Hamza immediately called for each platoon to take up a defensive position around their location. He also ordered two sappers to join them at the trap door.
The sappers arrived and examined the door. Using ground penetrating LADAR, they confirmed that it led to some kind of tunnel but it did not appear to have been used in quite some time. The Sahiradin often built tunnels for eventual future use, though they might go many years without ever being employed. The sappers quickly laid down putty-like material around the edges of the door. When they were finished, everyone stepped back. They pressed a button on a remote device which caused the putty to suddenly flair and burn white hot. The the sappers approached the door, attached a handle with a vacuum seal on the end, and were about to pull it open.
“Wait!” said Logan.
Something felt wrong. Using the LADAR, Logan followed the tunnel below the door they’d just discovered. It did indeed lead to a passageway, but there was another entrance too five meters away.
He looked at the door in the ground they had almost opened. “That one’s a trap,” he said pointing his finger. “If we lift the lid, we’ll be blown to hell.” He searched the ground once more and discovered a flat spot on a nearby boulder. He pressed the palm of his hand against it. The flat spot glowed a soft red then receded into the boulder. The large rock made a swishing sound as it lifted slightly off the ground and slid to the side, revealing a hole with a ladder leading into the tunnel below.
Hamza and the men looked at Logan in wonder. How had he known to look here? How had he deduced that the first door was a trap? This event would add to the growing legend of their general’s extraordinary intuition and cunning.
“Inside, let’s go,” said Logan, ushering his Rangers into the tunnel. “Sappers first, heaving guns right behind. Get that LARDAR out and watch for traps. Don’t get bunched up.”
Twenty minutes later, Logan was squeezing between Rangers’ shoulders until he reached the front of the formation. They had come to an open space about five square meters large. There was a metal door directly ahead of them.
Looking at a sapper, Logan said, “Use the arc cutter to create two holes here and here.” He pointed at two spots in the upper left corner of the door. “Then fill the holes and blow them. The door should fall outward. As soon as it’s open, I want Bravo Platoon in there first. Push left. Then Alpha and Charlie platoons will hit the right. I’m going with Bravo.”
Hamza shook his head. “Respectfully disagree, sir. I’ll go with Bravo.”
“The enemy’s on the other side of this door. I know they are. And they’re waiting for us.”
“They might be,” agreed Hamza calmly. “But you’re trying to do my job, sir. I’m going in first. You’re coming last.”
Logan locked eyes with Hamza. The colonel was a good soldier, but he didn’t have Logan’s knowledge. The spirits in him declared this was a trap as well. The Sahiradin were alerted to their presence. With the knowledge the spirits gave him, there was no one alive who could anticipate Sahiradin plans or their battle tactics better than Logan. This made him the best soldier to lead the attack. Besides, he wanted to bury his blade in the chests of the Sahiradin on the other side of the door. The spirits within him thirsted for enemy blood and so did he. He was about to pull rank on his former classmate, but Hamza spoke first.
“You’re too valuable, sir,” said Hamza in a quiet but earnest voice. “You’re not like the rest of us. You’ve got,” he paused for a moment as he searched for the right words. “You’ve got abilities no other human has. You don’t talk about it but we all know it’s true. You’re a Navigator, sir. I don’t know how this war against the Sahiradin is going to end, but I know it won’t go well for Earth if we don’t have you.”
“Which means I…” began Logan, intending to say he was the best choice to lead the attack.
“Which means, sir,” interrupted Hamza. “You’re not going in there with Bravo Platoon. I am.”
Logan thought for a moment then nodded his head. He suppressed his desire to tear into the Sahiradin. This was a minor skirmish, a distraction to satisfy the demands of a Visk syndicate. The big fight was yet to come and he’d need the Apollo Stone to win it. Khadiem had ripped it from him during the Battle of Halduan, but he knew in his bones that he’d have a chance to get it back. He had to stay alive long enough to seize that opportunity when it came.
Logan stepped back from the door. “You’re up, Colonel.”
Hamza turned to the Rangers and gave the order to blow the door as Logan had instructed. They cut two small circular holes then filled them with plastic explosives. There was a loud popping sound when the explosives detonated and the door fell forward, just as Logan had predicted. Bravo platoon charged in, firing particle guns. They were immediately met by Sahiradin warriors wielding swords. Charlie and Alpha platoons dashed in behind and launched themselves at the enemy, swords drawn. Several hung back to fire particle guns and overcharge shields. Logan was the last to enter.
The Sahiradin bunker was large, big enough to hold several hundred warriors or more. In the back of the room were passages leading to other parts of the bunker. How many rooms were there in this outpost? How many Sahiradin would they have to contend with?
Looking past the Rangers directly in front of him, Logan was relieved to see that there were only ten or twelve warriors. They were fighting in well-coordinated teams, dipping, slicing, and gliding back and forth in a frightening display of deadly agility. But Logan’s Rangers were equal to the task, and though a few fell to the enemy’s swords, they quickly dispatched three of the Sahiradin, forcing the remaining warriors to fall back. The Rangers pressed forward, striking at the enemy’s flanks. The battle would not last long. Soon the warriors would be dead.
