Rebellion at Ailon

by T J Mott

  Chet leaned back against the basement’s concrete wall and folded his arms across his chest. “Look into for the Rebels? Or for you?”

  “For me,” she admitted. “I…I finally agreed to stop questioning him about his past. But I still want to know. Chet, I think I’m in love with him, and it pains me that he won’t let me help him sort things out. If I can find anything out, maybe I can help him.”

  Chet remained silent for a long moment with his arms crossed. “Well, I want to know, too, then. Just in case.”

  She frowned. “In case of what?”

  He shook his head uncertainly. “I don’t know. Just in case.” His expression changed as if he’d suddenly had an idea. He stepped forward to the table in the middle of the basement. “The channel’s still open with Culper. I wonder if he’s actually there?” Chet tapped the flatscreen and unmuted the audio channel. “Culper, are you still on channel?”

  The channel stayed silent for a few more seconds before a response came. “Yes, who am I speaking with?”

  “Chet Savoy. I’m Messier’s platoon sergeant for First Platoon. Hey, I have a favor to ask, wondered if you could maybe find something out for me?”

  “Uh, I can certainly try,” Culper responded. “What do you want to know?”

  Chet and Ria exchanged glances. “Can you look up the name ‘Europe’?” he asked. “I don’t know if it’s a planet or star or what, but it’s a place. There may have been a war there recently, within the past five years, probably sooner.”

  “Europe? That doesn’t sound familiar offhand, but I can do some research. How urgent is it for Rebel planning?”

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with the Rebels,” Ria answered. “Just…trying to satisfy some curiosity on something.”

  “Hmm, I see. Well, it’ll have to be a background task then. Rebel business comes first.”

  Ria nodded. “Of course, I understand. Oh, one more thing,” she added, squinting at Chet thoughtfully. “He mentioned a number. It was 1916 Europe. Something like that.”

  “Hmm, that sounds like it could be a star catalog entry,” said Culper. “Which might give me a starting point. I’ll ask Sal about it. He knows a lot more about galactic geography than me. Anything else?”

  Chet looked expectantly at Ria. She shook her head. “Yes,” Chet said. “Keep it discreet. Don’t let Messier hear about this. Report back to me or Ria Parri, please and thank you.”

  “Alright. I’ll give you a ping if I find anything.” The channel went silent.

  ***

  Thaddeus was beyond restless now. It had been three days since they’d stolen the shipment of weapons from Avennia. Three days since the war started, although no real battles had occurred yet. Three days of complete city-wide lockdown.

  Three days cooped up in a tiny hostel with ten other people, and only one hand.

  Avennia’s response to the heist was confused. The reports coming through Culper’s group showed that they weren’t sure where to look or even who to blame now. Except for a few highly-trusted moles who had remained behind, the Rebels had cleanly broken away from the Ailon Relief Foundation. Avennia clearly knew something big had occurred and that a significant amount of matèriel had been stolen by a group within the ARF. But that was all they knew.

  The enemy patrols were still performing some door-to-door searches, but they were concentrating on Ailonian-owned businesses in other areas of the city. Thad’s hiding spot in a residential sector was safe, for now, and he hoped to put Avennia on the defensive before they got to his part of the city.

  He was alone in the hostel’s hidden basement command center, mostly to get away from the others for a while. Earlier, when working with Ria’s clinic, he could wander outside the camp perimeter where the plains of Ailon sometimes reminded him of home. But here and now, going outside would result in near-immediate detention and questioning by the nearest patrol.

  Hearing the basement door open, he let out a small sigh. Light footsteps sounded from the top of the stairs, and a moment later a small boy appeared in the basement’s entrance. It was Rin. He had pale skin and red hair, just like his mother. “Hi,” said the boy.

  Thad flashed him a grin. “Hi, Rin.” He’d worried about Rin’s age and had wanted to keep the basement a secret from him. But there were no secrets in such a small building with so many people living inside.

