Flames of Rebellion

by Jay Allan

  He walked across the large main room. It had been a barn, built for grain storage and not for treating wounded men and women. The conversion had been a hasty one, and there were large cables on the ground, crisscrossing their way around the room, bringing power from the village’s generator to keep the lighting on and the few pieces of advanced medical equipment running.

  Everything is so goddamn piecemeal.

  That pretty much summed up the rebellion itself. He knew there was widespread unrest across Haven, that thousands would rally to the rebels if only he could reach them, organize them.

  And that meant Sasha Nerov and Killian and the others had to make their crazy plan work.

  He walked up to one of the makeshift beds, stopping and looking down at its occupant. Alexi Rand was pale, gaunt, his black-and-gray hair hanging around his face in greasy hanks. But he was alive.

  “You look like hell.” He forced a smile. His friend was still in bad shape, but the doctors said he was going to make it.

  “I hear you’re in charge of all this now. I’d like to complain about the accommodations.” Rand’s voice was weak, but he managed to return Damian’s grin. “Damian . . . thank you. For all you did . . . for me, and for Katia . . .”

  “What’s a friend if not someone who will hide you when half the federal army is out looking for you?”

  Rand’s smile faded. “Is that why you are here, Damian? Because of us? Because we got you in trouble with the federals?”

  “No, Alexi . . . it wasn’t your fault. Colonel Semmes activated the recall provisions in the veterans’ discharges. Let’s just say we refused.”

  “I’m sorry, my friend. I know this must be difficult for you.”

  Damian nodded, but he didn’t reply immediately. Rand moved to sit up, but he only got a few centimeters before he gave up and let his head fall back. “Where is Katia?”

  Damian paused. “She’s with Jamie, Alexi. She’s been back here half a dozen times, but you were asleep. The doctors finally said you were going to make it. I think she kissed them both when they told her.”

  “I bet Jamie took that well.”

  “I’m surprised you care.” Damian didn’t think Alexi actually disliked Jamie, but the engineer had been adamantly against his daughter’s relationship with someone who faced so many challenges.

  “Are you kidding? The kid saved both our lives. Seriously, though, Katia loves him. It’s time for me to accept that. And with the way the world is falling apart, let them have what happiness they can steal.” Rand paused. “We’re all dead anyway, Damian, aren’t we?”

  Damian sighed softly. He wasn’t a man who liked lying to his friends. But he wasn’t quite ready to give up all hope either, not even if the spaceport raid failed. So it wasn’t really lying.

  “Things don’t look good, Alexi, but I wouldn’t say they’re hopeless. We’ve got a plan to get the word out, rally the entire planet. Until then, though, we’re pinned down here—if we go too far out of the woods, their air power will cut us to ribbons.

  “Listen—I’ve got to go, Alexi . . . and you should get some rest. I have a feeling we’re going to need your skills soon.” He leaned forward and put his hand on Rand’s. “I’ll check in on you later.”

  Rand smiled again and nodded.

  Damian walked toward the door. He had people out there, probably in a desperate fight even now. If he couldn’t be with them, he felt he should be in his headquarters. It wouldn’t do anything—he had no communications—but he knew that’s where he had to be.

  “I’m sorry, Asha, but I’ve made up my mind. I may have failed here, but I have no intention of being a part of what is going to happen now.” Everett sat in their shared office. It was quiet, only the humming of the HVAC system breaking the background silence. It was an odd time to be discussing business, but Stanton had called him an hour before, asking him to meet with her one more time. He had no intention of allowing her to change his mind, but he’d agreed to come anyway.

  “Everett, don’t be a fool. This business may be extremely distasteful—I don’t relish it any more than you—but it is necessary. The rebels who rebuffed all your attempts at reconciliation are at least as responsible for current events as any actions by Federal America. Your resignation doesn’t change anything about the current situation, except possibly making it worse. At least with you here, you can act as a voice of reason. And when this is over, you can help restore the planet. You know the people here and you know what needs to be done to make this place work. I can’t guarantee you won’t be dismissed anyway, but the fact that the senate didn’t send me with orders to do so immediately has to mean they see value in you being here. As do I.

