“You were wrong, sir,” she mumbled. “I could have done something.”
Admiral Christian quirked an eyebrow. “You could?”
“I could have killed him,” Kat said. She recalled the insurgent attack on the admiral’s mansion. If she’d known just how badly the battle would have gone, she would have sneaked out of the mansion and called for pickup when she was well away from the terrorists, leaving them to kill the admiral at leisure. Or she could just have shot him herself. “Sir . . .”
“Shooting one’s senior officers is hardly the sort of behavior the Royal Navy wishes to encourage,” Admiral Christian said mildly. “Your career would have been utterly destroyed and you would probably have spent the rest of your life in prison, if your father managed to save you from the firing squad.”
“Twenty thousand officers and crew are dead,” Kat pointed out bitterly. “There were hundreds of thousands of soldiers in the occupation force—they’re dead. God alone knows how many civilians are dead on Cadiz—or wishing they’re dead, if the Theocracy has clamped down on the locals. My life would be a small price to pay to keep them alive.”
Admiral Christian reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder. “You can’t change the past,” he said. “All you can do is learn from it.”
“Yes, sir,” Kat said. “And I will personally kill the next incompetent officer I encounter.”
“I fear war will winnow them out soon enough,” Admiral Christian said. “And I would suggest you keep such sentiments to yourself in the future.”
Kat nodded, reluctantly.
But she had no intention of forgetting her private vow. Her crew, her superiors . . . all of them had feared she was an incompetent, someone who had only gained her command through family connections. They’d probably had nightmares about her costing them their lives through a simple mistake, one a more experienced officer would have avoided. And yet . . . Admiral Morrison had been far too like her for comfort. Powerful patrons had put him in command, powerful patrons had prevented any investigation that would have led to his removal . . . she was damned if she was allowing it to happen again. Her career, even her life, was a small price to pay for preventing another disaster on the same scale.
“Return to your ship,” Admiral Christian ordered gently, breaking into her thoughts. “I’ll forward the operational plans to you as soon as possible, then assume command of the remains of 7th Fleet.”
“Yes, sir,” Kat said. She took a breath. “The officers in command of the ships should be formally promoted to captains.”
Admiral Christian gave her a long look. “Is there a reason for that?”
Kat felt her temper flare, then forced it down. “Yes, sir,” she said, instead. “They chose to work in secret to prepare the fleet to fight, despite Admiral Morrison’s orders. I believe they showed considerable moral courage in accepting the risk of losing their careers if the admiral found out before it was too late. And they managed to get their ships out of the enemy trap. I do not believe they should be pushed back purely because someone else has a better pedigree than themselves.”
“I see,” Admiral Christian said. “And you believe I should use my authority to make the ranks they’ve assumed permanent?”
“Yes, sir,” Kat said. She held his eyes. “I do.”
“Very well,” the admiral said. “There won’t be a formal ceremony, of course, but they will be promoted. I’ll register it in the logbook today.”
Kat allowed herself a moment of relief. Commander Fran Higgins and her comrades couldn’t be stripped of their ranks now, at least not without doing something to justify a court martial and formal punishment. They deserved command, far more than anyone who had sat out the battle on Cadiz. And she was confident they would make good commanding officers. They already knew what to avoid.
And besides, she thought, no one could blame them for preparing the fleet, not now.
Admiral Christian rose to his feet. “Return to your ship,” he ordered. “I’ll assign ships to your command as soon as possible. Start carrying out drills right away, Captain; we will return to Cadiz within the week.”
“Yes, sir,” Kat said. It wasn’t long enough to do more than basic drills, but at least she would have more to work with than the superdreadnoughts. Her crews were better trained, for a start. “I won’t let you down.”
“And you might want to pen a private note to your father,” Admiral Christian added. There was an oddly amused note to his voice. “I believe he has been worrying about you.”
“Everyone will have a chance to write a private note,” Kat said firmly. She wasn’t going to be the only one allowed to send a message home, even though her father had enough influence to make it happen. “The StarCom can handle the traffic, sir.”
The admiral smiled.
“Of course it can,” he said. “But censorship rules are already in effect. You might want to warn your crews to be careful what they say.”
“Yes, sir,” Kat said. She looked up at the display. The Theocracy might already be sending fleets deeper into Commonwealth space. “But the folks at home will know the worst soon enough.”
“I know,” Admiral Christian said. “That’s why I want to give them a morale-boosting victory as soon as possible. It won’t be long before the full truth leaks out. And then the shit will definitely hit the fan.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
The village wasn’t very large, Davidson noted, as Jess led him to a place where they could watch from a safe distance. It was really nothing more than a dozen midsized houses, one large church, and a handful of shops, all surrounded by farms. He had a feeling that it had largely been ignored during the Commonwealth’s occupation of Cadiz, something that would have suited the locals just fine. They had more important things to do than wage war on the occupation force.
“Several of our leaders answered calls to meet with Theocratic representatives,” Jess explained as they made themselves comfortable. “None of them have been seen since.”
