23. Silent Witnesses Castle Brian, Tantalus, The Rack, The Periphery In the centre of the chamber, on a raised platform, was a dirty and bloodstained makeshift boxing ring. In fact, it appeared to be little more than old myomer fibres, crudely attached to four metal posts, bolted to the floor, to form an enclosed square, but there was little doubt about the use to which it had been put. Chains and manacles adorned the walls and numerous implements that might have once been used as tools lay scattered about the place. Rusty brown stains on the bare ferrocrete floor and walls told their grim story. Things only got worse as they began searching the cells. The occupants were men, women and even a small number of children, of varying ages. Some whimpered and cowered as Iversen’s troops went from cell to cell, breaking open the doors. Other just sat on the crude beds or the floor with vacant expressions. Other simply lay unconscious, close to death. Nearly all bore marks or wounds of various types. It soon became obvious that, among other things, the prisoners had been beaten, burned and wounded with bladed weapons. Some had even been mutilated. All bore evident signs of malnourishment and none looked as though they’d seen sunlight in over a year. It was small wonder these unfortunates were in such a pitiful state. Robyn blinked, fighting back the tears that welled up as she took in scene. She noted, with a degree of relief, that she was not the only one so affected. A number of the soldiers were expressing open shock and outrage, although most were carefully concealing their emotions behind masks of grim professionalism, as they tended to the prisoners as best they could. They’d treated battlefield casualties before, but this was something quite different and infinitely more sinister. Even so, it only took a few moments to overcome their initial shock. Then their training kicked in and they began moving from one prisoner to another, examining them, prioritising them and giving them such treatment as they could in the circumstances. Many would need intensive, long term medical and psychological care to fully recover, but in the meantime, Francis and her medics did the best they could to stabilise their patients. Iversen’s troops assisted the medics in carrying those unable to walk, on the long trip back to the surface, also guiding those who could stand. When they finally reached the surface, some flinched and cowered at the bright light and heat of the sun. Some fell to their knees and began to cry. Others simply gazed up at the sky in wonder. De Chastelaine stood in the midst of the organised chaos that went on around her, wondering what the hell they were supposed to do. They had captured nearly a hundred pirates and had rescued at least as many prisoners, if not more, from that dank, cold hellhole, far beneath the ground. Even with the infantry carriers and tech support vehicles, they didn’t have nearly enough transport for all these people. “Its no good”, she said to herself, “We’re going to have to call the St George and get them to send some VTOLs or request shuttles from the Indy”. In an effort to release some of the pent-up tension inside her, she jogged over to the lead APC in the vehicle column that had parked up in the compound. The crews were already getting ready for departure. Peering in through the open rear doors, she spied the radio operator. “Can you call the St George on that?” she asked, nodding at the radio. “Sorry ma’am, it doesn’t have the range…even without those mountains in the way. We can reach the mobile field base on the other side of the lake though”. “Okay, call them and have someone contact the dropship. Tell them we need every Karnov they can spare ASAP…or better still, two of the Indy’s shuttlecraft”. She fixed the young soldier with a penetrating stare. “Tell them it’s a medical emergency”. The trooper got the message, “Yes, ma’am!” She ducked back into The Rack’s blazing sunshine. Even though it was now late evening, it was still uncomfortably warm and the sky was still a brilliant azure, with only a hint of purple twilight on the horizon. As she walked back to the fortress, Robyn became aware of a gentle but insistent tugging on her sleeve. She looked down to see a young girl. She recognised the child as one of the survivors from the dungeon. She was maybe ten or twelve, a slight, waif-like figure with dirt-smudged, elfin features and unkempt long blonde hair. Her tattered and dirty dress, that might have once been pale blue, fluttered round her knees in the light winds. “What is it?” asked Robyn. The girl did not reply, but continued to tug, pointing in a vaguely easterly direction, towards the rear of the fortress. “You want me to go there with you?” she asked. The girl nodded. As they walked in silence, Robyn began to wish she’d commandeered a jeep. Although the scenery was something to behold, the complex was huge and definitely not designed to be traversed on foot. After a quarter of an hour of scrambling across the island’s hills and dips, they came to a large dirt field, filled with row upon row of crudely made wooden