BtH53

==Chapter 53 - By the Horns==
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Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers Field HQ
Salina Diablo, New Vallis
Taurian Concordat
November 21st, 3025
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The majority of the Sixth had chosen to follow him, Michael considered with some satisfaction—just four DropShips, all of them infantry transports, had diverted course to accept the offer of the Taurians. The rest had landed here, on the flat, barren, and featureless salt plains seventy kilometers to the east of Port Sheridan. Already his units were moving . . . because Michael had no intention to remain here where a single nuclear weapon—or a strike from orbit—might well annihilate his entire command.
The Tabernas Wastelands lay between him and Port Sheridan and Michael considered the map again as he stood in the oppressive heat of the parched basin. The broken and fractured terrain of the wastes would provide the Sixth with shelter—and the trackless canyons cut by arroyos, the wadis, would make it difficult for the Taurians to pin him down. But he couldn’t spend too much time avoiding the Taurian defenses . . . no, he thought with a shake of his head. Soon enough we will need fresh water . . . and the small pools of the wastes were nowhere near enough to keep the Sixth hydrated.
Which meant that he would have to march on Port Sheridan and take that city on the fresh-water lake which housed all of the provisions and supplies that he would require—if it came down to fighting.
“You understand your assignment?” Michael asked Colonel Malachi Russert—one of his most trusted aides. “And the absolute need to keep this close to the vest?”
“I do, my Lord,” the sandy-haired officer replied.
“Tell me so that I might be certain,” Michael insisted.
“I am to deliver your offer to Edward Calderon—that this is a just a misunderstanding. The Sixth is not here to invade the Concordat, but are seeking asylum against the tyranny of Hanse Davion—and a base of operations from which to free the Capellan March from his rule. I am to present your offer of an alliance to Edward—the full might of the Sixth Fusiliers to bolster his strength until you resume your rightful place on New Syrtis . . . and we are to offer in exchange the return of the Pleiades to Taurian rule.”
“And if Edward rejects that offer?”
“Then, Your Grace, I will suggest the second package—in exchange for your life and freedom, and transport to a neutral world, you will give the Taurians a complete copy of the classified information you have stored against future need . . . Davion secrets thought deeply buried that you have ferreted out and held close at hand. And to slake the Taurian need to show that they are not weak . . . you will offer them the Sixth as a sacrifice.”
Michael nodded his approval and then he sighed. “I should hope that it does not come to that, Malachi—the Sixth has served me well and would be the corner-stone of my efforts to reclaim the Marches. But, if to preserve my own self and secure our destiny, they must be laid upon the alter, then so be it.” Michael paused. “You have the tidbits of information to whet their appetite with?”
“I do, Your Grace.”
“Good, good. Remind Edward that if he wants to know the identities of Quintus Allard’s dirty little angels operating on Taurus—and other Concordat worlds—he must make a deal with me. Convince this child that I am of greater use to him alive than dead—make him believe that he needs me, Malachi. I am depending on you for this.”
“I serve only you, my Duk—Prince,” the officer corrected himself, and Michael smiled.
“Soon enough, my friend. Soon enough,” Michael muttered softly. And then his gaze hardened on the man again. “Six days, Malachi—you have six days. After that, our water will be running low and I will have no choice but to move to Lake Ashton . . . a move that the Taurians will surely attempt to prevent. Either that or to seize Port Sheridan—and if I do either, there will be no deal to be had.”
“I understand, my Prince.”
“Good. GOOD. Now go, go and secure me my future, Colonel Russert.”
“And if Edward rejects your most generous offer?”
“Then we are dead men anyway—kill him, Malachi. If he refuses to play the Great Game, remove him from the board.”
“It will be done,” whispered Malachi Russert and the man bowed deeply before he turned and exited the field tent, jogging towards a waiting VTOL on the flat salt plain of the dead lake.
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