by George Olney
Besides, he didn't really want to kill eight or nine billion people if it wasn't necessary. They would prove useful to his plans later. Some of them, anyhow.
He fell into a reverie where he rebuilt the mess that was now Middle Empire into something that resembled a government. All of those breakaway governments had to be reconquered, or simply destroyed if that was easier. He'd take whatever he needed, do whatever he wanted, outside Middle Empire. The people on those breakaway worlds didn't matter. Only Middle Empire mattered. That was going to be the new Empire. The rest could go to hell.
If he couldn't find Shangnaman's body soon... Well, maybe a planet buster wasn't such a bad idea.
FRONTIER CLUSTER MILITARY HEADQUARTERS
NIAD
Nobody said a word. The group in Admiral Mackinnie's office was small, just Lane himself, Shyranne Garua, and Randl Turner. It was time for a decision on the Central attack. That was Lane's responsibility and his alone, but the other two were there to offer input. They'd reviewed all of the current intelligence as well as what Combat Information Technology wanted to do to the Emperor. The CIT plan was enthusiastically approved. Now only the final decision to launch the attack remained.
Lane looked at the quiet faces around the conference table. Randl was looking off at nothing, lost in a world of thought. Shyranne Garua was composed, simply sitting with the calmness that was the hallmark of the Gladius. Underneath, Lane knew, everyone was just as tense as he himself was. They - and he - knew what the ancient phrase "weight of command" actually meant.
Inside this room, Lane thought, was the true reality of power within the Frontier Cluster. As yet, the Fleet and the Corps were semi-independent entities that willingly submitted themselves to the civilian government they'd created - and could destroy if they thought it necessary.
Randl understood that reality. He'd made no bones about it in private conversations. He knew both Fleet and Corps had manipulated the governments of a number of worlds, including Tactine, to get the Frontier Cluster where it was today and he wasn't blind to the fact. He knew that both Lane and Shyranned had maneuvered the situation in order for the race to survive and with the hope of building a better future. Now, however, that new Frontier Cluster government had to support the military – and the Empire's destruction – if they were going to survive and realize that better future.
That was why Randl, after very real and serious consultation with the Council, had given permission for this attack. However the Frontier Cluster government had been created, it now supported the need for the destruction of Central. The Empire was dying, but it could still kill the fragile Cluster in those death throes if they were drawn out long enough, not to mention destroy the lives of billions of others. Once this operation was exposed, the chances for the Cluster – and, by extension, humanity - to survive dropped by an order of magnitude if it didn't succeed. The Empire had to be finished off and the people in this room were gathered while one of them decided if it was time to make the kill.
Lane was glad of the Council's support. If he gave the order, hundreds of thousands of men and women under his command were going into the greatest battle in history. The one certainty of that battle was that thousands of them, probably more, possibly one or two of the people in this room - possibly he, himself - were not going to survive it. Every one of those deaths and all of the other deaths that had occurred on the way to this point, were his responsibility. He had knowingly sacrificed the peace and stability of too many Imperial worlds to get here. Now he had to give the order to take it all the way, to decapitate the Empire. And he had the full support of the new government to which he'd given his allegiance. For small favors...
Was he ready for what was going to happen? Were any of them ready? Lane felt the weight of billions of lives on Central in his hands. Once battle was joined, there was no way he could guarantee the survival of the ordinary people on that planet. Randl's political restructuring teams were ready, so the citizens on Central might have a future. Those that survived. His forces were going to do everything they could - including intentionally take more casualties - to keep civilian deaths down, but there was no way all of those ordinary people would survive. More dead. All to kill a dying Empire ruled by a madman.
Randl looked over and met his eyes. The man was now the head of the Frontier Cluster government, a government deliberately formed and fostered by abandoned Imperial forces. The Frontier Cluster was the hope of Mankind's future, but that future couldn't survive without the destruction of the greatest cancer in the human universe - the dying Empire of Ten Thousand Suns. Once Lane gave the order, they were all out of the shadows. The Empire would know about them and the threat they represented. Either the Cluster or the Empire would emerge victorious, and there was no way to guarantee which would happen in the end. It was a gamble with billions of lives - the future of humanity - on the table.
Lane looked into the eyes of Shyranne and Randl. He could see they knew his thoughts and shared his feelings. His next words would change history forever... and possibly guarantee the survival of the human race.
Pompous ass. You've got a job to do, Lane Mackinnie, so do it. He weighed the chances, took a breath, let it out, and sat straighter in his chair. His doubts were gone. In a firm, decisive voice, he said, "We will go. Begin the operation."
FRONTIER CLUSTER SPACE
The S-boats shipped out to begin infiltrating the Central system. They were the final reconnaissance before the battle and hidden snipers once the fleets made contact. Their orders were simple. Tell us what's going on then go for the heavies. Kill the Guard frigates when you can.
With the rest of her breed, the Wahoo translated into TFD. Destination: Central. Alice took her ship out and breathed a silent prayer to the Lord Above. It was a very simple prayer. Let us do our job well.
