Command and Compromise

We’re going to make it, Blackheart thought in the harried moments after the crash. He had gathered a group of survivors from the plaza and was now running with all speed toward the place where he hoped he would find the downed Wolfhound that carried Chang. It was all he could do to hope that they wouldn’t find him first. There was no telling what the Imperials would do to him if they couldn’t find him in time.

They charged through the back alleys and side streets of the capitol district. It was in fact only two or three clicks to the crash site, but it seemed so much further. They crossed street after street, showing no sign of the craft but the wreckage that had descended while it spiraled out of control. They were losing hope.

Then, finally, a sign. As they prepared to cross another street, Blackheart could see several hover tanks and a platoon of soldiers moving quickly toward them. The rebels held their position in the relative safety of the alley. Blackheart peeked around the corner to observe their movements, and saw they were turning east from their northbound course down the street. He knew they had little time. As the last of the troops rounded turned the corner, the rebels opened up with a dead sprint to the east.

But it was hopeless after all. Even as Blackheart began to make out the edges of the wreckage through the alleys ahead, he knew in moments the ship would be surrounded with soldiers. And yet he couldn’t stop running. Something in him echoed with the principles of justice he so deeply believed, that he had no choice but to continue flying to the scene of what he feared would be an execution.

They had crossed the final street, even in sight of the soldiers just several blocks south of them, and broke out into the open air of the crash site. And there was Chang, blaster in hand, sitting below his wrecked ship, covered in cuts and burns, his jumpsuit ripped and torn. Blackheart ran to him as the soldiers attempted to take up defensive positions.

But to no avail, they were surrounded. The Imperial guards had arrived and moved efficiently to knock down and beat the rebels. They ran to Blackheart and tore him away from Chang, throwing up against the ship. They began to punch him, and would’ve beaten him the way they had beaten the others. But a moment later, out of one of the tanks came their commander.

“Stop, gentlemen!” he ordered. “Don’t you know who this is? Why it’s the commander of the Police himself, Colonel Ice Blackheart. We wouldn’t want him to think we were uncivilized.”

Blackheart arose with a hand on his gut and saw Teig Junge standing tall and proud. Junge looked down at the injured rebel and acknowledged him as well. “And the infamous Old Man Chang. Where is your partner, John Matrix? Not protecting you, I see. Or you might still have gotten away with your life. But even now I hear he has attempted to capture the admiral of the Rheinland navy and has failed. I am told that when he realized his failure he was overcome with shame and jumped out of a window twelve storeys up.”

Blackheart and Chang exchanged a knowing glance.

Junge pretended not to notice. “Colonel, I had sent you a package in the hopes that things would not come to this. I understand you did not receive it. That is regrettable. This insurrection might have been avoided if you had not arrived to aid them. The Union meant to build a relationship with the SCC. Now, that will be more difficult.”

Blackheart tried to stand, but the pain wasn’t going away any time soon. He winced as he spoke. “I am here on an official investigation from the Sirius Central Council. I am investigating charges of conspiracy in the destruction of RA convoy Gordon 3-8 and death of the Rheinland ambassador to Bretonia.”

“Ha!” exclaimed the Rheinland officer. “You are investigating us for these claims? My dear Colonel, these crimes were against the Rheinland Union. Why would we commit such acts against our own interests?”

“A pretext for imperialist intentions, perhaps?”

“Colonel, if we wanted to take a territory, we would have no problem doing it. We do not need a pretext. The Rheinland Imperial Guard is intent on re-establishing its empire, for the good of all Rheinlanders. I fear, Blackheart, you have sadly misinterpreted the situation.”

Confusion gripped him as he began to realize how wrong his assumptions may have been. Could this all have been in vain? Could all these deaths and sacrifices have amounted to nothing more than a dramatic build-up to a colossal miscalculation of the events of the past few weeks? How could that be possible?

Junge stepped forward and crouched before the two men, removing his black gloves and looking up at Blackheart, then at Chang. “This is all…very unfortunate, and I wish there was some way I could allow the two of you to leave, what with the shape you are in. Unfortunately, I am pressed to enforce justice for the people of Rheinland. I’m sure you understand, commander?”

The troops began to move in with bindings to place on the men, having already bound the rebel soldiers and lined them up on the street. With a cry of pain, Chang was hauled to his feet and bound. Blackheart was about to be bound, and was braced to experience the pain of the neural stabilizer they were preparing to place around his neck, when seemingly out of nowhere came a voice he hadn’t heard in some time.

