The Hakara Hunters [IC | Imperial Konsolidation Reboot]

[The Macabees]

Upon conclusion of War of Panooly Reunification, during the years of peace with the Reich before the Fourth Krasnovan War and First Killian War, it fell upon the Golden Throne to restore order in Holy Panooly. Two halves, the devastated and Panooly-majority North, and the previously Ordenite-occupied South, joined as one. While the Imperial Bureaucracy empowered the indigenous Panoolies to run their own affairs, this came at a political cost to the once-favored white minority. Among the latter was a group of fanatics who organized to resist the imperial occupation, undermine and collapse the Panooly government, and revive a white-dominated regime like the Templeton dictatorship that had been toppled just over a year ago by ambitious mercenaries seeking to expand into the Panooly far north. This is the story of their rise and fall.


PANOOLY CITY, PREFECTURE OF MOPATA

Césario Ginga knew when Joao Bagamba was angry, and to say that Bagamba was angry now was an understatement. The man was cursing up a storm as the aircraft prepared for takeoff on Varmaac Field's tarmac. Less than an hour ago they had been inside the great mercenary city, meeting with Tarn's governing council on terms regarding the return of the isthmus of Jumanota to its rightful owner — the Satrapy of Holy Panooly. Tarn's council's response was a resounding 'no.' They were not even interested in negotiating at all.

"Surely, now that Holy Panooly is a member of the Imperial Federation, it is the proper thing for Tarn to do," implored Bagamba. To no avail.

Hans Dettrick, the smug Díenstadi who had two years ago been elected Supreme Councillor, replied, "The opposite, Satrap. Now that Holy Panooly is part and parcel of the same empire as us, whether Jumanota is administered by Tarn or yourself surely makes no difference to the politics of the whole. And as far as it concerns the local situation, there is no scenario where we would be persuaded to give up the investment we have made in the Jumanota Canal."

True it was that the Jumanota Canal had been a great investment. But most of it had been paid out of imperial coffers, at least indirectly. Seeking to undercut any opportunity for the mercenary council of Tarn to sell rights of passage through the canal to foreign, and potentially enemy navies, the Imperial Bureaucracy had already promised an annual payment to the canal authorities guaranteeing the supremacy of the Fuermak's interests over even all commercial privileges. Any interest that Tarn still had in Jumanota was not in recovering its investment but rather in the continual accrual of revenue from the waterway. That way the city could afford its policy of minimal taxation of the private military companies which composed the core of the likutat's economy. Bagamba, and the broader satrapical government of Holy Panooly, knew all of this of course.

But in the early days after the War of Panooly Reunification there was an underlying hope that imperial politics would align in favor of a true, full reunification. That meant not just the return of the south, but also that of Jumanota. When Bagamba and his aide, Césario Ginga, traveled to Tarn, they did so under the assumption that behind the scenes Fedala was silently pressuring Tarn into releasing its hold of the isthmus. The direction of the talks proved this assumption wrong. Perhaps that made Bagamba madder than the actual rejection.

As the aircraft took off, the satrap turned to his aide and said, "They threw away the opportunity for a peaceful post-war transition away."

Césario replied, "We will find another way."

"What other way?" asked Bagamba, his voice so heated that it practically spat flames. "That was our chance to look strong, for the empire to prove that it backs the new government fully. Now we look just as weak as we did before the unification, maybe even weaker. At this rate, maybe those Pretorian bastards will get exactly what they want. Afterall, what can I stop them with? We don't even have an army."

South Panooly, which for about a year had thrived as an Ordenite vassal state, was left intact as an administrative entity even after the reunification. It was simply renamed the Prefecture of Pretoria, one of the four new prefectures of the unified Holy Panooly. It was the north, the Golden Throne's putative ally, that was partitioned. The eastern peninsula was now the Prefecture of Delapesca, named after its prefectural capital. The northeast became the Prefecture of Cubinga, and was now mostly a military zone or a wasteland — its capital, Guamlumpeiron, was still cordoned off and walked by those...things...neither human nor completely animal...created by the KN-755 virus. Everything else, administered from the national capital of Panooly City, was called the Prefecture of Mopata. While Cubinga could hardly truly be integrated into the wider state, Delapesca was already rapidly becoming a Macabéan colony, and Pretoria was threatening to declare independence unless the satrapical government was reorganized to better represent the white minority's interests. Apparently, belonging to a white-majority imperial federation was not enough for them.

The aide shrugged. "The militias are still armed."

"The militias are tired," said Bagamba, in resignation. "Our people are tired."

It was not long before they were over the sprawling suburbs of Panooly City. From the air, they could see the scarred landscape with its crisscrossing trench lines, scorched earth, and the rubble of neighborhoods blasted by Ordenite artillery. The capital city was the site of the Ejermacht's heroic last stand against the Ordenite Wehrmacht. If it had fallen, the defensive line would have been breached and surely almost all of North Panooly would have fallen to the murderous enemy. But an outnumbered imperial ground force had held the position while the armed forces organized an air-sea-land counteroffensive to end the war. Since then, Panooly City had become the spiritual center of the Panooly people. But it was a battered spiritual center whose only signs of material revival were the long columns of refugees returning to their shelled and bombed-out homes.

They landed at the Ongola International Airport, which had only just in the past few weeks begun readmitting civilian flights. It had been all but destroyed during the war. In fact, the main terminal was still half shattered from the artillery shells and mortar bombs that had fallen on it during the city's encirclement. Waiting for them on the tarmac was a small satrapical guard force composed of a handful of rifle-armed gunmen in white, collared shirts and suits. As they were transferred to the armored vehicles waiting for them, they could hear the sound of gunfire in not-so-distant distance.

Waiting for Bagamba inside his vehicle was the Minister of Justice, Antonio Kinkoko. Kinkoko had taken the position after Bagamba's elevation to the position of satrap by His Imperial Majesty, before the reunification. Bagamba sat beside him, Césario took the front passenger seat. Césario held his suspicions on Kinkoko. The tall Panooly was, like Bagamba, a former war chief, ambitious, and had not necessarily been known for his loyalty to a particular cause or person prior to his ascension. But the man's Panooly pride was indisputable, as was his drive to root out white minority resistance to Panooly majority rule.

"Welcome back, Your Excellency," said the Minister of Justice. "How went your trip?"

Bagamba was not in much of a mood for small talk. "The mercenaries are not interested in working with us."

"Did you expect otherwise?" asked Kinkoko.

The satrap shrugged. "I suppose I expected His Imperial Majesty to lobby for us."

Kinkoko chuckled. "You forget that the mercenaries are an extension of the empire."

"An extension that is now always aligned," replied Bagamba. "Jumanota will be returned to us, perhaps it is just a matter of time rather than pressure. Anyway, update me about matters at home."

Sighing, Kinkoko said, "White terrorist activity has picked up over the past few days. They are getting stronger with every passing hour, especially since the Macabéans don't seem particularly interested in keeping the peace and we simply don't have the strength to suppress them. Operation Revival will go into effect next monthof course, but I have ordered my ministry to already start laying the groundwork ahead of the expected passage of the bill through the Umazija. We will need as many men as we can get, and the sooner the better."

Bagamba nodded. "Good. But we shouldn't wait until then to make our intentions known. Move up Operation Panooly Peace."

"So early?" questioned the Minister of Justice. "Without more recruits, we have maybe a thousand men at our disposal to form a field army."

"All the same," said Bagamba, "we must not look weak. Operation Panooly Peace must be launched no later than next week."

"Of course, Your Excellency," answered Kinkoko.

[The Macabees]

...a week later.

OPERATION PANOOLY PEACE: SUBURB OF PERCINGTON, PANOOLY CITY, PREFECTURE OF MOPATA

Darkness still watched over Holy Panooly as the armored column rolled atop the freshly paved HIF-705. Each vehicle proudly bore the logo of the Taipolisi — the Panooly gendarmerie under the direct command of the satrapical government. Droplets of water rolled down the glass and aluminum plating as they shed the early morning dew that had collected on the surfaces of each armored car. There were almost no other vehicles on the road and it was not long before the column turned off the highway onto an offramp that took them to the broad Isaacson Avenue.

Isaacson neatly bisected the western suburb of Percington, known for its affluence. Formerly, Percington had hosted the Scarborough Palace, the residence of Dominic Templeton. Although the Scarborough Palace had been leveled just before the Reunification War, there were still many that longed for the old days of white-minority rule under that man's dictatorship among the Percington suburbanites. Naturally, there were many more who sympathized with the ongoing armed resistance against Panooly-majority rule. Beyond issues of race and supremacy, truth be told that Percington had suffered the overthrow of the dictatorship, the impoverishment of war, and the one-time partition of Holy Panooly between the Macabean-backed Panooly-majority north and the Ordenite vassal state of the south. Even with a reunified country, Percington showed no signs of revival and its population had already begun trickling southward to the white-dominated cities of Pretoria. Was it that surprising that its homes often hid the armed gunmen who butchered Panooly civilians, murdered Panooly policemen, and assassinated Panooly politicians?

If the people of Percington had their reasons, so did the Taipolisi column thundering down the one-time renowned Isaacson Avenue. With the reunification had come a period of relative peace that the country hadn't seen since the toppling of the Templeton regime. It was a much-needed peace. More than 270 million Panoolies died over two years of pandemic and war. KN-755 claimed more than 80 percent of those deaths, death camps in the south more than 15 percent, and the rest were dead as a result of the wars. The survivors needed a respite to pick up the pieces. White terrorism, however, threatened to upend this newfound security.

As refugee quarters within the capital city swelled with Panoolies returning home, the white minority was militarizing. Imperial military intelligence estimated that some two thousand fighters — armed with Ordenite weapons, taken from stockpiles not immediately seized by the Ejermacht after the war — were already operating around Panooly City. Throughout the country, but mostly in Pretoria, the same intelligence source estimated that there were already twenty to thirty thousand armed fighters in total.

This small army of radical white terrorists was named, according to the endless recruitment and propaganda posters now spreading throughout Holy Panooly, the Hakara Hunters.

A separate intelligence report spoke of a group of several hundred Hunters having turned the now abandoned Percington Technical High School into a barrack of sorts. The local community brought them food, medical supplies, and other necessities despite the government's plea not to cooperate with the terrorists. But the white community of Holy Panooly believed it could act without consequence. In fact, despite the Ordenite defeat, white power in Holy Panooly had only augmented. Death among the indigenous Panoolies had been so rampant that the white minority had gone from a 15 percent share of the total population to more than 20 percent. That despite of the 'white flight' and the overall reduction in the absolute white population in the country. The indigenous reduction in population size had been that severe. Clearly, the one-time ruling caste considered its return to power not just possible, but evident and a matter of time.

