Fourth Vector Ch. 30

The lieutenant shrugged. "Interesting times we live in, sir."

"That it is," said Roland. "So who's in charge of the regiment now?"

"You are," said the lieutenant. "You're the next in line due to seniority."

Again, Roland blanched. "What about Major Lewis East or Major Bob Lee? They have more years than I do!"

"Both men have been recently wounded and needed to be replaced," said the lieutenant. "That puts you in charge. I'm told that you'll be getting a field promotion to colonel in the coming days, but for now, you are to take command of the entire regiment."

The news was hard to digest but from the look on the lieutenant's face, he had more to say.

"Furthermore, our unit has received a commendation from Admiral Bancroft for our actions in rooting out the rebels and destroying their towns," continued the man. "He urges every commander to keep up similar actions in an effort to bring this rebellion to heel."

"So he wants us to keep burning down the entire country?" asked Roland bluntly.

"Correct, sir. The last order that I've been told to pass on is to have you begin to move against the reports of this growing Tyrolean army. The battalion that was destroyed two days ago was said to have been done so by this army. Your mission will be to hunt them down and neutralize them."

"Any idea of their current whereabouts?" asked Roland.

"We had a report from a defector that they are making the use of an old mountain fortification as their headquarters, but the location of it is vague at best. Your men will be tasked with bringing the entire regiment against it and destroying it, as well as killing the man in charge of it."

"And what might his name be?"

"Trevor Downing is the man reported to be in charge of the army," answered the lieutenant.

Roland sneered. "I know that man. This is one assignment that will be carried out with pleasure."

*****

It was all over.

Of that much, Admiral Bancroft was sure.

No notion could have been more obvious when he examined his current conditions. And he was, at the moment, being carried by two men while a burlap sack had been cinched around his head.

The game was up. Luck had finally deserted him and someone was now going to make amends for all the pain he'd caused. Bancroft could only suspect who might be behind this level of vengeance.

Surely the emperor had the best motive to do so, especially if he found out about Bancroft's role in the death of his son. To his knowledge though, his assassin had escaped detection and at this very moment, he should have been resting comfortably on the other side of the continent in Thessaly.

It could also have been Bancroft's creditors—weaselly men with too much gold and too little patience. Surely the few accounts that were in arrears wasn't enough to warrant such callous treatment?

He also thought of others who might strike at him. Old rivals from within the navy or disgruntled officers whose careers he shunted to get ahead.

There was no shortage of enemies who could be behind this current strike.

All he knew was that he'd been abducted from his home after hours by someone who cut the power and then invaded his mansion. They killed off his lone guard and most of his servants until they seized him and brought him to a running car.

That was when the burlap sack had gone over his head, shielding their destination. After the car came to a stop, he was carried, roughly, into this underground location where their footsteps echoed across the stonework around them. There was no noise to be heard other than the footsteps, and Bancroft had to wonder what would greet him at the end of the passage.

A quick and painless death?

Hardly.

The amount of pain he'd caused over the years would mean whoever awaited him would want to take their time. He steeled himself for the confrontation to follow.

He was dropped to the ground abruptly, causing him to hiss as the stones bashed against his knees. He was no young man, and a drop from any height onto such a surface was bound to cause pain. Bancroft saw it as only the beginning in a night that was sure to escalate.

When the burlap sack was removed from his head, Bancroft wasn't surprised to see the figure in front of him.

Emperor Charles IX of Java looked down on him with disgust. It was a look that Bancroft was familiar with from the emperor but it usually wasn't directed toward him. Ironically enough, the last time Bancroft had seen it, it had been directed at George.

"Murderer," said Charles from the beginning. "You murdered my son."

There were two paths available to Bancroft in that moment. One was to accept that he'd been beaten and admit to what he'd done. He could tell Charles all the gritty details—how he'd found the assassin, how much he'd paid him, when the deed was done and how. There was no clemency in that option but he might just get a swift death out of it for his honesty.

The other path was to obfuscate his involvement and protest his innocence. An outright lie would do. It might enrage the emperor but it was his best chance to stay alive long enough to play another round of the great game.

