He nodded to persuade as much the two of them, as himself. He swallowed on saying the last words. A day earlier the soldiers had come to his office and demanded entrance. He'd sent as much data as he could find off world, especially to Anderson and General Rivers. His time was limited, though, and he'd been forced to rely upon his security doubles to buy him time to escape.
Their blood is on my hands.
It was a hard feeling knowing that dozens of his loyal staff had been butchered. He could have stayed there with them, but then it would have been his body out in the courtyard.
"We have to do our part to help this come about. Send the signal."
He watched the shapes of the soldiers moving further away, and then right to the bottom of the plaza. It was a spot usually avoided by most, as it was where the two memorial gardens had been planted. They marked the landing site of the Confederate forces in the Uprising, and several of the plants had already been uprooted. A wall of almost three meters blocked the plaza off from the rest of the capital. It wasn't a major fortification, but it was enough to keep all but the most determined people out.
"Sir, do they know you're still alive?"
Director Johnson shrugged.
"If they have half a brain, they will know that without a body they have no definite kill. Harrison has tried to get me out of the way on several occasions. The last one though, well. We have the footage of their assault on our facility as part of the package, don't we?"
He suspected they’d always known he would never ally himself to Harrison, or even provide him with basic intelligence. He could only hope that with the data getting out, he would have bigger fish to fry.
"True, Sir. It will take time for the information to get out there, and even longer for people to react. Assuming they even bother to do a thing."
Johnson looked at him with an odd look to his face.
"Son, don't ever think of underestimating the value of an enraged populace."
"Sir," said the other operative, who until now had remained silent.
The sound was faint from their current position, but if they listened carefully, it was possible to hear the chants and shouting from outside the palace. Occasionally, there was the crack of gunfire. That was the moment Director Johnson spotted the first column of black smoke.
"It's the city’s citizens. They've seen the videostreams from the ANN, and they know they've been lied to. When they see the rest of this, they will go...well, you can imagine."
"The footage of Helios Prime might have helped, Sir."
Johnson nodded, his expression grim.
"True. The sight of the combat and sacrifice of our forces has been a rallying call during the live, unedited broadcasts from the Helios Sector."
Admiral Churchill had helped to maintain the transmission all the way through T'Karan, to Prometheus, and then repeated from mobile transmitters just inside the Terra Nova Rift.
Who wants to start a revolution while our people are fighting the real enemy?
There was one piece of footage more than any other that had changed things. In the last six hours, the news reports had started about the fighting at the Black Rift. Images of ships from different races, including those from the Alliance, had fought and been shattered by the Biomechs. Terra Nova citizens knew better than most what the Biomech threat was about. Many had seen their families butchered in the occupation. Somehow, the allies had heroically held back the machines, and support from President Harrison had somehow vanished, in an instant.
"Wait."
Two soldiers moved out of the shadows from the right, with a third being dragged between them. They all wore the standard armor and gear of the Terra Nova Guards. Johnson pulled out a modified secpad and checked the details once more. He had the full plans for the palace, as well as markers for every Terra Nova security unit. It was the aerial shots of the palace quarter that surprised him the most. He turned and showed the unit to them.
"Look, the citizens are tearing down the smaller buildings on the periphery and building barricades."
He leaned a little further around the column and watched as the two pushed the man up against the wall. The man struggled and punched one right in the face. There was a scuffle, and finally the man was beaten with a rifle butt and pushed back against the wall.
"It's begun. Even their own ranks are turning on them."
The first raised his rifle and took aim.
"Sir, what are we going to do?"
Director Johnson closed his eyes while simultaneously taking out his X2000 series sidearm. It was far from standard issue, and actually a more advanced, but scaled down version of the prototype X2000 coilgun series being developed for the marines. This new family of 6mm coilguns would provide a standard platform for pistols, carbines, rifles, and machine guns. Few were in general use, but he had contacts like no other and had managed to procure one of the first production models, for evaluation.
"We light the fire, Gentlemen. We light the damned fire."
He looked to the holsters on the flanks of each of them.
"Draw your pistols."
Both slid their standard sidearms out and flicked off the safety toggles in one smooth motion. He looked back from the safety of their hiding place and took aim; a low-level light came on that could only be seen by looking through the sight of the pistol. Unlike the L52 carbine, this pistol was a single barrel affair. Even so, with a coilgun mechanism and a magazine that housed twenty rounds, it was a deadly and powerful weapon.
High-power.
A gentle tap on the side of the weapon selected the high-power mode. It would take longer between shots but would also expend the internal capacitor in one go. This in turn would accelerate the projectile to an incredible two thousand meters per second. That was twice the muzzle velocity of the standard conventional battle rifles, making a true hand cannon.
"Take the one on the right...wait for it."
He took in a slow breath and then began to let it out.
"Now," he hissed.
He fired the first shot, and the gun kicked back a little. The recoil was closer to that of a conventional kinetic target pistol, but still barely enough to throw off his aim. The other two fired two shots apiece, every round striking a target. The soldier to the left took the hit from the coilgun, and the effect was instant. The 6mm round tore through the PDS armor with ease, and what remained of the misshapen round tumbled into the man's flesh. Four more rounds hit the second, and then they were both on the ground.
