Vengeful Dawn

by Richard Patton

  “I think you’re reading too much into it, Ken. But in all seriousness, making sure the movie accurately represents what’s happening out there is just as important – maybe more important – than reporting on it. Let’s be honest: more people watch movies than watch the news. Or listen to podcasts like this one. No offense to our profession, but it’s true.”

  “Of course, of course. Now, there’s the draft to consider. Everyone – well, I say everyone, but you know what I mean – everyone’s joining the Navy now, voluntarily or otherwise. Do you think it’s better that they go into it with that romanticized vision of the military that movies offer, or do they deserve to know the truth?”

  “Of course they deserve the truth. That’s what I’m consulting on the movie for. To make sure it’s not romanticized.”

  “But that doesn’t make for a good movie.”

  “Well, obviously they’ll have to romanticize it a bit. But who’s to say all those clichés about heroes and stuff can’t come true? People find love on the battlefield. They become heroes. They ‘discover’ themselves or whatever. It’s just my job to mix in a bit of the reality with the ideals.”

  “Now, let’s talk about that reality a bit. Like we said earlier, you’ve been covering the war for four months now, and somehow, we haven’t had a chance to talk about it yet. So, here’s the question I’m sure is on everyone’s mind: what can you tell us about the Naldím?”

  “Well, I’m not sure what won’t get redacted by the IMB, but I can tell you they’re a lot bigger than you expect.”

  “You’ve been up close to one?”

  “Only dead ones. Still, they’re big suvs.”

  “Speaking of big, I understand you spent some time on the Imperium.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “I imagine if there was ever a way to get draftees excited about heading out there, it’s telling them about the Navy’s biggest and baddest war machine.”

  “It’s certainly that. I got the full tour of that boat, which took a while, obviously, and I can tell you it’s impressive. Has something like seventy guns and, apparently-”

  This audio has been redacted under Section Five of the Imperial Media Bureau Public Disclosure Act.

  “Okay, looks like we’re not allowed to talk about that, Jenna.”

  “I guess not.”

  “But it brings us to an important point: a lot of the news that reaches the Core is sanitized. We can’t know what’s happening out there, not really. For national security, of course. But I’m curious what you can tell us, Jenna.”

  “I think the most telling aspect of this war is the numbers. And I can give you numbers. Since the official declaration of war, marines have fired nearly a hundred billion rounds. That’s billion with a ‘b’. Ships have fired ninety-five thousand shells. Eighty-three thousand missiles have been launched. Forty-seven new battlecruisers and destroyers have joined the Second Fleet. A new piece of mobile armor rolls off the line every twenty minutes.

  “But here are the important numbers. Six hundred and nine thousand non-draft recruits to the Navy. Five hundred and fifty-three thousand civilians safely evacuated from Frontier worlds. Twenty-one colony worlds accepting refugees. Nine million non-enlisted volunteers. Three trillion – trillion – points in war bonds purchased.”

  “That’s… that’s truly amazing. And I think it’s safe to say the numbers speak for themselves.”

  “Definitely. And this number is the one that shouts the loudest, in my opinion: human casualties. So far, at least – ”

  This audio has been redacted under Section Five of the Imperial Media Bureau Public Disclosure Act.

  Trust Issues

  The surface-to-orbit railgun and missile platform SOD-0B57 was the most expensive installation ever to grace the backwater planet of Vigilant Nine. The system was in the middle of nowhere, but because it was the only system in this particular section of nowhere, it served as an important bottleneck between the outer and inner Frontier worlds, and had proved an invaluable asset during the Frontier Disputes.

  Now the Naldím controlled it.

  Consequently, the Navy deployed the Second Fleet’s entire Alpha flotilla to recapture the planet, and with it, Captain Riley Clay’s Special Planetary Armor division. He studied the battlefield as he and his gargantuan command carrier were delivered to the surface.

