Flames of Rebellion

by Jay Allan

  That was another reason to end the standoff at the capital.

  Landfall was the only place on the planet still held by federal forces. If Damian could end the hostilities, even temporarily, he and Danforth could begin to address some of these issues, start the process of creating a real government for Haven.

  One thing at a time.

  Damian walked over to the two federal officials. “Governor Wells . . . it has been some time, hasn’t it? When we last met, I was assisting you, trying to prevent hostilities. I am truly sorry our efforts were not more successful.”

  “As am I.” Wells paused, his eyes darting uncomfortably from Stanton back to Damian. “I want to thank you for granting this parley.”

  “And I thank you for coming. We must be willing to talk if we are to resolve this matter without further tragedy.”

  “Mr. Ward,” Stanton said, “we are prepared to agree to a limited ceasefire on the condition that your forces withdraw back to Dover and that the orbital fortress allows shipments of basic necessities to land.” Her voice was firm, but Damian knew it was a charade. The federals were in dire straits, in no position to dictate terms. And he found her refusal to address him by rank amusing, a bit of misplaced arrogance.

  He looked at her silently for a few seconds, pushing aside the irritation he felt at her demeanor.

  “I’m sorry if my invitation to attend this meeting created any misconceptions. So let me clear that up right now. We are not here to negotiate. We are here to discuss a specific proposal, one I am prepared to offer to you.

  “All federal forces will agree to withdraw from Landfall immediately. All political prisoners currently held in prisons and in detention camps will be released—unharmed—at once, and control of the prisons handed over to us. Your soldiers, and all civilians wishing to join you, will be allowed to leave the planet. The federal frigates in the system, as well as three supply vessels currently holding position out of range of the fortress, will be allowed to land—one ship at a time—to board your people.”

  “That is preposterous. I won’t—”

  “Madame Observer, I really don’t care what you feel is reasonable. I could recite you a litany of atrocities committed under your rule, but that would serve no purpose, and could only serve to further erode the productive nature of this meeting. What I will recite is the current state of your situation: you are surrounded, trapped in Landfall; you are low on food and other supplies; and you have little hope of resupply in the immediate future.”

  Damian looked at Wells. He could see agreement in the governor’s face. But he wasn’t the one he had to convince.

  “I can assure you my decision to offer you these terms is not popular with many of my officers. Left to their own devices, they would storm Landfall and take the city by force. I’m sure you can imagine what would happen in that event. My army would take thousands of casualties, and the cries for ‘justice,’ for harsh terms toward you and your forces, would become irresistible. You would certainly be tried for war crimes, alongside many of your officers. And I cannot even imagine how the soldiers would react toward your people, especially if their illegally imprisoned families in Landfall were injured or killed in the fighting. Or through any act perpetrated by your people.”

  Stanton’s face was twisted in a combination of anger and fear. “You are threatening me? That is why you brought us here?”

  “Yes, that is correct. You may consider my proposal a threat; indeed, it most certainly is. But that’s the wrong way for you to view it. Because you can also view it as a chance to save your people. And quite possibly to escape the gallows yourself. But I demand a decision now. If you leave this camp without agreeing to these terms, they will be immediately revoked, and my army will assault the city. If you would like a moment to discuss this privately, though, I am happy to accommodate.”

  Damian turned and took a step.

  “Damian, wait.” It was Wells.

  “Asha,” the governor said, “we need to accept these terms. There is no other solution. Our position is hopeless. I know this will be a setback for your career, Asha, but don’t throw your life away. Please.”

  Damian watched, waiting to see what Stanton would decide. He didn’t doubt he could take Landfall, but he knew the cost would be staggering. He’d seen the terrible cost of assaulting a city before, as part of a force of veteran, professional soldiers. And his army, such as it was, consisted mostly of armed civilians.

