Rebellion at Ailon

by T J Mott

  But the Lynx was still yawing around at nearly a thousand revolutions per minute. It couldn’t maneuver and it couldn’t shoot with any accuracy.

  She opened up the two missile ports, acquired a lock, and fired. Two fresh sensor contacts appeared on her tactical display, accelerating away from her gunship and rapidly closing the ten kilometers between the two ships. Several moments later they hit their target and detonated. Her damage control systems flashed warnings as the warheads’ radiation struck her own ship, too.

  One fusion warhead was more than sufficient. Two fusion warheads was complete overkill. But she didn’t care. It was only a simulation; neither warhead would be coming out of her budget.

  The simulated Lynx instantly broke up into a million pieces which flung out in a flat circle due to centrifugal force. It disappeared from her tactical map, and its infrared return on the sensor board was replaced by a million new dots that rapidly expanded into a growing disc-shaped cloud of sensor contacts.

  Then Poulsen shut down her weapons turrets and activated her hyperdrive. The simulation shut itself down and all its displays went into standby mode.

  ***

  Poulsen walked into Commodore Reynolds’ office. Commodore Cooper was present, as was Captain Laraby of the Lynx, and her own XO, Vacek. “Lieutenant Commander Poulsen, reporting as ordered.”

  “At ease,” Cooper said, looking annoyed. “You know, I’m starting to agree with Marcell on some things. All the Commodore this, saluting that, reporting as ordered…The strict, proper military protocol thing can be extremely annoying at times.”

  “Maybe it was my intention to annoy you, Commodore,” she replied flatly, remembering the Gray Fleet vessels that had interfered with her training skirmish.

  Cooper pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, shook his head, and shot a pained glance at Reynolds. “Next time I try to salute Marcell just to annoy him, please slap me and tell me to knock it off.”

  Reynolds sighed lightly. “Commander Poulsen, I have a mission for Ghost Squadron.”

  She frowned. “Sir?” A real mission? She didn’t feel nearly ready for that. If anything, she was less sure of herself than ever. If she could screw up her first exercise that badly, she didn’t even want to think about what could happen if she made a decision that wrong in the real world. Can I lead so many people to their deaths for real? She remembered that day, years ago, when she’d learned that the Hyberian Raiders had been completely destroyed in the Sapphire Cluster. They did everything right, and still they all died. She wondered if the Hyberian leadership had felt the same fears she felt now.

  “We received an urgent request for reinforcements from Admiral Marcell at Ailon,” Reynolds explained. “Apparently he got involved in a war there, and he has an immediate need for additional starships and infantry. I’m ordering Ghost Squadron to Ailon. Once there, assist the Ailonians in any way necessary. Admiral Marcell is operating under an alias and you are not to break his cover, so he may be somewhat difficult to locate. But once you’ve met up with the Admiral, you’ll be under his command for the remainder of the mission.”

  She looked at the group. She already felt like a screwup, and so part of her told her it must be a simple, straightforward mission, else they wouldn’t be trusting it to her. On the other hand, there were two Commodores and a Captain present. That seemed like a lot of rank just to give a Lieutenant Commander simple orders.

  “Infantry?” she asked. “I hate to point this out, but I can’t carry troops aboard Lancers.”

  Reynolds nodded. “That’s why I’m sending the Lynx with you. They’ll provide additional firepower for your squadron, and they’ll also be carrying a company of Marines to help reinforce on the ground.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. So the Lynx was going with her. She wouldn’t be in charge after all. Captain Laraby would be in overall command until they could locate Marcell.

  “Now, Commander,” Reynolds continued, “you’ll have a very experienced starship captain at your disposal. Please remember that, and don’t be afraid to ask for guidance. But remember, you are in overall command of this mission. Trust your instincts, don’t second-guess yourself out of your decisions, and remember that things are often both simpler yet more chaotic than they first seem.”

  “I’ll be Captain Laraby’s commanding officer?” she said in surprise, her mouth continuing to hang open as she finished her words. She stole a glance at Laraby, who didn’t seem disturbed or upset at all.

