by Jay Allan
This is a Priority Two Communique. I have compiled a report on the increasing levels of civil disobedience and dissent noted in our last monthly assessment. I have identified two individual problem areas responsible for 94% of the net increase in seditious and unlawful activity.
There has been a significant increase in unrest among families of the security forces lost on Erastus. I recommend that the Information Directorate be instructed to create and disseminate a more comprehensive and convincing explanation for the loss of these personnel. Concurrent with this activity, I propose a 200% increase in deportations to the reeducation facilities to facilitate acceptance.
The other major cause of unrest is the increased conscription. The problems have been sporadic in most areas, but open rioting has occurred in both the Philadelphia and Warsaw Metrozones. I suggest the immediate dispatch of Public Watch teams to clear the streets and restore order. – Rashad, Omar (Deputy Director, Internal Security)
“The Black Corps is ready to transit. They require only the authorization of the Secretariat to proceed.” Samovich stood before his colleagues, his eyes focused on Raul Esteban. The Secretary-General looked noticeably different than he had the last time the supreme body sat in session. He was pale, and his skin hung loosely over his bones. His once thick hair was gone, and he wore a small cap that covered his almost-bald head.
He’s lost at least fifteen kilos, Samovich thought, trying not to react, as his gaze panned over the most powerful man in the world. He felt a sudden sense of urgency. Esteban had been undergoing treatment in an undisclosed location, and none of the other members of the Secretariat had seen him for several months. Samovich realized with alarm that Esteban was declining significantly faster than he’d expected. He didn’t have as much time as he’d hoped. Soon it would be the moment to make his bid for power. He wanted Jake Taylor’s scalp in his belt before that day came.
“Reports indicate that Taylor’s forces have invaded Juno.” Esteban spoke, slowly, softly, his once commanding voice reduced to a scratchy, forced whisper. “That would seem to be an ideal location to intercept him. The local army is quite large, and it is only three Portal transits from Earth.” He coughed, a deep throaty attempt to clear the congestion from his chest. “What logistical preparations have you made?”
Samovich nodded slightly, still trying to hide his shock at Esteban’s condition. “We are prepared to launch the operation within hours of this body issuing its final approval. I have, on my own authority, already dispatched the Black Corps to central Africa to prepare for transit.” The Portal to Arleon was located deep in the Congo Basin.
“You have overstepped your sole authority, Secretary Samovich.” It was Chang Li. The wily Chinese politician rarely challenged his rival openly in session, usually opting to have one of his allies do it. But Li, too, was unnerved by the decline in Esteban’s health. If the Secretary-General was close to death, Li knew he had to stall the operation against Taylor’s army, at least until Esteban was dead or had stepped down. If Samovich pulled off a quick victory, Li knew he’d have big problems – and with 20,000 enhanced soldiers, supported by the 25,000 men of UN Force Juno, even Li expected him to win. Taylor and his people were as good as dead. And Li would be too, if he didn’t figure a way to delay the operation.
Samovich was about to respond, but Esteban beat him to it. “I disagree, Secretary Li.” He paused, catching his breath before he continued. “I believe Secretary Samovich showed admirable initiative in positioning the enhanced troops at the Portal in anticipation of an operation this body is almost certain to approve. I do not see that he exceeded his mandate in any way.” He paused, coughing a few times before continuing.
“Indeed, Secretary Samovich’s suggestion to deploy Inquisitor teams to the planetary armies appears to have produced immediate benefits.” He glanced down at the tablet on the table in front of him. “Not only did the Inquisitor on Juno notify us immediately when Taylor’s army transited to the planet, but he also appears to have reduced desertions by a factor of ten.” He paused again and glanced briefly at Samovich. “Whatever his responsibility for the unfortunate lapses that initially allowed this rebellion to occur, I completely approve of Secretary Samovich’s subsequent handling of the matter.”
Li stood stone still, finally just nodding and saying, “Yes.” It took everything he had to hide the frustration…and the fear. If Samovich pulled this off, Li knew he was in big trouble. “Of course you are correct, Secretary-General.”
