CHAPTER THIRTY
Potamia Valley Evacuation Center
Planet Odysseus
Bellerophon System
January 12, 2553
Captain Ahmet Yildiz leaned out the side door of his small gunship, one armored hand clutching a handgrip to keep him from plummeting two hundred meters to the evacuation center below. His visor overlay picked out the locations of his soldiers forming a cordon around the rows of temporary shelters and warehouses. Civilians milled about, most clustering outside the tents.
He checked the time display on his visor.
“Bulldog Six,” he said over his company command channel. “Green Six, there’s no one exiting the facility.”
“Bulldog Six, this is Green Five,” the platoon sergeant for Baker Company’s lead ground element came up on the channel. “Six Actual is with the local poobah. She’s not having much luck convincing him to give the evac order.”
Yildiz grimaced.
“Copy. I’m going skids down and will be there ASAP. Bulldog Six, out.”
Yildiz leaned back into the gunship and thumped a fist twice against the ceiling. The copilot gave him a thumbs-up, and the gunship settled toward the ground. A soldier on one of the side-mounted rotary barrels angled his weapon downwards and tensed against the stock.
“Did you positively ID a threat, Parsons?” Yildiz snapped, and the door gunner’s head jerked up.
“Huh? There’s a pair of Leaguies on a rooftop, Sir. I mean, not Leaguies, but—”
The soldier kept his weapon aimed at the same spot as the gunship angled slightly toward the landing zone.
“They’re civilians—our civilians—until they act otherwise.”
Parsons looked at him for a moment, and Yildiz knew what was going through the gunner’s mind. He’d heard about what had happened to First Division’s other brigade in Agrino, and the Army wasn’t used to taking casualties like that. No wonder he was jumpy.
“We’re trying to pacify this planet, not kill everyone on it,” the captain said. “And whatever happened in Agrino, these people didn’t have a thing to do with it.”
Parsons looked at him a heartbeat longer, then nodded.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good! But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to keep your head on a swivel.”
Parsons grinned quickly, and Yildiz gave him a pat on the shoulder and stepped out of the gunship before the skids had touched completely down. He carried his carbine, muzzle towards the ground, as he half jogged toward a fire team guarding the refugee center’s main entrance.
Most Army troopers wore the current Mark 12 powered field armor. It was too light to rival the sheer firepower and heavy protection of an all-up Hoplon, but its far lower power requirements gave it many times a Hoplon’s endurance. It was also vacuum-rated and heavy enough to protect against small arms fire, and if its servos were less powerful than a Hoplon’s, they still allowed its wearer to carry weapons capable of taking down League Oni battle suits. But armor or no armor, Baker Company was outfitted for crowd control and anti-insurgency, not pitched combat, with carbines and bandoliers of gas canisters. Seeing his men and women outfitted as occupiers gnawed at Yildiz’s pride, but what truly worried him was that they were still soldiers, not cops or peacekeepers. They were trained for combat, not crowd control, and if their instincts and training took over—
“Sir, you need a security detail?” a soldier asked as Yildiz marched into the evac center.
“Do I need protection from a bunch of unarmed men, women, children, and elderly?” Yildiz shot back, meeting the angry gazes of Odyssian adults as they watched him move toward the HQ building. Unlike all too many Army personnel, Yildiz had put in his time at the sharp end of the stick, facing the League in combat and not sitting around in garrison in case the politicans decided he was needed someplace else. The Odyssians’ faces were different from those he’d seen on the League worlds upon which he’d served, but the fear in their children’s eyes was exactly the same.
“Well, Sir, they ain’t been overtly hostile, but they sure ain’t happy to see us,” the soldier said.
“I’ll take it. Back to your post,” Yildiz said as he spotted the platoon sergeant. The noncom stood outside a propped open doorway, and the captain stepped past him to slip through it into what was obviously the evac center director’s office.
One of his platoon leaders had her helmet off and locked to the back of her utility belt while she leaned across a desktop with a pistol under one hand. A slightly chubby man with a salt-and-pepper beard and pronounced widow’s peak stood behind the desk, his arms crossed and his cheeks red, and the optics in Yildiz’s helmet captured the man’s features. His armor’s computer pulled up the Odyssian’s Federation identity file, and Yildiz did a double take at his service record.
“At what point are you going to realize I’m not asking you to do this?” the lieutenant barked.
“Maybe you should put your helmet back on, because your ears just don’t seem to work,” the Odyssian shot back. “We can’t leave. We’re perfectly safe here so long as—”
“You’re not,” Yildiz said over his armor speakers. “No one within a five-kilometer radius of where you’re standing will be ‘safe’ in the next few hours.” He took his helmet off, tucked it under one arm, and looked at Green Six.