It was the role of the newly forced Taipolisi to show the Holy Panooly people — indigenous or colonist-derived — that the new satrapical government of Joao Bagamba could not be undermined through militant force and that support for the Hakara Hunters would have consequences. On such a mission, the Taipolisi armored column rolled down Isaacson like a slithering snake, headed toward the area of the high school.

As the column's tail end exited the HIF-705 offramp, gunfire started peppering the middle vehicles. The column fired back from overhead weapon stations, firing ports, and internally-mounted mortars with deafening effect. Whatever light resistance had organized to oppose the Taipolisi's strike was swept away. Even the few anti-armor rockets that were fired failed to hit their targets. Their crews were buried beneath the rubble of the collapsing homes and buildings they had fired from.

Nearing its primary target, the column broke up into several groups. The largest element continued on toward the high school, quickly surrounding it, blocking off all entry and exit routes, and rapidly establishing what can only be described as siege lines. Mortar vehicles began hammering the school grounds with light and heavy bombs, continuous and unceasing explosions. As the battle at the school grounds unfolded, the other armored groups turned off onto other streets, pushing vehicles off the roads before some of the armored cars revealed numerous armored infantry teams that unloaded and began raiding individual homes. Hundreds of men were soon pulled out of these homes: some older, others younger. Women were arrested too. All of them were loaded up into the back of other armored vans designated for the prisoners.

At the school, a heavy smoke screen was laid down as ground teams began moving into it from different sides. Where there was room for them, armored vehicles with overhead weapon stations followed the infantry teams to offer support. Heavy fighting ensued and the sounds of the city in Percington gave way to the noises of war. It was almost as if they were back under siege during the Reunification War.

Had the Hakara Hunters expected this incursion, though?

The school was less heavily defended than anticipated.

Then, suddenly, an incoming fire started generating from the nearby buildings. Glass in second-story windows was shattered to make way for machine guns and rifles. Below, the Taipolisi forces were under a hailstorm of bullets as they reoriented themselves to meet the new threat. Skillfully, the Taipolisi riflemen found cover while their mortar vehicles suppressed the newly emergent gunfire. Within minutes, the second ambush was squashed.

All the while, the prisoner extraction continued. The smaller armored breakoff elements reunited into a long column as they made their way back to the highway and, from there, back to headquarters in Panooly City. The fighting in the school also wound down as the Taipolisi forces there began disengaging, loading back up on their vehicles along with any captured prisoners, and made their way to join the main column.

Billows of smoke spiraled toward the blue sky like dark columns anchored to the devastation wrought by the battle. Flames licked half-collapsed walls of homes, businesses, and other buildings. The old high school had been left in utter ruin. Along the streets lay the scattered bodies of the dead. Blood ran down the pockmarked street gutters like red streams, draining down into the neglected sewers that ran beneath. Shattered glass lay strewn across home floors, within which children and mothers cowered behind furniture, in their basements, or wherever they thought themselves safe. The evidence of fighting could be seen from the center of the city, where onlookers pointed toward the horizon wondering what could be the cause. And the evidence would be seen for some time. Still, the fighting was not done.

Another ambushing force had organized along the highway on ramps and on the highway itself. The head of the Taipolisi armored column passed through unharmed and without notice. But once the main body of the column — where the vehicles containing captured prisoners rode — entered the kill zone, the battle was on again. This time, the strike was more successful. Thinking themselves safe and believing the brunt of the fighting to have already been done, the Taipolisi forces were caught unawares. Rocket fire immobilized several vehicles while small arms fire pinned Taipolisi riflemen down. Civilian cars driving alongside the column were caught in the crossfire, with several of them crashing headlong into armored vehicles or the dividers, some of them driving off the highway altogether and onto the streets — as well as homes or businesses — running along the highway's flanks. Complete chaos ensued for a long moment while the fighting gained intensity as the Hakara Hunters earned confidence. Several of the armored vehicles were now burning and steaming, their drivers dead, dismounted riflemen dead beside them. A number of explosions from ammunition cookoffs rocked the column up and down.

After two failed attempts to successfully attack the raiding column, the Hakaras had finally struck with precision. Their ambush was devastating. Almost a third of the vehicles were destroyed or immobilized. Dozens of police agents were dead. Many of the captured prisoners were now free. And while the column attempted to recompose itself and regain the initiative, the Hunters started to withdraw and disappear into their suburban surroundings.

Rolling down the opposite side of the highway, toward the direction of Percington, was a smaller Taipolisi column ordered to guard the main force's rear as it entered Panooly City proper. The decision to allocate this force paid dividends, as it crashed into the withdrawing insurgent forces. The fighting spread back toward the homes of Percington, as the security forces' counterstroke followed the withdrawing enemy groups. Caught by surprise by this fresh Taipolisi column, the ambushers who had doled out such high losses suffered considerable losses of their own.

As the sun started to come back down — few of those who had participated in the battle had realized just how long they had been at it that day —, the gunfighting dwindled until, finally, the din of battle gave way to a false serenity.

Still, when the black curtain of the night finally signaled the official end of the day, the flames screaming out from burning vehicles and smoldering buildings still illuminated the starry sky.

When news of this first battle between satrapical and white terrorist forces spread the next day, the question on everyone's lips was the same: had the cost been worth it? Some pundits were proud that their government had finally struck back against the insurgents threatening to upend this new postwar order. Others wondered whether the price, paid in blood, had been too high. A third group was wary of the extensive collateral damage. Would it make white minority resistance against the Panooly majority government worse?

[The Macabees]

THE REACTION: QADESH, PREFECTURE OF PRETORIA

With the approaching winter, the days were getting shorter and the nights longer. That mattered to Rogerius only to the extent that daylight affected his mission.

A cool breeze swept through eastern Qadesh from the ocean. It raised the hairs on the back of his neck but Rogerius seemed not to notice at all, telling at least from his complete lack of reaction to the cold. His index finger lay over the trigger guard as his eye remained on the scope. Below him, the city streets were busy and bustling as the neighborhood went about its usual business.

Rogerius took his eye off the scope to adjust his position a bit. He had been on this rooftop for almost the entire day now. The package had already been expected to arrive hours ago. Sometimes it was like that. Arturo Lasamba was known to frequent the city's brothels and on days that he did he frequently did not return to his home until late at night or even the early morning hours. Rogerius sighed. Once the sun went down, he'd be stuck on that roof overnight.

Never had he seen himself as a hitman. Colonel Rogerius Vommel had commanded men in battle a few months earlier, but that seemed forever ago now. Things had changed so much since the reunification of Holy Panooly and his career was included. So had Qadesh. Under Templeton, Qadesh was a quaint coastal town with a small military garrison. Long ago, its military port had even housed the bulk of the Panooly Navy. Under the Ordenites Qadesh took on additional significance as a major port, mostly for the movement of the Wehrmacht and its supplies. But under the satrapical puppet government of the Golden Throne, Qadesh had grown and evolved the most. Indeed, Rogerius could see the superstructure of the countless warships now stationed in the city's military harbor. Added to the army base erected outside the city, there were now hundreds of thousands of imperial soldiers who came into the city to drink, eat, and have a good time. With them came the migrant workers, including more dark-skinned Plánols from the north. That included a Plánol that the northern government had decided to install as the city's administrator.

Lasamba represented the filth of the Plánol people in every way. He still acted every bit of a warlord that he used to be, acting more like a lord than a leader. What more proof was needed than the way he imposed himself on the city? How arrogant. To think that a plánol could rule over the whites. Beyond that, everything about Lasamba was despicable to Rogerius, from the way he looked, to how he carried himself, and the people he met with.

The sun was coming down and Rogerius was about to condemn himself to a rooftop night's sleep, and suddenly an SUV pulled up against the sidewalk in front of Lasamba's home. Qadesh had a governor's mansion but that was still occupied by Ricus De Bruyn, the same man who had ruled Qadesh and the southern provinces since the days of Dominic Templeton. Somehow De Bruyn had managed to survive in that position. In lieu of the governor's mansion, Lasamba was posted to a walled complex inside the city itself.

Rogerius had only a few seconds between Lasamba exiting his vehicle and then disappearing behind the wall.

His right eye was glued to the end of his sniper rifle's scope. He held his breath...

...and released. His index finger pressed down on the trigger.

The rifle's crack reverberated against the city walls. Below, a figure that had exited the SUV crumpled onto the sidewalk, a pool of blood growing out from underneath until it began to drip onto the street. Rogerius confirmed that it was his target through the rifle scope. People were already rushing to the dead man's side, while others looked around nervously in search of the direction of the attack. Rogerius wasted no time leaving everything where it already lay and crossing the rooftop to the other side, where a rope extended out to a low-rising building. Hooking himself to the rope, he ziplined down to the other building, disappearing down a stairwell, and out onto the street where he blended in with the rest of the crowd. His first stop was home, to change. Then he had a meeting at the pub to make.


...two hours later.

The Double Goose was always busy. It was a favorite of the local longshoremen who came in after the long days the pulled on the docks.

Rogerius slipped in without much of an entrance and made his way to the back, taking a seat at a table where three men wearing ballcaps, hoodies, and baggy clothing were already waiting for him. Even closely, it was difficult to discern who they were. Sipping on mead and picking at some pork skins inside a small bowl, they trailed Rogerius with their eyes as he sat down with them. He waved down a waitress, asked for a beer, and then sent her on her way.

"Congratulations," said one, as soon as the waitress had walked out of earshot. "The news has sliced through the city like a bullet."

Another nodded. "The people are tense. Events will move quickly."

Rogerius took a pork skin and ate it. He had forgotten how hungry he was, he hadn't had much of a thought for food since the early morning. He said, "As they should. The government in Panooly City will react quickly. We must strike now, while the initiative is still in our hands. Lencho" — he turned to the first man who had spoken — "my men are ready. I can have this city clean by tomorrow morning."

The man named Lencho, Lencho Bakkes, gazed back cooly. "And the day after? What then?"

The third man, who had not yet said anything, spoke next. "Now is not the time to doubt. We must stick to the plan."

"Easy for you," said Lencho. "You are protected from the fallout."

Arching his eyebrow, the third man replied, "Am I? I put myself at as much risk as anyone else here...or more. Our new emperor does not seem like a man fond of governors overseeing rebellious lands let alone rebellious governors. Let it be crystal clear that failure is as much my head on a spike as anybody else's. But failure is likelier if we second guess ourselves. Rogerius, you have my permission, if not General Bakkes', to move ahead with the next phase of our plan."