"Move in!"
The three Intelligence operatives moved quickly and carefully to the fallen men. The one to the right was already dead, with one round in the head and another in his chest. Two of the other rounds had deflected from his body-armor. The other soldier lay groaning on the ground. Director Johnson bent down to check the man who tipped over and landed on his back. As Johnson moved closer, he spotted the handgun come out of its holster. He could feel the adrenalin surging through his body, a mixture of raw excitement and fear.
A black hole appeared on the man's helmet, and then he was down, blood splattering the dust covered floor. Johnson turned around and found another soldier, a man in his fifties, slightly sweaty and clearly uncomfortable about the whole thing. In his hands, he held the still hot L52 long rifle, the primary weapon of the Guards.
"I can't do it. We've been ordered to secure the palace. The use of lethal force has been authorized. I didn't sign up for this. I've seen what's happening out there."
Director Johnson lowered his own weapon and nodded reassuringly.
"I know, this wasn't supposed to happen. What about the rest of your unit? Do they feel the same?"
The man shook his head.
"No. A few of the older ones are staying away, but the youngest. Hell, they won't stop killing until the President authorizes it."
"I see. How many feel the same as you? Five, ten, a hundred?"
The man looked up as he counted.
"Most of my platoon, we're a
ll from the same district. I can contact..."
Johnson lifted his hand.
"No. Communications are being monitored. Have you seen the footage? The killings?"
Again the man nodded yes.
"We've all seen the material. Last night we saw the latest report from Helios Prime. There were some big arguments, and one guy was dragged out. I haven't seen him since."
"Okay, so you know what's happening? The President is in the middle of a violent coup, but the military are not going to help. The only reason this could happen is because our troops are off fighting at Helios. Any other time they would have stepped in and kicked him to the ground. Now it's up to us. Will you help end this?"
The man looked at the bodies on the ground and back to Johnson.
"Who are you, Sir?"
Johnson straightened himself, doing his best to look the part.
"I'm Intelligence Director Johnson, head of Alliance Intelligence."
The man tried to smile, but no matter how hard he tried, it just wouldn't happen.
"We were told you were executed, along with the traitors."
Johnson laughed.
"Do I look dead? No, none of those bodies is mine, and I'll tell you something else. They are not Alliance generals because right now, all of our senior commanders are in their bases on ships or engaged in battle."
"So who are they?"
Johnson shrugged and began moving across the open ground. He walked without bothering to hide himself and simply stood up tall and straight, as if he owned the entire place.
"Is he mad?" asked the soldier.
Agent Colee shook his head.
"Often the best place to hide is right in plain sight. Does he look out of place?"
The Director walked for nearly half a minute until reaching the statue dedicated to the glorious dead of the Uprising. He paused, looked at the detail, and tried not to laugh; or even worse, to attack the piece of so-called art. The monstrous creature with its tentacles reaching out resembled nothing he'd seen in the war.
And who are these, the brave soldiers of the Confederacy fighting to save the city?
He looked down at their armored forms and tried to imagine who of them had actually fought the creatures.
Perhaps the reality of collaboration would have made a lesser statue.
He then looked at the bodies that had been unceremoniously dumped on the ground. A quick look confirmed there was nobody watching. He bent down and pulled back a cover. The pale, puffy flesh made it hard to make out, but one thing he instantly noticed was a tattoo on the neck. He leaned in closer and then worked out the unusual shape. It looked like an antenna with the round shape of a planet underneath it.
The War Correspondence Unit for the ANN?
He pulled back the covers to check the others and found the same markings on them all. He closed his eyes upon the realization that these were another group of people that had died, essentially due to his own orders. He pulled his secpad from his side, held it over them, and recorded a video sequence. Using the secpad was his first mistake. Three bullets hit the sculpture, and one struck his ankle, instantly felling him.
Crap!
Johnson rolled and kept on rolling until he was to the side of the great piece of art. Gunfire ripped into his position, but he was now in big trouble.
You idiot, now what?
He looked down at the equipment he had to hand, a secpad and a pistol. With one in each hand, he looked between them while at the same time a flurry of shells hit above him. Chunks of stone ripped from the plinth, and slivers of metal smashed off to clatter on the ground. One of the creature's tentacles seemed to explode above him.
Secpad, get the information out there.
He ignored the gunfire and sent the data packets directly to the public reception point at the Alliance News Network. It was the standard way to send unsolicited data. In less than ten seconds, he'd finished and lifted himself up to take a look.
What the hell?
Two groups of soldiers from the Colonial Guard were spread out and engaged in a violent gun battle. He estimated there were at least twenty on each side. It was the one on the right where he had just left that seemed to be doing best. They used cover and spread out while the other group moved headlong in a desperate attempt to overrun their position.
Young hotheads versus experience, always the damn same.
The gun battle was short, and he was forced to watch from the exposed position at the sculpture. Finally, the last of the soldiers was sent running, and a pair pursued them a short distance before falling back. The soldier that had helped him before came over to him but kept low in case he was shot at.
