Revolutionary Right

by Wayne Basta

  “Our scouts have reported that the Alliance forces are deploying from their base. We estimate three hours until they are in position,” Kumus answered nervously. “Major Ocaitchi has ordered all forces to report to their designated positions.”

  Well, so much for breakfast, Zeric thought. To Kumus, he replied, “Thank you. Keep me informed of the latest changes.”

  With a heavy sigh, Zeric looked at the weary people in line for breakfast. It extended well behind him now, and he was only about halfway through it. Those closest to him looked almost ill. They had undoubtedly heard part of the conversation.

  Stepping out of line, Zeric climbed up onto a nearby table. The eyes of everyone turned toward him, and the low roar that had been dozens of individual conversations slowly faded. An air of nervous energy slowly built in the room as everyone waited for Zeric to say something.

  “The Alliance is on their way,” Zeric said simply. He didn’t shout, but his voice carried over the silent crowd. “Get to your assigned positions and get ready.”

  For a moment, everyone remained where they were, frozen in a kind of surprised terror. That did not bode well for things to come, Zeric thought. He decided to try a trick from one of his old drill instructors. He yelled, “You heard me! Move, people! Move!”

  The crowd broke apart like shattering glass, and everyone started scurrying away in a rush.

  Driving to the starport from the hotel gave Maarkean ample time to think about what was coming. In truth, it was the first time he had had nothing to do but think. The last few days had kept him busier than he could ever remember being. Now, with nothing to do but pilot a vehicle through empty streets, his mind started to wander.

  Doubt was the biggest thing on his mind. It was guaranteed that a lot of innocent people were going to die today. Those people would most likely be those who had decided to follow him in this foolhardy rebellion.

  Even if they succeeded and weren’t thoroughly wiped out, it would be because they killed a good number of soldiers – soldiers who only thought they were defending their government; soldiers who were little more than boys and girls who didn’t know any better.

  He had doubt about the validity of his plan. Doubt about his ability to carry off his part in it. Doubt about everyone else’s abilities. He even began to doubt whether his assessment of the Alliance was correct, and they wouldn’t just bomb the entire city to ash.

  All of these things played out in his head as he drove. Every conceivable outcome, each one worse than the last, ran through his mind. Yet despite all of his doubts and despite all of the chances for him and hundreds of others to meet a gruesome death, the one thing he didn’t doubt was that they were doing the right thing.

  Reaching the starport, Maarkean drove straight to the tarmac where the Cutty Sark, Chimopori, Unending Justice, Durandal II, and a handful of police interceptors and transports were waiting. The captains of the other ships waited, gathered at the base of the Cutty Sark’s boarding ramp. Some were pacing, some were standing stoically still, but it was clear all of them were nervous.

  Maarkean parked his vehicle away from the ships and walked over to the assembled group. As he approached, they stopped what they were doing and formed a semi-circle around him. Maarkean looked over each of them.

  It was still unclear to him what they were all doing here. The police pilots had been ordered here and were defending their home city. He understood that. Novastar had spent significant time with Lei-mey and Isaxo, delivering messages about the horrors the Alliance had committed, and he supposed that had influenced the man. Maybe Relis felt some clan loyalty to his cousin, Kard, who flew with Novastar, though clan loyalty did not mean much these days. But Ar’cher was clearly a true-blood smuggler, and there was no profit in what they were about to do.

  “This is your last chance to back out,” Maarkean began. “Once we’re airborne, people’s lives will be dependent on you. No one will think any worse of you if you back out now. But back out later, and I’ll kill you myself.”

  The captains all held his gaze, and there was a decided lack of nervous shifting. For whatever reasons, the people in this group were firmly committed to their cause. Maarkean appreciated the commitment. He just hoped that it didn’t get them all killed.

  “All right, let’s get into the air before the Alliance decides to launch a fighter wave to attack us while we’re on the ground. Remember to use the encrypted comms, and let’s try to avoid any needless heroics.”

  Turning toward the boarding ramp, Maarkean started to head up, intending that last comment as a dismissal, but Relis saluted him. It was a sloppy salute, to be sure, but in an inexperienced rather than disrespectful way. Novastar followed quickly after, as did the police pilots.

  Ar’cher, however, gave the group a disgruntled grumble, nodded to Maarkean and walked toward his ship.

  Maarkean knew how Ar’cher felt. They weren’t in any military, though technically he had been appointed into Enro’s defense force. He was unsure if he wanted to quash this saluting business or support it. He decided it would be disrespectful not to return the salute, and he snapped off the best he could manage.

  When the rest of them dispersed, he made his way aboard the Cutty Sark and closed the ramp behind him. The cargo bay was once again almost completely empty, but he knew it would not stay that way for long. He dashed up the stairs, sprinted down the corridor and stepped onto the flight deck.

  Saracasi was going through the pre-flight routine with Owrik. Maarkean was unsure why she had picked the young Notha delegate from Dantyne to help them out. Owrik appeared to be familiar with starship operations, as far as Maarkean could tell, so he could find no fault there. He did wish she had found someone who was a good gunner, though. Not that Saracasi was bad; he just didn’t want her to have to shoulder that responsibility.

