Fourth Vector Ch. 46

"We might have sewn a little trust had you not been so adamant about splitting the army when it arrived in Zarah," said Jack coolly. "The Swabians have had no chance to integrate when they're sequestered in a camp away from everyone else."

"It seemed like the best thing to do," said Aedan. "I still can't believe you forced their regiments into my camp two days ago. I'm still getting complaints by the hour about the behavior of their soldiers."

"I'm seeing the same complaints," said Jack. "And half of the time at least, it seems the fights are instigated by someone other than the Swabians. Our side isn't entirely innocent in picking these fights, and no doubt the Swabians are the victims just as many times as they're the aggressors."

Aedan spread open his hands. "See, Jack? That's the point I'm getting at. Even the common soldiers don't want the Swabians part of the army. That's why they're acting out like they are and causing fights. They know that going into battle with a Swabian covering his rear is just as likely to end in defeat than fighting without them. I can't fault that logic."

"The logic that needs to be faulted is that the Swabians are untrustworthy partners," replied Jack. "Which I'm in the process of doing right now."

Aedan let out a sigh. "Is this related to what you're doing with mixing the regiments?"

"Of course, it is. That's my sole reason for doing it. As of right now Greg and Ambros are helping me integrate the Galicians and the Swabians so that we can show the rest of the Allies that we can fight together and the Swabians can be trusted."

Aedan mouthed the word "Ambros" for a moment before looking at Reina.

"He means the Swabian King," she said, answering his silent question.

Aedan threw his arms in the air. "See? This is what I'm talking about, Jack. Ambros? I'm starting to think that you like the Swabians more than you like us. Ever since the war ended, it's been all about how well we can treat the Swabians and about making sure they get a fair deal. To hell with that, Jack. I want the Swabians to suffer for what they did. I believe they got off too lightly!"

"So is that what this is all about?" asked Jack. "You're rejecting their chance to integrate into the army because you think the peace was too light on them? Because if that is the case, I'm severely disappointed in you, Aedan. You're not the king I thought you were."

Jack fully expected Aedan to burst a blood vessel after that statement, but to his surprise, the Picard King remained calmer than expected.

"Jack, I'm not convinced that the Swabians can integrate into our army. Until I see otherwise, I'm going to request that our forces remain separated. I will not go to war with a Swabian at my side and that's final," said Aedan.

After his speech, Reina took the reins. "My stance is the same as Aedan's. While I think what you're trying to do is admirable, I can't undermine the confidence of my army by making them fight with subpar troops."

"Reina, I expected better of you," said Jack quietly before he gestured to Aedan. "I expected this kind of nonsense from him but not from you. Very well, I will prove to both of you that you're wrong, and I'll do so before we are scheduled to leave. I'm going to look forward to making you both eat your words today."

Jack didn't permit them the luxury of a response. He pushed up from his chair and left the room without saying another word, resisting the urge to slam the door on the way out.

Say what you will about the Swabians, Aedan and Reina's resistance just felt like another unnecessary obstacle that was preventing him from reaching his real enemy--Bancroft. It wasn't like they had all in the time in the world to get their house in order either. At any moment, word could reach him that Bancroft's fleet had been spotted, and then his enemy would have the advantage of fighting against a squabbling enemy.

It was an advantage that Jack could not allow. He needed the results from the integration experiment or else there was a very real chance the army would fall apart.

For the sake of all of them, it just had to work.

*****

"Wait for my signal. Don't attack until I give the order."

All around him, Michael watched as about ten different heads nodded in acknowledgment of his order. In the darkness, it was nearly impossible to make out their faces, and it was made no easier by the fact that most of them wore something to conceal their identity.

"Don't get pinned down and don't stay in one place any longer than you have to," he warned. "These are professional soldiers, not those night watch security guards that can't shoot that we're used to."

"What if someone gets hit?" asked one of the girls just off to Michael's right. "What if one of us falls?"