  It was immediately clear why SPA had been called in to fight this particular battle – the installation was on top of a plateau, only accessible via a broad slope on one side. Every other angle of approach faced a sheer cliff face backed by both Naldím’s defenses and the station’s. It had to be a forward assault. Luckily, SPA excelled at that.

  The command carrier and a fleet of artillery trucks were set down a klick away from the plateau amongst thousands of troops. Clay stood from the captain’s chair and peered out the window. There was nothing but mud and rocks for as far as the eye could see. Still, it was better than the interminable ice that had surrounded him on Carmine Five. At least here it was warm.

  Clay didn’t bother issuing any commands upon touching down – there was no need. SPA and the marines that accompanied them were unparalleled experts in frontline combat. Within minutes the marines had dug their initial trenches and lined them with every gun they had. The artillery rolled up behind them and unpacked their payloads. Fifty cannon barrels rose majestically skyward until they had locked onto their distant targets: rows upon rows of Naldím bunkers dug into the slope leading up the plateau. Even from a distance, Clay could see the shining silver armor of the Naldím’s own artillery. He could only imagine how many more enemies awaited them inside the compound.

  The position secure, Imperial scouts crept forward to map out the next trench line.

  “Sir,” the comms officer called from over Clay’s shoulder, “All SPA elements report ready.”

  Clay loved this part. With a single word, he unleashed all the destructive might of the Empire’s premiere siege division. “Engage.”

  Fifty cannons. Hundreds of machine guns. Thousands of rifles. They all fired at once. The slope exploded like a firework display of mud and debris. At this distance, the infantry had no hope of targeting any individual enemy, but the sheer force of their combined fire guaranteed they had some effect. The cannons were even more effective, alternating between air blast shells to hammer the Naldím entrenchments and armor-piercing shape charges to rip through their guns.

  After several minutes of unceasing fire, Clay ordered the division to relent. “Never get tired of that…” he muttered to himself. “Target status.”

  “Good effect on target,” the comms officer relayed from the leaders on the ground. “Five times enemy artillery neutralized. Numerous enemy casualties.

  “Excellent,” Clay said, bouncing over to the comm station. “Move everyone forward. Helm, bring us up behind them.” He patted the comms officer on the shoulder. “Sun is shining, Nellies are running scared… today’s going to be a good day.”

  The siege force moved toward the objective in hundred-meter increments, stopping each time to place temporary barricades and bombard the Naldím again. After an hour they reached the foot of the hill, and Clay ordered the final charge. Thousands of marines rushed the Naldím’s battered entrenchments, utterly crushing the enemy with their overwhelming numbers. Only two hours after landing, they had arrived at the installation’s front door.

  Clay was a little disappointed the Naldím had not put up more of a fight, but he supposed there was still the battle in orbit to be won. With the guns in Imperial hands now, though, that would also soon be over.

  “Uh, captain?” the comms officer called over to him.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Marines have breached the compound, but there’s a problem.”

  “Much as I love a guessing game, we don’t really have time,” Clay joked.

  The comms officer looked somewhat confused by what she was hearing. “The Naldím aren’t controlling the objective. Rebs
are.”

  Clay cocked his head at her. His usually ceaseless smile faltered. “Umm… what?”

  “Rebels, sir. Frontier Terrorists.”

  “I know what a fritting Reb is!” Clay spat, his temper flaring. “What in Hawking’s name are they doing in there?”

  “Not sure, sir. But they want to talk to you.”

  *

  Clay recognized the flag fluttering above the installation’s courtyard – it belonged to the Confeds, one of the groups responsible for instigating the Frontier Disputes. They were by no means the worst rebel cell, but a Reb was a Reb.

  The marines and the Rebs were locked in a tense standoff when Clay arrived. Among the opposition was a woman in heavy combat armor, a rifle almost as large as her slung across her back. She was the only one of the hundred fighters without a weapon aimed at anybody.

  “Captain Clay, I presume?” she said upon spotting Clay. She started forward to greet him but was quickly discouraged by the number of Imperial weapons that turned to face her.

