by Todd Brill
“In war, nothing is guaranteed,” said Telarch, “but sometimes, risky ventures lead to great rewards. If he’s there, what a blow we could strike! Can you imagine? We could change things over night!”
“Yes, but we could also all get killed — including the newly-freed prisoners,” added Del. “It sounds too risky to me.”
“This sounds like an occasion where faith and hope might play a role,” said Hiyadi, glancing at Telarch.
“Ha! That’s the spirit!” said Telarch, clapping Hiyadi on the back and smiling wickedly.
“Fortune favors the bold,” said Nomad, feeling the nostalgia welling up in him again as he uttered the ancient Roman proverb he remembered from his high school history class.
“I’m advising against it, but in the end, it’s up to you. If you all agree, we can make plans for this,” said Del.
Telarch looked around at the team. In turn, each nodded. Danik looked worried, and Nomad felt the hesitation in her.
“I think we all agree,” said Telarch. “We can only pull this off if we have enough equipment, fighters, and some way to transport us there,” said Telarch.
“Agreed,” said Hiyadi. “The element of surprise would be lost if we were to hesitate for too long. The probability for success is much lower the longer we were to wait.”
“I’d love a chance to take down the Leader,” said Nomad, his pulse pounding at the thought of bringing justice to him.
“Me too,” replied Danik quietly. Nomad could see the look on her face and listened to her feelings. She was angry and resolute. Yola was more than just a job to Danik. She had cared for Yola like a mother for so long. For her, losing Yola hurt almost as much as a mother losing her child. She was strong, though, and Nomad felt this in her. Even when he held her at night while she silently wept. She would never let the others see her cry.
They bickered and planned until long into the night, coming up with plans, counter-plans, and contingencies. Sometime after midnight, they broke off the planning session for sleep. Everyone was exhausted both physically and mentally.
Overwinter’s liaison officer, Heran, visited the next morning to go over the plans. When they told Heran of their idea, he liked it but had to get Overwinter’s approval to commit their troops.
In the afternoon, Heran left but came back with the approval an hour later. Overwinter liked the plan and wanted Telarch to lead the assault on the Leader’s council chambers.
Telarch accepted the assignment, and Heran delivered combat armor, ammunition, and medical packs he’d brought with him. The attack was scheduled for just after dusk that evening, so they had little more time to prepare.
Telarch was given a communication data pad and the others were all given radio headsets. Heran informed the team that the radios were secured and encrypted as he trained them in the rebel voice protocols and the passwords for that evening.
They spent the rest of the afternoon preparing and checking their gear. They each had an energy rifle and pistol as well as a long, thin dagger in a black leather sheath. Their combat armor was a zigzagged black and gray and covered most of their vital areas front and back. They were also given newer black leather boots, ammo storage belts with magazines, and water canteens.
Nomad felt the quiet of the evening come too quickly. He sat near the small black heating stove, staring into the flames, his large, calloused hands working the controls of his rifle again and again.
“I’m nervous, too,” said a voice from behind him. It was Danik. She let her rifle slide down her side on its sling and placed her hand on Nomad’s shoulder gently. She was kneeling behind him, the light of the stove’s fire casting shadows across her beautiful face. Nomad could see the light filtering through the long dark hair she normally had tied up in tight buns. Her luxuriant hair was loose and free now and spilled down her shoulders like an obsidian wave.
“There’s a lot at stake,” said Nomad, turning slightly to look at her. “A lot of people could get hurt or die.” Danik looked down at him, caressed his hair gently, and sighed.
“In a way, I feel responsible for these people,” continued Nomad.
“They look up to you,” replied Danik softly.
Nomad looked down at his boots. He couldn’t imagine why they would. He wasn’t a soldier. He knew a bit about fighting, and he was physically in the best shape of his life, but he had never been in a war. Sure, he had seen things on T.V., but it wasn’t the same. He was unsure of himself and he was worried he would get people hurt or killed.