#####
The Cluster Army was new, untried in all but a few engagements. The men and women were well trained and ready, but nervous. They all knew their objective was the destruction of the Imperial New Forces, that the New Forces were just as inexperienced as they were and probably not as well trained, that it would be a match of more or less equals with an edge on their side. In the considered opinion of the troops that was all well and good, but this promised to be a slugging match of epic proportions. In the end, they drew confidence and courage from the fact that they weren't alone in this triple-damned mess. They looked around and drew silent comfort from their squadmates, the ones on either side when things got rough. They didn't have a reputation to uphold yet, but they were going to build one on Central.
Every one of the troopers sequestered at the embarkation points had the same thought buried in the back of their minds. It was never voiced in the gambling games, the bull sessions, and all of the other gatherings large and small that occur whenever soldiers are confined in groups, but it was there. In the end, it told of the spirit of the men and women that waited to ride into the promised hell of Central.
Lord Above help the damned Imperial sonofabitch that gets in my way.
#####
In the Corps, the feeling was different. All of them, even the newly qualified recruits, knew what they were going into and they knew it was going to be worse than anything in the past. In the end, it all came down to two things for every Gladius man and woman - millennia old tradition and the Oath.
I AM A GLADIUS.
Time to issue the "go" order to his troops. Legate Karl Athan looked over his assembled legion, a legion built from ruins and powerful once again. Out there, although he couldn't see her in the huge formation, was the woman who was his future. He couldn't distinguish Shana out there, but he knew exactly where she was. He thought a silent prayer for her survival. Nothing was guaranteed. She might survive and he might not. That was war and the fate of a soldier. Nothing he could do.
He looked at the Victrix with pride. Once, the Empire had torn the guts out of it, leaving it crippled. Now the Victrix was a living, healthy entity again, dedicated
to the preservation of humanity and the destruction of the Predator. They knew who the Predator was. Oh, yes, they knew. They had a huge bloody score to settle with that Predator. Every man and woman in that formation was planning to do just that. For the other legions, this was an operation to ensure the future. For the Victrix, this operation was more than that.
It was personal.
I STAND GUARD AT THE GATES OF HELL.
NOTHING WILL PASS AND HARM
THOSE I AM SWORN TO PROTECT.
There were Corps scouts in Imperial City, simply watching and reporting, noting everything with quiet, cold, grim eyes. They watched gangs and bullies brutally take what they wanted, including lives, from citizens brutalized by Shangnaman's insane reign of terror. They watched execution squads kill people in job lots with impunity. They watched... and remembered. They had thoughts. Quiet, cold, grim thoughts.
With the "go" order, the scouts knew that their long time in the shadows was coming to an end. They had the freedom to do a little more than watch as long as things were done quietly and the cause was untraceable.
Execution squads, bullies, and gangs began to vanish.
MY LIFE IS NOTHING.
MY DUTY AND PURPOSE ARE EVERYTHING.
IF MY LIFE IS CALLED FOR,
IT WILL BE GIVEN GLADLY.
At their various bases, the III Augusta, VII Rapax, IX Victrix, X Valeria, and XII Ferrata assembled to board their troop carriers. This operation was going to use more legions than any other in Corps history, which was no longer the history of the Empire.
The men and women in those formations had held their Rites, met Those Gone Before, and knew Their blessings. They had said their good-byes. They knew there were going to be heavy casualties, especially when they met the Emperor's Guard. The Guard was close to being their equal. Cousin was going to be fighting cousin and it would be bloody. It didn't matter. The Oath said they might have to pay the Gladius Price to do their duty and they held true to that Oath, though the demons of Hell itself came against them.
Fires danced in the colorless eyes of the men and women in those formations, but those fires were carefully banked. The Gladius knew that only the cold blooded professional had a good chance of survival in combat. In combat, the Gladius was a cold blooded professional.
The Empire had cast them out, but these veteran legions were coming back, bringing the skill, the experience, and the terrible abilities forged in a millennium of ruthless Darwinian selection in battle. They had been in hiding for years, but no longer. The Empire was going to discover the Corps still existed... and it had a new purpose.
The Corps of Gladius existed now to protect Mankind, not the Empire.
I GO NOW TO FACE MY ENEMY.
Legion Sergeant Major Olmeg watched his legion board CTC 901. He thought about what had happened in his past and what was going to happen in his future. As was standard procedure, the children of the legion, the pregnant, and the new mothers were staying behind with a guard force at Victrix Base. It would normally fall his lot as a senior Decurion with a much damaged body to take command of that guard detachment, Legion Sergeant Major or not.
Not today, not for this operation. Shangnaman had taken his wife and son. Shangnaman was the Predator. He owed Shangnaman. Payback was coming. Legion Sergeant Major Olmeg was going to be there.
I HAVE SEEN HIM AND I KNOW HIM.
This was the true war dance of the Gladius, the one too intense to be seen outside the Corps. As commander of a fighting unit and a combat soldier in her own right, Shana was a part of it. The stamp, stamp, stamp of the dancers echoed in time to the beat of the driving music that filled the huge assembly hall on CTC 901. The fierce emotion of the war dance was a brilliant cloud shot with darkness that filled the hall and the dancers. No other thought existed but to meet the Predator as the Oath demanded and back that pledge with their skill and their lives.