Davidson wasn’t surprised. “They probably knew precisely who to round up,” he said. “If they supplied you with weapons, they knew who took them; hell, they might even have outfitted trackers in the weapons themselves.”
Jess looked grim. “Several bases went silent,” she added. “Mine survived. Is that because I didn’t have any of their weapons in the base?”
“Perhaps,” Davidson said. If the Theocracy had had agents on the surface, making contact with the insurgents, they could have been quietly gathering information for years. “Do you believe us now?”
“We haven’t heard anything from inside the city,” Jess admitted. “They’ve sealed the place off better than you bastards managed to. None of our people have managed to get in or out of the ring of steel.”
Davidson gave her a long look. “That doesn’t answer my question,” he said. “Do you believe me now?”
“I think we have little reason to trust either of you,” Jess said. She paused, then nodded as a line of vehicles came into view. “And here they come.”
Davidson activated his ocular implants as the ground forces approached the village. They were led by a small tank, bristling with weapons, designed more for crowd control than armored warfare. Behind the tank were five trucks crammed with armed soldiers wearing khaki combat outfits. They all looked grimly determined—and alert. Clearly, their commander expected trouble. At the rear was another tank watching for signs of trouble. Davidson hoped that no one in the village was inclined to put up a fight.
The convoy stopped at the edge of town, the soldiers dismounting and spreading out until they had sealed the entire village. Davidson caught sight of a handful of men and women trying to flee into the countryside, only to be caught, brutally beaten with rifle butts, and then forced back into the village. As soon as the area was closed off, the soldiers entered, bellowing orders for the inhabitants to assemble. Fearfully, the locals obeyed.
Jess elbowed him. “What are they doing?”
He watched grimly as the search came to an end and the leader started to address the villagers. It was impossible to hear what the enemy commander was saying to the locals from their distance, but he could guess. They would be expected to provide a certain amount of tribute every year, to respect Theocratic law, and report on any insurgent movements within their territory. At the end of his speech, the soldiers snatched a handful of children—girls and boys—and dragged them to their vehicles. Anyone who dared object was simply knocked down by the soldiers and beaten into a bloody mass.
Hostages, Patrick thought. They’ll be taking hostages to ensure the villagers behave themselves.
“Bastards,” Jess hissed. “Now we won’t be able to rely on the villagers.”
“No,” Patrick agreed. “And there’s more.”
Having restored order, the soldiers were registering the remaining villagers, entering their details into their computer network. Patrick knew what that meant, all right. If any of the villagers turned insurgent, their bodies might be recovered and their home identified. The Theocracy would then take a terrible revenge on their families. So far, everything matched what they’d been told by the refugees.
Jess looked at him. “Most of my people won’t be registered,” she said. “They won’t be able to track down their families.”
“They might,” Davidson said. “If someone unregistered is run through the system, it still might be able to identify their parents or children. And then the Theocracy will hunt them down.”
He watched, unsurprised, as ID cards were handed out. It was easy to guess what the soldiers were saying. Anyone caught without an ID card would be arrested, perhaps detained permanently. And anyone caught well away from their village, ID card or not, would face some tough questioning before they were released, if they were released. The Theocracy was fond of enslaving diehard resistance fighters and working them to death.
“They’re leaving,” Jess said softly. “And they’re taking the hostages with them.”
“We need to track down their forward operating base,” Davidson said. The soldiers climbed into their vehicles and drove away without looking back. “And then we can plan a rescue.”
The two slipped away as soon as the enemy vehicles were out of sight, making their way back into the forest and heading towards the insurgent base. Jess said nothing as they walked, her expression pensive. Davidson found it hard to blame her. She’d spent half her life waging war on one opponent, only to discover she and her men had been played for fools by another, far more powerful enemy, one that would seek to utterly destroy their way of life.
“I know how you feel,” Davidson admitted, just to break the silence. “There were marines who worried about what the Commonwealth would do to their homeworlds.”
Jess glared at him. “And what did you do to their homeworlds?”
“Nothing,” Patrick said. “But they were afraid our influence would contaminate their way of life.”
“And that’s precisely what you did here,” Jess said. “And now the Theocracy is doing the same.”
She muttered something unpleasant under her breath and then kept walking until they reached the tiny camp. Davidson took one look—it was the first time he had visited the camp—and silently prayed it was only a satellite base rather than the main insurgent complex for the region. It didn’t look very impressive, even under the forest’s canopy. A handful of men were seated there, waiting for them.
“It isn’t good,” Jess said and briefly outlined what they’d seen. “The noose is tightening.”
“It’s worse,” a tall, dark-skinned man said. “We got a runner from Gibraltar.”
Davidson felt his eyes narrow in suspicion. “Did you search him carefully?”
“Of course we did,” the speaker said. “We’re not stupid.”
“Bring him forward,” Jess ordered. “Let us hear what he has to say.”