  Reynolds nodded. “That’s correct, Commander, I’m attaching the Lynx to your squadron for this mission. I’ve already forwarded you everything we know regarding Ailon’s situation as included in Marcell’s report. You have five days to get Ghost Squadron briefed and organized. After that, head to Ailon at best possible speed.”

  “Sir,” she said carefully. “Frankly, I don’t think Ghost Squadron is ready for a mission.”

  But Reynolds completely ignored her remark. “Marcell was adamant that the situation is dire and he needs help as soon as possible. Ghost Squadron now has the fastest starships in Blue Fleet, with the Lynx close behind after their recent reactor overhaul, and with a frigate in your midst you’ll have plenty of firepower to deal with any Avennian warships.”

  She locked eyes with Reynolds. Gone was the jovial, grandfatherly image he normally projected, and in its place was the serious battle-hardened expression of someone who knew he was sending people into danger. “Any questions?” he asked her.

  She thought for a moment, wondering if this was another of his tricks. She couldn’t think of any questions, but if she left without asking any, he might reprimand her for missing something. “Are there any questions you’re wanting me to ask?”

  Cooper chuckled. “You’ve really got her wound up tight, don’t you?”

  Reynolds ignored Cooper’s jab and shook his head. “No. I’m not playing games with you Poulsen. If you have no questions, you’re all dismissed. Good luck.”

  She nodded, and turned to leave. Both Vacek and Laraby followed closely behind her as she returned to the Ghost Squadron facilities.

  Chapter 33

  “Ten seconds to reversion.”

  Lieutenant Commander Amanda Poulsen stood on the bridge of Ghost 1, with her heart suddenly pounding in anticipation, staring out the viewport into the blackness of hyperspace with her hands clasped behind her back. She was glad to be back aboard her own gunship, having had just enough time to finish the hyperdrive upgrades before leaving Headquarters. She mentally ran over the details from Marcell’s message again, trying to lock his alias and cover story into place in her mind.

  She really didn’t understand why he went to Ailon. Especially by himself. Something in his mind had clearly snapped in the aftermath of the Waverly mission, and he was no longer the same man. Even she could see it and she’d only met him in person a few times. And as she’d learned from working beside many of his Organization’s top officers while training up her new squadron, they were all concerned about him, although, in true mercenary fashion, most of them would continue on, regardless of changes in the Organization’s mission or direction as long as Marcell’s huge paychecks still cleared.

  A loud clunk sounded, shaking the gunship’s modified frame, and the stars reappeared outside. Her eyes scanned across the void, quickly locating a nearby world somewhat to port. From the distance, it looked like a barely-inhabitable dustball. She could see almost no water on the surface, and the equatorial and temperate latitudes were a yellowish-tan color that implied a barren world without much vegetation. Only a few sparse, wispy clouds were visible. One thing was for sure: Ailon was barely terraformed, if at all.

  “Our position is point-three light-seconds from Ailon,” her sensors officer, Ensign Bosel, alerted. “The entire squadron is here and we’re linked up.”

  “That was very quick, good work.” Poulsen returned to her seat, the main piloting station at the front of the bridge, and looked at the nav map to orient herself. Ad
miral Marcell was expected to be somewhere around Ailon’s largest city, Orent. But she frowned at the lack of data on her display. “Bosel, are the nav sensors functioning?”

  “Affirmative, Commander,” she replied. “This star system does not appear to have a standard navigation setup. There’s not even a phi-band traffic control network here. I’ve located one phi-band transceiver on the planet’s surface, and three radio beacons that might indicate spaceports.”

  “Hmm.” How…archaic. “Other starships?”

  “The phi-band is pretty quiet. Six active starship transponders in the system. One appears to be parked on the moon, three are in low orbit over Ailon, and the other two are fifteen light-seconds away, on the other side of the star.”

