“How many others feel that way?” There were mutters, but before they could answer, Lysander shouted, “That is treason, Captain Caldon.” He paused to let that sink in. “I said treason, and I meant it. Sparta needs you alive, not dead.”
He strode into the crowd, and stood among them. “We will cleanse this planet,” he said. “To do that we must win this war. Not just kill a few hundred, a few thousand, while their leaders skulk off to do this again. We have to defeat them completely, defeat their soldiers and hang those who ordered this. Anything less lets them get away to kill more women and children.”
There were mutters of agreement. “How, then?” Karen Olafson asked.
“It won’t be easy,” Lysander said. “You can’t do it alone. A retreat is always faster than the pursuit unless the retreating force is utterly routed, and these weren’t. They were prepared to retreat. You’ve already run into ambushes.”
More muttered agreement. “And so did they,” Karen Olafson said.
“Yes. That was good work,” Lysander said. “Major Olafson hammered them well, but still they were able to screen him out and slip past. This is what they’re best at.”
“But— Highness, what can we do, then?” Karen demanded.
“Harass them, yes, but carefully, avoid their traps, avoid their ambushes. Kill and capture anything they leave behind. We’ve already cleaned them out of the Valley behind us. Four different pockets poised to ambush us, and we have destroyed them all. You can do the same. Keep them moving, make them split up into small groups and disperse. Harass them. Many will desert their cause. The rest will be so dispersed they can’t do much harm. You’ll have this army neutralized, and this is their main force. Brothers, sisters, you do this, and I’ll do the rest. Together we’ll win this war.”
“What about the others? Some of our workers joined this rebellion. We’ve found them dead, wearing their Helot arm band,” Karen Olafson said. “And that awful little man who put the bombs in the reserve force trucks. They have spies everywhere.”
“We’ll take the prisoners back to Sparta City and wring them out, and we’ll send technicians to screen the others here,” Lysander said. “But be careful. We don’t want to force anyone to join the conspiracy. In fact—General Barton, you’re authorized to issue a general amnesty for anyone not directly involved in atrocities.”
“But—”
“He’s right, Mrs. Olafson,” Barton said. “Of course the amnesty won’t apply to those we caught in the act.”
“No, they’ll go back to the capital. The important thing is to win, win and rebuild. End this war once and for all, and leave it behind us. We can do that.”
“How?” Captain Caldon asked.
“We have to deprive them of their bases. We need surveillance satellites. We must halt their off-planet supplies. None of that can be done here, and most of it I’ll have to do myself. I’ll have to go back to the capital. It’s time to win this war, but I can’t leave this Helot field army intact. It has to be made ineffective, and for that I need your help. All of you, doing the best work you can. Will you help me?”
The old captain studied the prince’s look, looked to his comrades, and turned back to Lysander. “As you command.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Forms of government change. Long ago James Burnham, following Hobbes, pointed out that while it is easy to convince people that government is valuable, it is not quite so obvious that any particular form of government is best. The belief that fifty percent plus one will best look out for the interests of the whole is as much a myth as the Divine Right of Kings, and certainly no more compelling than the notion that the state may be best placed in the hands of those educated to the task. Alexander Hamilton, himself “the bastard son of a Scots peddler,” argued for a strong hereditary component to the United States Constitution on the grounds that an aristocracy would look to the future and not merely to the next election. Clearly he expected an open aristocracy which could be entered on merit, but he was not shy in defending hereditary rights for those who had won admission.
By the Twentieth Century it had been repeatedly proved that the qualifications required to obtain the office of chief of state were not optimum for actually performing the job; and this regardless of whether the state was a constitutional republic like the United States, or the kind of revolutionary anarchy favored by its southern neighbors. . . .
If the ancients from Aristotle to Machiavelli were agreed on one thing, it was that when a state required strong armed forces for its survival, those armed forces had better be commanded by a single person; that the political crimes of one bad ruler were infinitely preferable to the dangers of dividing military command. Better Tiberius than a committee. The first two hundred years of the United States of America seemed to disprove that thesis, partly because prior to 1950 the United States would never have dreamed of keeping a large army in time of peace, and even had it done so, that army would have been conscripts, not long service volunteers.
The events of the Twenty First Century demonstrated that the ancients may have been wiser than the moderns thought . . .
—From Utopia to Imperium: A History of Sparta from Alexander I to the Accession of Lysander,
by Caldwell C. Whitlock, Ph.D.
(University of Sparta Press, 2220)
* * *
Crofton’s Encyclopedia of Contemporary History
and Social Issues (3rd Edition):
Interdiction: The CoDominium Grand Senate has always reserved the right to declare an interdiction of space travel to or from any solar system or body therein, as punishment for actions contrary to laws which the Grand Senate regards as outside the jurisdiction of even sovereign planets. The most usual cause for such action is an attack on CoDominium citizens, particularly on Fleet personnel, or a violation of the Laws of War (q.v.). Many independent planets regard interdiction as an intolerable infringement of their sovereignty, and an attempt to reduce them to the quasi-satellite status of most Earth governments.
It is noteworthy that interdiction has never been attempted against a planet with significant naval strength . . .
* * *
But perhaps naval warfare best illustrates the effect of both permanent and contingent factors in limiting the scope, intensity, and duration of operations. Specialized warships are probably quite recent in origin. The first navies may have been antipiratical in purpose, though there are grounds for thinking that the advantages conferred by the ability to move forces along rivers or coasts first prompted rules to maintain warships. But at any stage of economic development, navies have always been expensive to build and have required handling by specialized crews. Their construction and operation therefore demanded considerable disposable wealth, probably the surplus of a ruler’s revenue; and if the earliest form of fighting at sea was piratical rather than political in motive, we must remember that even the pirate needs capital to start in business.
—John Keegan “The Parameters of Warfare”;
MHQ: The Quarterly Journel of Military History,
Vol 5:2, Winter 1993
* * *
The house stood on large open grounds. The entry drive led past a gatehouse manned by Royal Regiment soldiers, and through a small grove of elm trees. Beyond that was half an acre of well tended grass leading up to the Georgian style house. The porch was as large as many military houses.
Hal Slater answered the door himself, and waved his visitors inside. “Come in, please, Colonel Karantov. Welcome to my home. I think you met my wife some years ago?”
“Welcome, Boris,” Kathryn Slater said. She wore a simple black dress of elegant design, with a firestone pin. Her earrings flashed with a shade of green that could only have been greenfire; it was clear that Kathryn Malcolm Slater was not worried about money.
“Mrs. Kathryn Slater, General Slater,” Karantov acknowledged. “I present Captain of Fleet Clayton Newell.”
Newell, like Karantov, wore civilian clothing, and there was nothing to indicate that they were two of the highest ranking CoDominium officers in the Sparta system. Karantov kissed Kathryn’s hand, and after a moment Newell did likewise.
Hal Slater leaned on his cane to bow stiffly, and ushered them across the entry hall toward the rear of the house. “We’re meeting in my study,” Slater said. “It’s as secure as the Legion can make it.”
“I would say trustworthy, then,” Karantov said.
Captain Newell stopped in the entry hall and looked around the room, at the parquet floors, columns and mirrors, original paintings on the walls. Twin curved staircases led up to a musician’s balcony above the entry. “Very nice,” he said.
“Mostly Kathryn’s design,” Slater said.
“Impressive,” Newell said. “And very lovely.”
“Thank you,” Kathryn Slater said. “Hal was offered an official residence as Commandant of the War College, but we decided we’d rather build our own. We’ve lived so many places, and this will probably be our last.”