“Don’t do it, soldier.”

They turned to see the commissioner himself, Lord Nedelor, seemingly materialize out of a doorway in one of the buildings behind them. He stepped out in green fatigues and a trench coat, an appearance not typical of the sergeant-at-arms. “Lord Nedelor,” spoke up Junge, “you have arrived just in time to see me take your commander into custody. Perhaps you care to observe how well we treat our prisoners?”

“Don’t pat yourself on the back too much, Admiral. I’m here to relieve you of the good colonel here.”

“Indeed. On whose authority, might I ask?”

“Klaus von Hapsburg,” replied the the commissioner, pulling a datapad out of his trenchcoat and handing it to the admiral. It was a letter of marque granted unconditionally to the Sergeant-at-Arms of the Sirius Central Council for diplomatic matters. “This man comes with me.”

Junge, visibly dejected, motioned for his men to release the officer. “Very well. Take him and go. As you can see we have work to do.” With that, he mounted his tank and shouted, “Los!” The rebels were marched into a transport with Chang behind them. Blackheart caught one last glance at the “old man” as he entered the vehicle and was seated on a bench near the opening. They simply exchanged nods. Then the gangway was raised on the transport and closed. The convoy geared up and left.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” replied Blackheart, his frustration clear.

“Then you’d better come with me.”

Then, like a flash, Blackheart suddenly recalled the man who had dragged him here. Avery.

Back in the intelligence building, in the lower levels, Avery had almost completed the construction of the device which would obliterate all knowledge of the fearful weapon conceived by the Rheinland government. He worked with poise and care as wires interconnected with detonators and the explosive compounds which could destroy an entire building. But Avery was satisfied that only the room would be left a burned out wreck, along with its exponentially more destructive contents.

All seemed well in hand as the final pieces clicked into place. A moment later another click he was more familiar with came from behind him.

“Stop what you’re doing, Avery.”

The spy slowly raised his hands and placed them behind his head.

“Very good, you already know the drill. You always were a smart one.”

“Yes,” admitted Avery,“but not smart enough to see this move.”

Behind him stood John Matrix, the alleged ally of Chang and leader of the rebellion against the Rheinland Union, and he had a gun pointed at the back of Avery’s heart.

“You almost did it. To be honest I’m not sure how to feel about it. I was very pleased to see how well my men fought today, but their tenacity almost prevented me from being able to get here in time. I should thank you for leading them so well.”

Avery’s stomach turned on itself as he thought of the needless sacrifice of the good men who were mowed down like grass to get him here, to this place. Anger began to rise in his heart.

“Matrix, if you take this information to use against the Imperials, you’ll have negated everything they fought and died to achieve here today. You’ll become the enemy! Do you understand?”

“Don’t fool yourself, Avery! Everything I’ve done has been for the rebellion! Do you think that for one second I was fighting for anybody but them? It’s for those deaths that I am doing this now! If I don’t do what must be done to achieve peace, then I am no better than the fascists who will sentence my soldiers to death!”

Grabbing Avery by the neck, Matrix began to march him to a nearby wall intent on binding him to a rack of data modules. Matrix didn’t have to say it. The spy knew he would be left for the Rheinlanders to execute.

As Avery walked across the room, he began to recall all his life had stood for. Spectre taught him that duty always came before honor, and that there was no sacrifice too great to give to accomplish the mission. He had given aid to those who needed it, had been a faithful soldier, and had always been willing to do what needed to be done, make whatever sacrifice, to accomplish the good.

In those moments, Avery’s mind was filled with the faces of those he cared about. If he allowed this travesty to occur, he would destroy all for which they had fought and suffered. Beyond all that, he knew he really had no choice. All was decided for him. He had his mission. Now it was time to complete that mission.

Everything suddenly seemed to move in slow motion. Avery lurched back and drove his head into Matrix’s jaw and jarring his teeth together. Matrix cried in pain, but Avery made a break for the bomb. He ran as fast as he could even as he waited for the death blow Matrix would deliver from the barrel of his gun. The rebel turned and began to back away toward a large rack of data modules for cover. With frantic aim he fired away at Avery, peppering the air around the spy with hot plasma. Avery dove through the air and hit the floor to slide the final ten feet to the device. In mid-air he took the hit straight to his back. He could sense that his lower body was no longer under his control as he fell to the deck. He looked up toward the detonator on the floor before him and reached with all his might. A cry of desperation left his lips as his fingers stretched to grasp it. He took hold of it and pulled it to himself. As he placed his thumb over the manual detonator button, he uttered one last affirmation to himself: “For the good.”