  Stanton looked at Wells. She hesitated, as if she was struggling with herself to say the words. Finally, she spoke. “Very well. I . . . we . . . accept your terms. All political prisoners will be released. And all federal forces will withdraw from Alpha-2 as soon as transport can be provided.” Her tone was bitter.

  “Very well. You may return now and make whatever preparations are required.” He turned and looked at Luci Morgan. She’d been standing behind him the entire time, silently watching.

  “Colonel Morgan, please prepare a detachment to go with Governor Wells and Observer Stanton to coordinate the release of the prisoners. I’d like to begin bringing them here today.” He glanced over at Stanton. She nodded.

  “Yes, General.” Morgan snapped off a textbook salute, more for the benefit of the federals, Damian suspected, than any other reason. The rebel army didn’t even have a set of protocols for such things. Not yet.

  “Ben . . .” He turned the other way, looking toward Withers. “We don’t know what condition the prisoners will be in when they arrive. Put the medical staff on alert, and make sure adequate food supplies are available. I suspect they will be hungry, at the very least.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Damian . . .” It was Wells.

  “Yes, Governor?” Damian kept his address formal. He knew Wells wasn’t a brutal man, but for all his evenhanded pronouncements and his truce offer, Damian wasn’t feeling too kindly toward any federals at the moment.

  “Thank you. For your reason, for your humanity. I know many of your people will be angry about your letting the federal forces leave. You have saved many lives today, Damian. On both sides.”

  “My troops’ personal feelings on this are irrelevant. They will follow their orders.” He paused. “But I appreciate your words, Everett.” Another hesitation, longer this time. “I—I wish you the best. We find ourselves on different sides of this conflict, but you are a good man. If there were more like you in federal service, we wouldn’t be here.” He turned, looking at Stanton for a moment, but he didn’t say anything else. Then he turned and walked away, glancing over at one of his officers on the way.

  “Lieutenant, please escort the governor and the observer back to their lines and see that they arrive safely.” Then he made his way across the dirt road of the camp and disappeared into the command tent.

  “No, you can’t do this, General.” Killian came barging into the tent, his face twisted into an angry scowl. “You can’t let them go, not after all they have done.”

  “Major Killian, that will be enough.” Damian’s voice was hard, cold. It brooked no disagreement. But Killian wasn’t about to be silenced.

  “You can’t, General . . . at least, not Colonel Semmes. Let the others go if you must, but Semmes is a monster. How many deaths is he responsible for? He must pay for all he has done.”

  Damian stood up and faced Killian. “Patrick, I understand your anger. But I can’t exclude Colonel Semmes from the agreement. It is too late. If we try to add conditions now, we jeopardize the entire ceasefire. Is keeping Semmes worth that? Worth losing thousands of troops if we have to assault Landfall? Worth risking the deaths of the civilians in the camps? How many people should die to bring one man to justice?”

  Killian exhaled hard, his hands clenched into fists. He didn’t respond, but Damian could see how agitated he was.

  “What is it, Patrick? I understand the desire to bring Semmes to justice, but after all—”

  “It was him.”

  Damian looked back, a confuse
d expression on his face. “What was ‘him’?”

  “Semmes. He was the officer. The one who cost me my career. It was on Shinjen-3, when we were facing the hegemony’s counteroffensive. We were outnumbered . . . but we had a good position. And reinforcements were on the way.”

  Damian looked at the ranger, a man he’d come to consider cold, hard, ruthless. But now all he could see was vulnerability.

  “All we had to do was hold. But Semmes lost his nerve. He ordered us to fall back . . . out of the heavy cover and into the open. I argued with him, pleaded, tried to explain. But he wouldn’t listen.”

  Killian stared at Damian, his eyes moist, sucking in a deep breath. “They died, sir . . . all of them. Figgie, Harry, Pug. We’d fought together for four years, served on half a dozen planets. They were the best, that crew . . . comrades, friends. Brothers and sisters. And I watched them die, all of them. Fifty-one of Federal America’s best men and women. All because Semmes lost his guts and ordered them out into the open. And I was the only one who made it back.

