Anthony DeCosmo - Empire

“I think it’s safe to say we’ve covered the ground on this. Dante, I’ll see if I can steal some manpower from Intelligence to help you out around here for a few days. In the meantime, you did lift fingerprints from the glass, so see where that leads and let me know. Perhaps my people can access the FBI data banks down in Washington.”

Dante held his eyes on Trevor for a moment longer before letting out a long exhale.

“Yeah, okay. Fine. I’ll do that.”

Jones snapped around and marched out. Knox watched him go and then gently shut the door.

Trevor returned his eyes to the lawn and trees outside the window. He said, “The last thing I thought I’d ever hear you do is intervene on Dante’s behalf.”

“He does raise an interesting question. Exactly why is Dante Jones in charge of Internal Security? His background isn’t a perfect fit.”

“There weren’t exactly a lot of people to choose from that first year. Most of the guys with actual police training had to be converted to military men. Besides, Internal Security seemed like an easy job in the early days. One that I thought would be hard to screw up.”

“I see.”

“Dante has been a friend of mine since I was a kid. I know him. I can trust him, and I can trust his judgment.”

“Trevor, it’s obvious that after the invasion you somehow or another managed to learn a lot of new skills. I’ve heard it said that you were a car salesman in the old world, but now you can shoot guns and fly helicopters. Most people aren’t that lucky. Dante Jones didn’t get some special gift just because aliens came here. Maybe you’re expecting too much. Most people are still just the same regular folks they were in the old days.”

Trevor ignored Knox’s point and mumbled, “He might not have the background in security, but he’s got a good head. I just have to stay on him. I have to push him.”

Knox remarked, “I’d say you push him quite a bit.”

“So now you’re worried about Dante’s feelings?”

“No, no, I have more important things to worry about.”

Without turning, Trevor said, “Yes, I heard a report. The Hivvans are regrouping inside the pocket.”

“I estimate we have a few days before they become a significant threat, but the fact is that supplies have started rolling in to the enemy forces inside the pocket. They have established small operating bases and are improving communications.”

“How long?”

“Not an exact science, Trevor, you know that.”

“How long?”

“Okay, you want a guess, I’ll give you one. Three or four days before things get iffy. If we’re lucky, we might have another week. That’s best case. By then they will be an effective fighting force capable of punching out of the pocket we’re putting them in.”

Trevor finally turned around and faced Knox. He pinched the bridge of his nose and admitted, “Southern Command says we’re running out of aviation fuel and bombs. Pilots are exhausted and they are starting to catch some anti-air flak. We lost one plane to a mechanical failure yesterday and another to enemy fire, a couple more are out of action for lack of spare parts. I can count the number of operational planes in that area with one hand. I guess it’s all bad news today.”

“No, Sir, not at all,” Knox’s voice picked up a notch. “We still have time. Take out the supply depots and the plan will still work. Stonewall should make it in time. He’s facing opposition in his sector but nothing he can’t get through to complete his mission.”

“You know I know that,” Trevor responded and stared at Gordon Knox. “You can stop playing games, Gordon. You’re not here to talk about Stonewall.”

Knox nodded his head. “Okay then. No games.”

“What have your agents found out about New Winnabow?”

“There are four council members, each one roughly representing a different quadrant of the town. They are elected. The four then elect a ‘Chief’ councilman and a Sergeant-at-Arms.”

Trevor replied, “I know that. I also know they have about fifty armed militiamen on duty at any one time. They have security zones each with its own warning bell to summon reinforcements as needed. Armaments are limited to primarily shotguns, hunting rifles, and pistols. They keep a few Molotov cocktails around and their armory has additional weapons but nothing we would consider heavy.”

“Ah yes, of course. Your K9s, no doubt.”

Trevor did not answer. He did not need to tell Gordon how much Tyr had learned by merely roaming the town for a couple of hours.

“So what can you tell me that I don’t already know?”

Knox tried, “The Sergeant-At-Arms sets duty rosters and maintains control over the armory. Private citizens do not have firearms in their homes. Each councilman can call out additional militiamen on a few minutes notice. It’s similar to how the United States used to be with the National Guard; the Governors had to mobilize them for use in their states. Same thing here, but it’s the individual councilmen who are responsible.”

“So…” Trevor led.

“…so if you’re planning on occupying New Winnabow you’ll want to decapitate the council first. That would cut down casualties on both sides.”

Trevor mulled that over.

Of course…take out the council then send in the infantry…could probably do the whole thing without knocking over a building He slammed his fist onto the desktop. A pencil jumped and then rolled to the floor.

“Why the hell am I even thinking about this? We’re talking about a living, thriving human settlement. We’re talking about people. I’ve been doing this all these years to save people, not kill them. Not take away their homes and lives!”

Stone grunted in disgust. Disgust with himself. For a moment there, he planned a military strategy to use against human beings. Not Hivvans. Not The Order. Not Redcoats. Not Vikings.

Human beings.

Peaceful human beings.

For all he knew, Parsons and New Winnabow could be right.

That thought sent a shiver along his spine. Gordon noticed a change in Trevor’s demeanor.

“What is it?”

Trevor spoke in an almost trance-like state. “All these years…I’ve been looking for a deeper meaning to Armageddon. I know this is about more than taking our planet. It is about…something about subjugating mankind. What if Parsons and his council have the right idea? What if this is a test to see if man can live without violence? His people haven’t been attacked. Jesus Christ…what if I’m the bad guy?”

“Sir,” Gordon interrupted Trevor. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want an alternative route around New Winnabow.”

“There is none and we’re running out of time. You have two options. The first is to push through New Winnabow some way or another. The second is to call off the pincer movement, pull 1 ^ st and 2 ^ nd Mech off the line and let the Hivvan Corp escape to Columbia.”

“Those aren’t acceptable options.”

“Damn it, Trevor,” Gordon snapped. “Do you know why I’m here? Do you know why I follow you?”

Trevor did not answer; he just stared at Knox.

“Because you do what has to be done. When I look at you- when we all look at you — we see a man who can see a future for humanity. We see a man who will stop at nothing to get there. We see a man who knows that, yes, we are in a situation where the ends justify the means. That ends is the survival of our species.”

“So I should kill the people in New Winnabow to save the rest of us?”

“Yes!” Gordon nearly shouted. “If we are fortunate to win this war then in two hundred years our great grand children can second guess everything you did like they second guessed Truman for dropping the bomb. If we don’t win…it’s all over. There will be no one to pass judgment on you.”