by Jay Allan
But I have been outmaneuvered, schooled by Anton Samovich in the true artistry of propaganda. I was foolish, naïve, believing truth had its own power. But what good is truth if no one believes it? And are the civilians my people are forced to kill any less dead because they themselves acted on lies?
My soldiers didn’t kill the men of the planetary armies, but they have killed civilians. Indeed, the toll mounts hourly as reports come in, scouting parties encountering armed gangs…and defending themselves. And then there is Nyrob…a whole town destroyed, every inhabitant massacred. I recalled the troops involved, and in my initial rage I swore to stand them before a firing squad for what they had done. My soldiers are not barbarians, and I will not tolerate such conduct.
I am grateful they were so far forward, that it took hours to get them back to headquarters, for it gave my temper time to wane. Then I listened to their report…of the men killed, tortured and then hanged in the town square. I cannot approve of what they did, nor can I excuse it. But I understand it. And I’m an old enough soldier to know this will not be the last—or the worst—incident if the people of Earth continue to regard us as butchers and traitors.
I fear now for the safety of the teams I sent out, the men who are even now finding their way to homes…in Russia, in Poland, throughout Europe and China. I even sent a squadron of airships to North America. Perhaps this was a waste—or my own prejudice causing me to send people to my own home, though I myself could not go. But now what would become of those men? They are in grave danger, clearly. Will they be greeted as family, as old friends? Or will they be attacked and murdered before they are even recognized?
I asked myself last night if I would recall them if I could…if I would hold them back were I able to do it all over again? I wanted to say yes, to torture myself with the undoable. But the answer was clearer than I could have imagined, and when I whispered it to myself there was no doubt. No. No, I would not have kept them back. For, though their task has become vastly more dangerous…it is also even more essential. If we are to undo the damage Samovich has done, to expose his horrific lie, it will have to begin with these men, embracing mother and fathers. Telling their stories to brother and sisters and childhood friends.
Anton Samovich controls the media, and his lies begin at the top, and filter down to an entire world. But our truth—the truth—must start at the bottom, at dinner tables and around fireplaces…and it will have to rise slowly, spreading, expanding as it does.
I always considered the teams an important part of our strategy, but now I realize that our entire future, success or failure in this great undertaking, lies with them, on the survival of trust and love between a thousand men and their friends and families. Down to such things, the fate of a world has come to rest.
“General, we’re getting reports from all along the left flank. We’ve got an enemy division hitting our lines.” Karl Young stood at attention as he spoke. Like the others who’d been with Taylor since the beginning, he tended toward informality around the AOL’s commander, at least until the fighting started. Young’s demeanor had tightened in the past two days, ‘Generals’ replacing ‘Jakes,’ and his posture improving until it smacked of parade ground precision.
“I know, Karl.” Taylor allowed his friend the formalities, though truth be told, he hated it. He endured the revered stares the rest of the army gave him, but Young was like a brother to him, and every crisp salute made him long for the days of firebase Delta, when six young men, as close as friends can be, would gather together and dump out their meager assortment of rations, somehow creating the Erastus equivalent of a feast. He hadn’t appreciated those moment enough, he now realized. Gehenna was a hellish place, no doubt, and the fighting there was fierce and dangerous. But now, for all the soldiers following him, for the power he wielded, part of him longed for those simpler days, to watch Bear pull bits and pieces from ration packs and throw together something altogether edible, all the time torturing his buddies with stories about racks of ribs barbecuing on the spit. Or even sitting up late playing poker with homemade cards on nights it was just too hot to sleep. But the past was the past…and the present had urgent need of his attention.
“I saw the scanning reports. The lines will hold. They’re well dug in, and the UNGov forces are not experienced in this kind of fighting.” He felt a wave of guilt, remembering times he’d been on the lines, facing what had seemed like overwhelming enemy strength, and he wondered what officers had made such pronouncements when he and his friends had been the ones in the shit. “They’ll take some losses, but we just can’t weaken the main force now. We both know we’ll have a big fight on our hands as soon as we clear the mountains. If we detach forces to deal with every distraction, we won’t have enough to face their main army.”
Young nodded. “Yes, sir.” Taylor could tell his friend understood…but also that he was still troubled. He also knew there was nothing to be done about that. He had led these soldiers here to win this war, and that is exactly what he intended to do, no matter what the cost. And his generals would have to deal with it in their own ways, just as he would.
“What about the infiltration teams, Karl? Anything new?” Word had reached HQ of a dozen teams killed or captured, but none of groups reaching their destinations. Their mission had become even more crucial in the aftermath of UNGov’s propaganda program, and Taylor was starting to get worried. He hadn’t expected immediate results, but with each passing day the silence was growing ominous.
“Nothing, Jake.” Young slipped back to his normal informality. “But it hasn’t been that long yet. Give it some time.”
“Time,” Taylor replied. “You’re right, of course, Karl. But time is not our ally. Every day that passes means more UNGov troops in the field. Every day is another wave of civilians attacking our patrols…of our men killing misguided townspeople.”
Young looked back wordlessly, and Taylor returned the stare. The both knew there was no answer. All they could do was continue according to plan…and wait to see what happened.