  “Or, if you want, once the rebellion is over you can go back to Earth with me. I assure you I will be leaving as soon as things are pacified. I will do all I can to help you salvage your career, to share the credit for putting things in order here. We can both advance our positions.”

  Wells shook his head. “You think this is about my career? Asha, this is about what’s right. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

  “What’s right? Is rebellion right? Do these colonists think about the enormous cost of maintaining the transports routes here? The ships that ferried them so far from Earth. The navy that protected them when the hegemony and the union would have conquered their pathetic little world? God, Everett, you are a fool.”

  Wells looked across the desk at her. He had a passing urge to argue with her, to try to make her understand. But he just shook his head. They were products of the same corrupt system, and he understood how she had become what she had. And he knew the same thing could have happened to him.

  There but for the grace of God go I . . .

  Finally, he just said, “Goodbye, Asha. Be careful. Keep an eye on Semmes. You think the rebellion is all but crushed, but I know these colonists better than you. They are strong . . . and they won’t give up easily.”

  “You needn’t worry about me, Everett. Semmes is . . . controllable. And I don’t underestimate the colonists. I respect their will, and I’ll admit Damian Ward is a twist I had not anticipated. But he’s just one man, and while he’s brought with him a group of veterans, they’re still isolated and contained. They are unable to communicate in any effective manner, and that means they can’t recruit help. We know where they are, and once we have a plan of attack, we’ll rout them. Or they’ll simply run out of food. And ammunition. Their position is untenable. This will all be over in a matter of weeks. And crushing the Guardians and their allies will be a lesson to all the other potential rebel groups on this planet—not to mention the other colonies—one they will not soon forget.”

  Kill all the Guardians, and a new group will rise up in their place. Make your martyrs, though—just leave me out of it.

  “I wish you the best, Asha . . . I truly do. Now if you will excuse me, my ship leaves tomorrow, and I have—”

  The comm unit buzzed. Stanton looked down at it, startled. It was late for anyone to be calling her.

  She reached down, tapped the button on top of the unit. “Stanton here.”

  “This is Captain Polk, Your Excellency. There is some kind of disturbance at the spaceport. We’ve lost contact with all units on duty at the facility and in the surrounding area.”

  Wells sat still, listening. He didn’t know what was going on, but he had a pretty good idea things had already become more complicated than Stanton had expected.

  “I surrend—” Killian’s gun spat death, and the federal soldier fell back, leaving a spray of blood from half a dozen wounds. The captain had his orders, but he also had his experience. He’d seen phony surrenders used as deceptions, as ways to kill. It was a tactic favored by the hegemony special forces, and he’d seen comrades die as a result. Taking fighters prisoner in the middle of an operation this desperate jeopardized its success . . . and along with it the very survival of the rebellion. Besides, he’d seen the man he’d just killed shoot down two of his own pe
ople a few minutes before. He’d have roasted the bastard on a spit if he’d had the time.

  “We’ve got the communications center, sir.” Ash Tull came running up, emerging from a dense cloud of smoke in the center of the main concourse. “We disabled everything. The federal observer’s people were trying to get through, but we just shut the channel down.”

  “That should give them something to think about.” Killian looked down and shook his head. “It also means we’re going to have soldiers here . . . and soon. We’ve got to get Captain Nerov to her ship. Now.”

  “Yes, sir. Her people are already on the way. Colonel Morgan’s troops are with her.” Tull paused. “I sent a squad of rangers with them, sir. It was all we could spare at the time.”

  Killian smiled, amused at Ash’s thought that eight or ten of his rangers could somehow save the day if fifty veterans couldn’t. It was a trait of military formations, to match themselves in a hierarchy, to imagine themselves better than their enemies . . . or even their friends. He knew his rangers were capable . . . but he’d served in the war with some of the people following Morgan to Vagabond, and he knew they were damned good, too.

