Chapter 7

I took two men with me the next night to forage. I’d spent the time since it got dark reviewing the drone coverage from the estates of the Praetor and twenty Magisters. The Lords and Stewards didn’t have any guards, not even at the front gate. However, the Praetor had twenty-seven guards on site and the Magisters each had eleven.

I talked to the Captain, warning that the lack of guards could mean Giloh was preparing for another offensive. He included that warning in his report. After I got back from foraging with yet another pig, I again reviewed drone feeds from all the estates, making sure there were no guards that we missed in previous scans. I also reviewed scans from the day to make sure that the new camouflage netting was not used to hide troops.

On the second afternoon, we recalled all but one drone over each estate. That night, half the men watched the drone feeds and half slept. Eleven men went with me, three inside each of the four armored transports that had arrived well after dark. Two men guarded the third man from the open doorway of the transport while he rappelled down the seventy-five-meter rope. I alighted quietly two meters behind a gate guard.

He struggled when I grabbed him and clamped a hand over his mouth. “Calm down and listen to me. I have no intention of hurting you unless you continue to fight me,” I whispered to him. After the second warning, he finally calmed down.

“I’m actually here to save your life and the lives of the other troops guarding the Praetor,” I explained in a whisper. “Have all the guards away from the estate tomorrow night by twenty-two hundred hours. Leave your weapons just inside the front gate. They’ll be there when you return. Any guards who keep their weapon or who are on the grounds when we arrive will die. All we intend to do is kill the Praetor. Nobody else will be harmed. Nod if you agree.”

He nodded vigorously. “Who are you?” he whispered when I took my hand off his mouth.

“I’m the guy who killed the Praetors in Faron and Kufelo,” I replied. “We’re watching the estate and know there are twenty-seven guards here. Let them all know,” I warned before allowing him to enter the little guard shack. I clipped onto the rope dangling two meters behind me and held on as the transport quickly rose high enough that I wasn’t visible from the ground. Then they pulled me into the transport for the trip to the estate of one of the Magisters where the scenario played out almost identically. I visited the gate guard at the estates of five Magisters and the Praetor before we headed back to the barn. We were the last ones to return because the other three transports were only assigned five estates each.

When we returned, I noted that the two men I had taken foraging the previous night had gone out tonight and brought back plenty of food. “No way were we going after one of the pigs,” one of them said. There were at least eight of them and two were huge.”

“The two big ones are probably Mom and Pop. The one hundred-kilogram ones are last year’s litter. Any smaller than that are this year’s litter,” I explained.

Several men had a stew cooking. They broke up dried meat and added fresh veggies foraged yesterday or tonight. We didn’t have any spices, but I added a few leaves that I had found the previous two nights to flavor each pot.

“I have got to get your recipe for my wife,” Captain Jenkins said after tasting his bowl of stew. I wrote down the name of the two plants I used leaves from.

“Add four leaves from each plant for a batch of stew the size of these,” I explained. “She can probably find both plants at any reputable garden center.”

Everyone was keyed up as night fell the next evening. Captain Jenkins let us know that an aircraft carrier would be in orbit above the city tonight. They would deploy 210 small transports like the four we used last night. A four-man team in each transport would be responsible for attacking two estates. Three transports would come here. Watson, Caldwell, and I would each lead a separate team. Every transport carried a pilot and four team members. One team member would remain in the door of the transport to provide cover. The other three men would enter the manor house. “Remember, unless someone else is a threat to you, only the noble dies,” he emphasized.

I heard the quiet hum of the transports minutes after Captain Jenkins warned us they were inbound. “Please take the three dogs back,” I requested. “Gramps can have my Aunt Heather pick them up at the base.” I put Striker inside the extra transport that I had requested. He wasn’t happy with me, but I didn’t want to worry about him making it back aboard my transport after we attacked our assigned manor houses.

