Take it as a given throughout human history: lack of accountability leads, invariably, to irresponsibility. Irresponsibility in those who wield power, be they elites or—in the rare genuine democracy—the masses, is disaster.
—Jorge y Marqueli Mendoza,
Historia y Filosofia Moral,
Legionary Press, Balboa,
Terra Nova, Copyright AC 468
Presidential Palace, Santa Fe, Santander, Terra Nova
Fountains splashed peacefully into long reflecting pools framing the paved walkway from street to palace. The walkway led to a classical revival front, four sets of double Corinthian columns—though the leaves were styled after the native tranzitree, not the acanthus—holding up an entablature, itself surmounted by a low, triangular tympanum. Long wings led out to either side of the entrance. In one wing, in one room, slept the president of the Republic of Santander.
The aide hesitated before waking his sleeping chief. Still, the news was so frightful . . .
"Señor Presidente, please, you must rise."
The President of Santander rolled over and sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "What is it, Rivera?"
"Señor, our cities in the east are being attacked."
The president was wide awake instantly. "Who? What? Where? How many? Maracaibo? The FNLS?"
"No, Señor," Rivera answered, as his president pulled on shirt and trousers. "Not Maracaibo and certainly not the Frente. Beyond that, we don't know who, not for certain. We do know that four air attacks were launched against places in Belalcázar, and five more against Santiago. There are estates burning all over the suburbs. Buenaventura was hit with one or two; reports are confused. And Florencia, also. There are reports of attacks on the ground in some of the same places."
The President started added up two and two and came up with, "Those gringo bastards."
"Si, Señor, probably the gringos," Rivera agreed. "And probably going after the cartels.
"Bastards," the president repeated, then thought, But what do I do? They are a friendly nation, sort of. And if they are going after the Cartels, as Rivera says, they are doing me a favor, in the short and medium term, at least. He bent his head down over his desk, deeply worried. In the immediate term, however, they have violated Santander's sovereignty, which I am sworn to uphold. In the long term, I can't just ignore this or come next election, I will pay for it.
"Rivera, get me the Chief of the Air Force."
There was a delay while the aide dialed the nearest air base, on the outskirts of Santa Fe, which was also the headquarters for the national air force. The Air Force Chief of Staff came on line, sounding half asleep.
"Villareal speaking."
"General, this is the President. I want you to get some fighters in the air and send them east. There are forces attacking several of our cities. I want you to force some of them, at least, to the ground where they can be arrested."
Villarreal's voice was replete with exasperation, but none of it seemed directed at the President. "Señor Presidente," he said, "I have just been made aware of this. These people have attacked the base and airport at Santiago, as well as others. The runway and taxiways are shut down with mines. The radar is out, all of it. We have no effective coverage of the eastern part of the country. I am trying now to get two fighters from here into the air. I have also tried to call the airship the Federated States keeps off our east coast. Maybe they'll tell our planes where to look once they in the air."
The President sighed. Soldiers could be so stupid sometimes. "Villareal, who do you think is attacking us? The trixies of the mountains? The UEPF? Balboa, perhaps?"
"Oh . . . I see, Señor. Well, then you must realize that any pilots I send up I am sending to their deaths. We have good boys, but we can't match the planes or the ordnance of the Federated States Air Force."
"I know, General. But we have to try, for dignity's sake, if nothing else."
"Yes, señor. I will have two fighters in the air within thirty minutes. They are fueled but they must be armed."
Santandern Air Force Base, Santa Fe, Santander, Terra Nova
Captain Hartmann and Lieutenant San Martin shook hands and separated, each climbing the short ladders to their cockpits. Hartmann's grandparents had come to Santander from Sachsen after the Great Global War. They had done well in manufactures, being counted among Santander's legitimate rich before the 440s. San Martin's family was older money, landed gentry from the first wave of settlement from Old Earth. The two were, in fact, brothers in law, having married the younger sisters of their squadron commander.
San Martin waved to Hartmann as the former's canopy closed down. Hartmann returned the wave then added power to begin to taxi out towards the runway. By agreement, Hartmann was to sweep north, first to Florencia, then southeast toward Buenaventura. Meanwhile San Martin was to go east to Belalcázar, initially, then further east to the sea. The two pilots were agreed that they would force down one of the intruders or die trying.
Engines whining, San Martin followed Hartmann out onto the runway. With a roar his jets pushed him back into his seat as they pushed his Illusion jet fighter into the sky.
Federated States Airborne Command and Control Ship (ACCS), 271 miles east of Santander, Terra Nova
The defensive laser mounted on the airship cracked once, loudly, causing the weapons and radar officers to cheer. "That recon skimmer is toast, sir," Weapons announced.
The lieutenant on the radar frowned, checked, rechecked, and then said, "Sir, the Santanderns are sending up their air force . . . well . . . some of it."
When the senior officer aboard walked near to hunch over the radar screen the lieutenant pointed out two blips as they arose and then separated over Santa Fe. "It isn't much, sir," the lieutenant said, "but it could put a crimp in operations."
Oh, dear. The colonel walked across the deck to communication station. He told the commo officer to set a radio for a broad spectrum transmission, without encryption. "OK, all you people out there. I know who you are, and you know who I am. What you probably don't know is that there are two bogies up looking for you." The colonel read off the course, altitude, and speed of the two Santandern craft. "Just trying to lend a helping hand. Good luck and Godspeed. Out."
MY Phidippides, Mar Furioso, Terra Nova
Little by little the operation was winding down as the troops of the 22d finished up—rather finished off—the remainder of the opposition, reboarded helicopters and ships, and began to return home. The chief of operations watched the plotter move symbols across the map, marking the progress.
A radio operator reported, "Sir, two more Finches safely landed at Jaquelina de Coco. Refueling now to return to Cameron. The last four report across the border and twelve minutes out from Jaquelina. The Belalcázar force is boarded and in the air . . . they're a couple of minutes late."
Still watching the map, Samsonov's chief of ops dismissed the Turbo-Finches from his mind and returned his attention to the map. He concentrated on the twin lines being plotted from Santa Fe marking the progress of the Santandern fighters. Next to the lines times were written in based on the speed reported by the ACCS. The Santandern planes hadn't been spotted as of yet by any of the six Mosaic fighters in the air and under the regiment's control. He expected radar sightings from the Mosaics as the Santanderns crossed the cordillera that ran like a spine parallel to Santander's east coast. Ops was worried. The orders were to avoid engaging regular Santandern forces . . . unless they were effectively engaging an element of the assault force. The Santandern jets could do that.