CHAPTER 16
“Then where the hell is the casualty collection point?” Perrin asked another officer in a holo. The battalion’s operations center was in general disarray in the basement of an abandoned school. Soldiers set up additional holo workstations while Perrin continued his discussion.
“You tell me?” A tired-looking woman shrugged her shoulders. “The Bretton . . . where the hell is that? Anyway, you’re supposed to have your own aid station and doctors just like every other infantry battalion in the Hegemony. It’s not my—”
“Our support units aren’t due to arrive for another week. Marshal Van Wyck sent us to the front lines within hours of planetfall. Now, I’ve got sixteen litter patients that need to be transferred to the next higher level of care. Where is the brigade aid station? Or even division?” Perrin put his hands on his hips.
“Central doing Central things.” The woman rolled her eyes and flicked through a holo off screen. “Says here your unit’s in the Beta Four trench sector.”
“We are not—”
“Obviously,” she sighed heavily. “Fine, the hospital in Denmole sector’s got the auto docs running and I’ve prioritized your unit’s urgent cases. Get them over there soon as you can before someone who’s where they’re supposed to be shows up.”
“Thank you.” Perrin tilted his head forward and the holo went blank. “Lieutenant Rutherford! Load up the casualties and get them to . . .” Perrin found the hospital and forwarded the location to the medical services officer.
One disaster after another. Perrin checked his messages for the next fire he had to piss on when there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw a rather pale Sergeant Roux. The communications soldier had a slate clutched in his hands, the screen held tight to his chest. The half visor attached to his backpack studded with short antennae with a thick wire was lifted up on his head, not down over his eyes where it was supposed to be while the battalion was in combat.
“Um . . . sir? I think you need to see this,” Roux said.
“Is it more important than getting reinforcements or air support before the next enemy armored attack?” Perrin turned back to the situation holo.
“Yes. Yes, sir, it is.” Roux swallowed hard. “It’s a message from Lambert for Colonel Jematé, but the colonel’s not answering his comms.”
“The colonel’s with our KIAs; he’s not to be disturbed. Especially not from anything Lambert has to say. He should’ve had our foundries ready to ship with us when we—”
“Sir!” Roux’s outburst quieted the rest of the command center. “You need to see this. Right now, sir.” He tapped the corner of the slate against Perrin’s shoulder.
Perrin turned around, ready to give a dressing down that Roux would never forget. The soldier looked like he was on the verge of tears, his bottom lip trembling.
“Alright.” Perrin took the slate and pressed his thumb against a biometric reader. He squinted hard, his eyes exhausted from too many days awake and too little rest. The major frowned as he skimmed over the header from the message; his face darkened as he continued to the end.
“This . . . can’t be real.” Perrin raised his eyes to Roux. “Must be some sort of propaganda by the enemy.”
“It came through with Bretton Territorial Guard ciphers and authorizations. I only got it to my systems because I haven’t cleaned out the cache on my decryption banks.” Roux nudged his backpack with an elbow.
“It must be a forgery,” Perrin said. “An . . . exceptional one at that. AI can replicate tone and mannerisms and—”
“The prayers, sir,” Roux lowered his voice. “We don’t write those down. We don’t speak them outside of the High Holy Days.”
“I’m not the most theological of people, Roux.” Perrin raised the back of his hand to cover his mouth, then tapped on the screen. “This is ridiculous. Impossible.”
“Colonel Jematé is a man of the faith, sir. The message is for him, and I believe he’ll find it more credible than you will with Lambert’s inclusion of our bonds of faith,” Roux said. “Are you going to tell the colonel or—”
“I will,” Perrin snapped. “You . . . are correct to bring this to me right away. Keep this close hold, you understand?”
Roux stared at him.
“See if there’s confirmation of this on any other net, will you?” Perrin asked.
“There hasn’t been a transmission out of Central for the last four hours and fifty-two minutes. Lambert’s message was sitting in my queue for over an hour before I noticed it,” Roux said.