“Lieutenant Reynolds, wait outside.”
“Roger, Sir.”
Reynolds dragged her pistol across the desk, shoved it into its holster, and marched out of the office.
“Yildiz,” the captain said, tapping his chest. “And you’re Masson. Major Paul Masson.”
“Not in a long frigging time,” the Odyssian said.
“Maybe not, but you came away with the Cross of Valor with cluster. Medicaled out when you lost a foot at Brixton.”
“Already got me in your files, huh,” Masson said disgustedly.
“Of course I do. And because I do, there’s something you need to understand. Time is absolutely of the essence right now. I understand that these people—” a sweep of his arm took in the Odyssians outside the small office “—are angry and confused right now. They’re pissed off, they’re probably confused as hell, and they’re not real inclined to cooperate with us. I’ve got that, but they’re also in your charge right now. They must respect you, given your record, and you need to get them out of here before—”
“This is exactly where they should be!” Masson shouted, and Yildiz stood a bit taller, his face hard.
“At midnight—Kórinthos time—a K-strike will annihilate this facility and everything within a five-kilometer radius,” he said. “That’s…four hours and thirty-seven minutes from now. What are you waiting for?”
“The Federation doesn’t target civilian concentrations.” Masson shook his head stubbornly, and Yildiz’s eyes narrowed.
“You know better than that,” he said flatly.
“We’re not talking about Leaguies,” Masson shot back. “We’re talking about Federation citizens on a Federation world!”
“Which has declared itself out of compliance. You know what that means.”
Yildiz’s voice was flatter than ever and Masson’s eyes flickered. He looked away for a moment, then back at Yildiz.
“My people are here to keep them safe,” he said. “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s precisely zero transport out there, and we’re in the middle of a valley, forty klicks from the middle of nowhere. They put this center here specifically because it’s so far from any towns or any other conceivable military target, and without transport, it’s impossible for me to move anyone to a safe location!”
“Walk,” Yildiz said, and Masson’s brows shot up.
“Beg your pardon?”
“Lead them out on foot. You’re right, it’s a forty-klick walk back to Politeas. I know it’ll be rough for some of them. But they’ll get there, and at least they’ll be alive. Which they won’t be if you don’t lead them out. Because this facility will be subject to a K-strike whether anyone’s here or not.”
Masson’s lips trembled for a moment, but then anger overwhelmed his other emotions.
“This isn’t the Federation I fought for,” he said. “We didn’t kill our own women and children!”
Yildiz looked at him, then nodded slowly.
“Things…are different. You were at Hualien, right? Which continent?”
“North,” Masson replied, frowning in obvious surprise at the sudden non sequitur. “I was with the Eighty-Fifth when the Leaguies hit Kilai. We pulled out of the line to evac what was left of the division across the straits. It was…” Masson rubbed his chin. “It was—”
“The Third Spaceborne. I was with them.” Yildiz scratched a phantom wound on the side of his face. The scar had faded after enough dermal treatments, but the memory remained. “I appreciate your pulling our asses out of the fire.”
“That was a long time ago,” Masson said, peering at Yildiz narrowly.
“I’m older than I look and it was my first deployment. I was enlisted, back then, too. And Hualien was almost my last deployment, on a couple of occasions. Listen to me, Masson. One evac center’s already been K-struck. I don’t think there were any survivors. There certainly weren’t very many.”
Masson’s eyes went wide, and Yildiz shook his head.
“The man at the top of my chain of command here isn’t…He’s not here to win hearts and minds. This is a compliance issue for him, and as long as Bellerophon is out of compliance, he’s got cover to do whatever the hell he wants. There’s no mercy to appeal to here.”
“If we comply, then we’ve lost. We’re fighting for—”
“It doesn’t matter what you’re fighting for. You accomplish nothing if you’re dead. Those people out there are waiting for you to save them, and I don’t want to convince them to leave by burning this place to the ground. But I sure as hell will if I have to!” Yildiz slapped a hand against the desk. “Don’t make me save their lives that way, because sure as hell, some of those innocents will get killed in the process if I do.”
“I don’t believe you,” Masson said. “Attacking a declared evacuation center would—”
Yildiz tapped commands into his forearm screen and the holo of Alaimo addressing Odysseus projected onto the desk. Masson paled as the general identified himself, and his jaw tightened as he watched silently until the mushroom clouds rose in the distance.
