This was the type of mission that would have been ideally accomplished by firing a photon torpedo from orbit at the enemy installation and just flying away from the smoking crater. But then, Tarik remarked to himself, the universe is seldom ideal.
Not usually a squeamish man, Tarik felt himself become ill at what he was seeing. Before the 28th had departed from the station the G'Kar ambassador had forwarded information from their Security Commissariat that indicated the Mullurans were operating what was euphemistically referred to as a 'serf village' on the world known as Az'reel. Other terms for the arrangement came to Tarik's mind. Gulag, concentration camp, and re-education facility were among the more polite terms.
A cloaked Class 4 surveillance probe had confirmed what the G'Kar spies had originally reported: at least 5,000 of the 34,000 civilians on the planet were actually slave laborers of various races. Tarik burned with anger as he saw the high-resolution images of laborers chained together as they worked at gunpoint to upgrade the Mulluran defenses. More laborers were being herded into factory buildings, where they wouldn't be seen again for up to 20 hours. Tarik noted also that many of the people who entered the factories didn't come back out...
Now's not the time, Tarik, he thought to himself. There's a job to be done. The mission was to destroy the Mulluran production facilities and armory, thus crippling the Mulluran ground forces' ability to wage war. If at all possible Tarik wanted to spare the civilians--and certainly the 'serfs'--as much destruction as possible, but he had his objective. Destroying the factories and armory would have the long-term result of saving thousands of lives on both sides, and civilian casualties may be unavoidable. Perhaps even inevitable. Burning the village to save it, Tarik thought again disgustedly. At least we only kill them one at a time--not by the thousands.
One at a time. That's how his command had, for the most part, died. 60% of his command had been killed or invalided in the past few months. And yet the insanity continued...
Maybe we can end this right here and right now, Tarik thought as he unbuckled the restraints holding him into the copilot's seat of the Hawke transport. Where once the 28th Marine Expeditionary Force needed a dozen of the transports to mount out, now only three were necessary.
"Vhere are you goeeng?" Paul Deveraux, piloting the transport, asked.
"Time to rally the troops. For what it's worth," Tarik said, suddenly very weary as he stepped into the main cabin.
Since the fight at the Easy Inn, Tarik had assumed the status of living legend with his Marines. As soon as he entered the cabin, the nervous chattering that usually accompanied the transit phase of such operations ceased immediately. Tarik wasn't sure what to make of that.
Okay, here goes nothing, Tarik thought. "At ease, people.
"You may remember all the standard garbage about how we are 'instruments of Federation policy' and that what we do is simply an extension or facet of interstellar politics. Forget about it. It's all crap. Look to your left and to your right. Think of the people you left at home, wherever that may be. These are the reasons why you're here. The Federation Senate isn't here preparing to step into the maelstrom with rifles in their hands, and your deaths probably won't mean very much to them. But they'll mean something to your families, and they'll mean something to your fellow Marines. They sure as the underworld mean something to me. I know some of you weren't planning on being here," he said, addressing the Science crewmembers who had been dragooned two days earlier for the mission.
"But this applies to you as well. And what I'm about to say may change your mind about this whole affair."
"Right now we're about to fight probably the most important campaign we've ever faced in this conflict. And hopefully the last. A victory here will break the back of the Mulluran ground forces, thus degrading their ability to project power and hold objectives. But there's also something more important at stake.
"It appears that our Mulluran neighbors are in the habit of using forced labor to do their dirty work! They use slaves to dig their trenches, make their weapons, clean their heads. That might explain why they allied with the Jem'Hadar--these bastards are too lazy and cowardly even to do their own fighting! Laziness is decadence, and we all know what happens to decadent societies. And I don't think I need to tell any of you how to deal with cowards.
"On that planet are 5,000 souls who have been subjugated, and who have no hope but us. This is why we ply our trade, Marines! We do the fighting for the people who can't.
"An ancient Earth song comes to mind. It's a song written about another war, long ago, that involved forced labor. There's a line in that song with which I don't particularly agree. 'As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free.' Somehow that doesn't sound right to me. At least it doesn't translate well into Romulan; I don't know about everyone else," Tarik continued. Scattered laughter accompanied the last statement.
"I mean no disrespect to the theology behind this hymn, but the notion that men dying will make other men free is a load of crap as far as I'm concerned. All our deaths will accomplish is more of the same from these unholy sonsofbitches. We need to make them die to make men free!!!
"This is beyond the realm of politics, ladies and gentlemen. This is about good and evil--and no matter how you make the cut, slavery is evil. Salt the earth, Marines, to ensure that this doesn't grow back. Leave no stone atop another. And in the end remember who really counts in all of this. Your fellow Marines, your family, your deities if you acknowledge any. Beyond that, all else is meaningless.
"General George Patton, one of Earth's greatest military heroes, said something to his troops at the start of a campaign very much like the one we've been fighting. 'I want you to remember that no bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won the war by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country!' Keep that in mind, and give the Mullurans as many opportunities as you can to die for their country! Now, let's saddle up!" Tarik finished, raising his voice toward the end.
Throughout the small flotilla the voices of 65 Marines and 12 Science officers joined in a crescendo of cheers. "You know 'ow to work ze crowd," Deveraux said. "'Ave you ever considered politics?"
"Me? Politics???? I'm not nearly devious enough for that!"
The Hammerheads had softened up the landing zone considerably before the ground troops even entered the Az'reel system. Antiaircraft positions, communications nodes, power generators, and even the facility's sewage treatment plant had been destroyed by Boyle and the other Marine aviators; only the smallest rifle pits and firing steps remained for Tarik's landing force to deal with. Tarik had briefed Boyle about the probability--actually a near-certainty--that slaves were being used in the facility; the factory buildings themselves and the workers' quarters were spared for the attention of the ground.