“Keep looking.” Perrin walked out of the operations center at an even pace. If the operations officer were to run around like a chicken with its head cut off, it would only spark panic and rumors across the battalion. Though, he suspected the entire headquarters would know about the message by the time he finished speaking with Colonel Jematé.
He found the colonel on the school playground, or what remained of it. The slides and swings had been peppered with artillery shrapnel and never repaired. Faded murals of children waving up at a depiction of the Highest made Perrin double take at it.
The colonel was out of his Cataphract armor, on one knee before a line of body bags. The colonel leaned forward and put a hand on one bag and recited a prayer. Perrin waited until it was complete and the colonel had extended his arms out to his side and brought his palms together with a sudden slap.
Jematé stood, then stepped to the next body bag and looked to the sky.
“Colonel, sir.” Perrin cleared his throat.
“We don’t have a chaplain with us, Easton. It’s my duty to commend their souls to our Lord and you’re interrupting me . . . why?” Jematé gave Perrin a dirty look.
“There’s . . . a crisis, sir. A possible crisis. All based on word from Colonel Lambert. The encryption checks out, but this could be a deception operation by the enemy.” Perrin held out the data slate.
“These Flags seem more interested in killing us in a stand-up fight and butchering our corpses than trying to trick us.” Jematé took the slate. His jaw hardened as he read, though a growing fear shone through his eyes.
“I am unfamiliar with the prayers Lambert included,” Perrin said. “Are they correct? Perhaps the enemy has some knowledge of Bretton’s faith and—”
“It’s the wedding prayer when a man and woman are joined beneath the gaze of God,” Jematé said. “But he inserted parts in the wrong order, and he made several changes that those who hold the correct priesthood ranks are taught to make if they’re ever forced to speak the prayers to those outside of the faith . . . this is legitimate.”
Jematé spoke into his wristband and handed the slate back.
“It can’t be.” Perrin raised a hand to the child’s mural of the Highest. “How could Telemachus do this? He’s a hero of the Hegemony.”
“The reasoning and the why isn’t what’s important right now.” Jematé crossed his arms and put one hand to his chin. “What we must do next is what matters.”
Timmons came out of the school, zipping up his under suit. Jematé handed him the slate and remained silent until he finished Lambert’s message.
“Then it’s over,” Timmons said. “It’s all over. The Hegemony is . . . gone.”
“Sir, we can’t—there has to be a succession plan,” Perrin said. “The Most High council appointed sector governors. Surely they can reconvene the council or call for a new one to be elected.”
“Correct.” Jematé nodded. “But by the Compact the new members of the Most High would be ratified by the legislature . . . who all died aboard the Highest. Telemachus’ coup was perfectly timed. The marshal’s made it clear that he won’t abide anyone challenging him with any sort of legitimate methods. Rotten son of a bitch.”
“Governor Engelier won’t tolerate this,” Timmons said. “He fought tooth and nail against the force generation order that drafted us into the Hegemony Army . . . he was afraid this exact thing was about to happen.”
Perrin raised an eyebrow.
“We go to church with him,” Jematé said. “We did invite you, Easton.”
“I thought the invitation was for . . . church.” Perrin frowned.
“The rest of the Gallia sector won’t bend the knee to Telemachus either.” Timmons shook his head. “None of the sectors will! Not to some soulless bastard that just murdered the entire government.”
“Telemachus has the Skien Corps loyal to him but nothing else.” Jematé tapped his bottom lip. “His strength can only extend so far. If he has to pacify any sector, then the rest will have time to build up their own military . . . it’s going to be a bloodbath. Old feuds will mean new wars.”
“And what about us?” Timmons asked. “Lambert got this out to us. It won’t be long before everyone knows. And when the Flags learn of this . . .”
“They’ll realize they’ve won,” Jematé said.
“Perhaps we can negotiate our way off world with them,” Perrin said. “Rather efficient way to get rid of an occupier. Just let us leave.”
