Sullivan Saga 1: Sullivan's War

by Michael Rose

  “As I said, Mr. Townsend, you have information that I want. Mainly, I want names. Names of your collaborators, names of those who are high up in the rebellion.”

  He picked up the scalpel, took off the protective cap and studied the edge of the blade. “However, I am willing to make a bargain.”

  “What’s that?” asked Townsend, speaking for the first time. His voice was hoarse and weak.

  “I am willing to settle for a single name.”

  Townsend shook his head. “I’m not giving up my friends.”

  Geary smiled broadly. “That’s the beautiful part, Mr. Townsend. This particular name isn’t the name of any of your friends.”

  “Who, then?”

  “Dean.”

  “Dean?”

  “Yes. Susan Dean, actually.”

  “The prime minister?”

  Geary nodded. “The prime minister.”

  “I have nothing to say about her.”

  “I think you do. I think you’re going to implicate her as a co-conspirator in the rebellion.”

  “But she’s not.”

  Geary sighed. “That doesn’t matter, Mr. Townsend. But if you say that she is, if you sign a document to that effect, I will not ask for any other information about your friends.”

  Townsend furrowed his brow. “You want Dean out of the way so you can take control. You’re going to attempt a coup.”

  “You’re an intelligent man, Mr. Townsend. And an intelligent man would take this deal.”

  Geary reached into his pocket, removed a folded piece of paper and opened it to its full size. “Here’s the document, stating simply that you and your friends have been in contact with Prime Minister Dean and that she is secretly passing information to the rebellion.”

  “And that’s it? You’ll let me go?”

  Geary shook his head. “I can’t do that, Mr. Townsend. But I give you my word that we will not interrogate you further.”

  Townsend licked his lips. “I have no love for the prime minister, but this….” He licked his lips again. Geary watched as the man considered all the ramifications. He could see in Townsend’s eyes that he was coming to a decision.

  “All right. You give me your word you won’t interrogate me anymore? You won’t try to get more names out of me?”

  Geary smiled broadly. “Absolutely, Mr. Townsend. Loosen his right arm,” Geary said, turning to the guard. The soldier returned to the door and tapped on the control panel. The chain holding Townsend’s arm slackened. “Sign here,” said Geary, taking out a pen and handing it to the prisoner.

  Townsend scribbled his signature, and Geary took the pen back. “Good. Very good,” he said, looking over the document.

  “It’s a shame we won’t get to use the pear after all,” he said to the guard. A pained expression crossed his features. “But who am I to deny you your fun? Do with him as you please.”

  “You bastard!” spat Townsend. “You gave me your word.”

  “And I’m keeping it,” said Geary, slipping the signed document back into his pocket. He turned to the guard. “You heard my promise, soldier. You’re not to ask him any further questions. Just see that he suffers for his betrayal.”

  Geary strode past the guard without looking back at Townsend. As he reached the end of the corridor and pressed the elevator call button, the screaming began.

  7

  SUSAN DEAN STUDIED the report on her computer screen. Her poll numbers were dropping, but, despite the recent series of protests, she had managed to keep the peace. She had assured the people of Edaline that as long as she was prime minister, no violent action would be taken against the protesters.

  That statement had been a gamble. Under Edaline’s constitution, the military acted independently of the government. If Geary decided to suppress the protests by force, she would be out of a job or worse. But she hoped that by simply making that statement, the military would hold back when dealing with the protesters. She hoped that Geary, for all his faults, would see the importance of showing a united front.

  The small speaker on her desk buzzed to life. “General Geary is here to see you, ma’am.”

  Speak of the Devil, she thought, narrowing her eyes. “Let him in.”

  She stood as the door opened and Geary, followed by two armed guards, entered her office. “What’s this, Geary?”

  “Prime Minister Dean, I’m placing you under arrest.” Geary nodded to the guards, who strode forward and took her by the arms.

  “You have no right!” Dean seethed, fixing Geary with her gaze.

  “I’m afraid I do, ma’am.” Geary removed Townsend’s signed statement and held it in front of her face as one of the guards handcuffed her.

  Dean quickly looked it over. “It’s a lie, General. Surely you can see that.”

  “Perhaps. An inquest will determine that. But it leaves me no choice but to place you under arrest.”

  “Have you informed the deputy prime minister?”

  “I’ll see that the government is placed in good hands.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I’ll see to it, ma’am. Right now, your main concern should be finding a way to prove your innocence.”

  He nodded to the guards again. They roughly removed Dean from the office. Geary looked around room. Turning back to the desk, he briefly scanned the files that Dean had open on her computer. A noise at the door interrupted him. Dean’s assistant stood in the doorway, clutching her purse.

  “General Geary, I… I’ll be going home now.”

  “No,” said Geary. “I want you to call a press conference.”

  GENERAL THOMAS GEARY, commander of the Edaline military, cleared his throat and stepped up to the podium. He adopted a grave expression and looked around at the gathered reporters. “This morning, I entered the office of Prime Minister Dean and placed her under arrest. The reason for this has not yet been made public, but the arrest is warranted. Once we have all the details, we will share them with you. Let me only say that the arrest involves a potential betrayal to those who would see our planet forced into another deadly and costly civil war.

