The Terran Mandate (26 page)

Broken Promises

General Godfrey tried to shake away the
pain still needling the back of her eyes.
Had she given that order?
  The
veil of duty had become intertwined with a shroud of compulsion that seemed to
be something apart from her. Duty had always been something a good soldier puts
between themselves and the world around them - something they funneled the very
best of their abilities into at the behest of mission while holding back the
rest so it wouldn't get in the way. But this something else, this essence that
she felt like she was swimming through, this goddamn forgetting her own orders
- this was getting on her nerves.

"Griffin Six, say again,
over."

"Guard Six, I say again, we
captured and serviced the remaining Marines who surrendered. Per your
orders."

'Service' was a word of duty, a word of
convenience, a word that hid behind another word that told the actual facts, if
not the truth. The Third Battalion had taken prisoners and killed them. She
forced herself to see it in her mind's eye. Some Marine, his helmet gone, with
his hands clasped behind his head and probably on his knees looked back at her.
He had smoke and grime on his face and he stared at her not with submission,
but with defiance. That face, with a brow set and lips drawn tight that said,
"I do what you tell me, but I, too, have my shield of duty and you will
never get through that. You will never get at the guts of this Marine. I
fashion in my mind a dagger which you can never snatch away." She saw
that, knew that man had been there. And then that face went blank as somebody
put a pistol round through his forehead.

Godfrey felt her knees buckle as she
thought of this. On Dirt Hill, the last of the descendants of the Exodus
colonists were now in chains, their Marine protectors vanquished. Hadn't that
been what she was supposed to do?  Was there more after that?  The Enforcer
Battalion, who had held her back just long enough for the Paladin to ruin what
would have been the same kind of victory right then and there, was now gone.
Was there something left? 

There was the Paladin, still guarding
the Pyramid, but who needed it to rule the world when she already did?  Light
began to coalesce into shafts piercing the ether her mind was still swimming
through. Each one of them was a question, guiding her to the surface as she
kicked her way upward towards some vague notion of awareness. Clarity was a
lost dream, forgotten in some distant past that was once herself. But awareness,
at least, beckoned.

But, the Paladin. By himself, they could
deal with him at any time. Maybe they could even talk to him now. He was over
there, still resisting her. He was over there, standing. He was over there,
waiting for her. Why?

"General Godfrey." His voice
cracked in her mind like thunder, pouring something over her consciousness. It
howled through like wind. The shafts of light receded and the ether
disappeared. There were no more questions. The world snapped into place around
her and she heard the rustle of breeze skirting through the brush at her feet
and felt the Shoahn' Sun pressing into her eyes as she squinted against its
light. Her head throbbed with a dull ache that she barely noticed anymore and
the only thing on her mind was the shield of duty that stood between her and
the world around her. Everything was clear now as the mission returned to its
throne, topmost in her mind, the only purpose for her being.

The static from her headset hissed in
her ear.
Right.
Now she remembered.

Shoahn'Fal stood in front of her, his
eyes burrowing into her soul and the tendrils of his antennae rippling for just
a moment along the top of his head. They stopped and lay back down. The pain
subsided.

"General Godfrey," he said
again. "Did they find the Old Scrolls?"

Right. Of course. The
mission.
"Griffin Six, say status on your
search."

"Nothing so far. We've checked
every building and the trenches. We'll conduct a second sweep."

"And the STI?"

"We blew the communications block
sky high. There's no way they could establish a link without it. I think we
were baited, General. They set up a good defense; maybe they thought they could
beat us here."

"Roger. Keep me advised. Guard Six
out."

 A part of her peeked out from the
shadows and whispered.
The STI - there's more
. She pushed the whisper
away, telling it to wait, to run, to hide.
Keep quiet now
.

"They are not there," he said.

"What?"

"The Old Scrolls. They are not
where your people are looking."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because she is not there."

"Where are they then?"

