Tree of Liberty

by Wayne Basta

  The technicians manning the stations inside didn’t put up a fight. They weren’t armed, but Zeric ordered them stunned anyway. No sense leaving potential threats right in the room with him.

  After helping the injured marines inside, Zeric sealed the room and disabled the locking mechanism. It wouldn’t be hard for the Alliance to bypass the lock or blow up the door, but it would slow them down a little. Every advantage they could get would help.

  “What’s the situation?” Zeric asked as the marines took over the techs’ stations.

  “Disengaging shields now,” Sergeant Obod Ocif, the squad’s leader, said. “Tam, how’s the wounded?”

  Tamarynn Farr, the squad’s medic, looked up from a marine with a stomach wound she was tending. “Not too bad, considering. But this one needs to stay off his feet.”

  “You heard the doc, Private. Don’t move,” Zeric said with a pointed look. Marines didn’t like being told to remain seated. He then clicked on his comm. “Sigfa, how’s your team?”

  “Intact, for the most part. We’ve reached the main battery. Two guns are clear of Alliance troops. The rest are being defended,” Sigfa Neith said, his voice strained. “We’re as clear as we’re going to get in the near term.”

  “Hold tight, help’s on the way,” Zeric said and then switched his comm frequency. “Major, begin your assault.”

  “Aye, we’re coming in,” Ymp said, an excited lilt to her voice.

  Zeric took a seat at one of the terminals and started bringing up security footage. He watched as the main body of the Rogues ran across the open field toward the Alliance base. With the shield disengaged, no barrier stood between them.

  When he had started calling the marine force he put together “the Rogues,” they had mostly consisted of former mercenaries and criminals. As recruiting efforts on each planet had picked up, those original roguish figures had been joined by upstanding citizens, but the name had stuck. Now, after fighting on Sulas for months, the name encompassed more than just the battalion of marines who had come to Sulas. But they were still doing what they had been assembled for—fighting an impossible fight in unconventional ways.

  With some of the main guns taken out by Sigfa’s team, the attacking force received less counter-fire than they normally would have. The understaffed base further helped. Still, this base, even understaffed, had far more defenders and defensive emplacements than the isolated gun batteries they had taken when first arriving on Sulas. The advance was not without casualties.

  Nervously, Zeric watched through the cameras as marines and soldiers dropped. He wanted to get out there and help, but his team had to stay and secure the shield control room. If they lost it, and the Alliance got the shield back up before all the Rogues were inside, they would be cut off from reinforcements.

  The first wave reached the security wall around the base. Zeric lost track of them on the camera, but a wave of dust and smoke appeared, suggesting they had breached the wall. More and more Rogues appeared, rushing toward the base.

  “We’ve got incoming,” Obod said, drawing Zeric’s attention back to the control room.

  He looked up and saw a team of Alliance soldiers moving down the hallway toward them. Zeric pointed out defensive positions for the few marines he had with him and then took a place behind one of the control panels. He hoped the fight didn’t do much damage to the control systems—if they won this fight, it would be good to have control over the shield.

  The camera footage vanished as the soldiers destroyed it. Any time now, Zeric thought. Tense seconds went by, filling him with aggravation. He hated the waiting before a fight more than pretty much anything else. At some point in the very near future, he would have to fight for his life. He didn’t want to die, but he wanted to wait for it even less.

  “Ah, screw it.” Zeric stood up from his position. “Grenades ready,” he said, drawing his last one. He gestured for the marines nearest the door to pull it open.

  As it slid back, he and the others lobbed their grenades, then the marine slammed the door shut again. Several muffled explosions could be heard through the door.

  Zeric gave a count of three and then the marines pulled the door open again. Zeric charged out, firing his rifle before him, not bothering to aim. After he was clear of the door, he dropped into a crouch on the left side, allowing the others to follow him. Now that he wasn’t moving, he gave himself a second to scan the scene.

