by Jay Allan
She looked through the clear window on the back of the hatch. The fear moving through the crowd of stranded refugees was visible, a ripple of frenetic motion as those she’d failed to save came quickly to terms with their dark fate.
She had to get back to the bridge, to help Daniels bring the ship down. But she hesitated, unable to take her eyes off the desperate and panicked people huddled on the docking portal, even as Vagabond fired her thrusters, and they shrank back into the distance until she couldn’t see them anymore.
Chapter 9
Waymeet Inn
15 Kilometers North of Landfall City
Federal Colony Alpha-2, Epsilon Eridani II (Haven)
“Is it true, Cal?” Zig Welch stepped out of the shadows, leaning in and whispering into Jacen’s ear. The Waymeet was home turf to the Society, generally safe ground for any conversation, but the return of the federals meant the revolution was entering its crucial stage. There was nothing to be gained by taking chances.
“Yes. The station is gone, destroyed, just as we predicted.” Jacen looked around quickly and gestured toward a table in the back of the small room. Inn was a strong word to describe the Waymeet, despite the technical qualification bestowed by the three meager rooms for rent on the second floor. The place was barely a small tavern, a spot on the Old North Road, just south of Blackwood Forest, where Havenites traveling back and forth between Landfall and the farms and settlements to the north could stop for a quick bite. There were half a dozen people there as Jacen and Welch spoke, and four of them were Society members.
Welch could see Jacen wasn’t completely satisfied. “What is it, Cal? We’d counted on the federals blasting the station. This will scare everyone into action.”
“Yes, but our losses were considerably lower than we’d anticipated. I was counting on a groundswell of anger at the killing of every man and woman on that station . . . but Captain Nerov and her people ran a rescue mission. They pulled at least forty people off the platform before it was destroyed.”
“Still, that means over fifty were killed in action, or left up there to die when the station was destroyed. Surely that will enrage the people.”
“It will be useful, Zig, but it’s not as impactful when there are heroic survivors. We don’t need a war here, my friend. We don’t need resistance. We need a brutal, no-holds-barred fight to the finish. A crusade. We not only need to defeat the government troops, we have to root out every federal sympathizer hiding on this planet. Every Havenite who fails to rise to his planet’s call.” Jacen paused. “A crew completely wiped out would have been more helpful in that undertaking than forty-odd survivors.” Jacen’s voice had a sour tone. He despised Sasha Nerov. The ex-smuggler had her uses, but she was definitely on his list of those who had to go before the revolution could truly prevail.
Zig nodded slowly. “Still, we can enjoy great gains from the entire mess. The federals did attack the station without delay and without even calling for a surrender.” Welch stopped speaking as the bartender came over and placed two mugs on the table. Hal Dawson was a Society member, but Welch still felt the same caution. This was not the time for carelessness.
“Have we been able to determine if the rumors were true?” Welch continued after Dawson walked back to the bar.
“No, not yet.” Jacen shook his head. “But our man on Earth seemed to think it was reliable.”
“We can only hope. Robert Semmes is a fool. It would be a gift to us if he is in command of the expeditionary force instead of a regular army general.” Welch paused. “Still, I wonder. Semmes isn’t a great tactician, I will agree with that. But he is willing to do whatever he must to win. He will not be . . . restrained . . . as Governor Wells was.”
“And we will encourage him to do exactly that, Zig. Not openly, of course, but we will prod him. We will use his temper against him. And with each innocent Havenite he kills, the rebellion grows.”
Welch didn’t show any emotion, but on the inside, he shied away just a little. Jacen had spent years pursuing revolution, first on Earth, and then, after his exile, on Haven. It had been his life, and he was unlikely to let anything interfere now that his dream was so close to fruition. If the new order must be paid for in blood, Welch had no doubt Jacen would spill as much as it required. But it was one thing to eliminate federals and their sympathizers, another to watch civilians sacrificed en masse to further the cause—so much so that it tested even his own fanatical devotion. Cautiously he tried to convey that.
“And yet, too many innocents could mean there’s no one to join the rebellion. And it may break the will of the people. We must be ready, Cal, to do our own duty, even as General Ward leads the army into battle.”
Jacen frowned at the mention of Damian’s name, but then he nodded. “Yes, General Ward will be very useful. I daresay he is the only one on Haven capable of forging an army that can defeat federal regulars.” He paused, making a face again. “But we must watch the general closely as well, Zig. He is committed to Haven’s freedom, I am certain of that. But he is not one of us. His devotion to the revolution is far from complete. He has repeatedly shown that he does not have the strength, the resolve, to do what must be done, at least off the battlefield.”
Welch nodded. “He has interfered repeatedly in our efforts to root out the loyalist element of the population. A great chance was lost to eliminate federal sympathizers before the government forces returned. Now we must beware of fifth columnists even as our forces fight in the field.”
“Exactly. He considers individual lives of greater importance than the creation of a new Haven, one that will last for thousands of years.” Jacen paused, and he looked around the tavern again. Then he leaned forward and whispered, “If General Ward leads our armies to victory, he will be extremely popular, with the people and with his soldiers. That would make him dangerous—perhaps too dangerous.”
