Captain Tabitha Xitar was waiting in the lobby in full dress uniform. She had a plan, of course. She was going to shake Prime Minister Octavius Silvercrone’s hand and say something poignant about how honored she was that she was being recognized for her hard work, and how much she owed to her team. Prime Minister, however, did not look like he was going to stop to chat. He smiled, grabbed Xitar’s hand and looked directly into her eyes but kept moving.
The Captain did a little jump step and fell in line alongside Silvercrone. “Prime Minister, it is a pleasure to meet you…”
“And you, Captain,” said Silvercrone looking straight ahead and now walking even more quickly than before. Xitar couldn’t keep up, and she fell behind into the throng of advisors and government agents. She was jostled, then actually shoved aside by one of the aides. She lost her balance, and fell into a fake potted plant. The battle-hardened Ughlug tried to scramble to her feet, but her shoes slid on the slick floor and she fell again, losing her hat in the process. She paused to collect herself and noticed that the previously loud lobby had gotten very, very quiet. She looked up and saw, to her horror, the entire entourage, including Prime Minister Silvercrone, had stopped in their tracks and were all looking at her. Staring.
She felt herself turn red, and as she got up, the crowd seemed to move in closer. Looks of scorn and contempt were on every face. And then they multiplied. They were more and more people coming to look. The walls of the building began to sway, then evaporated , and the group of people became a multitude as far as the eye could see. They were openly hostile now and began shouting at her. She couldn’t quite grasp what they were berating her about, but it didn’t matter. They were closing in on all sides. She felt her hand go to her holster when she heard her squad-mate to her right. “Kill ‘em Z. Kill ‘em all.” It only seemed to spur the crowd on. She felt several pairs of firm hands on her, and could feel their hot breath on her face. There was nowhere left to run and no way out. She closed her eyes, drew her weapon and started firing. At the sound of the first shot, she opened her eyes just in time to hit the alarm and fall exhausted back into her bed.
-----------------------
General Brentow was losing, and he had no opponent. He was briefing the Prime Minister and his advisors on the successes of his troops in taking down the Ascendancy once and for all.
The Prime Minister was on edge. The General could sense it, and was using all his tricks of presentation, pacing and soothing to get Silvercrone in a better mood for the ending. Brentow knew his request for more money, men and time would be a downer, to say the least. If Silvercrone was already at rock bottom, it would be difficult to bring him back to reasonable at that point.
“General!” said Silvercrone, interrupting from the head of the table. “Can we get to the meat please? Have we eliminated the root?”
Brentow hesistated. He despised being asked direct questions by those in command. Mainly because it was a technique that he used on his own men so they would not waste time searching for an acceptable answer. Which is exactly what Brentow tried to do.
“Sir, the situation is fluid, but as I’ve pointed out we have been making substantial progress…”
“No. The answer is no, then,” said Silvercrone. The General tried to protest but Silvercrone held out his hand, palm up. “No more. You have been on the job for six months. You’ve been given everything you’ve asked for – troops, money, intelligence support, cooperation from Mordant. Yet every time you come back here and tell me that the job is done, less than a week later we have another Ascendancy-claimed incident and back out you go, with more money, more troop, more intelligence support…”
“Yes sir, but we have located what we believe is the last stronghold…”
Silvercrone leapt from his chair. “You have believed that each time you’ve come here!! Each time it is the ‘last stronghold!’” He pounded the table for emphasis, then straightened himself to get his composure. “You are dismissed, General, thank you.”
“Sir, what are your orders for …”
“GET OUT!”
The General bristled but tipped his cap and walked out of the room slowly and calmly, his aides scrambling to gather all the papers and materials to follow him out.
Once they were gone, Silvercrone poured himself a scotch and sat down. His security advisor, Carter Kofflen was sure to sit quietly and passively to Silvercrone’s right. Domestic Advisor D’lia Terkuller sat across from Kofflen, and she tipped him off to Silvercrone’s behavior in cabinet-level meetings and Rhand Drenton, to her left, had given Kofflen some tips on how to handle it. Kofflen wondered if B’linda Venatria, the new Foreign Ambassador, had been given the same courtesy. If so, she was ignoring the advice because she was squirming, wide-eyed and clearly uncomfortable.
“Kofflen,” Silvercrone said. “How much of what the General said can be verified?”
“All of it. He has beaten down every door, turned over every rock in Mordant and killed or imprisoned anyone with a sniff of involvement with the Ascendancy.”