And he was anything if not a gamesman.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Bancroft, putting on a show of fear because he believed it would go along with his words. His pupils widened and his mouth pittered, all to lead credence to that notion.

"You lie," thundered the emperor. "You paid an assassin to kill my son!"

Well, I guess the man wasn't worth what I paid him, thought Bancroft. Externally, he shook his head from side to side with vigor.

"I did no such thing, Your Majesty! I'm an innocent man," he protested. "I would never touch a hair on your son's head!"

"No, maybe not you," sneered Charles. "You would get someone else to do your dirty work for you. That's how you operate, isn't it, Bancroft? You're too smart to be the one left holding the knife. Unfortunately for you, I found the man who did."

The emperor gestured to a box that was on a table not far from Bancroft's current position. He couldn't see what it contained since it was higher than his head, but Charles walked over to it and reached inside.

In the next moment, he yanked a severed head from the box, one that was too gruesome to behold. The figure had died tragically and his eye sockets were completely bare. Vaguely, Bancroft thought he resembled the man he'd hired to carry out the deed.

Charles threw the head on the stonework in front of Bancroft. "I found your assassin. You may not know that I keep a similar network of my own spies. Your man was good. Mine were better. He gave out your name right before life left his body."

Bancroft raised his chin. "What good is a name given on the cusp of death? The man would have given his own mother's name to receive a merciful death. His accusations mean nothing."

Charles shook his head. "Obstinate to the end, eh? No matter. You'll have some time to reflect on your sins. I'm sending you to Blackgate until I can find time to execute you as an enemy of the state."

Bancroft swallowed heavily. Blackgate was a remote prison for the most dangerous enemies of the Javan Empire. In peacetime, it was usually empty but during times of war, it could hold high-standing figures of foreign countries. Many of the ancient Tyrolean kings died at Blackgate awaiting release, as did a few traitors. Admiral Henrik had been kept there for a week before he could be executed.

It was the last place in the world that any sane man wanted to be.

"You failed, Bancroft," said Charles morosely. "And in doing so, you've destroyed yourself."

*****

Admiral Walter McKenzie could only read the dispatch with disbelief. He reread it three times for good measure but even then, he still had trouble digesting the news.

What man could easily take to the message that the head of the Javan Navy had been arrested for treason?

Only two days prior, Admiral Bancroft had been arrested at the orders of the emperor. He had been thrown into the notorious Blackgate prison, the type of place that caused many men to kill themselves rather than go into its desolate halls. The dispatch was light on the reasoning why Bancroft had been arrested although McKenzie believed he knew the answer. It became obvious that the emperor was on a warpath after the death of his son. There was little doubt for him that Bancroft was in some ways connected. The choice of Blackgate as his prison only seemed to confirm the severity of the crime.

For the time being, McKenzie, as the next highest-ranking officer in Java, was to assume temporary command of the navy. The message told him to finish up his current operation before he was to head home for Belfort in preparation of taking over the big job. It also ordered him to keep strictly quiet about the nature of Bancroft's arrest. For the time being, the emperor didn't want to have news about Bancroft reach the general public, who would no doubt be agitated at seeing one of their war heroes suffer so publicly. For now, McKenzie was to keep it to himself and his staff.

McKenzie sighed as he leaned against the railing of his battleshipThessaly. It was a hell of a way to get a promotion although he was certain that whatever was being said about Bancroft was true. The man was a cunning opportunist, and there was little doubt that he'd played his last card. Part of him had to wonder if Bancroft's treachery ran any deeper than it appeared. If the man was arrested now, was it all truly over or would Bancroft's puppets rush to fill the void?

Before he could get too far into thinking about the new post, he had to complete his current operation. Thankfully, that was almost done. McKenzie was off the Occitanian west coast, not far from the second city of Occitania, Chambery. Just this morning, he'd won a devastating victory against the remains of the Occitanian fleet, sinking another five battleships for the loss of only one of his own. It was the kind of victory that would have earned him a promotion anyway, and now there was no way that the Occitanians could contest any further engagements at sea.

