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"ATTACK
THEM! THERE AREN'T MORE THAN A THOUSAND OF THEM, WE'RE THIRTY
THOUSAND STRONG. ATTACK, KILL THEM!" There were more shots. Some of
Falkenberg's men fell. The others stood immobile, waiting for orders.
Falkenberg raised the speaker again. "PREPARE FOR VOLLEY FIRE. MAKE READY.
TAKE AIM. IN VOLLEY, FIRE!"
Seven hundred rifles crashed as one.
"FIRE!" Someone screamed, a long drawn-out cry, a plea without words.
"FIRE!"
The line of men clambering up the seats toward them wavered and broke. Men
screamed, some pushed back, dove under seats, tried to hide behind their
friends, tried to get anywhere but under the unwavering muzzles of the rifles.
"FIRE!"
It was like one shot, very loud, lasting far longer than a rifle shot ought
to, but it was impossible to hear individual weapons. "FIRE!"
There were more screams from below. "In the name of God - "
"THE FORTY-SECOND WILL ADVANCE. FIX BAYONETS. FORWARD, MOVE. FIRE.
FIRE AT WILL."
Now there was a continuous crackle of weapons. The leather-clad lines moved
forward and down, over the stadium seats, flowing down inexorably toward the
press below on the field.
"Sergeant Major!"
"SIR!"
"Marksmen and experts will fall out and take station. They will fire on all
armed men."
"Sir!"
Calvin spoke into his communicator. Men dropped out of each section and took
position behind seats. They began to fire, carefully but rapidly. Anyone below
who raised a weapon died.
The regiment advanced onward.
Hamner was sick. The screams of wounded could be heard everywhere. God, make
it stop, make it stop, he prayed.
"GRENADIERS WILL PREPARE TO THROW." Falkenberg's voice boomed from the
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speaker. "THROW!"
A hundred grenades arched out from the advancing line. They fell into the
milling crowds below. The muffled explosions were masked by screams of terror.
"IN VOLLEY, FIRE!"
The regiment advanced until it made contact with the mob. There was a brief
struggle. Rifles fired, and bayonets flashed red. The line halted but
momentarily. Then it moved on, leaving behind a ghastly trail.
Men and women jammed in the Stadium exits. Others frantically tried to get
out, clambering over the fallen, tearing women out of their way to push past,
trampling each other in their scramble to escape. There was a rattle of
gunfire from outside. Those in the gates recoiled, to be crushed beneath
others trying to get out.
"You won't even let them out!" Hamner screamed at Falkenberg.
"Not armed. And not to escape." The Colonel's face was hard and cold, the eyes
narrowed to slits. He watched the slaughter impassively, looking at the entire
scene without expression.
"Are you going to kill them all?"
"All who resist."
"But they don't deserve this!" George Hamner felt his voice breaking. "They
don't!"
"No one does, George. SERGEANT MAJOR!"
"SIR!"
"Half the marksmen may concentrate on the leaders now."
"SIR!" Calvin spoke quietly into his command set. The snipers concentrated
their fire on the
Presidential box across from them. Centurions ran up and down the line of
hidden troops, pointing out targets. The marksmen kept up a steady fire.
The leather lines of armored men advanced inexorably. They had almost reached
the lower tier of seats. There was less firing now, but the scarlet-painted
bayonets flashed in the afternoon sun.
Another section fell out of line and moved to guard a tiny number of prisoners
at the end of the Stadium. The rest of the line moved on, advancing over seats
made slick with blood.
When the regiment reached ground level their progress was slower. There was
little opposition, but the sheer mass of people in front of them held up the
troopers. There were a few pockets of active resistance, and flying squads
rushed there to reinforce the line. More grenades
were thrown. Falkenberg watched the battle calmly, and seldom spoke into his
communicator.
Below, more men died.
A company of troopers formed and rushed up a stairway on the opposite side of
the Stadium.
They fanned out across the top. Then their rifles leveled and crashed in
another terrible series of volleys.
Suddenly it was over. There was no opposition. There were only screaming
crowds. Men threw away weapons to run with their hands in the air. Others fell
to their knees to beg for their lives. There was one final volley, then a
deathly stillness fell over the Stadium.
But it wasn't quiet, Hamner discovered. The guns were silent, men no longer
shouted orders, but there was sound. There were screams from the wounded.
There were pleas for help, whimpers, a racking cough that went on and on as
someone tried to clear punctured lungs.
Falkenberg nodded grimly. "Now we can find a magistrate, Mr. President. Now."
"I - Oh my God!" Hamner stood at the top of the Stadium. He clutched a column
to steady his weakened legs. The scene below seemed unreal. There was too much
blood, rivers of blood, blood cascading down the steps, blood pouring down
stairwells to soak the grassy field below.
"It's over," Falkenberg said gently. "For all of us. The regiment will be
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leaving as soon as you're properly in command. You shouldn't have any trouble
with your power plants. Your technicians will trust you now that Bradford's
gone. And without their leaders, the city people won't resist.
"You can ship as many as you have to out to the interior. Disperse them among
the loyalists where they won't do you any harm. That amnesty of yours - it's
only a suggestion, but I'd renew it."
Hamner turned dazed eyes toward Falkenberg. "Yes. There's been too much
slaughter today.
Who are you, Falkenberg?"
"A mercenary soldier, Mr. President. Nothing more."
"But - then who are you working for?"
"That's the question nobody asked before. Grand Admiral Lermontov."
"Lermontov? But you were drummed out of the CO-Dominium! You mean that you
were hired - by the admiral? As a mercenary?"
"More or less." Falkenberg nodded coldly. "The Fleet's a little sick of being
used to mess up people's lives without having a chance to - to leave things in
working order."
"And now you're leaving?"
"Yes. We couldn't stay here, George. Nobody is going to forget today. You
couldn't keep us on and build a government that works. I'll take First and
Second Battalions, and what's left of the
Fourth. There's more work for us."
"And the others?"
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