by Michael Rose
“A few squads of Edalinian regulars, sir. Nothing we can’t handle.”
Hunter studied his interactive display. “Companies A and B, swing north. Rendezvous with C Company.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” and “Yes, sir,” came the replies.
Miller began moving his men north. There was nothing happening in the south of the city, and if the companies to his north were engaging then that’s where he would concentrate his forces. As they made their way north, they began taking fire from the cross streets. They were finally in the thick of it. They were finally engaged in the battle for Agrona.
GENERAL GEARY WATCHED with amusement as Miller’s forces crept their way west and north. Miller was a good commander, and he was making all the right moves, securing each block before continuing on.
Geary’s finger hovered over his intercom button. “Tactical strike on Sector 32B,” he said, depressing the button.
He licked his lips as he watched his satellite image. The screen next to it had been turning increasing red as the rebels destabilized the city, block by block. Miller’s main force was too close to his own troops, but two or three companies at the far southern end of his line were well away from the fighting.
Geary’s eyes widened as the image in front of him illuminated. Half a city block was devastated within a matter of seconds. “That’s a message, Miller,” he said to himself. “Get your men in the fight.”
COLONEL MILLER PINCHED his eyes tight and fell to the ground as the shock wave hit him. After waiting for the air to clear of smoke, he looked south down the street. There was no doubt that a tactical missile had been launched against his men. Through the smoke, all he could see was that where half a dozen buildings had once stood, there was now only rubble.
Miller checked his watch. The sun would be setting within the half hour. “All companies, report.”
He listened to the reports. Three of his companies were engaged in firefights. Three more were unresponsive, those that had been to the south where the missile had hit. He weighed his options. If they continued on at this pace, they’d be slowly whittled down before they could take any decisive action. He had to get his men into a position where they could actually make a difference.
Miller fingered his radio’s talk button. “Listen up, men. In exactly three hours, we’re going to be at the greenbelt along 20th Avenue, at the edge of the administrative district. It’ll mean moving fast and hard, but we’re taking the fight to them tonight.”
SULLIVAN COULD HEAR the fighting up on the street growing more intense. Based on what he was hearing, it seemed that a larger force was engaging the Edalinian troops.
“You have any idea how many are fighting for the rebellion?” he asked Hunter.
“I’d estimate a few hundred men, at most. But a lot more are offering support in other ways, feeding us, giving us places to rest for short periods of time.”
“Well, unless every rebel in the city has converged on this location, I’d say something else is going on. I’m going to go up and check it out.”
Sullivan cautiously climbed the stairs leading up to the street. He dashed across to the corner of a building and peeked around. Through his binoculars, he could see the military’s tanks and barricades at the end of the street. They were being engaged by a small group of rebels. Footsteps behind him caught his attention. A line of men had rounded the corner at the far end of the block and were approaching him. Even in the darkness, he could see that they weren’t in military uniforms, but they were heavily armed. Sullivan held up a hand.
The lead man stopped and eyed Sullivan for a moment. “You’re not one of my men.”
“No. How many do you have?”
“About five hundred left.”
Sullivan’s eyes widened. “That’s impossible.”
“Colonel James Miller.” Miller held out his hand.
“You’ve defected?” asked Sullivan, taking the hand.
“No. Me and my men are loyal to the people of Edaline. We’re still fighting for them. But the rebel forces are no longer our enemy. General Geary is out of control.”
Sullivan nodded. “My name’s Sullivan. We have a handful of men down below, but we don’t have the firepower to get through the blockades.”
“Did you say Sullivan? Richard Sullivan?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re a hero to a lot of people here, Mr. Sullivan. And a monster to many others.”
“What am I to you?”
“Right now, you’re an ally. You’re a man who needs help getting through to the administrative district and Fort Hendricks.”
Sullivan nodded. “They have a barricade down in the subway station, more or less in line with the barricade at those tanks.”