Welch stared back, swallowing back a hint of fear. “Cal, a move against the general at this time? I agree with your concerns, but—”
“You are right,” Jacen interrupted. “Of course we cannot take any action now. We need Ward’s tactical ability and his renown as a war hero. And if he is victorious, we can never be connected in any way to his . . . elimination.” Jacen hesitated, flashing a glance behind him yet again. “But imagine the service the general could offer the revolution as a martyr, lost to federal treachery in the closing moments of the rebellion. Perhaps a victim of a loyalist assassination plot. The people would rise up in the streets like a force of nature. They would demand with righteous fury that we purge the disloyal elements from Haven. The revolution will be victorious, and with blood and fire, we will remake this world.”
Jacen sat and stared at his comrade. His hands were clenched into fists under the table, his usual control faltering, his rage clearly on display.
The thought of moving against Damian Ward was a difficult one, even for the second-in-command of the Society, but Welch reluctantly agreed. The danger of leaving someone so uncommitted to the greater ideals of the revolution alive was not an option. “Perhaps you are right, Cal. But we must be careful. The act can never be connected back to us. That would be disastrous.”
Welch tried to imagine the fury of Haven in such a situation. Damian Ward was already the planet’s favorite son. Leading her armies to victory, making her independence a reality, would make him the most popular Havenite by a large margin.
“We will be careful, Zig. We are always careful. And for now, that’s the least of our concerns. First we must help the general win, for there can be no revolutionary Haven without victory in the field.”
“Which is why so many of our members are with the army. They will fight, obviously, and help to win the war. And they will also be in a strong position to watch the general.”
“Yes, our brothers and sisters in uniform will do their share for the cause, both in battle . . . and in keeping us close to the general. Yet the Society must do more even. There are traitors in our midst,
those who would work against us, seek to aid the federals in enslaving this world.” There was anger growing in Jacen’s voice.
“The loyalists. Of course. General Ward has protected them, prevented most of our efforts to root them out for the past year. But now he will be . . .”
“He will be busy. He will be in the field. There is little doubt our forces will be driven from Landfall. The enemy will target the capital and the other cities, because they believe if they control those population centers, we will break. They do not know us at all. But we have tentacles everywhere, and we can go places the army cannot. When the federals take control of Landfall, the traitors will come flooding out into the open. They will feel safe, protected. Many will even seek to aid the federal army. And we will be in the shadows, waiting to strike.” Jacen paused, clearly realizing the volume of his voice had been rising. He leaned forward and continued softly, “We will cleanse this world of traitors, Zig, and we will set an example for all of Haven of what happens to those who fail the revolution.”
Welch looked back across the table, nodding. “It is time . . . time at last to cleanse our world. Let it begin, my friend. Let it begin now.”
“They’re finally here.”
Jerome Steves crouched forward, his nearly two-meter frame not even coming close to fitting under the low rafters above the building’s rough basement. The house was one of the oldest ones in Landfall, hastily constructed in the days before the colonists had heavy equipment and imported building materials. It was in the old section of town, of course, on a narrow, winding street, dead center in a small cluster of neglected blocks that were gradually deteriorating into Landfall’s first real slum.
The building’s original use had long been supplanted by newer structures along the broad avenues of the more modern sections of town. But even in obsolescence, there was utility, and its abandoned status on an almost forgotten stretch of road made it an ideal place for clandestine meetings.
“I confess, I’d almost lost hope.” Elizabeth Mullen was considerably shorter than Steves, and even she just barely fit without leaning forward. Her hair had caught a few times on the rough, splintered boards just above her head, but she was standing straight, looking a lot more comfortable than her companion. “I have been afraid, not so much for myself, but for my parents, and my grandmother. Things have gotten so bad, they’ve been afraid to leave the house.”
“If it hadn’t been for General Ward’s intervention, I fear many of us would have been murdered in the street.” Steves moved to the side, banging his head on a low-hanging support for the third or fourth time. He grunted softly, reaching up and rubbing the spot.
“Even with the general’s meager efforts to enforce some semblance of control over the Society and the other elements of the mob, we have been harassed. Some of us have been beaten, and we have all lived in fear.” Ray Isaacson was the third person in the cellar. There was an element of anger in his words that made his voice more caustic than those of his comrades. “Now it is time for us to strike back. The federal troops could be here any day. We must spread the word. Now is the time for any man or woman who is loyal to his government, who does not wish to live under the fervor of revolutionary zealots, to come forward. We must support the federal forces in any way we can, for as long as it takes to defeat the rebellion.”
“We don’t dare come forward while the rebels control Landfall and even less so if the army marches out but the federals do not yet occupy.” Still crouching, Steves turned, first toward Mullen, then back facing Isaacson. “No doubt, the Society will try to take advantage of such an absence to attack any of us who expose ourselves.”
“Damn the foul Society to hell, I say,” Isaacson snapped. “If the army is gone, if the illegal government flees, let us face the Society head-on. In the street, yes, but also in their homes, as they would invade ours. As they threaten us, let us do to them. As they would injure us, so shall we injure them. And if they would kill our people, we will kill theirs.”
