Echoes of War Box Set, page 65
part #1 of Echoes of War Series
“Do we have any military options left?”
“Aside from wholesale slaughter of citizens, dropping strategic weapons on our cities, or receiving reinforcements from the League of Sol… no.”
“Then what are we still doing here?”
“Prime Minister Fitzroy told us to fight. That’s all we can do.”
This is either going to be like a lightbulb going on in their heads, or I’m going to get shot. “What if the prime minister… was no longer the prime minister?”
Shriver stopped and turned to face Attwood, looking him square in the eyes. “Are you proposing a coup?”
“I’m proposing that we remove the prime minister from her post for gross dereliction of duty. I’ve spoken to the shadow ministers, the backbenchers, and most of the major portfolio ministers. All agree that decisive action must be taken now.” That’s not exactly true, but it sounds good.
“If you have the political leaders behind you, why do you need the military?”
“Because Fitzroy has drawn her power from the military for the last year. Without your express support, she won’t see reason and step aside.”
“What’s your plan?” Shriver asked bluntly.
“You come with me, along with a few soldiers. I will try to get some MMPs,” he began, using the acronym for Member of Monrovian Parliament, “who haven’t fled or been otherwise incapacitated yet, to join us. We will all enter together, and I will persuade her to resign for the good of the planet. Then we announce an unconditional surrender to the sisters and negotiate a peace.”
Attwood watched as he could almost see the gears in Shriver’s head turning. This guy is far too transparent to ever play poker, he thought. Finally, the general spoke. “Do you realize what you’re suggesting could be construed as treason and get us all shot?”
“Throwing our soldiers at an enemy they can’t defeat is unconscionable. Not to mention, we’re on the wrong side of this, morally,” Attwood replied. Several people in the room stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him. I hope that’s the realization in them that someone in power believes what many of us know to be true.
“Okay, Deputy Prime Minister Attwood,” Shriver said, as if reciting his title would make what they were planning okay. “You’ve got the backing of the Monrovian National Guard. Major Jefferson!”
“Yes, sir!” a dark-skinned, pudgy man shouted from across the room.
“Assemble a tactical team. We’re shipping out with Mr. Attwood.”
34
Bullets whipped around Sarno’s power armor as she and several nuns that made up her headquarters element made their way toward Kaufman’s assault squad. She had made it clear that she didn’t want her Mother Superior in harm’s way, but Sarno would have none of it. The battle had raged around them for the better part of an hour, with the nuns making steady progress. Eventually, though, they came up against heavily entrenched Monrovian positions that refused to retreat.
“We’re taking significant casualties, Mother Superior,” Kaufman said, stepping back from the firing line. “Over two hundred sisters have fallen in battle so far.”
Sarno frowned inside of her helmet. “Such loss of life is a tragedy.”
“The Monrovians are using armor-piercing ammunition of League manufacture. It’s punching through our power armor if it hits head on.”
“We’ll have to increase the lethality of our actions,” Sarno concluded.
“I agree. I wish you would retire to the rear, Mother Superior. You’ll do no good for the order if you perish.”
“If it’s my time to go, child, then it’s my time. When I was in the TCMC, I detested officers who led from behind and seemingly never exposed themselves to hostile forces. I’d be a hypocrite if I did the same thing now.”
Kaufman shook her head and smiled. “You’re one stubborn woman.”
“Takes one to know one, Sister Kaufman.”
Sarno walked over to the mobile ammunition dump they’d brought with them; also included were some cargo containers that held other weapons. She punched in her access code, opened one, and hefted a grenade launcher. “Sister Kaufman, authorize the use of fragmentation and plasma grenades by sisters that are pinned down. The enemy strongpoint in front of us; what’s its makeup?”
“They’ve got several squad automatic weapons in there, and a 40mm cannon on a tripod that’s already taken out three power-armored sisters. We’re exchanging long-range fire with them, as a frontal assault seemed likely to produce significant losses on our side,” Kaufman replied.
“Deploy two grenade launchers. I’ll personally lead this assault.”
Kaufman popped up the faceplate of her helmet so that her facial expression was visible; blood red and her eyes flashing. “Mother Superior, you can’t risk your life here! We will carry the day, but our order must retain its leader.”
“Child, I understand your feelings. The order is greater than any single nun. It is greater than me. There was a leader before me, and there’ll be one after me. Most likely you someday. Today, I insist on doing my part and being at the front.”
“Yes, Mother Superior,” Kaufman replied, clearly forcing down her own emotions.
Sarno picked up a large mini-gun from the open cargo container. “I believe this will do nicely.” She locked the weapon into her power-armored suit as it was designed to be mounted on shuttles, or a fully power-armor encased soldier, seeing as it weighed over two hundred kilograms. Triggering the button to spin up the barrel, she confirmed it was in good working order.
Kaufman passed the grenade launchers out to two other power-armored sisters, who loaded them with high explosive grenades while Sarno crouched behind the makeshift barricade they’d erected.