The battle itself had been a last ditch effort for the Occitanians to escape out to sea from the besieged port of Chambery, which was being operated against by the Javan army. The battered remains of the tiny Occitanian army was joined by a so-far useless Ruthenian expeditionary force, and together, they contested the occupation of the city.

Unfortunately for them, they didn't have a chance. The Javan army was massively larger and more experienced. As they tightened the grip around the doomed city, there was nothing left for the Occitanians to do but try to escape. It became a wholesale slaughter.

The Javan army occupied the city with only minimal casualties. What was left of the battered Occitanian and Ruthenian force retreated north to make a last stand outside the capital of Montauban. The Javan general in command of the entire affair signaled his intention to pursue as quickly as possible. McKenzie couldn't help but note that the Occitanians were unlucky that Crown Prince George had died. If he were in charge, perhaps they wouldn't have been defeated so easily.

With all the armed forces of Occitania now in full retreat, it wouldn't be long until this war was over, and McKenzie could take his new place in the Admiralty. His first intention would be to clean house. There were too many Bancroft holdovers that staffed the department—sycophants and yes-men who would have to go. In McKenzie's mind, there was a stain over the entire Admiralty that wouldn't go away until all of Bancroft's appointments were done away with. Only then could they hope to rebuild and finish the war.

For now though, McKenzie was reminded of a verbal agreement he had with another admiral. He went below deck to the communications room and sent out a dispatch that was going to be transmitted through Quiller's Cove. Addressed to Jack Easterbrook, he outlined a basic greeting to the man that wouldn't raise eyebrows anywhere. The last phrase he used was part of their code when referencing Bancroft.

You'll be pleased to know the weather is great back at home. A thunderstorm was supposed to come into the area but it's moved on for good. Clear skies are ahead, excellent for sailing.

He hoped that Jack would be able to read between the lines. A thunderstorm moving on was the code that Bancroft had been foiled in some way. He sent the dispatch on its way, having no idea that Jack was no longer with his task force and that Barnabas was in his place.

For the rest of the evening, McKenzie was content to enjoy the fruits of victory. With the Occitanian threat almost over, the ending to the war was in sight. And with Bancroft hopefully foiled for good, all the trouble on the home front would hopefully go with him.

McKenzie went to sleep that night with lighter thoughts than usual.

Hopefully better days were ahead.

*****

Greg was walking through Aedan's palace with a purpose that surprised him, especially given the recent conclusion he'd been forced upon by circumstances in Picardy. He figured his footsteps would be more morose or slow, but they were springy in such a way that instilled confidence in his decision.

Behind him was Dustin and two other marines, men that they'd happened across because they were serving as couriers between them and the rest of the force. They might be needed for what was going to happen next, and Greg was thankful to have them along.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Dustin as they neared their destination. "There's no going back once it starts."

"There's not much that I'm sure about anymore," said Greg with a hollow voice. "But this is one of them."

With those final words, he raised his knuckles to the large wooden door and rapped three times. He heard movement from within, heavy footsteps that shuffled ever closer to the door. He wondered what the occupant would think as soon as it was opened.

He knew his life would change forever when it did.

The door opened suddenly and Greg was greeted to the sight of the unconcerned face of Viceroy Paul Ferris. Like usual, he had the face of a man who just smelled something nauseating—something that was always present every time he saw him.

"Lt. Colonel Vaughn, to what do I owe this pleasure?" asked Ferris without much enthusiasm. "Are you here to help me with these rascals and securing their commitment to the empire or is this a social call?"

Greg shook his head from side to side. "I'm afraid it's neither." He then looked back at the two marines behind him. "Do it."

With much aplomb, the two stone-faced marines moved into the room and grabbed Ferris by the arms, securing him against his will.The viceroy exploded with anger immediately.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Ferris as his head whipped back and forth between the two marines before finally settling on Greg. "What in the blazes are you doing? Unhand me!"

