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“Is this room secure?”
“It was checked ten minutes ago, on your orders,” Rachel said. “I did the check myself, then stayed in the chamber until you arrived.”
Roland nodded, glancing from Rachel to Master Sergeant (Auxiliary) Brian Wimer. The older man looked back at him, his face a mask that betrayed none of his inner feelings. Roland was sure, with the benefit of hindsight, that Wimer had orders to quietly override anything Roland said, if his lack of experience threatened the success of the mission or the lives of the people under his command. No one, not even the most wary spook, had predicted New Doncaster would explode so quickly, or that Captain Allen and his men would be wiped out before they could secure the spaceport and lend their weight to the civil government. Roland wondered, not for the first time, if it would be wiser to stay on New Doncaster after the war. He had no way to know how the Commandant, and the Major Generals, would react to his actions. He’d twisted his orders so far out of shape they might as well be effortlessly snapped.
“Good,” Roland said. “It is vitally important, and I mean vitally, that not a single word gets out before things are underway. If the rebels know what we’re planning, we’re fucked.”
“And not in a good way, one assumes,” Rachel said, sardonically. “What do you intend to do?”
“The council has agreed to reinforce the beachhead on Winchester, then resume the offensive as soon as practical,” Roland said. “I don’t think it will be practical, not in a hurry. The rebels may be short of tanks and aircraft, but they know the terrain better than us and they don’t need vehicles to give us a hard time. I’d expect them to brace for the offensive, wear us down and this time push all the way to the beachhead when they counterattack. The best we can hope for, if that happens, is a persistent bloody stalemate.”
“I can’t fault your logic,” Wimer said. “I assume you have something else in mind?”
“Recon reports suggest the rebels are shipping more weapons and men to Winchester,” Roland continued. “Both by sea and air, the latter relying on transport aircraft they cannot replace in a hurry. They fly too high for our fighters to catch them, but they’re very vulnerable when they come in to land, particularly as they can’t put them down on bumpy roads and dirt tracks. My general feeling is that the rebels are doing everything they can to reinforce, then either crush us on the beaches or let us hit them and then counterattack. They need a victory as much as we do.”
Wimer nodded, his face showing a hint of impatience. “Sir ...?”
“I plan to take advantage of their distraction,” Roland said. He outlined his plan, piece by piece. “If we can pull it off, we’ll deal the rebels a crushing blow.”
Rachel said nothing for a long moment, then leaned forward. “The men under your command, even the most highly trained and experienced, are not Marine Riflemen or Pathfinders,” she said. “The mission would be difficult to pull off even for the best of the best.”
“I’m aware.” Roland had considered either ditching the idea, or putting it on the back burner until his men gained more experience. “If it works, it works. Even a failed operation would give the enemy a nasty fright, letting us claim a victory even if we knew otherwise.”
“You could also get yourself killed,” Wimer pointed out. “If something went wrong, you’d be trapped in enemy territory with no hope of escape.”
“I’m aware,” Roland repeated, sharply. Wimer - and Rachel - didn’t have to treat him like a child. The bratty prince he’d been was dead and gone, replaced by a professional soldier. He didn’t like the idea of death, or even being wounded on a world without proper medical facilities, but he wasn’t going to let his fears deter him. “Do you - either of you - have any better ideas?”
Rachel frowned. “It would have the advantage of letting us call the operation off, if it seemed unworkable.”
“True,” Wimer agreed. “It isn’t going to be decisive, though.”
“No,” Roland agreed. The rebels had operated on a cell structure. Now, even as they struggled to put together a provisional government, they were still very much a dispersed system. It could be weakened, but not broken. Not completely. “If it works, we’ll have weakened the rebels. We’ll have bought time to raise more troops ourselves, as well as deterring any outside powers from recognising the rebels as the real planetary government. And if it fails ... it’ll still deal the rebels a major blow.”
“You hope,” Rachel said. “If they get one word of what’s coming, you’re dead.”
“I believe I said that,” Roland reminded her, dryly. “Us - the three of us, Richard, and a handful of other auxiliaries - will be the only ones who’ll know the real plan. Everyone else will be given sealed orders, with strict instructions not to open them before receiving the execute message. Outside this room, we’ll be taking reinforcements to Winchester. That will be treated as a secret” - his lips quirked - “which is the easiest way to make sure word reaches rebel ears.”
Rachel laughed. “You’re getting the hang of this.”
“It would be a great deal easier if we were allowed to vet everyone properly,” Wimer said, sardonically. “There are too many unvetted people wandering around with open mouths and inactive brains.”
“The government is a mess,” Roland agreed. “And too many politicians are trying to hedge their bets.”