  “How we doing?” Maarkean asked, catching the others’ attention.

  “All warmed up, fully fueled for a change and ready for lift off,” Saracasi said, moving away from the pilot seat toward the weapon controls.

  Maarkean slipped in behind her and adjusted the seat back to his preferences. He trusted Saracasi but couldn’t break the old habits and ran through a brief check of systems himself. Once he was satisfied everything was in the green, he turned to Owrik.

  “Signal the squadron; see if they are ready.”

  Owrik nodded, a little nervously for Maarkean’s preference, and spoke into the comm. “This is Cutty Sark. Report status.”

  Despite everything else Maarkean had to worry about, he had debated whether or not to give the ships fighter designations. The transports were not exactly fighters, but it would have felt more familiar going into battle. In the end, though, he had forgotten about it.

  “Chimopori, ready to go,” Novastar said from his ship.

  “Unending Justice, standing by,” Relis’ operations officer said.

  “Durandal, we’re good,” Ar’cher’s crew answered.

  The police pilots checked in, in order, and then Owrik turned to Maarkean. “Squadron reports ready.”

  “Well,” Maarkean said almost to himself, “here we go.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Saracasi watched as the ground outside the forward viewport shifted as the ship rotated. It was very unsettling to watch the planetary surface turn until it looked like it was above you and the sky was below you. Maarkean made the turn gradually enough so that the artificial gravity could adjust its direction and strength against the changing pull of the planet’s own gravity. The end result was feeling like you were sitting on the flight deck as usual while the planet of Enro was now upside down.

  Her time over the last few days had been spent getting the ships ready for combat. The Cutty Sark had been given access to fuel and spare parts on the Enro government’s dime, and she had taken full advantage of that. Time had been the limiting factor, and she had only been able to replace the most important parts, but that had included a faulty capacitor in one of the shie
ld generators.

  The maintenance crews from the starport had also been at their disposal, which had been a great help. Despite that, the crews from the other smuggler’s ships had all come to her first. Isaxo had apparently spread the word that she knew what she was doing, and they were more comfortable with a fellow smuggler tinkering around than a government engineer.

  During those days, she had not had a lot of free time, but she had managed to find a moment to speak to Faide. When she had learned that Irod was now part of the Congress, she had been eager for news. Faide had been able to relieve her worry about Chavatwor and Asirzi. Her friend had fully recovered from her injuries, and Chavatwor was making a name for himself tinkering with Lost Hope’s residents’ farm equipment and power supplies. He even promised to pass on a message to either of them when he returned home. If any of them returned home.

  “Thirty seconds,” Owrik said from the operations station.

  Pulling her attention away from the confusing scene outside, Saracasi focused on the targeting computer. Even though they had rotated upside down, the turret controls faced aft, giving her no view of the outside world. The only thing she had to face now was being shot at by Alliance troops and shooting back at them. That was enough to contend with without worrying about the world having flipped upside down.

  They were flying in a circle around the city of Perth in flights of two transports and a police interceptor. Their goal was to do as much damage as possible to the SPCs before they made it into the city.

  Saracasi had practiced on the ship’s weapon before. When they had left Braz, Maarkean had insisted that she be able to perform every function necessary to operate the ship. This was despite the fact that he left all of the engineering work to her, though she admitted he did know enough to get by.

  Though she knew how to operate the weapon and had even managed to successfully shoot some space debris in practice runs, she had never fired at a live target before. She would have preferred that Owrik operate the weapon while she ran ops, but even though Owrik was quite familiar with ship operations, he had never fired a weapon. Since Maarkean needed to fly, that left her on the gun.

  Saracasi’s heart was pounding rapidly, and she was sure it would explode out of her chest. Her hands were slick with sweat, and she wanted to wipe them off on her clothes. But Owrik had said thirty seconds and that must have been five minutes ago. She couldn’t afford to take her hands off the controls. Their pass over the Alliance convoy would last only a handful of seconds.

  The wait stretched on, and Saracasi’s leg began to shake nervously. She tried to hold it still, but when she did, the other one began. Her legs shaking suddenly reminded her of when she had taken her graduate school entrance exam. She had been more nervous than she had ever been before. Now it seemed like a stupid thing to be nervous about, and it made her laugh.

  “Something funny back there?” Maarkean asked.

  Realizing that she had actually laughed out loud, Saracasi regained control over herself. “No, no, everything’s good.”

  She could almost feel Maarkean give her a questioning look and raise an eyebrow at her, although she was sure he never looked away from where they were going. Refocusing her attention on the weapon controls, she checked all the systems again. Then she took a few slow, deep breaths to calm herself.

  “Ten seconds,” Owrik called out. “Unlock safeties.”

  Ten seconds? Saracasi thought. As she disengaged the weapon’s safety, she felt more confident. Those last twenty seconds had seemed like an eternity. Maybe she would have more time to lock on and fire on the Alliance ships than she’d thought.

  “Alliance convoy on sensors!” Owrik shouted. “Police interceptor firing EMP on lead SPC!”