  She glanced at the system’s small sun on her displays and frowned. Who had the brilliant idea of trying to terraform a planet orbiting an M-class red dwarf, especially one this small? Domed cities and space stations worked far better in such environments. “Squadron, form up. We’ll do an orbital pass and see what passive sensors pick up around those surface beacons. Stay away from the starships until we know more. And be warned, there is a surface-to-space gun somewhere near Orent. Unknown model, but it’s likely a cheap laser emplacement.”

  The ten Lancer-class gunships and one Swift-class fast frigate quickly fell into a cone formation with Poulsen’s gunship at the point. Ghost Squadron advanced towards Ailon, slipping into low orbit a few hundred kilometers above the surface, cruising along towards one of the radio beacons. Now that they were closer, Poulsen could tell the planet did in fact have vegetation. It was just a pale yellowish-tan color that from a distant orbit looked like sand or rock.

  “Commander, we’re being hailed.”

  Poulsen grunted and flipped her console over to the comm panel, tapping on the screen to accept the channel. “You are encroaching on the sovereign airspace of Avennia,” a voice immediately proclaimed. “Identify yourself and leave immediately.”

  She’d already seen the numbers. The warships Avennia stationed at Ailon couldn’t match her squadron, which meant she didn’t have to be nice, or even diplomatic. “I’ve been called in to assist with a war,” she replied. “Maybe you can tell me where I can find it? This star system’s comm and nav infrastructure is embarrassingly bad.”

  The channel was silent for a few seconds and she smirked as she imagined the confusion on the other end of the link. “We are not expecting any outside reinforcements,” the voice said cautiously. “Stand by while we clear this with the Governor’s office.”

  She eyed the navigational map, seeing a trio of sensor contacts in low orbit throttling up to shift their vector and intercept her ships. “Are you on one of those orbiting ships?”

  “Affirmative. We are with the Avennian Star Navy, assigned to the colony world of Ailon.”

  “Avennian Star Navy? Well then, I advise you to keep your distance from us.”

  The link fell into a moment of confused silence again. “Repeat, please. We may have suffered a slight comm glitch.”

  She chuckled under her breath. The Avennian starship commander was communicating with her on a high-power, high-bandwidth digital comm signal, a standard Imperial-grade setup. His voice was as clear to her as if they were in the same room, and she knew the same was true in the other direction. “I believe there has been some kind of misunderstanding here,” said Poulsen. “My name’s Amanda Poulsen and I’m commander of the mercenary unit Ghost Squadron. I’m here to reinforce the Ailonian Rebels, not Avennia.”

  A second passed. Two seconds. Three. Five. Finally, Ensign Bosel spoke. “They’ve killed their momentum. They are no longer on an intercept course for us.”

  “You are not welcome here,” the Avennian officer said. “Withdraw from Ailon immediately or you will be fired upon.”

  Poulsen smirked again and closed the channel. The three Avennian starships held back.

  “I think I’ve located a beacon corresponding to Orent,” said Bosel. “It’s the largest city we’ve seen so far, but I can’t confirm anything. This star system just doesn’t have much for electronic navigational aids. Also, negative on locating Admiral Marcell’s comm. If he’s down there, his unit is turned off.”

  She nodded and adjusted her course, wondering how she was going to contact him without a comm. “Let’s do a fly-over. Watch the sensor feeds for any signs of battle. Smoke, laser flashes, and so on.”

  “Aye, Commander.”

  They were nearly over the city already. From space, it appeared to be cramped and dirty, very industrial in design with large factories scattered throughout. “Commander!” Bosel exclaimed, sounding worried. “I’m detecting some kind of magnetic surge from the surface!” Her words were rushed and staccato.

  Poulsen looked up from her console just in time to see a fast-moving point of light blast up from the planet’s surface and streak past her viewport. “What the f—”

  “Lynx is taking fire!” said the frigate’s comm officer through the squadron’s channel. Another blast shot past. “Another hit—we’re peeling away!” On her nav panel, Poulsen watched the blip that represented the Lynx abruptly change course and throttle up for altitude.

  “It’s the surface-to-space gun!” said Bosel. “Commander, it isn’t a laser, it’s a high-powered railgun!”