  “Semmes had bugged out ahead of the unit. He spouted some bullshit about getting to headquarters to report, but he was just a coward. He ordered his soldiers into a death trap . . . and he ran, abandoned them to their fate.”

  Damian had never seen the ranger so unnerved. If he’d known, he would have demanded Semmes be turned over as part of the truce.

  Would you? Would you have jeopardized the ceasefire, condemned thousands to death in a needless battle, just to punish one man? Whatever he’d done?

  No, he answered himself. No. You took this responsibility, and you have to consider all factors in your decisions.

  He would have refused Killian’s request, even if the ranger had come before the deal was made. He just couldn’t allow thousands of colonists to die in the ruins of Landfall when he could save them . . . not so one man could have his revenge. However well-deserved it was.

  “Patrick, I’m sorry . . . I truly am. I can’t imagine what you went through. But I have to consider—”

  “I reported him when I got back. Semmes. I went to the battalion commander. He knew me, he knew my service . . . and he assured me he would investigate. But Semmes’s family is powerful. His father is a senator. There was no investigation. None at all.” Killian paused. “And then I was arrested, charged with gross negligence, with leading the unit into a slaughter. It wasn’t enough to let him off; they blamed it on me. A guilty enlisted man no one cared about . . . and an insurance policy against any dirt sticking to Semmes.”

  Killian stared right at Damian. “I sat there, Damian. I sat there and listened to the charges, to every name. My comrades, my dead friends. They said I ran, that I left them. That they were out in the open on my orders, that I lost it in the heat of battle and abandoned them all.” The coldness was back. “Then they offered me a deal. Accept a dishonorable discharge, and never speak of it again. Or face prosecution and a firing squad. I refused, I said no. But they were bluffing. Couldn’t risk a trial, the chance that the truth would come out. So they went forward without my consent; they forged my confession . . . and they cast me out. They knew no one would listen to a disgraced sergeant, a man everyone believed had left his soldiers to die. And they were right, Damian.”

  Damian walked up to Killian, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder, hating himself for what he was about to say. “Patrick, I understand. But I can’t risk the ceasefire, not even for something like this. You know those volunteers out there will be massacred if we have to fight now. I need time to train them, to make them an army that can face what’s coming.” The torment in Killian’s face was almost too much, but he pressed on. “I can’t do what you ask, Patrick. I have to base my decisions on what is best for the army, for the rebellion.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”

  Killian stood in the tent, silent, staring back at Damian.

  “I understand that you want to see Semmes held accountable, Patrick.” Damian suspected Killian’s intent went well beyond “accountability,” but he kept that to himself. He didn’t imagine he’d feel much different in the ranger’s shoes. “But I need your help now, to train this army, to use the time we have and not waste a moment. You know as well as I do, the federals will be back. And if we’re not ready, this world will be reconquered . . . and all of us will end up on the gallows. We can’t let that happen. I know this is painful for you, but you have to let it go.”

  Killian stared back. His expression was a mix of emotions: anger, frustration, confusion. He didn’t argue, but he didn’t say anything. He just stood there looking back at Damian, silent. Then, finally, subtly, he nodded.

  “I’m not going with you.” Violetta Wells stood in the doorway, glaring at her father as he packed the last of the items from his desk.

  Wells turned toward his daughter. “Don’t be foolish, Vi. We don’t have time for this now. The ship launches in less than six hours.”

  “You’re not listening to me. I am not leaving.”

  Wells stopped what he was doing and took a step toward Violetta. “Look, Vi, I know all this has been upsetting, but—”

  “Upsetting? Watching men and women rounded up and penned in cages like animals? Did you see those camps? Did you smell them?” Her voice was emotional, angry. “Did you watch those soldiers—murderers—kill the wounded men and women in the courtyard? Have you tried to imagine the screams of the victims? The last thoughts that went through their minds as they lay there, wounded and in pain, realizing there were soldiers moving toward them . . . to kill them?”

