Cochrane blew a smoke ring in the direction of the oppressive presence beyond the firebreak. “Anyhow, nobody’s served us an
eviction order on these bodies yet. The evil Kingdom’s warlords have got to like catch us first. I’m going to make chasing
after me tragically expensive to the taxpayers. That always pisses them off bigtime.”
______
We really should be doing this in a perceptual reality,
Sinon moaned.
I mean: actual physical training. It’s barbaric. I’m amazed Ralph Hiltch hasn’t assigned us a crusty old drill sergeant to
knock us into shape. We’ve got the right scenario.
That morning, the serjeants had been driven out to a training ground ten kilometres east of Fort Forward, a rugged stretch
of land with clumps of trees and mock-up buildings. It was one of twenty-five new training zones, their basic facilities thrown
up as quickly as Fort Forward itself. Royal Marine engineers were busy constructing another ten.
Choma half-ignored Sinon’s diatribe, concentrating on the bungalow in front of them. The rest of the squad were spread out
round the dilapidated building in a semicircle, learning to cling to whatever cover was available. Stupid really, he thought,
considering the possessed can sense us from hundreds of metres. But it added to the feeling of authenticity. The point which
Sinon was missing.
Suddenly, one of the small bushes fifty metres away shimmered silver, and metamorphosed into a green-skinned hominoid with
bug-eyes. Balls of white light shot away from his pointing hand. The two serjeants swivelled smoothly, lining their machine
guns up on the apparition.
Ours,
they told the rest of the squad. Sinon squeezed the trigger down with his right index finger, while his left hand twisted
the gun’s side grip, selecting the fire rate. The small chemical projectile cases reverberated loudly as they fired, smothering
all other sounds. Ripples of static shivered over the end of the barrel as the pellets hammered into their target. The static
gun was the weapon which the Kingdom had developed to arm the serjeants for the Liberation. A simple enough derivative of
an ordinary machine gun, the principal modification was to the bullet. Inert kinetic tips had been replaced by spherical pellets
which carried a static charge. Their shape reduced their velocity from ordinary bullets (and their accuracy), though they
could still inflict a lethal amount of damage on a human target, while their electrical discharge played havoc with the energistic
ability of a possessed. Every pellet carried the same level of charge, but the variable rate of fire would allow the serjeants
to cope with the different strengths of the individual possessed they encountered; and as the gun’s mechanism was mechanical,
the possessed couldn’t glitch it—in theory.
It took three seconds of concentrated fire on the green monster before it stopped flinging white light back at Sinon and Choma.
The image collapsed into an ordinary human male, who pitched forward. A holographic projector lens glinted in the bush behind
it.
You were too slow to respond to the target’s strength,
their supervisor told them,
in a genuine combat situation his white fire would have disabled the pair of you. And, Sinon…
Yes?
Work on improving your aim, that entire first burst you fired was wide.
Acknowledged,
Sinon informed the supervisor curtly. He adopted singular engagement mode to talk to Choma.
Wide shooting, indeed! I was simply bringing the gun round onto the target. Approaching fire can be a large psychological
inhibitor.
Certainly can,
Choma replied with strict neutrality. He was scanning the land ahead, alert for new dangers. It would be just like the training
ground controllers to hit them immediately again.
I think I am beginning to comprehend the gun’s parameters,
Sinon declared.
My thought routines are assimilating its handling characteristics at an autonomic level.
Choma risked a mildly exasperated glance at his squad mate.
That’s the whole point of this training. We can hardly accept a tutorial thought routine from a habitat, now can we? The Consensus
didn’t even know about static guns when we left Saturn. Besides, I always said the best lessons are the ones you learn the
hard way.
You and your atavistic Olympiad philosophy. No wonder it fell out of fashion by the time I was born.
But you’re getting the hang of it, aren’t you?
I suppose so.
Good. Now come on, we’d better advance to the building or we’ll wind up on latrine duty.
