Dark Age - Patriot's Stand Part 20

"Yes, sir," Mallary said, standing. "I'll get on it."

"Eddie, start looking into concentrating the battalion."

"Sir," St. George said, "if I may point out, that would make us an even easier target and make it even harder to track what's going on outside our line of sight."

"Good points all, Art, but there's more firepower at Falkirk than I have here. If they start moving, how much of the battalion will they overrun before we know it?"

"We've got the satellite feed, sir."

"They know about it. They only show it what they want it to see. If they move their 'Mech MODs from one barn to the next south, will we know they're here before they start shooting up Dublin Town? d.a.m.n the shoestring budget," L. J. snapped. They'd deployed without a single air spy vehicle. It was as if the guy funding this mess had no idea what a good team needed. Well, it wasn't as if Santorini knew a lot about what he was getting into.

Or did he?

If Santorini got in trouble, would a lot of Stormhammer or House Steiner stuff come running? It wouldn't be the first time in history that a small troop of soldiers were set up to fail so the bigger guns could gallop to the rescue.

"XO, Adjutant, you have your orders. It looks to be a busy morning. Let's turn to."

At his desk was a chatty note from Betty, the maid. She rambled on about how the place had changed since he left. "Some of the new guys seem to think a maid is there to help them get the sheets dirty as well as change them," answered one of his questions. "Cook says she can't buy good fresh fruit, vegetables and meat. The farmers' market just doesn't have anything like it used to." This told L. J. to look out for trouble around the food supply. Betty was also hunting for a new place to eat. Her old standby had changed hands and was now owned by an off-worlder. The cook had mouthed off to the new owner and been fired. "The new cook can't boil water." So Grace was right that junior sc.u.m were taking their own chunks and making a bad situation worse.

L. J. had not liked the looks of the Black and Reds the moment he'd seen them. The 'Mechs marched like trainees. The guys in the gun trucks looked like the thugs a real police force would put away for a very long time. What prison bottom had Santorini dragged to get a collection of gutter sc.r.a.pings like these?

Betty finished her note saying she'd gotten a raise that doubled her pay, putting her ahead of the rising prices, and she probably wasn't looking to change jobs. L. J. printed the note for Mallary and her intelligence crew just as she appeared at his door.

"We've had our first attack, sir, outside Banya."

"Any casualties?"

"None, sir. Some bunch of locals planted a mine for a hovertank patrol. They guessed low on the amount of pressure one of those things puts out, and the mine blew before the tank got there. Real goobers, sir."

"Even goobers can learn, Captain."

"Think it was by that group up north? The Falkirk group?"

"Not likely. They have a hovertank, and the 'Mechs working with them would never make a beginner's mistake like that."

"How'd they get a hovertank, if I may ask?"

L. J. started to say, "Ask Sergeant G.o.dfrey," but that moron was among the missing. "I've got this letter from someone I trust in Allabad," he said, handing Betty's note to Mallary. "Synopsize this so no one can recognize where it came from and get it out to our occupation platoons. Tell the lieutenants this supports the rise in alert status."

"I'll do that, sir," Mallary said.

"Then let's-" he started, but his com was buzzing and blinking a red light. His client. L. J. positioned himself behind his desk and tapped the com. "Yes, Mr. Santorini."

"I understand someone tried to bomb one of my tanks today," he said with what some might mistake for a smile of glee.

"An amateurish effort," L. J. said dismissively.

"You are launching a punitive action."

"I am taking appropriate action."

"And what do you consider appropriate for the attempted murder of my troops in their sleep last night?"

"We are investigating to determine what action to take."

His client frowned. "I would already have people hanging from lampposts. I see your Colonel sent me someone who has trouble making a decision."

L. J. nodded noncommittally and said nothing.

"I am having trouble and require a military operation," he said, as if uttering the magic words that would instantaneously turn a valley red with fire, blood and smoke.

"What trouble, sir?" L. J. said, trying to sound concerned.

"Farmers are withholding produce from market. I require you to conduct a sweep of land around Allabad and bring the farmers and their produce trucks in at gunpoint. If they resist, kill the first few. The rest will follow."

L. J. gave Betsy another mark for quality intel. "That'd be quite an operation, sir." About equal to killing the goose that laid the golden egg, but L. J. didn't say that. "Unfortunately, it is not covered by our contract."

"Not covered!"

"Our contract is to seize and hold this planet. We seized it rather faster than expected and held it for the month while you were in transit. You relieved us from holding the area around Allabad and other cities.

You will have to use your own police to do that, sir."