Mullen looked shocked. “Ray, if we do as you ask, the streets will run red with blood.”
“Then they shall run red, and the blood shall be that of traitors.” Isaacson hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I understand your concerns, Beth, and your commendable wish for a less drastic solution. But is there one? As long as people like Cal Jacen and the Society exist, we’ll never be safe. We must strike at every opportunity, even before the federals move in and fill the vacuum. I guarantee the Society is not planning to sit idle, and nor, my friends, should we. Would you be sheep, waiting to be slaughtered by your enemies? Or would you stand up, your fist in the air, and meet the enemy on his own field of battle?”
Steves sighed. “I don’t like it, Ray,” he said softly. Isaacson could be as aggressive in his own right as Cal Jacen or any member of the Society, and he and Jerome often butted heads about the best course of action. But that didn’t mean he was wrong now. He sighed. “Still, you may be right. We could wish for peace and ask to be left alone, but we all know that’s going to fall on deaf ears. These people mean to kill us, not reason with us, so why pretend otherwise? Besides—they are traitors.” He paused. “I am with you, Ray. I do not relish the thought of violence, but sometimes there is no alternative.”
Isaacson smiled, and he reached out and shook Steves’s hand. Then he turned toward Mullen. “Well, Beth? I know you don’t like violence, but they will come for you whether you fight or not. Are you with us?”
Mullen stood for a moment, her eyes darting between her two comrades. There was pain in her expression, agony at the terrible choice that lay before her. Finally, though, she closed her eyes and nodded, just barely, but it was enough assent for the words she couldn’t compel her mouth to speak.
“Then we are agreed. Let us spread the word. We must be ready to strike if the rebel army leaves Landfall.”
Chapter 10
Army Headquarters
Landfall City
Federal Colony Alpha-2, Epsilon Eridani II (Haven)
“We’ll never hold Landfall, General. Unless everything we’ve discussed has been very mistaken, you know what they’re bringing down. Even if they weren’t able to transport heavy weapons, what they can put in the field is going to be more than we can handle.”
Colonel Luci Morgan sat at the table with the rest of the army of Haven’s senior officers. She was one of Damian’s old comrades, another ex-federal officer who’d taken a farm on Haven as a mustering-out bonus.
Damian had called Morgan and the others in for a final strategy session. The fall of the orbital platform meant the federals could be landing troops planetside at any time now.
“So we need a way to ensure we aren’t pinned down, that we don’t give them the chance to trap us and destroy the army.” Morgan was spirited. She’d been known for her calm and pleasant personality as a farmer, but now that she was back in uniform, she had reverted to the aggressive—sometimes abrasive—demeanor those around the table who’d served with her before remembered.
“No,” responded Tucker Jones, another veteran, his own voice rising in volume in lockstep with Morgan’s. “It’s not just what kinds of troops they have, but how those troops are supported. We all know they have superior logistical systems, and that means they will have more transports and mobile capability than us. Running around won’t solve anything—we can’t win a war of maneuver. We can only win a war of attrition. And fighting in the cities, fortifying every building, every developed area, is the way to tie them down. City fighting is an equalizer. It will reduce the effect of their superiority. We can inflict maximum casualties, force them to expend more ammunition and equipment.”
“At the cost of the utter destruction of Landfall, and every other city on the planet,” Morgan said. “Do you have any idea of the civilian casualties that would result? We would turn Haven into a graveyard.”
“Colonel Morgan,” Jones snapped back, “that may be our only choice. Can you imagine what it’s going to be
like if the planet is reconquered? The restrictions they would impose? And the punishments they would mete out, not only to our soldiers, but to any Havenite who has shown the slightest support for the rebellion—which, at this point, is the majority of the population? Would you put it past the federals to virtually depopulate this world to set an example to the other colonies?”
“So we should beat them to it—”
“Please,” Damian said, cutting off the argument between his two officers. “You are both right. We are not in a situation that offers us ideal choices. Whatever we do will come at a cost.” He moved his head, panning his view to each of those present, one by one. Then he sighed softly.
“But Colonel Jones is right, too.” He held up a hand to stave off Morgan’s interruption. “No—he is right: we cannot simply abandon Landfall. It’s Haven’s capital, and by far its largest population center. Those people deserve protection. And more, we must consider what kind of message we send out if we retreat without putting up any sort of resistance. Not just to the federals, but our own people. This is going to be a hard war, and without their support, without a steady stream of volunteers swelling our ranks—and resistance groups striking at the federals behind the lines—we don’t stand a chance. We can’t change that reality. The federals can draw on the resources they need. They can order their soldiers anywhere. We have nothing . . . nothing save the people.
“So yes, Colonel Jones’s analysis is correct. We cannot hope to defeat the federals in the field, not in open battle. We will be hemmed in by whatever airpower they are able to transport to Haven, and that will greatly restrict our mobility. We must take advantage of every force multiplier we can obtain. And urban warfare is just such a multiplier. This will be a war of attrition, and we’re starting with a massive disadvantage in terms of skill and matériel. We don’t have soldiers on Earth, and have no means to threaten any federal possessions. As such, we can only win our freedom by compelling the federals to give up the effort to subjugate us.”