it for the wind.
"Now listen carefully," Harry said quietly. "We have no quarrel with you as people. You now have three choices. You can be stupid, and we shall have to kill you. You can be loyal to your corporation and still surrender, in which case you will be treated as prisoners. Finally, you can help us, and if you do what you're told, when this is over we'll help you. You'll get a kick-start to your new life. You've got a minute to choose. Those who wish to be prisoners, go to the left. Those who wish to help us, go to the right."
The men watched as the airships began to discharge the rest of alpha squad. The second man from around the fire nodded to his commander, "Sorry, boss, but win or die wasn't much of an option. Especially now we've lost. I'm changing sides," and he began to walk to the right. There were a few mutterings, and gradually the others began to follow.
"What's it to be?" Harry asked the commander. "Time's running out! I hope you aren't going to elect to be stupid."
"No," the man said at last, "and there's no need to be sorry," he added to the second man. "If you'll have me, I'm coming with you."
"Good!" Harry said elatedly. "Now, we don't expect you lot to do any fighting. You have two jobs. You will man whatever communications you have, and persuade the Munro's this position is held. Then you can show us how to operate these weapons, and if we take any more positions, you can help persuade the others to do what you've done. Now, men," he said, turning to the others of alpha squad, "it's time to kick this little deception up a gear."
Harry's men took the laser cannon and swung it down towards the top of the Munro building, then began firing short bursts.
"What are you doing?" the ex commander asked. "They'll know it's us."
"Actually, they won't," Harry smiled. "Their senses will convince them that this firing is coming from other positions of theirs. There, what'd I tell you!"
The Munro roof positions indeed seemed to think they were under attack from different positions, and they began firing at where they thought the firing was coming from. In turn, the new positions seemed to think they were under fire from yet new positions, and they too began firing defensively. In a spectacular chain reaction the level of firing increased and the street was criss-crossed with intense cannon fire, which gradually began to decline as positions were destroyed.
* * *
Harvey Munro paced backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. Jennifer sat in an armchair beside his desk, coldly eyeing his every pace. At one end of his pacings, a man sat with earphones and microphone before a very sophisticated communications network, where messages could be transmitted or received selectively from each or from all of the outer command posts. Each message could be voice analyzed, both to identify the sender and to measure the sender's emotional state. Two adjutants were staring at the model across Harv
ey's desk, a model of the street and its environs with the various defence posts marked as well as the position of the reserves. The communications officer had a small computer beside him; when a report came in, whatever was reported could be transmitted to the model, with different colours for the various forces, and with various degrees of fuzziness to indicate the certainty of the information.
"Everybody's in place?" Harvey barked.
"Everybody's in place," the first adjutant replied. That must be the twentieth time, he thought bitterly.
"What activity?"
"Nothing yet," the second adjutant replied quietly. "Perhaps they aren't coming."
"Of course they're coming!" Harvey spat at the man. "Don't you start thinking! Just concentrate on your job! Put the streets on the screen!"
Everybody turned towards the great wall screen. Surveillance cameras methodically examined each portion of the street and displayed them on the wall. The sweep went wider and wider, and included the observation outposts at each of the bridges to Manhattan. Everywhere the message was the same. There was nothing untoward.
"Where are they?" Harvey barked, and resumed his pacing. "They're supposed to be moving."
"How do you know that?" an adjutant asked, and immediately bit his tongue.
"Information, you fool!" Harvey roared. "That's what the difference is. You win when you know what the opposition is going to do."
"Yes, Mr Munro," came the unenthusiastic reply. A gnawing doubt had appeared to all, because it was becoming clear the information Harvey had received was not necessarily correct.
"Nothing's been left to chance," Harvey said. Nobody was sure whether this was a question or a statement. "We're going to win?" This was more a question; it ended in an almost wheedling tone.
"Yes, Mr Munro," the two adjutants said, flatly and nervously.
"Streckov knows what to do?" Harvey barked towards Jennifer.