"Excellent," said the blue-eyed operative. "I should go to my men."

"Soon," replied Governor De Bruyn. "First, have your beer." The waitress returned just then beer in hand, placing it on the table before leaving again. The governor went on, "The rest of us should go over our parts, too. Divan" — Divan McLean, the first man who had spoken after Rogerius' arrival and chief of prefectural police — "you must have everything in place to impose a strict regulation of vehicles entering and leaving the city no later than 0600 hours tomorrow, preferably earlier. The satrapical government will react by moving in their forces to secure Qadesh. We must give Rogerius enough time to fully embed his men in the city before the government's counterattack. Will you be able to do that?"

Nodding, McLean said, "Aye."

"Good," said the governor. He turned his head to Lencho. "You will leave tonight?"

"Tonight," repeated Lencho Bakkes. "As Rogerius works his magic on Qadesh, I will set the foundations for a prefecture-wide resistance. Once you are done here, Colonel Vommel, I expect you at my headquarters in Langlaas. The fight must be taken to the enemy."

Rogerius nodded in consent. Then he asked, "And you governor? What is the next phase of your plan?"

Governor De Bruyn smiled. "Me? I will act as shocked as I can. But could this not have been predicted? The imposition of Plánol administration in the south was always going to come with its own set of frictions, after all. And while I stand with the empire, I offer myself as a negotiator between the Imperial Bureaucracy and the people of Pretoria. Maybe we can come to an agreement that would minimize the bloodshed. The Territory of Pretoria has a ring to it, doesn't it?"

Rogerius drank his beer in one fell swoop. "Good," he said. "Now, I really must meet with my men."


...the next morning.

Whatever outcries there were against the assassination of Arturo Lasamba were drowned out by the gunfire and bloodcurdling screams that filled the night.

Rogerius' men completed their task with brutal efficiency. They had been given a list of targets by McLean's prefectural police, which they had poured over in the preceding days. All of the targets were team leaders, politicians, judges, and other people of note and of Plánol descent. These were the people earmarked to gradually transition the prefecture to a Plánol-majority administration. These were the people who needed to be eliminated for the sake of Panooly civilization. Most were removed overnight. A quick visit to their homes led to a few gunshots. The city police would find the bodies the next day. It wasn't all just murder. There was plenty of vandalism too. Prominent Plánol-owned storefronts were shot up and left with shattered windows, bombed-out interiors, and set to flame.

By the next morning, Qadesh's Plánol peoples were in terror. Their leadership was neutered. Their people were targeted. And it was now clear that their old rulers, those who had brought civilization to Panooly shores, would not just lie down and take defeat without fighting back. The whites of Holy Panooly were fighting back to take destiny and their lives back into their own hands. To remind the Plánol people of Qadesh that they were not welcome, posters with a red bow notched with three arrows pointing downward and bloody 'HHs' on either limb — the emblem of the Hakara Hunters — were left on walls and lamposts on every street.

Qadesh was locked down by prefectural security forces by the preset time. Anybody moving in or out needed permission to do so, adding a layer of bureaucracy to the central government's ability to deploy Taipolisi forces to the city. Rogerius' men had plenty of time to leave the scene of the crime. For his own part, Colonel Rogerius Vommel was already on his way northward to rendezvous with General Bakkes at Langlaas to plan the next phase of the Hakara Hunters' reaction. All would soon learn that the resistance against Plánol-majority rule had only just begun.

[The Macabees]

INSURGENCY INTENSIFIED: PANOOLY CITY, PREFECTURE OF MOPATA

Joao didn't understand why most of the ministers seemed to detest walking the city streets. He loved them. Maybe it was the fact that he was a village boy who until a few years ago had hardly seen a city, let alone a city the size of this one. But he loved everything about Panooly City: the noise, the dirt, the smells, and, most of all, the people and the food.

One spot, in particular, that always satisfied: Changuir's. Located just west of the capital's central financial district, where skyscrapers touched the clouds, the street food shop served as a window into the life of the common Plánol.

"Try the chicken," he said, stuffing his own face with the sauce-covered poultry.

Césario looked on as Mr. Kinkoko twisted his nose and took a bite. The Minister of Justice was once a village boy just like Joao, but he had grown accustomed to the finer accouterments of life ever since his warlord days. Mr. Kinkoko's name preceded him, but rarely for good reasons. The man's propensity to take advantage of his power to enjoy luxuries that most Plánol people of Holy Panooly couldn't even imagine was well known. But saying no to Joao Bagamba was difficult and Joao enjoyed bringing his ministers and the other powerful figures around him down a pedestal. No, not down a pedestal, just simply back down to Earth. And while he did enjoy the food at Changuir's, it wasn't just for the food that he brought the Minister of Justice here. He wanted Mr. Kinkoko to remember his roots and to truly know the society he was tasked with protecting.

As the minister swallowed his food, Joao said, "The news out of Qadesh is troubling."

"Aye," replied Mr. Kinkoko. "It didn't help that the governor ordered the prefectural police to close down access to the city. It took my people hours to bypass the roadblocks. Bloody ridiculous. How can you tell me that that man isn't working against us?"

"I can't tell you that. He most likely is." Joao paused to take a sip of water. "But we have no proof and there are benefits to keeping him in power. I don't even know if we can remove him from power, at least not without prompting Pretoria to formally declare independence. Dealing with him now might just make things worse. Better to let him think he's playing us and just keep him where we can see him, until the time comes to get rid of the man."

Mr. Kinkoko nodded in half-agreement. "Maybe," he said, "but I don't know how you can expect me to keep the peace in the south if the prefectural government is actively resisting our efforts."

Joao took another bite of food. Then another sip of water. In the distance, the clatter of small arms fire sounded, then it disappeared and came back elsewhere. Joao said, "The fighting hasn't gotten better since Operation Panooly Peace. We have not yet devolved back into civil war but we are headed in that direction. It's important that you and your ministry do everything within your power to suppress the Hakara Hunters, maintain the peace within rival Plánol clans, and act as the enforcer extension of the central government. We don't have much time, Antonio. If the situation slips further, it will cost us our dream of a Plánol government in Holy Panooly."

"That will not happen, sir," said Mr. Kinkoko. "But I need the right tools. The Umazija must pass the provisions bill to expand the Taipolisi."

Joao turned to his aide. Césario said, "I have confirmation from Mr. Abasi Sequiera that the bill will be passed this week."

Mr. Kinkoko nodded. "Abasi? Hard to trust the man's word but I suppose there's no reason to doubt him here. Anyway, once the bill is passed the funds will need to be unlocked right away. The situation is becoming progressively direr. The Taipolisi don't have enough men as it is but the signs out of Pretoria suggest that the storm is only building and that the worst is yet to come. My men report more contact with Hakara Hunter forces to the south, in the area of Langlaas. I think they are amassing their strength for something big, and probably here in the city."

Joao had heard similar reports. All he said in response was, "You will get what you need. For now, you must cope with what you have."

They finished their food before each heading his own way, but from the slight droop in their shoulders and from the expression on their faces one could tell that there was a simmering anxiety of what was soon to come.



...three days later.

The sweat rolled down Rogerius' face as he rode northward, the sun beating hard on him and his men. Their truck picked up a dust cloud as it zigzagged through the grasses of the bush. He could see the looming jungle ahead of him. Soon they'd disappear into the thick tropical forests of central and northern Holy Panooly, where the heat of the sun was more than replaced by a sweltering humidity.

His truck was one of six in a convoy and all of them were chock full of gunmen. Somewhere on the other side of the vast jungle was the ruined urban sprawl of Panooly City. Rogerius always considered Panooly City rather provincial even though it had been made the capital by Templeton. Perhaps the fact that the former dictator had bestowed so much status on Panooly City contributed to the sour taste it left in Rogerius' mouth. To think that such an olive branch had been extended to the Plánol people — a capital city in the center of the country, breaching the color divide — and that it had been so firmly rejected underscored the colonel's belief that anything less than white rule in Holy Panooly was tantamount to a collapse of civilization. That made him nothing less than a crusader for civilization. It swelled him with pride, this mission.

"Roadblock ahead," said the copilot in the cabin, through a small window that could be opened and closed in the middle of the rear glass pane.

Rogerius peaked over the truck's roof to confirm what he had been told. About 400 meters down the roadway was a lightly manned Taipolisi roadblock. The government had deployed hundreds of roadblocks like these around the country but they were far more frequent near the capital, on the Jumanotan border, and around Guamlumpeiron. In the south, they were almost nonexistent. Hakara Hunter groups normally avoided them but this time they were moving in such strength and haste that bypassing the roadblocks was impossible. Instead, they'd blow right through it.

On the rear edge of the truck's roof were mounting brackets. One of Rogerius' men had already taken out a medium machine gun from a bag and had started to connect it to the mounts. It was a practiced routine and it didn't take long. In less than a minute, as the convoy slowed down in anticipation, the gunner was ready, pulled the cocking handle back, and opened fire. In front of him, the unsuspecting security forces fell like trees in a logging camp. Crumpling to the ground, the machine gunner continued spraying them on the floor until he was sure they were all dead. Finally, Rogerius said, "Cease fire," and the gunner did so. A trail of like smoke rose from the barrel's end of the machine gun and through the haze they could all see the corpses of the dead, through which they drove as they moved past the roadblock. The enemy didn't even have the opportunity to forewarn others up the road.

On they went, through the jungle, taking the two-lane highway that wound through the foliage like an asphalt river. Soon enough they could see the high-rises of Panooly City's downtown financial district. From this distance they looked intact and powerful, a statement of some sort of ascension of Plánol power. The truth was that their glass windows were still shattered from the war and that the damage to their concrete and steel frames had yet to be repaired. They were testament not to power, but to the fragility of the new Plánol-majority regime.

Closer to the city, they approached another, more heavily manned roadblock. This one was several layers deep and they'd be unable to gun their way through it. Instead, the six trucks fanned out, some of them going offroad. This undoubtedly tipped the security forces off, which could be seen rushing to prepared defensive positions behind sandbags, concrete obstacles, and other emplacements. One of them, standing by the side of the road, picked up his hand as they got closer and bellowed, "Stop!"

The trucks did not stop. Instead, they opened fire. Rogerius, in the lead, continued moving forward on the road. Behind him followed another truck. Two trucks powered through on either flank. Heavy return fire peppered their positions but the Taipolisi forces preferred to protect their own lives rather than expose themselves. Maintaining the covering fire, Rogerius allowed his flanking forces to complete their maneuver and suppress the roadblock from the side and rear. He and the truck to his rear continued forward, speeding through the position while the security forces kept their heads down. The convoy didn't wait to confirm who was killed, wounded, or still alive. The roadblock wasn't the target, it was just in the way. So as soon as the two trucks on the road were through, the flanking forces joined them and they were soon back on the road toward Panooly City. This time, Taipolisi forces ahead would be warned by their compatriots.