Michael's answer was firm and unflinching. "Then you keep moving. Staying behind to rescue your friend will only end up in both of you getting killed."

The girl didn't verbally respond to that statement but Michael didn't see the need to elaborate any further. By this point in time, everyone knew the rules they operated under. The raids that he led against the symbols of Bancroft's rule usually played out in the same way, and they all followed the same rules for war that had been set aside by H in the very beginning.

The first rule had been that those that fell were on their own. It wasn't worth the risk of losing two individuals due to a botched rescue than just one. Bancroft's recent ruling that wounded rebels were to be immediately executed on the spot made this rule both easier and harder to follow.

Despite it being hard to abandon a comrade, anyone that fell knew they couldn't expect mercy from either side.

It was a tough way to live but it was a symbol of the times, and the only way to move past this was to topple Bancroft from power.

Something that they would be much closer to tonight.

"Does anyone else have any questions?" asked Michael, looking around at all of them. When no one bothered to speak up, he pulled the mask down over his face. "Good luck out there then. This is only a small post but there are about twenty Javan soldiers billeted here. Move quickly, strike fast, and then retreat when you hear the appropriate signal."

With those final words, the group separated into three main parts to begin their task. The three groups were made up of approximately four rebels apiece, and Michael took the right wing which was to kick off with the opening assault on the watch post.

The post itself wasn't technically in Belfort but it was on the road south only about a couple miles outside the city. It was primarily meant to guard that southern road from any incursions but seeing as there was no active threat against it (and since the war in Tyrol was still many hundreds of miles to the east), it was a sleepy outpost.

These were the kind of targets that Michael enjoyed hitting. The Javan soldiers inside would be mostly trying to sleep at this hour while just a couple kept watch over their surroundings, but they wouldn't be expecting any trouble. If they were inside the city, they might be more aware of the potential for fighting thanks to all the recent action by the resistance group, however, out here in the countryside, they would be lulled into a false sense of security.

Michael took up his position behind a concrete wall about thirty yards from the post. Even at this distance, he could see one of the sentries sitting in a small room with a glass window, but he looked entirely oblivious to what was going on around him. While he was keeping one eye on the road and another on the newspaper in front of him, he had no idea that his position was being surrounded by members of the resistance.

Michael grabbed the small mirror out of his pocket and angled it in his hands. As soon as he used it to catch the light off the building to reflect to the other side, the left wing would start the attack by firing at the lone sentry. He would be an easy target but the hard part would be getting the rest of the soldiers out before they could do some damage.

"Michael," came the sound of a soft whisper to his side.

Michael looked away from the mirror and over into another pair of familiar eyes. It was the same girl that had asked the question earlier, a girl that he knew by the name of Sarah.

"What?" he whispered.

Sarah pulled up her mask briefly and smiled at him. While not beautiful in any sense of the imagination, she would still be considered cute with her toothy smile and pixie haircut.

"Good luck tonight," she whispered. "I hope this operation goes well."

Michael gave her a confused look before he turned his attention back to the outpost. The sudden affection wasn't exactly coming out of nowhere but it still bewildered him. This wasn't the first time that Sarah had gone out of her way to speak with him, or even to be in the same group as him. Truthfully, he found her attention off-putting. Why she felt the need to display this kind of attention to Michael was beyond him but the rules with which they played by were never far from his mind.

If Sarah took a bullet during this raid, he would leave her behind. And the Javans would probably execute her before they could make it back to the sewers.

The only problem was that Michael wondered if Sarah would do the same thing for him. He just couldn't see her being the one to leave him behind in case something happened.

Shaking his head, he pushed the thoughts out of his mind and grabbed the mirror once more. Catching the dim light from the corner of the building, he reflected it to the other side, where the left wing was waiting to start the attack five seconds after seeing the signal.

Once he was confident the signal was made, Michael crouched below the wall so as not to catch a stray bullet when the firing began.