“Very well.” Esteban looked around the table. “May I assume there are no further objections then?”
The room was silent. A few of Li’s allies glanced over at him, but he shook his head. This wasn’t the time, not with the Secretary-General taking such a clear stance. Li knew he had to prevent Samovich from winning a fast victory, but he’d have to do it covertly. He knew he didn’t have the support to act officially through the Secretariat, and making a futile effort would only damage him further.
“It is decided then.” Esteban turned toward Samovich. “Secretary Samovich is authorized to immediately commence transport and subsequent combat operations against the rebel Taylor and all forces under his command.” Esteban paused, struggling to take a deep, raspy breath before continuing. “It is time to end this rebellion before it is allowed to spread further.” He glanced around the table one more time. “Secretary Samovich, you are to instruct the Black Corps that all rebel forces and their supporting elements are to be exterminated.” There was a grim finality to his strained tone. “This rebellion is to be utterly and completely destroyed…with no trace of its existence remaining.”
“Yes, Secretary-General.” Samovich was suppressing a smile. The meeting had gone better than he’d dared to hope. “I will see it done.”
“Very well.” Esteban was clearly exhausted. His breathing was ragged and he was pale as a ghost. “Then we shall adjourn for now, though we will remain in extended session until this crisis is resolved.” He rose slowly, painfully to his feet. “We will reconvene in three days, at which time I trust Secretary Samovich will be prepared to update us on the transit of the Black Corps and its supporting elements.” He nodded once and walked slowly toward the door. He had a motorized chair for getting around in private, but he refused to use it in front of his associates on the Secretariat. He didn’t believe in showing weakness. At least none he could manage to hide.
In truth, Raul Esteban was in no condition to chair the Secretariat, and he knew it. He belonged in a hospital. But he was determined to see this crisis through, to help ensure that the new order he had helped to develop survived long after he was gone. He told himself he would retire as soon as Taylor’s army was destroyed, but he knew in his heart that wasn’t true. They would take him directly from the Secretary-General’s Seat to his grave. Men like Raul Esteban did not give up power willingly. Not ever.
* * *
Esteban stared right at Samovich, and for an instant a bit of the old strength was back in his voice. “Thank you for coming, Anton.” The Secretary-General was dressed casually, sitting on one end of an enormous leather sofa. Esteban’s villa was just outside Geneva, overlooking the lake. It was a massive structure, over a hundred rooms, built from pristine white marble imported from northern Italy. It was fit to take its place among the great royal palaces of European history yet, despite its appearance, it was thoroughly modern, both in terms of luxurious living and security.
“Of course, Secretary-General.” Samovich bowed his head slightly. “I am, as always, at your disposal.”
Esteban nodded. “It is easier for me to meet here than at my offices at UN Central.” His voice was thin, only a shadow of the commanding tone Samovich remembered from hundreds of Secretariat meetings. Still, he sounded stronger than he had at the last conference. “Please, have a seat.”
Samovich sat on the sofa, about a meter down from where Esteban was perched. “How can I be of service, Secretary-General?”
“Raul will do h
ere.” He paused. “A man as close to his end as I am cannot become too obsessed with formality.” He glanced at Samovich. “Please, Anton, no feigned surprise. You know I am dying. The entire Secretariat knows I am dying, though you all feign ignorance with varying degrees of skill.”
“Yes, Sec…Raul.” Samovich spoke softly, a skillful facsimile of sadness in his tone. “I know. Yet, perhaps there is reason to hope that day may be postponed for some time.”
A laugh escaped Esteban’s lips, and it threw him into a coughing fit. When he recovered he looked over at Samovich. “A consummate politician to the end, Anton. I would have expected nothing less.” He paused. “Though perhaps we can dispense with such nonsense. Especially since I suspect your intelligence sources have briefed you on my condition with rather more completeness than my own doctors have with me.”