crosses – little more than tree branches tied together with string. It took a moment for the enormity of what she was seeing to sink in; then she let out a gasp, covering her mouth with her hands. “Blessed Blake!” Taking a moment to regain her composure, she stared down at the girl. “Were these other people who were kept here, like you?” The girl just nodded. “Is anyone you know here?” Another nod. “Your parents…what happened to them?” The girl took Robyn’s hand and led her through the knee-high forest of crosses until they reached one, which had the remains of an old teddy bear laying beneath it. The one next to it had a string necklace with pink plastic flowers strung onto it. She knelt beside the girl and stared in mute horror and disbelief, hoping that this might be some horrible dream. “This is…this is where your Mum and Dad are?” she asked quietly. The girl nodded again. “They’ve been here for a long time now”, she said in a voice barely above a whisper. This time Robyn could not hold back the tears. She put her arms around the girl and hugged her tightly as she cried. After a while the girl pulled back and stared at Robyn strangely, her big, pale blue eyes boring into Robyn’s tearful green ones. She reached out a dirty hand and wiped de Chastelaine’s tear-streaked face. Robyn gave a little laugh. “Look at me”, she sniffed. “If anyone has a right to cry, its you”. The girl gave what might have been the barest hint of a smile and threw her arms around Robyn’s neck, hugging her with surprising strength. Robyn returned the hug, lifting the girl off her feet and for just a little while, things didn’t seem so bad.

24. An Ill Wind Dropship St George, Britannia Guards’ Field Base, Dead Sea Plains, The Rack, The Periphery Demi-Precentor O’Reilly stood at the bridge communications console, listening intently to the report coming in from the mobile field base, set up near the ancient Star League fortress. Her arms were by her sides, her hands balled into white-knuckled fists. She unconsciously chewed her lower lip as the awful news came in from the mobile field base. “Ma’am, Demi-Precentor de Chastelaine reports they’ve found a graveyard towards the rear of the compound. One of the survivors pointed it out to her. She estimates over fifty people have been buried there. It seems that when Hopper Morrison visited, he liked his subordinates to put on a show for him”. The radio operator broke off for a moment and Keira could hear him composing himself before delivering the next part of the message. “They drew names from an old neurohelmet and the chosen prisoners were made to fight each other…sometimes to the death but more often until one was incapacitated. Apparently those who survived the fights often died later of their injuries". His voice faltered and O’Reilly could tell he was struggling again. Her hand went to her mouth and she blinked as she felt her own eyes watering. “Afterwards, the others were made to bury the dead…I’m sorry ma’am”, he apologised, as he almost choked on his words. “Blake’s Blood…these are some really sick bastards. I hope the OCDF are really sticking it to them on Pain!” he said vehemently. O’Reilly nodded silently in agreement. “Amen to that, Acolyte. Tell Demi-Precentor de Chastelaine that four Karnovs will be diverted immediately for the transfer of the survivors. We’ll make them comfortable until the Indy’s shuttles can take them off-planet”. Her voice took on a grim tone as she considered the fate of the captured pirates. “Afterwards, suitable arrangements will be made for the transfer and accommodation of the prisoners”. As she cut the link, she wondered briefly if she could talk Precentor Arden into putting the pirates on trial, for crimes against humanity. In a tradition that dated back to the age of sail-powered ships on Terra, Coalition navy officers, from the rank of Demi-Precentor upwards, had the power to conduct legal proceedings against captured enemies, in situations where normal legal systems did not apply, or were unavailable. In a situation like this, where the enemy in question belonged to no recognised faction to whom they could be delivered, to have justice served on them, it seemed appropriate. They were also a long way from Coalition space and conducting a trial via HPG uplink would have been ludicrously slow. She walked slowly back to her command post, taking deep breaths to compose herself. All in all, her temporary command of the Guards had gone as well as could be expected. The prisoners brought in by Demi-Precentor Donohue, were already cooling their heels in the Indefatigable’s brig. The pirate mechs deemed worth salvaging had been loaded onto the St George and her two sister ships. The withdrawal had begun, with III Bravo and the remnants of III Alpha having boarded the Spitfire and City of London, several hours ago. The enigmatic Captain Jerricho and her Coyote Cavaliers were still performing sentry duty, awaiting the return of III Gamma, as well as the infantry and support units. Best of all had been the latest news from the Indy. Precentor Bainbridge’s condition appeared to have stabilised and given