Mykroft's expression betrayed barely contained fury. "I suppose so. There might be a few pockets of my people who got out and holed up."
"How did they get the whole Division?" Sinklar cried. "I mean, even an attack in force could have been handled. You had the personnel, the weapons, the power plant for heavy stuff. Even in the middle of the night, the barracks
should have offered-"
"They hit us during the Divisional ball. The first we knew anything was awry, the lights went off. We heard the explosion a half-second later and by then everything was chaos with people stumbling around in the dark. Since it was a formal occasion, very few had battle gear. Fortunately, the two Sections I managed to bring out were from outside town. They'd come in field gear. Although it distressed me at the time, I'll not look to see if there's mud on a gift bearer's shoes. "
"But how?" Mac asked in disbelief. "That's the second time the Targans did the unexpected. You didn't…. No, of course you didn't!"
"Didn't what?" Mykroft demanded. "I'm not used to being questioned by a …… He swallowed his last words as Mac's fists clenched and he took a step forward.
"No hunter teams." Gretta supplied, leaning on a chair, arms crossed as she studied the First. "Small units trained to look for Rebel activity and initiate action on their own."
Mykroft's mouth fell open as he turned to stare. "That's absurd! You'd have a chaotic force loose! Who'd know where the others were? How would you coordinate a concerted defense? How would you mobilize? It's. He shook his head, bewildered.
"How many casualties on this planet to date?" Sinklar braced his feet, back arched as he met Mykroft's astonished eyes. "How many? Including the losses suffered by the First Division initially. And during the subsequent securing actions when the First Division was reinforced and resupplied. From your losses in the Second-assuming all who didn't make it out are dead? How many in total, Mykroft?"
"Why, I. " Mykroft lifted his hands. "Assume two thousand seven hundred. Maybe more."
Sinklar smiled in grim vindication. "Since I took command of the First, we've lost a total of twenty-eight men and women-some in training accidents. At the same time, we crossed a hostile landscape and doubled our manpower by enlistments. You sit secure in a city now mostly loyal
and, if we could get weapons, we would be capable of controlling even larger areas."
Mykroft blinked and said slowly, "You are ripe for the picking, Sergeant Fist. If you do not hand over command to me immediately, I will be forced to take action and have you placed under arrest… or shot for disobedience."
Mac started laughing and slapping his knee. Gretta's expression hardened.
Mykroft reddened at the display. "This. this is outrageous! MacRuder, you're under arrest for conduct—"
"Hold it, Mykroft. I think you're forgetting something." Sinklar's voice became cracked ice.
"What's that?" Mykroft asked. "Your precious commission? Hah!"
"No, not at all." Sinklar shook his head. "You're forgetting the First Division." He turned to Mac, who watched with glittering eyes. "Would you see to disarming the Second and supplying the loyal Division with those arms as far as they go?"
"Done!" Mac turned on his heel, tossing off the drink by the time he made the door.
"Just a Rotted moment, Sergeant…" Mykroft stopped as he noticed the pulse pistol Gretta pointed at his head.
"That's right, First Mykroft," she told him levelly, "you just sit there in that chair and relax. We'll keep you alive and make sure you get back to Rega in one piece."
"And we'll begin training the remains of the Second," Sinklar added as he rubbed his hands together. "I wonder if we can make a run on Kaspa. If any of the Second made it out and holed up, we might be able to spring them."
"They'll shoot you for this, you know. Just what in cursed hell are you doing, Sinklar?" Mykroft fumed.
"Winning the war," Sinklar told him assuredly. "And in doing so, attempting to save my neck when I have to face the Minister of Defense — or maybe even the Emperor. Mutiny, no matter what the circumstances, is a serious charge."
Arta Fera leaned out of an upper window to fire a last bolt at the wobbling and overloaded LC that had dropped to pull the last of the Regan troops from the rooftop.
She cursed and shook her rifle at the climbing craft. All in all, it had been a miraculous rescue.
"So we don't get them all," Butla said thoughtfully as he lowered his field glasses. He stood in a window a half block away. The recognition of Arta Fera disturbed him.
/ still love her. If only. No, she can't change what she is. Its too late for thoughts like that. We are both damned.
"Well, we still hurt them," a squad leader added with a grin.
Butla's expression lit warmly. "Only because of Arta. Her courage and skill took out the reactor and opened the munitions and weapons to us. Without them, we were a partially armed rabble."
Butla turned from the window and picked up his blaster where it rested in a corner of the office. They had sold insurance from here once, the desks and comm terminals were dusty now. The chairs remained where they'd been the last time people had worked here.
"Who could have predicted they would come back for the survivors?" the squad leader wondered as he stepped through the shattered door and started down the steps. "Their manual doesn't call for rescue missions like that. It says that to keep losses to a minimum, evacuated troops will establish a new perimeter and prepare for defense."
Butla nodded, face impassive as he followed. "True. That was not Mykroft's rescue. That was Fist's." Butla rubbed the back of his neck and growled to himself, "So we can assume Mykroft is no longer in command of the Second. Or, if he is, he's allowed Fist to have his LCs."
"Perhaps we shouldn't have taken time to execute the prisoners. We might have gotten the rest." As they stepped out into the street, the squad leader looked up at the now empty sky, face pinched with irritation.
"So they saved a couple hundred men and women." Butla shrugged. "We'll wear them away. This revolution will be won slowly."
Butla turned into an alley and located his aircar where it waited in a shabby garage. From a side compartment, he drew out a battlefield comm and extended the antenna. Within seconds he'd plugged into the power supply, and Bruen's ancient face filled the screen.
Butla related the events of the battle the night before.
"If only they hadn't shot up the other LCs when they left. Rotted Gods, what we could do if we had that kind of air capability."
"The entire complexion of the war would change," Bruen agreed. "Except if we did have that kind of firepower, we would lose in the end."
Butla laughed, the sound deep and resonant. "It would scare Tybalt. So long as we look like peasants out in the weeds, we have a chance to wear them down and achieve a political settlement. When we seriously become a military threat, we're in bad trouble. No, we're not ready for that. not yet anyway."
"You said you could take Staffa if you had to," Bruen reminded. "You could, couldn't you?"
"Ah, Magister, perhaps I could indeed. The question remains, however, what would I take him with?" His expression lightened and his eyes danced. "Perhaps I could capture one of those LCs and fly up to blast Chrysla out of space?"
"You just might," Bruen added, voice soft, a cunning look in his ancient eyes. "You have taken the city, General. My compliments to you!"
"And now we will leave it." Butla sighed, throwing wide his other arm and crying, "Farewell, noble Kaspa, queen city of Targa!"
"You know that Sinklar Fist has asked to speak with us." Bruen rubbed his nose and shifted as if his hip hurt.
"Let's see how we do in our assault on Vespa and the First Division." Butla paused thoughtfully, studying the old man. "I intend to break him, Magister. Just like I broke First Mykroft and the Second. It's been a long time since I fought a solid battle. I intend to win it."