“Sisters,” Sarno shouted through the local commlink, gaining everyone’s attention. “The people we are fighting know that they’re on the wrong side of history. Some may fervently believe in their cause, but their number is few. If we can shatter them here and gain entrance to this most protected of buildings that house their leaders, we’ll prevail in one fell swoop. Stand behind me and press forward, no matter the cost!”
With a rousing shout, the nuns, led by Sarno and Kaufman, charged over the barricade, firing on full automatic from their battle rifles.
Sarno’s mini-gun spun up, and she unleashed a withering barrage of projectiles down the hallway, sweeping aside soldiers, desks, and tables they had hurriedly thrown up for protection, and blasting the power-armored soldier that operated his heavy weapon from the cannon’s perch.
“Press forward!” Kaufman shouted, putting well-placed three-round bursts on target and felling multiple Monrovians.
“Stop for nothing, Sisters!” Sarno shouted into her commlink.
The Monrovians, shocked by the appearance of heavy weapons and grenades exploding around them, first began to fall back in good order and then gave way to a rout. Men and women tossed aside their guns and ran away as fast as their feet would carry them, some with their hands raised, others merely running for their lives.
“We’ve got them on the run, Mother Superior,” Kaufman said excitedly, the infectious feeling of victory close at hand. “Now please allow us to finish this. Stay here with the HQ unit, and we’ll update you on our progress.”
The other nuns around them began to chant, “Mother Superior to the rear! Mother Superior to the rear!”
Giving in to their pleadings, Sarno raised her hand in defeat. “I’ll remain here. But you must now press the advantage. We’ve broken them in this sector. Push forward and consolidate our gains before they regroup! Onward, Sisters!”
The four protective service agents that guarded the prime minister’s office stood as a human shield in front of the door, guns raised and aimed at the contingent of Monrovian troops led by General Shriver and Attwood. Attwood was inwardly shaking in his boots; chatter over the commlinks as they made their way through the government complex told them that the sisters had gained the advantage and were pressing forward on all fronts.
“Gentlemen, please step aside,” Attwood said from behind the soldiers.
“Prime Minister Fitzroy has ordered us not to admit anyone, Mister Attwood. I’m sorry, but you must turn back. We’ll use whatever force is required to defend the prime minister,” the agent who Attwood assumed was in charge stated.
“There’s no reason for more bloodshed here. Most of the parliament is in favor of removing the prime minister, and we’re engaged in a war we can’t win. Please, step aside and let us try to reason with her. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to die today.”
The agents exchanged glances with one another. “That’s the deputy PM and the general in charge of the National Guard. Who are we to tell them they can’t go in?” one of the agents said to the one in charge.
“We swore an oath to protect the prime minister,” he insisted.
“You swore an oath to protect the office of the prime minister, actually,” Attwood replied, finding confidence from some well deep within himself. “Colleen Fitzroy happens to occupy that office for the moment. Once we speak with her, she will no longer. Your duty is to the constitution and the people of Monrovia. For the last time, step aside.”
The agents again looked at one another, but this time, two of them lowered their weapons, holstered them, and stepped out of the way. The lead agent, swearing under his breath, slowly lowered his firearm. “Fine. We couldn’t have stopped you anyway,” he said, as if justifying his actions.
The soldiers quickly manhandled them out of the way, and Attwood rapped on the door to the inner office. “Prime Minister!” he shouted through the door. “We know you're in there! Open the door!”
“Blow the door,” Shriver interjected. “We don’t have time for this.”
Attwood scurried out of the way as a tall female soldier unwrapped a strip of detcord and affixed it to the door frame. They stepped back, and she shouted, “Fire in the hole!” A moment later, the explosive rope detonated with a loud thud; the door fell in a cloud of smoke.
General Shriver was the first one through the smoking doorframe, followed slowly by several soldiers and Attwood. Fitzroy stood defiantly behind her desk, her face smeared with soot, and a pistol in her hands, held in a shooter’s stance. “Not one more step, you traitors!”
“Colleen, let’s be reasonable about this,” Attwood said.
“You little weasel,” Fitzroy shouted. “You stabbed me in the back while an invader is overthrowing our government! I should have you all killed.”
“Put down the gun, Madam Prime Minister,” Attwood said, trying out a more formal tone. “There’s no need for more bloodshed today. Parliament no longer has confidence in your ability to discharge your office. Nor do I. For the betterment of our people, you must step down. Do it now of your own accord, and you can be remembered for making a noble sacrifice.”
“Marty, you’re so full of it. I know what’s going on here; you’re going to make me a scapegoat. You’ll tell them all it was my idea, and let the sisters hang me. I go down, you’re all going down with me.”
“I’ve accepted that I’m… going down, as you put it, Colleen. I should’ve done something sooner. I should’ve manned up sooner, regardless of the cost to my fortunes. I’ll go to my grave with that regret.”
“General Shriver, I am ordering you to arrest the deputy prime minister,” Fitzroy yelled angrily.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t obey your order as I don’t find it lawful. The deputy prime minister is right. This must stop. My men and women are dying by the hundreds to defend this complex in a hopeless defense. We’ll soon be overrun. I’m going to act to save as many lives as we can. The sisters have promised to treat anyone who surrenders with dignity, according to the Terran Coalition rules of warfare. Please put your weapon down and put your hands in the air.”
