“Let’s understand each other,” said Donal. “Aside from the fact that I don’t order men into exposed positions where they’ll be killed—whether they’re mercenaries or your own suicide-happy troops, just what do you want to accomplish by this move against the Exotics?”
“They threaten us,” answered Bright. “They are worse than the heretics. They are Satan’s own legion—the deniers of God.” The man’s eyes glittered like ice m the sunlight. “We must establish a watchtower over them that they may not threaten us without warning; and we may live in safety.”
“All right,” said Donal. “That’s settled then. I’ll get you your watchtower. And you get me the men and equipment I order without question and without delay. Already, these hesitations of your government mean I’ll be going into Zombri ten to fifteen per cent understrength.”
“What?” Bright’s dark brows drew together. “You’ve got two months yet until Target Date.”
“Target Dates,” said Donal, “are for the benefit of enemy intelligence. We’ll be jumping off in two weeks.”
“Two weeks!” Bright stared at him. “You can’t be ready in two weeks.” “I earnestly hope Colmain and his General Staff
“They’ve the best land and space forces between the stars.”
“How?” Bright’s face paled with anger. “You dare to say that our own organization’s inferior?”
“Facing facts is definitely preferable to facing defeat,” said Donal, a iittle tiredly. “Yes, Eldest, our forces are definitely inferior. Which is why I’m de– pending on surprise rather than preparation.”
“The Soldiers of the Church are the bravest in the universe!” cried Bright. “They wear the armor of righteousness and never retreat.”
“Which explains their high casualty rate, regular : necessity for green replacements, and general lower tevel of training,” Donal reminded him. “A willingness to die in battle is not necessarily the best trait in >j * a soldier. Your mercenary units, where you’ve kept ‘”;•’ them free of native replacements, are decidedly more combat-ready at the moment. Do I have your backing from now on, for anything I fee! I need?”
Bright hesitated. The tension of fanaticism relaxed out of his face, to be replaced by one of thoughtful-ness. When he spoke again his voice was cold and businesslike.
“On everything but the Conscience Guardians,” he answered. “They have authority, after all, only over our own Members of the Churches.” He turned and walked around once more behind his desk. “Also,” he said, a trifle grimly, “you may have noticed that there are sometimes small differences of opinion concerning dogma between members of differing Churches. The presence of the Conscience Guardians among them makes them less prone to dispute, one with the other—and this you’ll grant, I’m sure, is an aid to military discipline.”
“It’s effective,” said Donal, shortly. He turned himself to go. “Oh, by the way, Eldest,” he said. “That true Target Date of two weeks from today. It’s essential it remain sectet; so I’ve made sure it’s known only to two men and will remain their knowledge exclusively until an hour or so before jump-off.”
Bright’s head came up.
“Who’s the other?” he demanded sharply.
“You, sir,” said Donal. “I just made my decision about the true date a minute ago.”
They locked eyes for a long minute.
“May God be with you,” said Bright, in cold, even tones.
Donal went out.
WAR CHIEF II
Geneve bar-Colmain was, as Donal had said, commander of the best land-and-space forces between the stars. This because the Exotics of Mara and Kultis, though they would do no violence in their own proper persons, were wise enough to hire the best available in the way of military strength. Colmain, himself, was one of the top military minds of his time, along with Gait on Freiland, Kamal on the Dorsai, Isaac on Venus, and that occasional worker of military miracles—Dom Yen, Supreme Commander on the single world of Ceta where William had his home office. Colmain had his troubles (including a young wife who no longer cared for him) and his faults (he was a gambler—in a military as well as a monetary sense) but there was nothing f wtong with either the intelligence that had its home in his skull, or the Intelligence that made its headquarters in his Command Base, on Mara.
Consequently, he was aware that the Friendly Worlds were preparing for a landing on Zombri within three weeks of the time when the decision to do so had become an accomplished fact. His spies adequately informed him of the Target Date that had been established for that landing; and he himself set about certain plans of his own for welcoming the invaders when they came.
The primary of these was the excavation of strong points on Zombri, itself. The assault troops would find they had jumped into a hornet’s nest. The ships of the Exotic fleet would meanwhile be on alert not too far off. As soon as action had joined on the surface of Zombri, they would move in and drive the space forces of the invasion inward. The attackers would be caught between two fires; their assault troops lacking the chance to dig in and their ships lacking the support from below that entrenched ground forces could supply with moon-based heavy weapons.
The work on the strong points was well under way one day as, at the Command Base, back on Mara, Colmain was laying out a final development of strategy with his General Staff. An interruption occurred in the shape of an aide who came hurrying into the conference room without even the formality of asking permission first.
“What’s this?” growled Coimain, looking up from the submitted plans before him with a scowl on his swarthy face, which at sixty was still handsome enough to provide him compensation in the way of other female companionship for his wife’s lack of interest.
“Sir,” said the aide, “Zombri’s attacked—”
“What?” Colmain was suddenly on his feet; and Ibe rest of the heads of the General Staff with him.
“Over two hundred ships, sir. We just got the signal.” The aide’s voice cracked a little—he was still in his early twenties. “Our men on Zombri are fighting with what they have—”
“Fighting?” Colmain took a sudden step toward the aide almost as if he would hold the man personally responsible. “They’ve started to land assault troops?”
“They’ve landed, sir—”
“How many?”
“We don’t know sir—”
“Knucklehead! How many ships went in to drop men?”
“None, sir,” gasped the aide. “They didn’t drop any men. They all landed.”
“Landed?”
I?or the fraction of a second, there was no sound at all in the long conference room.
“Do you mean to tell me—” shouted Colmain. They landed two hundred ships of the first class on Zombri?”
“Yes, sir,” the aide’s voice had thinned almost to a squeak. “They’re cleaning out our forces there and png in—”
He had no chance to finish. Colmain swung about on his Battle Ops and Patrol Chiefs.
“Hell and damnation!” he roared. “Intelligence!”
“Sir?” answered a Freilander officer halfway down the length of the table.
“What’s the meaning of this?”
“Sir—” stammered the officer. “I don’t know how it happened. The latest reports I had from Harmony, three days ago—”
“Damn the latest reports. I want every ship and every man we can get into space in five hours! I want every patrol ship of any class to rendezvous with everything we can muster here, off Zombri in ten hours. Move!”
The General Staff of the Exotics moved.
It was a tribute to the kind of fighting force that Colmain commanded that they were able to respond at all in so short a time as ten hours to such orders. The fact that they accomplished the rendezvous with nearly four hundred craft of all classes, all carrying near their full complement of crews and assault troops, was on the order of a minor miracle.
Colmain and his chief officers, aboard the flagship, regarded the moon, swimming below them in the Control Eye of the ship. There had been reports of fighting down there up until three hours ago. Now there was a silence that spoke eloquently of captured troops. In addition, Observation reported—in addition to the works instigated by the Exotic forces— another hundred and fifty newly mined entrances in the crust of the moon.
“They’re in there,” said Colmain, “ships and all.”
Now that the first shock of discovery had passed, he was once more a cool and capable commander of forces. He had even found time to make a mental note to get together with this Dorsal, Graeme. Supreme command was always sweet bait to a brilliant youngster; but he would find the Council of United Churches a difficult employer in time—and the drawback of a subordinate position under Colmain himself could be compensated for by the kind of salary the Exotics were always willing to pay. Concerning the outcome of the actual situation before him, Colmain saw no real need for fear, only for haste. It was fairly obvious now mat Graeme had risked everything on one bold swoop. He had counted on surprise to get him onto the moon and so firmly entrenched there that the cost of rooting him out would be prohibitive—before reinforcements could arrive.