At least the serjeant’s lips and throat allowed Sinon to sigh plaintively.
Very well.
______
Princess Kirsten had switched her retinal implants to full resolution so that she could watch the squads advancing over various
sections of the training ground. There was a old saying running loose in her mind, as if one file was continually leaking
from a memory cell: I don’t know about the enemy, but by God they frighten me. This was the first time she’d ever encountered
the big bitek constructs outside of a sensevise. Their size and mien combined to make them both impressive and imposing; she
was now rather glad Ralph Hiltch had the courage to suggest using them. At the time she’d been only too happy deferring the
final choice to Allie. The family does so lack the bravery to make really important decisions, thank God he still has the
guts. It was the same even when we were kids, we all waited for his pronouncement.
Several hundred of the dark figures were currently crawling, slithering, and in some cases running through the undergrowth,
bushes, and long grass while colourful holographic images popped into existence to waylay them. The sound of gunfire rattled
through the air; it was a noise she was becoming very familiar with.
“They’re making good progress,” Ralph Hiltch said. He was standing beside the Princess on the roof of the training ground’s
management centre, which gave them an uninterrupted view over the rumpled section of land which the Liberation army had annexed.
Their respective entourages were arranged behind them, officers and cabinet ministers forming an edgy phalanx. “It only takes
two sessions on average to train up a serjeant. The support troops need a little longer. Don’t get me wrong, those marines
are excellent troops; I don’t just mean the Kingdom’s, our allies have sent their best, and the mercs are formidable at the
best of times. It’s just that they’re all way too reliant on their neural nanonic programs for fire control and tactics, so
we really discourage their usage. If a possessed does break through the front line, that’s the first piece of equipment that’s
going to glitch.”
“How many serjeants are ready?” Kirsten asked.
“About two hundred and eighty thousand. We’re training them up at the rate of thirty thousand a day. And there’s another five
training grounds opening each day. I’d like the rate increased, but even with the Confederation Navy brigades, I’ve only got
a limited number of engineering corps; I have to balance their assignments. Completing the accommodation sections of Fort
Forward is my priority.”
“It would appear as though you have everything under control.” “Simple enough, we just tell the AI what we want, and it designates
for us. This is the first time in history a land army commander doesn’t have to worry unduly about logistics.”
“Providing a possessed doesn’t get near the AI.”
“Unlikely, ma’am; believe me, unlikely. And even that’s in our contingency file.”
“Good, I’d hate us to become overconfident. So when do you think you’ll be able to begin the Liberation?”
“Ideally, I’d like to wait another three weeks.” He acknowledged the Princess’s raised eyebrow with a grudging smile. They’d
spent the best part of two hours that morning under the gaze of rover reporters, inspecting the tremendous flow of materiel
and personnel surging through Fort Forward’s spaceport. To most people it looked as if they already had the military resources
to invade a couple of planets. “Our greatest stretch is going to be the opening assault. We have to ring the entire peninsula,
and it’s got to be one very solid noose, we can’t risk anything less. That’ll have to be achieved with inexperienced troops
and untested equipment. The more time spent preparing, the greater chance we have for success.”
“I’m aware of that, Ralph. But you were talking about balance a moment ago.” She glanced back at Leonard De-Ville, who responded
with a reluctant twitch. “Expectations are running rather high, and not just here on Ombey. We’ve demanded and received a
colossal amount of support from our political allies and the Confederation Navy. I don’t need to remind you what the King
said.”
“No ma’am.” His last meeting with Alastair II, the time when he’d received his commission needed no file. The King had been
adamant about the factors at play, the cost of external support, and the public weight of anticipation and belief. Success.
That was what everyone wanted, and expected him to deliver, on many fronts. And I have to give them that. This was all my
idea. And my fault.
Unlike the Princess, Ralph didn’t have the luxury of glancing round his people for signs of support. He could well imagine
Janne Palmer’s opinion—she’d be right too.
“We can begin preliminary deployment in another three days,” he said. “That way we’ll be able to start the actual Liberation
in eight days’ time.”
