Fourth Vector Ch. 47

Kat grabbed his hand and squeezed. "Let's hope we can help relieve them of that burden then. Perhaps we can restore a decent Java to her people once again?"

Jack squeezed back. "I sincerely hope we can get to that point."

*****

The noise was beginning to get to Bancroft.

As he sat in his study in the imperial palace, he rested his elbows against his desk and rubbed his eyes. Even through the thick palace walls, he could still hear the chanting outside as a dull roar.

"Clark, get your ass in here!" he yelled finally, losing what was left of his patience.

At least to Clark's credit, he moved quickly enough to be standing in front of his desk in a matter of seconds.

"Why can I still hear that fucking noise out there?" yelled Bancroft as he pointed his finger out his window.

Clark gulped heavily. "I'm sorry, sir. The protesters have moved closer to the palace. They are now just outside the grounds."

"Goddamned peasants," snapped Bancroft as he grabbed his full cup of tea and tossed it with all his strength. It shattered against the wall and fell to the ground in a million pieces.

"Do you want me to--?"

Clark never got the chance to get his full sentence out.

"Yes, I do!" retorted Bancroft. "And do it quickly. I can't concentrate with this dreadful racket in my ears."

Clark saluted and rushed out of the room to uphold the orders. Of course, Bancroft didn't need to tell him explicitly what to do. Clark was intelligent enough to figure out that the crowd would need to be dispersed by any means necessary.

After all, they never should have left the city square, the center of Belfort. These protesters were out in force today to complain about the war effort and the deteriorating conditions in Java. Just the thought alone made Bancroft grind his teeth. Didn't the people understand that they were at war?

Didn't these proles realize that the needs of wartime were more strenuous than they were in peace?

Bancroft couldn't make the war go away any quicker, especially not with this lack of support at home. Most of the time, he was incensed by their defeatist attitudes and their lack of care for the state. Java never would have become a world power if those crybabies outside had shown their hand in previous conflicts, so why did it have to taint his rule?

Bancroft sighed and shook his head. There was always something standing in his way to further glory. First it was Charles and then Easterbrook and now even the people of Belfort would need to be dealt with. It was all becoming so very tiresome.

The people didn't understand that he allowed their protests out of respect for their ancient traditions. If Bancroft didn't want them to express their opinion, he'd have the army massacre anyone who dared to show up and that would be the end of it.

Alas, he wasn't at that stage yet. He would allow them to express their voice but it had to be in the proper location and without too much revolutionary furor.

That meant getting those protesters the fuck away from the palace so he could work in peace.

Thankfully, Clark still had some semblance of competence left in him. Not more than fifteen minutes after Bancroft gave the order, he heard the sounds of gunshots. It was followed by elevated screaming for several more moments but soon enough, the crowd was pushed away from the palace, resuming the level of peace that he needed.

Clark came in to give the report a mere ten minutes later.

"I had the soldiers out front open up warning shots," said Clark. "When they failed to disperse, they fired a volley into the crowd. Six people are dead and seven wounded. The crowd quickly figured out that they meant business and now they are disintegrating. The protest is all but over."

Clark said the words with sweat on his brow and an unsavory look on his face. There was still good in him, no doubt, and the man hated to see anything happen to innocents.

Bancroft knew the truth of the matter though. There was no such thing as an innocent person, and those that were killed had gotten what they deserved.

"Keep the soldiers around the palace for the rest of the evening lest they get any bright ideas," barked Bancroft before he resumed his work. "And I want to have martial law declared immediately. That includes putting in a curfew at 8pm. Anyone found outside after curfew will be declared an enemy of the state and put on the next proscription list before dawn. Make it known, Clark."

Clark gulped heavily and saluted as he left the room.

Before he could cross the threshold, Bancroft called out one more thing.

"And send in Zander at once! I'm not getting any younger here, Clark."

About ten minutes later, General Brian Zander entered the room and gave a crisp army salute to Bancroft as he came to attention.