“You didn’t see what was inside that old warehouse. I did,” Jematé said. “We surrender and it will be a massacre. The Flags want revenge for what the Hegemony’s done to this planet and they mean to have it. We swap jerseys and it won’t make a difference to them.”
“What . . . what are you suggesting, sir?” Perrin asked.
“I’m not ‘suggesting’ anything.” Jematé let his arms fall to his sides, then folded them behind his back. “We swore to protect and defend the Hegemony . . . and the Hegemony is gone. Forever. The fight here isn’t ours. It isn’t Bretton’s. I’m going to get us all home, gentlemen. I owe it to my boys out there. I owe it to the families that will want their fathers, sons and brothers back. Lambert’s plan is feasible and doable in the small window of time we have available.
“We need to get the battalion to—”
A whine rose in the distance. A Hegemony air car with General Brooks’ name stenciled over the two stars on the back passenger door hovered overhead, then set down in the schoolyard. The repulsors kicked up dirt that blew across the body bags, rustling the plastic and exposing the face of a young man in his late teens.
Jematé reached for his sidearm, but relaxed as a pair of heavily armed Skien soldiers, their alabaster arms and pale green veins visible under their Flanker armor plates, jumped out. Each had a carbine with fixed bayonet ready at their shoulder. A passenger air car meandered in the distance.
A colonel in fatigues exited from the front passenger seat and hurried over as the repulsor engines idled. The air car generated a constant breeze just above the ground that tugged at Perrin’s boots and shins.
“Bretton?” The colonel glanced at a slate. “General wants company commanders and above at a briefing. Call your officers in and load them onto that meat wagon.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the circling van.
“We’re still in contact with the enemy,” Jematé said. “I can’t remove my commanders now—”
“The General’s set up a temporary ceasefire that’ll stay good until dawn,” the colonel said. “You all will be back before then. This is a no-fail order . . .” he peered at the battalion commander’s name tape, “Jematé. Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?”
Perrin glanced at the screen on his forearm. None of the companies reported any combat at the moment.
“It’s calm, sir,” Perrin said.
“Very well, XO.” Jematé turned to Timmons, “Call in Captains Saul and Rothfuss.”
“Tell them to double-time it,” the colonel said. “There’s a hard time to get everyone to the general and if I have to send my boys after them, they won’t like it.”
“They’re en route,” Timmons said, lowering his wrist mic from his mouth.
“What’s this about?” Jematé asked.
“Need to know for now,” the other colonel said. “I don’t need to know. Neither do you. Whatever the commander’s got, he’ll tell us all at the same time.”
“He has no idea—” Perrin said.
“What was that, major?” the colonel snapped.
“Forgive him.” Jematé stepped between them. “Bretton military tradition has different standards when it comes to issuing orders. We have just arrived dirtside and there’s been a good deal of discovery learning.”
“That’s right, you’re all still pissing shipboard water.” The Colonel turned aside as two Cataphracts came around the side of the building. “No suits. Can’t take the weight in the air cars. Let’s go.”
He tapped twice on his wrist band and the van descended toward the playground.
“I need a word with my operations officer.” Jematé took Perrin by the arm and walked him a few steps towards the command post. Jematé looked Perrin straight in the eyes. “Prepare that new defensive plan we just spoke about. We may need to implement it as soon as we return.”
Perrin understood Jematé’s true intent right away: make a plan to rendezvous with Lambert and the Izmir. Jematé couldn’t risk saying more while the colonel was listening.
“Roger, sir.” Perrin nodded quickly.
Jematé raised a finger and poked it into Perrin’s chest, then clenched the front of his uniform and pulled him close.
“Nothing else matters,” Jematé said quietly.
He pushed Perrin away and changed his pointed finger into a chest-level knife hand.
“And if you screw this up, you’ll be on shit burning detail for the rest of the deployment.” Jematé turned and raised a hand from his waist over his shoulder, signaling to the rest of the officers to follow him to the van.
Perrin was left with the body bags and three sets of empty Cataphract armor. Jematé was the last to board the van. He gave Perrin a quick nod before sliding the door shut.