Helfort's War Book 4: The Battle for Commitment Planet Read Online Free PDF Page A

Polk muttered, the elation and excitement sparked by Helfort’s imminent capture gone in an instant. Please, Kraa, he prayed, let me have one day without bad news, just one. He’d seen the holovids: A daring attack on the regional governor’s elaborate private compound had left the governor and most of his staff dead and his prized compound a blazing pyre spewing a column of smoke into the sky, a triumphantbeacon of defiance visible to millions of ordinary Hammers. “Let me guess. The NRA did it, they escaped, DocSec has nobody in custody, and the morons on the streets out there”—he jabbed a thumb at the window—“approve of what’s happened. Am I right?”
    “Yes, sir. I’m afraid you are. Support for the NRA and its political wing, the Nationalists, is up eight points. Governor Bharat was an unpopular man.”
    Polk snorted, openly derisive. “Bharat? Unpopular? Kraa, what a fucking understatement! The average Hammer hated the jerk. And are we surprised? No, we are not,” Polk said. “Governor Bharat was brutal, greedy, and corrupt, and we both know it. He was also too stupid to know when to stop shoving his fat hands into the pockets of ordinary Hammers. Well, he’s paid for it now. Saves me having the sleazebag shot.”
    De Mel said nothing.
    Polk sighed. “Okay. Next.”
    “Yes, sir. You will have read my report on …”
       Polk watched de Mel leave his office. Why was there never any good news? Kraa, it was depressing. Everywhere he looked, the Hammer Worlds were in the shit up to their ears, and there seemed to be very little that he or anyone else in the Hammer government could do about it.
    The heretic New Revolutionary Army still refused to accept that fact that they were fighting a war they could never win.
    Despite the billions and billions of k-dollars invested in them, the PGDF—Planetary Ground Defense Force—had failed to dislodge the NRA from its bases in the Branxton Ranges.
    Instead of fighting the NRA, the PGDF preferred to bitch and moan about the marines. Things were so bad, Polk was convinced that the PGDF and the marines would rather kill each other than the NRA.
    Then there was Doctrinal Security. The pressure was beginning to tell: Morale was poor and getting worse, desertions were at their highest in a decade, and DocSec was so riddled with NRA agents, it was a miracle they had any secrets left at all.
    Add to all that the widespread social unrest, fueled by a sagging economy and endemic corruption, sparked into widespread street violence by every NRA success. How much worse could things get? Let me see, Polk thought, how about if the—
    “Chief Councillor, sir.”
    The self-effacing tones of his personal assistant cut across Polk’s litany of woes.
    “Yes, Singh?” Polk replied.
    “Councillor Solomatin’s shuttle has landed, sir. He will be here in twenty minutes.”
    Polk’s chest tightened, a mix of fear and anticipation; maybe the day would bring some good news. “Fine. I’ll see him when he arrives.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Taking a cup of coffee from the drinkbot, Polk walked to the window. Perhaps things weren’t so bad. Helfort was all but in the bag, Solomatin had promised good news, and best of all, the war against the Federated Worlds was going well. The Feds had neither the ships nor the spacers to force the war to a conclusion, so the conflict was dragging on in an endless sequence of minor engagements that did nothing to tip the strategic balance away from the Hammers. Polk had no complaints; the Hammer fleet would keep the Feds on the defensive for another five years, and five years would see the Hammers’ new antimatter plant operational. Then it would be game over. He grinned a hungry grin of anticipation as he contemplated the prospect of the once proud and arrogant Federated Worlds bludgeoned to their knees by Hammer antimatter warheads. And when that happy day arrived, the Feds and every other inhabited system would acknowledge the new power in