A Little Rebellion (Crimson Worlds)

by Jay Allan

  Terrance Compton was a well-loved admiral and one of the great heroes of the last war. But Augustus Garret was a legend, the very heart and soul of the navy. If the imposter issued a fleetwide order relieving Compton, Jax didn’t see how the admiral could maintain control of the fleet. At the very least, the formation would splinter, with some ships supporting Compton and others Garret. It would be a disaster.

  Their own prospects looked no better than Compton’s. They were bound for the rally point on Armstrong, and from there to different destinations. Jax and Sarah would be returning to Columbia, dropping onto that planet with a small strikeforce and a tiny medical team. They’d be joining a rebellion that had so far done remarkably well, but now faced overwhelming federal strength. The outlook was bleak, even with the help Jax and Sarah would bring – aid they were providing to the planet to fight other federal authorities. They would all be strictly on their own, and defeat would probably mean court martial and execution…not just for them, but for all those they led there.

  General Holm was going to Terra Nova for a showdown with General Samuels. In the best case, his act was an insubordinate one. But if Samuels was truly under some external pressure, Holm could be walking right into a firestorm. Jax was at least taking 500 combat veterans with him; Holm would be alone except for a few aides.

  Erik Cain was going into the darkest place of all, taking a handful of volunteers to Earth, to the capital of the Alliance, to sneak into the most heavily guarded building in the entire human-occupied universe…and then escape. It was crazy on every level, but it was necessary, and that was all Cain had to know. Jax, Sarah, Holm…they were all horribly worried, distraught at seeing him go on what they saw as a suicide mission. But Cain was calm, almost cheerful. Finally, he was doing something…something that could make a difference. He knew it would be tough, but it was absolutely vital. He’d see it done. Somehow.

  Harrigan prowled around Yorktown’s flight deck. The ship was on condition green, and the entire area was eerily quiet, the only activity around a single ship. The shuttle set to launch had not been on the schedule, not until Harrigan added it. His position made it relatively easy to arrange an inter-ship personnel transfer and, along with it, a shuttle launch to ferry an officer to her new posting. The shuttle’s flight program was simple – a routine trip to the cruiser Boston to deliver one officer. Unknown to the pilot, its real destination was quite different, and there was going to be one extra passenger.

  “Ensign Jorgans reporting, sir.” Jorgans was tall and young, fresh out of the Academy, though she was a bit older than most of her classmates, having spent three years in training for Alliance Intelligence before going into deep cover, first as a naval cadet and now a serving officer.

  “Very well, Jorgans.” Lieutenant Lyle Baum wasn’t much older than Jorgans, maybe three or four years. His own lieutenant’s insignia was still shiny and new. “Go get strapped in. We launch in fourteen minutes.”

  Jorgans nodded. She walked up the metal ramp, carrying a large, overstuffed duffle bag. The automated security system would analyze everything coming onboard, so there was nothing in the bag but uniforms and personal effects – just what an officer would bring along to her new assignment. She chanced a quick look over her shoulder. Good she, thought, he’s looking at my ass. Distraction would be helpful on this mission.

  Lieutenant.” Harrigan stepped out of the shadows, startling the young pilot just as he was enjoying the view of Jorgens’ backside climbing up the ramp.

  Baum was startled, but he snapped to attention. “Sir!” He gave Harrigan a textbook salute.

  “I’ll be hitching a ride, lieutenant.” Harrigan spoke matter-of-factly though, in fact, this was a critical point in his mission.

  “Um…you’re not on the manifest, sir.” Baum was nervous, unsure what to do. Regulations required him to clear any unscheduled passengers with central control. But Harrigan was a full commander, and to a junior lieutenant three years out of the Academy he might as well have been Zeus coming down from Olympus.

  “I decided to make the trip at the last minute.” Don’t give him room to argue, Harrigan thought. “Now let’s go or we’ll miss our launch time.” He paused slightly then added, “Don’t worry. I note your attention to procedure and authorize the change when we get back.”