  “All right, Ash. I want you to take command here. You need to secure the rest of the spaceport . . . and hold off any attempts to retake it before Vagabond lifts. Then you get the hell out. You understand me? We’re here to get that ship in the air, and that’s all. Once that’s done, I don’t want one more ranger dying to hold this place. Just get the hell out. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” He stared back at Killian. “What about you, sir?”

  Killian looked out into the concourse. His vision was mostly blocked by the smoke, but he knew what lay beyond. The docking area. Vagabond.

  “I’m going to the station, Ash. I’m going to make sure nothing up there gets in the way of this mission succeeding.”

  CHAPTER 30

  LANDFALL SPACEPORT

  JUST OUTSIDE LANDFALL CITY

  FEDERAL COLONY ALPHA-2 (HAVEN)

  EPSILON ERIDANI II

  “The engines and the reactor are stone cold, Captain. We need at least thirty minutes to warm up the systems.” Griff Daniels slid into his chair, his hands flying over the controls. He knew Vagabond as well as the ship’s captain.

  Almost as well at least.

  “No chance, Griff. We’ll have to do a cold start. The reactor first . . . and then two minutes later the engines. I want Vagabond in the air in five minutes, max.”

  “Captain, that’s crazy.”

  “No argument there. But that’s what we’re going to do anyway. It’s what we have to do.” She stared at her first mate. “Griff, people died to get us here. They’re still dying. We got lucky, scored a surprise victory here . . . but do you think we really have thirty minutes? You think our escort can hold this place for half an hour? No—they can’t. So we get this ship ready, and we get the fuck out of here so they can do the same.”

  Nerov leaned back in her seat. She hadn’t intended to unload on her first officer, but she wasn’t someone who was comfortable with others making sacrifices for her. She’d seen the fighting in the spaceport, and it had been fierce. Killian’s people had taken the facility, but they’d paid for it in blood. And they were going to pay more until Vagabond was airborne.

  Daniels was silent, staring across the ship’s tiny bridge toward her.

  “I’m sorry, Griff. I know you’re right, but we just don’t have time.”

  Daniels nodded. “I understand, Captain. But if we blow up trying to launch, the rebellion is doomed . . . and everybody lost here died for nothing.”

  Sasha didn’t answer. There was nothing to say. Daniels was right. But there was still no choice.

  Griff turned back toward his controls. “Give me ten minutes, Captain. We can do a controlled reactor start in that time and get the engines warmed up a little.”

  Ten minutes . . .

  Every minute would cost lives. But the extra time would increase the chances of success, too.

  “Do it . . . but not a second more. We launch in ten minutes no matter what.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Nerov jumped out of her chair, moving swiftly through the hatch and back toward Vagabond’s cargo hold. The corridor was small, and in several places conduits and pipes ran low, forcing her to duck. But she knew every nook and cranny of her ship, and she dodged every obstacle effortlessly.

  She opened the hatch to the cargo area and stepped inside. It was full of armed men and women, rebels, combat veterans all. The force that would take the orbital station . . . or be wiped out trying.

  They were all here, a few of them gripping small handholds, but most just standing in the center of the hold.

  Nerov saw Luci Morgan. The colonel was speaking with Captain Killian. Nerov couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was obvious neither of them was happy.

  “Colonel . . .” She glanced over at Killian. “And, Captain . . . we’re executing an expedited launch procedure, so we need to get your people as secure as possible. I’m afraid Vagabond doesn’t have nearly enough berths, so we’re going to have to improvise.” She reached to the side, opening a small compartment. “These cables are for EVAs, in case we ever need to repair anything on the ship’s hull.” She pulled out two large loops. “We’ll have to string these across the hold . . . and your people will just have to hold on the best they can. It’s far from ideal, but I can’t think of any other way.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” Morgan’s tone changed, the anger Nerov had seen virtually gone, replaced by at least some level of respect. “We will manage.” She turned and looked out over the mass of her troopers. “Sully, Hastenbeck . . . get over here and take these cables. We’ve got to string them around the bay so you grunts have something to hold on to.”