  The boy walked up to the table and stood next to Thad, standing up on his tiptoes to look at the flatscreen display that laid there. It was showing a map of Orent, overlaid with some of the latest report data from Culper’s spies. “Whatcha doing?”

  “Studying.”

  “What for?”

  Thad chuckled under his breath. How do you explain war to a six-year-old? “To make Ailon a better place.”

  That answer was apparently satisfactory. “Oh,” Rin simply responded. “Chad, are you going to be my daddy?”

  He blinked in surprise at the sudden change of topic. “I…uh…”

  “I don’t want you to be my daddy.”

  He blinked again. “Why is that?” he asked.

  “Because Daddy died in the war. Mom says there’s another war. I don’t want you to die, too.”

  Thad tilted his head to one side. “Thanks, I think. Hey Rin, can you please go back upstairs? I have some important work to do.”

  As if on cue, the radio sounded an alert. Thad accepted the channel but left it muted while Rin slinked his way back up the stairs. “Messier here,” he announced. He scanned the channel metadata on the flatscreen. Abram, Culper, and a few other platoon leaders around the city were also connected.

  “Did you get the latest data dump?” Culper’s distorted voice buzzed through the system.

  “Yes, I’ve been studying it all morning. Your network is doing a good job and I think we have a pretty good picture of the enemy’s deployments and movements.”

  “So what do you suggest we do?” Abram’s voice. Surprisingly calm, too. Maybe he’s a little less self-centered now that things have turned serious.

  “Avennia is clearly confused and they don’t know what to expect. For the moment, we have an advantage.” He leaned over the flatscreen and tapped a point on the map. It highlighted for him, and the radio also transmitted it over the link’s bitstream so the others on the channel knew where he was looking. “This is an old Foundation warehouse that looks to have been repurposed as a command center for the troops and patrols the Army just deployed to this sector. It’s near the edge of Orent, the patrols in the area are light, and it’s within easy walking distance of the Ninth Platoon base. I suggest they attack it.”

  “To what end?” asked Culper. “I doubt we could recover much supplies, and there’s nothing too important in that area of the city. I don’t see any strategic value there.”

  Thad nodded. “Our troops are green and we need to start with fast and simple missions. Also, like you said, this point doesn’t have any real value, and Avennia would seem to agree since they don’t have many troops there. They won’t expect it. Our guys go in, attack with the intention of harassing and causing damage, not conquering the building. Then get out and go to ground before the Army can get an organized response together.”

  He then tapped a few other places on the map in quick succession. “Here are other likely command centers and checkpoints, all of a similar nature. Low value, but easy targets, far from any serious infrastructure. When Avennia begins to respond to the first attack, that unit withdraws while the next unit begins the next attack. If we do it right, they’ll be scrambling reinforcements all over the place to no effect.”

  “But like you said, those are low value targets,” Abram said. “We need to attack a high-value target.” Another map point appeared on the flatscreen. “Like this Army motorpool. A lot of the patrols take their vehicles from here. If we take it out, we reduce the Army’s influence on the city.”

  Thad shook his head. “Our men are too green and inexperienced for a frontal assault on an
Army facility. No, think of this as a live-fire training exercise. We’re flexing our muscle, sowing some confusion, and easing our troops into battle.” He knew they were going to have high losses early on. That was always the case with fresh troops. The trick here, he realized, was to give them an achievable goal that would boost morale while minimizing losses.

  “I agree with Messier,” said Culper. “High-value targets can come later, when our fighters have proven themselves. Until then, we’d just be wasting lives.”

  Thad heard Abram groan in frustration. “Very well. I’ll concede that for now. Messier, write up a battle plan that I can show the Council.”

  The radio channel disconnected, and Thad set to work.

