But there was nothing that he or the other offi?cials could do but formulate some contingency plans and try to stay in shape as time continued to pass. So, in an effort to keep the legionnaires both fi?t and occupied a round of kickboxing tournaments had been organized. And that’s where Booly was, judging a fi?ght between two spider forms, when a long, hollow scream was heard.
It came from above and echoed between the tiers, as a marine fell toward the bottom of the pit. He was a machine gunner. Or had been back before Quickblow Hammerhand threw the unfortunate jarhead over the rail. His body made a sickening thud as it hit the duracrete fl?oor. That was when the Naa commando took control of the unmanned weapon, lifted the gun up off the pintle-style mount, and opened fi?re on the warden’s offi?ce located on the opposite side of the canyonlike abyss. Glass shattered, empty casings fell like a brass rain, and Booly came to his feet. “This is what we’ve been waiting for!” the offi?cer bellowed. “You know what to do!”
Though not really expecting a rescue attempt, Booly and his staff had formulated plans for that eventuality, along with several others. So even though a third of the inmates were a bit slow on the uptake, two-thirds responded appropriately, as Hammerhand and his companions engaged the guards.
There were only two ways to enter or exit the pit, and both came under immediate pressure as the marine guards were forced to cower beneath a hail of airborne shoes, toothbrushes, and even an artifi?cial limb or two. All intended to keep them occupied while the would-be rescuers cut their way through layers of security.
Having been freed inside the storeroom where the normally empty coffi?ns were kept, the lightly armed Naa straightened their uniforms and stepped out into the hall. Then, having assumed an air of grim authority, the invaders headed for the pit. The stratagem couldn’t last forever, though, and their luck ran out when they tried to bluff their way into the prison and were forced to knife three guards. The challenge was to release enough prisoners quickly enough to hold the facility against the reinforcements that would soon arrive from elsewhere. Which was why Hammerhand followed the walkway he was on halfway around and opened fi?re on the second checkpoint. Because the facility had been designed to keep people in, rather than keep them out, the marines found themselves caught between a rock and a hard place. So when Hammerhand let up on the trigger, a white rag appeared, followed by six inches of the rifl?e barrel it was attached to. Two minutes later, the marines were facedown on the duracrete fl?oor while prisoners streamed past the control station and were formed into companies. Shots could still be heard elsewhere in the facility. But rather than send a mob to deal with marine holdouts, Booly ordered Major Drik Seeba-Ka to arm a single platoon of handpicked prisoners and secure the rest of the prison.
That move was met with considerable resentment on the part of the hard-core inmates, who not only wanted a chance to run amok but had scores to settle with the guards. But thanks to the manner in which they had been integrated into units controlled by strong no-nonsense NCOs, discipline was maintained. “We need to push our way out of the pit,” Booly told Colonel Kitty Kirby. “Or they’ll seal us inside. That’s what I would do.”
Kirby nodded grimly. “Sir, yes, sir.”
“And, Colonel . . .”
“Sir?”
“Do everything you can to minimize casualties. The marines are on our side, or will be, if we can put things right.”
Kirby came to attention and offered a salute. “Yes, sir!
Camerone!”
Booly returned the gesture, and because some of the troops had witnessed Kirby’s comments, the familiar shout went up. “CAMERONE!”
In spite of the fact that he had not been confi?rmed as president, Jakov had nevertheless taken over Nankool’s offi?ce, and was seated behind the missing man’s desk. And though not given to physical demonstrations of emotion, it was clear to everyone, including Assistant Undersecretary Kay Wilmot, that the vice president was extremely angry. “So, let me see if I understand,” the politician said coldly. “While you sat on your hands, a group of Naa terrorists were allowed to enter the fort and free hundreds of prisoners. Is that correct?”
“No,” a voice from the back of the room said. “That isn’t true. . . . There were only four of them, which hardly qualifi?es as a ‘group,’ and they aren’t terrorists.”
The crowd seemed to part of its own accord to reveal someone none of them recognized. A short, rather plump man, with black hair and Eurasian features. Just one of the bodies billionaire Admiral Sergi Chien-Chu could “wear”
when he chose to do so. And not the one that Jakov’s security forces had been looking for.
The stranger smiled woodenly. “What they are,” the businessman added reasonably, “is patriots. A title to which none of you can lay claim.”
Jakov was about to order his security detachment to arrest the intruder when there was a disturbance in the corridor. There was a shout, followed by a scuffl?e, and the sound of a single pistol shot. Then, before any of the offi?cials could react, General Bill Booly entered the room. The fi?ghting had been brisk, but was short-lived, as word of the prison break began to spread. Because the vast majority of the Legion continued to be loyal to Booly, as were many of the senior marine offi?cers, who resented the way in which they had been used. Now, with the exception of a few diehards, the battle to retake Fort Camerone was all but over.
The general, still clad in his prison-issue sweats, looked Jakov in the eye. His voice was hard and as cold as the outside air. “Good afternoon, Mr. Vice President. Unlike you and your cronies—we believe in the rule of law. So, consistent with the constitution, you will remain in offi?ce until President Nankool returns or you are confi?rmed. In the meantime, orders to the military will have to be cleared with the Senate’s leadership before my staff or I will be willing to act on them. Is that clear?”
Jakov felt a sudden surge of hope. And why not?
Nankool was almost certainly dead. And since each and every one of the senators was subject to political pressure of one sort or another, all he needed to do was squeeze, bully, or bribe them. So, if Booly and his band of starryeyed dreamers were stupid enough to grant him the gift of time, then who was he to refuse it? And later, once the presidency was his, each and every one of the bastards would be taken out and shot. “Yes,” Vice President Jakov said thoughtfully. “The situation is very clear indeed.”
17.
There are times when men have to die.
—United States Secretary of War Henry StimsonStandard year 1941
PLANET JERICHO, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE
The sun rose slowly, as if reluctant to give birth to another day, and was nearly invisible above a layer of gauzy clouds. Bit by bit the heat penetrated the planet’s surface and began to tease moisture up out of the ground. The resulting mist shivered whenever a breeze came along to tug at it—
but seemed reluctant to part company with the row of crosses that appeared to fl?oat over it. Twelve of the POWs had been crucifi?ed. Not because of anything they had done, but because of something they hadn’t done, which was to reveal Nankool’s presence to the Ramanthians. That was Maximillian Tragg’s claim anyway. But as Vanderveen stood on one of the two crosspieces that were fastened to the centermost pole, she knew it was more than that. Especially in her case. Because to the renegade’s psychotic way of thinking, she had betrayed his trust. And made him look ridiculous, which was more than the mercenary’s fragile ego could handle.