The remainder of first and second platoons continued to watch the drone feeds as the raids started. I started with the Praetor, happy to note that all the guards were unarmed and waiting a block away. Once the Praetor was dead, his wife was happy to access everything for us. She also wanted to go with us. “They’ll blame me for his death, and I’ll be tortured until I confess,” she explained. His slaves wanted to go, too.

Our transport made multiple trips to the awaiting carrier while we finished cleaning out his accounts, the safe, and any paperwork we could find. It returned and took us to the carrier where we dropped everything off. Since our mission had been to kill the Praetor and empty his accounts, we wouldn’t get to keep what we recovered.

From the number of women milling about inside the carrier when we arrived, I had the feeling that most of the wives and slaves had asked to be rescued. Our attack on the second estate was a near copy of the first. By the time everything was over, only one extra shot had been fired. That was by a door gunner when the adult son of a Lord grabbed an antique sword and headed for one of the troops.

Once the raids on the lesser estates were complete, the remaining drone over the estate headed to Laksham base. When the raids on the estate of the Praetor and each Magister’s estates were complete, the final drone over each estate flew to the awaiting guards and announced that it was safe to return. Then it headed for Laksham, a trip of two or three days. The drones that we recalled from the estates the second afternoon were already stored aboard the carrier, shuttled there by the transports that then evacuated first and second platoons. They arrived about an hour after the last transport involved in the attacks. We celebrated all the way back to Laksham. Even the rescued widows and slaves joined our celebration.

One of the two men who helped with the foraging found me. Grinning, he explained that the two of them shot the feral pigs from a transport. They loaded them aboard the transport, and they were currently in cold storage aboard the carrier. “Pork chops for dinner tomorrow night,” he laughed.

Aunt Heather was waiting for us when we landed. She laughed when she saw the three dogs with me. Gramps was there, too. Uncle Terry’s brother-in-law’s company hadn’t wasted any time. They had visited and assessed seventy-nine properties belonging to the thirty-nine families and made their recommendations to Dad. Fifty-nine were houses; the rest were businesses. They agreed on nine houses to keep, all in vacation spots. The family could use them for our rare vacations, although thanks to our new help, they might be used more often. We could rent them out the rest of the time. Thirty of the remaining houses had already sold, and the belongings in them had been cleared out and transported to the ranch.

While we were talking, several women crowded around us. “We heard from some of the other soldiers that you already had a number of slaves and treat them well. We hope you’ll claim us too,” one of the women explained.

“The men from the team that rescued you each have the right to choose first,” I explained. “If they don’t want to claim you, we can probably take a few more.”

“He’ll take everyone that isn’t otherwise claimed,” Aunt Heather said.

“More than three hundred of the Powder Burn families have asked to stay and work for us, even after the war is over,” Gramps explained.

“Damn, with so much help, we should probably buy more property,” I commented.

“I was hoping you’d feel that way,” Gramps chuckled. “Tom suggested buying the same amount of Trindian property just across the border from what we have in Cambak. He says most of the land is volcanic soil and extremely fertile.”

“As long as we can afford it,” I replied.

“Two hundred thousand hectares of jungle will cost less than what we got for six of the homes your Dad sold,” Gramps laughed.

“Get some rest tonight,” Sarge warned me when he came to our cluster of people. “You and your two buddies start the process again tomorrow night.”

I found Captain Jenkins and warned that my family wanted me to claim any of the newest batch of slaves that weren’t claimed by anyone else.

“The men in your family won’t have the time or energy to do any farming,” he laughed.

“I guess a lot of the Powder Burn families have asked to work for our family. They plan on staying even after the war is over,” I explained.

“Okay, I’ll put in the claim for you,” he promised.

With that, I headed for the barracks and went to sleep. Striker spent the night inside, probably making sure I didn’t try to sneak out again.

At oh-nine hundred, Watson, Caldwell, and I were reviewing drone footage from the outskirts of Kynesfield, our next target. It was barely half the size of Ormtay but had four important military manufacturing facilities in town.

“These farms outside of town look pathetic. Do we have access to satellite photos of this same area from two or three years ago?” I asked Captain Jenkins. An hour later, just after we finished lunch, someone delivered a packet of photos. It had satellite photos of the area from one, three, and five years ago. The guy stayed, under orders not to let the photos out of the room and to return with them when we finished.