  Technically, Harrigan didn’t have the authority to approve the change unless he was in the control center on duty. But that wasn’t a fine point Baum was prepared to argue with the commander. “Yes, sir. Please get strapped in.” He swallowed hard. “Sir.”

  Harrigan climbed up the ramp, flashing a silent look at Jorgens and taking a seat. The shuttle was capable of fairly rapid acceleration, and the couches were designed to allow human occupants to survive potentially lethal g forces. The scheduled inter-ship transit would not be utilizing any high-G acceleration, so the accompanying pressure suits were stowed unused in a large locker.

  They sat quietly for a few minutes, firmly strapped into their couches. “Secure for launch in ten seconds.” Baum’s voice came over the general comm system. “Five, four, three, two, one…”

  They were pressed into their couches as the Yorktown’s magnetic catapult launched them out at 3g. A few seconds later, the shuttle’s engine engaged, and began a short burn to build velocity toward the Boston. Harrigan had chosen the target ship well; the Boston was on picket duty, on the far end of the fleet deployment zone. The shuttle would take two hours to reach its destination, giving him some time before any alarm was sounded.

  “We’re at 1g acceleration now, so it should be pretty comfortable if you want to unstrap and walk around.” Baum’s voice on the comm system again.

  Jorgens looked over at Harrigan, and he nodded without a sound. She unstrapped herself and walked forward, toward the cockpit. She ran her hands over her uniform, smoothing it out the best she could. Naval attire wasn’t designed to aid seduction, but she managed to look pretty good in spite of the utilitarian cut of her uniform.

  She pressed the button to open the hatch and walked through. “Do you mind if I come up here for a while?” The hatch made a whooshing sound as it closed behind her. “The commander makes me nervous.” She walked up right behind him.

  He smiled and turned to face her. “Not at all. He’d make me nerv…”

  She moved so quickly he didn’t have time to react at all. Her arms flashed around his head and he jerked forward and fell out of his chair to the floor. His body twitched a few times, but he was already dead, his neck cleanly broken. She dragged the corpse away from the pilot’s chair, just as the hatch opened and Harrigan came through.

  “Well done, Pam.” Harrigan eased himself into the pilot’s chair as he spoke. He’d never finished flight school, though he’d shown some aptitude for it. His superiors at Alliance Intelligence decided that he’d be more useful as a tactical or communications officer, at least in the long run. But he was pretty sure he remembered enough to fly the shuttle.

  His hands raced over the controls. “Secure the body in the cargo hold and get us two pressure suits.” He was entering in their new course as he spoke. “We’re going to be accelerating at max, so we need to suit up.” He paused as he focused on finalizing the course. “We need to get some velocity before they realize something is wrong and send ships after us.” Whether they sent fighters to intercept or shuttles on a rescue mission, it would end the same way for Harrigan and Jorgens. They had to get to the YZ Ceti Warp gate before anything from the fleet caught up with them.

  “Yes, sir.” She pulled Baum’s body back through the doorway. It was slow going; she was in top condition, but Baum was a lot bigger than she was, and it took several minutes for her to get him through the hatch.

  Once the door closed, Harrigan double checked his course settings. Satisfied, he leaned back for a second and closed his eyes. Well, Admiral Compton, he thought. I don’t know how you managed to shut down Commnet, but it won’t do you any good. Harrigan put his hand against his pocket, ru
nning his finger over a small bump…the datachip with Arlen Cooper’s message to Naval HQ. The message he was going to relay to the YZ Ceti Commnet station as soon as they transited the warp gate.

  Chapter 15

  Crystal River Valley

  Southern Sector, Concordia District

  Arcadia – Wolf 359 III

  “General Thompson…sir, the enemy is on the move!” Jasper Logan was young, but he looked even more youthful than he was. Will had to keep reminding himself that his aide was a Marine veteran, even if he’d only served a year before being demobilized. A native Arcadian, Logan had joined the Corps to follow in the footsteps of his father, a decorated Major killed during the ill-fated Operation Achilles fifteen years before.

