A Little Rebellion (Crimson Worlds III)

by Jay Allan

  “Preparations are underway, Governor.” Strom was clearly tired of Cooper’s interference, and his contempt was only very lightly hidden. “I will advise you when I have determined the earliest feasible start date.” Strom turned to walk away. “Now if you will excuse me, Governor, I am having a small dinner this evening for some of my senior officers, and I really must…”

  “General Strom, I don’t care about your dinner party.” Cooper’s patience was gone; he’d had it with Strom and his delays. “You will prepare a plan for the invasion of Carlisle to launch within two weeks. And you will do so immediately and have it to me in 72 hours.” Cooper was speaking from anger; he really didn’t have any way to force Strom to do it. Technically, he had the authority, but if he reported the general for insubordination it would ultimately come down to Cooper’s connections and influence against Strom’s, a contest the governor was certain to lose. “Understood, general?”

  Strom’s face flushed with anger. He considered Cooper his inferior in every way that mattered, and he bristled at being even marginally under the governor’s command. He bit back on his initial response and nodded grudgingly. “I will work on the plan as quickly as possible.” He knew his influence trumped Cooper’s, but he also knew his father, the Cabinet Minister, did not want any ripples right now. It wouldn’t do for the family to appear less than fully committed to crushing the rebellion, after all.

  “Thank you, general.” Cooper didn’t always have the best judgment, but this time he realized this was the best he was going to get. “Your cooperation in ending this damaging and wasteful rebellion is appreciated.”

  Strom nodded, a forced smile on his face. “If you will excuse me, Governor Cooper, I am quite busy.”

  “Of course, general.” Cooper managed his own very forced looking smile. He turned and walked away, trying to contain his frustration. Then the explosions began.

  “Move it out!” Sergeant Sawyer was leading the demolitions team. It was probably a lieutenant’s job, but Sawyer would have been an officer years ago if he hadn’t kept refusing invitations to the Academy. “I want those charges placed in 1-2-0 seconds.”

  Sawyer had spent two days trying to find a weakness in the federal encampments. He’d been focusing on their supplies, looking for a way to hit one of their big dumps to impede their ability to launch an offensive. But the supplies were guarded and double-guarded, every approach covered. Sawyer didn’t know it, but the rebels had blown the main federal supply dump in Weston earlier in the war…and ever since the Feds had been extremely protective of the installations.

  Jax had 481 regulars, plus about 200 volunteers with military experience – he couldn’t just frontally attack the federals. He knew he had to find a way to disrupt the Feds…something they could actually pull off. Then Sawyer had an idea.

  The federal supply depots were well-protected, but the field with the atmospheric fighters was located near the perimeter. There were 18 of them, and they were all lined up in one spot. They were defended, but a well-executed surprise attack might take them out.

  Without the fighters to screen and protect the assault force crossing the 16 klicks of water between the mainland and Carlisle Island, the rebel defense batteries and submersibles would tear the transports apart. An invasion without air support would be dangerous…probably more than an Alliance general could stomach.

  Sawyer had 40 troops, hand-picked from a force that was already an elite unit. They were here to infiltrate, to get as close to the planes as they could before Jax launched a diversionary attack with the rest of the force. They were crouched down behind a slight ridge about 100 meters from the perimeter when they heard the sound of fighting to the north. Jax had gone in.

  Sawyer’s troops sprinted the short distance and twenty seconds later they were inside the enemy perimeter. They started taking fire, but it was light. The guards were calling for aid, but Jax’s assault had distracted the nearby forces.

  Sawyer’s team had magnetic charges, and they were attaching them to the fighters, three two-man teams moving from target to target. The rest of the force returned the enemy fire, trying to divert the defenders from the demo crews. They were taking losses – at least four people were down – but the primary concern was knocking out the planes. Doing that meant buying the explosive crews at least another two minutes, no matter how many casualties they suffered.

  “Hold fast and keep firing.” Sawyer’s voice was steady but hoarse. He was tense, but he made sure none of that came through. “Two more minutes, people. We need to hold for two more minutes.”

  Jax’s force had attacked in two long skirmish lines. The extended formation didn’t have enough density to make any real headway, but their mission was distraction, not an extended battle. They swept in from the ridge, catching the federals half-asleep.

  “Move forward and grab some cover inside the enemy perimeter.” Jax was running as he spoke, his assault rifle in his hand. “All personnel, fire at anything that moves, and make as much noise as you can.” The enemy fire was light, but Jax knew that wouldn’t last. “I don’t want anyone penetrating too far. And when I give the withdrawal order move your asses and get the hell out.” Jax’s force was outnumbered almost 100-1; they were here to raid, not fight a battle.

  They’d taken out the perimeter guards and slipped into the encampment. The troops were mostly billeted in modular structures located throughout the base, but there few barracks at the point Jax chose for his attack. The structures here were different, mostly workshops and other maintenance facilities. Other than the guards, most of the personnel in the area were technicians and support staff, and that gave the attackers a chance to grab good positions before the enemy counter-attacked.

