Fourth Vector Ch. 45

"I'm Sarah, by the way," she said, anticipating his thoughts. "You did so great tonight and most of the others are ready to go to bed. But I thought that we might stay up for a while? Drink a little more?"

Sarah smiled, a sight that wasn't unpleasant in the slightest. She had messy, brown hair, and a cute button nose. She had freckles on either side of her face, and she was quite tiny for her age. No one in their right mind would think she'd just participated in the blowing up of a factory, but that spoke to the diverse array of backgrounds that had united to oppose Bancroft more than anything else.

While in a normal situation, a drink with a cute, freckled brunette would have made any single man happy, Michael could only shake his head in response.

"Another time or something," he said hastily. "Not now."

Confusion reigned on Sarah's face for a brief moment. She then nodded and started to move away. "Hope so," she said before she was gone.

Michael let out a sigh and leaned his forehead against the wall. There was nothing wrong about the offer that Sarah made. In fact, most single guys would consider that offer to have been nothing short of precursory flirting.

Which was precisely why Michael acted the way he did.

In his mind, he was still betrothed to Jade. It didn't matter that she'd been dead almost as long as he'd known her. For some reason, he still felt loyal to her. And that meant not entertaining any offers from any other women.

On one hand, Michael wished he could take it back. He wished he hadn't been so hard on Sarah, but on the other, he was constantly comparing her to Jade. She wasn't as pretty as Jade, but there were few that could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the woman that was the love of his life.

Yet, Victor's words still kept coming back. How long was he going to continue to revolve his life around a dead woman?

He was still pondering that when he went to sleep an hour later. An answer to that question never did appear.

*****

"Goddamnit, Clark! How does a well-defended munitions factory justhappen to get completely destroyed? And how does it happen that we don't get any of the perpetrators in the process? You've got to be kidding me with this nonsense!"

Bancroft took a moment to catch his breath, exhaling loudly which caused his nostrils to flare uncontrollably. On the other side of his desk, Clark looked more than ready to start with his response. Unfortunately for him, Bancroft wasn't done yet.

"This is the fifth such attack this month! What is going on with my security forces in this city? Is Belfort a secure city at the heart of a global empire or not? Because if you can't keep my capital secure, then maybe I need to start looking for a new number two man!"

Clark winced as soon as Bancroft was finished speaking, but that didn't prevent him from giving his report afterward.

"We have leads on who did it," said Clark finally. "It appears that this rebel group is getting more bold by the day."

"Not another fucking rebel group, Clark," said Bancroft, putting his fingers in his eyes. "How many rebel groups are there now? I have the Tyroleans on one hand, the Occitanians and the Ruthenians with their own rebels, and now I have homegrown rebels right here in Belfort? Is that what you're telling me?"

Clark spread his hands apart. "That's what our intelligence is suggesting, yes. It doesn't seem like this group is related to the Tyroleans. Frankly, the Tyroleans aren't smart enough to operate this covertly without it boiling over into a full-blown conflict."

"Finally, something we can agree on," barked Bancroft. "So what is being done? And who is responsible for this? What group? Have they named themselves?"

Clark shook his head. "We're still working on that. They don't leave many clues, and they usually strike at night, which doesn't help the process of identifying them. That's also not mentioning that they usually don't leave any survivors when they do strike. All the heaps of dead soldiers seem to bear the most witness to that."

"Disgusting rebel scum," interrupted Bancroft. "They are doing their best to undermine my rule of Java, but I will not permit them to succeed. I've taken Java from the very gutter and put her at the top of all the nations of the world, and I won't let some two-bit, grimy rebel scum dictate who really rules in Belfort. I want our best men on this. I want them to find out who's leading this group as well as every member that they can possibly identify."

"Supposedly, we have a hint on the name of the leader," said Clark. "A man that goes by the name, or letter, of H. What that stands for and why is still anyone's guess."

"You find out exactly who this H really is, and you do it quickly," said Bancroft in a threatening tone of voice. "And I want you to capture him alive. I want you to bring him to me. I'm going to crucify every member of this band of rebels in front of all of Belfort. I'm going to remind the country the real reason why I'm the one in charge. Because I, and I alone, can keep Java safe from anyone that threatens her. That includes from this H. That also includes from the Tyroleans and that especially includes Jack Easterbrook. Understand, Clark?"