  “Thank you, lieutenant.” Thompson had been expecting this. Actually, he was surprised the enemy had waited so long. “Notify the battalion commanders. We move out in two hours.”

  Logan saluted and marched off to relay Thompson’s orders. The Arcadian rebels had developed their own salute, really just a minor bastardization of the one Alliance forces used. It had developed organically, because the rebels didn’t want to use the forms of the Alliance they were fighting. Thompson thought it was a little silly, but he saw no harm, and it was good for morale.

  Thompson wore the new uniform of the Army of the Republic of Arcadia, rust-colored fatigues that provided excellent camouflage in the reddish light of the Wolf 359 primary. The rump Assembly, the survivors of the fighting in Weston, had made it official in a makeshift meeting hall in the cellar of a tavern. The document was brief for one of such import, just 605 words. But it was the first few that were of the greatest significance – “We the duly elected and authorized representatives of the people of Arcadia declare that the bonds between Arcadia and the Western Alliance are hereby severed and that Arcadia is henceforth and forever free and sovereign.” They’d put their names to it, all of them, an act that would almost certainly guarantee a death sentence for every signatory should the rebellion fail.

  Thompson had drilled his troops relentlessly, almost mercilessly. The federals had mousetrapped him once, and he swore never again. He’d learned a lesson that day, one that cost him a third of his strength but forged in him the makings of a true combat leader. He had tried to resign his command after the battle, but the soldiers shouted down his attempts. He vowed they would be ready for whatever the enemy threw at them after that day, and he’d been true to his word.

  He’d become obsessive, and sleep was almost a forgotten concept. He worked day and night, and drove those around him until they reached their breaking points. That much he felt he felt he owed to the hundreds who’d died…the ones lost because of his mistake. I wonder, he thought grimly, if the troops are sorry yet that they didn’t let me quit. They are certainly more exhausted.

  The fighting since then had been mostly hit and run attacks. He’d raided enemy supply dumps in and around Arcadia and ambushed enemy forces sent out to pacify other areas of the planet. He didn’t have the strength to counter major enemy thrusts, and he avoided large battles that could put his entire force in jeopardy. Now the enemy was finally moving in strength on his main base in Concordia, and he decided it was time to risk another major battle. He couldn’t give up Concordia – it was his base and the heart of the rebellion. It was also the source of most of his weaponry and ammunition. Building the production facility had been his idea, but the credit for making it work belonged, more than anywhere else, to Kara Sanders.

  Somehow, Kara had managed to keep production going with untrained workers and in spite of the chronic lack of raw materials. They were producing well below capacity now, as resources ran low and irreplaceable machinery broke down, but somehow she kept at least some weapons and ammunition coming to his forces in the field. He was using what she sent him sparingly, but her herculean efforts to maximize efficiency had been vital to keeping the army fighting. Without those supplies, the Arcadian rebellion would have been over already.

  Though he had always been fond of her, and they’d been lovers at times, Thompson had sometimes felt Kara had a bit of the spoiled brat in her, born into privilege as heir to one of the wealthiest families on Arcadia. Now he could hardly believe her strength and dedication. Her true self had risen to the circumstances, and he finally realized it had been there all along. Now, amid the uncertainty and danger he regretted the years they had wasted. He swore it would be different if they both got through this. He’d never let her go again.

  But now he had to get his troops on the move. For the first time since they narrowly escaped destruction, he was ready to commit the entire army to battle. There would be no mistakes this time; he would make sure of that.

  Isaac Merrick swore bitterly under his breath. He’d almost snuffed out this miserable rebellion six months before, but the quarry had escaped from the trap. He’d used Quinn’s brigade as bait, and the rebels bit, seeing a chance to wipe out a large federal force…only to get hit on the flank and rear by Merrick’s other two brigades.

