Insurgents (Harmony Book 1)
Page 17
At least the track was flat. Mostly. Renzi slowed to a reasonable walking pace and waited for Gabrel to notice.
A hundred steps later, when his figure had almost blended with the darkening sky, Gabrel glanced to his right and abruptly stopped walking, waiting for Renzi to catch up. “Running you off your feet? Sorry!”
“I haven’t been scrambling up and down mountains like you,” Renzi said. Because I’m a useless coward who can’t take combat duty.
Gabrel glanced at him. “Colonel Travis doesn’t think you’re useless. Or a coward. Neither do I.”
“Damn it, Gabrel. I hate that magical mind-reading thing you do.”
“Nothing magical about it. I can’t do it with anybody except–” Gabrel paused and restarted the sentence. “I can’t do it with most people. It’s just that I’ve known you so long. And your body language is – well, don’t ever play poker, okay, Renzi?”
“Ha! What about your body language? Here you are fizzing with energy to the point you can’t sit still. You’re practically shouting, “New orders! New action!”
The track curved to the left; the dense forest of needle trees to their right blocked the setting sun.
“See? You can do it too. Only you got it partly wrong. My body language is shouting, ‘New orders! Help!”
“Well, I’m the last person you should come to for help in a fight. I thought everybody knew that by now.”
“Get the damned chip off your shoulder. You’d be surprised how many people respect and honor your decision. Those of us who send men to die, who kill for an idea… Some of us think you’re our last hope of remaining human.”
“Some decision!” Gabrel wouldn’t respect him if he knew the truth, if he’d seen the shivering, shaking thing wearing Renzi’s face after Dun Valley.
“Well… cowards refuse to go into danger. You told the colonel that you wouldn’t order any more men to die. That may disqualify you as an active-duty officer, but there are other ways to serve and you’ve found one. Now, enough about you!” Gabrel’s grin flashed white in the gathering darkness. “I hauled you out here to talk about my problems!”
Renzi spread his hands out. “So talk.”
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the scuffing of their boots on the hard-packed earth of the track. Just when Renzi had stopped expecting a response, he heard the quick inhalation that meant Gabrel was preparing to say something difficult.
“Colonel Travis wants me to take out Mavros Karamanlis and his gang.”
“With – what have you got, twelve men? You and what army?”
“Oh, he’s giving me all the resources he can. Now that we’re officially negotiating with the army, we don’t need people picking them off and trying to ruin morale. He says. Lorens and Sandoval are instructed to report to me for this exercise.”
“That’s all?” Lieutenant Lorens had five men; Sandoval, eight.
“Everybody else is either significantly older than I am or outranks me.” Gabrel gritted his teeth. “I hate being the Young Officer.”
“Wait a while,” Renzi said, “that problem will cure itself.”
“But not before this action.”
“No… Does this have anything to do with the pictures that Harmonica spy showed the colonel?”
“He called himself a political officer, not a spy… I wonder why the colonel even bothers with a public announcements system. Scientists should study this camp’s grapevine; it’s probably a clue to breaking the speed of light. Yes, those pictures. Did the gossip say anything more about them?”
“I gather they were extremely unpleasant.” Renzi edited out some comments he’d heard along the lines of “screaming nightmares.”
“Understatement of the year! Mavros has gotten even worse since he picked up Angelos – Angel of Death, he calls himself. What they did to those poor, dumb supply train guards they captured –” Gabrel shook his head. “The colonel’s right, he has to be put down. And we need to do it now, before he grows stronger, or prepare for a bloody civil war. He’s not just being sadistic, you know. He really is what the Harmonicas call us – a terrorist. And he’s gaining forces; there will always be some people who just want to join up with whoever they perceive as strongest, and some who are too afraid of his retaliation to refuse the invitation.”
“Mm. I see why the colonel wants his most brilliant tactician on the job.”
“What?” Gabrel looked startled. “He didn’t mention bringing in anyone else.”
Renzi punched him lightly on the arm. “I meant you, idiot.”
“Oh yeah? Well the ‘brilliant tactician’ hasn’t yet worked out how to obliterate three dozen armed men with a force barely two-thirds of that. Damn it, I wish I hadn’t given him a share of the new blasters. That’s fifteen small arms he didn’t have before. And he had just over twenty men at that point. At least his new followers won’t have blasters.” Gabrel’s steps slowed and he scowled out over the camp below them. “Renzi, I’ve never done a pitched battle. I do quick in-and-out raids, harassing tactics, morale destroyers. I know how to piss Mavros off but not how to destroy him.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Renzi said. “But I guess that rules out the favor I was going to ask you.”
“Why, what was it?”
“To steal a printer for me… just a little one, a 2D job. Though I guess it’s not so urgent, if we’re not going to be leafletting the Harmonicas any more.”
“I thought you had a printer, you’ve certainly been coming up with enough propaganda leaflets.”
“Had,” Renzi said, “is the operative world. That damned girl you offloaded onto us!”
“Isovel? Oh, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She tried to sabotage the small-arms printer we liberated from the army. Wasn’t successful, though.”