"Perfectly, Your Majesty."

"Then get to it," said Bancroft, waving his hand.

Clark didn't linger any longer than was necessary. He turned on his heel quickly, and he was almost at the door when Bancroft started snapping his fingers a moment later.

"Clark, one more thing. Has anyone managed to find Michael Bainbridge yet?"

Clark shook his head. "No, we have not. We aren't sure of his current whereabouts."

Bancroft scoffed. "I don't think that it's any coincidence that this group turned up when Michael went missing. He might have had us all fooled that he wasn't really retarded but I'll be damned if I let him get another one over on us. Search for Michael. He might just lead us deeper into this rebel organization."

"Of course, Sire. It'll be done."

With those final words, Clark shut the door to Bancroft's study, leaving the emperor in peace.

"Son of a bitch," muttered Bancroft as he spun around in his chair and looked out the window behind him. The view into his courtyard was a pleasant one, full of lush grass and ancient trees that were entirely pleasing to the senses.

Yet despite how much Bancroft wanted to lose himself in the sight and sounds of nature, he couldn't help but wonder about the threats to his rule. Having another rebel group appear was very troubling for him, more so than he let on with Clark. Mostly, it was the fact that he had no shortage of rebels to contest his rule.

If anything, Java should be on top of the world with her foot on the throats of all her adversaries. In a very nominal way, that was the case, but that thinking was only an inch deep. When the veneer was pulled away, Bancroft's position was much more tenuous than he would have liked. The persistence of the Tyrolean rebels showed no signs of slowing down, and that very topic was the reasoning for his next meeting. What was worse was that his occupational forces in Occitania and Ruthenia seemed to be reporting more unrest and casualties by the day.

None of those conflicts troubled him like the way this homegrown resistance did now. Mostly, that was because Bancroft expected the foreigners to chafe at being under Javan rule. Even the Tyroleans, while Javan in the loosest sense of the word by the definition of sharing the Javan continent, could still be more accurately classified as foreigners in the same degree as the Occitanians or the Ruthenians.

But what was Bancroft to do if the actual Javan civilian population was fed up with his rule? What was he to do if this rebellion was a reflection of his unpopularity at home?

Even Charles, the degenerate that he was, had the respect of the people. He certainly had their fear as well, but the Javan people never threatened a homegrown rebellion under his watch.

So why were they doing so now under Bancroft?

Was he doing something wrong? The people should be rallying around his leadership in a time like this, so why was it that he felt more insecure on his throne than ever before?

It was at that moment of his rawest introspection that Bancroft should have acknowledged the truth of his rule. That he was no better than Charles and that the Javan people had simply exchanged one poor emperor for another poorer emperor. If Bancroft had the necessary humility, he might have accepted that revelation and tried to turn around the growing tide against him.

Alas, Percival Bancroft had not a shred of humility left. The only thing that remained was pride and hubris. His mind prevented any deeper epiphanies and he chose to harden his heart against the growing rebellions. A younger man might have been able to connect the dots, but not one that was so set in his ways.

Instead, Bancroft chose to double down on his heavy-handed responses to the growing military threat. The only thing these rebels would understand was force, and he would make sure that they were met with just such a response.

It was just as Bancroft was contemplating further measures that the first visitor he was waiting for arrived. Mortimus opened the door to reveal General Dennis Ryan, who was until recently one of the foremost generals in Java.

The caveat had to be added because in recent months, the general had lost most of his swagger after the crippling defeat he suffered against the Tyroleans where he lost the majority of his army. Ryan, along with about ten percent of his original force, was forced into a humiliating retreat all the way back to Belfort, where he was forced to beg for fresh regiments to reconstitute his force.

At first, Bancroft had been all too willing to rebuild Ryan's army but as of late, he was beginning to wonder if that was a bad idea. Ryan's confidence had been shattered by his defeat, and the once daring, dashing, and dark general had given into his self-doubts. Great bags now existed under his eyes, and he was prone to stammering when he talked--external reminders of the lack of confidence inside.