  Merrick had stripped everything bare, including Arcadia City, throwing 90% of his strength into the battle. It had been a big risk, but one that paid off. The rebel commander was taken by surprise; no one expected such a bold move from an Alliance army general. But Merrick wasn’t typical. He was a career military officer, one whose ambitions were limited to advancement in the army. He had the aristocratic attitude of a man born into the Political Class, but the thought of sitting in an office as some sort of functionary was anathema to him, regardless of the pomp and prestige that went along with it. He was a soldier, and now, after a lifetime of training and inactivity, he had a war to fight.

  Somehow the rebels had managed to battle their way out of his trap, but they were badly hurt, and he’d figured it was just a matter of mopping them up. But that wasn’t to be. The rebel forces proved to be resilient, and for the past few months they’d been ambushing his troops every time they left Arcadia City. At least he’d gotten rid of Quinn; the troublesome brigadier was so shaken up by the realities of combat he requested reassignment to Earth, and Merrick happily obliged.

  “William Thompson, 43 years old.” Merrick was reading softly out loud as he scanned the report on his ‘pad. “Born 2228 in Philadelphia, Outer City-South…hmm, the South Philadelphia Flats…rough neighborhood.” He’d ordered a full dossier prepared on the rebel commander, and he was reviewing it for something, anything, he could use. “Mother murdered in 2233, no details available.” There was a lot of crime in the Flats, and the police didn’t waste much time worrying about Cog on Cog offenses. “Father died 2309, non-diagnosed infectious disease.”

  Reading the details of Thompson’s childhood made Merrick think. He’d always viewed the Cogs as almost animals, the products of generations of substandard genetics - people who weren’t capable of more than menial tasks. But Will Thompson was a Cog, and after Merrick beat him once the damnable rebels had been tearing apart the federal forces for the last six months. It was more than he could process then and there, but one day he would have to consider the implications.

  “Recruited into the Marines from Delaware Banks Detention Center where he had been sentenced to life working the lunar mines.” Thompson had been a repeat criminal, but since he’d restricted his activities to other Cogs, he’d escaped a death sentence. Still, Merrick thought, life expectancy in the lunar mines was only a little over a year, so it wouldn’t have been too much of a reprieve. “Graduated Camp Puller, 2251. Assigned to 1st Marine Division.”

  There was more. Thompson had a good service record, with two decorations and a series of strong reports from his superiors. He was admitted to the Academy after recovering from wounds sustained during Operation Achilles. Badly injured in a training accident, he retired soon after and decided to stay on Arcadia. Although more or less fully recovered from his back-to-back wounds, by all accounts he still experienced considerable chronic pain, and occasionally used a cane.

  He looked up from the s
creen, thinking - what makes this ex-sergeant such a formidable commander? And these upstart colonials such good soldiers? He wasn’t able to really understand the motivations of the rebels, who fought for a cause they believed in, for freedoms they loved and had come to consider essential. Merrick was smart, and he was a pragmatist, but the system he was a part of, the only one he’d known all his life, was simply too rigidly orthodox to allow him to truly understand the colonial mindset.

  Now that he’d been reinforced, he decided it was time to make a major push. He was losing the guerilla war, there was no point in sugar-coating that. The colonials knew the terrain better than he did, and the population was on their side. He’d never stamp them out sending small units to pacify individual villages. He had to engage and destroy the main rebel army, and he had to hit them someplace vital to force them to commit.

  Concordia was the core of enemy strength, the place rebellion had begun. With Arcadia City occupied, it was the next most populated area on the planet. Merrick was sure Thompson would have to commit his forces to hold it. Invading Concordia, Merrick decided, was the way to achieve his major battle.

  It offered another opportunity as well. For months, Merrick had been wondering how Thompson kept his army supplied. They’d raided his forces and stolen a considerable quantity of equipment that much was true. But that didn’t come close to covering the ordnance they had expended. The rebels had a weapons cache or a secret production facility and, odds were, it was in Concordia somewhere. If he could inflict serious casualties on the enemy army and seize their supply source, the rebellion would falter and collapse.