“That’s probably because you weren’t fool enough to let her try and ‘fix’ it.”
“Oh. Oh, Renzi, you didn’t!” Gabrel laughed and sounded ten years younger. “You do know you are never going to live this down?”
Renzi scowled. “That damned girl. The colonel was brilliant to trade her for concessions from the enemy. Me, I’d have paid them to take her back.”
“Yep. She never stopped thinking of ways to trip us up, did she? Spirited girl. Brave, too.” Gabrel’s voice softened in a way that alarmed Renzi.
“Gabrel. That… that snake didn’t get to you too?”
“Too?”
“She’s gone to the heads of half our officers. I thought you would have better sense.”
“You’ve got to admit that her initiative is admirable. You’re just annoyed because she exercised it on their side instead of ours.”
“And there’s no fixing that. I showed her the Library – would you believe she’d never seen a paper book before? – suggested readings, explained stuff to her…”
“Um. Sounds as if she went to your head too. Don’t worry, I’m not jealous. She’s hard to resist.”
“Never!” Renzi recoiled. “I’d as soon bed a viper. But I did think she was coming round to understand our side.”
“That,” said Gabrel slowly, “is one of the things I find so admirable. Even if she did begin to see that we have a side, nothing would shake her sense of duty towards her own.”
“Stubborn. A troublemaker. Destructive. Whatever did you see in that –”
“Renzi, don’t say anything that’ll oblige me to hit you.”
They’d come around the track to the view over the camp again. Renzi slowed, came to a halt and looked out into the gathering darkness. There, among the dark angular shapes of tents and the moving points of light, was the best of Esilia. How could Gabrel be infatuated with someone who wanted to destroy them?
“We may have a temporary truce that allows their army to withdraw,” he said finally, “but, Gabrel, she’s still on the other side. That’s not something you can fix.”
“Oh… I don’t know. If there’s a peace treaty, there won’t be two sides any
more, will there?”
“So you’re going to waste your time hoping that happens?”
“I suppose I’ll just have to make it happen.”
Renzi snorted. “I’d forgotten your breathtaking modesty. You and what army?”
“Me and --” Gabrel broke off and drew a long breath. “Ha! It might work. It just might. Renzi, thank you. I’ve had an idea about the Karamanlis problem.”
“What?”
“Tell you if it works out.”
***
Rauf Dayvson’s eyes widened briefly in surprise at the proposal from his unexpected visitor. To gain time, he took off the glasses that Isovel insisted he wear to reduce eyestrain and polished the lenses with a handkerchief.
They were seated on camp stools outside his tent, where he could command privacy for the conversation without giving this strange young man an opportunity to assassinate him – if that was the real reason behind this visit. Dayvson thought it unlikely – for one thing, it would be a suicide mission – but he wouldn’t put anything past the insurgents.
Without the glasses, he saw the terrain before them as a gentle blur of water and stone stretching downward from the camping spot. The rushing green waters of the river blended with the paler green of lichens and moss on the eroded limestone that bordered and constrained the water. He could only tell where the stone left off and the water began by the dazzling sparkles of sun that danced on the surface of the waters.
It made more sense than the near view. Dayvson slid the glasses back on and looked at the rebel who had come uninvited, under a flag of truce, with his outrageous proposal.
“We may have agreed to a temporary truce,” he gently reminded his visitor, “but we are still at war. The Central Committee would have my head if I agreed to joint operations with the enemy forces – and they’d be right.”
The young man calling himself Captain Gabrel Moresco leaned forward, elbows on the table. “From what I hear, they may well call for your head anyway. It’s not your fault that you were sent into these hills with inadequate logistic support, untrained men, and no experience in counter-insurgency tactics. And you’ve adapted amazingly fast; in the last week before the truce, we Free Esilians were finding it much more difficult to attack the column. But most likely you’ll pay the price for a generally unsuccessful campaign.”
“And you’re here to help me. Now I’ve heard everything!”
“Not specifically to help you, no. Let’s say that I’m here to point out some areas where we both want the same thing.”
“How is that even possible?” How dare this disheveled young man even talk about “joint operations” of the Expeditionary Force with his rag-tag gang of misfits and terrorists? They didn’t even have proper uniforms, and this particular guerrilla leader had probably awarded himself the rank of captain because it sounded good.
“Consider the long term. If Harmony wins this war, you or someone like you will have to deal with the Karamanlis gang, and they’ll be that much stronger and more powerful by then; he’ll have half the hill villages controlled under his reign of terror. If, on the other hand, Esilia wins its independence, we’ll either have to grant Karamanlis’ demands for a major role in the new government, or follow the peace with a civil war. I may not be here in the long term, General, and you may not either, but it is in both our nations’ interest to put down this bunch of sadistic bandits before they grow stronger.”
He had a point. “Without in any way accepting your description of the Penal Colony as a ‘nation,’ I do agree that it is in everyone’s interest to defeat this group as soon as possible. The notion of allowing them a voice in government, though, is absolutely untenable.”