Just then, Logan heard terrifying screams, like howling banshees. Five Karazan dressed in blood-red armor charged from one of the far passages. They slammed into the Ranger formation, dropping two and forcing the others to pivot to face them. Logan felt the spirits within him swirling, filling him with mixed emotions of fear and rage.
Logan dashed forward. He slipped between two Rangers where a comrade had just fallen and struck hard with his white sword, forged from rare metals found in the heart of an asteroid that had struck Earth during the Impact. Logan killed one Karazan then attacked another. She easily evaded his thrusts then struck down a Ranger to Logan’s right. Logan lunged forward, but she blocked his blade and struck him in the jaw, sending him reeling.
The blow galvanize the will of the spirits in him. He heard their leader, the One Voice, call upon the others to lend Logan their knowledge and strength. He was soon on the attack once more, driving the Karazan back with a flurry of well-placed strikes. He pierced the chest of one of them. Hamza wounded another, causing her to drop to the ground where she struck her head and lost consciousness. The momentum was now entirely in the Rangers’ favor and soon the enemy was completely subdued.
Hamza sent fire teams to reconnoiter the rest of the Sahiradin bunker. They returned and announced it was empty of other warriors, but one of the teams reported that they had encountered a group of small creatures dressed in layers of tattered dark robes. The creatures had attacked them, using only their claw-like hands as weapons. The Rangers were forced to kill them, except for one, which had calmly approached them with its hands at its sides. They scanned it for weapons and found nothing, nor did it resist them when they attached restraints to its wrists.
“It’s not a warrior,” said Hamza, “and it’s not a Karazan. What is it?”
Logan crouched down and looked under the creature’s cowl at its pale, round, hairless face. It looked back at him through large, black eyes. It twitched the corners of its small, round mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out.
“It’s a drone,” Logan declared. “The Sahiradin use them for basic labor. It’s strange one should be here, though. I’ve never heard of a drone being sent on a military operation.”
Just th
en he heard Captain Sobieskov’s voice. The Sahiradin gunships had returned to their mothership, which was now fleeing the system. Daring Star would deploy a number of Lycian defense drones to keep a close eye on Tuska IV while the EDF gunships awaited the Rangers at the designated extraction site.
“All right, Rangers,” said Logan. “Well done. Bring the Karazan and the drone.”
Chapter 7
Every word you speak, every action you take is a political act. Whether choosing your neighborhood warden, engaging in your trade or profession, or pursuing some amusement, you are engaging in political acts. When you take up your labors for the day, you are implicitly supporting the government because the value of your labor strengthens the regime. When you decide what to purchase and at what price, these are political acts, for you do so within the boundaries of an economic system that is crafted, regulated, and sanctioned by the State. You use the State’s currency to transfer or receive wealth. You rely on the State’s laws to ensure the rules of exchange are enforced. The books you read to your children pass on a host of lessons and values about duty, fair play, and the relationship between the individual and the State. Therefore, because all words and activities are political acts, they fall under the authority of the State and its leadership. To conclude otherwise is meres sophistry.
- Malcom Weller. The Collected Works of Malcom Weller.
Logan walked down the long corridor that separated the People’s Chamber from the executive wing of the Capitol Building. He passed by a pair of Constitutional Guards, often called Conguards, the new national security force of the PRA. No, Logan corrected himself, not the People’s Republic of America any longer. There is no PRA. In order to signify its break with the past, the Septemberist-packed Congress had chosen a new name for the nation, the Federated States of America, or FSA. Under the FSA’s new Constitution, extensive powers had been pushed down to local levels, and the nation’s political boundaries had been redrawn in order to create more balance between the major cities and the less populated hinterlands. This devolution of authority served to empower the often neglected and oppressed regions of the Ohio River Valley and Great Lakes, giving them hope of improved economic conditions. It also served to discourage them from charting a course toward independence or seeking to join the League of Free Cities.
Yet, even with such sweeping reforms in place, it was an open question whether the Federated States would survive, considering the animosity still burning in the breasts of people living west of the Alleghenies. They had never forgiven the Guardians for annexing their lands as part of the so-called “Rededication” campaign, and little had occurred in the two decades following that act of aggression to assuage their anger. The leaders of the new FSA had gone to great lengths just to bring them to the bargaining table. Finally, after protracted negotiations, they did ratify the new Constitution, but only after it was redrafted to greatly enhance the authority of the newly created states, formerly referred to as Districts, to govern their own affairs. Additionally, a clause was added that granted every state government the power to veto any proposed tax or expenditure not related to the health, commerce, or the general welfare of the people.
It was due to events surrounding this veto power that brought Logan storming down the halls of the Capitol Building in search of Attika, leader of the Septemberist Party and the FSA’s de facto head of state. Of course, thought Logan derisively as he considered Attika’s sweeping but undocumented powers, the new Constitution recognized no executive authority; there was no chancellor, president, or prime minister. Maybe he would have to remind Attika of that fact.
