Whitlock nodded gravely. “Wouldn’t put it quite that way, Highness. I do see what you’re driving at. Both Lermontov and Bronson think they’re protecting civilization, civilized values in a world going to hell. Difference is, Falkenberg and Lermontov ain’t quite so certain they’re the only ones who know what’s best for the universe. Hell, they like free people. They’re looking for friends and allies, not just subjects.”
“I wish I could believe that,” David said.
“What choices have we?” Alexander asked. “The whole basis of civilization is collapsing.”
“No more law,” Owensford said.
They all looked at him.
“The Laws of War and the Mercenary Code—we’ve been able to enforce them because everybody who mattered believed in them, and those who didn’t were militarily contemptible; we could force them to abide by the customs. Dr. Whitlock mentioned our internal barbarians; that’s where our armies are recruited from, but they’ve been under the command of civilized men. Now we’ve got an army—not a mob, but a real army—whose leaders are barbarians themselves. For a lifetime, we’ve managed to make war a limited thing. Putting a wall of glory around it, making it terrible but splendid. Now it’s going to be terrible and squalid.”
Lysander didn’t say anything, but Peter Owensford felt a chill when the Prince looked at him.
CHAPTER FIVE
Crofton’s Encyclopedia of the Inhabited Planets
(2nd edition):
Treaty of Independence, Spartan: Agreement signed between the Grand Senate of the CoDominium and the Dual Monarchy of Sparta (q.v.). 2062. The Constitutionalist Society’s original settlement agreement with the Colonial Bureau of the CoDominium had provided for full internal self-government, but the CoDominium retained jurisdiction over a substantial enclave in Sparta City (q.v.), the orbital transit station Aegis (q.v.), and the refueling facilities around the gas-giant planet Zeus. In addition, during the period of self-government a CoDominium Marine regiment remained in garrison on Sparta and its commander also acted as Governor-General, enforcing the residual powers retained by the Colonial Bureau, mostly having to do with the regulation of involuntary colonist and convict populations.
In line with Grand Senator Fedrokov’s “New Look” policy of reducing CoDominium involvement in distant systems where practicable, negotiations began with the Dual Monarchy in 2060. Under the terms of the Treaty, the Royal government became fully responsible for internal order and external defense of the Spartan system, and all restrictions on local military and police forces were removed. The transit station and Zeus-orbit refueling stations were also turned over to the Royal government. However, the treaty also stipulated that certain facilities were to be maintained, at Spartan expense, for the use of the CoDominium authorities and the Fleet; these included docking, fueling and repair functions, and orbit to surface shuttles. Also mandated was the continued receipt of involuntary colonists at a level to be set by the Bureau of Relocation, and for this purpose the CoDominium enclave in Sparta City was retained with a reduced garrison. Penalty provisions in the Treaty authorized direct intervention by the Commandant of the enclave should the Royal government fail to fulfill these obligations. . . .
* * *
“Leader selection and development in Western special operations forces began a departure from military norms after a perception of battlefield failure during the Malayan Emergency in the 1950s. The leadership of the SAS, dissatisfied with the unit’s performance against communist terrorist bands, determined that a revision of the induction and initial training of SAS personnel was warranted. The program that was developed not only applied to the enlisted ranks; officers were also included in a demanding and wholly new selection process.
“The SAS selection system eliminated candidates who are physically inferior, cannot exhibit sound independent judgment under stress, and lack determination. The system involves several weeks of arduous, individual land navigation treks. The candidates carry heavy rucksacks. Each man plots his own lonely course day after day and cannot rely on others to make the decisions. During the trial, candidates are not encouraged, but instead given every opportunity to drop out of the course, an action that would eliminate their chances to join the unit. Normally only about 15 to 25 percent of candidates are able to complete the course and be selected for membership in the regiment. The qualities of those who pass the trial include a high IQ, superb physical condition, and demonstrated ability to choose wisely despite conditions of great fatigue and mental stress. Only the determined, self-reliant, and quick-witted are selected to serve in the SAS. . . .