Samovich nodded again. “Yes, Raul. I am fully aware of your condition.” There was a passing hint of emotion in his tone. Not sadness, but perhaps sympathy. The members of the Secretariat were like a pack of hungry wolves, constantly maneuvering and competing, each seeking to gain power at the expense of the others. Samovich was no different. He saw Esteban as someone who had been in his way for far too long, one whose approaching death he viewed, more than anything, as an opportunity. But he couldn’t help but respect the success the Secretary-General had achieved. Samovich knew he could do worse than to emulate Raul Esteban in the ongoing struggle for political power.
“Ah, an honest answer. Perhaps it is the lateness of the hour in my life, but I find it refreshing. Honesty has not been a terribly useful tool during most of my career.” Esteban smiled for a few seconds. Then his expression hardened. “I want to see this unfortunate business settled before I die, Anton.” Esteban didn’t feel anything akin to patriotism for UNGov. His outlook was far too practical and cynical for such thoughts to have much sway. But he felt a certain pride, a fatherly protectiveness for what he had helped to create. And he wasn’t about to see some upstart soldier endanger it.
He looked at Samovich, his stare hard and intense. “The only priority is destroying Taylor and his army. Do you understand me, Anton? Any losses to the Black Corps or UN Force Juno, are acceptable. Any losses.”
Samovich took a deep breath. “Yes, Raul. I understand.”
Esteban held his cold stare. “This ends on Juno. No matter what it takes. If you need to transfer more forces, divert new recruits, requisition weapons and equipment, it will be done. Whatever you need, come to me. I will approve it myself.” The strength in his voice was beginning to wane, and Samovich could see his energy fading. “We do not have time for the dithering of the Secretariat and their constant scheming. Whatever the cost, Jake Taylor must die on Juno, and all his soldiers with him.” His eyes were becoming watery, but he maintained his hard stare. “See to it, Anton. I am counting on you.”
Samovich nodded. “You can rely on me, Secretary-General. I will do whatever is necessary to crush the rebellion.”
* * *
“Ah, come in, Anan.” Samovich had summoned Keita, but he was surprised how quickly his fellow Secretary had come. Theoretically, the two were of equal rank, the members of the Secretariat junior only to the single man who occupied the Secretary-General’s chair. But both men knew their respective positions. Samovich was one of the two members of the Secretariat likeliest to succeed Esteban to the top position. Keita was a disgraced member of the top body, one with almost no political influence remaining. He’d retained his Seat only by Samovich’s continued patronage.
“Have a seat.” Samovich motioned toward one of the plush guest chairs in front of his desk. “We need to discuss the deployment to Juno…and the subsequent battle to be fought there.” Samovich stared at Keita with a relentless intensity. “I trust you understand how vital it is to achieve a total victory on Juno…to UNGov, of course, but more specifically, to the two of us individually.” Translation: if we lose they’re going to find your body in a ditch somewhere, and probably mine too.
“Indeed, Secretary Samovich…” – Keita figured a little extra formality and respect couldn’t hurt, especially since he was sure he owed his life to Samovich already – “…I am prepared to do whatever it takes to ensure that this destructive and dangerous conflict ends on Juno.”
Samovich leaned back in his chair and smiled. “I am pleased to hear that, Anan. I expected no less from you.” He paused for a few seconds. “I wanted to discuss the command structure for the expedition.” He glanced down at a large tablet on his desk as he spoke. “The Black Corps units all have their own integrated commanders, of course, and General Samuelson is in command of the forces already on Juno.” Another pause. “But I am thinking there should be an overall theater commander. Someone with the full trust and authority of the highest levels of UNGov.”
Keita looked down for a few seconds, thinking. “What about General Ralfieri? He just returned from the successful conclusion of the war on Gemal.” Keita nodded as he spoke. “Yes, I think he would be perfect. Highly competent, yet he only commanded on Gemal for three years, so I doubt he’s gone native yet.” Planetary commanders were carefully chosen from the higher ranks of the UN security forces. They were loyal to UNGov, or at least that was the theory. But there had been a few incidents of theater commanders resisting orders that were detrimental to the men under their command. The phenomenon had been common enough to acquire an informal name – going native.