Gabrel Moresco looked amused. “Yes, well, if you win the war then Esilia will still be managed from Harmony City, so there won’t be any local government for Mavros Karamanlis to demand a share in.” For the fifth or sixth time, he glanced to his left, where Dayvson’s staff officers waited well out of earshot. Behind them streamed the soldiers, tents, supplies and support personnel of the Harmony Expedition Force. They might have lost an unnerving number of men to the insurgents’ raids, but what remained was still enough to impress this Captain Moresco with the might of Harmony.
He hoped.
“In the short term, General, a decisive victory over Mavros Karamanlis would do much to bolster your position with Harmony. And surely you must wish to take revenge on him. After all, it was your soldiers that he tortured and killed.”
Dayvson could not help but recall Andrus’ wearying harping on the public-relations need for some victory.
“And your short-term benefits? And stop looking over my army,” Dayvson added, “or I’ll conclude that this whole proposal is just a ruse to allow you a close-up look about my forces and dispositions.”
“You overrate me, General, if you think I can just glance at your army and come up with better information than our scouts have already given me. If I’m looking at them too often, well, you must admit it’s an impressive sight. Do you find it difficult to have your family in the line of march?”
The non sequitur surprised Rauf. “What does that have to do with your proposition?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing. I was just wondering if your daughter’s presence made you unwilling to close with the Karamanlis gang. I can certainly understand –”
“My daughter,” Rauf Dayvson said stiffly, “is hardly your concern.”
“Does she march with you and the staff officers, or back in the baggage train?”
“That,” said Dayvson, “is also not your concern. And I notice that you changed the subject as soon as I asked how you personally would benefit from the proposed operation.”
“With respect, General, I believe it was you who changed the subject.” Moresco’s eyes flicked towards the army again. “As for short term benefits – I’m not the one who needs a public-relations coup. It is enough of a benefit for me to see this filth cleansed from my country. And, of course, not getting my men killed is a bonus.”
“So you’d get mine killed instead!”
“I believe this proposal minimizes the danger to either of our forces.” Gabrel traced an irregular line across the top of the table. “Suppose this is the course of the river. Karamanlis has struck here, here and here.” His forefinger stabbed at the site of the supply train attack and at two other places somewhere east of the Vanyan. “Your army is not very good at hunting down insurgents, no criticism implied, it’s our territory and we know it better. Our forces are only lightly armed and have no experience in fighting a conventional battle; we learned that at Dun Valley. I propose to station my people at strategic points behind Karamanlis and to drive him towards the river, where your infantry and artillery can dispose of him.” A brief flashing grin. “After all, he too has no experience of conventional warfare. If you can trap him between the Vanyan and our people, you should be able to mop his gang up without breaking a sweat.”
Damn it, the boy made sense. “Prisoners?”
“We don’t take them. Use your own judgment. Personally, having seen the pictures of his latest work, I’d favor killing them all. And whatever you do, be sure to kill Angelos Thanatu.”
Dayvson had picked up a little of the local dialect. “Angel of Death?”
“That’s what he calls himself. Slight, golden haired, face like an angel. And largely responsible for turning Mavros’ gang from an undisciplined bunch of bandits into an organized force of terror. We’ll kill him if we get a chance; if not, it’ll be up to you.”
Dayvson drummed his fingers on the table top, trying to think. “I don’t know…”
“Would you like to discuss it with your staff officers? I don’t mind waiting.”
“Discord, no!” He was beginning to see a way in which this could be managed with much less risk to him – but it would be best if nobody else knew about it beforehand. ”If I did agree to this hair-brained scheme, how were you planning to coordinate operations with us?”
“The place?”
“You marched through a relatively wide valley on the way here. Remember the place where two black stones lean toward one another? Right after that the river valley opens out for a short while; there’s more room for conventional forces to form up than you’d find anywhere else before you’re back in the foothills.”
Dayvson remembered that landmark quite clearly, largely because so many of the soldiers had been spooked by it. Somebody – maybe the man in front of him – had started a rumor that the two tall stones were the Old Gods of the land and would crush anyone who came to conquer. Nonsense, of course. He’d made a point of having his tent pitched immediately beneath the place where the stones leaned out from the cliff, and made another point of telling everyone how well he’d slept there.
Reasonably well, anyway.
The annoying little showers of pebbles that had recurred during that night were merely coincidental.
“Done,” he said, with a sinking feeling that he had just jumped off a cliff and discovered that the river was a long way down. “I’ll position my people there, and if you can deliver Karamanlis we’ll deal with him.”
That decision made, he saw the rebel “officer” off as quickly as possible, and without giving him the chance he clearly desired to hang about the camp and chat with the other officers. A very strange young man indeed, he thought. He seemed to switch from intense focus on the war to pointless blathering and social inanities about his family. Well, it wasn’t his problem. He didn’t have to disclose the deal unless the rebels actually came through. He could tell his staff officers that a scout had reported guerrillas moving towards the river just south of Black Rocks and that he wanted the troops ready to attack. If the rebels didn’t deliver Karamanlis, it would just be a case of bad information and he wouldn’t discuss their idea of a joint attack.