  “Under normal circumstances, the deputy prime minister would be placed into power as acting prime minister. But Minister Conrad is a close political ally of Prime Minister Dean. Until we are able to clear him of any wrongdoing, I’m afraid that he cannot be trusted. In fact, until we find out how deep the betrayal runs, I’m afraid we can’t trust any of the ministers.”

  Geary paused and cleared his throat again. “As of right now, I am assuming control of this government. As I speak, roadblocks are being placed on all the major highways leading to and from Agrona. We must protect the capital at all costs, and I will not allow any more potential terrorists to enter the city.

  “I am also putting a planet-wide curfew into place. Anyone on the streets between sundown and sunrise, except in the case of emergencies, will be placed under arrest. Anyone taking part in further demonstrations will also be placed under arrest. Anyone taking part in any speech that is critical of the government or the military will be placed under arrest.”

  He paused again and attempted to mask his real feelings with an expression of sorrow. “I regret that the actions of a few have forced me to take these measures. But I trust that after a few weeks, after a full investigation has been conducted, after all traitors to Edaline have been ousted from the government, we can put this threat of a second rebellion behind us. In a few weeks, I hope that loyal and honest Edalinians will be able to again live their lives without fear.”

  Geary stepped away from the podium, ignoring the barrage of questions from the desperate reporters. He straightened his uniform and strode out of the conference room, a smile playing about the corners of his mouth.

  8

  JOSHUA HUNTER DUCKED into the doorway of a building. The sound of gunfire could be heard a block or two away. Overhead, a military fighter occasionally scanned the streets below, sending a barrage of machinegun
fire at anyone that the pilot determined, from a hundred meters up, looked like a rebel.

  Hunter cracked open the door behind him. It was a small electronics shop, abandoned now that the city had been plummeted into chaos. It had partially been on Hunter’s word that the rebellion had chosen to exert its full potential once Prime Minister Dean was arrested and General Geary took power. Dean was by no means a friend to the protesters, but she had, most felt, kept the government’s response peaceful. With Geary in charge, that was over.

  Hunter scanned the shop. It wouldn’t do; there was too much open space, and the furniture was lightweight and made of transparent plastic. He glanced skyward then gestured to the men lined up against the side of the building. At the corner was a subway station. They could take to the tunnels and at least be free of harassment from the jets. But if they got cornered down there, there would be nowhere to run.

  Hunter sprinted to the end of the street, his men behind him. As he reached the stairs leading down to the subway station, gunfire erupted from the window of a nearby building. Hunter took the stairs two at a time and didn’t stop until he had reached the bottom.

  He glanced at his group. “Where’s Owens?”

  “He was hit, sir.”

  “Dead?”

  “I think so.”

  “All right. Let’s keep moving.”

  The subway platform was an eerie sight, devoid of the usual bustle of the afternoon commute. Hunter smashed the butt of his rifle into the window of a closed-up snack bar and reached over the counter to unlock the door. Once inside, he grabbed a few bottles of water and tossed them to his men. He took one for himself, cracked open the seal and drank deeply.

  “Where to, sir?” asked one of his men.

  Hunter licked his lips. “I’ve heard that O’Donnell’s squad has secured a few blocks on 16th Avenue and 3rd Street. Let’s make our way in that direction and see if we can rendezvous with him.”

  Hunter looked up at the signs. Pedestrian tunnels, as well as train tunnels, crisscrossed their way beneath much of the city. Small shops lined many of these tunnels; these shops would provide some cover if Hunter and his team encountered any military personnel, but they’d be trapped if they weren’t able to fight their way out. “We need to head west,” said Hunter. “Let’s move out.”

  They walked single file down one of the long corridors, keeping to one side of the tunnel. They came out at the next subway station without incident. They then turned north. If they’d continued west, they would have come out near where they had seen significant military activity earlier in the day. As they approached the end of the second tunnel, the sound of boots on concrete reached them. Hunter glanced down the row of storefronts. One of them had a smashed-in window. He reached in, unlocked the door and, as silently as they could, he and his men filed inside.

  From the darkened interior of the shop, Hunter could see the beam of a flashlight shine down the tunnel. It bounced and grew brighter as its owner approached. The movement abruptly stopped, and the flashlight panned around to the storefront. Hunter lowered his head but kept his rifle at the ready. The light was extinguished, and the next thing Hunter heard was the sound of the butt of a rifle striking the side of the tunnel. Taptap. Taptaptap. Taptaptaptap. Hunter recognized the pattern. He responded by tapping his own rifle against the floor in the appropriate response, which was the first pattern in reverse. When he had finished, a voice came from the darkness. “Who goes there?”

  “Hunter.”

  “Damn it, Josh!” Kipling O’Donnell’s face appeared in the window of the shop.

  “Kip!” said Hunter, standing up. “I thought you were six blocks away.”

  “We were this morning. Had a nice little barricade set up and were busy arming the neighborhood when we got strafed by three fighters. We had to retreat into the tunnels and have been trying to join up with someone ever since.”