  “Violetta, you don’t understand. Those were terrible acts, without question. You know I don’t support those kinds of tactics, that I fought and argued against them.”

  “To no avail, though.” She sighed. “I know you are a good man . . . but you serve something evil. And I can’t be a part of that anymore.”

  “You’re being naïve, Violetta. The rebels have committed atrocities, too. That is war. It’s why I tried so hard to prevent it.”

  “And what did that get you? They sent that woman to replace you . . . and that monster Semmes. How could you go back there, continue your allegiance to them . . . even as they strip you of your posts?”

  “Federal America is our nation, Violetta. Its government is flawed, but we must labor to change that, not fight against it. The civil war was a humanitarian disaster. A quarter of the population perished. Would you have that happen again? Would you have those who seek to overthrow the government plunge the nation back into chaos and despair?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was cold, her tone one of absolute certainty. “You cannot reach good by serving evil, Father, no matter how commendable your intentions. The Havenites are right. They can only protect their rights by fighting for their freedom. The wrong side won the civil war back on Earth. I pray that doesn’t happen here . . . and I am prepared to do anything I can to see that doesn’t. I intend to volunteer for the army, Father. I will fight alongside these people. I will become one of them.”

  “Violetta! You cannot say such things.” Her comments about the civil war were enough to get her sent to a reeducation camp back on Earth. The great conflict that had resulted in the birth of Federal America was a heavily proscribed topic on Earth, and the histories and accounts of the war were tightly edited.

  “No, Father. You cannot say such things. You remain a slave of those who would rule your life. But I renounce my allegiance to Federal America. I am a Havenite . . . now and forever. This is my home.”

  Wells was upset. He moved across the room, reaching out to his daughter. “Violetta, please. I have to go back. You can’t stay here.”

  She looked up at her father, her expression softening as she did. “I am sorry, Father. I love you . . . I always will, however much we disagree. But I am staying here. There is no place for me back on Earth. Not now.”

  “There will be war here, Violetta. You know the senate will never accept the terms Damian is sending to them.” Wells was carrying a proposal from
Damian and the rebels, one proposing a long-term ceasefire while the two sides discussed a permanent agreement. He doubted the powers on Earth would even consider it . . . and he suspected Damian knew the same.

  He tried to imagine his daughter, his only child, alone on Haven, in the middle of the firestorm he knew was coming.

  He felt hollow inside. For all that had happened, and for the uncertain future that awaited him back on Earth, he’d never imagined having to say goodbye to Violetta. He wanted to scream, to break down and beg her to come with him. But he just stood there, staring helplessly.

  He felt an urge to remain himself, to stay with her . . . but he knew it was impossible. He’d tried to prevent the rebellion; he’d softened federal policy and put his own future on the line. But he knew most people viewed him simply as a tool of federal oppression. There were loyalists on the planet, he knew that. But the rebels were firmly in charge. And they would never accept him, even if he’d been able to stay. Which he knew he couldn’t do.

  His sense of duty was a strong one, and it compelled him to return, to do whatever meager amount he could to moderate federal policy. He didn’t suspect he’d have much influence when he got back to Earth, but he had to try.

  “Are you sure about this?” Wells knew his daughter well enough to realize that once she’d made up her mind, no force in the galaxy could change it.

  “I am. I’m sorry, Father. I know you have to go. But I have to stay.” The firmness and anger in her voice was gone, and he could see the tears welling up in her eyes. “I will miss you.” She lunged forward and put her arms around him, squeezing hard and sobbing.

  “I will miss you, too.” He had to gasp for breath to squeeze out the words. He was just realizing the true extent of what was happening, and it took everything he had to maintain his composure. “Promise me you will be careful . . . and take care of yourself.”