The Prince by Jerry Pournelle and S.M. Stirling

“It would help. Another thing. Your guys go into the roughest parts of town and start fights whenever they can find anyone to mix with.”

“How are they doing?” Falkenberg asked interestedly.

Horgan grinned, then caught himself after a stern look from Budreau. “Pretty well. I understand they’ve never been beaten. But it raises hell with the citizens, Colonel. And another trick of theirs is driving people crazy! They march through the streets fifty strong at all hours of the night playing bagpipes! Bagpipes in the wee hours, Colonel, can be a frightening thing.”

Falkenberg thought he saw a tiny flutter in Horgan’s left eye, and the police chief was holding back a wry smile.

“I wanted to ask you about that, Colonel,” Second Vice President Hamner said. “This is hardly a Scots outfit, why do they have bagpipes anyway?”

Falkenberg shrugged. “Pipes are standard with many Marine regiments. Since the Russki CD outfits started taking up Cossack customs, the Western bloc regiments adopted their own. After all, the Marines were formed out of a number of old military units. Foreign Legion, Highlanders—a lot of men like the pipes. I’ll confess I do myself.”

“Sure, but not in my city in the middle of the night,” Horgan said.

John grinned openly at the chief of police. “I’ll try to keep the pipers off the streets at night. I can imagine they’re not good for civilian morale. But as to keeping the Marines in camp, how do I do it? We need every one of them, and they’re volunteers. They can get on the CD carrier and ship out when the rest go, and there’s not one damned thing we can do about it.”

“There’s less than a month until they haul down that CoDominium flag,” Bradford added with satisfaction. He glanced at the CD banner on its staff outside. Eagle with red shield and black sickle and hammer on its breast; red stars and blue stars around it. Bradford nodded in satisfaction. It wouldn’t be long.

That flag meant little to the people of Hadley. On Earth it was enough to cause riots in nationalistic cities in both the U.S. and the Soviet Union, while in other countries it was a symbol of the alliance that kept any other nation from rising above second-class status. To Earth the CoDominium Alliance represented peace at a high price, too high for many.

For Falkenberg it represented nearly thirty years of service ended by court martial.

* * *

Two weeks to go. Then the CoDominium governor would leave, and Hadley would be officially independent. Vice President Bradley visited the camp to speak to the recruits.

He told them of the value of loyalty to the government, and the rewards they would all have as soon as the Progressive Party was officially in power. Better pay, more liberties, and the opportunity for promotion in an expanding army; bonuses and soft duty. His speech was full of promises, and Bradford was quite proud of it.

When he had finished, Falkenberg took the Vice President into a private room in the Officers’ Mess and slammed the door.

“Damn you, you don’t ever make offers to my troops without my permission.” John Falkenberg’s face was cold with anger.

“I’ll do as I please with my army, Colonel,” Bradford replied smugly. The little smile on his face was completely without warmth. “Don’t get snappy with me, Colonel Falkenberg. Without my influence Budreau would dismiss you in an instant.”

Then his mood changed, and Bradford took a flask of brandy from his pocket. “Here, Colonel, have a drink.” The little smile was replaced with something more genuine. “We have to work together, John. There’s too much to do, even with both of us working it won’t all get done. Sorry, I’ll ask your advice in future, but don’t you think the troops should get to know me? I’ll be President soon.” He looked to Falkenberg for confirmation.

“Yes, sir,” John took the flask and held it up for a toast. “To the new president of Hadley. I shouldn’t have snapped at you, but don’t make offers to troops who haven’t proved themselves. If you give men reason to think they’re good when they’re not, you’ll never have an army worth its pay.”

“But they’ve done well in training. You said so.”

“Sure, but you don’t tell them that. Work them until they’ve nothing more to give, and let them know that’s just barely satisfactory. Then one day they’ll give you more than they knew they had in them. That’s the day you can offer rewards, only by then you won’t need to.”

Bradford nodded grudging agreement. “If you say so. But I wouldn’t have thought—”

“Listen,” Falkenberg said.

A party of recruits and their drill masters marched past outside. They were singing and their words came in the open window.

“When you’ve blue’d your last tosser,

on the brothel and the booze,

and you’re out in the cold on your ear,

you hump your bundle on the rough,

and tell the sergeant that you’re tough,

and you’ll do him the favor of his life.

He will cry and he will scream,

and he’ll curse his rotten luck,

and he’ll ask why he was ever born.

If you’re lucky he will take you,

and he’ll do his best to break you,

and they’ll feed you rotten monkey on a knife.”

“Double time, heaow!” The song broke off as the men ran across the central parade ground.

Bradford turned away from the window. “That sort of thing is all very well for the jailbirds, Colonel, but I insist on keeping my loyalists as well. In future you will dismiss no Progressive without my approval. Is that understood?”

Falkenberg nodded. He’d seen this coming for some time. “In that case, sir, it might be better to form a separate battalion. I will transfer all of your people into the Fourth Battalion and put them under the officers you’ve appointed. Will that be satisfactory?”

“If you’ll supervise their training, yes.”

“Certainly,” Falkenberg said.

“Good.” Bradford’s smile broadened, but it wasn’t meant for Falkenberg. “I will also expect you to consult me about any promotions in that battalion. You agree to that, of course.”

“Yes, sir. There may be some problems about finding locals to fill the senior NCO slots. You’ve got potential monitors and corporals, but they’ve not the experience to be sergeants and centurions.”

“You’ll find a way, I’m sure,” Bradford said carefully. “I have some rather, uh, special duties for the Fourth Battalion, Colonel. I’d prefer it to be entirely staffed by Party loyalists of my choosing. Your men should only be there to supervise training, not as their commanders. Is this agreed?”

“Yes, sir.”

Bradford’s smile was genuine as he left the camp.

* * *

Day after day the troops sweated in the bright blue-tinted sunlight. Riot control, bayonet drill, use of armor in defense and attacks against men with body armor; and more complex exercises as well. There were forced marches under the relentless direction of Major Savage, the harsh shouts of sergeants and centurions, Captain Amos Fast with his tiny swagger stick and biting sarcasm. . . .

Yet the number leaving the regiment was smaller now, and there was still a flow of recruits from the Marine’s nocturnal expeditions. The recruiting officers could even be selective, although they seldom were. The Marines, like the Legion before it, took anyone willing to fight; and Falkenberg’s officers were all Marine trained.

Each night groups of Marines sneaked past sentries to drink and carouse with the field hands of nearby ranchers. They gambled and shouted in local taverns, and they paid little attention to their officers. There were many complaints, and Bradford’s protests became stronger.

Falkenberg always gave the same answer. “They always come back, and they don’t have to stay here. How do you suggest I control them? Flogging?”

The constabulary army had a definite split personality, with recruits treated harsher than veterans. Meanwhile the Fourth Battalion grew larger each day.

VIII

George Hamner tried to get home for dinner every night, no matter what it might cost him in night work later. He thought he owed at least that to his family.

His walled estate was just outside the Palace district. It had been built by his grandfather with money borrowed from American Express. The old man had been proud of paying back every cent before it was due. It was a big comfortable place which cunningly combined local materials and imported luxuries, and George was always glad to return there.

At home he felt he was master of something, that at least one thing was under his control. It was the only place in Refuge where he could feel that way.

In less than a week the CoDominium Governor would leave. Independence was near, and it should be a time of hope, but George Hamner felt only dread. Problems of public order were not officially his problem. He held the Ministry of Technology, but the breakdown in law and order couldn’t be ignored. Already half of Refuge was untouched by government.