  Chapter 22

  Ria, having decided she was now Thad’s personal assistant, was helping him get equipped for their mission. She tossed his laser carbine’s sling over his shoulder, cinching it down so that the carbine hung within easy reach of his right hand. “I don’t want you out there,” she said again as she double-checked the snaps on his jacket—not an orange Foundation jacket, but a brown-and-tan Avennian Army jacket, stolen during their secret logistics war. The Rebels had no uniform of their own, but some of their fighters had decided to dress like Avennian soldiers. The move was risky, considerably raising the potential for friendly-fire among the Rebels, but it could serve to confuse the enemy. And once the Avennians realized their enemy had the same uniform, the Rebels might even be able to maneuver the Avennians into firing upon themselves.

  It was one of many seemingly tiny little details that, summed together, he hoped would tilt the balance in Ailon’s favor. Thad needed all the help he could get on such fronts.

  “Why can’t you stay here to coordinate?” she added. “You shouldn’t be on the battlefield with only one hand!”

  “I lead from the battlefield,” Thad replied sternly. He had a long history of joining the action, whether taking his flagship directly into space battle or personally leading his Marines on boarding parties or ground action. In his experience, nobody liked rear-echelon generals, especially among mercenaries. But front-line generals could be a tremendous inspiration to the men they led, increasing their morale and fighting strength far more than anyone would suspect.

  Not that he was a general, not here on Ailon. Although he was considered a military advisor to the Rebel Council, Abram had deployed him as just another platoon leader. Still, tonight’s action was completely Thad’s idea, and many of the fighters knew that. Anything he could do to inspire them would be beneficial.

  Then Ria helped him equip his backpack radio. It was large and archaic, like nothing he’d ever used before in combat, but the low frequency it operated on necessitated a larger device and long antenna. She slipped the earpiece into his left ear and clipped the mic to his lapel. “I’ve got an idea,” she said. “Grab your laser.” He complied, wrapping his right hand around the grip and extending his finger safely above the trigger guard. She took the radio’s push-to-talk button—already on a long lead, allowing the user to clip it to the end of a sleeve if they wanted—and taped it to the carbine’s frame, within easy reach of his resting trigger finger.

  Thad nodded. “Smart thinking.” She flashed him a bright smile.

  He turned to face Chet, who was equipped almost identically to Thad. In that moment, he’d have never suspected that the Ailonian was actually a surgeon. He was a bit short, but stocky, built like a bulldog. And he looked perfectly at ease in his stolen Avennian Army uniform, with a laser carbine slung across his chest and a pair of homemade incendiary grenades hanging from his belt. “Is the platoon ready?” Thad asked.

  “The platoon is ready to deploy. I have the squad leaders on-frequency, and we’re just waiting for the order.”

  “Good. We’re the second attack in the lineup. Now, we move into position and wait.”

  ***

  Thad’s First Squad—him, Chet, the platoon medics, and a few others—were hiding beneath an overpass. It was the middle of the night, and dodging enemy patrols hadn’t been too terribly difficult. Until recently, Avennia hadn’t really needed to patrol the city, and it was clear they weren’t sure how to go about it yet. Everything Thad had seen about the opposition told him that they were not well-trained or experienced troops. Avennia had never been in what he’d consider a “real” war, and its troops were not nearly to the level of professional soldier he was used to fighting with.

  He glanced down the dark, narrow street, checking for his other two squads which hid nearby. Second Squad crouched behind a sickly-looking row of shrubberies that grew in front of a rundown three-story apartment building, all but invisible unless one already knew they were there. Third Squad was taking cover amongst a set of parked cars in a cramped parking lot outside another apartment, directly across the street from their target.

  Everyone’s eyes—well, except for Thad, whose attention was divided as he listened to the radio chatter from Ninth Platoon’s attack on the other side of the city—were focused on their target: A medium-sized two-level multifamily house which had become the Avennian Army command post for this part of the city, after the Army had evicted the several families of free Ailonians who had lived there. The house looked like many in this section of Orent, an unpainted construction built mainly of a lightweight blend of concrete and polymer fibers which was cheap to manufacture and survived well enough in Orent’s mild climate. It had a flat roof and no gutters—rain was rare here, and never lasted long—and the windows were closed up for the night.