Like those around her, Shana occasionally raised her arms, fists clenched, and gave vent to the unholy joy of the dance with a high shriek, whirling as she screamed. All of them were full of the spirits of Those Gone Before, but Shana had women foremost in her mind as well - the murdered women of a nearly murdered Legion. She was their avatar and they danced with her. Those women had paid the Gladius Price, but, as Shana stamped along with thousands of other dancers, she pledged a Price would be taken from the Predator - with interest.
Fire, death, and destruction were coming to the Emperor, and Lieutenant Shana Ettranty was bringing her full portion of it.
HE WILL NOT SEE THE DAWN.
Gladio alieyo.
CHAPTER 15
CLUSTER FLEET
UNDERWAY
Aboard the Naraka, newly minted High Admiral Lane Mackinnie sat in his chair on the Flag Bridge and pondered what they were just hours away from doing: decapitating the Empire and killing it. He had two fleets, an Army of seven divisions, and the entire remaining strength of the Corps of Gladius - five legions - under his command. There was even a troop carrier holding Randl Turner's political restructuring teams. Lane Mackinnie commanded the most powerful military force in history and it was getting ready to enter the Alpha Centauri system.
First, he had to get through the Imperial Home Fleet. That was going to be a little more difficult than originally assumed. For some reason, the Fleet was out and conducting some sort of exercise. According to S-boat recon, they'd left a good number of ships in parking orbits, assessed as probable maintenance casualties. Well, those same S-boats had worked hard enough to interrupt the vitally needed flow of materials and manufactured goods to Central, including some critical spare parts for warships. That was the good part. The bad part was the bulk of the Imperial Home Fleet was still functional, cruising, and in tactical array.
Lane took a deep breath and let it out philosophically. His staff had created operations plans for any number of conditions, including this one. However, having the Impies out and active meant this wasn't going to be easy.
Soon enough, things were going to get ugly.
TROOP CARRIER CTC 901
CLUSTER FLEET
Shana was standing in the middle of the small platoon bay with her men seated on the floor around her. As she set the little holo machine down and activated it, she took a look at their faces. The boys are going to love this one, she thought sardonically, especially since they were so close to the drop.
"Change of mission, guys," Shana said as she pointed to a highlighted area on the holo section of Imperial City. "New scout reports say there's something funny happening in those warehouses and we're going to find out what it is. Activity is tentatively ID'd as the Emperor's Guard. That's the part that's bothering Command and that's where we come in. We have to know everything about the Emperor's Guard. Third Platoon has been shifted to our original target."
"Marvelous, Lieutenant," Legionnaire Ormond said in a dry voice from the back of her seated platoon. Trust Ormond to add appropriate comments. "Speaking for those few civilized dogs you've got, we just love a hip shoot. Especially against those fanatics."
She favored her mouthy Strike dog with a grin. "You want it any other way? What's wrong with dumping a pre-briefed and rehearsed mission and going with some staff officer's hunch? You volunteered for this sort of thing, dog, in case you forgot."
A hand came up. "Lieutenant, I volunteer for a transfer to Buildings and Grounds on Cauldwell."
"I'll see what I can do after we get back, Lster," Shana replied after the snorts of laughter died down. "I don't know if they want you, but I'll put in a word with the Legate."
Lster gave a deep sigh. "So we gotta go jump into a dark hole 'cause someone's got a bad case of seeing ghosts - or Guard. Another wonderful day in the Corps, right L. T.?"
"Yup." More laughter.
Shana waited for it to die down before continuing. "One more thing," she said. "This one's more of an FYI, but you all know the bit about the Emperor's consciousness being in the Palace computer system, right? Well, Combat Information
Technology has come up with something nasty. Just before the landings, they're going to upload a little gift for him into the Palace computer system, a program that will create a monster. That monster will chase Shangnaman anywhere he goes in the Palace net, but never quite catch him. He'll always be running from something that is just one step behind him as long as the net is up.
"That'll also take him out of the command chain, folks. Too busy running to make any decisions. He's crazy, guys, but he's still the final authority. Hopefully, that will cripple their response to our invasion somewhat."
The grins on her men's faces weren't pretty. Neither was hers. "Serves the bastard right," Ormond said. "If CIT wasn't so lazy, they'd do it for everybody and we wouldn't have to land."
Applause and cheers.
They were good guys, she thought. So far she hadn't lost a man from either of her platoons and wanted to continue that record. Central was going to be different, a little voice told her. She told the voice to shut up and thought a silent prayer to the Lord Above. Keep my guys safe. Don't let me do something stupid and get someone killed.
That was really all she could ask.
THE NARAKA
CLUSTER FLEET
Sitting in his command chair and staring at a tactical monitor, Lane was watching Hell let out for noon. Space was literally boiling from heavy bolts crossing back and forth between Naraka and the dreadnought that was her foe. Heavy fire, but Naraka was going to win this one. The old hell ship was just too big and tough for things to be otherwise.