  Jax followed six troopers through the blasted doorway of one of the workshops. They’d hit the building with grenades already, collapsing two of the walls and bringing a section of roof down. The attackers fired as they came through, taking out the survivors inside then moving to take good defensive positions in the wreckage. Jax crouched behind a jagged meter-high section of wall and peered out over the top.

  It was ten minutes, maybe twelve, before the enemy launched a major counterattack. Jax had been waiting impatiently, wondering what was taking so long. He’d have busted a subordinate out of the service for such a slow response, and he shuddered to think of how Erik Cain would have reacted if any of his troops had been so lackadaisical. But he was glad – the enemy’s sluggish response did half his job for him.

  The federals came swarming into the zone occupied by Jax’s troops, and when they finally arrived, there were a lot of them. All along the section of the perimeter held by the rebel forces, they came in waves. Jax’s troops, veterans all, had chosen their spots wisely, and they cut down the charging enemy troops in huge numbers, inflicting at least ten casualties for every one they sustained.

  Still, the math was against them, and as their losses mounted the enemy poured more and more units into the fight. Slowly, methodically, Jax’s troops started to pull back. The withdrawal was perfectly organized and flawlessly executed. Troops fell back to new positions, supported by fire teams that remained in place, covering the retreat. These covering forces retired in their turn, supported by the troops that had already fallen back.

  The plan was working, but they were getting close to the edge of the camp, and Jax couldn’t give the orders for the full retreat until those planes went up in smoke. He was just about to go on the comlink and order his forces to stop retiring and stand fast when he heard the explosions. There was one, then a pause…then a cluster of blasts followed by a single massive thunderclap.

  “Alright people, the mission’s done.” Jax was on the comlink halfway through the explosions. “Time to withdraw. Execute plan Delta-1 now.”

  Jax’s troops began leapfrogging to the rear at an accelerated pace. Things had gone well - better than Jax expected – but that didn’t mean it had been free. The retreating teams were moving back methodically, but
they were slowed by wounded comrades. Jax had been clear – no one alive would be left behind. Across the line, walking wounded limped along, their comrades matching their pace to stay with them. Troops were carrying more seriously injured men and women, dodging enemy fire as they did.

  Having taken so long to respond, the enemy was now pursuing aggressively. They were disorganized and distracted by the explosions, but there was still a massive force on the heels of Jax’s retreating troops. The retiring forces reached the perimeter of the encampment, rushing across the open ground.

  The federals kept coming. They were disordered, and their fire was wild and inaccurate, but they were still taking a toll. Things were getting hot quickly, but Jax had one more surprise waiting. The retiring troops came together into three rough columns, and all along a small rise heavy weapons teams opened fire. Jax had stripped them out of the attacking formation, ordering them to advance behind the main force and take up a supporting position.

  The attacking federals ran into the withering fire and recoiled back into the encampment. Jax’s retreating units continued to the rear, carrying their wounded with them. The heavy weapons teams began to pull back as well, withdrawing in stages, and in 15 minutes the entire force, including Sawyer’s people, were mounted up and racing away. It didn’t look like the Feds were organized enough to launch an immediate pursuit, but Jax wanted to get some distance from them anyway.

  Sarah and her people frantically worked on the wounded in the retreating ATVs. They’d left forty dead behind them, and she was determined to keep that toll from rising. She almost managed it; only one of the wounded died during the retreat, one of Sawyer’s people, almost the last man hit.

  Chapter 21

  Northeast Ward

  Just Outside the Wall

  Wash-Balt Metroplex, Earth

  Four days passed before Cain’s people got the signal. Precisely two hours later they were at the museum. Erik didn’t know if they had been under surveillance while they waited, but he assumed they were. They sat for half an hour before a man - not the mysterious Charles, but someone new - came over and introduced himself as their guide.

  It was the middle of the day. Cain hadn’t really thought about it until the call came early in the afternoon, but he found himself surprised they were doing this in daylight. His impulse was to get out of the city under cover of darkness, but in truth, the detection devices monitoring Washbalt’s population were just as effective at night. In some ways the crowds during the day provided better cover than the darkness.

  Cain’s implant had been removed when he graduated from Marine training. He made sure that everyone in his team had also had theirs taken out or disabled. Anyone with a functioning implant would have been detected almost immediately, even after years away from Earth. That would have been a disaster and would have blown the cover of the group entirely. Confederation citizens were not implanted with monitoring devices…and they were masquerading as Martian diplomats.

  Erik had been very specific when selecting his team. They were all from Earth’s slums. There were many solid veterans in the Corps who were born on colony worlds, but this was a job for the Marines who’d come from the urban wastelands of the Alliance. He picked troopers who had troubled pasts like his. Erik Cain had become a new man – a good man, he hoped – in the Corps, but when he was on his own in the slums of New York he’d been someone different, someone he usually tried to forget. Anger, hatred, and deprivation can change a man – a boy, really – and Erik Cain had been no exception. He’d done a lot of things he wished he could change, and while time had helped him make a tentative peace with his regrets, they were always there. Now he was back, not in the exact place, but in one very much like it, and he would have to deal with people uncomfortably similar to those he’d lived with before. People very much like he himself once was. He wanted a team around him that understood, that faced the same demons he did.

