Part 45 (1/2)

23. Raid

Wednesday, 25 March 2572

The next morning, when Powell offered to help her into lightweight Enforcement body armor, Blackfeather accepted gladly. She'd found out the previous evening, at the same time she'd found out what the term 'unity' meant to those who were Sealed, that his Enforcement commission was another of the exceptions surrounding Cortin; he was barely seventeen, and his pose of being a veteran was exactly that, a pose.

But he was no rookie inside, and that unity had given her considerable respect for the Protector's youngest Sealed.

”How does that feel, Sara?” he asked when she was suited up. ”I can adjust it some, if it doesn't fit quite right.”

Blackfeather moved experimentally, then grinned at him. ”It's fine, Chuck. Now what about Sis?”

”She doesn't need armor; she won't be going in until after the action's over. Mike doesn't want her going in at all, but she says if he can, so can she, and he couldn't argue that. At least she's promised this'll be the last time till after she has the baby.”

”And the Colonel? Even if His Majesty has forbidden her, I'm surprised she'd stay out of her team's--and Family's--first official action.”

”She doesn't have any choice,” Powell said regretfully. ”It's a legal order and her Enforcement oath is valid; disobeying would be a sin, and that's something none of the Sealed can do. If we had reason to believe any of the ones who tortured her would be among the attackers, she'd be free to go with us, but none of the information we have even hints at that. So she's stuck here.”

”In her place, I'd hate that,” Blackfeather said, feeling more sympathy for the Inquisitor than she'd have thought possible a few days ago.

”At least we can make sure we give her a complete report.”

The only thing that helped Cortin's frustration at being kept out of the convent defense was saying Ma.s.s, and that only helped for the brief time it was going on. By the time it was over, though, she'd come to one conclusion: His Majesty had ordered her not to get into the action, but he hadn't said anything about not going to the Palace communications center to listen to the tactical radio!

But following the defense that way was less informative than she'd hoped. She wasn't familiar enough with the terrain to visualize the deployment, which made movement orders impossible to follow. About all she could be sure of was that the Royals were winning, even though they were taking heavier casualties than she liked or had expected. She couldn't help praying that none of her people were among the dead and wounded, though she felt a little uncomfortable asking for that sort of special consideration; if the casualties weren't from her team, they had others who'd care as strongly about them.

At last it sounded like the fighting must be about over; Bradford was ordering the prisoners taken to a holding area and calling in the medevac units. As further transmissions showed things were winding up, she decided she might as well go back to the Lodge and make one final check of her preparations before prisoners started arriving. She was thanking the communications techs for their courtesy when Bradford's voice again came from the radio. ”Palace Com, this is Strike Leader.

Request Azrael be contacted and asked to join us at her earliest convenience.”

”Azrael is on scene, Strike Leader,” the tech said. ”One moment, please.”

Cortin took the microphone he offered. ”Azrael here, Strike Leader.

What's the problem?”

”Prisoner evaluation. We have some here who present unexpected problems, and I would appreciate your expertise.”

”Unexpected problems?” That didn't sound too likely, Cortin thought--Brad and Dave both had more specialty-time than she did, though she had to admit that her position had probably given her a wider variety of cases. Still, likely or not, she wasn't about to argue with anything that would get her out into the field, however briefly. ”I'll be there as soon as I can find transportation. Azrael out.”

To her surprise, fifteen minutes later she was airborne and well on her way to the convent. His Majesty had both ground and air transportation available at no notice, of course, and as one of the King's Own she was allowed to use elements of the Royal Fleet--but she hadn't expected to be able to use one of the alert craft!

The pilot circled the battlefield, more to avoid throwing dirt and rocks on the wounded than to let her observe--though it did that as well--following a ground controller's orders to land on the convent lawn near the temporary prisoner holding pen. Before, she'd always been in combat gear, exiting a helicopter; this was easier, in her service uniform, though she did have a little trouble holding onto the wide-brimmed hat. When she was clear and the copter had lifted off, moving back several hundred meters to wait for her, she took another look at the battlefield from this more familiar perspective. It was clearer to her this way, a bigger scene of carnage than she'd imagined it could be, and she found herself appalled at the unnecessary damage and loss of life. Compa.s.sionate Mother of G.o.d, what could the Brothers hope to gain from all this? At least the convent showed no major signs of damage, nothing worse than a few bullet pocks, and the Blue Sisters were working with Enforcement medics, as usual, to help the wounded.

She heard the rustle of heavy cloth behind her, and turned to see Bradford--who looked surprisingly comfortable, for a senior officer, in battle gear--and a nun she supposed to be Reverend Mother Superior Mary Gabriel. She returned Bradford's salute, bowed to the nun. ”I hope none of the sisters were hurt.”

”No, thank G.o.d,” Bradford said. ”We were able to warn them, then ambush the terrorists far enough away the Sisters were never in any real danger. Would Your Excellency care for a copy of my report?”

”Thank you, Colonel, but it won't be necessary; Team Azrael will brief me. I would appreciate it if you have time to visit Harmony Lodge this evening, though. Ah--were any of Team Azrael hurt?”

”Not seriously,” Mother Gabriel said. ”Lieutenant Degas was. .h.i.t in the side, Lieutenant Powell in the leg. They are in no danger, and are able to travel, but I think it would be best if Your Excellency permitted them to remain here for three or four days.”

”Whatever you think best, Mother Superior. May I see them?”

”There would be no point, Excellency; they are still under anesthetic.