by Jay Allan
Marek pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the matter at hand. He wished he had Anton with him, but he’d sent the tough old sergeant to scout the approaches to the armory. Anton and his scouts would give him warning when the Feds were coming; he was sure of that. He’d hesitated before sending Anton out, but he needed reliable strength estimates on approaching federal forces, not just a panicked message that they were coming. He could count on Anton to keep his cool and get him what he needed. If there was too much strength coming, he had to clear his people out and try to get away. Losing a fight here could end the resistance before it even began.
He had 83 men and women, plus the six he’d sent with Anton. They were here to secure and load the militia’s weapons, not to attack the Feds. But they were ready to fight if necessary. The 15 or so veterans present knew what that meant; the others would get an education quickly if shooting started. They were good men and women, sturdy colonists and his friends and neighbors, but Marek had no idea how most of them would react under fire.
He had called out his militia battalion, but he couldn’t use the normal communications channels without alerting the Planetary Advisor, so he’d sent messengers. It was a slow way to get out the word, and it would be at least two days before they could muster the unit, or at least a good chunk of it. By then the Feds would have confiscated the weapons in the armory and Marek’s troopers would be throwing rocks.
“John, the transports are almost fully loaded.” Jack Winton was older than most of those present, but he could keep up with any of them. He was tall and still muscular; he had at least 15 kilos on Marek. He owned a major transport firm, with a large fleet of vehicles moving shipments all over Columbia. Winton was a veteran, but not a Marine. He’d been a naval officer early in the Second Frontier War, head of engineering on a heavy cruiser. He and the rest of the crew had come close to spending eternity on a ghost ship, zooming into deep space at high velocity with the com and engines knocked out. They managed to get communications back online and send a distress call out before they were too far into deep space. They were rescued by two fast attack ships that matched vector and velocity and docked with their crippled vessel. Ending up on a ghost ship was the deepest fear of the veteran spacer, and the prospect of spending eternity frozen solid at his post as the ship careened into deepest space proved to be the last straw. He retired soon after, settling on Columbia and fixing up a broken down transport he bought with his retirement bonus. Now he had a successful business and dozens of vehicles moving all sorts of freight.
“Great, Jack. I want them out of here in fifteen minutes, fully loaded or not.” Marek had been facing away, but he turned to look at Winton as he spoke. “At least we’ll know we got something out.” Not enough, though, he thought. Winton had only had three transports close enough to get here on short notice. He had more inbound, but it would be another hour, maybe more, before they arrived. “Make sure those loads are balanced. No sense taking guns and no ammunition. We can’t rely on getting more trucks out.”
Winton nodded. “Got it, John. Each transport has a mix. Even if only one gets through it will be useful.”
“Ok, let me know when your other transports are fifteen minutes out.” He was going to add a few extra comments, but his com unit buzzed. “Marek here.”
“John, it’s Lucius.” Anton’s voice was distant, tinny. The militia communicators weren’t military grade, not by Marine standards at least. “I’ve got Feds inbound to your location, loaded up on light transports. Company strength at least, and fully armed.” There was a brief pause, then: “ETA your location ten minutes.”
“Acknowledged.” He turned to Winton. “Now, Jack. Get your trucks moving now, whatever is loaded.” Winton nodded and headed toward the loading area at a run. “Lucius, get back here ASAP.”
There was a brief pause. “John, I think we can do more good out here. If we hit them before they get to the armory we can make them deploy. They won’t know what’s out here; we’d probably hold up the whole crew.”
Marek smiled to himself. This was what he’d expect from Anton, and tactically the veteran sergeant was right. But the situation wasn’t that simple. “Negative, Lucius.” Marek paused, formulating how he wanted to say what he was thinking. “First, you’ve got a few factory workers and fishermen with you, not a crack squad. If you start something out there alone, you’ll just get them all killed…and yourself too. And I can’t lose you, not this early in whatever we’re starting here.”
“I know, John, but I was thinking we could just…”
Marek interrupted his friend. “There’s more to it, Lucius.” He hesitated until he was sure Anton had stopped talking. “They haven’t fired on us. You’re talking about ambushing a group of Feds who haven’t done anything yet. We can’t be the ones who start this; it has to be them.”
There were a few seconds of silence as Anton realized Marek was right. “I understand, John. We’ll be back in a flash.”
“Thanks, big man. I need you here.” Anton had only considered the tactical situation, but Marek was looking at the political dimension as well. He knew Alliance Gov would lie and propagandize however they thought was useful, but he didn’t need to give them ammo. Besides, he thought, it would just be wrong. He didn’t doubt it would come to violence, but it hadn’t yet. The colonists didn’t want to fight Alliance Gov; they didn’t want to shoot people from Earth. They just wanted to be left alone. “That’s the difference between us and them,” Marek muttered softly to himself.
He reached up and worked the controls of his headset. The minute they’d arrived he had militia comlinks issued to everyone. Good communication was important to a well-drilled unit of veterans; for a hastily organized bunch of amateurs it was essential. The militia equipment wasn’t what he was used to as far as range and ease of use – and it certainly didn’t come with a suit AI to help manage it all – but it was what they had.