“Look at this,” I exclaimed. “Three and five years ago, these were prosperous farms. Last year, they weren’t as prosperous. This year, they look even worse. This farm in particular looks like it’s probably not even breaking even.”

Being farm boys, too, Watson and Caldwell agreed.

“Was there any Gilohan currency from the raids last night that we can use?” I asked Captain Powell.

“For what?” he asked.

“If the average citizens are against the war, these farmers have to be even more ardently against the war. It seems to have destroyed the profitability of their farms. I’d like to pay the owners of this farm the ₢5,000 in Gilohan currency to rent one of their barns to use while we perform the surveillance. I’m sure they’d let us use one for free, but I’d like to help them out. I’ll have Gramps bring the Gilohan currency from home,” I explained.

“If you’re paying, I’ll agree. That way, I won’t have to send the request through channels,” the Captain agreed.

I called Gramps. He said I had plenty in my bank account to cover it, so I simply transferred the money. By fourteen hundred hours, our gear was packed and loaded. Since we were ready to go, we caught a few hours of shuteye while we could. After eating dinner and double-checking everything, we boarded the transport at twenty hundred hours. An hour later, after a final review of the drone feed from the farm below us, the transport settled carefully about fifty meters from both the house and the barn.

Their dog was already barking when I exited the transport. Watson and Caldwell covered me from the hatch. “Who’s there?” a gruff male voice called out from inside the barn.

“My name’s Lucas. I’d like to rent one of your barns for a week,” I replied as I knelt and let the dog sniff my hand. I was scratching his ears when the farmer cautiously exited the barn, shotgun cradled non-threateningly in his arm.

“What the...” he gasped when he saw the transport and me in my Cambakian uniform.

“Is there someplace less exposed where we can talk?” I asked.

His answer was a jerk of his head towards the open barn door. “Thelma, we have company. Come on out to the barn,” he called towards the house.

A woman about Mom’s age exited the door of the house. She stopped and stared nervously. “He ain’t got no gun and Bo likes him,” the farmer told his wife.

“What’s this about renting a barn for a week?” the farmer asked once we were inside said barn. He nodded approvingly when I pulled an empty wood crate over to use as a chair since there were only two chairs in the barn.

“If you’re like almost every other Gilohan who isn’t a noble, you want the war to be over and the nobles gone,” I began my explanation. I’d hate to play poker with the farmer. He had a poker face to be envious of. His wife, however, was nodding eagerly.

“How would you know what Gilohans want?” he challenged.

“Have you heard about the two Trex-Gel factories that were destroyed?” I asked.

“Yeah, killed everyone living nearby,” he replied angrily.

“The only people who died were the guards at the two factories. We evacuated more than fourteen thousand civilians right before the factories exploded.

“That’s not what they said on the news,” he replied.

“Do you think they’d admit that fourteen thousand civilians eagerly fled the country?” I asked. His face actually showed shock.

“Did you hear about all the nobles in Ormtay being killed?” I asked.

“Yeah. Again, the news said that everyone there was killed, but there have been broadcasts from Cambak interviewing several women who were wives of the nobles. They said only the nobles were killed. Not even the guards were hurt.”

“Again, all the slaves kept by the nobles and the widows of the nobles asked to go with us. We also killed the Praetors of Faron and Kufelo. The widow and slaves of the Praetor in Kufelo asked to go with us.”

“Not the ones in Faron?” he asked.

“They slept through it,” I replied.

“Is that what you plan to do in Kynesfield?” Thelma asked.

“That’s what we hope to do. We need a place to house about sixty men for several days so we can do our surveillance. That way, we can attack and not hurt anyone but the nobles,” I explained.

“Why would we rent you a place?” the farmer asked.

“I could see in the intelligence photos of the area that farms around here have gotten worse each of the last three years. I strongly suspect that your farm is in dire straits. Being a farm boy myself, I’d like to help out.”