L. J. considered suggesting he lower the tax rate on food sold at the market since it was pretty clear food was making it through back channels to other food providers. If the man couldn't figure out why meat was not on his own table, L. J. certainly wouldn't be the one to paint him a picture. Messengers for guys like Santorini tended to get killed for carrying what otherwise looked like useful bits of information.

It didn't matter. His com went dead immediately. "I don't think our Leader is happy," he told Mallary.

"Then he'll be even less happy when he finds out what I just did while you were on the phone."

"Which was?"

"A patrol inside Lothran was attacked by boys throwing rocks. I told the patrol to withdraw."

"Good order for today. Eddie, get in here, we're redeploying the battalion," he shouted. "One company here in Dublin Town and the others here, here and here," he said, tapping small towns in an arc between Dublin and the mouth of the Gleann Mor Valley.

"That our threat axis?" Mallary asked.

"It's the only real threat we face." Eddie ducked his head in L. J.'s office and listened to the new deployment. "Again, I want to remove everything with the regiment's stamp, seal or brand on it. Leave nothing behind."

"And you want it all done yesterday. I understand, sir."

"No." L. J. smiled. "I don't think you do, Captain. You see, while a unit is redeploying, it loses some of its ability to react to new orders. Its commander might even have to tell his client he was temporarily unable to perform a requested mission, if you take my meaning, Captain."

"Moving could be considered a reason to temporarily not do some things that you might not want to do," Eddie said.

"No, no, no," L. J. said as if to a particularly slow child. "The regiment is always ready to execute its orders. That is our tradition. It's just that in a redeployment, it might have to complete one order before doing another. And since we must be very meticulous about this move . . ."

"Yes, sir. Understood, sir. The battalion will always be ready for orders, sir, and I am about to set a new record for redeployment-just not one I'll mention on my next resume."

"I think we misunderstand each other perfectly," L. J. said.

"Major," Mallary said once Eddie was gone, "in your next command, if you need an ops officer, I sure hope you'll skip my name."

"Mallary, my friend, unless we're careful, all of our names will be entered on the rolls of the regiment with a little note to 'pick this one last." '

Grace had a new intelligence source, thanks to a couple of Jobe's boys. They had rigged a search on the Net-not the public side that was about as exciting as cold potatoes, but the personal side with its notes and letters. It painted an ugly picture.

The Black and Reds were spreading out from their five main towns, demanding that farmers sell them produce, crops and meat at a discount to cover the cost of taxes. That amounted to near confiscation, but since it was at gunpoint, objections were limited to notes and mail among farmers.

The Black and Reds were still buying homes, businesses, farms-anything they wanted. Those who resisted didn't go to jail; now they just died right there in front of their families. Sales resistance dropped to nil even as the mail got hotter and hotter. At least the people who were bought out were allowed to live in their homes and run their businesses. The thugs had a big appet.i.te but didn't seem to know what to do with what they stole.

Unfortunately, they knew what to do with women.

Alkalurops had never made a cult of a girl's virginity, but here girls decided. Grace could still hear Ma's instructions. "When you make up your mind, I know I won't be able to stop you, but don't let a boy be making up your mind for you. You decide. You call the shots."

Now Black and Reds were calling the shots.

In Lothran the new rules ended in a shoot-out between a family and the Black and Reds. The boys couldn't stop the police squad that took their sister, but they knew the town and how to use their gopher rifles. From first reports, it looked as if the boys were winning, almost a dozen Black and Reds down and screaming for medics. Then the 'Mechs stomped in.

The boys were dead, their father and mother as well. The sister was found with her throat slit. To keep Lothran from thinking about doing this twice, the 'Mechs shot up and trampled the eight blocks where the shoot-out took place.

Not all of it, though. The Black and Reds had bought up a house here, a business there. They stood among the rubble.

Alkalurops was a powder keg, waiting for the spark.

Two days later the spark came.

A gun truck of Black and Reds was out making sure farmers got their produce to the now government-owned packing plants. They must have been getting plenty careless. They didn't fire a shot when a farmer and his two sons nailed them with their AgroMechs. The farmer shredded the Black and Reds. Shredded them down to blood and sc.r.a.ps.

Now the farmer was running north with his sons, their wives and children, trying to make it to the Gleann Mor Valley. Grace hoped they would. She hoped and she feared.

If they made it, the war would surely start.

