UNIVERSAL TURBULENT

XLI - INDEPENDENT EARTH

Colonel Luton Arthur was tired, very tired, but unable to sleep. That was why he rolled off the rumpled cot, ran water into the store room's deep sink, and took a sponge bath. Then, wearing a fresh new uniform, he emerged to prowl the floor.

More than two weeks had passed since the revolt. The Global Operation Center hummed to the never-ending flow of reports, requests, and orders. People nodded or in some cases saluted, but kept their distance. They knew his moods.

Luton pushed to consider the gigantic globe. The holo seemed to shimmer as it turned. A less conservative man might have been satisfied with the territory under his control - most of North America, Europe, and Asia were red.

But all Luton saw were Islands of blue, chunks of territory still identified by ancient names like Mongolia, Ethiopia, and a large part of Brazil. These were the places where resistance had grown and taken root. Partly because of the terrain, and partly because of the people, many of whom still knew how to survive beyond the limits of their cities.

Some of the so-called freedom fighters were civilians, like those in Asia, distant descendants of the Khan's mighty hordes. Others were soldiers, like the Seventh Marine Brigade stationed near Teresa, Brazil, or the Seventeenth DBLE in Bajoti, East Africa.

Governor Usmos refused to take them seriously and liked to emphasize how isolated they were. Luton perceived things differently. He saw each blotch of blue as a proclamation of weakness, a magnet to which resources would be inevitably drawn, a cancer that threatened the entire organism.

That being the case, the officer continued to plead for the resources required to finish the job but found himself in line behind the politicians who wanted troops for their municipalities, corporate executives bent on financial conquest, and his own voracious chain of command.

Some top-officers had aligned themselves with the revolt, but a disturbing number remained loyal to the former government. That was what forced him to take trash like John Usmos.

The very thought of the manner in which his executive officer had murdered the cadet made his blood boil. How could that succeed and build trust so long as such acts of barbarism were tolerated?

There was nothing he could do about it so long as Governor Usmos supported her son and the cabal supported her. Much though the soldiers hated to admit it, he had underestimated the politicians and was being used by them.

Luton still had a considerable amount is power, however, especially in light of the fact that the Legion was loyal to him, or more accurately, to itself, just as its motor says.

"Colonel Luton?" The voice was female. He turned.

"Yes?"

The corporal looked smart in her perfectly pressed khaki uniform. "The American operation, sir. You wished to observe".

Luton nodded. "Thank you, Corporal. Lead the way".

The legionnaire wound her way across the floor, and the officer followed. Though unable to marshal the resources necessary to wipe Veil Bashu off the face of the planet, Luton had authorized a force-three raid. If successful, the attack would treat the loyalist defense, keep the bastards off balance, and discourage those who wanted to join. And who knew? A success might attract more resources.

Reports that Veil Bashu had fallen were false. The reason was clear, to Luton if no one else. Marco Bay Dooley and he had been members of the same class, had cocaptained the rowing team, and had been posted to a godforsaken galaxy world. A crudball named Dang, where they had battled the frogs and every form of jungle rot known to man.

The simple fact was that Luton knew Marco and knew what the other man could do. Marco wanted the Fort to stand, so it did. General Page must be laughing in his grave.

Perhaps the recruiters should have approached the other officer and tried to bring him over, not that they would have succeeded. Marco was too straight for that, too willing to buy the Confederate lies, while the Legion continued to disintegrate.

The corporal took a turn, and Luton followed. The GOC was still under construction for all practical purposes. Wherever the officer looked, he saw cartons of equipment, reels of cable, and hard-working androids.

The noncom paused before a heavily secured door, looked into a scanner, and waited while the device lased her retinas. Luton did likewise. The door whined open. A lieutenant was waiting to greet them. Hair hung over his collar, there was a food stain on the front of his shirt, and a paunch hid his belt buckle. He greeted Luton with a hearty "Hi ya!" followed by a wink and a nod.

Luton signed. The planetary militia came under Governor Usmos, and, in an effort to limit the extent of his power, the politician had been careful to keep it that way. He could chew on the officer all day and it wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference. The corporal intervened. "Right this way, sir. The room needs some work, but the gear works fine".

Luton followed the noncom into a dimly lit room. Tracks of equipment lined one wall, cables converged on an oversized black chair, and test patterns flickered across overhead screens.

A businesslike technician appeared and pointed towards the chair. "Have a seat, Colonel. The mission has started. Assault team Valle is on the way".

Luton sat in the chair and allowed them to strap him in. A helmet was lowered onto his head, a thirty second refresher course played on the inside surface of the faceplate, and the tech spoke over the intercom.

"There are thirty three aircraft, sir. Twelve transport, and twenty one fighters. No oppo yet, but psyops estimates that half the Navy are loyalist sympathizers, which means that might come out to play. You have full scan with command override. Questions?"

" Just two", Luton replied. "Who's in command? And do they know I'm along?"

"The airdales are under the command of Squadron Leader Beatle sir. Companies A, B and D were supplied by the sixth RMP under the overall command of Lieutenant Colonel Leenda Lo. Both officers were informed of the ride".

Luton nodded, remembered the helmet, and said, "Thank you". The ability to "see" what his line troops saw was a tool that he would hate to go without. Some commanders "rode" their troops too often, however, a habit that destroyed trust, sapped initiation, and bred timidity. Even worse was the sort of officers who conducted observations in secret, leaving his or her subordinates to wonder when and if they were under surveillance.