“Nomad,” said Danik, lifting his chin so she could look into his eyes. “This is the right thing to do. You need to accept that and move on. Yes, people are going to die. But they’re dying for something they believe in. Something to have hope for. They want to be free. And sometimes, freedom requires people to pay a terrible price.”
Nomad sighed as he looked into her beautiful, almond-shaped eyes. They looked gold with undulating flecks of brown in the flickering firelight.
“On my world, there’s an old saying: Freedom isn’t free,” he replied. “I guess I just never imagined I’d be the one fighting like this. I’m just a homeless guy from St. Louis. What do I know about wars and fighting Leaders on alien worlds?”
“You think you’re the only person in history that ever felt like this? On my world, during the Plutocrat Wars, the leader of the rebellion wrote that he almost quit before the Battle of Harat River — the pivotal battle that turned the war in their favor. He wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing either. He had no battle experience before the war,” said Danik.
“Was he some vagabond ex-hobo?” asked Nomad, working the controls on his rifle again. Danik stroked his hair and smiled.
“Actually, he was a farmer,” she said. “And not a particularly good one, either. He knew nothing of war and only slightly more about growing crops and raising livestock. He became one of the most influential leaders in our history. Nomad, people look to others as leaders not because of what they did before they became leaders. They follow them because they’re leaders now. Folks will follow you because they know what you’re doing. They’ve heard what you’ve already done and they admire you and your strength. People follow strength of character and you’re a good man.” She leaned over and kissed him on the neck just above his collar.
“I didn’t have enough strength to stop them from killing Jorune or Yola,” replied Nomad, lowering his eyes to the floor.
“Being a good leader doesn’t mean you’re perfect, sweetheart,” said Danik. “In fact, people admire someone who makes mistakes so long as they own their mistakes and try to correct them. Nobody’s perfect. I believed that before all this happened and since I’ve met people from all over the universe, I find that I still believe it.
“It doesn’t matter what world you come from. Everyone wants to live, to be free to make their own choices in life, and to thrive. Everyone makes mistakes, great and small. The important question is: did you learn from your mistakes or are you doomed to repeat them? I like to think that you’re smart enough to avoid making the same mistakes in the past if you can help it.”
“You know you’re not only the smartest woman I’ve ever met,” replied Nomad smiling up at her, “you’re also the most beautiful.” He turned suddenly and embraced Danik, his hand sliding behind her head to hold her as close as he could. He loved this woman more than anything in the world.
“I just can’t imagine what losing you would do to me,” he whispered in her ear. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” replied Danik. She kissed him briefly as they held each other.
“Apologies for my interruption,” said a voice to their right. It was Hiyadi. “But there is a problem. Rebel scouts have reported that government troops have been seen mobilizing throughout the city. No one knows what the mobilization is for but they seem to be preparing for a large scale operation.”
Nomad held Danik away from him and looked into her fire-speckled golden eyes.
“Everyone, saddle up!” he shouted. He kissed her for perhaps the last time. They all began quickly gathering their gear and filing outside.
Danik was to meet with Overwinter and command the reserve force.
“Be careful, my sweet,” said Danik. Her face was resolute. The corner of one eye quivered slightly, and her lips were pulled tight. They kissed deeply again before Nomad broke away and grabbed his gear.
18
“Remember the plan,” shouted Overwinter over the loud buzz of the large gray truck. “Team One assaults the front gate. Team Two assaults the flank. Team Three secures the rear gates and places the explosives. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Del. He had been placed in charge of Team Three. He was the infiltration specialist.
“Yes, sir,” replied Hams. Hams was leading Team Two.
“Yes, sir,” replied Nomad. He was in charge of the main assault with Telarch, Hiyadi, and a large platoon of rebel soldiers. He would also be responsible for securing and protecting the camp prisoners. Nomad and Telarch had discussed this. Although Telarch had much more experience than Nomad, Nomad had more affinity with the rebel troops. Which meant that they didn’t really like Telarch much because he looked too different for their comfort. Instead, Telarch would be the second-in-command and advise Nomad along the way on tactical matters.