Had there been any other general that could take Ryan's place, Bancroft would have already put him in charge. However, with his other key men in charge of Occitania and Ruthenia, there remained not a general of appropriate stature to take command left in Java, forcing him to rely on Ryan.

And although he fully acknowledged that Ryan needed time to rebuild his forces, it was now more than six months after the battle, and his regiments had been fully augmented back to normal size. Bancroft had commanded Ryan to move against the Tyroleans weeks ago, yet the Javan general was still in Belfort.

If anything, Ryan needed a boot to his ass to remind him that orders were to be followed. And Bancroft was here to provide the swift reminder.

"Your Imperial Majesty," said Ryan as he removed his hat and bowed. "I'm at your service."

"General, I'm very perplexed today," said Bancroft as he locked eyes with the other man. "I'm most perplexed on the reason why I still find your force here in the capital. Didn't I order you to move out to take on the rebel Tyrolean force about three weeks ago?"

Ryan nodded his head quickly. "You did, Sire."

Bancroft sighed angrily and tapped his fingers along his desk. "Then the question that still needs to be answered is why the fuck are you still here in Belfort, General? Were my orders not clear?"

"They were very clear, Sire," said Ryan as he cleared his throat awkwardly. "But there was one provision that I was closely following. You mentioned in your orders that the army wasn't to move out until it was reconstituted."

Bancroft's glare narrowed. "It was reconstituted months ago, Ryan. I don't see your point."

Ryan refused to meet his eyes. "Yes, we have numbers now, Sire, but most of the men only had a very basic level of training. They are green recruits in other words. If they are to fight in my army, they need more training to elevate them to the standard that I expect out of my men."

Bancroft leaned back in his chair and thought about Ryan's words. If he had said such a thing six months ago, this would have been the end of the conversation. Bancroft would have trusted that Ryan needed these men to meet certain standards before they could be expected to take on the enemy.

However, the Ryan of six months ago and the Ryan of today were two completely different men. And Bancroft suspected that Ryan's delay was more based upon the fact that the general had lost some of her nerve, and this nonsense about not being ready was more aboutRyan not being ready, not his men.

In any event, it was up to Bancroft to force the other man's hand.

"We do not have the luxury of relying on all the time in the world to undertake this campaign," warned Bancroft. "The fact of the matter is that we have a growing number of commitments and not enough armies to uphold them. I still have one conflict without an army to dedicate to it, and that is of course this action against the Fourth Vector. My plan was to have your total victory over the Tyroleans six months ago and then reallocate your forces to the Vector, however, your defeat robbed me of that opportunity."

Ryan was intelligent enough not to respond to that statement.

"Now, I find myself lacking resources while the Tyrolean force grows stronger," said Bancroft, shaking his head. "I cannot allow this. You will march across Java, general. Your force will leave within twenty-four hours, or I will find another general with the will to fight. You still remember how to fight, don't you?"

Ryan gulped heavily but nodded his head. "Yes, Sire."

"Good. Then get word to your men. I don't want to see you in Belfort anymore, General, at least not until your victory parade after you defeat Tyrol. If any of your men still need training, provide it to them while you march your men in pursuit of Trevor Downing. In the field training is always better than that provided in camp, no?"

Ryan didn't answer verbally to that statement. He could only nod his head. Despite his answer, it was clear that there remained much apprehension about finally taking the field against an enemy that had already bested him.

Which caused Bancroft to say one more thing before he could dismiss Ryan.

"Remember who you are, General. You are the same man that once promised me that you could bring the Tyroleans to heel. You may not remember that, but I do."

"I do remember it, Sire," interrupted Ryan, showing the first signs of emotion all morning. "I can still win!"

"See that you do. Remind me why you're one of my best generals, Dennis. You've had the last six months to digest your loss. Now I need you to get over it and get back out in the field."

That statement seemed to have done the trick. A look of fire appeared in the eyes of General Ryan, and after giving the perfunctory bow, he left the room to carry out his orders.