Bancroft was... perplexed with the man. Zander was someone who never should have been promoted above the rank of colonel. He had no mind for deeper strategy or public opinion, two facets that good flag officers had an innate understanding of. Zander was, however, the officer who helped Bancroft take power in Java and for that reason alone, Bancroft kept him around. He was loyal if nothing else and loyal people were always in short supply.

If that meant that Zander was nothing more than a figurehead for his army, so be it. The army that defended Belfort was running just fine with Zander's staff running it.

That didn't mean though that Bancroft was above the fiction that Zander was still the brain running things.

"Zander, why do I keep getting reports of dead soldiers all over Belfort?" snapped Bancroft. "By your own reports, you're losing at least four men a day that have been ambushed and killed in action, never mind those that have deserted. If you can't keep your army together, why should I continue to keep you in command?"

"Sire, circumstances in the c-city are working against us," said Zander nervously. "Not only are the people unhappy about seeing my men garrisoning every street corner but you know what's happening underground. The rebels are getting bolder."

Bancroft flexed his fist at the mere mention of rebels. Two days earlier, they had taken out a warehouse near the harbor. It was an exceptionally rich target for them, and Bancroft had implemented a move to put higher security at these riskier sites. Despite being able to capture and kill two of the rebels, their plan went off without a hitch.

If only Bancroft would get his hands around the throat of Michael Bainbridge, he would throttle the life out of that boy.

"We can't continue to provide security if my men aren't out in force," continued Zander. "But the city is big enough that I can't concentrate my forces. That's why they keep getting ambushed."

"These ambushes need to stop and they need to stop right now," ordered Bancroft. "Concentrate your men around the most important factories, depots, and barracks. Pull the rest of the men from the city. If unrest breaks out in the suburbs, then that's their problem. Concentrate your forces at the choke points of the city where it will be harder to ambush them or get people in or out. These casualties have to stop at once, Zander."

"What about the citizens of B-Belfort, Sire? Are we to maintain the same orders as before, especially if they continue to protest?"

"If any man or woman tries to stop your men from doing their jobs, you have permission to use deadly force," said Bancroft without a hint of emotion. "You probably heard the shots just a bit ago as I gave the order to disperse those protesters. The people of Belfort need to be reminded of just who really rules this country. You'll be helping me provide the reminder."

The same look of unease that appeared on Clark's face now appeared on Zander's. He nodded his head and promptly acknowledged the order.

"Now get out of here, I need time to think," said Bancroft, waving his hand.

As soon as Zander was gone, Bancroft leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling above him. It was so hard to find talented commanders. Zander was just one example of many failed officers who would have never cut it if they didn't bring something else to the table. The sad thing about it was that Zander was entirely necessary right now, or else Bancroft would have sent the majority of his troops east with General Ryan.

With the news about the occupation of Quiller's Cove, the war against Jack Easterbrook had now escalated to a new level. At any moment, Bancroft could get news of a raid or a strike against his western seaboard, with Easterbrook having the ability to land troops at just about any point along the continent's coast.

Normally, this wouldn't be such a liability but Bancroft was worried what would happen if the people started to suffer repeated raids by Easterbrook's forces. They were already rebellious enough, and he didn't need that headache to suffer with.

That was why the bulk of his army was in two pieces. Half of his forces were in the east battling the Tyroleans while the other half was in Belfort, the likely first target of any such raid by Easterbrook.

Truthfully, Bancroft desired to send the bulk of the army in the capital east to reinforce General Ryan and stop the man's incessant retreating. By all intelligence, Ryan outnumbered his Tyrolean foes by nearly ten thousand men and yet, he couldn't stop pulling his forces back toward Belfort in moves that greatly angered and perplexed Bancroft to no end.

It finally came to a head a week prior when Bancroft ordered him to stop the retreat lest he be removed from command immediately and imprisoned.