Danik would be leading the reserve force behind them, waiting for orders. Should the attack go well, her force might not even be required.
“Intelligence reports tell us that Nevenember might already know something’s going on,” continued the rebel leader. “So be ready for anything.” Several of the soldiers shifted in their hard plastic seats nervously, looking at each other.
“I have a couple of surprises in store just in case,” he continued, grinning. “And, we have a reserve force set aside that can assist if needed.”
Telarch nodded. “That’s what I’d do,” he whispered to Nomad in approval.
“We’re at minus five minutes’, people, get ready to give them a fight!” shouted Overwinter, readying his rifle. Muffled metallic clicks sounded throughout the large truck interior as rifles were readied. Many worried faces turned to the rear exit.
Nomad studied some of the soldiers. Most of them were very young. They fumbled with their rifles and fussed with their armor and gear, a portion of which was meant for older, larger people.
Most of these people should be in school, thought Nomad. They looked old enough to choose for themselves, but young enough that they shouldn’t have to fight and die in a war. Freedom isn’t free, he reminded himself. Nomad shifted over one seat and leaned in to talk to one of the young men in his platoon.
“What’s your name?” said Nomad.
“Darra, sir,” said the young male, scratching his head under his helmet.
“Darra, my name’s Nomad,” said Nomad extending his hand. Darra looked at his hand with a puzzled expression. Nomad forgot that shaking hands was a human ritual they didn’t practice here. He grabbed Darra’s hand anyhow and shook it, smiling at him.
“Darra, today we’re going to fight some bad people and rescue some good people. How do ya feel about that?”
“Well, sir,” said Darra hesitantly, “I just hope we can find my brother. He went missing some time ago and I heard a rumor that he might be in the camp. I just hope he’s still…” Darra’s eyes looked to the floor.
“If he’s there, we’ll find him,” said Nomad. “You just fight hard and give ’em hell and you’ll see.”
“What’s ‘hell,’ sir?” said the young rebel, looking up with a puzzled look. Nomad chuckled. Sometimes the translator didn’t have a good substitute for culturally specific words or ideas and simply used the word as it was spoken. This had sometimes led to confusion.
“Do you believe in an afterlife, Darra?” asked Nomad
“Well, sir, some people say that if you are a good person, your spirit goes to a place called heaven,” replied Darra. Nomad found it curious how the translator used the word heaven but couldn’t translate hell. Perhaps on this world, they had the concept of heaven, but not hell.
“On my world, some folks believe that, too,” said Nomad. “And they also believe that bad folks go to a different place they call hell to be punished for their bad deeds.” Darra smiled weakly.
“That’s strange. For us, if you’re a bad person, you just die. You don’t go to heaven and that’s punishment enough.”
“Well, whatever you believe, we’re going to punish some bad people today and save some good people. Stay with me, fight hard, and everything will be okay, you’ll see,” said Nomad.
“I will, sir,” said Darra smiling broadly. “I will… give ’em hell, as you say.”
A faint but piercing whistling sound penetrated the loud road noise of the truck. Telarch looked at Nomad in alarm.
“Incoming!” yelled Overwinter suddenly. “Get down!”
Before they could react, a wave of force slammed into the side of the gray truck, causing the vehicle to lurch to one side of the road. The driver scrambled to keep control, but the truck toppled on its side and was sliding toward the edge of the road. Everyone inside was tossed around like ice in a martini shaker.
Before the truck stopped sliding, Nomad could hear rifle fire barking from all around them. Once the sliding stopped, they piled out the back of the truck. The driver was dead. There was blood all over his seat and his shoulders and neck were messy with gore.
“Ambush! Get out! Out! Go! Go!” yelled Overwinter, pushing one of the soldiers off him. Everyone scrambled to gather their gear and get out. When Nomad stepped out the back of the ruined gray truck, he caught himself sucking his breath in rapidly.