He wondered, suddenly, if he’d get away with taking over the government. He could hardly be worse than the locals. Hell, he’d get a lot of political support if he rounded up the bulk of the aristocracy and confined them to a penal island, while launching a diplomatic campaign to win over the rebel moderates before going after the extremists with all the firepower he could muster. Did he have enough of a power base to get away with it? He considered it for a moment, then shook his head. It would trigger a civil war within the civil war, if he was any judge, and if he survived that he’d face the anger of his superior officers. He was meant to be training the locals to fight, not mounting coups to take power for himself.
There’s nothing to be gained and a great deal to be lost by trying, he told himself. It would cost you everything, for nothing.
He tapped the table. “Are the reinforcements ready to go as planned?”
“We gave them two days of leave, then orders to muster at Kingsport for transhipment,” Wimer informed him. “The freighters and warships are already being loaded. I take it you want to include the helicopter carrier, as well as the rest of the newer ships?”
Rachel cleared her throat. “Do you want to inform Admiral Forest?”
“No.” Roland had no reason to suspect the admiral of anything beyond a tendency to be a little self-important, but the secret had to stay in a few hands as possible. Besides, the fact the admiral had been recalled for ‘consultations’ worried him. The admiral was an aristo who had many aristo patrons. He might feel obliged to share the truth with his backers, bringing the entire plan down in flames. “He doesn’t need to know. I’ll write him sealed orders, as planned.”
“Yes, sir,” Rachel said. “And Sandra?”
“I won’t breathe a word to her,” Roland said, recognising he was being teased. “Like I said, when we’re on the outside, we make a big show of concealing the fact we’re headed for Winchester. The real plan must remain a secret until it’s too late for the rebels to get in our way.”
“Yes, sir.”
Roland stood. “I’ll write the orders now, then give them to the admiral,” he said. “And then I need to give Richard a call.”
***
Angeline had been nervous, very nervous, when Lord Ludlow had informed her that she would be posing as his assistant, when the council grilled General Windsor on the recent defeat. She’d grown up in a world where everyone - everyone who thought they were anyone, at least - had known her name and face. General Windsor had only seen her once, after the incident on Mountebank, but it had been memorable. Lord Ludlow had been dismissive and she had to admit he’d been right. The general had no reason to think she was anywhere near the council chambers. If he thought she was familiar, which was unlikely because of how she’d changed her appearance, he’d probably think it was nothing more than a coincidence. And indeed, he hadn’t paid any attention to her at all.
She smiled as she studied the reports from her subordinates. The terror threat had provided all the excuse Lord Ludlow needed to move more troops and militiamen into the city, covertly taking over as many guardposts and command centres as possible. There were so many different units moving around - police and security personnel as well as army and militia - that no one would see through the shell game and realise some of the units didn’t have any official existence. It helped, she supposed, that Lord Ludlow had effectively taken command of much of the civil service. By the time they went public, they’d have already won.
Good, she thought. She had no doubt the mission had to be carried out, but she had no desire to kill her fellow aristocrats. They needed a sharp smack, and a reminder the world wasn’t a genteel and friendly place, yet - afterwards - they’d have a place in the new order. If resistance appears futile, they might surrender without a fight and join us.
Her expression turned cold as she focused her attention on the list of named persons. There were hundreds of others, mainly townies, who would be taken into custody as soon as the balloon went up. Many of them were important, political or military personnel, but others were simply too big for their britches. Reporters, publishers, merchants ... they’d be rounded up and told to cooperate or else. She scowled as she spotted a name she recognised, a reporter who had dared to suggest her ordeal had been deserved. He wasn’t going to survive, she told herself firmly. Perhaps she’d take her dagger and show him precisely what it felt like to have a blade shoved in an intimate spot.
The terminal bleeped. Angeline glanced at the message, then stood and checked her appearance in the mirror. The blonde wig and stuffed bra felt like overkill, although she was very aware that most men wouldn’t pay too much attention to her face while they were staring at her chest. It helped she was, at least on paper, Lord Ludlow’s aide. The guards wouldn’t risk putting their hand down her shirt, not when it would get them in hot water. And yet, if they did, they’d blow her cover clean out of the water.
Slack, she thought. When we take over, all of that is going to change.
She walked down the corridor, passing two sets of guards before stepping into Lord Ludlow’s city office. It was as secure as the planet’s tech - and some offworld tech the aristo had obtained from somewhere - could make it, although Angeline feared it wasn’t as secure as he hoped. The Prime Minister was a weak man, but some of his supporters were tough and the townies were determined to maintain their new privilege. In their shoes, Angeline would have done everything in her power to put someone in Lord Ludlow’s household. His retainers were old family men and yet ... could they be swayed?
“Angel,” Lord Ludlow said. The assumed name was close enough to hers for instant recognition, without any particular risk of anyone making the connection between Angel and Angeline. It wasn’t as if either of them were uncommon names. “What did you make of our esteemed general’s speech?”