The raids in Kynesfield the next night went off perfectly. Since Kynesfield was so much smaller than Ormtay, some of the troops that helped with the raids in Ormtay staged raids on two additional smaller cities with military targets. Once the nobles in each city had been dealt with, the troops raided the facilities and chased everyone out before damaging them to the point that they would have to be completely rebuilt.

When we scouted the next target city, Belinsville, the estates of the Praetor and the Magisters each had a hundred troops. Even the lesser nobles had at least fifty troops.

“I think they’re worried,” I chuckled.

MilIntel warned us that the estates of the Praetor and the Magisters each had three Gilohan SpecOps troops overseeing the security. Either that or three of the guards were wearing SpecOps uniforms. Despite their presence, I contacted a guard at the Praetor’s estate. He advised that six of the troops supported the Praetor. I gave him six tiny beacons and told him to attach one somewhere on each of the men’s uniforms.

We used the same procedure at the estate of each Magister. When the attack came, we tracked the beacons and captured the loyal troops, taking them with us. As large as the city was, it took us all night. Even then, the only reason we finished before daylight was because we added more troops and had experienced men lead eight-man contingents for each raid.

The next day, we learned that Banku had offered asylum to the remaining nobles, for a price. Still, we managed to capture the Praetor of every remaining Gilohan city, as well as most of the Magisters. Our cloaked shuttles waited above the estate of each Praetor and Magister. When the troops aboard the shuttle saw the noble loading a getaway vehicle, they tagged it. On the way to the airport, our troops intercepted and captured the vehicles, along with their occupants and any treasure they’d brought.

Those that couldn’t be captured on the way to the airport were captured at the airport. Usually, three or four nobles shared a private jet trying to escape to Bantu. The jets were inside hangars, hoping that our satellites wouldn’t see the nobles transferring from vehicles to jets. When they tried to open the hangar doors so the jets could exit, they found the doors jammed. Sleeping gas was pumped into the hangar and everyone was captured once they were asleep unless they tried shooting their way out through a side door.

Only twenty-one Magisters escaped to Bantu, and only because they had already fled their estates before we began the full-time surveillance.

Surprisingly, less than a quarter of the Lords and Stewards made it to Bantu. Upon learning that the Praetors and Magisters were dead or missing, troops guarding the lesser nobles let their displeasure be known. In public, some of the lesser nobles were killed on sight. Others were hauled unceremoniously from their estates and turned over to mobs of angry citizens.

All that remained were the King and the barons in charge of each of the eight provinces. Our troops visibly surrounded the estates of the eight barons. They purposely wanted to let the citizens in the city know they were there. Word quickly reached the people inside the estate whereupon groups and individuals began fleeing immediately. Within three days, only supporters and a few female hostages remained in the compounds.

I was with the troops surrounding the King’s castle-like estate. After reviewing drone footage for most of the day, I asked a question. They had to get an electronics specialist to find the answer. After checking the blueprints of the castle, he assured us that the castle’s electrical systems were antiquated and unshielded. We shut off the power to the castle, forcing them to activate back-up generators. That night, forty drones flew over the castle grounds. From ten meters up, each released an EMP burst pointed directly down. The drones were low enough that the rest of the city wasn’t affected. A few angled the EMP slightly towards the inside of the lower levels of the castle. Within seconds, the back-up generators failed, plunging the building into darkness.

That made it easier for our sensor drones to scan the castle. Only thirty-one people were still inside, unless they were in heavily shielded bunkers, which was a definite possibility. Unfortunately for them, those bunkers would be difficult for them to open without power.

With our scans showing the people inside scrambling, Watson, Caldwell, and I snuck into the castle, releasing a hundred mini drones as soon as we were inside. Each drone was guided by one of the Cambakian soldiers stationed outside the castle’s walls.

The people guiding the drones were split into five groups. One group searched the basement and the other groups searched each of the other three levels. The fifth group stayed with us, scouting ahead of and behind us. They guided us to each person or group of people. Most fought us, unsuccessfully. We captured six after wounding them, and four people surrendered.