Miller peeked around the corner.
“My men can take them on down below,” Sullivan continued, “but we need a missile or two. Can you handle those tanks?”
“We can.” Miller waved a man forward. “Give this man your missile launcher,” he said.
Sullivan took it and nodded. “How do you want to coordinate the attack?”
Miller looked at his watch. “In exactly thirty minutes, we’ll take out those tanks. Breach the barricade in the subway at the same time, and it’ll prevent either position from reinforcing the other.”
“Right,” said Sullivan, checking his watch. “I’ll see you on the other side.” He jogged back across to the subway entrance and took the stairs down.
“We’ve got help,” he said, handing the missile launcher to Hunter. “A colonel named Miller has defected with his regiment. About five hundred of them are still in the fight. He’ll be taking out those tanks in half an hour.”
Hunter smiled. “Then we’ll be ready to take that position in the subway station.”
“Right. Spread the word to the men.”
SULLIVAN RAISED THE missile launcher and made sure the men behind him were clear. He checked his watch. Thirty seconds. He poked his head around the corner of the tunnel and brought the barrel of the missile launcher up to bear on his target: the big automatic anti-infantry gun behind the second barrier. Taking that out would give the men time to rush up the tunnel and take the enemy’s position.
Sullivan glanced at his watch again, pointed the red dot in his sight at the big gun and pulled the trigger. The missile left a trail of smoke as it went and struck the gun a second and a half after being fired. As soon as the explosion reached their ears, his men streamed into the tunnel and ran along the tracks, firing ahead of them as the soldiers in the station recovered from the blast and began returning fire. Sullivan dropped the empty tube of the missile launcher and took up his rifle, following the men into the fray. A few of them had fallen short of the barrier, but by the time the smoke in the tunnel began to clear, he could see the others leaping over the barricade and taking on the men in the station. By the time he arrived, it was over.
“Up!” he yelled to his men.
They followed him up to the street where they could hear the sound of gunfire. A massive explosion rocked the stairwell, then another. “That would be the tanks!” he yelled. “Keep moving!”
He reached the top of the stairs and raised his rifle. In front of him, Edalinian soldiers were retreating away from the advance of Colonel Miller’s forces.
“Guns down! Guns down!” he yelled, popping up from the stairwell. He and his men were forced to take down a few soldiers who raised their guns, but the majority of them threw down their weapons and put up their hands.
After a few minutes of tense confusion, the gunfire subsided and Sullivan caught sight of Miller leaping over the barrier. He paused to study the burning tank beside him then, seeing Sullivan, strode forward.
“Good work, Sullivan,” he said, shaking the man’s hand.
“You, too. Your men take out the other barricades?”
Miller spent a few moments speaking into his earpiece. “Yes,” he said. “This street is secure for five blocks in either direction. And beyo
nd the greenbelt,” he said, indicating the copse of trees in front of them, “is the administrative sector of the city. Beyond that is Fort Hendricks and General Geary.”
14
FRANK ALLEN LISTENED carefully as Dale Hammond explained the situation on Edaline.
“Well, this changes everything,” said Allen, rubbing his chin. “And only four of the original eight ships returned?”
“Yes. The rest were shot down by Edaline’s planes as they were dropping off the ground troops. Are you still taking the second wave in?”
“I have to. If Rick is relying on me to relieve him, I can’t let him down. Even if we draw some fire, it might give him a break, give him time to plan, to organize.”
Hammond nodded. “You’re talking about a potential suicide mission.”
“I’m talking about what needs to be done. I know this isn’t your fight, Hammond, you’re not from Edaline, so if you….”
“Neither are you,” said Hammond, “but you’re going.”
“I owe it to Rick.”
“And I’ll take you to him. I know these ships better than any of the other pilots here.”
Allen smiled. “I appreciate that. I’ll go say goodbye to Steve Hall and let him know that we’ll be departing in exactly one hour.”