Then he pressed the button. In a bright white flash, everything in the room was obliterated.

---

Blackheart could see the smoke leaking out of the blast door down the hallway as he and Lord Nedelor stepped off the lift. The commander ran toward the door regretting that he had left Avery to fend for himself. He touched the door, but his hand was scorched by the heat from the fire blazing within. He sank to his knees and yelled at the pain. He yelled at the pain, yelled at his failure, and yelled at the injustice done there that day.

Nedelor walked up slowly behind him. He crossed himself then put his hands in his trenchcoat pockets. “There was nothing you could do. He knew even before this that he wasn’t coming back.”

“How could you know that?” questioned Blackheart.

“He told me himself.”

Blackheart looked up disbelievingly at the commissioner. “You mean you knew…and you let him go anyway? You should have done something. You should have helped us! If you knew, you could have spared us all of this and a good man would still be alive!”

“I did. I sent you.”

The realization dawned on Blackheart that he had been allowed to discover all the events that had led him here. A bitter taste arose in his mouth.

“We all have our duties, Colonel,” scolded Nedelor. “Mine was to make sure nothing interfered with his.”

Blackheart looked down at his hands, then slowly stood to his feet. He faced the door and raised his right arm in a salute. Turning around, he stopped short just beside the commissioner, but couldn’t find any words. He walked the distance to the elevator and turned to see Nedelor staring after him with a shadow cast on his face from the lights above. Then Blackheart closed the lift door.

Limping with the pain of seared and exposed flesh, the badly burned John Matrix made his way out of the building via an alternate hallway, leaving a trail of blood and soot behind him as he dragged his left foot. He entered the open air past the mound of rubble that had fallen at the entrance to the intelligence center. The rebel soldiers who had followed him there from the capitol building were standing guard when they observed their injured leader struggling. A couple of soldiers ran to him and put their arms around him. “Get a ship down here!” one of the soldiers yelled.

Moments later, a Mule descended from the sky and opened its hold up. The men and their wounded commander all boarded and were lifted up into the sky. Then they disappeared with an arriving escort of starfighters.

Gemini Sector

Spectre was sat at the desk in his office. He had spent the last few days shut away in his private residence. He feared the news Nedelor was due to bring him. Failure. But he feared success also. As success meant death of a friend.

He looked out of the window and watched a “Centurion” come in for land on the grassy plain. His scientist had almost finished the work. He looked carefull at the one landing. It was the one for Avery. Both Avery and Spectre had designed custom ones for themselves.

There was a knock at the door. “Enter”

A figure entered, no talled than child maybe 10-12 years old. Yet this figure was fully grown.

“A parcel for you boss Spectre”

“Thank you, leave it on the table and you may go.”

The creature left the parcel and disappeared. Relief, and dread spread across Spectre all at once. He knew what the box contained, he knew now how the mission had ended.

Spectre stood and crossed to the table. He stood there for a moment, maybe longer, he was unsure. But after a time he began to open the parcel. He lifted the lid, and his heart sank. Inside where 4 items. A ornate carved knife. A bretonian tunic, a leather wrist slap and a sealed envelope. There was a note on the underside of the box lid.

_Spectre,

I retrieved these items for you. The Tunic and wrist strap where left in Averys Office. The knife i retrieved from his body.

The envelope arrived at my personal residence 2 days ago. I have not opened it. It is addressed to you.

I am sorry,

Nedelor._

Spectre stood a while. He turned to window and saw Roo’s ship launch for a second flight test today. He was dead. He had gone through with it, and now was no more. “For the good” he thought.

He took the envelope and opened it. Inside was a picture and a small note.

_Hey there boss,

Smile you grumpy git. Bet you never thought I would be speaking to you from beyond the grave huh?
I had Spankey send this to Nedelor should I successfully complete mission, resulting in my death. I know Nedelor would hjave passed this to you.

I want to say only a few words boss. You were a friend and mentor. But more than that. The picture explains it all.

Take care,

Roo_

Spectre put down the note and picked up the picture. He placed it in his top shirt pocket and left the room.