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Angeline would not have admitted it, not to anyone, but she’d been hellishly nervous as her force took up guard duties across the city.
Lord Ludlow had been dismissive, and she’d understood the reason for his confidence, but it still worried her. The militiamen were, on paper, a perfectly legitimate part of the military. Lord Ludlow and his clients had fiddled with the paperwork, to the point that - as far as anyone could tell - there was no way to tell they owed loyalty to their lord and his backers. But in the real world ... there weren’t many female militiamen, certainly not women in uniform, and Angeline was all too aware she was the most notorious of them all. It seemed too likely, as her unit crossed paths with other units, that she’d draw too much attention. But she was needed. The operation could not be left to men with even less experience than herself.
She sucked in her breath as she led her men down the corridor. The security emergency - and the constant barrage of terror threats - made it easier to move trustworthy troops into position, while putting unreliable or untrustworthy men well away from locations that simply had to be secured. They could stay on the sidelines for the moment, where they couldn’t influence events one way or the other. Afterwards, if things went according to plan, they could be rounded up and dealt with at leisure. If the plan went wrong ...
Her lips twitched, remembering something Lord Ludlow had told her. Why does treason never prosper? Because if it does, none dare call it treason.
Her radio bleeped, once. New Doncaster might lack the communications datanets of other, more advanced, worlds, but what it had was quite enough. Lord Ludlow’s squads were making their moves, some targeting communications hubs, command posts and other strategic and tactical points, others fanning out to capture people of interest, from townie leaders to aristocrats who simply couldn’t be trusted to take care of their own best interest. Angeline suspected Lord Ludlow had added some names of people he disliked to the list, but she found it hard to care. The new government would be eggshell-fragile for the first few days, while it struggled to take full control. They dared not risk someone getting loose and causing trouble. It was bad enough laying down plans for General Windsor and he was a very long way away.
She glanced at her men, then pushed open the door to the PM’s office. The antechamber was empty, save for a female secretary who gaped at the soldiers as if they were creatures from another world. Angeline jabbed her pistol into the woman’s face, motioning for her to rise. The dumb bitch would be loyal to the PM - she wouldn’t have been allowed to remain so close to him if he had the slightest doubt of her - and she couldn’t be allowed to go free, not until it was too late for her to make a difference. The woman looked unsteady on her feet as she stumbled up, as if she were on the verge of fainting. Angeline didn’t bother to hide her contempt as she cuffed, searched and shoved the woman into a corner. The woman reminded her too much of the person she’d been, nearly a year ago.
The PM’s door was closed. Angeline lifted her hand, counting down the seconds before the point man kicked down the door. She’d wanted to hurl a stun grenade into the room, to jangle the nerves of everyone inside, but the PM was old as well as set in his ways. The medics had cautioned she might accidentally kill him, even though - on paper - stun grenades were harmless. She crashed into the chamber, eyes snapping from face to face as the rest of her team piled in behind him. The PM, his bitch of a daughter ... and Daniel Collier, MP for some godforsaken townie shithole. A surge of anger, mixed with relief, ran through her as she pointed her gun at them. Daniel Collier was on the list of people to be arrested, yet they hadn’t known he was visiting the PM. The meeting had been so hush-hush Lord Ludlow’s sources hadn’t known it was taking place ...
The PM stared at them. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Hands in the air,” Angeline snapped. She was disappointed the PM hadn’t recognised her, although she looked nothing like the girl he’d visited in the hospital, after she’d been shipped to Kingston from Baraka. “Get your fucking hands in the air right fucking now!”
The PM stared at her, then complied. He seemed more shocked by her language than the rifle in her hand, something that amused her even as it made her blood boil. How dare he? He was the man who should have taken precautions against rebel attacks, he was the man who should have made sure everyone - particularly the women - were armed at all times, he was the man who’d appointed a foreign gigolo to command the planet’s armies instead of someone who actually knew how to fight and win a war. Angeline’s finger tightened on the trigger. Lord Ludlow wanted the PM alive, but she was quite prepared to shoot him if he gave her any trouble. He deserved to die for his treason against his own homeworld.
“This is a coup,” Daniel Collier said. He sounded as if he’d expected it, although Angeline was sure that couldn’t possibly be true. They’d have recalled General Windsor if they’d thought Lord Ludlow’s plans were about to go into action. “Are you mad ...?”
Angeline jabbed her gun at him. “If you cooperate,” she snarled, “you will live. All of you. If you refuse” - she allowed her finger to tighten again, for a second time - “you will be hurt and hurt badly until you do. Seize them.”
Her men hurried forward, grabbing the politicians and searching them roughly. Angeline took care of Sandra, discovering - to her surprise - that the PM’s daughter was carrying a pistol within her skirt. A flash of naked rage ran through her. It wasn’t proper for a young woman to carry a gun, or even to touch one, which was why Angeline hadn’t had one before her world had gone to hell. But the PM’s daughter was carrying ... she was tempted almost to shoot the bitch, just to make the PM feel what Angeline had felt, when she’d realised she was suddenly helpless and defenceless and completely at someone else’s mercy. Lord Ludlow wouldn’t be happy, but ... Angeline sighed and bound the brat’s hands, then shoved her aside for later. There was no way to know, just yet, if General Windsor had been dealt with as planned. Sandra might, if nothing else, serve as a valuable hostage.
Daniel Collier scowled at her. “Do you think you’ll get away with this?”
Angeline glanced at her radio. The updates were coming in thick and fast now. Government House had been secured. The Military HQ - and the civil service buildings - had been secured. Kingsport and the army training grounds had been secured. And, outside the government, hardly anyone knew anything had happened. Lord Ludlow had taken over the government, with barely a shot being fired. No one, friend or foe, had died. Not yet.
There will be a purge, she thought. The townie leadership would be eliminated. So too would the rebel sympathisers. And then we will deal with the rebels themselves.
She didn’t bother to answer the question. “Take Collier down to the cells, then make sure he’s secure and kept isolated,” she ordered two men. “The other two can stay here.”
The PM looked at her, tiredly. “What do you want with us?”
“You are going to order the rest of your loyalists to stand down and submit,” Angeline told him. Lord Ludlow was already on his way, ready to be sworn in as PM in front of a much-reduced government. “If you do, you will be safe. If not” - she eyed Sandra, who was staring at her defiantly - “your daughter will be raped, right in front of you.”
“You ...” The PM’s eyes went wide. He’d recognised her. Finally. “You ... you wouldn’t.”
“I would.” Angeline felt her fingers tighten again. “If you refuse to cooperate, your daughter will pay the price.”
Hatred rushed through her. Sandra was ... everything she’d been, before her world had been ripped apart and she’d been violated, then left to die. Sandra was ... the thought of tearing her down, of showing her how the world really worked, was almost intoxicating. She knew, deep inside, that she had become a monster, but she didn’t really care. Sandra had betrayed her people. She deserved to suffer before she died.
The PM bowed his head. “Whatever you want,” he said. “Just don’t hurt her.”
Angeline nodded, curtly. The coup was nearly complete. The previous government had been overwhelmed. General Windsor was stranded, caught between the rebels and the deep blue sea. Lord Ludlow had planned well, she decided, as he stepped into the office. The operation had been a complete success.
She allowed herself a tight smile as the staff prepared to make the broadcast. The islands would be secured. The traitors would be purged. The rebels would burn ...
... And then, finally, she would have her revenge.