The Prince by Jerry Pournelle and S.M. Stirling

“Precisely,” Peter Owensford said. “Now. Here’s the situation as I see it.”

He touched the keys to call up checklists and organization patterns. “The first principle is that political action is as crucial as the strictly military. That is as true for us as for the enemy. Therefore, we will begin counterespionage operations in coordination with the RSMP and General Slater’s schools. A first priority will be to prove the links between the NCLF and the Helots. Second, we must learn the means by which they obtain. And tighten customs inspections, of course.”

Everyone nodded; the weapons captured after the Spartosky affair were mostly of Friedlander and Xanadu manufacture but that meant little, since both those powers had a cash-and-carry policy and did not require end-user certificates.

“Now, in strictly military terms, the essentials of counterguerrilla warfare are intelligence, mobility and interdiction. The closest possible coordination of police, militia and military activities in each area is essential. With the Royal government’s permission”—a nod from Alexander—”I am appointing Captain Barton as liaison officer and Inspector-General of Militia. Captain Barton, you will see to the organization of a three-tier system in each canton of the affected areas; police, home guard and local reaction forces.”

Ace nodded; there was a faraway look in his eyes, the expression of a man marshaling himself for a difficult job.

“This will provide patrols, point-security and raw intelligence data. We will also use this structure to cut off the guerrillas as far as possible from contact with the civilian population, and from their sources of supply.”

“The First RS Infantry, and the four available companies of Legion troops, will be the active military element in our strategy. Using active patrolling, SAS teams”—Special Air Services, the traditional term for deep-intrusion scout forces behind enemy lines; they were a specialty of the Legion—”and the intelligence data funneled through Captain Alana’s office, we will find, fix and destroy the guerrilla bands operating in the Middle and Upper Valley districts. Once we have significant aviation assets we can be even more aggressive, but there is no reason why we can’t start some operations now.” Peter grinned. “If you have one problem, you have a problem. If you have several, they can sometimes be made to solve each other. In our case we need to give combat experience to our troops, and simultaneously we have an enemy trying to initiate classic guerrilla operations against us. Questions, gentlemen?”

There were; mostly technical, directed at the staff. He leaned back in his chair. No reason it shouldn’t work, in theory, he thought. Falkenberg had required them to study enough examples, from the brilliant successes like Sir Gerald Templar’s in Malaysia in the l950s, through military victories and political defeats like that of the French in Algeria and the Americans in Vietnam, to outright disasters like the First Indochina War. Plenty of rebellions out among the colony worlds as well.

Interesting factors here, he thought: unique, like every war. The land-population ratio was higher than any comparable situation he could think of, for example. Nor could he think of another case where the population was mostly rural but of urban origins. Very little in the way of aviation assets, as yet, but what he did have was probably reasonably safe from sophisticated antiaircraft weapons. Very little in the way of mechanical transport at all; mounted infantry would probably be valuable. The enemy would certainly be using them. A cavalry guerrilla. Interesting. There were recent precedents; and further back. . . . The Boer War, of course. And Southern Africa about a century ago, or a little more.

“I think that’s all, then,” he said at last, and turned to Alexander Collins. “Comments, sir?”

“Yes, Major.” The older man leaned his hands on the tabletop; there was a slight tremor in the left. “Two things. First, I have received notification from the CoDominium Bureau of Relocation, through the commandant of the local CD enclave . . . Sparta’s quota of involuntary convicts is to be doubled over the coming fiscal year.”

That brought everyone bolt upright. “Sir,” Jesus Alana said. “We were expecting it to be reduced.”

The king nodded. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his brow although the room was cool. “Yes. Of the planets receiving deportees, only Haven is farther from Earth. BuReloc has been steadily shifting to the closer worlds to cut expenses.” Since it was being systematically starved of funds by the deadlocked Grand Senate, outright sale of involuntary convicts on worlds where that was legal had become an important source of BuReloc’s budget. “There has been a reversal of policy.”

“The fix is in,” Jesus Alana said flatly. “The NCLF bought a Grand Senator.”

“Or already had one,” Catherine added thoughtfully.

“I do not think so,” the king said, rubbing a hand across his brow. “I always felt that Earth would not allow the Spartan experiment to succeed, to expose its ancient corruptions, that there were forces moving secretly . . .” He stopped with an effort, then shrugged: “You see, though, what sixty thousand new untrained, unskilled, possibly unemployable refugees carefully trained to hate all authority dropped onto Sparta City will do. Especially with the new taxes restricting employment.”

There was silence for a moment. Everyone did see; it was a cruelly well-aimed blow. The CoDominium kept Earth from suicide, Owensford thought, but the price is damned high. Sparta could not refuse, of course. The action was technically within the provisions of the treaty of Independence, and Sparta had no navy and little in the way of planetary defenses. A single Fleet destroyer would compel obedience, and even Sergei Lermontov could not fudge a direct order from the Grand Senate.

The king collected himself, relaxing slightly. “This . . . emergency has come up so quickly that a few of us are inclined to panic. To see conspirators and traitors under every bed.”

A wry smile. “I find myself doing so, in the small hours of the night. Nevertheless, we must remember that the vast bulk of the population—including the non-Citizen population—are not conspirators, are not traitors. Our enemy—the true enemy, the few malignant minds behind this unspeakable thing—will attempt to divide us. Citizen against non-Citizen, employer against employee, outback against city, old settler from new immigrant. Our enemy wants us to hate, to fear, and to lash out blindly. We must not do so. Because if we do, we will create the divisions the enemy falsely claims exist; we will drive whole segments of our people into the enemy’s camp.”

“True enough,” Owensford said. “The people are on our side, something we have to remember. Guerrilla operations are painful, but they can’t win against determination. Even the importation of barbarian elements from Earth can’t defeat a strong civilization. Sparta has overwhelming strength in the Citizen militia. It’s our job to do as much of the fighting as we can so the nation doesn’t have to. We’ll do that job.”

* * *

“Gracias,” Jesus Alana said, as Ursula handed him a cup of coffee.

They all had one in front of them, along with their readout screens and notes. Husband, wife and protégée, Ursula thought ironically. And probably the future teacher for Michael and Maryanne Alana when they’re older. . . . However they’ve managed it, what these two have together is worth learning about . . .

The Legion was pretty much of a family business, at that. One window in the thick adobe wall was open, and they could hear faint construction sounds and the heep, heep sound of someone counting cadence. Intelligence Central was a big office, more than enough for their three desks and filing equipment, with maps and charts pinned to the whitewashed walls.

“Now, let us implement some of the fine theories we talked about to the kings this morning,” Jesus Alana said. He called up a map of the western portion of the Middle Valley district, and his finger tapped the Illyrian Dales. “Notice the relative concentration of guerrilla attacks on the south side of the Eurotas, and between the area just above Clemens and around Olynthos. All within striking distance of the Dales, which are themselves little-known and without permanent habitation. And are also larger than all the Spains. Cornet Gordon, what other relevant information do we have about the Dales?”

He only calls me that when he’s putting me on the spot, she thought. Then—

“Limestone, sir.”

“Limestone. Precisely. Why?”

“Limestone is water-soluble, which means caves, and with the amount of outflow coming down from the Drakons and reaching the Eurotas, there must be a lot of caves. Underground river-systems, in fact. Excellent concealment from satellite surveillance.”

“And from everything else,” Catherine said.

“So that is point one,” Jesus said. “Then you let the computers chew on the statistical data, and you get—what?”

Ursula nodded enthusiasm. “Direct correlations between guerrilla activity, length of settlement, percentage of Sparta-born and Citizen population, average size of rural holding and land values.”