Elsewhere, dozens of convoys like these were making "thunder runs" of their own into the city. They were having little battles of their own as they pushed through roadblocks to reach the capital. Rogerius trusted that the Taipolisi were so thinly stretched that they wouldn't be able to respond effectively. But he couldn't worry about that now. His focus was solely on achieving his objective for the day.


...elsewhere in the city.

Antonio cursed under his breath. Although he expected the attack, he knew that it would be difficult to crush. The minister simply didn't have sufficient men.

His aide approached him and quietly said, "Minister, the Satrap is on the line."

Antonio was handed the phone. He put it to his ear. "Sir, this is an emergency. We have enemies approaching the city from the west across multiple vectors. My men are responding now but I do not have enough units to block all the inbound attackers. I recommend that you connect with the local imperial commander and request military assistance to protect the government seat."

"That is not possible," replied Bagamba. "They will tell us that it is an internal matter."

"What good are they?" spat Antonio.

"You know as well as I that their intervention would be considered an infringement on our sovereignty," said Bagamba.

Antonio answered, "Not if you request their intervention explicitly."

"And admit that our government can't administer this country on its own?" asked the satrap, heatedly. "I'm not going to do it. You must defeat the attack with the forces already available to you."

The line clicked at the satrap's end. Antonio growled. His aide scurried back to his side to take the phone. The minister stood and barked, "Prepare the war room. Call all Taipolisi leadership in the city to my side. We will coordinate our defense of the capital from there. Move, move, we don't have much time. Tell them that anybody who dilly-dallies will be removed from command."


...at the satrapical palace.

Joao slammed the phone down and called his aide over. "Césario, Sequiera on a secured line."

"Already on it, sir." Césario pressed a few buttons and then nodded at the satrap, who picked up the phone.

On the other side of the line, a voice said, "Satrap."

"Abasi, are you aware of what's going on?" asked Joao.

"No," the senator said, flatly.

Joao scowled. "The capital is under attack."

"By whom?" asked the senator.

"Who the hell do you think?" fired Joao. "I am deploying security forces to congress as we speak. You need to call the Umazija in. I will make sure the Baraz congregates as well."

Silence on the other side of the line. A few seconds later, "What for, sir?"

Joao slammed his fist down on the table. "To pass that damned security bill."

"We must secure the funding for the program first," replied the senator, cooly. This had been the ongoing block to getting the bill passed, otherwise the Minister of Justice would already have the forces he needed to suppress the Hunters. "Without the funding, we put the fiscal health of the government at risk. We're in no place to stretch our finances beyond our means, sir. Can we request the Golden Throne to intervene?"

"Damn it, Abasi," thundered Joao. "And give them an excuse to replace our government altogether? No, we can't take that risk yet. This is an internal security matter, the Golden Throne has no jurisdiction there and we must resolve the problem on our own. To do that, we need the proper security force."

Silence on the other side, again. Then, "Sir, you know that there is a lot of resistance. Most of the Umazija agrees that we should prioritize our funding of reconstruction and basic well-being. Call the militias, if you need the manpower."

"Without the proper security forces, congress won't be funding anything at all. Security is the basis of anything we do, Abasi. You know that. The clans cannot be the pillar of our security operations. That would be tantamount to chaos and abdicating the power of the central government to the warlords. We've come too far to devolve back to that." He paused for a moment, allowing all of that to sink in. Then, "Anyway, this is not a debate. Get your people together, pass the bill, get it to the Baraz, and I will make sure they do their part. Is this understood? This is an emergency, Abasi. I expect the bill to be passed by the end of the day. I will contact Minister Kinkoko, tell him to anticipate the bill's passing, and to put the wheels of Taipolisi expansion in motion now. We have no time to waste." Joao slammed the phone down.


...the suburb of Percington.

As the Panooly leadership scrambled to react, Rogerius' men poured into Percington from various points. He expected the bulk of the 1,000 soldiers in the operation to make it to the suburb intact. Just under half of them, 400, took up positions within the suburb itself. The high school, which had been targeted by the government raid on Hunter militia commanders within the city, was reoccupied and fortified. Highway off and on ramps were occupied as well, with roadblocks set up. Police stations were taken, and their occupants were killed or executed. No prisoners. Government security forces dispersed and caught unprepared were simply butchered. Local Taipolisi units began withdrawing eastward toward the center of the city. Quickly, the withdrawal turned into a rout.

Amidst the evolving chaos, Rogerius made his way to his objective. The remainder of his force, about 600 men total including those already with him, struck farther east and converged on the Simpala prison complex. The government had stowed away captured Hunters from their raid there and Rogerius had set it upon himself to spring them out. He knew the only opportunity he'd have to do so was now, while the government reeled and struggled to respond to all the simultaneous threats.

The highways would undoubtedly be the primary battlefield at this hour, as government forces rushed into Percington. Rogerius had his men bypass the highway by taking the streets, running through the traffic lights, and using their heavy firepower where needed to clear traffic. It took over an hour to reach the prison complex but his convoy and, by virtue of their rendezvous at this point, the rest made it intact. They all quickly dismounted from their transportation and made their way to the preplanned rally points. The entire operation had been planned in advance. All of them knew that there wouldn't be time to gather and rethink the approach, everything had to be carried out as already determined. With this certainty in mind, Rogerius and his forces agglomerated into four major groupings — one in each cardinal direction, with the intention of penetrating into the prison from all sides at once. The attacks into the complex itself proceeded seamlessly, with about 600 heavily armed men simultaneously striking from four different directions. Heavy gunfire erupted almost immediately as the Hunters overpowered the limited prison security.

Cutting down any prison guards foolish enough to get in the way, Rogerius carved a path into the central cellblock. Other groups had their own targets. His was Jaquan Retief.

Retief was until Rogerius' arrival the ranking Hunter in Panooly City. Before today, that role amounted to little other than being the alpha among a relatively disorganized group of militants who had little more going for them than sporadic clashes with government forces. But Retief held the respect of the Hunters in the capital and it would be a powerful symbol to free him from Simbala.

Rogerius had some intel on where his target was located, but he relied on a team infiltrating the prison's control rooms to tell him exactly which cell to head to and then to open the relevant cell doors. He let that team take care of its own business while he focused on getting his men to the final rally point. It took a few minutes, but after killing a few more guards they finally appeared at the edge of the central block. Hundreds of cells on multiple stories faced an interior courtyard on the bottom floor. Railings separated the walkways on each floor from the open space above the courtyard. Rogerius ordered his men to split up, a fireteam taking each floor. That way, no matter where Retief was, he could be rapidly accessed, freed, and escorted out of the building along with the rest of the targets.

He stayed on the ground floor, where he could direct the operation. Where was the team tasked with taking the control room? They should have secured it by now. He waited a few more moments. His men were already positioned on each floor, already checking the cells individually to see if they could find Retief without help from the cameras. A few moments passed. Nothing.

Pressing into his right ear, Rogerius said, "Olympus, this is Watchman, come in, over."

Nothing.

"Repeat, Olympus, this is Watchman, come in."

A few seconds more of silence. Then a crackle. In his ear, someone said, "Watchman, this is Olympus. We have taken the Eagle's Nest."

Good. "Then tell me where the hell our target is."

"Lighting up your display now," said the voice.

Rogerius' helmet-mounted display lit up and marked a path to one of the cells. It was on the fifth floor. His men had gotten the same instruction, so the fire team already on the floor proceeded to get Retief. He and the rest of his group turned back to rendezvous at the next rally point. Once the fire team tasked with the extraction had retrieved Retief, they made their way to the rally point with the package. From there, they headed back out.

Simultaneously, the other groups were extracting their own targets. Altogether, 36 prisoners were targeted. Of the 36, 32 were extracted. The other four were not found and were presumed dead or offsite. Once the extraction was complete, the team in the control room opened all the cell doors in the complex. Throughout Simbala, prisoners warily stepped toward the edge of their open cells, wondering what was going on. When they saw that the prison guards were either nowhere to be seen or dead, the escalation to a full-blown prison riot was rather quick. Storerooms were sacked. Corpses were desecrated. The doors to the weapons room was opened as well, and it was only a matter of time before the prisoners found it and armed themselves. By the time the Taipolisi converged on Simbala, they'd have their hands too full with the prison riot to track down Rogerius and his men.

As soon as everyone was back outside, they loaded up on their trucks and headed back to Percington, where they'd join operations there to bunker down and prepare for the inevitable government counterattack.

Whatever happened next, the opening round was a stellar success.

[The Macabees]

IMPERIAL VISIT: PANOOLY CITY, PREFECTURE OF MOPATA

Ongola International Airport was less busy than usual. The fighting in the city was dissuading a tourist economy that was beginning to pick up again finally. Césario frowned. Tourists brought money that the new satrapical government could ill afford to lose, and aside from Delapesca there weren't many other places in Holy Panooly both worth going to and under firm enough control to collect taxes from. At least there were always the imperial soldiers who spent their money on local entertainment. But streetwalkers rarely declared their income.

That Kríerlord Angiko Bas chose to land in Ongola rather than at the nearest Laerihans airfield was a powerful statement in favor of the overall security situation in the city. It was also a somewhat generous statement given that the Hakara Hunters were seated more deeply in Panooly City than ever before and that all early efforts to eject the fighters from their fortified base in Percington had heretofore failed. And maybe there was an element of convenience in the kríerlord's choice, as well. Regardless, the symbology — fictitious or otherwise — was one that Joao Bagamba's cabinet would surely use to promote an image of stability, peace, and prosperity. Knowing how precarious the situation truly was, any positive symbology could help avoid a complete political collapse.

Césario watched as the imperial airliner touched the landing strip and came to a screeching halt at the other end. Distant gunfire marred the sight to some extent. A self-propelled ladder appeared from somewhere else in the airport and parked itself against the entry door, which opened as soon as there was a way down to the tarmac. Angiko Bas appeared at the top and nimbly made his way down, behind one of his security officers and with two more descending behind him.

"It's good to see you again, Your Excellency. Welcome to Holy Panooly," said Césario, who extended his hand out for a handshake.

Angiko took it firmly. "Thank you, Mr. Ginga. Satrap Bagamba could not greet me here, he sent his chief of staff?"