That threat certainly did the trick. Ryan's forces anchored in a position in eastern Java opposite the Tyroleans where they could set up for the next decisive battle. If that didn't work, then Bancroft would truly be in a bind. If Ryan was defeated again, Bancroft would have to strip the Ruthenian and Occitanian garrisons of more troops to reinforce that army, with their well of available manpower just about dry.

It was a thought that Bancroft never wanted to have again. Ryan needed to remember how to win, and he needed to do it very quickly before Easterbrook's forces could arrive.

At least he had an ace in the hole against the Tyroleans. Bancroft sneered as he remembered giving the orders to his shadowy group of assassins. If that plan bore fruit like he hoped it would, the Tyrolean Army would be decapitated by the loss of their leader.

Hopefully, that was something that would give Ryan his spine back.

In any event, Bancroft was finished with his work for now. He took a new gulp of tea (a fresh cup had been brought to replace the destroyed one) and pushed out from his desk. There was something else he needed to attend to, one that required his presence outside the palace but not off the grounds.

It was part of the reason why he wanted the protesters dispersed before going out but the other reason was because he had an important meeting to discuss with a new formation that was now training on the grounds.

The new formation was something that he'd been giving a lot of thought to in recent months and was something that he finally pulled the trigger on after much deliberation.

It concerned his personal safety and security, and in these days, one could never be too sure.

For centuries, the Javan emperors had been kept safe by the palace guards, a small unit of no more than five hundred men at most that patrolled the palace and the grounds. It was a largely ceremonial position, especially in peacetime, and because of that reason, the guards were nothing more than docile puppies. Half of them had barely any weapons training, never needing to fire their rifles in anger. The other half were out-of-shape or old, attaining their positions by grift instead of real skill.

In days like these, a well-trained and armed security force was worth its weight in gold, and Bancroft needed a force that he could rely on with his enemies steadily multiplying.

That was why he made the first move to implement the Elite Guard, an entirely new formation that was charged with Bancroft's safety. The guard was drawn from the existing ranks of soldiers, where the best and brightest were recommended by their superior officers and lured away with offers of double pay. Over fifteen hundred men had been selected so far, pulled from all over the Javan Army and assembled on the palace grounds in Belfort.

It was here that they were to be given further training as Bancroft's protective force. The first units that were ready for action took over guard detail for the palace, and even now, they manned all the entrances and strategic choke locations. In time, Bancroft envisioned using this force in the field, having it join the Javan Army to crush whatever threats face it, be it from Trevor Downing or Jack Easterbrook, or even Michael Bainbridge.

With their numbers and high rate of pay, Bancroft would now have a force that was utterly loyal to him and devoted to maintaining his personal rule. What was more was that they were led by a capable colonel who had plenty of experience in leading men of quality.

It was this colonel that Bancroft was on his way to meet. In the process, he left his study and found his protective detail of new guardsmen falling in on all sides. They flanked Bancroft as he moved throughout the palace, giving him the necessary protection from any threat.

These guardsmen were not only the best soldiers in the army but they were physically imposing specimens as well. The guard had a height and weight requirement to join, ensuring that only the best were used for his protection. Even with his height, Bancroft was still dwarfed by these members of the guard, and it gave him feelings of total security as he moved closer to the grounds.

On the grounds itself, the new guard commenced their training. Most of that training consisted of learning to work as one unit, given the fact that all of these men had come from different regiments before now. That involved fostering a spirit of camaraderie as they learned to share the same military ethos.

Bancroft watched them drill on the field before his eyes moved toward a small building that held the nucleolus of the new guard. Inside was the staff that would lead the guard as well as keep it outfitted and fed in accordance with their new significance.

Bancroft entered the building and was immediately led to the office of the colonel himself, a man by the name of Scott Menard.

Menard was the kind of officer that Bancroft liked the most, cut in the same fashion as Admiral Reynolds. Not only was he extremely competent and capable, but he showed considerable promise for his future career, be that in the army itself or through the political arena.

Menard had seen action in just about every theater of war. He initially started as a captain in the army at the outbreak of the Occitanian war. He survived the first disastrous invasion of Occitania, having to swim to shore with the rest of his regiment. He earned a medal in that conflict for saving several of the men under his command from drowning, and earning a promotion to major in the process.