Yildiz cut the holo. Best not to mention Agrino just now, he thought.
“Lake Orestiada,” he said instead. “And there were a lot more people in that center than there are in yours. I hope things are in a better perspective for you now.”
“I can’t believe even the Five Hundred sent that monster.”
Masson slumped into a chair, shaking his head, and buried his face in his hands for a moment. Then he lowered them and stared daggers at Yildiz.
“This is why we were right to secede. This is exactly the reason why!”
“I don’t care,” Yildiz said softly. “Get your people out of here. Now.”
“We don’t have any buses—not even a flatbed truck to get the handicapped out!” Masson raised his hands.
“I. Don’t. Care.” Yildiz pointed to the door. “Walk. The lethal radius from a K-strike on a target this size is three kilometers. Five kilometers is the casualty limit. Whoever’s that far away when it hits may suffer a headache from the overpressure, but at least they’ll be alive. The longer you sit there whining, the more likely people will get hurt or killed. What the fuck are you waiting for?”
“Why destroy this place if we’re not even here?”
“So there’s no place to run to,” Yildiz said. “How many non-ambulatory cases do you have? I’ve got four Hecate-class gunships I can use to move them to the hospital in Politeas.”
“Don’t.” Masson shook his head. “I heard there’s a System Defense Force battalion in Politeas. Drop them at the abandoned police station in Logotis. We’ll collect them on our way back to Politeas.”
“I appreciate that,” Yildiz said.
“I don’t want any of my older, disabled vets getting killed when your birds get shot down.” Masson shrugged. “Their lives have been shitty enough already.”
He opened a drawer and took out a megaphone disc.
“I have your word we’ll be safe moving back to Politeas?” he asked, and Yildiz nodded slightly.
“You have my word as a Federation officer.”
Masson looked at him as if he were an idiot, and Yildiz rolled his eyes.
“Fine. You have my word as one veteran of Hualien to another.”
“Better.”
Masson limped out from behind the desk on the prosthesis that had replaced his left calf.
* * *
“Keep moving!” Masson called through the megaphone ring. “There’s only one road back home. Stay on it, and you’ll be fine.”
Civilians filed out of the evacuation center. Most carried bags and suitcases, and an air of shocked disbelief permeated the column. They’d rushed to get out of the city to be safe; now they were being herded back to the very place from which they’d fled.
Yildiz knew many of them would abandon their burdens long before they ever made the forty-kilometer trudge back to the city, but at least they were moving.
“Tell them where they have to be in the next four hours,” he said from where he stood behind Masson at the front gate.
“We have to reach the Corinia Bridge by nightfall,” Masson blasted. “If you’re not past Marra Falls Park in the next two hours, you are wrong! Let go of your miniatures collection, Mr. Anastopoulos! They’re not worth your life!”
An old man at the tail end of the column shook a fist at Masson as he dragged a heavy case out the gate.
“You just want my vintage Space Marines!” he yelled, and Masson pinched the bridge of his nose, then looked over his shoulder at Yildiz.
“Can I borrow a gun for a warning shot?”
Yildiz stared at him blankly.
“Worth a try,” Masson said as he brought the megaphone back to his mouth.
“No, it wasn’t,” Yildiz said, and Masson shrugged.
“Area’s clear, Sir,” Lieutenant Reynolds said through Yildiz’s earbud.
“No stragglers,” Yildiz said to Masson. “You did good.”
“Well, then.” Masson powered off the megaphone and stuck it onto a belt loop. “Guess I’d best be on my way, too. Got a long limp ahead of me.”
He took a step away, but Yildiz grabbed him by the wrist and slapped a cuff onto it.
“What the hell are you doing?” Masson tried to pull his arm back.
“General Alaimo’s ordered the arrest of every evacuation center commander. I’m sorry.”
Yildiz reached the man’s arm around his back and cuffed the other wrist.
“You rotten son-of-a-bitch!” Masson kept struggling. “You knew this would happen, but you—!”
A corporal slipped a sound-dampening hood over Masson’s head and activated the security band at the bottom. Masson kept yelling, but only muffled sounds made it through the fabric, and Yildiz put a hand on his shoulder.
“But your people are safe,” the captain said, leaning close, his voice low. “You and I know that’s all that really matters to you. You were a hell of a good officer, Masson, and at least you’ve got a clean conscience right now.”
His eyes held the Odyssian’s for a moment. Then he tapped the side of his neck to activate his armor microphone.
“Reynolds, call in the transports and set the incendiary charges. We’re burning this place down as soon as we evac. Keep anyone from changing their minds. Yildiz, out.”