Sure enough, the four fighters on the left wing opened up with a hail of gunfire a moment later. The sounds were deafening when compared to the nightly lull of minutes earlier, and in that roar Michael could hear the sounds of shattered glass and bullets hitting concrete.

It was in the first lull of firing that the center wing and the right wing emerged from their spots to focus attention on the barracks. A quick glance for Michael at the initial sentry position revealed a bloody mess. No doubt that sentry had no idea what hit him before he was dead.

His comrades wouldn't be so lucky. Two of them came limping out of the barracks clutching their rifles while looking barely awake. Their bodies hit the pavement in quick succession, with the last man groaning out in pain as his face smacked against the cement.

Unfortunately for them, their deaths seemed to alert the rest of the garrison that they were in mortal danger. The Javans inside the outpost were soon using the cover of the walls to return fire while the group that kicked off the assault on the left wing was now moving around the outpost to the rear door.

Their movements were timed well. The rear door kicked open and no sooner had four soldiers emerged out the back before they were laying on the ground, motionless. With the coast clear, the left wing now approached the rear entrance, tossing a grenade inside the door for good measure.

The building lit up briefly during the explosion, a booming sound that made Michael's ears ring despite the heavy gunfire around him. Predictably so, the gunfire from the front of the outpost soon died down as those Javans that weren't incapacitated by the assault were taken out by the grenade.

A mere five minutes after the first shots against the sentry, it was all over. The outpost was covered in bullet holes, brains, and blood, and the only sound that could be heard from inside was groaning.

"Check it," said Michael to the leader of the center group. "Make sure no one in there can still wield a rifle."

The center group leader nodded and approached the building cautiously, backed up by his own group to offer any support. After a minute or two of inspection, he returned to the front of the building and gave the signal to Michael.

"All clear. I have eighteen dead and two wounded men inside," replied the center group leader. "What do you want to do with the two wounded?"

Michael was already moving forward. He entered the small barracks, finding a bloody mess of broken bodies and the remains of any furniture that hadn't been blown to bits by the grenade.

Two of the men that survived had been relatively lucky. One was found with bits of grenade embedded in his back but he was otherwise in decent shape. He was being restrained by one of Michael's men while the other, who'd taken a shot in the arm and was currently groaning in pain, remained flat on his back.

"Murderers, all of you!" screamed the man with the wounded arm. "You'll all pay! All of you are dead!"

Michael let out a sigh as he unsheathed his pistol and moved closer to the man. He took aim at the screaming man's head and calmly fired, sending one bullet directly into his brain.

The screaming stopped instantly. No one showed much of a reaction to his killing but what happened next shocked everyone.

Of course, seeing the death of his comrade caused the man injured by shrapnel to start yelling. He used his arms to try to escape from the room, no doubt wanting to be away from the killers of his friends.

Ordinarily, the group would let survivors escape. They didn't have to worry about being identified. No one could see their faces and they used no titles or names to denote their identities. However, there was something about watching the man try to crawl away that agitated Michael.

At that moment, he simply moved fast enough to catch up with the man and pointed his pistol at his head.

"Wait, no!" yelled the center group leader.

It was too late. The last surviving Javan stopped moving a moment later.

Quite suddenly, Michael found all eyes in the room on him. Many of those eyes were tinged with questions but a few of them appeared fearful.

"Why did you do that?" asked the center group leader. "That's not how we operate. We show quarter to our victims, we don't kill the wounded ones!"

Michael took a deep sigh and holstered his pistol. He looked around the room, seeing the remains of all those Javans that perished in the fight.

"Bancroft's men would give us no quarter if we fell," he explained. "Why should we extend them the same courtesy?"

He was met with silence. No one in the group seemed to want to tackle that question head-on. Michael wasn't sure if his answer had just shocked them into silence or if they were just too outraged to get the words out. Either way, he didn't wait around for anyone to formulate the appropriate response.

"Let's go, we've already been out here too long," he said, looking at his watch. "We need to get back."