—Rod Paschall
LIC 2010: Special Operations and
Unconventional Warfare in the Next Century
(Institute of Land Warfare,
Association of the US Army, 1990)
* * *
. . . at the beginning of the war it was easy, we could walk into Kabul and attack where we wanted. We had our bases 2 to 3 kilometers from the enemy positions, even at 6 to 7 kilometers from the biggest Soviet base of Darlahman . . . In 1982, they had a 3-kilometer security belt, but it wasn’t very effective . . . eventually we received 207mm rockets with 8-kilometer range, and targets inside the capital were constantly under fire.
. . . eventually, they spread out around their belts of outposts, trying to control an area around the city wide enough to keep it out of range of our rockets. In spite of the three rings of defensive positions they built, we are still regularly slipping through and our operations are still going on . . . Of course we have to be very professional now. All operations have to be carefully planned. We have to have a lot of protection groups because all positions in their area must be engaged . . . routes must be clearly known. Alternative retreat routes have to be studied. We have to take care of mines, booby-trapped illuminating flares that give away our positions, even dogs.
—Mujahideen commander, Afghanistan, 1985
* * *
The tiltrotor engine changed pitch. The plane circled the military base before landing.
“Good to see the Battalion again, Prince,” Harv Middleton said.
Lysander smiled briefly before turning back to the window “Regiment, now. Or will be when we leave.” Below, the First Royals, Prince Royal’s Own, was encamped on and around three small hills set in the endless grasslands. They were supposed to be on light rear area security duty, a kind of working rest and recreation. Soft duty, but Lysander was pleased to see that hadn’t stopped them from building a fortified camp, with perimeter wire and plowed minefields, and mutually supporting fields of fire. They were doing good work. He was eager to talk with them. There’d been a lot of personnel changes in the First Royals since Lysander had been Major Collins in command of the Scouts in the Dales campaign, but the Regiment would remember him.
“Good campaign, Prince,” Harv said.
Reading my thoughts. Yep, we didn’t do bad at all. He laughed softly as he caught himself thinking how much simpler his life had been in those days. Simpler, maybe, but it sure got frustrating. It had been a monumental violation of the principle of the unity of command to have the Crown Prince serving as a unit commander, and as soon as he’d proved himself to the men, Owensford had moved him out, back to politics and staff schools and desk work and pretending to coordinate the entire war. It was important work, but Lysander was glad of any excuse to get out among the troops. When this war’s over I’ll let David run the economy. I’ll take military affairs. Maybe even lead the Spartan Legion off-planet.
The hold of the tiltrotor transport plane was crowded with a full platoon of the Life Guards. All Citizens or advanced candidates, they were theoretically under the command of an aristocratic young lieutenant, although Sandy Dunforth was unlikely to contradict Staff Sergeant Harv Middleton in a conflict. When the plane touched down, Harv would be first off, and the Guards would take stations all around the field, as if it were dangerous for the Prince Royal to visit his own regiment.
Hell, I’m safer here than walking the streets of Sparta City, he thought mordantly. The Helot assassination campaign has to be stopped. We can only guard so many of our people. Death of a thousand cuts, but we don’t have to die. As Owensford keeps saying, the great thing is not to lose your nerve. They can’t win by killing teachers and administrators. Not as long as we’re willing to fight back.
The sound of the turbines deepened as the plane came in toward the hilltop and the engine-pods tilted backward. The pilot was an artist; the big craft touched down with scarcely a jar, and the guard platoon fanned out as the rear ramp went down with a sigh of hydraulics. Lysander waited obediently until Harv signed the all-clear. Harv was Lysander’s oldest friend, a Phraetrie-brother, but also playmate and companion when they were children. Not that we’re all that older now. Middleton knew he wasn’t intellectually gifted, and didn’t care: Prince Lysander could do the thinking for both of them, about everything but Lysander’s safety. When it came to protecting his Prince, Harv’s humorlessly intense sense of duty gave him a monomaniacal intelligence.