He turned to his right and quickly ascended the wide staircase which three years earlier had been slick with the blood of people cast down by the mob from the floors above. Taking the steps two at a time, he quickly reached the fourth floor and strode toward a set of double doors. A pair of Conguards dressed in collared white shirts and blue trousers stood at the entrance. Each had a short-barreled M-35 urban assault gun slung over his shoulder. A pistol hung from the right side of their weapons belts. On the left side hung a short sword and a Taser baton.
One of the guards held up his hand as Logan approached. He glanced at Logan’s military fatigues, his Second Army insignia, and the three stars on his lapels. As he looked Logan over, his eyes narrowed to slits and he pulled the corner of his mouth into a disdainful smirk.
The guard thought very little of the general and Logan knew why. The ranks of the Conguards were filled with hardened Septemberist loyalists, people drawn from the lowest levels of society who saw the military as a haven for PRA sympathizers longing for the return of the Guardians. Not surprisingly, Logan’s soldiers loathed the Conguards and considered them to be nothing more than Attika’s thug enforcers.
The Conguards held Logan in especially low regard for he was the product of the PRA’s elite education system, trained for war, a cog in the machinery the Guardians had used to brutally suppress the masses. Never mind the fact that Logan had rejected the Guardians and been instrumental in tearing down the former regime. Those facts were quickly fading from the minds of everyone except for his loyal soldiers and those who were there when the walls came down. The Septemberists had quickly moved to obliterate all records of his role in defeating Harken, and the histories written immediately after those events recorded only the valiant struggle and ultimate victory of the Septemberist revolutionaries.
“Please state your business, General Brandt,” said the guard with a sneer.
“I’m here to see her, now stand aside,” said Logan.
“Hold on a second,” said the guard. He pressed his index finger against an earpiece and turned his head to the side. After a brief, hushed conversation, he looked back at Logan.
“She’s in meetings, sir,” he said in a dismissive, bored tone of voice. “If you want to talk to her you’ll need to get on her calendar.”
Logan scoffed. “Like hell.”
He slipped between the guards and pushed open one of the doors to a large, ornately decorated chamber. He quickly strode across the marble floor but before he reached the center of the room he was met by four Conguards who came rushing forward. Logan noted that one of them, a heavy-jawed man with broad shoulders and hard eyes, wore a lieutenant’s bars on his collar. On his right forearm was a tattoo of a common Septemberist image, a clenched fist surrounded by rays of light. The Conguards formed a tight line in front of Logan to block his path. The two he had just pushed by stood behind him.
“You’re not allowed in here, sir,” said the lieutenant. “Now, turn around and head back the way you came.”
“I’m going give you a choice, lieutenant,” said Logan contemptuously.
“Yeah? What’s that?” replied the man, lifting his chin, daring the Second Army general to overstep his authority.
“I’ll let you decide which of your arms I’ll break.”
Upon hearing Logan’s threat, the guard on the far right placed his hand on his sidearm. Another reached for the Taser baton on his weapons belt.
Logan eyed the man on the right. “Pull that pistol and it’ll be the last mistake you ever make.”
“What the hell’s going on out here?” came a woman’s voice.
Logan looked past the guards and saw Attika in the hallway. She was standing in the shadows with her right hand on her hip. Upon seeing the cause of the disturbance, she stepped forward, allowing light from above to fall on her face.
When Logan had first met Attika, she’d been a classic beauty with a strong profile, thick locks of wavy black hair, and probing dark eyes. He recalled the fateful night when she and her companions freed Logan and Cap from the clutches of the Guardian’s secret police, the SPD. Much had changed since then, not the least of which was the physical and psychological torture Attika had suffered at the hands of the Guardians for the role she had played in their escape. She’d been injected with powerful drugs which had left her with debilitating migraines, forcing her to take daily medication
from her SPD handler, the sadistic Colonel Alexander Linsky.
Eventually, the ever-defiant Attika escaped into the countryside and found a physician who was able to end the migraines, though it had cost her dearly. Logan looked at the metal plate on the right side of her skull. He saw the spider web of thin incision marks that radiated from the metal’s edges, how they converged into thick scars spreading across her cheek and forehead as far as the bridge of her nose.
A sudden pang of sadness and loss coursed through his heart when he considered the unspeakable pain she must have endured under SPD interrogation. He marveled at the grim determination required to undergo the horrific procedure that destroyed her once beautiful face, yet freed her from her anguish.
“Well?” she asked impatiently. “I have work to do. What is it?”
Attika’s tone of voice drove all feelings of sympathy from Logan, and he recalled the reason he had come.
“Tell your knuckle-dragging scum to stand down or I’ll throw them back in the gutter where you found them.”
Attika frowned. “I’ll ask you to choose your words more carefully, General Brandt. While you and your Second Army Rangers have been off fighting the Lycians’ war, the brave men and women of the Constitutional Guard have been valiantly struggling to secure the promise of the Revolution and ensure you have a nation to come home to. But if you must speak with me, make it quick.” Looking at the lieutenant, she said, “You can let him through.”
The lieutenant did not immediately comply. He just stared into Logan’s eyes, challenging him to try and make good on his promise to break his arm. Then he slowly stepped to the side, opening a minimal amount of space for Logan to pass through. Logan stepped forward, bumping the lieutenant hard with his shoulder as he went by.
The Renegade Page 6