"I do not know. Still, we must
dispense with the walking machines if we are reach the Pyramid. That task
remains at hand." His eyes finally moved away from her as he walked back
to her command carrier.

She stood there for a few more moments,
forming a plan in her mind. He stopped and waited. Almost without thinking
about it, Godfrey stepped out and walked in trail behind him.

He started out again, leading her back
to her own command carrier.

Paladin's Charge

"Two Bravo Delta, Red Watch, flash.
Enemy mounted three zero plus, tangos one five in trail, one kilometer phase
line Red and moving fast. Over."

Major Walker leaned back in his pilot's
seat and reached up to brush his fingertips over the the Old Scrolls, now
fastened to the bulkhead of his cockpit. The report from his Red Watch
listening post put the enemy three kilometers from his position and closing. As
he traced the outline of the triangle embossed on the case, he whispered,
"Come and get it."

The mystery behind the Old Scrolls was
still beyond him - something he knew even now he would never learn about. What
wasn't a mystery was the Second Brigade committing the remainder of their
forces to get it. Colonel Dekker hadn't said anything about his battalion, but
the fact that his infantry carriers weren't entering the line with his Cats
told him all he needed to know. With the remnants of the MEF regiment guarding 
Dirt Hill gone, he was on his own. Given General Lane's defection, he half
expected to see any MEF vehicles he had left rolling in with the Second
Brigade. The idea of a Marine officer betraying his own still made his stomach
turn as he absently massaged his left leg. That he had seen it twice just added
to the imperative of what he had to do.

More than anything else, though, it was
the terror in Shahn'Dra's eyes. He could still see her trembling as she told
him
he must not come here
. She had shown him what it meant. She had
shown it to him so clearly that he could still feel the heat of the fires that
erupted around him from when she put the reality in his mind. He had stood
there, watching the end. It was as real to him as his aching leg and the Second
Brigade now rolling towards him.

He didn't know that the Old Scrolls had
to be destroyed. He
believed
it. It was something he felt in his bones.
Did the man who once commanded his Foot Guard understand that?

Walker set his hand on the frequency
dial on the coms panel next to his seat. The red LEDs displayed the frequency
of his company net. It was only a matter of turning the dial. The image flashed
through his mind - the farmers from the Highlands running away from the rail
guns of the Terran Guard, then pitching forward and tumbling to the ground.
Dekker had done the right thing and maybe they were the only two men in the
universe who understood that. But there was a debt that they both owed to those
they were sworn to protect because of it. He pulled his hand away from the
dial. Dekker understood. Talking about it wouldn't make it any easier. The
inevitable was at hand.

He pulled the lever in his right hand
and felt the world shudder as his C-2B Cataphract strangled the air with the
electric drone of massive actuators that picked up its right leg to take a step
backwards. He shoved the lever forward and the leg rose up and swung forward to
stomp the ground in front of him. Fifty feet below, the ground leapt into the
air in a cloud of dust and debris. The machine shuddered from its own weight as
it shook the ground. Walker reached up and flipped a switch on the panel
slanted above his head to engage the stabilization system that would send a
flurry of commands to the actuators, hydraulic pistons and gyros to keep the
Cat on solid footing as he moved.

"Two Bravo Delta, all elements,
give me a board."

The display on the console next to his
left leg showed a status light for each of his twelve Cats. His was already
showing green. Almost immediately, the board flickered with the other eleven
lights as they turned green.

He pressed a button on the thin strip
running across the top of the main console deck mounted in front of him. The
Cat rumbled forward in a steady walk, the automation system sending all the
necessary control commands to synchronize the movements required to make the
robotic chassis walk. He checked the others on either side of him as they fell
into formation with each platoon of four setting up a wedge as they moved
forward. The formation put either of the other platoons slightly behind him
while his own platoon took the lead, with himself at the very front.