"No insult was meant, Your Excellency," hastily replied Césario. "The satrap has been in the Baraz chamber since this morning, discussing the proposed Holy Panooly Security Act. Its passing is vital of course. The bill is an important step forward in our country's path toward stability and prosperity. We are all excited for the lower chamber of congress to pass it."

"You are hoping that it is passed today, I presume," said Angiko.

Nodding, Césario answered, "Yes, Your Excellency."

Césario gestured to an armored SUV running on idle behind him. Angiko nodded and the two of them climbed in, the three security officers piling in after them. As they left the airport, two more armored SUVs joined theirs, one in front and the other in back. The three-vehicle convoy proceeded to the sand-colored satrapical palace forming the core of the administrative center of Panooly City. Not too far away, the vehicles' occupants could see the "high-rises" of the financial district — many of them still sporting their war scars of shattered glass windows or gaping hopes. Looking out the window toward these half-ruins, Angiko said, "The satrap needs to prioritize the reconstruction of his capital."

Fighting an internal urge to remain silent at the comment, Césario said, "With what money, Your Excellency?"

Angiko gave Césario a cool gaze. They were just entering through the palace complex's outer gates and so, if the kríerlord was about to reply, he changed the topic. "The satrap, when will he return from the Baraz?"

"The discussions are going on longer than we anticipated." Neither the satrapical chief of staff nor Bagamba himself meant any insult to Angiko Bas, of course. The kríerlord was a dangerous man who was in the emperor's ear. And the emperor was the most dangerous man of them all. He could decide to end Joao's tenure as head of state of Holy Panooly at any point, for any reason, and in any way. No, purposefully making the kríerlord wait would have been very foolish. Hopefully, Angiko understood that.

Whether he understood or not, the kríerlord snapped, "Fetch him now."

"Yes, Your Excellency," replied Césario.

He unlocked his phone to do as he was told but he received a text just then. It was from Joao. I am on my way, it read. Take Kríerlord Bas to the library room. Tell him that I will arrive in less than 10 minutes. "Kríerlord," said Césario, "Satrap Bagamba is on his way now."

The three-vehicle convoy came to a halt within one of the palace's interior courtyards. A palace servant opened the rear right door and elegantly bowed while Angiko Bas, Césario, and the two bodyguards stepped out of the vehicle. The wind had picked up and two flags fluttered violently above them, one the Golden Throne's and the other Holy Panooly's. Once they were all out, the servant led them into the interior, through the hallways, and to the library room.

As they were setting up at a small conference table inside the library room, the kríerlord stepped away to take some calls. There were already glasses on the table, each one impeccably clean, along with two pitchers of cold water with little floating ice cubes and a few lemon slices. Off to the side was a small mobile cart with rock glasses and a bottle of whisky. In front of each chair was a thin packet of information and in front of the entire setup was a temporary screen held up by a wheeled stand, toward which pointed a digital projector sitting at the end of the conference table. Servants were coming in and out of the room through a side door until, finally, they disappeared entirely. Angiko was outside for quite some time but, by the time had come in Joao had arrived as well.

"Kríerlord Bas," said Joao, reaching out to take Angiko's hand.

"Satrap," returned the kríerlord.

They shook hands and Joao said, "Apologies Your Excellency, I expected to have been back sooner."

"The Baraz and Umazija have taken longer than expected to pass your security bill," said Angiko. "I thought that you'd whip them into shape more quickly. I'm disappointed, honestly. You must understand that the situation in Holy Panooly is not just embarrassing to you, it's also embarrassing to me. It's I who has to report to His Imperial Majesty on the situation in the satrapy, I who has to take the heat for the inability to stabilize the situation here, and I am growing tired of it rather quickly. I like you, Joao. But, at some point, the time to find a new man for the job will come. Hopefully, I won't have to do that. But, you should know that we are approaching that threshold. Is that understood?"

Joao bit his lip to avoid showing any other signs of annoyance. He did not like being chastised, especially not in front of his staff. Luckily, none of the ministers were here, for that surely would have been awkward. As it was, he gave himself a second to compose himself, and answered, "Yes, Kríerlord. I understand fully. My intention is not to embarrass myself or you, but rather to lead Holy Panooly on the path toward security, prosperity, and unity. But you must understand that I cannot do that effectively if there are imperial-backed elements within the Golden Throne acting against me and the central satrapical government."

Angiko gazed at Joao cooly. "And what elements are those?"

"The mercenaries, for one. Returning Jumanota to satrapical administration is crucial to prove my government's authority," answered the satrap. "Secondly, Governor Ricus De Bruyn. Without his complicitness, there is no way the Hakara Hunters would be able to move through Pretoria as effectively or as quickly as they have. There is no way. And that goes without mentioning the role of Divan McLean."

The kríerlord listened. He said, after thinking through it for a moment, "I understand that the situation is difficult, Joao. And I know that it seems that everyone is playing the game for a different reason, seeking a different outcome, and that is, speaking frankly, unacceptable. But this is a challenge for all of us and there is no perfect solution. Unless you have definitive evidence of treasonous activity by part of the Pretorian government, there is little I can do other than meet with the governor and stress the importance of stabilizing the country. In the meantime, you need to whip your government into shape and put together a security force capable of defeating the rebel movement. I suspect, though, that you'll need more than military force to get the job done. I've been thinking about this quite a bit and you need to set in motion a three-prong strategy for unifying Holy Panooly in a meaningful way. First, you and the Panooly legislature must cooperate on the reconstruction of Delapesca. It will be an important source of future revenue for Holy Panooly and, luckily for you, His Imperial Majesty seems set on bankrolling the city's revival. Second, Guamlumpeiron must be cleared out and the prefecture must be fully incorporated in a sense that's meaningful to the satrapy's treasury. Third, Jumanota must be restored to Holy Panooly. This will be the most challenging of the three and, I believe, will be predicated on growing the economic and internal military power of the satrapy in relation to that of Tarn."

"What does it mean to cooperate on the reconstruction of Delapesa?" asked the satrap.

"His Imperial Majesty wants the Panooly congress to pass a bill to allow for Delapesca's renaming and to give the Imperial Bureaucracy to rebuild it as seen fit," replied Angiko. "What that means in all practicality is to rebuild it in a direction that would make it an attractive destination for future colonists and provincial tourists, as well as restoring its status as an important naval port for the Kríermada."

Joao blinked. "Rename it? To what?"

Angiko smiled. "Fedoroville."

"After Himself?" asked Joao, astonished.

"Quite," answered the kríerlord. "It is only one part of a wider program to rebuild the wartorn dominions of the Golden Throne by restoring key cities and renaming them in honor of His Imperial Majesty Fedor I and his predecessor, Jonak I. As...vain...as that might seem to you, it is a guarantee of future revenues that are beyond your government's capabilities at the moment. It will be the most splendid city in Holy Panooly."

"And Panooly City?" asked Joao. "Is His Imperial Majesty not interested in restoring the capital of his satrapy?"

The kríerlord tisked. "Joao, Panooly City is your capital city. If you want to be taken seriously as a satrap, you must find the means of rebuilding it yourself and it should be done to your standard. And you must move quickly because I can assure you that Pretoria will not suffer from inadequate tax revenues. Where are the provincial tourists likelier to travel? Where are the premier naval bases now? Where is the capital currently flowing to? It's certainly not the cities under your full control, that's for certain. To change that, we must act with urgency and it starts with approving the refounding of Delapesca and the securing of Guamlumpeiron. I expect you to introduce the necessary legislation and get it through both chambers, and I expect you to do it quickly. We don't have the time to waste."

Joao remained silent for a short while, then said, "Understood, Kríerlord."

"Good," said Angiko. He looked at the bottle on the cart. "Now, why don't you have someone open that up and serve us some drinks."

"Immediately," answered Césario, the chief of staff. He stepped out through the back door and barked a few orders and soon enough servants began scurrying in. Césario added, "We also have lunch to serve."

With the principal business concluded, they proceeded to lighter discussions.

[The Macabees]

THE BOMB: PANOOLY CITY, PREFECTURE OF MOPATA

Joao eyed the police officer standing at the corner of the street. He was carrying a big assault rifle across the front of his body. Another one standing next to him was carrying a machine gun, with a bandolier of ammunition wrapped diagonally across his torso. The fading sun was still strong enough to cast its light on dozens of soldiers similarly armed standing all over the street. The ones crouching up on the rooftops, scanning the whole area around them, were much harder to see. As were the drones.

Joao no longer walked the streets of Panooly City in safety.

At any point, he could be shot dead.

Like Arturo Lasamba.

Lasamba, the first Plánol chief executive of Qadesh, was killed outside of his home. His security had completely failed to detect a threat. The gunman had simply waited for him to arrive and then shot him dead. Only one bullet. Whoever had done it, they were professionals. Well, it was obvious who had done it. At least, who had ordered the shit. There were remnants of the old regime, the one originally put in place by the white supremacist dictator Dominic Templeton and kept largely intact by the Ordenites, who had managed to remain in power even under the Golden Throne. It made sense, argued Kríerlord Angiko Bas. Of course, a kríerlord, especially one of pure Díenstadi descent, couldn't understand what the old regime had done to the Plánol people of Holy Panooly. He could not understand what the people they left in power represented and why there would forever be conflict if white supremacists were put in a position of power. Well, they didn't understand and the chickens had come home to roost. Lasamba had been killed because he represented a new regime, a Plánol-dominant, majority-dominant government that sought to rectify the inequities of the past. Lasamba was killed because the old regime's political survivors weren't interested in truly moving forward into the era of the new regime.

Anyway, Joao knew exactly who he was dealing with. He had lived under the Templeton terror regime. He survived it by leaving for the vast northern jungleland, where he learned how to fight. He was there when the Templeton regime was toppled by Tarn. Joao was there to fight the Ordenites too, when they came in and occupied the white-dominated southlands. Joao had seen too much to leave his fate to chance.

Thus the drones and snipers.

Stepping up to one of the stalls lining the busy street, the satrap eyed some of the fruit for sale. The vendor nervously smiled and nodded as Joao looked on. Occasionally, he said something about the produce, like where it was made and why it was special. Picking up a melon with two hands, the vendor said, "Those are Theohuanacan melons! Special. Very special! They are brought in from western Theohuanacu, from Inxuahtl."

"Those," the vendor said, pointing, "those mangos are brought in from Guamlumpeiron."

Joao arched an eyebrow. "Guamlumpeiron? How? It's sealed."

"There are people inside," said the vendor. "They know other ways to get out and in."

"People? Inside? You've heard myths, old man," said Joao.

