Rysta took a breath. "Then you know that somehow, some way, that little bastard is pulling the rug right out from under us." She-shook her head. "I don't get it. Fist's Targan Division is defying every law of warfare-and by eggs and ions, he's cutting our throats. Unethically, to be sure, but a cut throat bleeds whether it's slit by an emperor or a thief."
"He's succeeding in taking the command staff?" Ily mused, a light enjoyment touching her heart. "Succeeded," Rysta grunted. "The Third Ashtan Assault
Divisional headquarters was just blown away. Seems the Section they faced-yes, I said Section-dragged a four-man blaster up an impossible cliff and wiped out Weebouw and all his staff. What was left of the Targan Section melted.away into the trees, surrounded the Ashtan positions, and started closing on the Section commands. They're wiping them out now-while the Third Ashtan sits in the hills waiting for orders that won't come."
Rysta hissed derision. "Oh, we hurt them. Of their two hundred we killed almost one hundred and seventy-five, but the fact remains-"
"And how much of the Third Ashtan did they get?" Ily interrupted.
"Almost five hundred combat personnel, not including Division and Section command staff."
"And then?"
"We're not sure. An LC showed up. One of Fist's. We don't know what happened then, but there's been no further communication. After each and every Divisional command down there was captured or destroyed, our troops went silent. We've been broadcasting queries since we lost the Third Ashtan. Nothing."
"And now what?" Ily lifted an eyebrow.
Rysta dropped her eyes. "You know what this means?"
"For all intents and purposes, Sinklar Fist has destroyed five Regan combat Divisions." And I have the tool I need to place me on the Regan throne! Sinklar Fist, for all your odd looks and your funny eyes, you are the most precious human in Free Space!
Rysta tilted her head back and exhaled. "Yes, he's done it. It's against all the odds. It's against any military axiom we know." She slapped a bony hand into a hard palm. "They established laws for the conduct of war years ago! This Fist is… barbaric! A damn criminal butcher! If he gets away with this, the whole of Free Space will suffer."
"You've called the Emperor?" Ily wondered, beginning to see Rysta's problem. No wonder she related her illustrious career. Old school to the hilt, Rysta had to stop this new genie before he wisped out of the Targan bottle.
Smoking brown eyes met hers. "No, I haven't. I thought perhaps it would be worth discussing the present situation with you. You carry the jessant-de-lis."
"And you want authority?"
Rysta pursed her lips, pulling her old body up straight. "What I want is to finish this. Rega, right now, can't, can't allow Sinklar Fist to win. Everything we've built would tumble into chaos. The very nature of war is being-"
"And you can prevent it?"
Commander Braktov nodded, the action making her sagging flesh wiggle. "I don't like it, but I think we have extraordinary circumstances." She patted a horny palm on the duraplast table. "The decision didn't come easily. It will mean the sacrifice of a lot of good men and women. Veteran troops the Emperor will need in the struggle against Sassa, but we must be willing to-"
"No., Rysta leaned forward intently. "Minister? I don't think you understand the grave nature of the situation down there. Sinklar Fist, with an untrained Division, just-"
"No." Ily repeated, sipping her liquor. "That is the last thing you will do."
"What? How can we conduct war in the future if just any old barbarity is allowed? How can we get trained responsible people to take command of the military… knowing they might die as a result? Do you have any idea of what you9re proposing? It's… it's insanity if-"
"Commander, consider." Ily crossed her legs and leaned back. Her fingernails tapped out a staccato on the drinking bulb. "Sinklar Fist just destroyed the combat capabilities of ten thousand veteran personnel with roughly two thousand thinly spread troops of his own."
"There were more," Rysta pointed out. "He had Targan revolutionaries he'd recruited."
"And who were mostly unarmed," Ily rejoined. "He also only had the use of five LCs and no orbital intelligence or bombardment. Now, using your own misfortune as a guide, how much damage do you think he could do to the Sassans given the advantages of Regan technology and crack veteran combat personnel?"
"He destroyed most of those on the ground down there," Rysta growled. "Weebouw. Henck. Damn." She blinked as her mouth screwed up. She shot a pained look at Ily. "Your thrice-cursed Sinklar Fist killed a lot of my good friends. Capable and competent commanders."
"Then I suppose we had better talk to him sometime soon," Ily decided. "Lord knows, if we don't, he'll have the troops he captured down there recruited, too, and next thing we know, he'll be marching up the Grand Hallway and into the Imperial Court."
Rysta leaned forward, an eager expression lighting her old brown eyes. "All the more reason to kill him now."
"No."
"But one orbital shot would render the whole planet…"
Rysta didn't finis when Ily turned a hostile glance her way.
Ily steepled her fingers as the silence stretched. "Commander, I don't think you understand the political intricacies of the coming Sassan campaign. We are faced with the final confrontation. Rega stands alone. We face Sassa. and the Companions. Do you think you could take the Lord Commander by using the tactics in the book?" At the tightening of Rysta's expression, Ily smiled. "No, I didn't think so. Tybalt and I both agree that Rega must win — no matter whose tactics we use. Once Sinklar Fist rolls over the top of Sassa, there will be one Empire in Free Space — and it will be Regan."
Ily lifted a challenging eyebrow. "And there won't be a
need for a large standing army, Rysta. Internal Security will handle the rest — and we don't need formal rules of war." Rysta Braktov looked like she'd swallowed Riparian slime.
"First? Sinklar?" Mhitshul's gentle prodding brought Sinklar awake. He started, automatically reaching out for a comm that wasn't there. Instead his aide stood in the narrow passageway of the LC. Despite the faint light Sink could see that a dumb misery filled Mhitshul's eyes.
"What? What's wrong? What do we need to do? Whos in trouble?" He spun around to stare at the smudged hull plate behind and above him. He could feel the cushion of an acceleration cot beneath him and his feet had gone to sleep from the cramped position.
"First Fist," Mhitshul began, looking at the deck below his feet. "There's something—"
"Wait!" Sinklar sat up, rubbing his hot red eyes with dirty fingers. "How'd I get here? I was at the comm, taking the reports. What happened? We get hit?" He blinked, screwing his face into contortions to bring it awake.
"No, sir," Mhitshul told him soberly. "It was over. You were nodding off — asleep on your feet. I explained the situation and Mac took contl. I carried you over to the drop couch, covered you with a blanket and let you sleep."
"How. how long?" Sinklar pulled his wrist around to look at his chronometer. "Blessed Gods, ten hours?
"Everything on the planetary level is fine, sir," Mhitshul told him gently. "The Minister of Internal Security would like to meet with you to discuss the resolution of this situation with a minimum of further conflict. She claims she has been sent with authority from the Imperial Seventh himself. Tybalt. She has the power to conclude any kind of deal necessary which will work to the benefit of all."
Sinklar puffed a sigh of relief and winced as returning circulation shot pins and needles through his feet. "My God, we won," he added wearily. "We won, Mhitshul."
"Yes, sir," the man still looked subdued, biting his lip, staring at the floor.