“He’s not going? He’s the leader of this rebellion.”
“As he puts it, he’s a ‘political leader,’ not a military leader. And he’s right. He’s a good organizer, a good ambassador for what they hope to accomplish. But his real job begins once the planet is secure.”
HAMMOND AND ALLEN’S ship dropped out of hyperspace at the edge of Edaline’s star system. Shortly thereafter, the other three ships joined them. The trip had been short but tense. Hammond pulled up the magnified view of Edaline on his screen. He opened a channel to the other three ships.
“Like we planned,” he said into his microphone. “Stay in formation so we don’t run into one another. There’s a chance we’ll be going in hot, so stay low, and don’t slow down until we’re at the edge of the city.”
In unison, the four ships accelerated and disappeared in flashes of blue light. Seconds later, Hammond powered down his ship’s hyperspace energy field, and a canopy of leaves filled the bottom half of his view screen. Ahead, he and Allen could see the smoking skyline of Agrona.
“Looks like the battle’s still going on,” said Allen.
Hammond nodded. “Better get back to your men. You need to be ready to jump out as soon as I bring her down.”
Before Allen could step out of the cockpit, an explosion tossed him to the floor, and the ship began to veer starboard. Numerous red lights began flashing as an emergency siren filled the cockpit.
“Hang on!” yelled Hammond, trying to stabilize the ship as it descended.
In front of them, Allen spotted a fighter jet circling around for another pass. One of the other freighters, still travelling at speed, swept past them on the right. As Allen watched, the fighter zeroed in on the freighter and fired two missiles. The ship exploded in front of them.
Allen didn’t have time to reflect on this image for long. The bottom of the ship began scraping the tops of the trees. Ahead, he could see the kilometer of open ground separating the jungle from the city. With fighters overhead, he didn’t know if it’d be better to crash there or in the trees.
Hammond managed to keep the ship aloft long enough to clear the edge of the trees and brought the ship down hard in the open. It skidded noisily along the ground, digging a deep furrow into the earth. The ship began listing to the left and shaking violently.
“Hang on, she feels like she’s going to flip!” yelled Hammond.
The metal groaned and shuddered as the bulk of the freighter strained against the leading edge of the ship. After a few tense seconds, the ship slowed, rocked back onto its hull then came to a rest.
Allen squinted through the dirt covering the cockpit window and saw a cluster of buildings just ahead. “Let’s go, Hammond! We’re almost there!” he yelled.
The two men sprinted down to the cargo hold to retrieve the other men but stopped short. The missile hit had taken out the side of the cargo bay. If any men had survived the explosion, they must have fallen through the gaping hole as the ship crashed.
Allen slapped Hammond on the shoulder. “Grab that rifle. Let’s get to cover.”
A fighter jet sped overhead as they climbed through the hole in the side of the freighter’s hull. They sprinted across the remainder of the open ground as the jet turned and came around to strafe them.
At this end of the city, there were a few scattered buildings. Allen spotted a block of apartments and made a beeline for the cover of the structures. On instinct, he brought himself to a halt and dived to the side. Seconds later, the concrete was torn up as the jet fired its twin machineguns. Allen glanced behind him and saw that Hammond had shadowed his movements.
The jet was making another sweeping arc. Allen got up and sprinted the rest of the way to the nearest apartment building and slammed through the doors into the stairwell leading up to the higher floors. He threw himself down against the wall and sat catching his breath as Hammond came through the doors, breathing hard.
Allen glanced over at Hammond and grinned. “Welcome to Edaline,” he said.
Hammond let out a short laugh then closed his eyes as his breathing slowed.
FROM THE THIRD-STORY window of the apartment block, Allen watched the tree line. None of the other freighters were in sight; he realized that they must have all been shot down over the jungle. He brought the binoculars up to his eyes for what must have been the fortieth or fiftieth time.
“We’ve waited long enough,” said Hammond. “If anyone survived, they would have made it out of the trees by now.”