  “How many of you are left?”

  “Just me and Williams. And you?”

  “We’ve lost four today. Six of us left.”

  “Well, now we’re eight. You hear any word from the other teams?”

  “Nothing since this morning. The military must have picked up the frequency we were using and scrambled the signal.”

  O’Donnell was about to reply when the sound of gunfire erupted at the end of the tunnel. The group dashed in the direction of the noise and saw Williams pinned behind a pillar. Flashes of movement beyond indicated that there were at least three enemy soldiers occupying the subway station.

  Hunter raised his rifle and fired off three rounds at the nearest target, sending shards of tile flying as the bullets struck the side of the pillar. He fired again as his adversary peeked around to return fire and managed to clip the man in the shoulder. Meanwhile, the rest of his team had opened up on the remaining soldiers and, after a brief but intense firefight, managed to bring them all down.

  Hunter strode forward and kicked the rifle away from the injured man. “Only three of you?”

  The man grimaced in response.

  “I have a feeling,” said Hunter, as O’Donnell came up beside him, “that things aren’t going too well for the military up top. Why else would these men be in such a small group, away from their unit?”

  As if in reply to his question, a large explosion rocked the subway station. “That wasn’t one of ours,” said Hunter. “We don’t have anything that big.”

  A cloud of dust traveled down the stairway and into the subway station, followed by limping and staggering figures. Hunter lowered his gun once he was able to positively identify them as part of the rebellion.

  “Report!” he said to the nearest man.

  “We managed to get their ground forces on the run. Took out close to twenty of them and had secured the block. But they just sent in the fighters. We had to fall back.”

  Hunter bit his lip. “It’s been the same pattern all day. As soon as we make any headway, they withdraw their ground troops and attack us from the air. But they’re getting desperate. That’s the first I’ve heard of them firing missiles. It’s been just machinegun fire so far, but now it seems they’re willing to risk collateral damage. Listen up,” he said, trying to bring organization to the men around him. “We need to barricade that stairwell and hold this position. If we can’t take the fight to them because of the planes, we can make them bring the fight to us. Their firepower will be limited down here in the tunnels.” He turned to some of his men. “There’s no point in scurrying around down here like rats. I want you to spread out and secure all the stations adjacent to this one. We’ll hold here, and hopefully more of our men will find us. We’ll provide a united front when the ground troops move back in to secure this area.”

  O’Donnell pointed his rifle at the injured soldier on the ground. “What about him?”

  Hunter glanced at the man. “Patch him up. We’re not executioners.”

  O’Donnell nodded and called to one of the other men for a medical kit.

  9

  GENERAL GEARY SAT in the situation room, listening to reports as they came in over the radio and cycling through the surveillance cameras scattered throughout the city. Many of them had been destroyed, no doubt intentionally, but there were still enough active to help direct the movement of troops.

  The command center was unusually quiet. On Geary’s orders, everyone else had been barred from the room. He didn’t know who he could trust at this point. He alone would issue orders to the men.

  Agrona was a large and sprawling city. It would take time to crush the resistance. Unless, of course, Geary decided to do what his predecessor, General Banks, had done during the first rebellion: fire the big tactical missiles, annihilate the rebel-held neighborhoods and bring them to their knees. Geary had considered that at least a dozen times an hour since the uprising began, but he had rejected it each time. Not because he was concerned about the civilians who would be killed in the explosions—indeed, most of them had been evacuated to the administrative
district—but because he loved directing troop movements, he loved watching each neighborhood as it changed hands, turning from red to yellow to green and back again on his interactive map. He loved the ebb and flow of war. No. He loved war.

  Geary studied his map and zoomed in on the southwestern part of the city. It was here that the fighting had been the most intense. As he watched, several of the blocks changed color. A computer was monitoring the troops as they moved throughout the city. When it determined that enough troops occupied an area to secure it, that block would turn yellow. When the computer had not been fed any reports of fighting from that area for an hour or more, it would turn green. As Geary looked at the map, a particular block that was once red had changed to yellow. The military’s fighter planes had taken out the rebel barricades in that area, allowing more ground troops to move in. According to the reports, the rebels had fled into the subway tunnel system and nearby buildings.

  Geary pulled up the feed from the remaining surveillance cameras in that area. One large apartment building across the street from the camera had a sizeable hole blown in the side of it. Through the rubble, bed sheets and curtains could be seen fluttering in the wind.

  He pulled up another camera. This one showed the former barricade that had been made up of vehicles, furniture and other assorted material. A large gap in the barricade indicated where the planes had fired upon it. Some Edalinian soldiers could be seen milling around near the barricade. Several bodies lay in the street, disregarded by the soldiers.

  Geary smiled and breathed deeply. Yes, he loved war. Twelve years ago, he had been on the ground. He had led a company to recapture a section of the city and had personally ended the lives of over two dozen rebels. Some had fallen in battle. Others he had executed after their capture or surrender.

  As he watched, the men at the barricade came under fire. There were rebels in the upper stories of some of the buildings. His men returned fire, but within a few seconds, all of them had fallen or withdrawn. On his map, the block turned back to red.