Specks of black and gray raced in from
the horizon, a wall of dust swirling up behind them as the Second Brigade swept
down on the Pyramid. He switched on the tactical display HUD and slewed the
aiming reticle to the closest vehicle. His canopy lit up with a myriad of green
lines and numbers showing its range, speed and location as a camera embedded in
the frame of his Cat swiveled and zeroed in on the target.

"First platoon, move out for the
left flank, Second head right," he said.

"Major, they're moving awfully fast
here."

"Slow up the troops first, then hit
the tangos. We can't let those guys get on foot."

He reached up to the overhead panel and
flipped open the red cover on the master switch for his anti-armor cannons,
then pulled the switch up. The entire frame vibrated as electric motors
strained to lower the two Gatling guns down next to his cockpit. The barrels
clunked into place and the center screen on his console flashed with a banner
that read LOADING while the system fed a belt of 120 mm kinetic steel bolts
into the breaches. A graphic of each gun with a green outline lit up and a large
banner flashed in yellow letters at the bottom of the monitor: LOADED, then
switched to green and displayed READY FOR ARM.

Walker flipped the arm switch on the
weapons control grip and slewed the reticle until it centered on the nearest
troop carrier. He punched a button on the main display. Small lettering next to
the gun display read: TRACKING 1. He punched another button and a new reticle
appeared on the canopy while the first tracked its assigned target. He slewed
the second reticle to another carrier and designated it as TRACKING 2.

"Come on, come on," Walker
said to himself through gritted teeth as he slewed a third reticle. The main
display flashed another entry next to the gun graphic: TRACKING 3. "Good
enough," he said to himself. He squeezed the trigger. His guns stuttered
and jerked as the tracking computer zeroed them in on the first vehicle. The
frame creaked and swayed back as the gun opened fire. Steel bolts shrieked
through the air and turned the carrier it into a glowing sprawl of shredded
molten metal.

Compressed air hissed through lines on
the back of both legs and pistons inside surged with fluid to stabilize the
Cat's stance after the shot. Even as the first vehicle burned, his guns zeroed
in on the second and another volley of steel spears flashed from the second
cannon. After the second carrier was turned into a pool of burning metal, the
others began to change course, turning and weaving in an attempt to throw of
the Cat's aim. His third salvo fired and dug into the ground just behind the
third target.

Most of the occupants of the first two
targets were incinerated with their vehicles, but a few charred bodies lay
where they were thrown to the ground. He tapped another button which showed a
thermal display of the bodies lying on the ground slowly cooling. His only
thought was whether or not they were still a threat. Determining that they
weren't going to get up, he looked through his canopy to watch more carriers
disintegrating from the volley of fire from the rest of his Cats.

As his center display monitor flashed
the READY banner, the remaining vehicles split evenly into two separate groups
and veered off to either side of his formation while the tanks raced directly
towards his Cats.

"Tail end charlies, start your
turns now," he called over his headset. He watched the Cats at either end
of his line start the painfully slow process of clomping around to reorient
themselves to face out towards the flanks. He punched the button on his center
display to reset his reticles and slewed the first one over one of the carriers
scampering to get on their flanks. Already, the others had drifted out of the
firing arc of his weapons as they raced along a course perpendicular to his
line. He pulled the trigger and the gun hesitated almost long enough to lose
the lock before it fired, then sheared the rear of the vehicle off and sent it
spinning across the ground. Bodies spilled out, but this time some of them
stood back up.

"Heaters!" he yelled,
switching off the arm switch on the weapons control stick. His hands flew over
the display bezel, punching the sequence of buttons to command the anti-armor
guns to release the weapons control system and unhook from the power system. It
would take a full minute for the systems to switch the guns - the carriers
closing the distance with every second that ticked by.

His cockpit shuddered when a tank round
crashed into the left leg of his Cat and shattered. It scorched the armor
plating of the leg, but the repair patch held and the Cat kept moving forward
under the guidance of its stabilizers.