“They could be waiting for nightfall before running across the open ground.”
“Look, Frank. I know I’m not a soldier, but I do know these ships. The odds of surviving a crash in jungle that thick….”
Allen nodded. “You’re right. We’ll try to join up with Sullivan or another rebel group. Based on the commotion coming from the northwest, I’d say that’s where we’re most likely to find Sullivan.”
“There are jets still patrolling overhead. How are we going to get across town without being picked off?”
“The city has a subway system, and pedestrian tunnels connect most of the stations. I’m guessing a lot of the rebels are using the tunnels to maneuver. That way they don’t have to face the planes or the tanks, just other infantry.”
Hammond studied his rifle. “It’s been years since I’ve fired a gun.”
“You’ll do fine. Just stay close to me, and keep your eyes open.”
OVER THE PAST few days, the fighting had been intense. The rebels had made significant progress, but now they were at a standstill. Colonel Miller’s forces had managed to break Geary’s defensive line and move past the greenbelt, into the administrative district of Agrona. It was here that many of the city’s civilians—particularly the loyalists—had fled when the fighting broke out.
Geary had ordered his troops to abandon them and retreat back to Fort Hendricks. The rebels now controlled the city. Fighter jets were still taking off from the base and strafing the rebels, but now that their targets were amongst civilians, they were being much more cautious before opening fire, in spite of General Geary’s orders.
Miller had been able to interpret all of this by watching the movements of the planes. The pilots were reluctant. Their friends and families were on the ground. And those friends and families, the civilians that Miller spoke to, even some members of parliament that his men had captured, wanted it to end.
Geary’s arrest of Prime Minister Dean and subsequent seizure of power had not sat well with many once-loyal citizens. Dean had not been heard from since she was arrested and Geary, despite frequent announcements over the planet’s communications network, was unable to reassure them that a fair trial would be held once the uprising was o
ver.
Sullivan had stayed close to Miller, helping him direct troop movements. But there was another reason he wanted to be seen with Miller. The people of Edaline were witnessing one of the most reviled men on the planet working closely with a well-respected military leader. Sullivan wanted to send the message that the rebellion was unified and that anyone was welcome, anyone who shared a vision for a free and prosperous society.
Miller and Sullivan were going over the ground plan of Fort Hendricks when one of Miller’s company commanders interrupted them.
“Sir, there’s a man who insists on seeing Mr. Sullivan. Says his name is Frank Allen.”
Sullivan smiled broadly. “He’s here with the second wave from Faris.”
“No, sir. He’s here with just one other man.”
“Just one?”
Allen and Hammond were escorted into the room by half a dozen soldiers.
“Frank,” said Sullivan, getting up and embracing his friend. “Hello, Dale,” he said, shaking the other man’s hand. “This is Colonel James Miller. He brought his regiment into the fight on our side. If it wasn’t for him, this would all be over by now. Colonel, Frank Allen and Dale Hammond.”
Allen and Hammond shook Miller’s hand.
“I know several ships were destroyed before they could get off-planet. How many made it back to Faris?” asked Sullivan.
“Just four,” said Allen.
“So you should have brought eighty more men.”
Allen nodded and lowered his eyes. “I did. As soon as we arrived, the fighters were on top of us. They must have been patrolling in the area when we dropped out of hyperspace. All the ships were shot down, including ours. The cargo bay was hit. Hammond and I survived because we were in the cockpit.”
Sullivan exhaled slowly. “All right.” He turned to Miller. “Allen is a good tactician. Mind if he has a look at the base?”
Miller gestured Allen over. “This is our position here. Here’s the base. It covers about two square kilometers. This building at the center is base headquarters, and within it is the command center. These are barracks. This building over here is the prison. The hangars and runway are at the western edge. The base is surrounded by a five-meter-high wall all the way around, with towers every one hundred and fifty meters.”