"Director, the President is trying to escape."
That surprised even him. He stood up, and the man positioned himself in the way of any stray soldiers.
"My entire squad, bar two, has refused their illegal orders. There's a message from our Colonel to begin a crackdown."
"But it's not working, right?"
The man nodded slowly.
"Less than nine hundred turned up for duty today, out of eight thousand. With this order, only one company has stayed back. They are right there."
He pointed off to the domed structure at the side of the palace.
"The Senate building?"
The soldier nodded.
"Yes, Sir. They are fortifying it as we speak."
The two operatives signaled to him, but for now he stayed where he was. Even so, he lifted himself up and looked carefully at the man.
"We have to end this today. If Harrison escapes, he will carry on this little insurrection of his."
The man sniffed, opened his visor, and rubbed at his nose.
"What are you thinking?"
Johnson was without access to his normal data sources, but he did know the city and the people. He considered the options for a few more seconds, and then a small, slightly crooked smile formed on his face.
"Get your men and meet me at the entrance to the Senate building in five minutes."
The man nodded and went to leave, but he stopped and looked back.
"I can get sixty, maybe seventy guys. That won't be enough to break in. Harrison has a picked company of man and carefully chosen ground."
Johnson’s expression implied he completely agreed.
"Sergeant," he said for the first time using the man's rank, "What's your unit’s designation?"
"Pegasus Company, Sir."
"Well, Sergeant. I'll get your winged horses back up in a matter of minutes. President Harrison will stay and fight, but only for so long as he think he can win."
"Very well."
With that, the man was gone, and Director Johnson was left on his own. He didn't waste time and ran to cover the ground to his two comrades. Both were still hunkered down behind the column.
"Sir, that was a little..."
"A little what?"
"Uh...a little crazy, Sir."
Johnson couldn't argue with that. Instead, he looked back and pointed at the opposite end of the palace. The columns of smoke had increased from one to three, and visibility was already decreasing. He'd seen footage of this kind of thing before. The first time had been during the popular uprising on Kerberos. More recently, he'd seen just the same on Helios, amongst the Zathee who had turned to violence against their Animosh oppressors.
"We need manpower, and outside the palace we have untold thousands."
Agent Colee checked his pistol and looked in the same direction.
"How do we know they won't turn on us?"
Director Johnson tapped his temple. Agent Colee leaned in and stared intently at the Director's eye.
"You're wearing a Retina?
He blinked with just the one eye.
"Since we were attacked in our offices."
He pulled out his secpad.
"I've been transmitting since we left. ANN have been getting this via the emergency transponder."
Agent Colee looked less confus
ed already.
"I see. That would explain why they are already out there protesting."
"So let's find a way for to them help us. Follow me."
He ran from their current position and down one of the narrower paths through the public gardens. There were large stretches of open ground all around them, but line of sight to most of the buildings was interrupted by shrubs, bushes, trees, and columns. Agent Bowyer spotted movement to the right and ducked down just as gunshots blasted out at them
"Get down!"
Director Johnson ducked but refused to stop. A pair of bullets struck the ground, and Agent Colee joined Agent Bowyer as they took aim. Both fired precise shots, but at this distance, the soldiers with their rifles had a substantial advantage. They succeeded in suppressing them for a few seconds.
"I've got this," said Agent Bowyer.
He looked to his superior.
"Keep going. I'll buy you time."
More shots hit near their position, and Johnson placed his hand on his agent's shoulder.
"Thank you."
He ran as fast as he could and ignored the shots coming in. Agent Bowyer moved one step at a time toward the gunfire. As all of the agents had been trained, he made use of careful shooting, never wasting the chance to hit a target if it presented itself. Something moved overhead, but he was far too busy to take his eye off the three, perhaps four targets ahead. He took aim at another moving shape.
"Sir, we've got air cover in the area, be advised."
It seemed to take an age, but after another minute of running, Director Johnson and Agent Colee were at the wall and the bottom end of the palace. The memorial site was overgrown and the sections of ships and war machines covered in graffiti. The old path ran to a large square door that was blocked with a thick and heavily rusted chain. Two small pillboxes protected each side, with sentry turrets tracking back and forth.
"Look, they've activated the sentry guns. No wonder they are building barricades."
Agent Colee reached for his secpad.
"Sir, I can do this."
He moved off to the panel at the side of the door and entered his security details. The override unit flipped out, and he placed his secpad nearby. Electronics and security overrides were a standard part of the Intelligence Division training. Director Johnson waited patiently while his agent deactivated the guns. He looked back and could see Agent Bowyer taking cover alongside the wreckage of a CES engineer suit. The armor had been stripped of weapons, and it had been placed to look as though it was standing as a sentinel against an invader. The agent might not know, but Director Johnson knew too well that the only CES units involved in the fighting on Terra Nova were those that had been on the Confederate side. The attackers led by General Rivers, Spartan, and the rest.
Star Crusades Nexus: The Third Trilogy Page 73
