by Graham Brown
“I have my reasons,” she said.
“Which are?”
Hannah hesitated. She wanted to tell them about James, but she didn’t quite trust Isha. She switched the subject. “You seem as if you’d rather it be a simple worker’s mutiny.”
Isha nodded. “People are afraid, Hannah. They’re not likely to join in a suicide attack. Nor are they thrilled to hear that the riot has taken place at the site of the new Core Unit. Everyone knows what’s going to happen when the next freighters land and the Cartel’s friends and families begin arriving in droves. If that unit isn’t finished there will be no place for us to live. We’ll be the ones living in holes and hastily constructed shelters.”
“All the more reason to act now.”
“With what? Small arms and other weapons,” Isha said. “What good are they against tanks and MRVs?”
“They’re not much good at all,” Hannah admitted. “Which is why we need to act now. While Cassini’s army is busy with this uprising.”
Isha looked out into the distance, staring at the departing column of MRVs. Her hands were visibly shaking.
“This is our chance,” Hannah said. “We act now, or we act never and let them do with us what they will.”
Davis came to her aid as always. “My people are ready,” he said. “About a hundred in all. We have access to trucks and rifles. The techs have identified spots in the power grid we could attack that will bring down their communications and tracking networks. We can blind them. The construction battalion has already smuggled out a few caseloads of demolition charges. Some of the systems people have planned a computer virus to shut down their operating systems.”
Hannah nodded. That was more than she’d expected.
Isha listened but continued to stare outward; she placed her hands on the rail to steady them. “I just thought…” she began. “I just thought we’d have more time. But you’re right. We won’t get another chance like this. I will urge those who trust me to join.”
“Thank you,” Hannah said. “Get word to the others. Let’s meet back here tonight. Cassini and his thugs will be too busy with whatever this is to worry about us until then.”
In the main room of the armory, James, Bethel and Kamahu were leaning over a display table. A satellite view of the armory buildings and the surrounding area was illuminated on the flat screen.
“We’re right here,” James said, pointing to the cluster of buildings, running beside a dark gash of the ravine. “They can’t come at us from this direction because of the canyon that runs along the road.”
He continued to study the screen.
“What about from the north?” Kamahu asked.
“Too rocky. They’d have to pick their way through and over these sharp ridges. Making them easy targets.”
“Lucky for us,” Bethel said.
“No luck involved,” James said. “They built this place thinking they were going be the ones needing a defensible position in the fight for Mars. They chose this spot intentionally.”
Bethel nodded. “Like I said, lucky for us.”
James smiled. Using his finger, he traced a line from the armory along the road and toward Olympia City. “The only real option is to attack us from the east. That means they come over this ridge and right down the main road.”
“Do you really think they’ll come right at us?” Kamahu asked.
James turned toward the big man, “What would you do if some weakling threw a rock at you? Would you sneak around behind him and try to get him from the back?”
“No,” Kamahu said. “I’d walk up and punch him in the face.”
“Exactly,” James said. “In this case we’re the weaklings. They know what weapons were left here. They’ll come in with ten times the firepower and demolish us head on.”
“I hope that’s not supposed to be your inspirational speech,” Bethel said.
“Just the facts,” James replied. “You have to know your enemy. Then you can plan accordingly.”
As James spoke, the main power went out and the emergency lights came on.
“Looks like they’ve figured out where we are,” Bethel said.
James nodded and looked at Kamahu. “It’s time, gather the men.”
Ten minutes later they were in the main hall of the armory. Several hundred men and women were gathered. They carried weapons now and many of them wore some semblance of body armor, though it would be of little use against the forces that were probably rolling their way.
James walked to the front of the room and climbed up on the loading dock as if it were a stage. Bethel and Kamahu followed him as the rag tag army in front of them, milled around, not exactly at attention, but ready to listen to him.
With the power out and the air processing units off, it was already getting a little stuffy in the room.
“It seems our enemies are trying to sweat us out,” James began. “All I can say is…do they not remember where we just came from?”
A roar of laughter rose up from the men and they were put at ease. If their leader could laugh and joke, how bad could it be?
“They are coming for us,” James said more seriously. “We knew they would, but if anyone doubted it, here’s the proof.”
The army grew more somber at this statement but they accepted it as soldiers should.
“And that’s okay,” James said. “In fact it’s better for us. But I have to warn you, it’s not going to be a fair fight. They know what we’ve got. They know the weapons we’ve picked up here. They know how many MRVs were in the yard. They may have doubts as to whether we can use them, but they’re not going to be foolish enough to guess wrong.”
A murmur ran through the crowd. The moment of doubt that James had to crush.
“But this isn’t the time to fear,” he said boldly. “This is the time to stand and to punish them for all they’ve done to you.”
The murmur died and the room went silent.