  “Say your piece,” Clay shot back. “It’d better be a formal surrender.”

  The woman smirked. “No so much a surrender as an offer.”

  Clay almost laughed. “I don’t know if you’ve looked outside recently, but you’re not really in a position to negotiate.”

  “Just hear us out.”

  Clay sighed. Admittedly, he was mildly curious as to what she had to say. “You have one minute.”

  “When the war broke out, we knew how valuable this place would be. We also knew you Navy boys were too busy in the Reach to bother with it. So, we came in to hold it.” The woman motioned at the sky and the orbital battle high above. “Lucky we did. When the Naldím got here, we managed to fend them off.

  “Now, the weapons are useless to us without the authorization codes. Maybe the Naldím thought they could hack it, but we can’t. Either way, I think they figured it was better we held it and weren’t able to use it than to let you get your hands on it. But now you’re here.”

  “Are you getting to a point?” Clay asked wearily.

  “I’m offering to defend the installation for you. Give us the codes, and we’ll target any Naldím ships that enter the system. That frees up your soldiers to fight where they’re needed while keeping the guns under human control.”

  This time, Clay did laugh. “You must think I’m a fritting suv. The instant I give you the codes, you’d shoot the Navy right out of the sky.”

  “We’re all on the same side here, captain,” the woman argued. “This isn’t about the Empire versus the Rebs. It’s about humans versus Naldím. We’re fighting for our survival.” She paused, studying Clay’s incredulous look. “If it helps you believe me, I do have some conditions.”

  “There it is,” Clay mocked. “Of course, you have an angle.”

  “It’s simple: amnesty for the Confed army once the war is over.”

  “You people are terrorists. You’ve already been sentenced.”

  “Maybe. But I have a feeling this war is going to give everyone a little perspective. After that, who knows how those sentences might change.”

  “They won’t,” Clay said firmly. “We’re done here.” He turned on his heel and stalked away.

  *

  “That facility is a kill box wrapped in a grinder coated in traps. We’re gonna lose a lot of troops going in there.” Clay’s tactical adviser hunched over the backlit map of the compound, marking zones where he predicted the highest casualties.

  “We were ready to lose them when we thought the Naldím controlled it,” Clay countered. “Compared to them, a few Rebs will be a cakewalk.”

  “The Rebs are on our side.”

  “They’re on their side. You can’t trust a Reb.”

  “All due respect, sir, but do you really want to bet hundreds of marines’ lives on your own prejudices against these guys?”

  Clay stared the officer down. Normally, he welcomed constructive criticism. But today was not normal. “My orders stand. Get the troops ready to breach the compound.”

  “Yes, sir. We’re looking at about thirty minutes prep time. Men gotta lick their wounds.”

  “That’s fine,” Clay said, taking a deep breath. “Just get it done.”

  “Sir!” the comms officer called suddenly. “Naldím signatures entering atmo.”

  Clay was by her side in two quick strides. “How the hell did they get here so quickly?”

  “One of their carriers punched through our blockade,” the officer reported.

  Clay swore under his breath. With the SPA command carrier still at the foot of the hill and the slope blown to hell, his forces were sitting ducks against a counterattack. There was only one secure position. “Contact the Rebs. Tell them we’re locking down the AO. We’ll discuss terms later.”

  *

  Twenty-one minutes later, the command carrier had been evacuated and the entirety of Clay’s forces had garrisoned the installation. The captain once again met with the woman in charge, who only now got around to introducing herself as Adi Meher, and coordinated the defense of the position.

  “MGs along the wall, obviously,” Clay said, marking his ideal emplacements on the map, “and snipers up here in the tower. I’ll send a few marines out to secure the Naldím’s trenches. Some of them are still good enough to use. The rest of my troops will be stationed here, here, and… here.”

  “Where do you want mine?” Adi asked.

  Clay circled a tactically useless position deep within the compound. “Here. Way the hell out of my way.”

  “You’re frittin’ kidding.”