"Of course," came the flat simple reply.
"He will do it?" An aggressive, but almost desperate whine.
"He knows if we lose, he's finished," Jennifer said coldly. "If we win, and he's failed in any way, he and his family's shark bait."
"Good! Very good!" I've taught you well, Harvey thought. Perhaps too well. She's too calm. She must be planning something.
"Sir!" The man at the communications desk. Urgent!
"Garrett's forces spotted?" Harvey asked eagerly. "Then fire on them!"
"No sir!"
"What d'ya mean no, you snivelling rat! Don't you dare countermand my orders!"
"I mean, sir," came the embarrassed reply, "that it's not Garrett's forces."
"Then what is it, man!"
"It's our top defences, sir. They're firing at each other."
"What?" Harvey screamed. "The incompetent fools! Why?"
"Order all units to stop firing!" Jennifer said quietly but firmly. The communications officer looked first at her, then at Harvey, and when he saw that Harvey was not going to countermand the order then, he quickly began speaking into the microphone.
"I want to know who's responsible for this," Harvey almost screamed. "I'll make them pay."
"Firing's stopped," the communications man said. "Most of the units are severely damaged."
"Tell me who's responsible!" Harvey shouted. "I want them found and brought here!"
The communications officer stared back, uncertain as to what to do next.
"Talk to each of the batteries independently," Jennifer offered quietly. "Ask them what happened, who fired on them, who they fired on back. Get them to repair the damage as quickly as they can. And get them to keep a good eye open for a ground attack."
"So you think you're taking charge here do you?" Harvey turned on Jennifer. "Think you can step into my shoes, do you?"
"I'm implementing your orders," Jennifer replied, calmly and seemingly unperturbed. "You want to know who's responsible? Well, your man over there had no idea what to do next. What I've suggested is that we find out if any of the batteries are manned by the wrong people. Then we look for someone who wasn't fired on, but who reports damage."
"Yes. That's a good idea," Harvey muttered. "Just what I was about to do."
"Sure," came Jennifer's unenthusiastic response.
"The responses are in," the communications man said, after a considerable pause interrupted only by Harvey's pacing. "I've tabulated them, and they're coming up on the wall screen."
Everyone turned towards the display screen. A map of the street appeared, with each of the battery positions numbered. Then the replies came in; a string of various accounts of how they only returned fire.
"North versus south," Harvey spat.
"Hardly surprising," an adjutant muttered.
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"You can't see any of the batteries on your own side of the street," the adjutant replied.
"Interesting," Jennifer said, ignoring the others. "There's another asymmetry."
"What d'ya mean?" Harvey turned towards her.
"The battery directly opposite," Jennifer said softly. "It's the only thing everyone agrees on. It never fired; it wasn't fired on. Why didn't it catch the disease?"
"Maybe it can't see the southern batteries," Harvey replied irritably.
"In which case it can't see the street, so why's it there?"
"Well, maybe . . ." Harvey muttered, and turned away.
"I want the names of those battery gunners," Jennifer said. "Put them on the screen."
The names appeared.
"You spoke to the commander?" Jennifer asked, and when she received an affirmative nod, she pointed to one of the other names. "He doesn't like that commander. Put him on the line and ask what happened?"
But at the end of this conversation, Jennifer was no wiser. All voices told essentially the same story, and all were authentic.
"Well, what did all that tell you?" Harvey sneered.
"Not much," Jennifer admitted.
"Then let me get hold of those gunners. I'll wring the truth out of them!"
"And leave the batteries unmanned," Jennifer retorted. "That's what they expect you to do."
"They?"
"I think this's been an Ulsian illusion. I think that Roman is taking a bit of revenge for your killing that Kotchetkova woman."
"Well, if that's the case, I'll have his guts –"
"If that's the case," Jennifer replied coldly, "I think our best strategy now is to get the hell out of here."
"So, you'd run would you. Then run!" Harvey spat, "before I kill you myself."