Much of the factory complex was nonetheless smoking rubble as Tarik led the Marines to the factory buildings. Resistance from the Mulluran defenders was competent but by no means spirited; the landing force suffered only one death as they proceeded to the first of the long, low factories.
"Deveraux, take your Science officers and secure the slave quarters and the supply depot. Anderson, take 30 Marines and secure the Quartermaster's Office. I want the base commander and as many of the senior staff as you can manage as prisoners. Hartman, take 15 Marines and secure the factory buildings to the east; I'll secure the west side. Everyone check in every ten minutes."
Tarik entered the factory, an ordnance production facility. Many of the slaves looked not to have seen light in some time as they cowered away from the door. "The first one to step outside that door dies!" a Mulluran foreman yelled at the mob of slaves. The corporal who was covering point responded by burning the foreman down with his phaser.
"Dammit, that man could have been valuable!" Tarik yelled. Then he looked around at the wretched state of the slaves and immediately understood the man's reaction. "Find out what, if anything, we can do for these people," Tarik said to the corporal, looking at the newly-freed slaves. They were of a variety of races--G'kar, Son'a, even a few dissident Mullurans. "Segregate the Mullurans from the other slaves. There may be intelligence plants here. We'll have to interview and evaluate them separately."
"With pleasure, sir! Someone get up here with a tricorder, dammit!" he barked as Tarik left for the next factory building.
The situation here was somewhat different. The slaves, upon observing the landing force and the bombardment, had here attempted an uprising of their own. Several slaves and guards lay dead on the factory floor. The foreman held a hand phaser to the neck of a little girl around six years old. They used children here??? Tarik asked himself angrily.
"Stay back, or this little bitch gets it!" the foreman yelled to anyone who was listening. At the moment, that included everyone.
"Put the phaser down," Tarik ordered, hefting his own rifle to his shoulder. "If you kill her, you will be dead within three seconds. There is no way out of this for you." In reality, Tarik could have killed him much more quickly, but the threat to a child hit him where he lived. If he kills this little one, I'll make him suffer personally!
"You lie! Our reinforcements--"
"Have been destroyed!" Tarik replied. "The Federation is in control of the situation here, not your people. Surrender now and you'll at least have a fair trial."
"Oh, yeah! Like I believe that!" the foreman said, suddenly very nervous.
What Tarik was actually doing was not negotiating but buying time for a sniper to get on the roof of the factory. Within a minute, the sniper had found his way to the top of the building, set up a firing position, and targeted the foreman's forehead.
"Put the weapon down NOW!"
"Make me!" the foreman yelled as he tightened his hold around the little girl's neck.
Tarik motioned very slightly with his elbow. The sniper fired, and the Mulluran's skull evaporated. The girl fell free, crying as she was covered with gore and blood.
"Where are this child's parents?" Tarik asked the now-free slaves.
"We don't know," one of the slaves replied. "She was a foundling..."
"Someone take care of her," Tarik asked--both his people and the slaves. The corpsman with his platoon rushed to the little girl's aid. These people are too scared even to make the most basic decisions.
<Hartman to Tarik--the east side is clear. Five enemy dead; none of our people down.>
"Very good, Gunny. Find out what these people need, get back to me in thirty minutes. Secure all rations, uniforms, and medical supplies you can lay your hands on and distribute them accordingly."
<From the look of it, a lot of these slaves would like to get over to the Quartermaster's Office with torches and pitchforks, and I don't blame them!> Hartman said. Though no stranger to the darker side of life, what he had seen here had definitely touched a nerve with the old DI.
"Lay down demo charges throughout the factory and meet me at the Quartermaster's Offices," Tarik ordered. "Remember Thermopylae? At least that much. I want these things to be nothing more than a memory!"
The Marines and the newly-freed slaves left the compound just as the first of the charges went off, leaving only smoking rubble where a state-of-the-art arms factory once stood.
"Tarik to Sutherland, come in please."
<This is Sutherland. What can we do for you, Colonel?>
"We've got an estimated five thousand civilian refugees here. I'm requesting the dispatch of the nearest transport or hospital ship to accommodate them," Tarik said.
<Understood. We've got the call out now. Sutherland can assist within 12 hours with supplies and medical aid.>
"Acknowledged. Tarik out."
Tarik was about to turn his attention to providing backup for Anderson at the Quartermaster's Office when he felt someone tugging on his trouser leg. He looked down to see the same little girl he'd first seen as a hostage inside one of the factory buildings. Her clothing--or the rags that served as her clothing--was still covered with blood and gore, although her face had been cleaned.
"You're the one I'm s'posed to find," she said, looking up at Tarik. Through the dirt Tarik could see that she had beautiful red hair...and spots just like Kassia's.
"I am?" he said, crouching down just enough to be eye to eye with her.
"Yes, you are!" she said insistently.
A loud explosion went off in the general direction of the Quartermaster's Office. "Child, I will be back for you. Stay here; you'll be safe for now. I still have work to do!"
"I understand," the little girl said, casting her face down to the ground. "Always more work for everyone..."
Tarik's heart almost shattered as he turned to leave. Prisoners, hell! I just may execute these monsters myself! he thought as he ordered his men to move with him toward the Quartermaster's Office.
The little girl, now with an older G'Kar female, looked at Tarik as he strode off purposefully. The pointy-eared one's the one I'm looking for. I can see it in his mind! she thought.