Davidson watched grimly as the young man, his hands bound behind his back and his eyes blindfolded, was brought out. There were no obvious signs of torture, yet there was something in the way the runner held himself that suggested he knew he was damned. If he’d been exposed when the Theocracy had rounded up insurgents in Gibraltar, they might well have let him go deliberately, either in the hopes he’d lead them to the rebel base or because his mere presence might spread doubt and confusion. Davidson wasn’t sure he wanted the young man to speak.
“Luis,” Jess said, “tell us what happened.”
“They rounded us up,” Luis said. There was a gasp from one of the men behind him. “My cell . . . they took us all. They just left us in the camp for five days, then dragged me out and showed me that they had my family captive. And then they told me that I could take a message to you or watch my family die, one by one.”
He broke down into sobs. “Sophia is only nine,” he said. “How could I let them . . . they were going to . . .”
Davidson could guess. They’d threatened to rape his sister, forcing him to make a very hard choice.
“They sent you with a message, I presume,” Jess said. Her voice was very cold. “What did they want you to say?”
“They’re organizing the city to suit themselves,” Luis said between sobs. “If we don’t submit to them, they will crush us; if we join them, we will have rewards . . .”
“That’s assuming we trust them,” one of the other men said. He spat. “Why should we trust a word this traitor has to say? Cut his throat and have done with it.”
“Interrogate him,” Davidson urged. It had been seven days since the occupation had begun. Luis hadn’t spent all of that time in a detention camp. But there was the very real possibility that the Theocracy had stuck a tracker on him. A nanotech implant would be undetectable, at least with the tech they had on hand, until it started to transmit. “But we can’t afford to take him elsewhere.”
Jess glared at Luis. “You ask him questions,” she snarled. “I need to make preparations to break camp.”
Davidson sat down in front of Luis, then sighed inwardly. There wouldn’t be any need for drugs or torture to make Luis talk, he was sure. The young man wasn’t trying to hide anything from them. It was merely a matter of asking the right questions.
“Tell me what happened when they invested the city,” he said. “What happened to you?”
The story that emerged was horrific, although unsurprising. Most of the insurgents had burned themselves up attacking Government House, believing that the day of liberation was finally at hand. The survivors had fallen back when the Theocracy’s forces had reached the city and surrounded it, then advanced towards the center in multiple armored prongs. They’d kept warning people to stay in their homes, and most of the population, seeing bullets flying, had done as they were told. But this had allowed the Theocracy a chance to snatch all the city’s vital installations before the insurgents could react.
It had only gotten worse from then onwards, Luis admitted. The Theocracy had been everywhere, taking over schools as barracks and knocking down places of worship with a fervor born of fanaticism. The destruction of one church, the oldest on the planet, had brought worshippers out in protest . . . and they’d been met with armed troops, who’d opened fire. And then the survivors had been put to work clearing rubble from the streets.
“By the time I was caught, restrictions were tightening on everyone,” he said. “My sisters were told never to go outside without a male escort; kids were told they wouldn’t be going back to school until the educational system was revised. Anyone who tried to hide a priest or a government official was shot. I don’t know what happened to the priests.”
&nbs
p; “I can guess,” Davidson said.
He sighed. Terror, it seemed, would be the driving force behind the occupation. The locals would be terrorized until they submitted, having been taught the futility of resistance. Some would always break and accept the new order, changing their religion to blend in with their new masters. And then they would serve as puppets for the Theocracy.
The social controls weaken the society they overwhelm, he thought. It would be easy to restrict women from all public roles if going outside alone brought threats of rape or death. How long would it be, he asked himself, before such separation of the sexes seemed natural and right? And it also serves as incentive for women to convert, perhaps leading their husbands with them.
“I wonder,” he said. “Is the PDC still intact?”
“I don’t know,” Luis said. “I heard nothing.”
Davidson scowled. The PDC was immune to orbital bombardment, at least from weapons that wouldn’t render the planet uninhabitable. But the base could be surrounded, isolated, and then stormed by forces on the ground. And, with jamming still pervading the airwaves, there was no way to know what had happened to General Eastside. All Davidson could do was assume the worst.
Jess walked back to face him. “I think we can’t stay here any longer,” she said. She produced a knife from her belt and held it out towards Luis. “And . . .”
“Don’t,” Davidson said. “He didn’t ask to come here.”
Luis tensed. An unpleasant smell filled the air as he voided his bowels.
“He chose to carry their message,” Jess snapped. “That makes him a traitor.”
“But not a willing one,” Davidson said. If the insurgency became increasingly desperate—and ruthless—the locals caught in the middle would turn to the Theocracy out of sheer self-preservation. “Leave him here. He can make his own way home if he wants.”
“They’ll kill me,” Luis said. “I . . .”
“It’s your only hope,” Jess said. She pushed him to the ground, then used her knife to saw through his bonds. “Count to a thousand before you look up, then go wherever you want.”
The Oncoming Storm Page 35