“Attention all personnel.” He paused a few seconds. They’d hastily programmed their network, and Marek’s com was set as the lead unit. His systemwide broadcasts came through on every headset regardless of any other communications going on, and he wanted to give everyone time to focus on what he was going to say. “We have Federal Police inbound, close to 100.” It was more like 150, according to Anton’s reports, but Marek didn’t want to scare his rookie soldiers too badly.
“We have a strong position and ample warning. We are well prepared to defend ourselves if that is necessary.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I said, ‘if necessary.’ I want everyone to be clear on this.” He paused again. Make this point firmly, he thought. “We will not back down, but we are not looking to start a fight. No one fires until I give the word.” He stressed the next part. “No matter what.”
He had experience commanding troops in battle, and the force he had here was not enormously larger in scale from the platoon he’d led on Epsilon Eridani IV. But it was different in every other respect. He had to command them firmly or they would keep thinking of themselves as his friends and neighbors and not their commanding officer…and that could get them all killed. Of course, the problem was he wasn’t their commander, at least not officially. They had no real organizational structure, no ranks, no formal sub-units. Some of those present were from his militia battalion, but the rest were pure civilians. We’re going to have to do something about all of this he thought…assuming we survive tonight.
“I want everyone to stay in their positions. Stay focused and just do the job.” He softened his voice, more the sympathetic friend now than the ramrod commander. “I know you’re all scared. There is no shame in that. I’ve been scared every time I’ve been in battle, but you need to control it, deal with it. If you keep your cool and stay focused, you’ll come through just fine.”
He hoped he was telling them what they needed. He’d never commanded anything but veterans and well-trained professionals before. He remembered what his first drop was like, and how much he’d depended on his squ
ad and platoon commanders to pull him through the fear and doubt…and that was after he’d had six years of training. This war was going to be different, very different.
“You are my friends, my neighbors. When I fought before, the Marines at my side were my brothers and sisters, but the battlefields were worlds we’d never seen, places on a map.” He took a deep breath. “This is our home. What we do now will determine what type of place it will be, not just for us, but for generations not yet born.” His volume was increasing, his voice thick with emotion. “They faced such a test on Earth long ago, and they failed, bequeathing to their children a life of tyranny and destitution.” He paused again then shouted, “We will not fail!”
The roar on the comlink was deafening, a cacophony of cheers and screams of, “We will not fail.” They are as ready as I can make them, Marek thought as he listened. I hope I am as well.
The cheering fell silent as someone began shouting. “Vehicles outside!” The voice was shrill, stressed. “John, they’re coming through the outer gate!”
“Troy?” Marek thought the voice was Troy Evans. Troy was barely 18, and Marek could hear the youth in his voice. “Is that you reporting?”
“Yes, John.” His voice was softer, but still shaky. “It’s me.”
“Identify yourselves when you report. All of you.” Marek snapped the command. The time for speeches was past. “I need data, Troy. Numbers, types of vehicles. Are they disembarking?”
“Umm…I understand, John.” He was scared, and it came through loud and clear. Marek wished they’d had time to set up a more complex communications net. Everyone didn’t need to hear everything.
“Focus, Troy.” He was firm but patient. That’s all he can take, Marek thought. I’ll just push him over the edge if I pressure him too hard. “Just concentrate and get me hard info.”
“Yes, John.” His voice was a little steadier. “It looks like at least a dozen vehicles. They’re stacked up at the gate, so it’s hard to tell how many.”
“Good, Troy. Keep me posted.” Bad tactics, he thought, lining up at the gate like that. They had to expect us to resist, so why would they make themselves easy targets? Are these Feds so arrogant they think they have nothing to fear from a bunch of colonials? He muttered softly to himself, his hand over the mic on his headset. “If they force us, we’re going to teach them a hard lesson.”
Marek walked toward the front of the building. The armory was a large plasti-crete structure, very solidly built, with two frontal access points and a big loading dock on the side. The loading area was enclosed within heavy ‘crete walls, and he had the outer gate heavily garrisoned. He had a team on the roof, positioned to provide a good field of fire no matter how the Feds approached.
“Attention.” The amplified voice was almost deafening, even inside. “You are illegally occupying government property and holding federal personnel hostage.” Marek looked around the room. All his people looked steady so far, at least the ones he could see. “By order of His Excellency Arlen Cooper, Planetary Advisor of Columbia, you are to lay down your arms and surrender at once.”
There was a long pause. This is where we’re supposed to get scared, I guess, Marek thought. He snorted. I’ve faced a lot worse than you before, buddy. He was standing behind a workstation with screens displaying the input from the outside cameras. He could see the shadowy figures disembarking from the lead vehicles, deploying to the left and right.
“Failure to comply immediately will result in immediate action. You have one minute to respond.”
Marek almost ordered his non-existent AI to connect him to the outside speakers, but he caught himself. He realized how accustomed he was to having the very best equipment, how different this fight would be than the ones he’d been in before. Compared to the way a Marine assault force was equipped, his people might as well have sharpened sticks. He reached down and flipped a switch.