"Don't even try," Jennifer replied evenly.
Harvey looked at her, then turned, scowled, and started pacing again.
"Give an order to the batteries," Jennifer said quietly to the communications man. "Tell them only to fire at advancing ground forces. No matter what else they see, do not fire at each other, or into the air in the direction of another battery."
"So, an Ulsian battleship turns up, but they don't fire, in case it's an illusion," Harvey sneered.
"If an Ulsian battleship turns up, I doubt those gunners would offer any significant defence," Jennifer retorted. "Now, unless you've got something constructive to offer, let's all get on with the job of strengthening the defence."
Chapter 19
Streckov leaned back in his chair and savoured the last of the cognac. A sly grin was implanted on his face; this would be a very interesting evening. By tomorrow morning, the entire structure of the Federation would change. His forces were to assist Garrett in arresting Harvey Munro and in crushing the power of GenCorp. In a sense that would be achieved, although there would be no such thing as an arrest. Jennifer Munro would kill her uncle with the understanding that she would take over GenCorp, with the support of Streckov and Defence. Streckov's task was to prevent Garrett from reaching the Munros. That would be more or less achieved easily; since Streckov's forces were expected to be allies, they would advance and intermingle with the bulk of Garrett's and the M
inCorp forces, assist them in savaging Munro's forces, then his men would turn on their 'allies' and wipe them out. Garrett herself would be permitted to reach her objective; thanks to the fool's desire to be the one who made the arrest she would advance with a small party ahead of the bulk of her forces. That left her forces without a commander who might see something was going wrong and who might salvage the situation. Garrett would attempt to arrest Jennifer, and one of them would die. Streckov would then see that the other died. GenCorp and MinCorp would be leaderless, Justice would be in disarray, and he, Streckov, would control four Council seats, or five with Halas' vacant seat, and probably some of the soft seats. Finance would be simple, and a minor show of strength would settle the independents. Control of the Earth meant control of the Lagrangian settlements and the Moon, and who cared about Mars? He would control Earth, a dream beyond the grasp of the greatest conquerors of all time. The irony was, all he had to do was to win one street battle, against an enemy who would be far less prepared for the attack than the Americans at Pearl Harbour.
It all came back to the importance of being important. Jennifer Munro thought she was using him, but the reality was he was using her. Stupid bitch! She was an attractive bitch too; he would have liked to keep her as a plaything, but reluctantly he had to admit the thought was too dangerous. While she lived, she would be the focus for would-be rescuers. Elizabeth Garrett also thought she was using him. She was an arrogant bitch. Pity, because if only she had been prepared to subordinate herself to him, Streckov, she could have had most of the power she wanted. But no, she had to want to be the head of state.
Each of them needed him, and he would, in a sense, fulfil both their objectives. By playing each against the other he could remove both; by having each believe he was helping them, they would lower their defences and leave themselves wide open. Once one had disposed of the other, he would take advantage of their weakness, quite ruthlessly. He would enjoy this evening.
He placed his empty glass on the table, and strode stiffly towards the mirror. It was most important that he look the part, and that really meant that he had to cut an imposing figure for the telecast at the end. Obviously this required his full dress uniform, with all his medals and decorations. But there was more. He needed to ensure his cap was on at exactly the right angle. Too far forward and he might look too stern and authoritarian, while too far back and he might appear unnecessarily light-hearted. He looked back at the riding whip on the coffee table. Should he take it? It was useful for pointing while giving orders, but would it spoil the fatherly image he hoped to create on television? The answer was probably yes. He looked in the mirror again. Yes, his face really needed a touch of makeup. Glistening skin could be fatal. There, that should fix that. But still the look was too hard. His image needed softening. Not too much, but just a little. Of course! A silk scarf. He quickly took off his jacket, placed the scarf around his shoulders, and put the jacket back on. Now, a slight angular look to the cap, and as long as he remembered to smile.