  Nerov watched for a few seconds. Then she went back toward the bridge. She glanced at her chronometer. Six minutes to launch.

  She stepped through the corridor, reaching out, touching the cool metal of the wall to the side. Vagabond. Her ship . . . almost her child. She knew she was taking a crazy risk . . . and even if it worked, the federals would retake the spaceport. Win or lose, she knew she wouldn’t be landing anytime soon.

  C’mon, old girl, we’ve been through a lot, you and me. But this is the tightest spot we’ve seen . . . don’t let me down now . . .

  She stepped through the hatch and headed back toward the bridge. She looked down at her chronometer.

  Five minutes . . .

  “What the hell is the problem up here? The order is forward. Are you going to let yourselves get bogged down by a bunch of rebel scum?”

  Johnson looked up at the officer. He didn’t know Captain Crandall all that well, and what he knew he didn’t like.

  “Sir, they’ve got two heavy autocannons . . . situated there . . . and there.” He pointed out toward the spaceport as he spoke. “We need to move around, approach from a different—”

  “Your orders are to attack, Sergeant, not to second-guess strategy. Those people are nothing but criminals, traitors. They won’t stand against a concerted assault.”

  Johnson caught himself before he said what first popped into his mind. He was sick and tired of these officers from the anti-insurgency forces. They considered themselves elite soldiers, but they were nothing more than bullies, used to crushing unarmed mobs. But Johnson had seen the revolutionaries in combat. Up close. And he had no doubt the forces in the spaceport were the best the rebels had.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Take your troopers in, Sergeant. The entire platoon is to move forward at once.”

  “Yes, Captain.” He turned, looking down the line at his troopers, most of them prone behind a small berm. “Prepare to assault!”

  He could see the soldiers looking back at him; he could feel their fear. He wasn’t sure they would even follow him forward . . . but he was certain none of them would get to those guns.

  He grabbed his rifle and he waved it ove
r his head. “Platoon . . . advance.” He jumped up over the small lip of ground, and he ran forward. There was no enemy fire, at least not for the first few seconds. He suspected the rebels had limited ammunition, precious rounds they wouldn’t waste firing at his soldiers in cover.

  He glanced back, getting a glimpse of his people surging forward. He didn’t know if they were all moving, but at least some of them were. He pushed harder, realizing there still wasn’t any fire.

  Maybe we caught them sleeping! Maybe they’re out of ammo . . .

  He felt a surge of excitement. They were a good third of the way to the enemy now. Perhaps his people would take the position after all . . .

  Then he heard it. A loud crack, ripping through the air. And all hell broke loose.

  The rebel autocannons roared, and all across the frontage of his platoon they spread death. His troopers began to fall, one at a time at first and then in clumps.

  The soldiers hesitated, frozen in the middle of the field for a few seconds. It was the worst thing they could have done.

  The autocannons ripped into their ragged line, and Johnson saw them going down. A quarter of his people were hit . . . then a third.

  The fear speared him in the gut, a terror like nothing he’d experienced before. His people weren’t going to make it to the rebel guns. He wasn’t going to make it. And if he didn’t get them out of there he wouldn’t have any soldiers left.

  “Retreat!” His voice was ragged, his panic clear. “Run! All of you . . . run!”

  Even as he yelled to his soldiers, Johnson was fleeing himself. Not sure that it even mattered. There was nothing in his mind, no thought save the need to escape . . . and the choking fear.

  “They’re running!” The ranger turned from the autocannon as he spoke, the weapon falling silent as his finger slipped from the trigger.

  “Maintain fire.” Ash Tull was crouched behind the position. He’d handpicked the two spots for the autocannons—an educated guess on where the federals would attack. His people had given them a bloody nose, but he knew they would come again . . . and they would move around, find a less protected spot to assault. He didn’t have enough people to defend the spaceport, not for long. With the casualties they’d suffered and the people Killian had taken on Vagabond, Tull had less than thirty rangers left. And they had to cover kilometers of spaceport perimeter.