* * *
“At least half a dozen ground stations should have detected us, Rod. I’m amazed they haven’t sent a squadron up after us yet.” Vic Illuri sat at the Dragonfire’s controls, his eyes wide open, darting between the cockpit and the scanner displays. “But still…nothing.”
“Their air power took it hard, Vic. The battle around the Portal cost them a lot of their strength. Those Tegeri AA batteries are incredible.” A pause. “I’m just damned glad they didn’t use them against us back on Juno.” Rod Charles sat in the commander’s seat, though he was a ground pounder, not a Dragonfire jockey. And instead of the normal five man crew, there were a dozen of them crammed on the airship. Between the added weight and the fact that only two of those onboard were experienced flight crew, if they did run into any serious resistance, they could find themselves in trouble very quickly. “Besides,” he added hopefully, “we’ve got some serious Tegeri ECM in this bird, so with any luck we’ll slip across the Atlantic like a ghost. We’re up here worrying about intermittent signals, but down on the ground they’re probably thinking we’re weather patterns or some kind of reflection…anything but an airship where they’re not expecting one.”
“Let’s hope. I still don’t trust those aliens. I know it was UNGov that did everything we blamed them for, but still…” Dave Neelin’s voice came from behind Charles, from the senior gunner’s position.
Charles could see several of the others nodding absent-mindedly. He understood their thoughts, even though he knew they weren’t really justified. The Tegeri had supplied the AOL with food, weapons, ammunition. They had given the AOL high tech systems like the AA batteries…and the stealth units that gave their Dragonfire a chance to evade detection as it flew almost twenty thousand kilometers. But it was still difficult. Humanity may have been the aggressor, but it was still hard to forget years of war…suffering, hardship, watching friends and comrades die.
“C’mon, Dave,�
�� Charles replied. “They’ve done everything they said they would. And for all you’ve been through, they endured the same thing. And we started it. Just ’cause most of us didn’t know that doesn’t make it not true. Focus your anger on UNGov…and put all that angst into convincing the people back home the AOL is here to free them all.”
“I’m going to take her up another five thousand meters…okay, Captain?” Illuri was the pilot, but Charles was the highest in rank and the de facto commander of the ship.
“Do whatever you think is best, Vic. This is your thing, not mine.” Charles turned his head, looking around the cockpit. There weren’t enough chairs, and there were troops sitting on the floor all around. “Just get us there. Get us home.”
“Home,” Neelin said. “It doesn’t even sound real. It’s been so long.” His voice was soft, distracted.
The airship was silent, only the sound of the engines breaking the calm. Charles knew they were all thinking about what they would find when—if—they got back home. It had been a long time for some of them, more than ten years for Charles, less for some of the others. And more too, at least in the army as a whole, though Charles knew he was the longest-serving of those on the ship. Everybody in the AOL knew it had been eighteen years since General Taylor had left his home, almost two decades.
There was excitement in the air, but fear too, trepidation at what they might find. Would loved ones be dead? Would they be like strangers? Would they look at their long lost sons and brothers and friends and see monsters, as UNGov had indoctrinated them to do?
* * *
“Move it, all of you…they’re on to us, and there’s no time to waste.” Stan Wickes stood out in front of the building waving his arms as the rest of the team came running down the street. The mission had gone well…mostly. The charges were in place, and in about ten minutes, UNGov was going to get a good idea just what the Resistance could do. His people had been at it for hours, planting charges, setting timers, and slipping away to the next target. But then their luck ran out. A random patrol caught a pair of his people finishing up with the last set of explosives, and all hell broke loose.
Wickes and the rest of the rebels moved in to try to save their comrades, and a confused firefight erupted. The fighters of the Resistance held their own…until UNGov reserves began arriving. Things were about to go really bad when the two rebels trapped inside the building detonated their charges, killing themselves, and most of the UNGov forces positioned just outside.
The rest of the team had frozen in shock, all except Wickes and his half-century old battle reflexes. He’d screamed and shouted and harangued his people into making a run for it, yelling to them that their friends had sacrificed themselves to give them an escape. He wasn’t sure they’d get away, but he was damned determined that they try.
Carson Jones and Devon Bell had brought up the rear, and they ran up and through the door. Wickes took a last look down the street, but he didn’t see anyone. That didn’t mean a thing, he knew. He suspected he couldn’t even count the surveillance devices his people had passed. UNGov’s security headquarters would be analyzing input from every camera and spy device in the city, deploying their computer-controlled algorithms.
For the next ten minutes, at least, Wickes thought with a rush of grim satisfaction. Unless they find the bombs before then there won’t be a security HQ.
“Down the stairs,” he yelled, as he followed Bell and Jones down the hall. “Then through the hole in the cellar wall into the next building.”
The Resistance had planned their uprising for years, and they had contingencies and preparations for every eventuality. Wickes would lead the team through the adjacent building and then under the next avenue, using the almost-collapsed subway station there. By the time his people came back up to the street, they’d be two avenues and six streets away, not safe by any means, but a little farther from the hottest spot. From there they’d have a quick run to the waterfront, where their backups were waiting with the underwater gear. Then they’d suit up and swim through the old flooded tunnel to Brooklyn…and one of their rapidly dwindling supply of safe houses.