  Two Alliance soldiers lay dead right outside the door with explosives at their feet. Zeric fervently hoped they hadn’t yet armed the explosives—otherwise, he wouldn’t get to put up much of a fight. Beyond them, crouching near the dead bodies of the room’s original guards, was another squad of Alliance soldiers.

  Taking careful aim now, Zeric slowed his breathing and slipped into his killing trance. He let go of conscious thought and let his training take over. Moving quickly from soldier to soldier, he aimed his rifle and fired off three quick shots. He tuned out the other members of his squad and the blaster fire coming back at him.

  Seconds or years later, after scanning the area and finding no more targets, Zeric felt the adrenaline receding. He took a second to check himself for injuries. His left shoulder had been hit by a grazing shot, but the arm was still usable. He could worry about it later.

  Others in the squad would not be so lucky. Obod had been killed and another marine was severely injured. That left him with four able-bodied marines and three injured ones. Plus Kumus, he remembered. The boy had remained in the control room, firing his rifle from inside it, just as Zeric had told him to do.

  “Corporal,” Zeric said, cursing himself for not being able to remember the Kowwok female’s name, “let’s get Sergeant Ocif and the injured back inside.”

  The corporal nodded and then bent down to drag Obod’s corpse inside. It was, in some ways, an unnecessary waste of effort, but Zeric didn’t like the idea of leaving the man, even dead, to lie beside their enemy. The marine had been with him on several raids and was a good soldier. He deserved better than that.

  Once everyone was again inside the relative safety of the control room, Zeric ordered the door almost sealed and placed one of the uninjured marines to stand guard, looking out of the narrow opening. He then moved among the injured, checking on their condition.

  Two had relatively minor injuries, slightly worse than Zeric’s own graze, affecting their ability to walk or shoot. However, the third marine had a severe gut wound and was slowly bleeding out. He had been injured in the original fight for the control room but hadn’t obeyed his orders to stay back in the last fight, exacerbating his wound.

  Zeric helped the medic, Tamarynn Farr, bandage him up again, but he could tell by the expression on her face that things didn’t look good. Once they finished, he pulled her aside. “How is he, Doc?”

  “Not good, General,” Tamarynn said. “He needs emergency surgery.”

  Zeric frowned. They couldn’t make a surgery happen anytime soon. “Do what you can from here. This will all be over, one way or the other, soon.”

  Positioning himself near the door, Zeric settled down to wait. When the Alliance squad had cut off his camera, they had cut his feed to everything. The only thing this room had control over now was the shield generator itself, but that was all they needed.

  Tense minutes turned into an agonizing quarter hour. Zeric resisted the urge to call for a status report from Ymp or Sigfa. They were busy, and there was nothing he could do by calling them other than distract them.

  After almost an hour, the marine at the door let out a muted alarm. “Movement!”

  Zeric moved into a crouch from the relaxed position he had been in. The others all raised their weapons, taking careful aim at the door. Holding his rifle to his shoulder, he prepared for the next round of combat.

  “General Dustlighter?” a familiar voice called out.

  Zeric felt his shoulders slouch as relief washed over him at the sound of Sigfa’s voice. “In here, Lieutenant. We’re cl
ear.”

  The marine at the door slid it open, revealing Sigfa Neith and a squad of marines carefully stepping down the hallway over the dead bodies of Alliance soldiers. Sigfa gave them a grim smile. “The base is 90% secure, sir. There’s still some holdouts in the barracks, but they’re contained. All our forces are inside the perimeter.”

  “Excellent,” Zeric said and turned to Kumus. “Reactivate the shield. Alliance reinforcements can’t be far behind.”

  Sigfa shook his head. “No, sir, they aren’t. They already have us surrounded.”

  Zeric looked up in surprise. There was no way the Alliance could have redeployed troops here that quickly. The nearest base was at least thirty minutes away by air, and there would have been delays in issuing orders and gearing up. They should have had at least another hour before having to face reinforcements.

  “There’s more, sir,” Sigfa said. “The base’s main orbital guns have been disabled.”