“Attention federal commander. This is Major John Marek, commander of the 3rd Weston Battalion. I am duly authorized by the Planetary Assembly to conduct all operations I deem necessary to maintain the readiness of the force under my command. Your people have not been harmed, and they will be released to you at once.”
Marek flipped off the switch and turned to Aaron Davis, who’d been standing behind him outside the door to the room where he’d locked up the captive Feds. “Get the prisoners. Bring them to the front entrance.”
“You’re going to release them?” Davis blurted out what he was thinking and immediately looked sorry.
“Just get them,” Marek snapped. If we get through this, he thought, we’re going to have to a long talk about military discipline. This is starting to feel like a commune. “I want them outside in sixty seconds. Move!” Davis was already on his way to get the prisoners, but Marek decided to add the last bit anyway to make a point.
He flipped the switch and reactivated his microphone. “Federal commander, your personnel will be released in one minute. Stand by.” No threats or interruptions, Marek thought. At least this Fed isn’t a totally unrestrained jackboot. He’s cool enough to wait until I release his people before he starts threatening me again. Maybe, he thought, just maybe we can get through this without fighting. But he didn’t really believe it.
“Attention all personnel.” Marek spoke slowly and clearly into the comlink. “The federal prisoners are being released. Hold all fire. I repeat, hold all fire.”
Marek waved his arm toward the door. Davis just nodded, not saying anything this time. He pushed a button and the plasti-steel door slid open. “Ok, get moving.” His voice was sharp, clipped. He was following Marek’s orders, but he clearly disagreed. He pushed the prisoners toward the door, hitting the button and closing the hatch as soon as the last of them was out.
Marek watched the released prisoners walk through the gate then flipped on the speaker. “All personnel have been released. This is a lawful Columbian militia installation occupied by forces under a duly-appointed field officer. You are respectfully requested to withdraw at…”
“You are ordered to disarm and surrender at once.” The federal commander interrupted Marek. “In thirty seconds we will take the installation by force.”
“Federal commander, you have no right to attempt to seize this facility.” Marek knew it was a waste of time, but if there was a chance to stop what he could see coming, he had to try. “Withdraw at once.”
There was no response. Marek flipped on his headset. “All personnel, prepare to repel an assault.” He paused. “Stay focused, stay calm. Just do the work.” Stay calm, he thought...that sounds great. Who the hell has ever stayed calm in battle?
He watched the whole thing unfold on his screen. The police came forward, rushing for the front entrance. Marek couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The assaulting troops had no heavy weapons; they just rushed the building. He was going to have to make a decision. Open fire or let them get to the door. He flipped the switch on his headset, still not knowing what he was going to say, and then he heard it. A single shot – Marek couldn’t tell which side had fired it. For an instant the sound hung in the air, a solitary crack in the night. Then both sides started firing wildly.
The Feds in front of the building were caught out in the open and raked by fire from Marek’s carefully placed troops. Marek couldn’t understand what they were thinking. “Arrogant fools,” he muttered to himself as he watched his people on the roof massacre them. They thought they’d just walk up to the door, he thought, and we’d all panic. The federals fired sporadically up at the roof for a few seconds before they broke and ran.
“Cease fire.” Marek barked the order into his headset, but the shooting continued. “Cease fire, goddammit!” Marek screamed into the mic. The fire sputtered to a halt, a few more shots ringing out until he yelled one last time.
The field in front of the building was strewn with dead and wounded. The rest of the federal force was running away or desperately climbing into their vehicles, throwing down their weap
ons and abandoning their wounded comrades.
“Lucius take your people and follow them.” Anton’s team was still outside the complex, well positioned to tail the Feds. And Marek could count on him not to do anything unfortunate. “Just make sure they retreat to Weston and don’t try to regroup and come back.”
“Acknowledged, lieuten…I mean John.” Anton’s combat memory was coming back, and the last time the two of them were in the field, Marek was lieutenant and Anton a sergeant. “Don’t worry; we’ll stay out of their way.
“Thanks, Lucius. Keep me posted.” He switched to the general line. “Doc, do we have anyone hit?” Jarod Simmons wasn’t really a doctor, but with ten years’ service as a medtech in the Corps, he was the closest thing they had to one.
“No, John.” Simmons’ voice was odd, high-pitched and nasal. It always surprised Marek, especially considering Simmons was over two meters tall and weighed better than 100 kilos. “I checked, and everybody seems OK.”
“Good.” Marek took a deep breath. He expected someone to complain about what he was about to say. “I want you to go out and see what you can do for the wounded Feds.” He paused, but Simmons, at least, didn’t object. “Aaron, put together a five man detail and help Doc.”
There was a long pause, then: “Yes, John.” Davis sounded like he had just tasted something bad, but he didn’t argue.
“Jack, how are we doing on those inbound transports?” Marek was reviewing his mental list of the most important weapons and equipment. They’d just bought time to load up another batch of supplies, and he wanted to make the most of it.