L. J. found a note on his 'puter that morning from Betty. He enjoyed her chatty rundown on life in the big city. The woman couldn't seem to shake her small-town amazement at what went on. "But the B and R types have sure put a lid on the nightlife-not that a maid has much free time at night, but it's gotten so a girl can't walk the streets. Mr. Santorini gave me a pa.s.s that he says will make anybody who stops me let me go. Mr. Santorini is such a nice man." Betty had to be the only person on the planet who thought so.

The cook had plenty of food, but Betty said the meats were the absolute worst she'd ever seen. Why was L. J. not surprised?

"I hear the B and R are recruiting at the local jails." That confirmed L. J.'s own suspicion. "A B and R field marshal confiscated a gaggle of 'Mechs from all kinds of places and ordered a couple of the local 'Mech service and repair centers to come up with a plan to hang lasers on them. The repair guys tried telling him the d.i.n.ky engines on a worker 'Mech can't power a laser, but he just got mad, pulled out his knife, and shouted threats. They got real agreeable and said they'd have a plan for him in three months.

He said six weeks and that was that."

L. J. doubted those mechanics were half as good as the ones the redhead had up in her valley. He also wondered how many of them were heading there. Hang a laser on an internal-combustion-powered 'Mech?! Maybe a laser pointer for a really big briefing. So the Leader was increasing his troops and his 'Mechs. Well, he'd need all the help he could get, because in three months L. J. and his battalion were out of here. L. J. printed the note and took it down to Intelligence. Mallary was away, which gave L. J.

an excuse to talk to the Chief Warrant Officer, who really ran Intelligence. A mustang, he'd risen through the ranks. It was said he could smell bad intel. L. J. needed that nose.

"You got another one of those letters for us," Chief Mohamot said, smiling eagerly.

"The same. She still won't take my job offer," L. J. said, handing over the note.

The Chief read it quickly. "Can't blame her for holding on to the job she has if it comes with perks like a get-out-of-rape-free card from our client," he said, then his eyes got wide. "How'd she get privy to table talk about 'Mech MODs?"

"Good question. She knows the cook well. Maybe she pulled temp duty as a server."

"Possible, sir, but I wonder if this isn't too good to be true."

"You don't think Betty's authentic?"

"Sir, I have to doubt everything I know about Betty because I know so little about her. I don't know where she comes from. I don't know who she likes, hates, has a bone to pick with. She's a clean slate that gets written on, that I don't know how to interpret. That's what you pay me for, sir."

The room suddenly got darker. L. J. glanced around, looking for the reason, when he realized that every monitor in the room had gone blank. "Net seems to be down," Chief said. "I'll give Network Disservices a holler."

"Network Services," someone shouted from down the hall, "is not responsible for what you are not seeing on your screens. The Net ain't down, it's gone. Gone on this whole stinking planet!"

The Chief stood. "I guess it starts now, sir."

L. J. held his next staff meeting on the parade ground in front of his HQ. It was the best place to be until Network Services got a backup local Net online. It gave him a good view of his command as it went, like a kicked-over hornet's nest, from ThreatCon Three to Four-plus. To an uninformed observer such as Santorini, it might look like frantic action going nowhere, but L. J. knew what every one of his men and women were doing, and provided the supervision that got them over the few rough spots.

For example, the Chief paraded his Intelligence staff in full combat gear in less than ten minutes. "You got any a.s.signment for us? We got no data to mine, sir."

"You have your backup databases on this pesthole?"

"Everything on Alkalurops is right here." The Chief patted a small bulge in his battle gear. So did those behind him.

"Hold here. When we see how bad it is, I'll let you know."

"We got a cycle coming up the road," someone bellowed from the front gate. "Appears unarmed. One man, no large packs."

"Tell the guard to stop him, search him, and send him in here on foot," L. J. told an Intelligence guy and sent him off in the ancient role of a runner. Two minutes later he returned with a small short-haired woman in shorts, sandals and a halter top.

"After the pat-down your guards gave me, I feel we ought to at least be engaged," she growled. "I mean, where would I hide anything in this getup?"

"I apologize for their thoroughness. Our Net has been cut, and we are still trying to figure out what's happening."

"That's why the mayor, my husband, sent me here," the woman said, spreading her feet, resting hands on hips, and taking on the gravity of a formal representative. "Our Net's down, too. We don't know why, but we want you to know we didn't do it. We suspect it had something to do with what happened down south."

L. J. frowned. "What happened down south?"

"You don't know?"

"Would you please tell me." L. J. knew that the woman might soon be certified as his enemy. She had to know, too.

"Won't do us any good if you only get his side of the story." She quickly told him what the farmer and his boys had done. "Pretty much rendered them down to liquid fertilizer fit for, say, ten acres. Some started a bit on the fat side," she finished.