time, it looked as though he would make a full recovery. She was just about to take her seat when the communications officer called to her again. “Ma’am, I’ve got Precentor Arden on a secure channel – she needs to speak with you immediately”. O’Reilly sighed wearily. “Okay, put her though to my quarters. I’ll take it there”. Forcing herself to move with some semblance of urgency, she made her way from the bridge, out into the passageway and down the access ladder to the deck below, where her small, spartan cabin was located. Locking the door behind her, she saw a green light blinking on the room’s com unit and hit the button to activate it. “O’Reilly here”. “Keira, we’ve just received a Priority One HPG transmission from Command”. The urgency in Arden’s voice told Keira it was bad news, though she couldn’t imagine what it could be. Nevertheless, her stomach tightened as she braced herself for an unpleasant surprise. “Five days ago, three unidentified warships jumped into the Wellington system and disabled the frigate Athena. Shortly afterwards, a large assault force landed on planet’s northern continent and began pushing towards the capital. They brushed aside the 92nd Division’s III Bravo, almost as though they weren’t there. III Alpha engaged them and managed to stall their advance, but they were eventually forced to withdraw towards Taunton. Precentor Commander Jackson authorised two Divisions to be redeployed from Britannia and it seems they may have got there in time to stop the Lancers being overrun, but communications were lost with the planet shortly after…HPG probably got hit. They, along with the remaining Lancers, are all that’s standing in the way of a complete collapse. In the meantime, the 210th Division is being redeployed from St Helens, to provide cover for the capital in their absence”. O’Reilly listened, numb with shock, as the awful details unfolded. The gravity of Arden’s tone told her the warship commander shared her sense of anger and helplessness. Keira wondered if she was also experiencing the gut-wrenching sickness of her planetside counterpart. Arden had been a junior Adept in the Com Guard fleet before the Word of Blake invasion of Terra. Maybe the experience of losing one planet had made her more realistic about the possibility of losing another. “What are our orders?” she asked, her body operating almost on autopilot, while her mind tried to come to terms with the news. “Well, based on the intel they're getting at the moment, Command believes we can expect strikes against other worlds, so besides mobilising all our front line units and planetary militia forces, they’re recalling the Indy and the Guards with immediate effect”. “But we’re over two hundred light years away! How can they expect us to return in time to be of any use?” “I’ve already checked the star charts. If we cut right through the Rim Worlds and skip through the Royalist Alliance, we can be back in Coalition space in two months, maybe six weeks if we plot our jumps right”. Keira shook her head. “If we’d done that on the way here, we’d have been finished and halfway home by now”. “True, but we needed the element of surprise. There’s no guarantee we’d have gone unnoticed, had we taken that shortcut. According to intel, the pirates had friends in the Rim Worlds who might’ve alerted them to our presence and the Alliance is in turmoil right now…no telling what a visit from us might have done”. Keira sighed again in acknowledgement. “So what does our schedule look like?” There was a pause as Arden ran over the details in her head. “I want to jump out by midnight tomorrow, local time. The Indy’s been pretty well in a constant state of readiness since we arrived here, but I know you’ve got your troops scattered around the locality. Can you recall them that soon without compromising the mission?” “Yes, we’re almost done here, but it’ll take a while to get all our people and gear stowed and ready to go. We’ve also got more prisoners and the survivors from the base. Have you got room for additional passengers?” Arden gave a sigh of her own. “Great, that’ll just slow up our departure even more. Still, we can’t just leave them here, can we? I’ll send both shuttles to transfer them and I’ll alert the marines to expect more guests. So, can you be ready in…” there was a pause as she checked her chronometer, “Eighteen hours?” O’Reilly thought for a moment. “It’ll be tight, but yes, I think we can”. As Arden cut the link, she stared grimly at the holotank in the middle of the Indy’s bridge. When the Blakists had attacked Terra, a little over ten years ago, the few ships the Com Guard fleet had had in the Sol system were either mothballed or in spacedock for maintenance. She’d been a junior officer on one of the ships in dock. She could still remember the feeling of helplessness she and the rest of the crew had felt as they’d watched the jumpships materialise in-system on their sensors, then watched the swarm of dropships burn their way towards Terra. She made a silent vow that they would make it back in time, even if she had to fight through every system between here and the Coalition.