“Om mane padme hum.”
“Do you ever eat dogfood for breakfast?”
“Om mane padme hum.”
“Was your mother attractive?”
“Om mane padme hum.”
“In this sector then? Ah. In this river valley?”
“Om mane padme hum.”
“How far from the river is the entrance to that cave known as Base One? More than two hundred kilometers? More than three hundred?”
“Om mane padme hum.”
“Did you order the assassination of Alicia Armstrong?”
“Om mane padme hum.”
“Ah,” Catherine said. “Reaction damping a little . . . Negative. He didn’t.”
“Was the bombing which killed Alicia Armstrong done on your orders.”
“Om mane padme hum.”
“Positive, with some ambivalence, Jesus. Remarkably good control over his pulse rate,” she added. “Congratulations, Senator. I’ve worked with few better.”
“Did you intend the bombing to kill Senator Steven Armstrong?”
“Om mane padme hum.”
“Positive, he did.”
“Is Senator Hollings a member of your conspiracy?”
“Om mane padme hum.”
“Negative on that, but there’s some ambiguity.”
“Do you consider Senator Hollings to be an unconscious supporter of your conspiracy?”
“Om mane padme hum.”
“Yes-no.”
“A dupe?”
“Positive.”
“Would you call him a useful idiot?”
“That’s it,” Catherine said.
“Is the moon made of dog droppings?”
“Om mane padme hum.”
“Is the base camp more than thirty kilometers from the bend in the river? Ah, is it more than fifteen? More than ten? More than ten but less than fifteen, then . . .”
* * *
“I’m glad that’s over,” Alexander said as the guards took Croser away. A look of distaste bent the Spartan king’s mouth for a moment. “It’s necessary, but I don’t like it.”
Lysander’s face showed no emotion at all.
“Over for the moment, Sire,” Jesus Alana said, looking up from his notes. He punched a key. “There, the RSMP and the Milice can act on the new information. There’s a great deal more information yet to be got out of Croser,” he added. “Madre de Dios, I’m happy we didn’t have to beat it out of him; that one, you could pull his toenails out and get nothing.”
“I can still hardly believe it,” David said, shaking his head and looking at his hands. “All these years, he was . . . and this was inside him, this sewer. How could, he was meeting people and smiling at them and talking and all along . . . Is he mad?”
“No, Sire,” Catherine Alana said, beginning the shutdown on her equipment as she went on:
“Thibodeau may be, technically, from the profile we’ve built. Human beings have a capacity to learn speech, and to develop a conscience; if they aren’t taught at the right stage, conscience atrophies, and you get a feral child or a sociopath. She could be a borderline sociopath. Croser’s as sane as any of us here—and as bright, IQ of about one hundred fifty-two—he’s just too bloody evil to be allowed to live.”
“Amen,” Alexander said grimly. “And he’ll hang, along with the others we catch.”
“And his property goes to reward loyal Citizens,” Lysander said. He leaned forward to study the form his father held in his hands. It was a proscription notice, bearing the Royal seals and signatures, describing the individuals’ crimes and ending with an identical proclamation: to be cast out from all protection of law; declared to be among the enemies-general of human kind, to be dealt with as wolves are.
“Suitable,” he said. “I just hope we catch them all.”
“We won’t,” Jesus replied, calling up some of his notes. “They had plans; cut-outs, dispersal plans, duplicate facilities, you name it. Friend Croser was smart enough to arrange not to know a lot of details, and a lot of them will be going to ground right now. We’ll sweep up a good many of the big names, and any number of the dupes who didn’t know the NCLF was in the rebellion.”
“We must be careful of those,” Alexander said. “They have committed no crime—”
“Sire, they were at best very stupid,” Lysander said. “And while we can’t proscribe stupidity, we don’t need to reward it. I take it, Captain, you do not consider this morning decisive.”
“On the contrary, Highness, I believe it is the most decisive act since the war began. We have undoubtedly hurt them very badly, and if we can keep them on the run we may be able to end this war.”