"At least he better carry out those orders," muttered Bancroft under his breath. "Unless he wants to find himself on the latest proscription list."

Once the statement was uttered, Bancroft was reminded that he wanted to add a few names to the latest list that was being drafted. He had a copy of the list in his desk drawer, and it wouldn't be sent off to the publisher until the end of the week. Removing the list from his desk, he added two names to the very bottom. The two names were of little real consequence, two small fish that just so happened to peeve him in the course of the week, but it was as he rested his hand above the third line that he thought about adding General Ryan's name.

"Not yet," whispered Bancroft. "Let him have a chance to follow my orders. I'll give him twenty-four hours."

With a half-hearted chuckle, Bancroft put the list back in his desk.

As it turned out, it was time for his afternoon tea. Mortimus opened the door to his study, and a new servant girl followed through the doorframe, making for his desk and stopping abruptly at the side to refill his cup.

This was a girl that Bancroft recognized as having started at the palace just in the past week. She had hair the color of copper, and it was closely cut just below the ears, giving her a boyish appearance from behind. From the front, she was all woman though, with a lovely set of hips and average sized tits. She had a cute, upturned nose and wild, brown eyes that made her look quite charming.

She was no Jade, that was for sure. But she was attractive enough to catch his attention.

Unlike Jade, this new girl didn't linger for very long after doing her duty. She beat a hasty retreat toward the door, leaving him in silence. It was right as she crossed the threshold that Bancroft noticed just why she looked so boyish from behind--the girl didn't have much of an ass.

Oh well, not every girl can be perfect.

Bancroft had about ten minutes to sip his tea when the last visitor of the day arrived. This visitor was the most prestigious of the bunch--a war hero and conqueror turned viceroy, a man whose star was truly on the rise.

Admiral Nick Reynolds entered the room looking every bit like the title he carried. His chin was held high and his uniform didn't show a single wrinkle. Upon seeing Bancroft, a small smile parted his face until he reached the desk of the emperor.

"Your Imperial Majesty, you don't know the pleasure it is to see you again."

"Come now, Nick, you don't have to be so formal with the titles," said Bancroft, jokingly. "You can call me sir just like you did when I was just the head of the navy."

Nick grinned and took his seat. "It's good to be home," he said as he looked around the room. "I've been in Ruthenia for so long that I've almost forgotten what it's like to be back in Java."

"You haven't turned Ruthenian on me, have you?" asked Bancroft. "I've heard the country can be corrupting with all the vices they have there that are easy to obtain."

Nick shook his head, lying through his teeth. "None of them were able to corrupt me. I sit before you a man of discipline and frugality."

Bancroft clapped his hands together. "Wonderful. That's just what I needed to hear, Nick. And I must say, I need your help. It was no accident that you were recalled back to Java. I have a job that only you can do, and I need to put my best man on this."

Nick's chest swelled with pride at being called Bancroft's best man. "And what kind of task would that be? What enemy needs a reminder of Javan greatness now?"

"The man who would be your enemy," said Bancroft quickly. "The one that has been a thorn in your side for the past three years. The one that rose too quickly. You know of whom I speak, don't you?"

Nick sneered. "Jack Easterbrook."

"Bingo. I need to finally bring that man to justice. For the past six months, I've been assembling the fleet in Belfort to do just such a task. In fact, longer than that, as I had originally intended to send the army across the ocean but my plans in Tyrol were quickly derailed. The fact of the matter is that I've realized I don't need to keep the Javan Navy tied up to General Ryan. For that reason, I'm allowing the fleet their own course of action. I need an admiral who will go out and seek Jack Easterbrook and bring him to heel."

Nick's eyes went wide. "You're giving me command of the entire fleet?"

"Just about," replied Bancroft. "A sizeable chunk of it, minus those that will be left behind for basic defense. But what I want you to do is go out and find him. I know he won't have been idle all these months. If I know that man at all, he is preparing for war. Whether that finds us in this hemisphere or in his, we need to bring the war to him. I'm authorizing you to take the fleet out and seek his destruction, whether that be off the coast of Belfort or smack dab in the middle of the Fourth Vector."