Angeline took a moment to consider her answer. She’d spent all her spare time studying military textbooks, once she’d realised she couldn’t wait for someone else to give her the answers, yet she’d barely scratched the surface. Her experience was real, yet very limited. General Windsor couldn’t be much older than she was, if at all, and yet he’d seen much more than she had.
“I think he has a point,” she said, finally. “The rebels may well have burnt through their stockpiles during the counterattack. They certainly didn’t try to break the lines with rockets and other modern weapons.”
“Quite,” Lord Ludlow agreed. He met her eyes. “It may also interest you to know, Angeline, that he gave secret orders to Admiral Forest and the other captains.”
Angeline blinked. “What do they say?”
“I don’t know.” Lord Ludlow shook his head. “Forest was unwilling to try to open them without orders. If General Windsor caught him, he’d be quite within his rights to shoot Forest on the spot. But why would he need to give sealed orders - secret orders - unless he was up to something?”
“I ...” Angeline had no answer. There was nothing particularly secret about the planned reinforcement operation. The council was certainly trying to keep it secret, but everyone already knew what was happening. Why bother with sealed orders? What needed to be kept secret? The precise sailing timetable? The route the convoy intended to take? It was possible, yet ... it didn’t seem right. “I don’t know.”
“There are fifty-one ships in the fleet, including forty transports and a helicopter carrier,” Lord Ludlow informed her. “A man with bad intentions could do a great deal of damage with that force. And dear General Windsor is already on thin ice.”
“Yes.” Angeline let out a breath. “A second failure and his career comes to an end.”
She shook her head. “Do you want to move now?”
“We’ll let General Windsor leave, then start putting the final pieces into place,” Lord Ludlow said. “If he thinks we don’t suspect him, he might pretend to be following his stated objectives a little longer. If we get lucky ... we might just be able to neutralise him completely. If not ... he’ll be a very long way away for quite some time.”
“Yes, My Lord.” Angeline met his eyes. “We will not fail.”
***
Rachel watched, keeping her face under tight control, as the helicopter carrier came into view. It rested in the middle of the convoy, surrounded by troop transports and protected by makeshift warships. The navy had done well, she acknowledged, with the limited time at its disposal. They might not have been able to lay down proper wet-navy warships, the battleships and carriers and cruisers of long-gone days, but they’d done a remarkable job of putting together a formidable force. And yet, she feared the outcome if a single missile slammed into the carrier. The explosion might be enough to turn the entire ship into a death trap.
Be honest, she told herself. That’s not what’s really bothering you, is it?
She shifted, uncomfortably. It would have been a great deal easier if she’d remained with her original team. Or a new one. She wouldn’t have to wear so many hats, balance so many contradictory roles ... perhaps it would have been easier, a lot easier, if Roland had never seen through the deception. She had no qualms about using her skills to ensure the mission’s success - it was her job, for fuck’s sake - but her primary concern was Roland’s safety. It was her job to protect him, even over his objections. And yet, doing it too openly would make life difficult for both of them. Roland was, despite months of boot camp, still very much an immature brat. If he saw her as authority, as someone to rebel against, their relationship would shatter beyond repair.
And now he wants to risk everything on one throw of the dice, she thought. If it fails ...
She frowned. She’d done things many civilians would consider impossible. She knew others who’d done things she would have considered impossible, if they hadn’t been verified by people she trusted. Roland’s plan was no madder than some of the other operations she’d studied over the years, although she feared the forces at his disposal were not up to the task. There was no time for enhanced training either. It would be far too revealing.
And he could get himself killed, her mind pointed out. He’s insistent on going himself.
Rachel felt her mood darken as the helicopter landed neatly on the carrier deck, the ground crew rushing to secure the craft before the passengers could get out. Common sense told her she should carry out her threat to tie Roland to a chair or something - anything - other than let him lead the mission in person. Roland would make one hell of a fuss, she was sure, but the Commandant would back her up. He wouldn’t even make a show of pretending to agree with the prince’s complaints. The days when he’d had to nod in agreement with well-connected fools were long gone. And yet, Rachel knew that refusing to let Roland go would destroy their relationship. It might even destroy him.
A man must become a man, or otherwise remain a boy in the body of a grown man, she reflected. But what if he doesn’t survive long enough to grow into a man?
She scowled. It didn’t help she wasn’t sure what the Commandant wanted from the whole affair. Give Roland a chance to prove himself, to live up to his ancestors and then ... and then what? It wasn’t as if anyone wanted to put him on the throne. The galaxy believed Roland dead. And if they’d known he was alive ... so what? The empire was gone.
Keep him alive, let him learn from his mistakes, she told herself. And let the future take care of itself.