“What of Comdantri Nortellus? And the tribes to the south? Are we sure they are not harboring Ascendancy leadership?”
“Nothing to our west and nothing to our south except unbridled contempt for the Ascendancy. Truth be told, both are in frenzies themselves lynching and shooting anyone even suspected of being associated with them. It is open season, sir, and it is disturbing.”
“Fine, get MPsych to send agents to both places immediately and begin to restore order.” Silvercrone grimaced in frustration. “I don’t want us to get involved but we can’t very well have frothing masses on two borders, even if they are ‘on our side’ now. When we get the Ascendancy cleaned up, they’ll have to turn that rage somewhere, and suddenly we might not be the good guys anymore.”
“Will do, sir.”
“And about that clean up – your info synchs up with the General?”
“Sir?”
“That we’ve got a bead on their leadership.”
“Yes sir. Multiple corroborating reports from all military branches and MPsych confirm what we’ve been hearing. The last of the Ascendancy leadership is literally underground, below a small island off the coast of South Mordant. They have approximately 250-300 troops. The General has all branches ready to storm the island at your order.”
“No, I’m not ordering that. Tell the General that I don’t want a single troop setting foot on that island or even looking in that direction. Give no indication we’re even thinking about it.”
“Sir, there’s no doubt we would overrun them in minutes,” said Kofflen.
“We’ve seen it a hundred times now,” said D’lia. “One or two get away and within six weeks we have the same size problem again.”
“We’re pretty sure they are shipping in mercenaries,” said Kofflen, “but where they are continually getting the money to do so is a mystery.” The room became quiet as they all felt the enormity of the situation. Venetria absent-mindedly tapped her nails on the table.
Silvercrone was the first to speak. “I suggest we send in a STRAFER (Stealth Reconnaissance And Force Engagement Resolution) Team – two at the most – very quiet, very deadly and very efficient. Their priority will be to eliminate the Ascendancy leaders and destroy the base. But -” Silvercrone paused. D’lia had seen that look on his face before and knew the gears inside were grinding.
“What if,” he continued, “we allowed one or two of them to ‘escape,’ then trail them to see how they go about rebuilding so quickly.”
Venetria stifled a laugh.
“Too risky,” said Venetria. “You can’t be seriously considering this. If they truly do escape, we’re right back where we started.”
“We can’t keep doing the same thing over and over and expect different results,” said Drenton.
“It’s worth a shot,” said D’lia. “But if we’re going to do this, we have to do it right. One or two STRAFER teams, intelligence on who the remaining leaders are, and an MPsych recommendation on the best candidates for escape.”
“That’s perfect,” said Kofflen. “I’ll gather the intelligence but I expect the General will not like this plan, and may try to stall.”
“Fire him. Or make him retire. Or whatever it is you do when officers reach the end of their usefulness,” said Silvercrone. “I’ll make the call to MPsych. We good?”
“Actually, sir,” said Drenton, “B’linda has some interesting news that might fit in well with your plan.”
“Yes,” Venatria said, her shoulders pushed back and nose stuck far into the air, Kofflen noticed. “The Allied States of Bustos have been inquiring about the eradication of the Ascendancy.”
“I’m sure,” said D’lia. “They’ve got reason enough to want to do it themselves.”
“Precisely,” said Venatria. “During my last conversation at the embassy, I was led to believe they are very interested in offering their services. Given our newfound state of friendship, they are reluctant to reach out, for fear that it may be taken as an insult.”
“That our forces aren’t competent enough,” said Kofflen.
“Yes,” said Venatria. “I was led to believe that should I make it known that we would welcome their help, they would place an official call to Mr. Kofflen.”
Kofflen raised his eyebrows. “Well, Prime Minister, they have quite the spec-ops from what I saw during the Summit; they would be extremely effective for a situation like the one we are undertaking.”
“Do you think they would be a good fit? Will these guys work well with the STRAFERs?” asked Silvercrone.
Kofflen shrugged, but Drenton leaned forward. “Sir, I don’t know that for sure. What I DO know is the AS hates the Ascendancy, and they would not offer if they did not truly believe they would be adding something to the fight.”
“Good point,” said Silvercrone. “Venatria, send the word. Kofflen, check it out and make the decision. You’re on to give the green light for one STRAFER and a squad from the Allied States if you're comfortable with it.
