Chapter 209: Total War
General Zeppelin waited for Kian to finish, then exhaled slowly.
"If only every rebel commander were as pragmatic as the one you found."
Kian asked: "Has high command made the decision, my lord? Are we going to war?"
Zeppelin nodded.
"You may not have the full picture yet. In the past month, starvation deaths have been recorded across multiple Hive districts. Over a hundred riots, large and small.
More critically — we have discipline failures in several regiments. Soldiers who learned their families had starved have shot their officers. Others have deserted with their weapons and equipment and crossed over to the rebels."
Kian sucked air through his teeth. It had deteriorated that far.
Zeppelin studied him for a moment.
"You should know — you've distinguished yourself considerably. Convincing a rebel commander to voluntarily supply food is a genuine breakthrough. The two million people in your district have produced zero riots in the same period that the rest of the Hive was burning. That contrast is very visible on paper.
If the method didn't technically constitute consorting with the enemy, the commendation orders would already be drafted."
Kian waved a hand with deliberate modesty.
"Recognition is unnecessary, my lord. What I did was technically a violation of military law — it shouldn't be held up as an example, that would undermine discipline. I must ask the General's forgiveness for acting unilaterally. I simply couldn't stand by while the Emperor's people went hungry."
Zeppelin pointed at him with an expression of undisguised amusement.
"You. You are something else entirely."
He meant it as a compliment and Kian knew it. The General had developed a genuine appreciation for him — bold in the field, clear-headed in calculation, disciplined about which flags to fly and when. This kind of man didn't stay a battalion commander for long.
A thought surfaced in Zeppelin's mind. The young Baron was apparently unmarried. A marital alliance with the right family would be a sound investment. Unfortunately Zeppelin didn't have a daughter of suitable age. He briefly considered whether there was time to produce one.
Kian, unaware he was being evaluated as a potential son-in-law, asked:
"Has high command attempted formal negotiations with the rebel leadership? What was their response?"
Zeppelin's expression shifted back to business.
"We've been in contact since the shortage first appeared. More than ten separate negotiating sessions. We offered long-term ceasefire agreements, industrial goods sales — significant concessions. All of it rejected.
The rebels see this crisis as their opportunity. They believe the famine has weakened us enough to risk reopening full hostilities. They're assembling forces."
Kian thought through the numbers. Five hundred regiments in the Hive, ranging from three thousand to ten thousand personnel each — somewhere in the range of twenty million soldiers on paper. Heavy weapons, artillery, armoured vehicles. Formidable on the equipment side.
The human side was the problem. PDF soldiers had spent years treating their service as a salaried position with minimal expectations in either direction. When the society that employs you never made you feel like a stakeholder, you fight accordingly.
The rebels understood this. The famine looked like the moment.
What the rebel leadership appeared not to have calculated was the difference between a soldier fighting for a salary and a soldier fighting because his family is starving to death. The first type was the PDF's historical performance. The second type was something else entirely, and the rebels were about to produce it in bulk.
Zeppelin stood to leave. At the door, he turned back.
"In a few days, high command will make one final attempt at a negotiated settlement. If the rebels reject it — and I believe they will — war becomes unavoidable.
What follows won't be the skirmishing of the past five years. We're looking at full-scale operations. Mountains of dead, and alongside them, considerable glory for those who distinguish themselves.
Battalion Commander Voss — go home and prepare your unit. I expect the next time I see your rank insignia, it will have more pins on it."
Zeppelin left. Kian watched the vehicle pull away and began calculating what personal advantage he could extract from what was coming.
Several days later, beyond public knowledge, the planetary leadership and rebel command met for the last time.
The format was a remote conference. Representing the Planetary Governor: his household steward, flanked by a council of generals. Representing the rebel forces: a gathering of Marshals — including several supreme commanders who between them held entire continental landmasses.
Both sides looked at each other through the display screens.
The Governor's steward spoke first.
"The planetary government offers the following: fertiliser, medicines, autogun manufacturing lines, ammunition production equipment — over one thousand categories of restricted goods, in exchange for food supply.
This is our final compromise. Our final act of good faith."
On the screens, the Marshals responded with a collective, unhurried contempt. The one who held the most territory spoke.
"Refused. If you want us to feed ten billion people, the planetary government will provide five thousand armoured vehicles, ten thousand artillery pieces of various types, twenty million small and heavy arms.
The Hive will dismantle its fortress cannons. The PDF will vacate all current forward positions and withdraw entirely within the Hive perimeter.
You will also hand over the more than ten thousand individuals on our war crimes tribunal list — officers and officials who committed atrocities in previous engagements.
Without all of the above — there is nothing to discuss."
One of the generals on the planetary side let out a cold laugh.
"Setting aside the weapons — which we will obviously never provide — regarding the tribunal: I'd like to ask whether my name appears on that list.
Are you proposing to arrest me and hang me publicly?"
The Marshal on screen looked at him steadily and matched his expression.
"Your name does appear on the list. Yes. If the planetary government wishes to reach agreement, you will be surrendered to us."
The room erupted. Both sides contributed their most expressive vocabulary to the exchange across the screens. The Governor's steward pressed his eyes closed for a long moment, then spoke above the noise.
"In two months, we have convened sixteen sessions. All sixteen have failed. We have made every effort that peace demanded of us.
The Emperor above knows we do not wish His people to suffer the fires of war. But if the flames must come — then let them burn at their hottest."
The civil war resumed.
Five years had passed since the last round of heavy fighting — five years of an informal, unspoken ceasefire between the PDF and the rebel forces. Five years during which both sides had maintained positions, built strength, and waited.
That waiting was over.
On Agri-World Secundus-496b, total war had returned.
[End of Chapter 209]
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