  Another shot appeared, climbing from the planet’s surface at a terrifying fraction of lightspeed. Her ships had no time for evasive maneuvers at ranges this close. They needed to put distance between themselves and the gun. Quickly.

  “Break, break, break!” Poulsen ordered. “Get out of sight of that gun! Lynx, what’s your status?”

  “Severe damage to our armor and one of our main thrusters is offline. Damage reports are still coming in. That’s a big gun!”

  “Dammit!” Poulsen shoved the throttle all the way to the stops. The tone of her reactor slowly whined up through the octaves as the ship began to accelerate, and she mentally cursed Marcell for failing to mention it was a damned railgun. Those things were deadly even to larger, more armored starships.

  Ghost Squadron continued to speed up, riding glowing tracks of fusion exhaust that were bright enough to see from the ground. The enemy fire stopped as the railgun fell beneath the horizon behind them. She pulled back on the flight stick, pitching the gunship’s nose upwards and quickly gaining tens of thousands of kilometers of altitude. Moments later, the squadron decelerated back down to orbital velocity, settling into a medium altitude orbit.

  They were safe, for now. The gun was on the other side of Ailon, the planet itself acting as a shield for the newcomers.

  “My sensors detect a debris field along a previous vector,” said Ensign Bosel. “Uh, Commander…I’m not picking up Ghost 3’s signal anymore.”

  Poulsen scowled and consulted her nav display. Sure enough, there was no active blip for Ghost 3, nor was it listed as a member of their local comm group. Her heart dropped within her chest as she saw that its last known course indicator corresponded exactly with a cloud of debris that was flying away from Ailon on a hyperbolic trajectory. There were no signs of escape pods, and from the small size of the debris, there was nothing habitable left.

  Feeling her blood begin to boil, she slammed a fist into her console and stood up. “Exira, you have the bridge,” she said to her First Officer. “Do whatever you can to contact Admiral Marcell. I need to think.” She stormed out, nearly smacking her forehead on the ceiling as she stepped into the too-short passageway behind the bridge.

  Closing the bridge hatch behind her, she stopped in the corridor. A lump formed in her throat and her eyes threatened to water. Her first mission had gone wrong, only minutes after arriving. One heavily-damaged frigate. One gunship destroyed.

  One entire starship crew killed.

  ***

  Thad cautiously walked into the war room at the new temporary Rebel headquarters, Ria and Chet close behind him. All three were weary beyond words. Ria and Chet, at least, could have stayed beh
ind at their platoon’s hiding place, but they’d insisted on escorting Thad after his Council summons. Ria, in particular, was awfully protective of him, constantly pointing out that he was still one-handed and ought to have an assistant nearby at all times.

  They’d all heard the surface-to-space gun fire yesterday. All of Orent had heard it. It had made a tremendous noise, like thunder, but with enough force to rattle the bones of every individual in the city. And so far, the regime was completely quiet about the event.

  One thing was clear to him now. From the noise it made, and how loud it was even from a distance, it was a very powerful weapon.

  Did the Council know what had happened? He wondered what was so important that they’d summoned him in person. Except for a few of Abram’s skirmishes here and there, many of the Rebels had gone into hiding, waiting in hope for Thad’s mercenary reinforcements to arrive. And as the Rebel harassment diminished, Avennia cracked down hard on planetary security. It was now difficult—and very risky—for Rebels to move about.

  Abram, to his surprise, was present in person. As always, he looked angry. Thad braced himself, expecting Abram to launch a tirade against him, blaming him for Abram’s own recent failures of planning. Among other things, Thaddeus had learned that Abram had recently attacked the main power conduit running from Orent’s fusion reactor to the surface-to-space gun. Although he’d succeeded in severing the conduit, he’d lost a lot of fighters in the battle. And in the end it had been a fruitless effort, as proven by the gun’s firing yesterday. The structure clearly had its own onsite reactor, and the conduit Abram’s forces had destroyed was merely a tie-in to the planetary energy grid.

  To Thad’s surprise, no verbal assault came, and Abram kept his mouth closed. Rhena looked tired. Culper and Sal looked suspicious.