“All right, Ralph. You have another eight days’ grace. No more.”
“Yes ma’am. Thank you.”
“Have you actually managed to test one of the static guns on a possessed yet?”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am, no.”
“Isn’t that taking a bit of a chance? Surely you need to know their effectiveness, if any?”
“They’ll either work, or not; and we don’t want to give Ekelund’s people any advance warning just in case they can devise
a counter. We’ll know if they’re any use within seconds of our first encounter. If they don’t, then the ground troops will
revert to ordinary light arms. I just hope to God they don’t have to, we’ll inflict a hell of a lot of damage on the bodies
we’re trying to recover. But the theory’s perfect, and the machinery’s all so beautifully simple as well. Cathal and Dean
dreamed up the concept. It should have been obvious from the start. I should have come up with it.”
“I think you’ve worked enough miracles, Ralph. All the family wants from you now is a mundane little victory.”
He nodded his thanks, and stared out over the training ground again. It was changeover time, hundreds of grubby-red serjeants
were on the move, along with a good number of ordinary troops. Though ordinary was a relative term when referring to the boosted
mercenaries. “One question,” Leonard DeVille said; he sounded apologetic, if not terribly sincere about it. “I know this isn’t
quite what you want to hear right now, Ralph. But you have allocated room for the rover reporters to observe the action during
the assault, haven’t you? The AI does know that’s a requirement?”
Ralph grinned. This time he gave Palmer a direct look before locking eyes with the Home Office Minister. The Princess was
diplomatically focused on the returning serjeants.
“Oh yes. We’re putting them right in the front line for you. You’ll get sensevises every bit as hot as the one Kelly Tirrel
produced on Lalonde. This is going to be one very public war.”
______
Chainbridge was different now. When Annette Ekelund had first arrived here, she’d transformed it into a simple headquarters
and garrison town. Close enough to the firebreak to deploy her irregulars if the Kingdom sent any of its threatened “punishment”
squads over to snatch possessed. Far enough away so that it was outside the range of any inquisitive sensors—incidentally
making it reasonably safe from SD fire. So she’d gathered her followers to her, and allowed them their illusion of freedom.
A genuine rabble army, with a licence to carouse and cavort for ninety per cent of the time, with just a few of her orders
to follow the morning after. Something to do, something vaguely exciting and heroic-seeming, gave them a sense of identity
and purpose. For that, they stayed together.
It made them into a unit for her, however unwieldy and unreliable. That was when Chainbridge resembled a provincial town under
occupation by foreign troops with unlimited expense accounts. Not a bad analogy. There were parties and dances every evening,
and other people began to hang around, if for no other reason than the army made damn sure they had full access to Mortonridge’s
dwindling food supplies. It was a happy town kept in good order, Annette even established the hub of Mortonridge’s downgraded
communication net in the old town hall, which was commandeered as her command post. The net allowed her to retain a certain
degree of control over the peninsula, keeping her in touch with the councils she’d left in charge of the towns her forces
had taken over. There wasn’t much she could do to enforce her rule, short of complete overkill and send in a brigade of her
troops, but in the main she’d created a small society which worked. That was before any of the inhabitants really believed
that the Kingdom would break its word and invade with the express intention of ripping body from usurping soul.
Now Chainbridge’s parties had ended. The few inhabited buildings had lost their ornate appearance in favour of a bleakly oppressive,
fortress-like solidity. Non-combatants, the good-timers and hangers on, had left, drifting away into the countryside. The
town was preparing for war.
From her office window in the town hall, she could look down on the large cobbled square below. The fountains were off, their
basins dry and duned by clumps of litter. Vehicles were parked in neat ranks under the rows of leghorn trees that circled
the outer edge of the square. They were mostly manual-drive cars and four-wheel drive farm rovers, as per her instructions.
None of them wore any kind of illusory image. Engineers were working on several of them, readying them for the coming ordeal.