Warworld: The Lidless Eye by John F. Carr, Don Hawthorne

Harmonies were non-violent—not pacifists, or they would no longer exist on Haven. They had developed certain castes, the deacons and bedes, who took the onerous job of violent confrontation.
    He could see scores of the deacons in their black robes scurrying around the burning houses, keeping the growing mob at bay. Cummings had always admired them for their adherence to a code of action that was, in its way, as structured as that of the military. The Harmonies also supplied most of the militia’s grain and dairy products. They didn’t believe in taking animal life for any reason other than self-defense. He suspected the attack was directed as much against the Haven Volunteers as it was against the Harmonies.
    He tongue-keyed his tooth mic: “Sergeant Major Slater, call a company of troops into the Harmony Compound, at the intersection of Concord and Peace.” He could see the Harmonies’ horse-drawn red fire wagons approaching as he spoke, “Send three of the Falkenberg 120’s. That will keep the streets clear.” The Falkenberg tanks were fifty yearsobsolete Coreward, but here they were still the most powerful vehicles on Haven.
    “Yes, sir.”
    Cummings could hear his trusted aide in his earphone. The chopper had a line-of-sight laser comline to Fort Kursk so he wasn’t worried about it being intercepted. The last thing they needed was another confrontation with the locals. “If anyone asks you where you’re going, tell them we’re escorting dependents out of the firezone. Out.”
    The Brigadier heard the distant pop of gunfire as the ’copter settled onto the small pad on top of his residence. I haven’t been home in months , he realized with a guilty start. Well, there’s so much to do…and we really don’t get along anymore…
    A trapdoor took them inside the house where they were met by the butler with a revolver in one hand, pointed toward the floor, as Cummings had taught him.
    “How are things outside?” the butler asked.
    “Not good, Wilson. Not good. Where’s the Missus?”
    “She’s in the sitting room, sir,” the butler said, with a nod that let Cummings know she was already heavily into the Sherry. But then again, when had she not been, especially when she knew her husband was arriving?
    Even though he knew what to expect, Brigadier Cummings still wasn’t prepared for the sight that met his eyes. Laura was still dressed in a disheveled nightgown; her thin grey hair looked as if it hadn’t been washed or combed in a week. Her face, a nest of wrinkles, looked twenty years older than her seventy years would have led one to expect.
    My God, she has every reason on earth to hate my guts! he thought. “Darling, how are you?”
    “Well enough, Brigadier. And, no, I’m not too drunk to know my own mind. It’s early yet. I had a dream about Robert last night, before we came here and this place killed him.”
    It was an old argument and one that he no longer bothered to respond to. Their twelve-year-old son had died within a month of their arrival of a blood-clotting disease specific to Haven. She had neverforgiven her husband for it. He, himself, had only come to terms with it through hard work and the words of the Brigade’s chaplain.
    “Now that Helga is married and Ingrid is off with that pompous friend of yours, Baron Hamilton, I don’t have anyone left to talk to. The other officers’ wives are too young, and, anyway, most of them actually like this bloody Hellhole!”
    “Most of them were born here, darling.”
    “And they’ll die here, too. Just like I will. Only I don’t like it! But don’t worry, Brigadier, it won’t be very long.”
    “Please, Laura, let’s not get maudlin.”
    “You bastard. I should have never left Friedland with you. Now my daughters are gone and I’m left here all alone.”
    “That’s what I came to talk to you about, dear. It’s not safe for you any longer in the City.”
    She slowly raised her head, turning her gaze on him for the first time