Ashamed, the vendor quietly replied, "Of course, satrap." Then, "But, this is no myth, Your Excellency. I have seen them with my own eyes. Not everyone, or everything, was killed in Guamlumpeiron. And not everyone turned. There are survivors, not just of the virus and then the blast, but of the infected who survived the bomb too. There are less of them every day, both surviving humans and the infected, but there are still many. I think they look forward to the day of liberation by your new government."

Smiling, Joao said, "It appears that it is I who have been told myths. I will investigate the situation. Thank you."

He made his way to another stall, this time on the opposite side of the street. The tightly packed throng moving in both directions effortlessly parted like a bubble around his entourage. That was one benefit of having big-bodied bodyguards. Hung from the stall's ceiling were all sorts of belts, of all styles and colors. Some had elaborate buckets, others were plain. Some were elegant, others rugged. Who could have thought that there were so many types of belts?

Getting lost in his thoughts, Joao thought some more about what the other man had said about Guamlumpeiron. He had received some intelligence that there were indeed human survivors inside the security perimeter maintained by the Golden Throne's ground forces. But Angiko Bas was not willing to authorize the use of imperial troops to clear Guamlumpeiron. It wasn't worth the cost in lives, said the kríerlord. There was no other force in Holy Panooly capable of securing Guamlumpeiron. Until now.

The bill to expand the Taipolisi, the Holy Panooly Security Act, had finally passed both in the Baraz and Umazija. Now Joao and his government would have a proper gendarmerie with which to enforce the will of his satrapical government. Guamlumpeiron certainly seemed like an attractive option for a first trial by fire, an introduction to war before being thrown against the Hakara Hunters. Almost all Hakara were former military. A large number of them had been special forces. They were killers. You can't throw fresh graduates to the dogs, you have to prepare them psychologically first. Why not Guamlumpeiron? After all, the kríerlord had set the restoration of Guamlumpeiron and its suburbs as one of Joao's government's three primary objectives. It was important to achieve them as quickly as possible. Before the emperor decided it was time for a change in leadership. Yes, once the Taipolisi was fully ready, it would clear, secure, and liberate Guamlumpeiron from abandonment."

Suddenly glad that he had come out to the open-air flea market of central Panooly City, Joao left behind the belts to continue onward to another stall, and then another, and then another. He felt it was important to meet with the common folk, the people who looked up to him as the leader of their new country. None of them, except maybe the very oldest, knew a time when a Plánol country was run by a Plánol leader. Those felt like ancient times.

But Joao Bagamba was the new leader of Holy Panooly. The first leader of a unified Holy Panooly before the assassination of Dominic Templeton. And he was Plánol.

He wanted the people of Holy Panooly, the original people, the Plánol people, to understand what exactly was at stake: this new regime. A regime where the Plánol could exercise newfound democratic rights in the election of the country's legislature, a Plánol-dominated legislature.

His bodyguards had been against the whole idea, of course. 'It was dangerous, foolhardy,' they said. Joao knew they were right but the work he was doing was indispensable. Shaking hands, speaking to the buyers and sellers, and proving to the people of Holy Panooly that the future was here and that Joao Bagamba was it. After a while, everyone stopped thinking about the danger as they continued making their way down through the flea market, turning down one street and then another.

The bubble around Joao started to get smaller.

"We should go," said one bodyguard, close to Joao and not too loud. "It's getting dark."

Nodding, the satrap said, "Just a few more stalls. Bring the cars around."

The guard muttered something into a mic embedded into his jacket collar. Others, in preparation for the arrival of the vehicle convoy, started to move out in an attempt to clear a small side road that emptied into the vendor-lined street. The streets in general were beginning to empty of shoppers as the sun was making its final descent. Joao looked around. He was happy. And being happy was not a normal thing these days. But being out here in the street with his people reminded him of a life without fear of attack, oppression, and violence, a life that seemed so distant but now was within grasp. He would have to come back here more often to refill his life force with energy, energy drained from him like blood from a wounded body by the complexity of the real world.

Shaking the hand of the last stall vendor, he said, "Tomorrow will be a better day, and the day after even better."

"I hope so, Your Excellency," said the vendor.

"God willing," he said.

The vendor was mouthing something in response, but Joao couldn't hear it. At first, it was as if all noise, all sound, had been sucked out of the air. He felt his body compress, then stretch as if being pulled by a magnet, then compressed again. Then came the roar of the explosion. And then the current of force that threw him through the stall and into the wall behind it. Joao's body crumpled onto the floor. Behind him, the street was littered with corpses although a thick smoke mixed with debris had covered the area like an impenetrable morning fog, obscuring anybody's vision beyond a few feet. Overhead, the sky was filled with drones trying to analyze the situation underneath the dark carpet of fumes, dust, and vaporized flesh. Joao coughed, spitting blood. His eyes were still closed, his breathing slow and heavy.

A general ringing noise was the only thing Joao could hear as consciousness slowly returned to him. He still couldn't move. The thought didn't even come to him. He wasn't even totally sure where he was, what had happened, or what he was doing. Ringing came way to the faint crying and screaming of the wounded, which gradually sharpened slowly but surely. The dust came in through the nostrils, mouths, and ears, filtering through every pore of the body.

Suddenly, there were people running about in every direction: bodyguards, Taipolisi officers, and emergency services personnel. Some were walking about on their hands and knees, dripping blood like a damaged pool dumping water onto the grass. There were people with missing arms and legs trying to find their lost appendages. Men, women, and children screamed shrilly as they held on tightly to gaping wounds on their sides, some trying to hold in organs trying to escape.

Then an unknown number of hands grabbed onto Joao's arms, legs, and torso, picking him up and carrying him away. He still wasn't completely awake. Breathing, but not fully conscious.

"Over here," someone said. "The satrap is over here. Hurry! Come!"

Carrying his limp body some distance, they lightly tossed him into the back of a car. Then they sped away...


...he awoke, finally, in a hospital bed. An IV was injected into the vein in his wrist. He was breathing through a machine.

Surrounded by guards and ministers, his hospital room looked like an impromptu emergency cabinet. It must have been the biggest room the hospital had. What poor soul had he displaced here? Joao tried to sit up but couldn't. Someone noticed and a wave of people rushed over to help their satrapical leader. Someone said, "He's awake! He's awake! The satrap is awake!"

"What am I doing here?" he asked, with a hoarse voice. He still hadn't noticed the severe burning up and down the side of his body.

Someone — Césario Ginga, Joao finally recognized — replied, "There was an attempt on your life, Your Excellency."

"An attempt on my life?" he questioned.

"Aye, Your Excellency, a bomb went off in the market, clearly intending to kill you," answered Joao's loyal aide.

The satrap let his head fall back onto the pillow. An attempt on his life? A bomb? The Hakara Hunters, it must have been. A pain much more dire than the one he felt from the attack pierced through his bones. It was an emotional pain. An emotional pain that was driven by the memories rushing back through his head and of the knowledge that, even if he had survived, dozens of innocent people surely hadn't.

"Rest now, Your Excellency," said Césario. "We will debrief when you are rested."

"We must act now—" he couldn't finish his sentence before the painkillers started flowing through his bloodstream and he, once again, fell asleep.

The television hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the room was playing the local news. The news anchor talked on, "Officials report thirty-six dead, forty-eight wounded, including fifteen dead and twenty-three wounded children. Government spokespeople have warned that all bodies have been found beneath the rubble of the homes and buildings collapsed by the sheer power of the bomb. The explosion was so powerful that it leveled almost two entire city blocks. Luckily, it is reported that the satrap is alive and in good condition, although we have received no update concerning an expected televised speech to the people. Officials say that the government is collecting all available information and data on the attack. But a rage is filling the streets of Holy Panooly's cities, a rage against violence that most believe should be a thing of the past, a violence that must be decisively ended one way or another...

[The Macabees]

OPERATION TROPICAL STERILIZATION: PLANNING THE REFOUNDING OF GUAMLUMPEIRON

His Excellency the Satrap remained bedridden in the hospital. From his hospital bed, he made it known that his wish was for Guamlumpeiron to be liberated. It had taken every ounce of his aide's energy to convince the legislature and the police to commit to the task.

Debate within and between the police and the government had been fierce. Many wanted to strike back at the Hakara Hunters immediately, but everyone knew that the Taipolisi were not still strong enough to take on the southern rebellion head-to-head and a major defeat could mean losing the war. The new Panooly paramilitary force needed a preliminary test first, something that could give the recruits battlefield experience without risking their destruction.

There were three options: an operation in Pretoria, an invasion of Jumanota, or the retaking of Guamlumpeiron. Since taking on the private military forces of Tarn was even more suicidal than rushing into an attempt to put down the Pretorian revolt, Guamlumpeiron was the easiest option of the three. Still, Panooly blood was boiling over the attempt on Bagamba's life and the constant attacks on Panooly civilians throughout the country. It was hard to persuade the legislators and citizens alike that the best way of striking back was through indirect means, rather than a head-on strike on either enemy of the Plánol people. But, finally, after many long days of deliberation, the relevant government agencies formally decided to concentrate Taipolisi forces along the southern edge of the Macabéan perimeter around the abandoned city of Guamlumpeiron.

Guamlumpeiron made an attractive target for other propaganda reasons, as well. Guamlumpeiron was where Satrap Bagamba first made his fame. It was in the eastern suburb of Choisengel where Bagamba, just a young and freshly minted kgosi — war leader —, broke the back of the admittedly chaotic loyalist defenses. It, along with Delapesca, was the heart of the Plánol revolt that was now empowered to lead the country into a new future. Liberating and refounding the city would be hugely symbolic.

What exactly awaited Panooly forces in the city nobody was quite sure. Soon after the KN755 virus first began to spread, the Golden Throne took the drastic step of destroying Guamlumpeiron by nuclear means. It was not even three years since those events happened and no Panooly official had stepped foot in Guamlumpeiron or its surroundings. Whether the Golden Throne's army had any intelligence on the city's status was unknown. Despite Holy Panooly's entry into the Imperial Federation, the empire remained characteristically tight-lipped about what they knew. They shared zero intelligence with the Panooly government, except for whatever was already released to the public. Truthfully, the best information that the Taipolisi could get was the wild rumor they could collect from those who claimed to have infiltrated through the quarantine to do business with survivors inside the pocket of infection. These were interviewed at length, sometimes several times, and the data collected from these interrogations was aggregated and compared. Much of the image they built of Guamlumpeiron was hopeful, some of it was terrifying.