Each person we captured was questioned. All insisted that the King only had two girls with him as hostages inside his bunker and that there were no other troops.

Once the castle had been secured, demolition experts were brought in to breach the King’s bunker. While they worked and we stood guard, hundreds of troops began a systematic search of the castle. It took about two hours for the demo team to breach the wall of the bunker without bringing down the entire castle. Once the dust settled, the King tried to hide behind his two hostages.

I had authorization to shoot and had an angle that had several cm of his head exposed, I was ready to take the shot when I saw one of the hostages move, lifting her right foot. When she brought it back down, the King screamed because she smashed his toes with the heel of her foot. It also doubled the separation between them. I took the shot. The king’s body jerked backwards and fell to the ground. The two women fell to their knees, sobbing.

“Nice shot,” the Lieutenant who’d given me the green light to shoot commented as he slapped me on the back. Several other troops entered the vault cautiously. They checked the women for weapons and then directed them towards the new opening in the vault. Once they verified that nobody else was inside, we headed for the surface.

That afternoon, our military broadcast the announcement that the King and all of the barons were dead. Aside from a few nobles who had escaped to Banku, the rest of the nobles were dead or captured. That night, it seemed as if everyone in Giloh was in the streets celebrating.

Two days later, while troops were still searching the castle, all the Vanguard troops returned to base in Cambak. While regular troops had been deployed to every Gilohan military facility and to patrol the streets of cities and larger towns to maintain order, we were given a week’s leave. Before we left, they congratulated us on a job very well done.

Striker and I got home just in time for lunch. I headed for the dining facility and Striker flew off to find Momma. When I opened the door, I heard the normal undercurrent of conversation in the room for a second.

“Luke!” Charli shouted, almost knocking her chair over as she jumped up and hurried over to hug me. Kate hurried over, too, although she made sure she was out of Charli’s way. Amelia and Peggy followed Kate, as did Zoe and Tara. Alice brought up the rear of the procession. It seemed as if Kate had made further reductions in the number of women in our home. Once Charli let me go, I greeted Kate and the other five girls.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what are you doing home?” Kate asked.

“The war’s basically over and they gave us a week off.”

I went to where Mom and Dad were seated and hugged them before filling a plate. The girls scooted closer together so there was room for me to sit next to Kate.

My first stop after lunch was to see Hunter. I noticed that Claire and her ever-present camera joined us. I also noticed that she had upgraded to a much more expensive looking camera. Hunter made a short flight, right to Charli, and gave me the one-eyed stare. I was surprised when he flapped his wings enough to come over to me. Once his curiosity was satisfied, he flew back to his nest. I’d heard Claire’s camera clicking the entire time.

“Interesting,” I commented.

“You need to name the other two eaglets,” Charli insisted.

“I’ve been considering Griffin and Scout, depending on the sex,” I replied.

“One of each,” Charli said smugly.

“How can you tell?” I asked.

“The guy who brought Hunter did a blood test on them to find out. He put an ID band on each of them. The male has a red band on the right leg. They both fly down at feeding time.”

That made sense. Striker and Momma would fly to the feeding perches if they were near the house. The feeding perches were on a platform two meters off the ground. Each feeding perch reached another two meters above the platform. It had a shallow bowl for the ground up meat and a second bowl for water. We gave the eagles spring water that had been filtered through sand and then through charcoal.

Mom used an old-fashioned chuck wagon triangle to let the birds know it was feeding time. It was audible more than two kilometers away.

When we went back outside, I noted that there were now five elevated feeding stands on the platform and the stepladder Mom used to reach each feeding perch was lying at the base. There was a cover five meters above the platform to keep any rain off the birds as they ate. There was plenty of space between each stand for their wings.

Two days later, Striker and I were exploring the new property Dad had bought just inside what used to be Trindi. Tom and Alice joined Kate and me since they’d hunted in parts of the area over the years.