  “Often. But not about my soldiers’ safety.”

  “We’re on the same side, captain,” Adi argued. “What do you think we’re going to do? Wait for you to rout the Naldím then shoot you in the back?”

  “The thought crossed my mind.”

  Adi jabbed a finger at the door. “I have men and women out there who want to fight the Naldím. They traveled from all over the Frontier to get here, knowing most of them won’t come back. Can you say the same about your draftees?”

  Clay stared hard at her. He had never looked a Reb in the eyes before. Not really. It was a strange feeling – like being face to face with a predator one had only ever seen from behind the safety of glass or a television screen. But his resolve held.

  “You’re staying in the middle, end of story,” he said firmly.

  Before Adi could further object, Clay’s tactical officer appeared, skidding to a halt at Clay’s side. “Sir, they’re here.”

  “Who?”

  The officer looked confused for a moment. “The Naldím, sir. They’re landing ahead of schedule.”

  “How’s our line?”

  “We’re not ready. Not by a long shot.”

  Adi didn’t hesitate. “We’ll secure the slope. Buy you some time.”

  “The trenches are shot to hell,” Clay’s officer countered. “There’s no cover out there.”

  “Did I stutter?”

  The officer shrank under Adi’s withering gaze. “No, sir.”

  Adi started towards the gate. Clay grabbed her arm. “You go out there, you die.”

  “Didn’t think you’d have a problem with that. Besides, we don’t go out there, and we all die. I told you my soldiers were ready for this.”

  Adi wrenched herself free of Clay’s grip and went to round up her troops. As they assembled at the gate, making final checks on their weapons and securing their ragtag armor, Clay could see the resolve in their eyes. They knew what they were getting into.

  One of the soldiers noticed him staring and gave him thumbs-up and a sad smile. Clay’s gut twisted. Hesitantly, he approached Adi, who was strapping into salvaged FAST armor. “Captain, sergeant, whatever you want to call yourself,” he started.

  “‘Adi’ is fine,” she answered, smirking.

  “I can’t grant you amnesty. And I can’t vouch for you.”

  “You’ve made that clear, Captain.�
��

  “But I can lose track of you.”

  Adi stopped mid-buckle. “Come again?”

  “After the war. I don’t know what public opinion will be. But if I’m ever asked to look for you, to bring you to justice, I’m sure I won’t be able to find you.”

  “And what about this place?” Adi asked.

  Clay took a deep breath. “My troops will pull out once the position’s secure.” The corners of his mouth twitched – the most of a smile he could muster given the situation. “I think it’s in good hands.”

  Retired

  Jackson flew down the mountain slope on skis. Up ahead, Hailey jumped off a mogul and landed ten meters downhill, continuing her race down the course. Jackson crouched into a tuck and went straight down the mountainside as Hailey pivoted left and right in a more traditional route. As Jackson passed Hailey, she called out, “Hey!”

  Not to be outdone, Hailey crouched down and followed him. They were nearing one hundred kph and nearing a sharp turn. Jackson straightened up to bleed some speed and make the turn. Hailey didn’t. As she careened down the slope, she measured and calculated. At the last possible millisecond, she stood upright to kick out her skis and turn before slamming into a massive tree trunk. She sprayed the tree with snow. She quickly tacked in the opposite direction, misting Jackson as she passed him once again to take the lead.

  Jackson laughed. Nice, Comet, he chuckled to himself, thinking that the codename she had used as a Wraith was incredibly appropriate at that moment. He brushed the snow off his goggles and took off after her.

  *

  In the lodge at the bottom of the mountain, Hailey and Jackson enjoyed hot chaiko in front of a roaring fire. The retired Wraiths debated the wisdom of taking such chances as Hailey had done on the mountain.

  “I wasn’t taking a chance,” she claimed. “I had it all spec’d out.”

  “But you don’t know what you don’t know,” Jackson countered.

  “Ah, you don’t know what you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hailey replied with a smirk.