Some details were known from what was published directly after the initial imperial intervention in Holy Panooly. One study based on interviews of soldiers who fought at Caludran gave rather elaborate details on the appearance of the 'survivors.' There were a lot of interviews. And all of them were very similar. Although the imperial security perimeter around the city meant that one of those things hadn't been seen in five years, the general sentiment was that whatever the KN755 survivors had become, it wasn't human. The Fuermak and Imperial Bureaucracy may not have published much in the way of official reports on the clearing operations or the ongoing scientific observation mission along the perimeter, but private testimony from hundreds of veterans gave a clear picture of what exactly it was they had struggled so hard to quarantine into the confines of northeastern Holy Panooly.

It was known that humans operated inside the Guamlumpeiron Quarantine Zone (GAZ). It was unofficially confirmed through interviews with enterprising and risk-seeking merchants who traded with the native folk within the GAZ that suburban parts of the city and its hinterland had been re-inhabited. After the civil war, the virus and its spread, the bomb, and the subsequent clearing operations, anybody still living did so outside the GAZ. But after the War of Panooly Reunification and now, with the violence in the south, refugee pressures were working in the opposite direction. It had driven some, numbering perhaps in the tens of thousands, to join communities inside the GAZ.

Before combat operations could begin, contact had to be made with the natives.

Through one of the interviewed traders, the government was put in touch with Mansa Hodari. Hodari called himself a salvager. He braved the overgrowth and physical danger of Guamlumpeiron's core to find the loot that the city's dead left behind: gold jewelry, silver and copper from electronics, and other abandoned goods that could be stripped down and sold outside the GAZ. These he offloaded to the merchants who illegally crossed the GAZ perimeter and smuggled these wares into the rest of Holy Panooly.

Hodari was told to meet Taipolisi agents on the imperial perimeter. When the imperial soldiers saw the human individual emerge from within the GAZ they did not seem the least bit surprised. A team was sent to the perimeter to extract Hodari and bring him to the capital. There, he was put into a room with police and political commanders responsible for the Guamlumpeiron operation. Césario Ginga, as Bagamba's loyal aide and sanctioned representative, was present too. They were inside a humid, featureless room with drab grey walls. Two large fans rotated in long, slow motion across the ceiling while, through the open windows running across the top third of the walls, one could hear the tropical rain pouring down on the headquarters complex in Panooly City.

"You said that the largest cohesive community inside the GAZ is in Sakou. Who is the leader?" asked one of the Taipolisi commanders. They had been questioning the man incessantly since the very beginning of the session.

"A kgosi they call the Master of the Army. A new one is elected every three months," replied the salvager, with tired eyes. "The man you want to speak to is Yakumbo Texeira. He was elected one month ago."

"Can you get us a sit down with him?" asked another police chief.

The man shrugged. "Maybe. But surely the Macabéans could do that more easily?"

Everybody stared at him dumbfounded. One asked, "What do you mean?"

"I mean that the imperial army regularly patrols into Sakou and even into the other communities. They know the people there and I'm sure they could compel all of them to work with you." The salvager said all of this as if it were common knowledge. He looked back at them, unsure why they all looked so confused. "You do know that the imperial army knows of and maintains active contact with the human communities inside the GAZ?"

Every head in the room swiveled toward Césario Ginga. It was shocking that no one else knew of this, but of all the people in the room who should be 'in the know' it should be Bagamba's aide. But Césario shook his head. "They never said anything. Nothing. We are completely in the dark about this."

"We need an imperial commander here."

"What do you want me to do? Order them down here?"

"Have the aide bring them. He is Joao's man, he can get them to agree to come."

The commanders and ministers were talking between themselves. None of them had asked Césario's whether he wanted to do any of this. "Very well, I will return in a moment," said Césario.

Conversing between themselves as he stepped out, they forgot about the salvager, who took advantage of the respite to slouch down into his chair, leaned back his head, and closed his eyes for a momentary nap. Then, uncomfortable in the excuse for a chair, he stood and walked over to the counter on the other side of the room, where poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot sitting in the brewer. He leaned back on the counter, standing there for a while before the aide walked back in. Again, every head turned and all eyes were on Césario.

He said, "They are awaiting approval from Angiko Bas. But are sending someone from the komthemata headquarters. Koronel Gavi Heusfel."

"A colonel? They can't send someone of higher rank?" asked one of the ministers, incredulously.

Césario shrugged. "They say this man will be able to answer all of our questions."

Angiko did eventually approve the imperial koronel's visit the Taipolisi HQ. After perhaps a two-hour wait, the squat, green-eyed Macabéan soldier entered into the room. He looked quite unhappy to be there. Everyone did. Despite the rain, it was still hot and humid and everyone was sweating through their uniforms and suits.
"This looks like the right place," he said. "Koronel Gavi Heusfel of the Armed Judicial Corps. I am told that my purpose here is to answer your questions on matters concerning the GAZ. I first express my solemn regret regarding what happened to His Excellency the Satrap and I hope you get the people responsible for the attack."

"We will," said Césario. "After we resettle Guamlumpeiron."

"That's a nuclear wasteland," said the colonel.

One of the commanders scoffed. "We know people are living in the GAZ."

Gavi Heusfel gazed back at the commander who had spoken with cool eyes. "There are indeed people living inside the Guamlumpeiron Quarantine Zone. What does that have to do with the fact that most of the city is practically a radioactive crater? Even in the suburbs, people expose themselves to a lot of risks getting that close to what is core Guamlumpeiron. How are you going to resettle that?"

"That's our job to figure out," said one of the ministers. "Whatever it is you're doing in New Empire, we can do the same thing here."

"I suppose you can," smiled the imperial officers. "It's going to be expensive, though."

"I'm sure there are plenty of companies in the provinces just giddy at the thought of accessing the abandoned mines outside the city, Macabéan," said Césario.

The koronel shrugged, and said, "I am not Macabéan, I am Frommian."

"What's the difference?" asked one of the Taipolisi commanders.

"I am from Pabagne, in the old Kingdom of Beda Fromm. The people you call Macabéan, they come from Díenstad," answered Gavi Heusfel. "We are different people with a different culture. Even our language is different. It is a variation of Díenstadi, but there can be some pretty big differences."

The commander seemed unconvinced. "All of you imperial g-men sound the same to me."

The colonel said, "Yes, well, you would do yourself a service to educate yourself on the cultures of the Imperial Federation. The men you will surely be interacting with on the perimeter of, and inside, the GAZ come from all corners of the Golden Throne. They are auxiliaries. That means that aside from many, but not all, of their officers, their units are composed of soldiers recruited from the territories. They are Havenics, Zarbians, Monzarkians, Guffingfordis, and Theohuacans. Not Macabéan."

"We belong to the empire, brother," replied the commander. "We are all Macabéan now."

"Holy Panooly is a junior partner, at best," retorted the Frommian.

"Strange that someone so fast to distinguish himself from being a mere Macabéan is so quick to claim more of its status," spat the commander.

Césario stood from his chair. "Anyway," he said loudly. Everyone's attention turned to Bagamba's aide. "Let's get back on track, here. What we do with Guamlumpeiron after its reoccupied is irrelevant. What matters is that the satrapical government of Holy Panooly will launch an operation to clear the quarantined portions of Gualumpeiron and its surroundings of any threatening activity. We request imperial cooperation. Also, why was the Panooly government not made aware of active refugee communities inside the GAZ?"

The koronel took a sit up from a cup of coffee someone had handed him. "This stuff is terrible," he said. "Isn't the best coffee supposed to come from Holy Panooly?"

"That's government coffee. Government coffee always tastes like shit, even in Holy Panooly," said Césario.

Gavi Heusfel laughed. "The GAZ is an active military conflict and under the sole jurisdiction of the Imperial Bureaucracy, but more so the military forces to whom the Imperial Bureaucracy entrusts the security of its people. We are under no obligation to share any classified information of a sensitive nature with parties unrelated to the success of our operations. I'm sure that you would have been told eventually. At least, I'd think so. But, what do I know, I'm just a simple colonel. I don't make those decisions, I just report on them. If you want a better answer, you'll need to get it straight from His Imperial Excellency Bas. As for your little operation in the GAZ, I am told to make you aware that we know of the buildup. I have not been told whether the Ejermacht plans to allow your forces through into an active imperial war zone."

"You keep calling it an active war zone," said Césario. "Yet, you let civilians live in there?"

"The war in Gholgoth demands bodies. The bulk of the army is also stationed around Delapesca and in the south, apart from what's here in the capital, dealing with mopping up and influence-cleansing operations. We compensate for a lack of manpower through the use of sensors, drones, and autonomous patrol vehicles to monitor activity along the perimeter. A ring of fire bases surrounds the GAZ, along with barbed wire, concrete barriers, and that sort of thing, but most of the surveillance is done through robots. Anything...not human...is zapped. Otherwise, the perimeter can be admittedly porous. Most refugees pass through through tunnels, which we sanction because it helps control the flow of movement. There are two principal tunnels. Once they come in, they are not allowed to leave without explicit permission or otherwise discharged."

"What do you mean 'they aren't allowed to leave'?" asked a white-haired minister. "Citizens of Holy Panooly have freedom of movement throughout the satrapy. And throughout the empire, or so I thought."

"Not through an active imperial war zone!" said the koronel.

Césario loomed forward. "You haven't answered my question, Koronel Heusfel."

"I'm getting there," replied the officer. "His Imperial Majesty, and therefore the Imperial Bureaucracy as a whole, views the loss of imperial life on the restoration of Gualumpeiron as presently distasteful. As a result, the Ejermacht is green-lit to sustain a scheme with incoming refugees. Men and their families are allowed to settle inside the GAZ if they are willing to join the communities. Joining a community enrolls the lead male of the household, between the ages of 16 and 45, into that community's army. Each army is responsible for patrolling a specific sector of outer Guamlumpeiron."

"You're using Panoolies to clear out the 'survivors?' asked a Panooly police commander. "That's illegal, surely."

"It's perfectly legal," said the imperial army officer. "The Fuermak rightfully recruits throughout the Imperial Federation. It is our guaranteed right by treaty."

"That's a pretty loose definition of 'recruitment,' officer," said the commander.

The Frommian raised his arms in defense. "It's a legal definition. I'm a lawyer, for the Golden Throne's military no less. I know what I'm talking about. Anyway, yes, we recruit the men into battalion-sized units technically organized under the regulíes department of the army. Those are the foreign volunteers. They are considered regulíes because the Ejermacht is unable to wrap its head around a force made up of multiple tiers of imperial peoples. Not everyone is a citizen. Not everyone is fully subject to the Imperial Bureaucracy. For now, recruits from the satrapies are considered foreign volunteers. Hey, don't look at me like that, I don't make the rules, I just make sure everyone is abiding by them. Before you operate in the city, you will need to make contact with the communities yourself and negotiate their extraction from the quarantined zone."

