The Colonel shrugged. “It appears that our enemies have been digging into the history books, coming up with primitive weapons that don’t use power cells. That thing you’re holding is called a ‘bolt’ or ‘quarrel’, and this is the launcher. It’s called a ‘crossbow’. The sergeant who identified it for us says that this one’s an improvement over the originals. It uses a coil spring for power, and has a magazine that holds ten bolts. Evidently the ancient ones used a leaf spring of some type.”
Micah's brow wrinkled. “Spring powered? Surely they couldn’t be powerful enough to be dangerous?”
The Colonel smiled grimly. “This one has a pull of over five hundred pounds. It launches those darts at more than three hundred meters per second. It also doesn't produce a flash, and is almost completely silent.”
He picked up another weapon from the table. This one appeared to be a child’s toy, a simple plas handgun. Micah had seen them advertised. They were powered by a light spring and fired two-centimeter balls of paint. The Colonel picked up three balls, his exaggerated care telling Micah that they didn’t contain paint.
The Colonel indicated the balls in his hand. “This weapon is a modified version of the kid’s toy, of course. They’ve just put a slightly more powerful spring in it. But the balls! Some of them contain acid, some explosives. Again, no noise, no flash. And they have a range of about ten meters.
“The resistance has other toys, as well. A pneumatic slugthrower, for instance. Muzzle velocity of several hundred meters per second and a range of two to three hundred meters. Explosives based on something the lab boys call ‘black powder’ that can’t be detected by our sniffers. One of the nastiest, though,” he continued, picking up a clear cylinder twenty centimeters in length and ten in diameter, “.. is this. The cylinder is thin glass, not plas, and contains a highly flammable liquid.” He indicated a length of fabric protruding from one end of the cylinder. “To use it, you just light the fabric, and then throw the cylinder. When it hits, the glass breaks, and the liquid bursts into flame. Notice the stuff floating around inside,” he continued. “We had a devil of a time analyzing it. Seems it’s something called ‘white phosphorus’ that burns when it comes into contact with air and heat. Moreover, water won’t put it out. The stuff just burns until it's gone.”
Micah shuddered again. Then he looked thoughtful. “You’re right, Colonel. This isn’t a spur-of-the-moment resistance movement,” he concluded. “These people were prepared well in advance. Do you have any idea who they are?”
The Colonel looked uncomfortable. “We got lucky yesterday. There was a skirmish, and one of the men covering the enemy’s retreat was hit just as they were retreating. The Lieutenant commanding the squad was smart enough to have his men drive off anyone who tried to help the man escape. By the time they could get to him, the man was dead. But we found this in his pocket.” He tossed a coin-sized object on Micah's desk. Micah examined it. “A marine ident disk!”
The Colonel nodded. “I think we’re facing Wil Tor and his marines.”
Micah snorted. “Tor! Certainly, he shouldn’t be a problem! An uncultured provincial.”
The Colonel’s half-smile was grim. “I suggest you call up his record again. Uncultured, maybe. But Wil Tor is a veteran of over a dozen actions, and his last assignment prior to coming to the rim was as a student at the War College — in Strategy and Tactics. I can’t think of anyone I'd rather not have opposing me.”
Micah looked troubled. “I’ve been trying to preserve the illusion that we’re here to save Haven. But now… What about taking civilian hostages, Colonel?”
The Colonel shrugged. “That’s the classic tactic, sir. However, I’m not sure I could muster up a firing squad if Wil called your bluff. Don’t forget, to my marines, these people are civilians, citizens of the Empire.” He sighed and removed a sheet of paper from his tunic. “Then there’s this, Admiral.” He tossed it on the desk in front of Micah.
It was a poster, obviously professionally printed. In large lettering at the top, it began “MARINES!” Beneath that heading, the actual message began.
“Is this why you joined the marines? To help a corrupt criminal take over an imperial sector? To harass, injure and even kill unarmed civilians? Look at them. They could be your family. Your sister, your mother!
“You have no business here,” it continued, “There is no violence here. The only treason here is the treason you brought with you! Do you really believe the Emperor would abandon the Round Trip Ticket? Or is that just another of Jonas’ lies? THINK ABOUT IT!”
“Those things are appearing all over the compound,” the colonel said. “There seems to be a whole series of them. I’ve seen several different versions. Moreover, the troops are reading them. Since we got here we’ve had almost a hundred desertions.”
Micah frowned. “Well, stop them, Colonel. Confine the men to barracks or something!”
The Colonel shook his head. “That's not a solution, sir. For one thing, it’s not necessary. None of the troops go into town anymore, except on duty. It’s too dangerous. Besides, they don’t like being treated like brutes and criminals. Even so, if I ordered them confined to the compound, they’d resent it. We’d just trigger even more defections.”
Micah was getting angry. “Well, do something, damn it! We have no choice. Send your damned marines out and have them round up two hundred civilians for hostages. Equal numbers of men and women, but no children.”
The Colonel looked unbelieving. “You’re serious, sir? You’re really planning to kill civilians?”
Micah nodded grimly. “If necessary. We’ll tape them and broadcast the word that unless the terror activity ceases, they’ll be executed.”
The Colonel winced. “It won’t work, sir!” he said desperately. “Tor won’t stop. All you’ll do is help him by alienating anyone left not on Cord’s side! Besides,” he continued, “I’m not sure I can find enough men to fill a firing squad to shoot civilians. In fact, I hope not. I’d hate to know that I have that kind of people in my Marine Corps.”
Micah glared. “Your precious marines haven’t done very well so far! It’s their fault I have to resort to hostage taking. Round up those hostages, Colonel.”
The Colonel popped to attention and rendered a smart salute, whirled and left the room. The next morning he was gone. A message posted on the day room door said he’d defected, and urged as many of his men as possible to follow.
Micah finally got the hostages, after relieving the major who’d replaced the fugitive colonel and replacing him with a captain. However, that didn’t end his problems, external or internal.
Less than two hours after the hostages had been taken and the warning broadcast, Micah’s orderly announced Jamin Van-Lyn. Micah was irritated. Van-Lyn was supposed to be aboard Nemesis. He must have come down to protest as soon as he’d seen the warning broadcast. Micah sighed and had him admitted.
As he’d thought, Van-Lyn was upset about the hostages. The damned fool couldn’t understand that Micah had to be able to hold out until Cord came to fight.
If it cost a few hundred civilian lives, well, so be it.
Van-Lyn shook his head. “No, Admiral. Some of the things I’ve done since this began sicken me. But I will not permit the slaughter of innocent civilians. The Fleet exists to protect Empire citizens, not murder them.”
Micah slammed his fist on his desk. “You’re forgetting who’s in command here, Captain!” he thundered. He pulled his sidearm. “I’m warning you, Captain. You will obey my orders, or I’ll execute you on the spot for mutiny.”
Van-Lyn glanced mildly at the needler in Micah's hand, then shrugged. “I doubt it, Admiral. You need me and you need Nemesis. Shoot me and you’ll have neither. Cord will be able to simply waltz in here and arrest you. Or simply shoot you down.