  “Disabled?” Zeric said, thinking. “That means they thought we might take the base. And they would only think that if they knew we were coming. This was a trap.”

  Sigfa nodded. “Looks that way, sir.”

  Zeric shrugged and then said with a smile, “Well, the joke’s about to be on them.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Waiting was the universal constant in all military operations, Katerina mused. The enlistees and NCOs always blamed their officers for the long periods of inactivity. The officers blamed their senior officers. And now that she was the senior officer, she blamed the enemy. No matter the cause, there was always a lot of waiting.

  She sat in her office off the main operations room she had at her disposal. All around the fleet, crewmembers were at their stations, prepared for combat that would not begin for some time yet. One advantage of being the senior fleet commander, rather than a ship captain or task force commander, was that she could hide in her office, as she had nothing to do right before a battle.

  According to their intelligence, the Dotran fleet should have just arrived. Katerina had positioned her fleet twenty light minutes away from Ailleroc—far enough away to avoid detection, even by a cautious Dotran commander, but close enough that the Dotran would not have enough time to do any significant damage to the planet.

  She was assuming, of course, that Lahkaba hadn’t lied to her, which she doubted, although there was still the chance that the Dotran had lied to Lahkaba or had changed their plans. Either way, while redeploying her forces here had left several openings for the rebels to exploit, that was a small matter compared to potentially letting the Dotran seize control of an Alliance world. The rebels, at least, were originally Alliance citizens.

  Her last thought triggered an idea. Activating the comm, she said, “Major, have Maarkean Ocaitchi brought to my operations room.”

  There was only a second of confused hesitation from Anderson before she said, “Aye, Admiral.”

  Bringing an enemy combatant, even a prisoner, into a command center during an operation was unorthodox, but the process of breaking the rebel leader was going slowly, and this coming battle gave her a chance to try a new tactic.

  When the signal finally arrived from Ailleroc announcing the arrival of a Dotran fleet, Katerina let out a sigh. She hadn’t been duped after all—though she thought she would have preferred being a dupe. Now she had to go fight a major battle that would costs hundreds—or, more likely, thousands—of lives.

  Moving from her office into the operations room, a miniaturized CIC, Katerina surveyed her staff. They were all competent officers and crew, but this would only be the second battle most of them had ever seen—actually, the first real battle, as the pounding she had given the rebels over Sulas hardly counted as a battle.

  She felt a moment of comfort at the sight of Dolan standing in the operations room, coordinating things once again. After the techs had cleared him to return to duty, the first thing he had done was to hand her his resignation, citing the loss of his ship and task force as a court-martial–worthy offense. While he would have to face that court martial eventually, it could wait. She needed him here now.

  Katerina looked over the initial report that came in from Ailleroc. The Dotran fleet was smaller than the numbers Lahkaba had given her. Either the Dotran hadn’t sent as many ships as promised, or the rest were still to be deployed. She waited another five minutes to see if any new data came in before issuing orders.

  “All ships, this is the fleet commander. Jump to preassigned positions. Begin Operation Coldmountain,” Katerina said over the fleet-wide comm.

  Together, the ships of her fleet activated their hyperdrives and jumped the relatively short distance to Ailleroc. She had deployed them in a wide net formation around the concentrated Dotran fleet, like she had against the rebel fleet at Sulas. The net pinned the Dotran between her and the defensive batteries of the planet.

  The trip to Ailleroc took only a fraction of a second. Her main display began to light up with enemy contacts as data from the fleet filtered in. It had been a long time since she had faced a Dotran fleet in a battle, and the last time had also been here, over Ailleroc.

  Even though she now enjoyed the element of surprise, she didn’t have a clear advantage. Even with all the ships from the MEF, her fleet was outnumbered compared to the Dotran. Her crew had also been on station for more than a year without relief, while the Dotran had left home only a few months ago. At best, she could call their positions even.