"And you can facilitate that?" asked Césario.

"I'm just a lawyer, man."

One of the police officers pounded his fist on the table. "What good are you, then?"

"You wanted to speak to someone who could answer your questions on the GAZ, right?" asked the officer, defensively. "That's why I'm here—"

A phone in his pocket rang. The screen lit of through the fabric of his pants. He answered it. Someone on the other line was speaking. Occasionally, Koronel Heusfel said, "Yes...uh huh...I see...yes...understood...yes...of course...I will tell them...I understand...I will do as Willed...yes...yes, Long Live His Imperial Majesty."He hung up and put the phone back in pocket, then looked up.

"That headquarters," said the military lawyer. "I have been told to instruct you to continue assembling your forces along the perimeter. They are not to cross the perimeter or they will be considered a hostile threat by our drones. It's the programming, you know. In lieu of the satrap, given his unfortunate disposition at this time, we defer satrapical authority to Mr. Ginga. You and a small team of your choosing will be escorted to each of the communities inside the GAZ. You will need to organize an extraction for all of these communities. Even one rejection will result in a disapproval of your operation in the war zone. Assuming you succeed in providing for the resettlement of the refugees living inside the GAZ, you can use the communities as forward assembly positions. Their assigned combat zones should be clean enough on the surface. You might get the errant pack of ghouls in the dark, tall buildings. They like to hide there sometimes. But mostly they live in the sewers. That's where they know they can get away from our drones. Otherwise, sooner or later, we find them and we zap them. A 45kg precision warhead courtesy of the Golden Throne. As for clearing them out of the sewers and from deep inside the core of Guamlumpeiron, apparently His Imperial Excellency Bas is more than happy to let your people do the work."

"Good," said Césario. "We don't have time to waste. Let's get down to the GAZ."

At that, they adjourned the meeting. Mansa Hodari, the scavenger they had pointlessly extracted from the quarantined zone, was escorted out of the building and abandoned on the sidewalk outside. He'd had to make his way back to wherever he was going on his own. The imperial military lawyer had quickly pulled Césario aside at the end of the meeting to request that the scavenger not be given a ride back to anywhere near Guamlumpeiron. Looting an active imperial warzone was highly illegal unless you had permission from the Golden Throne. So Mr. Hodari was let loose in Panooly City and told to make the best of it.

For his part, Césario chose his team of six other officials. They left for the GAZ the next day, where they'd meet with the imperial military and the community leaders.

[Tarn Emerita]

TARN — Humberto meant for his gold and silver smile to look mean. Two dark polymer spheres made up eye his eyeballs, each one centered by a fiery red pupil. A metallic arm held a short glass filled a tad bit under halfway with brown jinharem. He brought it to his lips and took a long sip, the cool sweetness of the Theohuanacan liquor almost refreshing if it wasn't for the bite at the end. Humberto hadn't been rude, of course. The guest had his own short, halfway-full glass of Theohuanacan rum, as well.

The guest took a sip from his own glass. He said, "For such a wretched country, they do sure make good liquor."

"Aye. But we ain't here to talk about alcohol, are we?" replied Humberto.

"No, we are not," answered the guest. "We are here to talk about you selling weapons to the Pretorian government."

Humberto snorted. "I wasn't aware that a prefectural government of the Imperial Federation had the autonomy to buy weapons from foreign states. Anyway, it seems like bad business to make a deal with a rebellious appendage of the Golden Throne. Our partner already felt the long arm of the law once before, no sense in us making the same mistake too — the risk is way too high. Not unless we do it for the right price, at least."

"First of all," said the guest, raising his pinky finger, "the Pretorian government is not buying weapons from a foreign state. It is proposing to buy weapons from a private military corporation. Second of all, in due time and with your help the Pretorian government will be a satrapical one just as much as Holy Panooly's. Third, and lastly," he raised his middle finger to have three up total, "we will pay the right. We can talk about the price later. Right now, I want to talk about my needs."

"Very well," replied Humberto.

They were sitting on two sleek, tall-back, black chairs that were rather comfortable. Between them, the table's glass top sat on a minimalist light-colored wooden frame with long tapered legs that came down to the light laminate floors. The office was well-lit by a large window that faced out on the opposite side of where the rest of downtown Tarn towered over its surroundings. Finkirk knew how to buy its real estate. Its skyscraper headquarters stood on the edge of the inner city, looking down upon the suburbs in which thousands of its employees lived. A curtain of light fell upon them, although an adjustable tint on the window lessened its sharpness. Very few people in Tarn enjoyed a view like Humberto's, or the amount of light. The vast majority of Tarn lived beneath the shadow of the core. In this city, the PMCs ruled.

After taking another swig of jinharem, the guest put the glass down on the glass-top table between them. He said, "The government of Holy Panooly is raising an army with which to suppress the Pretorian revolt. They call it the Taipolisi and the rumors say that it numbers no less than 40,000 men. Our eyes and ears can confirm at least 10,000, although they are currently deploying them in the northwest. For the moment, at least. Although I am surprised that those barbarians can pass anything coherent through their joke of a legislature, the Pretorian government is taking the threat seriously. Our needs are two-fold. First, we need ammunition. A lot of ammunition. We have captured significant weapon stockpiles in the small garrisons and bases we took in the south. There was also a sizeable remnant of South Panooly war stocks. All of it is Ordenite-made, or most of it at least. We will need more weapons, but right now we need to guarantee our supply of ammunition. Second, we need reinforcements. A large force isn't necessary, a smaller one will do. I'm thinking...four thousand men. Are these two things doable?"

"Like I said," answered Humberto, flashing his gold and silver teeth in a sly smile, "Finkirk can facilitate anything for the right price."

"So, that's a yes?" replied the guest.

Humberto contemplated the request for a moment. After some time, he said, "Will the force be used for offensive purposes?"

Nodding, the guest said, "Yes."

"Hmm." Humberto thought for a moment longer. "Four thousand men is doable. I'm guessing that you intend to go on the offensive while the Taipolisi are still in the process of formation and its men green. I am also sure that you realize that you intend to involve Finkirk assets in an attack on a formal member of the Imperial Federation. You couldn't be so stupid as to think otherwise. Forget the ammunition, let's talk price for the men. Because that's gonna cost you a pretty penny, friend."

The guest smiled. "The good news, friend, is that the government of Pretoria is flush with cash. I have been empowered by Governor De Bruyn to offer Ŗ450 million a month for the services of four thousand of your men."

"Ŗ450 million?" scoffed Humberto, as if insulted. "That barely covers the paint, pal. Let's call it Ŗ750 million a month with a six-month minimum contract, all of it paid upfront."

"Ŗ500 million a month," countered the guest.

Humberto shook his head. "Ŗ750 or no deal."

The guest looked genuinely irritated. He said, "Ŗ600, three-month minimum, all of it paid upfront and paid monthly in arrears thereafter."

"Ŗ600 million, then," agreed Humberto. "But you pay the monthly in advance."

"Deal," said the guest. "Let's talk about the ammunition next. We need an ongoing tap, so we're looking for this to be a long-term relationship. That's a good reason for you to cut me some slack on the price, you know. I'm authorized to offer Ŗ50 million a month for an ammunition contract that satisfies the needs of a 20,000-man force, not including the 4,000-strong Finkirk force. This contract will grow with our needs, of course, so we need Finkirk to be flexible with changes in our demands. We'll be stepping up from small arms, soon enough."

Ŗ650 million monthly recurring revenue for Finkirk was good business. But, it wasn't good enough. Humberto said, "We'll write up the contract. For transparency, we charge a 10 percent fee for business with all rogue entities."

The guest raised a finger. "We are not a rogue enti—"

"I don't care what you say," he replied. "Your status as a legitimate government is contested. There is not a single government that recognizes you as independent from Holy Panooly. Not a single one. Not even the Ordenite Reich. So for the purpose of our business, you are indeed a rogue government. You are more than welcome to walk out of my office, take the elevator down to the lobby, walk out on the street and find someone else who will provide you with what you need for cheaper. But I suspect you won't find anyone worth a damn willing to take the risk for any less than what I've offered. So 10 percent of Ŗ650 is Ŗ65, for a total of Ŗ715 million a month with Ŗ1.85 billion due up front on signing. In exchange, Finkirk will facilitate you with a 4,000-man-strong brigade of crack troops. Each of these men has been recruited from the finest military forces. All of them have served on at least two combat tours in an active warzone with an infantry or special forces unit, most of them have served on more. These are the best of the best. Whatever you're planning on attacking with them, let's just say I really feel sorry for them. I should ask, light or armored?"

"Armored?" the guest dared to ask. "Like an armored brigade with tanks?"

Humberto's eyes brightened in the face of opportunity. "Tanks? I didn't even think about that. We could do that too, although I was asking about whether you need power armored men or are looking to field a light infantry force."

"Oh," answered the guest. "We certainly don't need tanks. But, power armor? I don't think the Panoolies have shit with which to fight against that."

"Power armored shock brigade, it is," said Humberto. "So, Ŗ715 million a month. Do we have a deal?"

"Write up the contract." The guest picked his drink back off the glass. "You're going to need to pour me another in a second, and probably some more after that. I gotta get my money's worth."

Smiling again, Humberto said, "Don't worry, Colonel Vommel. I'm your Finkirk account manager now and I treat all my clients the same, like absolute loyalty. Get some rest because tonight we'll hit the city. I'm talking strippers dancing on your lap, high-rollers throwing dice and flipping cards on the table, and troublemakers getting high on booze. Doesn't have to be just booze, either, if that's your thing. I can get us anything you want."

"No to all of the above," said Rogerius. The flight to Tarn had been long and circuitous, first passing through North Point in the Zeeland Prefecture of Theohuanacu. He was tired and didn't want to extend his exposure to this Finkirk salesman's antics for longer than he had to. "Unfortunately, I need to return to Qadesh immediately. Let's finalize the paperwork here and call it a day."

"You're no fun, sheesh," said Humberto, pouring Rogerius another glass of jinharem. "Let's keep drinking, then. I've already told my people to prepare the contracts. I'll have them on this desk in a bit."

They chatted about different things, veering into their shared experiences as military veterans after the liquor had flown into their blood. But despite all the alcohol in his veins, Rogerius' mind did not veer from his responsibilities. His spies told him that the Taipolisi would occupy Guamlumpeiron. Nobody was sure what that entailed exactly, but if it tied down the Panooly gendarmerie then he needed to be poised to strike. There was no time to waste on girls and games. The sovereignty of Pretoria was on the line.