  Two Avennian Army troop carriers and an AFPF patrol car were near the house, parked directly on the small patch of yellow-colored grass that made up the front lawn. The carriers were positioned end-to-end, parallel to the street, the formation nearly as long as the building was wide, inadvertently protecting the main door and first-floor windows from Second Squad’s position across the street. The carriers seemed empty, a mistake in Thad’s mind as he eyed the mounted antipersonnel laser on the roof of each vehicle. If he were in charge and concerned about an attack, he’d keep a soldier near each gun.

  He carefully whispered as much to Chet. “I’ll position some men to fire between the house and the carriers,” Chet answered in a low whisper. “Cut down anyone who makes a run for those guns. I really don’t want those firing at us.”

  Thad nodded his agreement. Neither do I.

  He heard footsteps in the distance and re-focused his attention on the street. Four pairs of soldiers patrolled the neighborhood, having walked right past Thad’s squads several times without noticing them. It was dark, Ailon’s tiny moon having not yet risen, and this sector of Orent didn’t have many street lamps. Remaining undetected, therefore, was incredibly simple. Thad’s fighters just needed to stay quiet and motionless. More prosperous worlds would equip their soldiers with helmet-mounted thermal cameras or night-vision goggles. To Ailon’s advantage, Avennia was either not that prosperous or unwilling to spend that much money on their military.

  Through his radio earpiece, Culper’s voice buzzed into his consciousness. “I’m getting radio reports. Several troop carriers are departing from the main garrison. It looks like the Army is sending reinforcements towards Ninth Platoon’s target.”

  Abram’s voice cut in harshly. “Ninth Platoon, break off your attack. Leave an observer, call when the reinforcements arrive. First Platoon, stand by.”

  “First Platoon, in position and standing by,” Thad replied in a whisper, tapping the push-to-talk button Ria had rigged to his carbine. So far, Abram was sticking to the script. He’d come across as an incompetent bully when Thad had first met him, and Abram had been adamant that he was in charge, not Thad. He’d been worried that the Ailonian would not even listen to his advice or battle plans. But maybe Thad’s misgivings were wrong after all.

  He let go of his carbine, allowing it to fall against his chest and hang from its sling. Chet was kneeling next to him. Thad tapped his shoulder. “First attack is ending,” he whispered to his
platoon sergeant. “Get ready.” He heard Chet whisper into his own radio, coordinating with the other two squads in their platoon, and Thad returned his attention to the house not far from his hiding spot.

  “Ninth Platoon, we’ve gone to ground. Our observer reports four troop carriers disembarking soldiers at our target. Looks like an entire platoon of reinforcements.”

  Thad nodded to himself and took a deep breath. The Army had sent what should have been overwhelming reinforcements, had they managed to arrive in time. Now, their arrival was just wasted time and effort.

  Any wasted effort on the enemy’s side was good for the Ailonian Rebels. A large portion of Thad’s strategy, as he’d outlined to the Council, involved causing Avennia to waste effort.

  He looked to his left, locking eyes with Ria as she knelt beside him in the dark. She held a carbine in her hands, and the medikit on her back seemed almost comically oversized on her small frame. Her normally-wavy red hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and even in the dark he could see hints of fear and worry in her expression. He didn’t really want her out here either, but Ailon was her world. He couldn’t possibly expect to keep her from fighting for its freedom.

  “First Platoon, beginning our attack,” he muttered. He turned towards Chet again. “Go.”

  Thad watched the dark outline of Chet’s head bob up and down in a nod. The surgeon-turned-platoon-sergeant reached for the radio controls on his lapel. “Third Squad, provide covering fire. First and Second, advance on the target. Platoon is weapons-free.”

  The unexpectedly-loud crack of discharging laser supercaps suddenly broke the night silence, echoing through the streets. Deep violet-red streaks flashed out from amongst a set of parked electric cars fifty meters from Thad, appearing impossibly bright in the moonless dark. They crossed the street instantly, some of them connecting with the patrol there, and then two patrolling soldiers crumpled.