“Listen to me and listen good,” James continued, walking the stage and making eye contact with as many of them as possible. “Nothing has ever been given to you... Nothing. You’ve been shadows and ghosts your whole lives... To the rest of humanity you don’t matter. You don’t even exist... But if you stand up today... If you fight today…Today they will see you! Today they will hear you! Today they will know that you… are… real!!!”
A roar went up from the crowd. It shook the rafters of the metal building and must have echoed across the barren plains of Mars. A second shout followed and then a third, as if the workers wanted the whole world to hear them. To finally hear their voices.
James heard them, and he felt himself begin to choke up. These were the very people he’d barely given a damn about two months earlier. The very people his father had begged him to understand and to fight for. And now here they were, ready to fight alongside him, ready to die with him for a concept as abstract as freedom. The forgotten, the downtrodden, the rejected souls of the poorest of the poor. And yet, humanity’s very last hope all at the same time.
“Never give up!” James shouted, raising his own rifle over his head. “Never give in!”
The army. His army. Repeated the words with bravado. They began to chant it over and over.
Never give up! Never give in!
CHAPTER 39
Clad in fatigues with a towel draped over his head instead of a helmet, James stood on the ridgeline peering through binoculars. He studied the shapes coming toward them.
“Smarter than I thought,” he admitted as he studied the formation.
Whoever was leading the opposing forces had made a wise decision to spread his units out. The wide line would allow him to concentrate fire from all directions onto the defender’s position, while the slaves would have to pick and choose their targets, firing here and there, diluting their fire instead of concentrating it. It would make an already unfair fight even more one sided.
And then, once the bombardment had softened them up, the phalanx would close in o
n the rebels, the ends would curl inward and the defenders would be caught in crossfire from three directions. At that point it would all end rather quickly.
“I don’t see any infantry,” James said. “Just armor. That’s in our favor.”
“Anything else in our favor?” Kamahu asked.
“Nope,” James said, handing him the binoculars. “Not a damn thing.”
Kamahu shook his head. “Have to say, I think I liked your other speech better.”
James laughed and slapped Kamahu on the arm. He was the only one who’d be fighting in the open without body armor, because he was too big for even the XL size to fit. Instead he wore a cloak of white and grey, like some kind of Bedouin nomad.
“The men will look to you for guidance,” James said, motioning to the hundreds of former slaves now digging in on the ridgeline. “Dressed like this they can spot you easily. Like it or not, you’re their leader now. The job is simple. You get them to fire like crazy and then pull back once the heavy stuff starts coming in.”
James pointed to the narrow road that ran down the ridge behind them, cutting between the armory and the canyon.
“Take the men all the way back past the armory,” he reminded Kamahu. “Don’t stop short.”
Kamahu nodded.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about your name,” he said. “Sounds old. Does it mean something?”
“It comes from my grandfather’s tribe,” Kamahu said. “From our island in the Pacific, before it sank beneath the waves. It means the quiet warrior.”
James nodded. “Well, I’ll give you the warrior part,” James said. “That’s for damn sure.”
James offered a hand and the big man took it. They shook and then parted ways.
A minute later James was climbing into his MRV. Bethel was already inside manning the radioman’s seat, listening to the comm chatter over a set of headphones. A radar scanner of some sort showed the enemy approaching.
“Sounds like they’ve spotted us,” Bethel said.
“I know,” James replied. He sat down, strapped himself in and began to throw a few switches. The sound of the MRV’s engine powering up was felt throughout the machine.
“Once they get a little closer, I’ll throw on the ECM.”
“ECM?” Bethel asked.
“Countermeasures,” James said. “It’ll jam up their radar. They won’t be able to lock onto us from long range.”
Bethel raised an eyebrow. “Won’t that just bring them closer?”
James nodded. “That’s the idea.”
Silence descended over them as they watched the approaching mercenaries on the long-range screen.
Bethel grew quiet and very still. He seemed to be thinking deeply.
“You okay?” James asked.
“This is a first for me,” Bethel said. “I’ve never seen the front end of war, only the causalities, the wounded and the dead.”
“I’m not sure which is worse,” James said. “Feels like I’ve been fighting since I could hold a gun. Twenty years,” he added, his voice trailing off. “Twenty years with nothing but killing and death.”
Bethel studied him for a moment and then spoke, the serious tone even deeper in his voice. “The fate of your family has always been to fight for those who could not fight for themselves.”
James turned from the scanner and studied Bethel through hard, flinty eyes. “You know who I am?”
Bethel nodded. “I’ve known all along. I’ve just been waiting for you to remember.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“No man can tell another who he is or should be. Each of us must find that answer in himself.”
CHAPTER 40
Ten miles from the confiscated armory, Gault rode in the lead MRV. He would act as the gunner in this rig, but he was really there as a chariot rider, a captain on site to direct the battle. The mercenaries in the other MRVs were not as well trained, at least not in these machines, though he guessed they’d prove more than a match for the slaves.
As the big machine wallowed from side to side at its walking pace, Gault switched on the targeting radar. Waiting for it to lock on, he turned to the radioman.