“The leadership,” Alexander said. “We need Miss Thibodeau.”
“And Murasaki,” Jesus Alana said. “He perhaps more than the others, Sire.”
“We shall proclaim rewards for both of them,” Alexander said. “One million crowns, payable in CoDominium credits if so desired, for the head of Skida Thibodeau. Two million if she is delivered alive. Half a million for Murasaki dead, one million alive. Half that for information leading to their death or capture. We’ll set up ways to make it easy to tell us.”
“That should prove interesting,” Jesus said. “Some of those gutter scum would sell their entire families for much less. I foresee interesting times for their leadership.”
“What will you do now?” Alexander asked Lysander.
“Melissa will recover,” Lysander said. “I’d like to stay with her, but you’ve just made me Master of the Forces, and I don’t suppose I’ll have a free moment. I’m not protesting, it’s what I asked for.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Catherine Alana said softly.
“Exactly. We will need to marshal our forces against this Base One of theirs, and this time we will destroy it. It and all the equipment in it. But that isn’t going to be simple.”
“Indeed,” Jesus Alana said. “The Legion will assist, of course, particularly with the artillery, but most of this must be primarily a Spartan effort.”
“Yes. And that, I have to say, is quite satisfactory. It’s not that I don’t value the Legion’s contributions—”
“But it’s nice to have your destiny in your own hands,” Catherine said. “We understand, Highness. Maybe better than you think.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Guerrillas required a base. Although they traditionally lived partially at their enemy’s expense—because of their raids against supply depots and convoys—guerrillas still needed a place that provided them an assured source of supplies, such as Mina’s secluded area and powder factory. Without such a base, the need for food, fuel, equipment, and ammunition would dominate their operations, place a severe constraint both on their movements and their choice of objectives for their raids, and could drive them from one raid to another in search of supplies until they had exhausted their physical and psychological resources. In addition, a base provided a place for rest and recuperation and a point to which they could retreat. Thus, the base had to be reasonably secure from enemy attack . . .
—Archer Jones, The Art Of War in the Western World
* * *
One of the surest means of making a retreat successfully is to familiarize the officers and soldiers with the idea that an enemy may be resisted quite as well when coming on the rear as on the front, and that the preservation of order is the only means of saving a body of troops harassed by the enemy during a retrograde movement. Rigid discipline is at all times the best preservation of good order, but it is of especial importance during a retreat. To enforce discipline, subsistence must be furnished, that the troops may not be obliged to straggle off for the purpose of getting supplies by marauding.
It is a good plan to give the command of the rear-guard to an officer of great coolness . . .
—Baron Antoine Henri de Jomini, The Art of War
* * *
The helicopters skimmed in low over the hilltop. The long twilight of Sparta’s northern-hemisphere summer was settling over the Dales, throwing purple shadows over the forested vales between the hills. Gathering dusk made the muzzle flashes huge belches of leaf-shaped flame as the howitzers bellowed from their laager, six 155mm cannon on light-tank chassis. They and their supporting vehicles were dug in behind a two-meter berm gouged out by the engineering vehicles. A line of trucks snaked back to the south, bringing up heavy shells to feed the iron appetite of the guns. A radar vehicle stood a little to one side, its big golf-ball shaped tracking antenna rocking slightly on its gimbals; other vehicles were spotted around the enclosure, APC’s for the crews, communications tanks, trucks, a field-kitchen.
Peter Owensford stood in the open doorway of the aircraft; the moment the skids touched down he tumbled out, followed by his Headquarters group. Then the lead helicopter whirled away, and the second touched down briefly to disgorge its load. The dark machines sped south, hugging the nape of the earth, the low slicing sound of their silenced blades fading quickly. The soldiers’ boots swished in grass, sank into the soft fluffy purple-brown earth thrown up by spades and earthmoving machinery or simply ripped free of the sod by treads and wheels; it smelled as rich as new bread, under the overpowering sweetness of crushed grass and the diesel-explosive stink of war.