Mid-afternoon, Striker flew down and landed on the ground in front of me. I knelt, worried, when he walked around dragging his right wing as if something was wrong with it. Instead, he flew off to the west, then flew back at me and screeched before flying off again.

“What the hell?” I asked rhetorically.

“If that was one of your dogs, I’d say that he wants you to follow him,” Alice commented.

“I’ll follow. You guys follow me in the shuttle,” I said as I took off, jogging after Striker. I knew they wouldn’t be able to keep up with me for long if they were on foot, especially given how dense the jungle was here.

Four kilometers later, Striker landed and screeched at me. When I looked to where he was looking, I saw another Tharakian eagle. This one was near the top of a three-meter-high bush. When I got closer, I could see the bird’s right wing was injured.

I commed Kate and asked her to bring the shuttle. “We’re already above you,” she chuckled. Once they landed, I dug through the gear and other junk stowed in the cabinets and the compartments under the seats. Since I’d brought all my military gear, I donned the body armor and the grav cycle helmet. I also retrieved some cohesive tape out of the first aid kit.

Fifteen minutes later I had managed to collect the female eagle. I had wrapped her entire body to trap both wings. The cohesive tape only adhered to itself and wouldn’t stick to the feathers.

Once Striker was satisfied that the female eagle was okay, he took off, returning a few minutes later with a small peccary. I’d already given her water since there was none nearby that she could have reached. Despite watching me warily, she drank some of the water I’d brought along for Striker.

I opened the door of Striker’s crate and slipped the peccary inside, quickly closing and latching the door. Let’s get her to a vet,” I said, comming Mom at the same time. I explained what we had, and she promised to find someone to look at her.

“Striker,” I shouted in exasperation when he exited the shuttle. While I knew he could find his way home, I didn’t want to leave him behind. As soon as he was outside, he went through the same motions that he had before, dragging a wing.

“Another one?” I asked. Striker flew off again. “I guess I’ll follow him,” I sighed, taking off at a fast jog. Five minutes later, I saw Striker land in the edge of a small eagle nest up in a huge tree. From the size, I could see that the nest had just been built this year. I could reach it but had no idea if the nest could support my weight.

Looking up, I saw the shuttle and motioned for them to land. “There’s a baby eagle in the nest,” Kate exclaimed.

“I figured that when Striker landed there. I need help to reach it, though.”

Ten minutes later, I had a length of rope secured inside the shuttle and a loop in the end of it for my foot. Kate lifted off and then carefully lowered me through the branches as I guided her using hand signals. The eaglet was fully fledged but wasn’t moving. Rather than take a long time to secure it, I lifted it and wrapped it in one of my shirts from the shuttle.

“Up, slowly,” I signaled Kate. My right arm was wrapped around the rope. I held the bundle in my right hand as I used my left to move branches out of the way. A minute later, I was on the ground and the shuttle landed a few meters away. I quickly gave the eaglet some water, having to open its beak to drip water into it. Once Striker was aboard, we headed for home. Mom commed Kate and told her where a vet was in Traltek, a big city only a few kilometers from the base where I was stationed.

When we reached the vet, Tom and Alice brought the crate while I carried the eaglet. Striker rode on Kate’s arm since she’d started wearing a vambrace.

“I think the eaglet is most critical,” I told the vet. He motioned for a second vet to deal with the injured female and had me carry the eaglet into an exam room. Several minutes later, the eaglet had an IV. I was surprised because I didn’t know they could give birds an IV.

After a satisfied sigh, the vet said, “I think the eaglet will make it. A few more hours and he probably wouldn’t have.”

We went to check on the female only to find her in an operating room. The vet explained that they were attaching a lightweight U-shaped splint over the broken bone. The broken bone was the radius, the smaller of the two bones in the wing. The vet had aligned the broken ends of the bone and glued them together before slipping the splint over it. The splint was thin enough and light enough that it was also glued on and would be permanently left in place.

“She should be able to fly again in a few weeks,” he said, reassuring me. “We’ll keep her overnight and want you to bring her back once a week so we can check her progress.