"I'm doing what I should've done from the moment you stepped foot in Picardy," said Greg without emotion. "You're under arrest, Viceroy. Your actions have been detrimental to our alliance with Picardy, and the broader strategic situation is harmed by your presence."

"That's hardly something to be arrested for!" hissed Ferris. "I've done nothing illegal!"

"You've suggested that we fire on the city where we have almost our entire force of marines," said Greg with a shrug. "How about we go with fomenting an insurrection? I'd even throw in treason for good measure since you suggested firing on our own men."

"Treason! Don't be ridiculous! Unhand me at once! I'm a legal viceroy of the Javan Empire and I won't be treated in such a manner!"

"I will do no such thing," replied Greg. "You'll be removed to someplace where you can't cause any further damage. You're no longer in charge here."

"I'll have all of you arrested for this! And not only will you lose your commands but you'll be thrown into prison afterward!" threatened Ferris. "By god, I swear to it that you won't get away with this! The emperor will see you punished for this! You'll all lose your heads!"

"You'll excuse me if I don't take your word for it," replied Greg before nodding to the marines.

The two of them carried the screaming Ferris down the palace, all the way to the designated room that Greg had set aside for such a purpose. He would petition Aedan for a proper cell the next time he saw him, but a guarded room would have to suffice for now. Once the sound of Ferris' yells couldn't be heard anymore, Greg could hear a subtle chuckling at his side.

He turned to find Dustin with a smirk on his face.

"What are you laughing about?" he asked.

Dustin put his hand on Greg's shoulder. "And I thoughtI was going to be the one to turn rebel. But you beat me to it."

Greg let out a heavy sigh. "Hopefully if this gambit fails, they'll only arrest and execute me. You might be able to save your skin still."

Dustin chuckled. "I doubt it. I'm with you until the end. And so are most of the men. For good or bad, we're all in the same boat now."

"That we are," said Greg before he took another deep breath. "We're rebels now."

That took a moment to sink in before he looked back at Dustin. "Come on, let's go find the others. They deserve to know what happened to the viceroy."

The two of them left Ferris' former chambers and soon split up with the goal of covering more territory between them. After nearly twenty minutes of searching, they'd managed to round up Aedan and Ciara, as well as Kat and Abigail. All of them looked just as anxious as the next to find out the purpose for being called together.

"I won't keep you in suspense long," said Greg as he made eye contact with each person in the room. "I've just had Viceroy Ferris arrested on my own authority and removed from his position of power."

Despite two gasps in the room, it was deathly silent. Aedan looked on with nodding approval at Greg's words but both Kat and Abigail had their hands over their mouths.

"You've truly removed him?" asked Kat. "He's gone?"

"To a guarded room for now," confirmed Greg. "Unless Aedan would like to provide a cell that we can put him in for longer storage."

"I have several that I have in mind for that man," said Aedan eagerly. "You've done Picardy a great service by your actions, Greg. I have to really commend you for it."

"What Greg has done could be considered treason," added Abigail, the concern written into every contour of her face. She turned to face him. "Are you all right, Greg?"

He swallowed heavily before answering. "It needed to be done," he replied, avoiding her question. Abigail nodded in response, seeming to understand his choice of words.

"But this might be only a temporary reprieve," continued Greg, this time addressing Aedan again. "We might be getting rid of the viceroy, but there could be more fury coming from the Javan government when they find out. We might have invited more trouble."

"Trouble for yourselves or trouble for Picardy?" asked Aedan.

"Both," replied Greg. "Unless if someone tried to leave Picardy now to make their way to Javan territory, they would be treated as a rebel regardless of their true feelings. All the Javans that remain on Picardy would receive the same treatment."

Greg took that moment to look at Abigail and Dustin, the only other two affected in the room. Dustin's face was neutral, and Greg had to suspect that he'd already accepted his likely fate. Abigail's was pensive, and it was hard to understand what was going on inside her at the moment.

"It is something that we will deal with when the time comes," said Aedan finally, earning Greg's attention once more. "For now though, we need to deal with the enemy in front of us, not the potential enemy across the ocean."