I thank the Inspector General for informing me of the need for
The easiest expedient to help instill fervor in recruits is to show them the folly of lacking it. For instance, a bullet in the back of the head, preferably where many recruits can witness the event, will help energize the others. Every recruit must learn that orders are to be obeyed. Sleeper agents abound, you say. I recommend strenuous mind-probing. When an offender is found, brain-wipe him and send him to a penal battalion. These battalions should be highly visible as deterrents to the others. Therefore, all penal battalions must be designated as suicide troops. All suicide troops must have a mini-explosive implanted in their cortex. Detonation devices will be in the control of the battalion’s colonel, captains and lieutenants. I believe that all our Earth draftees should have a cortex bomb, but at some point, the enemy will learn the code and frequency of various sets and they will explode them before it is desirable.
Let me point out to the Inspector General the very urgent need of these soldiers for the coming Australian campaign. Actual Highborn deaths took an alarming turn in the New Zealand and Java Island Campaigns. Yet we cannot afford to slacken the speed of our advance, thus the need for your Earth levies at the earliest possible date.
I surely do not need to point out to the Inspector General that victory in the field automatically diminishes the effectiveness of enemy propaganda. We must strike hard and fast NOW, but we must keep Highborn losses to a minimum. I cannot overstate this need for trained Earth soldiers who can
December 19
I hear and obey you, Grand Admiral.
I know you too well, my dear Paenus. You held back. I know, because your curt reply plays repeatedly in my mind. Please, share with a fellow warrior what ails you.
December 20
I am indeed troubled, Grand Admiral. I feel that we are somehow going about this the wrong way. I realize that brutality and hard training can make soldiers of civilians in short order. And yes, our technology allows us a certain leeway that warriors in the past never had. I refer to brain scans, wipes and cortex bombs. I ask myself, however, will we have to garrison our conquests forever? Our enemy blares on the vids and holos against us, and on the airwaves and in the streets.
Grand Admiral, to a space battle we bring Doom Stars, tac-craft and long-range lasers. To a land assault, we brings orbital fighters, heavy panzers and drop troops. My question, Grand Admiral, is what does one bring to a propaganda war?
My brilliant friend. You are quite right. You fight an idea with a better idea.
22.
The elevator sped toward the surface, bearing its cargo of five survivors. As the horrible pressure of the great deep lessened, Omi repackaged the cartridges littered around him, until his carbine clips brimmed with shells. Turbo wiped spittle from his chin and tried to make conversation with Ah Chen. She huddled beside Marten, who rested his head against the vibrating wall. Stick reclaimed his knife and wanted to hear again how Major Orlov had lost her head.
A tired smile touched Marten’s lips.
“That’s right,” Stick said. “A knife’s better than anything else. You feel them die. You don’t stand back and let technology do your dirty work. Not like gunmen do it.”
“Meaning what?” asked Omi from his side of the elevator.
“Meaning shooting out kneecaps,” said Stick.
“And your knife isn’t technological?” the muscled Korean asked.
“You know what I mean,” said Stick. “You gotta drive the blade into them. It’s your own strength that does it, not just pulling a trigger.”
“In case you’re interested,” said Omi, “I’ve never shot out anyone’s kneecap.”
“That’s right,” Turbo sneered. “He once had his buddies hold a guy down while he slipped on a leather glove. Then he beat the poor sap to death.”
“Well, at least that’s better than using bullets,” said Stick. “He’s doing it himself. That’s what counts.”
“I don’t see how that’s any better to the man getting beat,” said Turbo.
“Of course it is,” argued Stick. “It’s more personal. It’s between men.”
“Between a sadist and his victim, more like.”
“Maybe that too, but it’s personal.”
“So is rape,” said Ah Chen. “But I would rather be shot or run over by a car.”
Stick scowled until he brightened. “I’m only talking man to man. When you bring women in it’s an entirely different thing.”
Turbo threw up his hands and started pacing.
“You gotta admit it takes more balls to knife someone than shoot him,” Stick said.
“You’ve been in the slime pits too long,” Turbo muttered.
“That doesn’t have anything to do with it.” Stick turned to Omi. “Am I right?”
Omi shrugged.
“Come on,” Stick said. “You gotta admit beating a man with your fists is more manly than using a bat. I mean, you can break your hand doing it.”
“Then I’d rather use a bat,” Omi said dryly.
“Not me!” said Stick. He slapped his chest. “I’ll do it the old-fashioned way every time.”
“What are we going to do next?” Marten asked, trying to change the topic.
“Sneak out of Sydney,” Turbo said. “That’s my plan.”
“And how are you going to manage this feat?” Omi asked.
“Maybe she knows of some secret elevator to the surface,” Turbo said.
All four men glanced at Ah Chen. She shook her head and snuggled closer to Marten.
“You must know of a way out,” Turbo pleaded.
“Leave her alone,” Marten said. “She’s been through enough you don’t have to hound her.”
“Sorry,” muttered Turbo. He went back to pacing.
Omi glanced at the gauge. “Almost there,” he said.
Marten struggled to his feet and then he helped Ah Chen. She wore an oversized coat and still trembled from the abuse and the drugs they’d given her. Marten checked his carbine, then stood before the door, waiting.
Omi stepped near. “We can’t head to the lower levels with the mobs. Not if we plan to survive.”
“Maybe we can hide out the war in the slums,” said Marten.
Turbo snorted.
Marten glanced at him.
“You ain’t ever lived in the slums,” said Turbo.
“What are we going to do then?”
No one answered Marten.
“You’re a hero for saving the deep-core mine,” Ah Chen timidly said. “If we could reach Deep-Core Central, they would take care of you.”
Omi shook his head. “Forget about that. Marten broke a Directorate plan. There’s no hope for him with Social