There was a large hole in the road where the truck had been moments earlier. The other trucks had also taken damage and were pulled off to the side of the road, spilling fuel and oil and soldiers onto the street. Some of the soldiers had taken cover by the buildings and some by the trucks and they were frantically looking for the source of the attack. Nomad could hear gunfire coming from all around them, echoing in the urban canyon like thunder.
“We’ve got to break out now, before we’re encircled,” said Overwinter, who was suddenly beside Nomad analyzing the scene.
“Everyone take your teams and make your way to the camp!” he shouted just as a blast ripped through the neck of the man standing next to him. Everyone lunged for cover behind whatever they could find. Nomad grabbed Telarch and pulled him behind the wreck of their truck just as another round glanced off the back frame of the overturned vehicle where he had been standing just a second ago.
“Dammit!” yelled Nomad. “How the hell did they know we were going to be here?”
“Must be a mole,” grunted Telarch, standing up and straightening his armor. He approached the edge of the truck slowly. He bent down and took the helmet from the fallen soldier. Telarch balanced the helmet on the end of his rifle then slowly edged the helmet out beyond the protection of the truck.
Nothing happened. He turned to look at Nomad, and as he lowered the helmet, a shot rang out, knocking the helmet out of his hand causing it to skitter across the broken pavement. Telarch jumped back further behind the truck, cursing.
“Damn, I hate snipers!” he yelled. Suddenly, Nomad remembered he hadn’t turned on his helmet radio. He flicked the switch and the cacophony slammed into his ears like a crashing wave. Reports were coming in from the other teams all at the same time. It was pure panic.
“Shut up!” yelled Overwinter over the radio. “Team One, report!”
“This is Team One. We’re pinned down by a sniper,” replied Nomad keying his mic. Telarch was gesturing and pointing past the truck to the top of a building on the opposite side of the road.
“He’s up on the building across the road from the overturned truck,” continued Nomad. Even though Overwinter was right behind him, they needed the other teams to know what was going on.
“Acknowledged. Team Two, report!”
crackled Overwinter in stereo.
“This is Team Two. We’re making our way to the camp. We’re still a few blocks away,” said Hams over the sputtering radio. Nomad could hear explosions and gunfire all around them and through the radio. This meant all three teams were probably under heavy enemy contact. His mind raced, trying to understand how this could have happened. Telarch had said there was a mole. Could it be possible?
“Team Two, take cover and wait,” ordered Overwinter. “Team Three, report!”
“This is Team Three,” said Del’s voice. “We’re pinned by the same sniper as Team One. I’ve sent a squad to circle around the back of the building.”
“Acknowledged,” replied Overwinter. “Team One will assist.” He looked at Nomad and gave him a curt nod.
“Nomad, I want you to send one of your squads to get that sniper. We need to get clear immediately so we can start moving.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Nomad as he looked over what remained of his platoon.
“Sir,” said Hiyadi, “I believe I could find the sniper and neutralize him quickly, no need to send others.”
“Would you stop with the ‘sir’ stuff, Hiyadi, we’re friends,” said Nomad. “And I’m not sending you out there alone. Take two others with you — your choice. Just be quiet and quick and radio in any problems.”
“Yes, sir… Nomad,” said Hiyadi. “You and you, come with me,” he tapped two young rebels to accompany him, and they began to move out. Hiyadi approached the edge of their cover behind the overturned hulk of the truck. The other two rebels were behind him, nervously looking around.
Suddenly, Hiyadi lurched out from the behind the truck. He was impossibly fast. A shot rang out and a bullet hit the pavement where Hiyadi had been just a split second earlier. But he was already across the road, at the base of the building the sniper occupied. Nomad had never seen anyone move so quickly before. Hiyadi gestured to the two rebel soldiers. The first one took a deep breath and rolled out from behind the truck.