“Oh, screw all of you,” Fitzroy replied as she put the gun under her chin.
“No, Colleen!” Attwood shouted at the top of his lungs as she pulled the trigger. He closed his eyes and turned away, not wanting to see what happened. When he looked again, she had collapsed in a heap, and there was a large blood stain on the wall, directly behind where she had been standing. He staggered over to where she lay and looked down at the body. “Damnit, Colleen, there was a better way.”
Shriver walked up behind Attwood and put his hand on his shoulder. “We’ve got a job to do, Prime Minister,” he said. “There’s time to grieve later.”
Attwood nodded as he stood up. “Do you have your command authorization codes on you?”
“Yes, sir,” Shriver replied.
Attwood stepped over Fitzroy’s body and behind the desk, accessing the computer terminal sitting atop it. He biometrically logged in to the primary system and selected the emergency override system for national emergencies. The system allowed the prime minister to communicate with any electronic device, computer, tablet, commlink, or vidlink on the planet and overrode any other communication in progress. After entering his credentials into the application, it prompted for a counter-authentication from a high-level military officer. “Please enter your authorization code, General,” Attwood said, gesturing to the screen.
Shriver leaned over and typed in a long alpha-numeric string, and finished by pressing the enter key. A few seconds later, the system’s broadcast control screen popped up, and Attwood sat in the center of the field observed by the built-in camera on the monitor. He then pressed the button to begin transmitting.
“My fellow citizens, this is acting Prime Minister Martin Attwood. I come to you this afternoon from our main governmental complex, which as most of you may know, is under siege by the same force that invaded our planet several days ago. This message is intended not only for our citizens but for the leaders of this force, the Little Sisters of Divine Recompense. The Monrovian National Guard is in an untenable situation. We are fighting a losing battle against a superior enemy, and an enemy, I am ashamed to say, is in the right. For the last nine months, our government has engaged in a campaign to rid our planet of people who profess a belief in a higher power. We have betrayed our ideals and became the monsters we left Earth to escape. I stand before you today, guilty as charged by the Little Sisters. At this point, there is only one logical course of action left to us, and that is unconditional surrender. I now call on all members of the Monrovian National Guard to cease fire and lay down your weapons. In exchange, I ask that the Little Sisters treat our prisoners with respect and dignity and cease all active combat actions. I also invite the leadership of their order, as well as the CDF personnel on our planet, to meet with me as soon as possible to discuss further terms. To any armed citizens that would continue to resist… I ask you also to lay down your arms. Further combat is futile, we will not win, and further loss of life beyond all of the souls that have already perished would be needlessly tragic.”
Attwood closed his eyes for a moment, then resumed his monologue. “We must hold ourselves accountable for what has happened on this world. That collectively goes for all of us, and it starts with me. For now, stay in your homes and await further instructions. This is acting Prime Minister Martin Attwood, signing off.”
Attwood flipped off the system, leaving the screen blank. Shriver looked down at him. “Now what, sir?”
“Now, we wait. I would expect we’ll be hearing from the nuns quite soon.”
35
Calvin sent a burst of rifle fire down a corridor in the third level basement of the black site, felling another guard, of which there always seemed to be another jumping out to shoot at them. Where are they getting all this manpower? “Clear!” Maybe it’s because we keep stunning people and not putting them down for good.
Simone and the group of nuns and civilians with them cautiously moved up, with Calvin taking point. They came to a four-way junction in the corridor that extended for dozens of meters in each direction. “According to the plans, this is where they keep the high-value targets,” Simone said, looking down one of the corridors.
“Yeah, but there are dozens of cells. We need to spread out and search them.”
As he was talking, yet another group of Monrovian soldiers came into view at the end of one of the corridors, saw them, snapped up their rifles, and started shooting. Bullets slammed into the walls and ceiling around them, and a few shots hit Calvin dead center in his power armor, which thankfully blocked the impacts. He brought up his rifle and sighted down on the enemy, sending three-round bursts in their direction; after two soldiers dropped, the other three scurried out of the line of fire and kept up blindly shooting at them from the other side of a corner.
Calvin gingerly touched his midsection, the pain of the hits getting the better of him. “I’m getting really tired of these guys.”
Meanwhile, David could hear the sounds of combat from the room he was being “questioned” in. His ears perked up when he heard the unmistakable report of multiple CDF battle rifles. “Looks like your time is up,” he said to the interrogator.
That barb got him another wave of pain searing through his body. “I think not, Colonel Cohen. You will be here with me for a long time. Oh, your friends might be trying to storm the building, but I welcome the attempt,” the interrogator said with a smile that made David’s skin crawl. “That way, I will have additional subjects to talk to. As I’ve told you, I do enjoy my work.”
“You know, you’re one sick SOB,” David replied, his voice hoarse and broken. Again, pain swept through his body, causing him to shake and go into convulsions.