  For the moment, Katerina left the task of beginning the engagement to her taskforce commanders. She had overall authority over the battle, but there was no need to interfere. Waves of fighter craft launched from both fleets and accelerated toward each other.

  The capital ships began firing, though this was another area where the Dotran had an advantage. Any shots her fleet fired that missed would continue on until they hit something or the energy dissipated. In the vastness of space, this meant nothing, but with Ailleroc providing the backdrop for the battle, many shots would hit the planet. However, the atmosphere would dissipate all the weaker blaster bolts, and most of Ailleroc had advanced protective shields around the major population centers. The odds of any missed shot hitting an unshielded town were remote, but still there.

  “Admiral,” Dolan said beside her, “we’ve got new enemy contacts.”

  Dolan brought up the new contacts on the tactical display, and what she saw caused Katerina to smile in appreciation. The Dotran commander had left a rear guard force just in case he ran into an ambush. Clearly, she was not fighting an incompetent.

  “Task Group 42, reorient and engage new enemy targets,” Katerina ordered.

  Now things were going to get interesting.

  Maarkean hadn’t seen another living person for several days now. The Alliance guards had taken Lohcja away without explanation and had never brought him back. Maarkean suspected that it was a trick to make him worry. After the treatment they had received when they were first captured, he supposed it was possible that something terrible had happened to Lohcja. But he doubted it, based on his read of Admiral Sartori.

  Even though he wasn’t really worried about Lohcja’s health, being alone and isolated still had a profound effect on him. He hadn’t realized how much having Lohcja there had helped him hold onto his sanity. The simple act of having another person to talk to had kept his mind in check. Having another person there to remind him why the Alliance was the enemy had also helped.

  When the guards came for him, he expected to be taken to another interrogation session. He walked with them through the ship’s corridors, but their destination turned out to be an operations room. The room buzzed with activity, and displays showed tactical data. It appeared that a battle was in progress.

  Made to stand in a corner of the room, away from everyone else, Maarkean watched as Admiral Sartori directed a battle against someone. He had a brief hope that it was against the Union, but then he changed his mind. That would mean his sister would be out there.
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  During a lull in activity, Admiral Sartori turned to look at him. “Come over here, Major. Take a look at the battle.”

  Curious, Maarkean walked over to the tactical table. He got a better look at the holographic display. What he saw shocked him.

  The sensor data indicated that the ships the Alliance fought were Confederate warships. He identified the nearby planet as Ailleroc. Why were the Dotran attacking the Alliance?

  As if in answer to his question, Sartori said, “Your rebel friends have allied themselves with the Dotran. We’re at war with the Confederacy.”

  Shaking his head, Maarkean said, “No, they would never do that. We rejected the idea of working with the Dotran months ago.”

  “It seems they’ve changed their minds,” Sartori said. “Once again, the entire known galaxy will become embroiled in a war for control over this sector of space.”

  Maarkean felt his heart sink. He had never wanted war with the Alliance, but on Enro, he had felt there was no choice. He had fought to ensure democracy and freedom for the people of the Kreogh sector. Never had he imagined it would result in another war with the Dotran.

  Suspecting—hoping—that he was being manipulated, he asked, “How do you know the Union sided with the Dotran, and this isn’t just the Confederacy being aggressive on their own?”

  Sartori sighed. “I wish that were the case, but we have confirmed evidence.”

  She activated one of the smaller monitors and brought up the image of a prison cell. Maarkean recognized the white furred figure of Lahkaba sitting in the cell. When was he captured? he wondered.

  “Former delegate Lahkaba came to us a few days ago and turned himself in. He had decided he could no longer support the rebels after they joined the Confederacy. He made a deal to reveal their attack plans in exchange for your former cellmate’s freedom,” Sartori explained.

  The sight of the Confederate fleet had been a shock, but this news left Maarkean speechless. Lahkaba had betrayed the Union? He had been one of the founding delegates. It had been his convictions that had helped bring Maarkean over to the rebels’ side.