“Order the others to bring up their scopes and clear their weapons,” he said and then glanced over at the driver. “And bring us to three-quarters speed. I’m getting sick moving at this pace.”
As the communications officer repeated Gault’s order through the comm, the driver pushed the throttle forward and the big machine began to accelerate.
Riding in an MRV was much like traveling in a ship at sea. At low speeds they rocked from side to side as they loped along on the two massive legs. But at higher rates the ride was entirely different. It became smooth. The gyroscopic mounts held the cab steady and the hydraulic in the legs pumped ferociously with only fractions of a second of settling before the next leg extended. Like a speedboat planning across the water, it created a sense of skipping like a stone on the surface of a lake.
The biggest problem at high speed was the noise, which punished the ears. Between the relentless whine from the massive transmission and the throbbing of the huge engines that powered the machines, it was almost impossible to communicate verbally inside an MRV in battle. Because of this, the crews wore helmets with heavy ear protection. They communicated though intercoms and hand signals.
As the noise grew, Gault pulled his helmet on and cinched it tight. He turned back to the targeting display.
“Something’s wrong,” he muttered.
“What is it?” the driver asked.
Gault played with the controls trying to fine-tune the scope. “The range finding and directional lock are all screwed up.”
Before he could say anything more, the radioman began to call out. “Units 3 and 4 report targeting issues… Units 5 and 9 are having the same problem. They’re all reporting the same issue. It’s just…”
Gault held up a hand, he didn’t need any more confirmation. “They’re jamming us.”
Gault switched his targeting scope to infrared and noticed how bad the resolution was. On Earth, in the dingy light and the endless rain, infrared scopes were the preferred method for close quarters combat. But here on Mars under the twin assaults of the sun and the Solaris Array, the surface was superheated at high noon. It made the targets hard to pick out. They’d have to move in close. Very close.
The first twinge of doubt sprung up in Gault’s mind. It came not out of fear but from the sense that something was not quite right. “How is it possible,” he wondered aloud, “that these worthless, refugee slaves are able to operate our equipment?”
“They’ve picked a strong spot to defend from too,” the driver noted.
Gault agreed silently. “So one of them knows a little military strategy. Fine. At least this will be somewhat of a challenge. Nothing bores me more than an easy win.”
He opened the comm switch himself. “All units, accelerate to flank speed and switch to infrared,” he ordered. “Close to one mile and show them no mercy.”
From his own MRV James watched the phalanx of Gault’s units spread out and begin their run. Through the shimmering heat of the desert they began to move faster and faster, kicking up clouds of dust behind them. From this range there was no sound. Just the sight of huge machines running through a mirage towards them. It felt like a dream.
James pressed his own comm switch. “Wait,” he said, quietly, holding the line open and counting down the seconds in his mind. Five, four, three… And when he reached zero, “Fire at will.”
He let go of the comm switch, locked his sights on the lead MRV and pulled the trigger.
The big plasma guns recoiled, unleashing their first shots. An instant later
hundreds of other weapons opened up in unison. Most of the fire came from the rifles in the hands of the former slaves on the ridgeline, but larger more potent blasts came from the five MRVs.
It was impressive, if not particularly devastating to the oncoming stam
pede.
An explosion lit up the horizon as James’s first shot found its mark. Seconds later other explosions and clouds of smoke showed additional impacts along the approaching line, but then the attackers returned fire and a hail storm of plasma blasts, tracers and missiles came blistering in at the rebel lines.
Not surprisingly the result was instant chaos.
The mercenaries had the numbers and the superior firepower, but the former slaves were dug in behind the ridge of stone. Even their MRVs stood far enough down the slope that only their weapons were exposed.
James was already moving. Moving and firing. His training and experience made him a more cold-blooded assassin for the moment. Move, set, fire. Repeat, repeat, repeat…
The salvos unleashed from his machine hit one mercenary vehicle after another with deadly accuracy. And soon there were a half dozen plumes of smoke drifting skyward from the victims of his onslaught.
Without automatic targeting the other MRVs were struggling. At best they’d hit one, maybe two of the attackers. The counterattack made it harder to see. Missiles hitting the ridgeline had blown fragments of stone and huge clouds of dust into the sky.
From the corner of his eye, James saw the MRV immediately to his right explode in a fireball. It had been standing still and firing from a fixed position as if it was a piece of artillery.
He tapped the comm switch. “Move and fire!” he shouted. “Move and fire. Just like I showed you.”
The remaining two machines followed orders, moving awkwardly. But one of them was not firing.
“Tango Four, release your safeties,” James called.
“Safeties?”
“The red switch on the right panel,” James said. “Flip it over and press the button underneath it.”
As James spoke, a pair of glancing blows hit them and both he and Bethel were jostled around. Reacting on instinct James redirected the machine to the right, spun the cab and fired again. A spread of missiles raced from the top of the rig, screaming towards the enemy and hiding them in a new cloud of smoke.