Keeton finished buttoning his uniform, then ran his hand through his shock of prematurely gray hair and set his shoulders. “Let’s go find out. We’ll take a flit, get an overview. No crowds up there to get in the way.”
They went out of his private quarters and into the barracks hallway. Immediately he was in a different world. Soldiers were rushing everywhere, and shouts were echoing up and down the halls. Some stopped long enough to salute and then hurried on once more. Some didn’t even stop for that. He wondered where they were charging off to since no one seemed to know exactly what was going on. Someone must have given an order to mobilize. If the city was under attack, the high command would want the entire army on the walls and at the gates right away.
“Where’s Commander March?” he asked. Tinnen March was senior commander of the Federation army; his involvement in any decision making was unavoidable.
“At the west gates, where the enemy’s massed. Assessing the situation.” Wint didn’t sound happy. “I believe he’s considering his options.”
Keeton shook his head. “Which he will continue to do until the Prime Minister gives him his marching orders, but you didn’t hear me say that.”
“Things were better under Commander Arodian,” the other offered quietly. “At least he knew what he was doing.”
“Right up until he fell overboard during that ill-considered attack on Paranor. Another political decision resulting in another disaster. At least we got rid of Drust Chazhul, too.”
“Good point. Things are so much better now with Edinja Orle.”
Keeton glanced over and caught his second’s sly smile. They shared the same opinion when it came to their new Prime Minister. More competent than the old, but more dangerous and unpredictable, too. Keeton was fifth-generation military, Wint seventh. They neither liked nor trusted politicians—especially ones who interfered with army matters. Both Drust Chazhul and Edina Orle were guilty of that sort of infringement; apparently it was a troublesome characteristic of career politicians.
Keeton continued on through the barracks and out into the yard that led to the stacked hangars and the flits. First Response, the shock unit of the City Watch—of which he was commander—had its own designated squadron of flits, all heavily armed and armored, all two-man machines built for combat. One hundred men and women, all highly trained, all the best of the best, handpicked by Wint and himself to serve in an elite corps fashioned specifically to act as protectors of the city proper. The regular army answered to Tinnen March, and the warships to Sefita Rayne. They, in turn, answered to the Prime Minister of the Federation Coalition Council.
But he answered to no one but himself and those soldiers he commanded whenever there was a threat to the city.
He assumed the order remained undisturbed, enemy at the gates or not. Which meant Commander March would wait for him to appear with an assessment before he took action. Even if Edinja Orle tried to interfere, he would stall.
Keeton was a big, strong man with a full set of combat skills and a family history of military service so deeply infused in him that he had never even considered doing anything else with his life. He had applied early to the academy, been quickly accepted, and gone straight through school and training to the top of the Federation army command to assume this position. It had taken him less than a dozen years to demonstrate his competency and his commitment. The old Prime Minister had asked for him personally, had insisted he be given command of City Watch and First Response. If the city was attacked, he had said rather famously, he would prefer that the last person standing between him and death be Keeton.
High praise, but a testing of the old man’s judgment hadn’t been necessary until now. After the end of the war on the Prekkendorran, things had quieted down considerably in the Southland. Aside from skirmishes and small brush fires here and there, no threats had arisen until this past year when Drust Chazhul had been chosen Prime Minister and launched his personal crusade against the Druids and Paranor.
And now this new threat, whatever it was.
Wint had moved ahead, making his way toward their flit, giving it a quick inspection before climbing aboard and settling himself into the weapons compartment. While Keeton was big, Wint was huge, and he had trouble fitting himself into the tiny space. It was always something of a mystery to others that he managed to do so. But Wint had been his second for almost the whole of his time as City Watch commander, and the two knew each other well enough by now that they had no secrets. Keeton wondered sometimes where he would be if not for Wint keeping watch at his elbow, ready to talk him through every situation, willing to do what was needed to make sure no mistakes were made.
“Do we have a First Response team ready to go?”
“We do.” Wint was cranking back the straps on the rail slings. “Two, as a matter of fact. We can have them airborne in minutes.”