  The Alliance SPCs appeared on her targeting scopes, and Saracasi froze for half a second. All other thoughts went from her mind except that now she had to shoot at real live people. She was now going to try to kill people who were what her brother used to be: serving their government and protecting their people by being in the military.

  “Fire!”

  Maarkean’s shout broke through her thoughts, and Saracasi squeezed the trigger. Her first few shots blew holes in the dirt around the SPC before she remembered to lock her target. As they flew over the convoy, she rotated the turret to stay fixed on the SPC and kept firing.

  In the time she thought it would have taken her to blink, they were suddenly out of range of the convoy, and she stopped firing the weapon. She looked at her sensor display, but the convoy was now lost on the ground. Saracasi had no idea if she had hit the SPC or if they had managed to destroy it.

  “One SPC took minimal damage. We only sustained a few minor hits to our shields,” Owrik said.

  “They’ll be better ready for an attack next time,” Maarkean said flatly. “We’ll need to be, too. Signal the Chimopori and make sure that we’re all focusing on the same target.”

  Owrik relayed the message, and Saracasi took advantage of the momentary lull to wipe her hands on her pants. Shifting in her seat, she tried to get herself into a better position. Taking another few deep breaths, she tried to keep herself from worrying about her mistake on that first run. If things continued like that, this would all be a good waste of time.

  “Coming up on the second convoy,” Owrik said.

  The SPCs in the second convoy suddenly appeared on her screen, and Saracasi locked onto the lead vehicle without hesitation. She unleashed blaster shots as fast as the turret would allow. She also noticed blasts coming in from the Chimopori. As they flew over the convoy, she was startled when the SPC suddenly exploded.

  “That’s one down!” Owrik said excitedly. “Moderate damage to our shields with some minor hull damage. There were definitely more of them firing at us that time.”

  “Twenty-nine to go,” Maarkean said soberly.

  As Maarkean took them toward the third convoy group, Saracasi tried not to think about the fact that she had just killed almost twenty people. It was a sobering thought that she wanted to suppress. Distraction could get her or her friends killed.

  A warning from Owrik brought her attention back. “I’m reading a dozen enemy fighters coming in from above.”

  “Signal the other ships; we’re leading them to our trap. Saracasi, shift to air targets,” Maarkean ordered.

  The ship rotated, and the sky was once again above them. Maarkean altered the heading of the ship away from the city.

  Early in the mission planning, Zeric had decided that their single SPC would be no use in the defense of the city. While its shield would provide protection and its gun would add firepower, it would be a giant target. Going up against thirty other SPCs, it would mainly serve to draw fire.

  After Zeric’s assessment, Maarkean had decided on a better use for the SPC. Taking it and the small supply of anti-air weapons they had taken from Dantyne, Lahkaba and Pasha Nolan had gone outside the city and set up a hidden position on a hill overlooking the area. Covered up with local brush, the SPC and volunteers with shoulder-launched SAMs – surface to air missiles – waited as an ambush.

  Saracasi switched the targeting computer from ground mode to regular mode. She began scanning for the incoming fighters, but they were still outside the range of the targeting system.

  That did not last long, however; before she expected them, the fighters suddenly appeared on her screen. Then the dozen fighters multiplied by two, almost immediately growing to twenty-four targets on her screen.

  Half of them began approaching at double their previous speed. It took the computer a second to recognize the new targets as incoming missiles.

  Ignoring the sudden shouts of warning from Maarkean and Owrik, Saracasi immediately began laying down a defensive firing pattern toward the missiles. Fortunately for her, the incoming missiles appeared evenly distributed among the other ships – only two were heading toward them. She watched as the missiles rapidly advanced toward them despite her unrelenting fire.

  As the missiles ap
proached, she continued to fire and was finally rewarded with one of the missiles exploding. Her elation was short lived as the second missile continued to come.

  Just when she thought she might be able to hit it, the missile suddenly vanished from her firing arc as the Cutty Sark swung in a sharp maneuver. She watched the missile begin to make a change to follow them, but it was moving too fast to turn before impacting the ground. Watching the missile detonate into the ground, Saracasi stopped holding her breath and gulped in several lungfuls of air.

  Her heart was still pounding louder than anything else on the flight deck, but it was more comforting than distracting now. At least she still had a heart to beat.

  “Both police interceptors were hit, and the Chimopori is reporting damage,” Owrik said. “Durandal and Justice are fine and have formed up on us.”

  “How close behind us are those fighters?” Maarkean asked.

  “Almost within weapon range and closing.”

  “Time to destination?”

  “They’ll be on us before we get there,” Owrik replied.

  Saracasi was only half listening. She was still trying to get over their close brush with death. Her mind kept coming back to a newly passionate belief that they needed to get more advanced targeting software so the turret could better serve as a missile defense.

  Then Owrik’s last statement sank in, and she recognized that their brush with death was not quite over.

  Turning her attention back to the console, Saracasi rotated the turret toward the ship’s aft section. She watched as the Alliance fighters’ range to them rapidly decreased. It was not long before they were in the effective range for the turret. Selecting the lead fighter, she began blasting away at it.