The systems timer on his monitor
continued to wind down the seconds before he could switch to his plasma guns
when another round pounded the right leg. He winced at the squeal of metal
burrowing into the frame. He eased the right control lever forward and heard
the screeching wail of grinding metal. Half a dozen warning lights on the top
of the console deck clicked on as the effects of the damage cascaded through
hydraulic and control systems for the leg. Trying to ignore the squeal from the
wounded leg as he forced the Cat to keep moving forward, Walker punched another
button along the bottom of the monitor and the display showed a label next to a
graphic for each plasma gun: PRIME. Another clock next to each gun graphic wound
down as the rounds were heated to mix thermite and plasma ignition fluid.

The Cat took another stomp forward and
beads of sweat popped out on his forehead as the tanks closed in on his
formation. They would have to take whatever the tanks dished out while they
worked the troops with their plasma guns. Already, he felt the battle slipping
away from him as the enemy moved according to its own will instead of following
him into the trap.

Finally, the clocks ran down and the
banner flashed: READY FOR ARM. Walker jammed the arm switch forward and slewed
the reticle onto the line of troops from the carrier lying broken on the
ground. He pulled the trigger once to designate the area inside the reticle as
the target. The indicator beneath reticle read ACQUIRED and he pulled the
trigger again. He waited while the ballistics computer worked out the solution,
taking into account range, wind speed and temperature as it made final minute
adjustments to the guns. Both barrels flashed and filled the air with the screech
of thermite plasma canisters streaking across the ground.

The canisters hit the ground, ignited
their plasma and ejected the outer casing, lighting off a wall of bright blue
haze. Every Terran Guard soldier within 50 meters was incinerated into nothing
more than a wisp of vapor.

The Cats at the end of the line pawed at
the ground, struggling to turn and face the incoming troops. The whine of
servos and hydraulics filled the air as they stomped back in a wide circle
while troops dismounted from the carriers and swarmed in around their feet.
Walker stared at the Cat on his left flank, transfixed as a Terran Guard
underneath crouched and pointed a black tube at its frame. A cylinder with
clamps protruding from one end shot out from the tube with thick cables
trailing behind it and latched onto the frame. The Cat stopped mid-step and
started shaking. Its servos whined and clunked as they strained against the
surge of electric current pumped through its frame and then stopped. The Cat
froze in place. The troops scattered and flung themselves to the ground. A
moment later, a tank angled its gun and loosed a steel slug from its magnetic
rail launcher. The Cat's frame buckled just below the cockpit and the Cat,
unable to move its legs to compensate for the impact, leaned over and toppled
to the ground.

Even as the dust billowed out from the
impact, the troops got to their feet and swarmed over the Cat's frame. Another
puff of smoke burst out of the cockpit as they blew the canopy open and hauled
out the pilot. His legs flailing as they dragged him down off the frame, the
pilot yanked his sidearm free from its holster and shot one of his captors
point blank, splattering blood and bone over his own face. Before he could get
off a second shot, one of the other troops smashed his face with the butt of
his weapon. The pilot's body went limp and the pistol fell from his hand as
they dragged him away.

Walker felt another bolt slam into the
frame of his own Cat, but he couldn't look away as they dragged the pilot's
body to the carriers forming a skirmish line on his flank. More troops ran
towards the next Cat in line. Its plasma guns swung as far left as they could
and fired, blanketing the ground next to the troops charging for its
undercarriage. The fringes of the plasma blast caught some of the troops, but
most of the blue flame torched a swath of scrub and dirt, missing most of the
troops as they charged in.

"All units, back up. Now!"
Walker slammed the control levers back and his Cat reeled forward in mid-step,
gyros whining as they strained to keep it from toppling over. The frame swayed
hard and then the left leg stepped back, shaking the cockpit as clouds of dust
billowed out from the foot. The cockpit tilted hard as the wounded right leg
slid back across the ground. Every air line on his Cat snapped and hissed and
hydraulic pistons slammed to their limit as they struggled to compensate for
the wounded leg.