Chapter 4

Introduction of Apollo, and unfurling of the antagonists...

 

            Colonel Harris stepped out in to the jailer’s office at the end of the detention block. He sneered at the two conscripts seated at the desk.            

            “Get out,” he ordered them.

            The two men jumped, no doubt overcome by fear, and quickly exited the room. Harris’s personal guards stayed outside in the corridor, armed with their rifles and long, electrified bayonets. Harris sat down and flipped up a panel on the top of the desk.

            “Harris,” he said, “clearance signature 22149.”

            “Good afternoon, Colonel,” the concealed computer chimed back in a smooth, Russian female’s voice, “how may I be of assistance today?”

            “Dial Governor’s officer, priority 01,” he ordered.

            “Dialing sir,” the computer responded. A tone filled the speakers of the system until being answered.

            “Kellen’s office,” a voice responded.

            “Nice to have reached your personal line, Governor,” he said as he adopted a slightly sycophantic tone.

            “Colonel Harris,” Governor Kellen responded, “how goes it?”

            “Pressed, sir,” Harris responded, “I received your request to plan security of the Terran envoy’s landing. I’m calling to accept the honor.”

            “Delightful,” Kellen’s jovial voice responded. “They will be arriving on Friday, we’ll be needing you to provide overwatch and ground security at Valquette shipyards. Is that acceptable?”

            Harris smiled at the Kellen’s words. He couldn’t know how acceptable he found it. “Quite, sir,” was his terse answer, “any specifications?”

            “Oh, good Lord no,” Kellen laughed, “you’re the military brains of the Planetary Guard, are you not? You surely know what to do to secure a little tea party like this.”

            Harris smirked once more. Tea party indeed, a party he had every intention of crashing. “You have my word, Governor,” he returned, “anything else I may be off assistance with?”

            “That’s it, colonel,” Kellen finished, “get it done quickly. Remember, Friday.” With that, Kellen’s feed died and the screen went blank.

            “The Governor’s office has ended the call,” the computer announced, “may I help you with something else?”

            Harris sat back and contemplated the change that Minoa would be undergoing in 2 short days. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined that the chance would spring up so suddenly. It would be a difficult feat to accomplish, but Harris knew precisely how to get it done. He had been training a battalion for this express purpose for the past 3 years, now they’d get their chance.

            “Computer, call manual number entry, 882-alpha-648, dial, secure channel” he stated.
            “Unrecognized number, dialing could pose a security threat, do you wish to continue?” the computer inquired.

            “Yes,” he responded, his fingers clasped in his lap.

            “Dialing.”

            The tone filled the speakers once more, until it was picked up.

             A deep voice with a thick Uruguayan accent answered. “Hello?” it answered.

            “Neutron star,” Harris breathed.

            “Colonel,” the voice responded, “what’s the word, my friend.”

            “Sir,” Harris grinned, “the Terrans are on their way. They’ll be here in 2 days.”

            “2 days? Why wasn’t I informed before,” the voice responded, growing angry.

            “Forgive me, sir,” Harris pleaded silently, “I was just only informed fifteen minutes ago myself.”
            “Damn!” the voice exclaimed, “We don’t have enough time!”
            “Fear not, sir,” Harris chuckled as he sat back, “we have an advantage.”

            The line was silent for a moment. “Explain,” the voice insisted.

            “The fool Kellen’s signed his government’s death warrant,” Harris hissed, “we’ve been assigned security detail of the Terran’s arrival.”

            Once again the voice was silent. “I see,” it said gravely, “has Atlas been informed?”

            “No,” Harris sighed, “but I intend on readying them immediately.”

            “Do it,” the voice ordered.

            “Yes, sir,” Harris obliged.

            “And Colonel?” the voice asked.

            “Sir?”

            “Don’t contact me again until the affair is over.”

            “Yes sir, Admiral Piquet.”

            The line went dead once more, and Harris stood up. He placed his tri-corner hat back onto his head and closed shut the computer. He moved to the door and pulled it open, to find his guards at attention. The conscripts were also standing outside with the guards, as well.

            “Clean this place up!” Harris barked as he slightly gripped the black-handled rapier hanging from his belt, “this place’s a damn mess!”

            “Yes, sir!” the conscripts both exclaimed as they moved quickly back into their office.     

            Harris adjusted his vest and jacket as he moved up the sloped corridor to the exit into the main yard of the fort. He heard the heels of his guards’ boots clicking behind him. Harris was both feared and respected among the ranks of the Planetary Guard. It was no secret to most of the members that he was a strict follower of the disciplinary ways of Raul Piquet, but none could begin to imagine that Piquet was still alive and giving orders to the commander-in-chief if the Minoan Self Defense Force.

            Harris had become CIC of the Force after the signing of the Treaty of Valquette. The treaty put Tolten in command of all military operations on the planet, and limited officers of the Minoan SDF from achieving any rank higher than Colonel (for the Planetary Guard) or Captain (for the People’s Navy) until complete restoration to the Terran Republic.

            Harris began pulled his gloves back onto his hands, despite it nearing 90 degrees outside. Two guardsmen pulled the doors at the top of the corridor aside, allowing a bright flood of sunlight into the tunnel. Harris quickly crossed exited and made his way to the barracks in the middle of the fort.

            He approached the barracks and entered its cool corridors, pulling off his gloves and hat once more as he made his way to his office. At the door to the small chamber, he turned to the guards and gave an order.

            “Summon the brigade commanders; send for the commanders of Apollo, as well.”             The guards looked at each other with a concerned look. Apollo was a secret battalion, being schooled in the ways of modern combat as we know it. Warfare in this parallel reality changed little from the 18^th century, no matter how much its technology had. Forts still stood as grand constructions of stone, wood, and earthworks. Cannons and muskets still one battles, although they had long since done away with gunpowder to change to electromagnetic and directed energy respectively.

However, Apollo fought more like our own special forces rather than the line infantry of old. Each man carried a short, energy carbine, and wore personal shield generators to deflect shots from the enemy. They didn’t wear the woolen and cotton uniforms of convention; they wore black, functional uniforms. They were each equipped with complex computing and communications devices. They were showed to use night vision and infrared imaging when needed. It was a fighting force that had yet been thought of in their reality; and if it had, it would have been regarded as dishonest, dishonorable, and un-gentlemanlike. But Apollo wasn’t a force for a gentleman’s war.

“Summon Apollo’s officers, I won’t tell you again,” Harris said with a sneer.

“However, keep them out of my office until the rest of the officer’s leave.”

            The guards each saluted and moved away down the hall. Harris pushed the door to his office open as he unlocked it. He sighed in the air conditioning as he shut the door and took his jacket off, hanging it with his jacket on a rack.

            He sat down at his desk and began working on his computer. At the center of the room appeared a 3D holographic projection of Valquette’s shipyards. He stood up once more and approached the map, picking each of the shipyard’s alleys and nooks apart.