“All this to say,” Ragath went on, “we may be able to get concessions out of the civilians by threatening to wreck priceless artifacts.” He had given orders against looting, which normally wouldn’t be an issue, but everyone wanted immediate revenge after the amputation gun. The current mission was some kind of backwards lose-so-we-win-later gambit, which made Mieng’s teeth itch.
It was hard to believe anyone would care about some Andan gun that hadn’t been properly cleaned for centuries, or a bunch of calligraphed books no one read anymore. But then, the colonel clearly cared about dried-up bits of history, so maybe he had some insight into how the Drummers felt about their artifacts.
The Drummers’ Forum was cursed with wide approaches, a boon to the Kel, and had a park that provided some cover. There was a lot of rubble already, from the forward companies that had gone in with real weapons for credibility’s sake. Bullets whined across the garden and kicked up dirt. Most of the corpses were unreal broken things, dressed in hats and jade necklaces and embroidered clothes. A lot of blood and stray body parts, too, like a human jigsaw upended.
They benefited from mostly unnecessary covering fire as they advanced to the Hall of Stochastic Longings. It was an eerie building, full of walls that sang your breath back to you as poetry, and light that coruscated like flowers. Beautiful, if you wanted to feel that beauty hid unhealthy secrets from you.
Guards offered some resistance, but the only one in the company who got seriously injured was Kel Ajerio, and he ought to have known better than to dash up like that.
Mieng had the gunner platoon set up in the atrium. “Where the hell is everyone?” she wondered. Scan told her, but—”We’re going to have to send two platoons to clean out the squirrels.” She hated splitting her company, but they couldn’t leave civilians running around.
It was hard to hear herself think over the sound of the mortars. The decoy guns were even louder than the real thing. In the meantime, Platoons Two and Three went squirrel-hunting. She could occasionally hear short bursts of fire and the more occasional muffled shriek.
It was as well that it took the heretics a full 6.6 hours to respond to the attack as a real threat, by which point more decoy units had been set up.
By the time the heretics arrived in force, Mieng had a hard time convincing herself to give way in measured stages. They had to haul back the damn decoys because it wouldn’t do to leave evidence. Corpses were piling up around the copses of trees and the flowerbeds. Broken stems and chewed-up leaves. Smoke everywhere, nauseating even through the breather. No one had fired an amputation gun yet, but that didn’t mean one wasn’t around the corner.
“Pull out now,” the colonel’s voice crackled over the link. “The Nirai are about to put on some fireworks.” He started listing the units that were to get to the pickup point.
A list. Not all units. Six companies weren’t on the list, if she remembered the roster correctly, so they’d be staying.
Her company was on the list. So that was fine.
Major Kel Belleren’s company was not on the list. That was not fine. They had gone to academy together.
She should have queried her battalion commander, but instead she called the colonel directly. “Sir, Captain Mieng, Battalion Three, Company Two. If you need another unit to hold, we can hold.”
Her battalion commander was going to kill her. If the colonel didn’t do it first.
An infinitely brief pause. “Captain,” Ragath said, “I’m not leaving those companies to cover the retreat. I’m leaving them for the butcher’s block. On direct orders from the general. She has decided that, with the confusion from the Nirai explosives, this is the minimum number that will convince the heretics that their victory was real so the next operation can proceed. I hear she’s good with numbers.”
This was more explaining than Ragath usually troubled with. “Sir, we can—”
“I’m not interested in martyrs.” His voice grew hard. “You have your orders, Captain. Colonel Ragath out.”
She bit her lip, but formation instinct made her give the necessary orders, made her march out of the smoke-haze with its stench of upturned dirt and chemicals and livid blood, made her get into the hopper with her soldiers.
She was Kel. Her life was a coin to be spent, and today her superiors had chosen not to spend it. She should have been grateful, but for the first time in a long time, she resented what formation instinct had made of her.
Fortress of Scattered Needles, Analysis
Priority: High
From:: Vahenz afrir dai Noum
To: Heptarch Liozh Zai
Calendrical Minutiae: Year of the Fatted Cow, Month of the Pig, Day of the whatever the hell the fucking Kel decide it is.
Today started as a good day, my dear Zai. It didn’t stay that way. I can’t blame the Fortress’s people for their festivities, but they’ve given Jedao a disastrous opening. The hell of it is that we can’t disclaim the victory as an enemy ploy; it would hurt morale.
I could have kicked Stoghan for organizing those parades, but the truth is he only capitalized on an existing public trend. People wanted something to celebrate, even if they were hiding under desks during the shooting.
For that matter, not that we have hard evidence, those weren’t spontaneous celebrations. They were too well synchronized. That had to be the work of Shuos instigators. I suppose one of them is responsible for the irrepressibly catchy anthem that’s been making its way around the grid. I caught myself tapping my foot to it.
They’re already calling it the Day of Drummers’ Splendor. It won’t last, but it won’t need to, not for Kel purposes. You might as well make the notation in Doctrine’s calendar.
What I’ve been unable to determine is what the Kel are setting up. The parameter space is too tangled. I’ve got part of my team on it, but if I try to squeeze any more work out of them, they’ll expire. I’d retask Analysis Team Two because Tsegai has some mathematical credentials, but she’s also their best grid diver and you need her doing that work.
I was cheered to hear the good news on the Hafn front: they’ve destroyed the Eyespike swarm. They were concerned as to whether Brigadier General Marish escaped to fight again, but I could have told them not to worry. Kel generals rarely choose to survive the deaths of their swarms.
Gerenag Abrana and some of the people in Finance are spending too much time together. Yes, of course I’m spying on your coalition, Zai. I’m here to do the despicable things so you don’t have to. I realize you have a vision of a more egalitarian heptarchate spontaneously emerging from the cinders of the old regime, but you’re going to find that people are people no matter how you reorganize your social structures. Anyway, you may have to backstab Abrana before she makes an attempt on you. If she were smarter, she’d realize it’s better to let someone else take the heat while she pulled the strings. But we both know the trade-offs of that arrangement, don’t we?
If things had turned out differently, we would be adversaries. By accusing you of treachery for a little earnest criticism, the hexarchate turned you into a traitor. I know you don’t like that word, but we should be honest with ourselves.