Samovich thought for a few seconds. “Yes, I think Ralfieri would make an excellent choice for the overall theater commander.” He looked over at Keita, amused at the confused expression on his colleague’s face. “However, I’d like to have someone there in a position of supreme command, someone I can truly count on, no matter what is necessary to achieve victory. Someone with as much to lose as I have.” A short pause. “You, Anan. I want you to go to Juno and assume the top command.”
Keita sat silently. Samovich’s words had hit him like a thunderbolt. He opened his mouth to answer then closed it wordlessly.
“This is your portfolio, Anan.” Samovich was enjoying Keita’s surprise and fear. He’d saved his associate out of political expediency – if nothing else, Keita was a vote he could count on when Esteban finally had the courtesy to die. But Samovich also blamed him for the whole mess, at least in part. Keita had overseen the Supersoldier program. Perhaps if he’d watched more carefully, kept a closer eye on the forces on Erastus, none of it would have happened. This time, Samovich would make certain that Keita supervised every detail. He had the best possible motivation. His very life depended on the success of the Black Corps in destroying Taylor’s renegades.
“Yes, but my duties cover all of the Portal worlds, not just one.” Keita was trying to think of something, anything else to say.
“There is nothing of greater importance than destroying Taylor. The battles on the other worlds will grind on without your close attention.” Samovich’s smile widened. “Indeed, you had a similar thought regarding the initial attempt to destroy Taylor on Erastus, did you not? You sent your man, what was his name? Kazan? Yes, Gregor Kazan. You dispatched him to supervise that operation.”
The two men looked silently at each other. They were both aware Keita had sent his senior subordinate to oversee the battle…and they both knew Gregor Kazan never returned from Erastus.
Finally Samovich smiled. “This time we will not err in sending a man of insufficient stature and ability.” He rose slowly, a signal for Keita to do the same. “You’d best go home and do some packing. Your plane is leaving for the Portal in…” – Samovich glanced at the chronometer on his desk – “…a little over 7 hours.” He extended his hand. “Good luck, Anan.”
Keita took a step toward the desk and grasped Samovich’s hand. He looked like he might vomit any second, but he managed to maintain his composure, barely. He let his hand slip from Samovich’s and, with a terse nod, he turned and walked shakily toward the door.
Chapter 8
From the
Journal of Jake Taylor
Overconfidence…has there ever been so dangerous and damaging a force? How can confidence, the belief in yourself and your followers, be so vital, so utterly essential to success, yet too much of it is devastating? It is one of the hardest lessons a commander must learn…where that invisible line lies. Napoleon, Lee, Caesar…history is full of great generals who reached too far, sure in the knowledge that their skills and their soldiers could win any fight. It was a sin I vowed to avoid, yet I too had to learn this lesson through bitter defeat.
I strive every day to understand this, to remind myself that my abilities are limited as are those of my soldiers. Yet, I do not delude myself that I am greater and wiser than these giants of history. Surely they, too, thought as I do…swore to themselves not to repeat the mistakes of those who had come before. Will I escape the doom that claimed them? Or will my crusade be just another broken cause in the dustbin of history?
“I want a quick, intense bombardment, no more than ten rounds. Then your boys go in.” Taylor paused, staring out over the scrubby brown fields. “Hit them fast and hard, Bear. Don’t stop for anything. You’ve got to get across the plain and up that hill as fast as you can. I don’t want them to have time to even figure out what’s going on.” Taylor was micromanaging, as usual. He was a little worried about the enemy position. They were entrenched up on the heights, and his people would be coming in across a wide swath of open ground. It was just the kind of position he had turned into a killing zone more than once. But this time it was his people trying to get across, his soldiers advancing against the enemy’s massed fire.
“No problem, Boss.” Bear Samuels always seemed calm, even when combat was imminent. His slow Alabama drawl made it sound like he and Jake were discussing a day at the fishing hole instead of a brutal and dangerous fight about to begin. “I’ll get ‘em across the open ground before we take too many losses.”