He ran to the stairs after Bell, closing the rickety old door behind him and barricading it with a heavy timber. Then he reached out, grabbing onto the shards of the wrecked railing and felt his way down into the darkness.
* * *
“Captain, I’m picking up something strange.” Illuri looked back from the pilot’s seat, staring at Charles for an instant before he turned back.
“What is it, Lieutenant?” Charles got up from his seat and stepped forward, stopping right behind the pilot’s chair.
“It looks like some kind of firefight, sir.”
“A firefight?” Charles leaned over the pilot’s shoulder, looking for himself.
“Do we have troops here, sir? In North America? Another Portal maybe?” Dave Neelin sounded skeptical even as the words escaped his lips, but he stared at the captain expectantly, nevertheless.
“No, we don’t have any troops here,” he replied. “Another couple of teams like us, but they’re all behind us. We’re the first ones from the AOL to get here.”
“So who is that down there, Captain?” Illuri angled his head, looking up at Charles. “Cause that’s southern Manhattan, and there’s one hell of a fight going on down there.” He paused a few seconds then: “What should I do, Cap?”
Charles just kept staring at the screen. He had no idea what was going on. He knew he should forget what was happening, that he should order Illuri to follow the flight plan, to veer away from New York City and land thirty klicks out as they’d planned. The Dragonfire was probably the stealthiest vehicle in the skies of Earth right now, but that didn’t make the thing invisible. Flying over Manhattan would be dangerous. Foolish even. He opened his mouth to order the pilot to follow the original plan. But then the scanners went crazy.
“We’ve got massive explosions, sir…at multiple location in Manhattan.” The pilot’s eyes had been locked on his display, but when he looked up he could see everyone on the ship standing, looking through the cockpit. The New York skyline had been barely visible at this range, mandated energy-saving rules having long ago relegated the famous nighttime image to history’s scrapbook. But now the city was ablaze with light…explosions, and fires burning fiercely and engulfing at least a dozen buildings.
“Take us closer, Vic,” Charles said, his voice soft, half in shock. “We’ve got to find out what’s going on.”
* * *
Jones took a deep breath, and tried to steady himself. He was scared, scared shitless. But he was also elated. The sounds of the explosions, the glow of light illuminating the night sky…they had done it. The Resistance had targeted every UNGov installation in the city…offices, security facilities, even troop barracks. He knew they might not win…indeed, the enormity of what they had done almost guaranteed a response so overwhelming, he didn’t know if any of them would be alive in a week. But they had taken what chance they had.
He felt a round whip by his head so close he had to put a hand to his cheek to be sure it was still there. A week? I doubt any of us are going to get off this waterfront.
He forced himself to focus, staring down the barrel of the assault rifle. There. A UNGov security trooper, behind a crate…but just a little careless. He closed one eye and stared down the site, bringing the crosshairs onto his target, the back of the man’s head. It was only a few centimeters exposed, but Wickes had taught him to shoot…and Stan Wickes learned his marksmanship in the old Marine Corps.
He took another breath and exhaled, remembering everything the old leatherneck had told him. Then slowly, steadily he pulled back on the trigger. Then he felt the kick, heard the crack as the weapon fired. He saw his target fall as the bullet tore of the back of his skull in a shower of gray and red mist. Wickes had told him—he had told them all—that real combat was nothing like they expected, and certainly not the way it was portrayed in any fiction they’d read
or watched.
He’d just killed a man, ended a life with the pull of a trigger. It wasn’t the first…that had come a few days earlier. And he suspected it wouldn’t be the last either, not if his people were going to have any chance of getting away. Jones hated UNGov with a passion, but in the last few days he’d realized Wickes had been right. Killing wasn’t easy…no matter the cause.
He snapped his head up toward the night sky. He heard something. For an instant he thought he’d imagined it…and then it came out from behind a row of buildings and flew over the river. A chopper, a gunship…and it was heading right for his position.
* * *
“Cap, whoever that is on those docks, they’re about to get wiped. I’ve got a chopper on my screen, sir…the kind they use for crowd suppression. That thing’s got dual autocannons…they’ll clear those piers in seconds, sir.”
Charles stared through the cockpit, looking down on the scene of the fighting. They were close now, close enough to see the muzzle blasts…and the image of the UNGov gunship coming around from the east. It would be in position to fire any second.
“What do we do, sir?” Illuri asked again. “We can’t let them waste all those people.”
“We don’t have any idea who those people are, Lieutenant. And we’ve got orders…”
“That’s a UNGov chopper, sir.” The pilot’s voice dripped with venom. “I’ve watched them clear riots, sir. Too many times. I’ve seen what those rounds do to bodies.”
“I’ve seen it too, Lieutenant.” Charles’ voice was grim, uncertainty rapidly giving way to anger. He knew what he should do. He even understood it. No group of rioters was more important than getting the twelve men onboard onto the ground, to begin spreading the word of the fight that had just begun. But he couldn’t bring himself to issue the order. Those people down there…they were fighting the same struggle, somehow he was sure of it.