  He had no idea how his new associates planned to sneak them out of the Core, and he hated having to trust them. But there was really no alternative – he couldn’t think of any other way to complete the mission. Of course his hired help would have bolted if they knew what his group really intended. The insanity of the whole thing was actually helpful – no one would anticipate what they were actually up to. People did not break into Alliance Intelligence HQ.

  Erik was hoping that attitude would help them on the actual mission too. The people at Alliance Intelligence had everybody so scared to death, there was a good chance they’d be overconfident, secure in the knowledge that no one would dare try something as mad as what Cain intended.

  The guide gave them specific instructions, and they split up into five pairs, each walking to a different intersection. Cain didn’t like it, but he understood. Cameras would track them everywhere, and a large group like theirs would draw attention. He didn’t trust these people, but if they wanted to take out his team, they didn’t need to split them up; all they had to do was turn them in. Besides, Erik’s entire crew was made up of long-term veterans, more than able to take care of themselves.

  His concerns proved to be unfounded; his new associates were true to their word. One by one, a large transport stopped at each location, loading two of Cain’s team and driving on to the next. It took some detours, mixing up the route to confuse any surveillance or tracking programs that might have detected them, but in less than an hour, they were inside a large plasti-crete building situated right along the Wall. Cain wasn’t sure exactly what the facility was; it looked like some sort of utility structure for moving water in or wastes out. Or both…Erik had become adept at many things, but civil engineering wasn’t one of them.

  The Wall was ten meters high, built of reinforced plast-crete, with watchtowers ever 200 meters. It surrounded the Washbalt Core, the protected central section of the city where the middle and upper classes lived, segregated from the crumbling ghettoes and masses of uneducated Cogs. Cain had been amazed when he first saw it. The massive fortification dwarfed the outer perimeter of the Manhattan Protected Zone, where he’d been born and lived the first eight years of his life. New York certainly had slums, and they were decaying and violent, but nothing like the vast and nightmarish belt of destitution wrapped around Washbalt. The capital of the Alliance, and before that the United States, the city had become the focal point for the dispossessed and those who fought against what the nation was becoming. The Wall had been built during the Disruptions, and its strength attested to just how bad things got during those troubled times, despite how sanitized the official histories had become.

  Cain and his Marines had three guides, two men and a woman, and they’d hardly said a word. Finally, the woman spoke briefly with her companions and walked over to Cain. She was nearly as tall as he was and broad shouldered. Erik bet himself she could take both of the men in a fight.

  “This is as far as we take you.” She pointed toward a large hatch that one of the men had opened. “That is a maintenance conduit for the southern sector waste disposal system.” Her voice was harsh, impatient. She clearly wanted to conclude this business and get on her way. “There are access hatches leading to the outside every half kilometer. They are heavily reinforced plasti-steel. The seventh one will be unlocked in 30 minutes and will remain so for ten minutes.” She stared at Cain as she spoke, and her voice became even firmer. “You must be out before the hatch locks again or you will be trapped. The door from here into the access tube will be closed and locked behind you.” She stared at him with an expression that was somehow intense and disinterested at the same time. “Understood?”

  Cain wasn’t particularly skilled at tolerating people he found annoying, but his mind was focused on the mission, and so he pushed back his natural reaction. “Understood.”

  “The balance of the payment is due now.”

  Erik was going to argue; his agreement had been for the rest of the payment to be made when they were outside the city. Climbing into some dusty maintenance tube for the
sewers didn’t meet his definition of “outside.” But he didn’t really hold any cards here, and he knew it. He glanced over at one of his team, a tall, sandy-haired man just under two meters tall. Major James Teller had served with Cain for years, and he read the unspoken directive immediately. He pulled a pack from his back and reached in, taking the platinum bars out one at a time. He was watchful – the team had a fortune in the precious metal with them, and they were wary of a doublecross. He looked at Cain, who gave him a slight nod, and he began handing the bars to the woman.

  “Thank you.” One of the men walked up to her and she handed him the bars. “This concludes our business. Good luck to you all.” Cain had never been wished luck less enthusiastically, but right now he would take what he could get.

  “What about the scanning and security equipment?” He called out to the woman as she was walking to the door.

  She stopped, though she didn’t bother to turn around to face him. “The security system will be offline for the next 40 minutes.” She sounded impatient, like someone answering a stupid question for the fourth or fifth time. “That is the most expensive thing you paid for.” She walked out the door, followed by the two men. Cain and his team were alone.

  “Do you trust them, sir?” Teller looked at Cain, standing at attention as he spoke.

  “Fuck no, James.” Cain let out a grim chuckle. “We just don’t have any alternative. And if they’re going to set us up, what difference does it make if they got a few bars of Vance’s platinum out of us first?” He turned his head, looking toward the hatch then back again toward Teller. “And cut the ‘sir’ stuff, James. Officially, we’re not even here.”