The rest of the group was slow to fall in behind him but they eventually assembled a short distance outside the rear door, facing the city. It was a good two hundred paces before they would reach the first building, during which they would have to move quickly through the shadows to reduce the chance of getting caught. If any of the soldiers inside had radioed for assistance, it could be very likely that reinforcements were already on their way.

For that reason, they had to move quickly and stealthily back to their hideout.

"We're moving out," informed Michael. "Let's go."

*****

Sarah's feet ached by the time they reached the hideout in the sewers. It had taken them nearly thirty-five minutes to get back but at least the journey had been without any additional danger. Belfort remained quiet, and there wasn't any time during the trip to the sewers that she felt like Bancroft's men were on their heels.

The reaction within the sewers was extremely muted when they arrived though. A good portion of their forces had participated in the raid, and there were very few resistance members waiting for them when they arrived.

Even still, the usual celebration that occurred after a successful raid didn't take place. Truthfully, most members were still a little disgusted with Michael's behavior.

"Executing them in cold blood?" whispered another girl in the force, who had been traveling alongside Sarah. "We're no better than Bancroft now."

Those same whispers were uttered by several members of the force on the way back, and yet no one had the courage to say something directly to Michael, who had risen quickly in their ranks over the course of the last few weeks.

While Sarah didn't like watching the execution, she couldn't help but think that several of their own people had a misplaced sense of indignity. After all, Michael did have a point. It's not like Bancroft's men wouldn't do the same thing to them.

Perhaps that was the reason why she was willing to turn a blind eye to it.

Sarah took a deep breath and turned her attention to Michael. She couldn't help but smile when she looked at him. She was thankful that he'd finally shaved the scraggly beard off, as he looked much cuter with a clean shaven face.

Perhaps that was the other reason why she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt? There was just something about him that seemed to draw her closer. What that something was, Sarah had no idea. It wasn't like she knew Michael on a personal level. There was just about no one here save for H and Victor who spoke to Michael about anything deeper than the planning of operations.

And yet, there was emotion in his eyes. There was a deep sense of pain beneath the surface but what was driving that pain, Sarah didn't know. She knew that there was a woman in Michael's past, and she strongly suspected that this woman was the reason why he was here, but it was hard for her to picture any woman having a strong effect on Michael.

He just seemed so stiff. So unemotional. Yet in a way, he seemed very much like an egg in that all she would have to do was crack the hard exterior to get to the creamy goodness inside.

But how could she best crack that exterior?

Finding her courage, Sarah waited until Michael disappeared into the backroom before she followed. She leaned against the door and watched as he put his rifle down and started to kick off his boots.

"You were amazing today, Michael," she said as her eyes locked on his. "Really amazing."

When he looked back at her, she could already see that sense of pain that lurked just beneath the surface. It would appear when she least expected it, and disappear before she had the chance to ask about it.

"Thanks," said Michael gruffly as he continued to get changed.

The tension in the air was palpable. He made no attempt to continue the conversation, which forced Sarah to keep pushing forward.

"Why do you do it?"

Michael's head snapped up to look back at Sarah. "Excuse me?"

She shuffled forward, finding herself soon sitting by his side. She couldn't stop the words from tumbling out if she tried.

"I mean, why do you fight with us? What's driving you, Michael? You seem so passionate when you fight, like this is what you were made to do. What caused you to be here?"

Michael stared at her for just long enough to make her feel uncomfortable. He only answered once he turned his head away.

"Passionate? You call killing others passionate?"

"If you're referring to what you did after the fighting was over then--"

"That's exactly what I'm talking about."

She reached over to touch his arm. "Michael, you're not wrong. Bancroft's men would have done the same thing. I don't blame you for what you did."

"Funny, you might be the only one. The others in there look at me like I'm a monster. Truthfully, I don't blame them."

"You didn't answer my question," said Sarah softly. "Why do you fight, Michael?"

He shook his head quickly. "You wouldn't understand."