From there, Menard took part in the second invasion of Occitania, the successful one that saw the drive to Montauban. After that, he was transferred alongside his unit to Ruthenia, where he took part in the final assault on the capital city of Merv, earning a medal for bravery in the action, as well as a promotion to colonel.

Most recently, he had been attached to Ryan's army that pushed onward against the Tyroleans until he'd been recalled as an officer who had shown considerable promise and put in charge of the Elite Guard as its commanding officer.

So far, Menard has only impressed Bancroft with his skill, knowledge, and willingness to push his men to get the best out of them.

At this very moment, Menard was watching his men drill out of the small window in his office. His gaze was hard and his expression set in stone as he observed them, but he reacted quickly when he saw just who was at his door.

"Your Imperial Majesty, it's an honor to see you," said Menard, offering the customary salute and gesturing for Bancroft to sit.

"Colonel Menard, your men on the field look to be in excellent shape," said Bancroft as he took a seat. "I had the privilege of watching them drill on the walk over here. They look professional and in good fighting form."

Menard bowed his head at the compliment. "Thank you, Sire. I only asked for the best men to be sent to me. Over four thousand of them showed up, recommended by their officers all throughout the army. I've flushed out twenty-five hundred so far that haven't been worthy of the title, and I'm not afraid to cut more should they not be up to my standards."

Bancroft smiled. Finally, he had a true professional on his hands who knew how to achieve greatness.

"I'm inspired by the way you lead your men, Colonel. I could use many more men of your quality in my army. Do you have any brothers perhaps?"

Menard must not have understood the joke as his expression didn't waver. "Negative, Sire, I'm an only child. I was not graced with any siblings."

"Never mind that," said Bancroft, moving away from the topic already. "In any event, how soon do you see this force being fully ready? When will they be up to your standards?"

"With the current allotment, I still expect many more to flush out," answered Menard without any remorse. "Those that do will be sent back to their respective units, but those that are left just need to learn my drills and prove that they are worthy of the name. I suspect they will be fully ready within thirty days, Sire."

Thirty days was not the answer that Bancroft wanted to hear, but nevertheless, he accepted it. He knew that if Menard was telling him thirty days, it was likely right on the money.

"Thirty days is not ideal but you will have the entire time to present your Elite Guard for full duties," said Bancroft. "I don't have the luxury of any longer time so I ask that you not test my patience and go beyond that time frame."

"Of course not, Sire, I will ensure they are ready by that point in time. You have my word as an officer of the Javan Army."

Bancroft let out a thin smile. "Speaking of the Javan Army, I want you to forget that you were ever part of such an organization."

Finally, the stonewalled expression melted on Menard's face, only to be replaced by confusion. "Sire?"

"You and your force will work outside the Javan Army," instructed Bancroft. "Though you're an officer of that force and your men were drawn from their ranks, the Elite Guard is a separate formation answerable only to me. You will take no direction from army generals unless approved by my explicit command. As of today, you are an independent force from the army."

"I don't mean to question your word, Sire, but can I ask why this is the case?" asked Menard. "What purpose is there to separating us completely?"

"The purpose is because my army is led by men of questionable skills," said Bancroft honestly. "I have a lack of generals who know how to fight. Ordinarily, I would have replaced them, but no man of suitable quality has made himself known just yet. We will get by in that regard, but I will not have my Elite Guard sullied by the orders of a lesser officer than yourself, no matter if he's a general or not."

Menard seemed to understand what he was getting at right away. "You're talking about General Zander?"

"Of course, I am," replied Bancroft. "Zander is in charge in name only but his staff run that army, not him. You are under no compulsion to obey his orders. You take your orders directly from me, is that understood?"

"Perfectly, Sire."

"Good. I'm glad we understand each other, Colonel," said Bancroft before changing topics to a more lighthearted subject. "By the way, when was the last time most of your men had a woman?"