Chapter 4: Kamikaze

"It's been four months, Bratta Jindal, and what have we to show?" Envoy Pym, now Governor Pym, gave the New Order military commander a disapproving scowl over the top of the wire rim glasses he wore on the end of his long sharp nose.

Pym had just returned to Dernhelms Colt to take up his position as the new Governor of the fifteenth world of a united and independent Auriga. The pacification of the world called Mayfield by the Fleet vets that populated it had not gone well. The losses incurred by the fledgling Aurigan military had been staggering, especially among the New Order Revolutionary Guards that comprised the bulk of the manpower. Bratta Jindal, Bratta being his title in the New Order religious sect, was the leader of the Guard divisions that had been landed on the planet and tasked with pacifying the countryside. Pym didn't particularly like the New Order, and considered them all to be uneducated fanatics, but being a pragmatic revolutionary, he understood the need to work with them. One used the tools at hand to accomplish great things.

"The pacification continues apace," Jindal said haughtily. "Aside from a few rebels still hiding in various wilderness areas, the populace has been completely subdued. The reeducation programs are starting to show progress and most areas now have functioning local councils that are working well with our military authorities. We have even started to garner a number of initiates into the New Way." Jindal gave a cat smile and nod of satisfaction at that last bit.

"Your proselytizing is secondary to the mission at hand, Bratta Jindal." Pym frowned. These New Order fanatics would have to be brought to heel sooner or later. "That mission is to stamp out all organized resistance and assist in setting up a functional civil authority. The worlds of Auriga will be free, Mr. Jindal, free representative democracies, not authoritarian theocracies. Leave policy to your Rathen, sir. You just do your job."

"All will come to the peace of the New Way," Bratta Jindal quoted.

Pym frowned again. There had been many an argument within the revolutionary councils across the sector about how to incorporate the New Order religious movement. Many, like Pym, had not wanted any association with them at all. But the movement was too big and widespread, and in the end the religious organization had been brought into the revolutionary political coalition. They had needed the numbers to make their revolution work.

"Yes, so your Rathen tells all the worlds at every opportunity. I'm sure it will be a bright and lovely day when that finally happens, but in the meantime, Bratta Jindal, your Rathen has put you, your order and the guards under your command under the civil authority of the Aurigan government. That would be me, sir, as Governor of this world."

"Of course." Bratta Jindal inclined his head. "Governor."

"Good." Pym didn't like the Bratta much and felt it best to impose his authority in a firm manner. "So long as we're on the same page. Now, about these hold outs you say are still up in the hills. How long before you canÑ"

The sound of explosions and weapons fire rattled the windowpanes and cut Pym off. The Bratta jumped to his feet and swore. An aide burst into the room.

"Bratta, sir! We're under attack! The south barracks has been blown up and there's rebels inside the base."

"Damn," Pym said as the Bratta rushed out of the room.

Governor Pym found Bratta Jindal by the destroyed south barracks. There was wreckage, smoke and bodies everywhere. The Bratta was standing over the prone body of a man wearing a tattered Fleet Marine combat uniform and pointing a handgun at the man's head. He had a sneering scowl on his face and Pym had no doubt he was about to commit murder.

"Stop!" Pym ordered in his high voice.

Bratta Jindal smiled as Pym hurried up to him, tiny between his burly bodyguards. He holstered his weapon. "I figured you'd be about once the shooting stopped."

"Report?" Pym ignored the wisecrack.

"This is the one." Jindal pointed that the unconscious wounded man lying on the ground. The man was large and very pale beneath the fresh blood that covered most of his features. His hair was cropped short in a military buzz cut. He looked like the prototypical Fleet trooper one saw in old wartime video dramas.

"One?" Pym asked. "One man did this?"

"He stealthed through the wire," Jindal answered, "probably last night sometime. Then he lied low and blew the barracks with a satchel charge. He timed it to cause maximum casualties. There were 234 men billeted in there. Looks like he got all of them. Then he went berserk and started shooting everything that moved."

"One man? Did all this?" Pym was astonished.

"Most of the hold outs are old Fleet Marines, Governor," Jindal said with a brusque tone. "They're trained killing machines. This is how they give up, sir. They call it "going kamikaze". Small units, or single men like this, will make suicide attacks and try to take as many of us out with them as they can. And that's what it is. They're committing suicide.

"It's actually a good thing, Governor," Jindal said as he unholstered his weapon and pointed it at the man on the ground again. "It means there's one less of them we have to deal with."

"Put your weapon away, Bratta Jindal," Pym ordered.

"Sir? I'm just obliging him. This kind can't be reeducated. They're too dangerous"

"No, Bratta," Pym said. "We must show the Human Network our humanity here in Auriga. I don't want to reeducate him. I want to try him for his crimes in a court of law as an example. Take him to the hospital. Save him if he can be saved. And any other of these rebel holdouts you capture will be sent along with him to Neurjal to be tried in an Aurigan Court of Justice."

Bratta Jindal lowered his weapon and put it back in its holster. "As you wish, sir."