Graham Paul - The battle for Commitment planet

"I think," Michael said, "those were our Merlin missiles. It's hard to know, but it looked to me like at least half slipped through."

The holovid ended, and the lights came back on.

"Unbelievable," Vaas said, shaking his head. He looked at Michael. "What you did to Perkins is the reason," he continued, "why we'd need our heads examined not to accept your offer of help. That place has been a thorn in our side for far too long. Somehow, I don't think it will be again, not for a while, anyway. Still, enough of that. We have a lot to get through. The Resistance Council wants to talk to me. While I do that, Colonel Pedersen will bring you up to date with what's happening politically, then General Cortez will outline the military situation. Once that's done, we need to work out how to get all of you back to Branxton Base. You're okay where you are for the moment, but we shouldn't expose your people or those landers of yours any longer than we have to. Andrika?"

"Thank you, General," Pedersen said. "The first thing to say is that the government of Chief Councillor Polk is not doing so well. If we look at the holovid, we can see…"

Exhausted though he was, sleep was the last thing Michael wanted. He was happy to lie in the darkness as his mind ran through the briefings Pedersen and Cortez had provided.

Polk and his crew of incompetent, murderous thugs were in trouble, that much was obvious. Fueled by the NRA's military successes and urged on by an increasingly effective Nationalist movement, civil unrest was at levels not seen in decades. A hard-pressed DocSec was running out of places to jail everyone they arrested-they had taken to shooting people out of hand instead-the economy was falling apart, and desertion from the military, especially from planetary ground defense and DocSec, was at an all-time high, a reflection of poor morale compounded by bad leadership from corrupt officers.

It was a bad situation for any authoritarian government, but Michael did not share Pedersen's view that the Hammer government was at a tipping point. Yes, things were bad, but the resources Polk and crew commanded were still enormous. Worse, not once since the establishment of the Hammer of Kraa Worlds had the government come close to collapse, not even during the darkest days of the Great Schism. Backed by the enormous spiritual authority of the Teacher of Worlds and his legions of priests, together with the elaborate apparatus of state-sponsored religion, the Hammers were formidable opponents still.

Pedersen's briefing had been optimistic. It needed to be. The hope that there was some point to the terrible sacrifices the NRA was making day in, day out was probably the one thing that sustained her and everyone else in the NRA.

Michael was not so sure her optimism was justified. For sheer animal brutality, the Hammers had no equal. For centuries now that brutality had kept a lid on things; maybe it might slam the lid down on the NRA this time around. He sighed; with all his heart he wanted Pedersen's optimism to be justified. If it was not, the NRA's war would end up the way all previous insurrections had: in a chaotic welter of betrayal, blood, and death as the Hammers took back control.

It did not bear thinking about. If the Hammers regained the upper hand, he and Anna were trapped. They would never get off Commitment, never see home, never see family and friends again, condemned to live their lives hunted by vengeful Hammers.

As for the military situation, it was no worse than he expected. Given their lack of hardware, Vaas and the NRA were doing well. They had pushed the Hammers out of the Branxton Ranges, where, protected by the appalling terrain, the NRA had been able to build a secure base of operations. Cortez had said that the Hammers had abandoned their air assaults on NRA bases in the ranges-too difficult, too costly, the payoff never enough to warrant the lives wasted-and now the NRA had started to move out onto the low ground that led to the city of McNair and the end of the war.

That was where it all began to fall apart. The NRA's nascent air force totaled two heavy landers, four ground-attack Klaxons, and a single air-superiority Kingfisher fighter, all suffering from an acute shortage of spares and ordnance. With limited air support and protected only by Goombah light surface-to-air missiles, NRA forces that tried to stand and fight were easy meat for planetary defense fliers and Hammer marine ground-attack landers. That, of course, was where his three landers came into the picture; it was no wonder Vaas was keen to work with the Feds.

Three fully operational landers were not much, but they were a start. If the NRA was able to lay its hands on some more, maybe they had a chance.

Buoyed by that prospect, Michael allowed himself to slip away into sleep. Friday, September 28, 2401, UD Offices of the Supreme Council for the Preservation of the Faith, McNair, Commitment

Fleet Admiral Belasz cleared his throat before continuing. For once, Polk sympathized with the man. It had been a long Defense Council meeting. For most of it, Belasz had been on his feet talking, and no doubt he wanted it to be over. By Kraa, Polk did. He had had enough for one day; convincing the council to do what had to be done was never easy, with every issue ending up trapped in one of the many fault lines that scarred the political landscape, lines that marked the endless struggle between power, duty, privilege, corruption, obligation, clan, not to mention-this was the Hammer Worlds, after all-blackmail and threats of violence. It was a nightmarish business, and he hated it because it reminded all present of the limits to the chief councillor's powers.

"Let me now sum up," Belasz went on. "The attacks on the three PGDF bases were the action of a small group of rogue personnel led by Lieutenant Michael Helfort, captain in command of the heavy cruiser Redwood. I will not comment on the man's motivations; that is for others to do. Thus far, we have no evidence that any of the Fed landers involved in the subsequent attack on J-5209 have survived, but the search of the crash datum continues, and I will report any results. Suffice it to say, the attack has reduced our ability to support operations against the NRA, thanks to the loss of three entire air wings along with all of their supporting infrastructure and personnel. The latest estimates I have suggest that it will be two years before Gwalia, Yallan, and Perkins PGDF bases are operational again, which will of course limit our ability to contain the NRA. That concludes my report. Are there any questions?"

Councillor de Mel was the first to speak. "Yes, Admiral. The marine bases at Besud, Serkovitch, and Beslan were untouched. Why can't they make up for the loss of PGDF capability?"

Belasz tried to suppress a frown; he failed. "That is a good question, Councillor," he said warily, aware that at least half the councillors at the table enjoyed the support of the Hammer Corps of Marines and its legions of allies. "The problem is the Constitution. The marines are to be used for internal security purposes only and, I quote, in 'the exceptional and rare event of Planetary Ground Defense's inability to contain a serious internal threat to the integrity of the Hammer of Kraa Worlds,' a form of words which successive commanding generals of marines had always interpreted literally… as General Baxter is doing now."

"For Kraa's sake!" de Mel protested. "Like we don't have a serious threat to the integrity of the Hammer of Kraa Worlds? What is the NRA if not a serious threat? Schoolkids just messing around? I think not." He turned to Polk. "Chief Councillor," he said. "You know how often I have to come to this council to ask for marine backup for DocSec operations. PGDF has to do the same any time they need heavy armored support. Far, far too often. I think it is time to bring the marines face to face with the cold, hard realities of life."