Rebellion's Fury

by Jay Allan

  “So what does that mean?” Morgan asked.

  “It means we must defend Landfall, at least to some extent. I can’t think of anything more disastrous for morale than simply fleeing and leaving the capital open to the enemy. Yet,” he said, looking at Jones, “Colonel Morgan was also correct in much of her assessment. Our victory, if it comes, will be the result of raids, of lightning strikes, of hiding from the enemy’s major forces and hitting them when and where we can gain temporary advantage. And we must continue this until we have worn them down. We cannot allow ourselves to be penned in any one spot, however important that place may be. If they can surround us, if they can hem us in, the rebellion is over. Even in the face of catastrophic casualties, the federals will never withdraw if they feel they have us cornered and on the verge of defeat.”

  “It sounds like you have a plan, General. What do we do?” asked Devlin Kerr, another ex-veteran and now a colonel for the rebellion.

  Damian had an idea of what he was going to order, but the truth was, he was still uncertain. He wanted to hurt the federals at Landfall, to blood them badly in what he was sure would be their first attack. But he was leery of committing a major portion of the army. Some of the recruits had a fair amount of training, but he was far from confident his army could handle complex maneuvers under stress. If he committed the whole force to the defense of Landfall, and they were forced to retreat, he knew it could be a disaster. If his people were caught out in the open, exhausted and demoralized after a bloody fight for the capital, the federals could crush the entire force. And yet if he left too few as part of the defense, they’d be easily overrun after, perhaps, inflicting a few wounds into the federals’ cause. It felt like a lose-lose proposition.

  He looked across to the far end of the table, and wondered if perhaps there was a third option. Patrick Killian hadn’t uttered a word during the meeting. He’d just sat there, listening attentively to all that was said. Killian had a reputation as a hothead, and the exploits of his rangers were still spoken of in many quarters with fear and revulsion—talk still persisted that Killian’s people had scalped their federal victims at Vincennes—but he was an effective officer, and right now, that’s what mattered the most.

  Sure, Damian suspected there was more to the rumors than pure fiction, but he’d also decided he didn’t want to know. He needed Killian. The man was the best all-around fighter he’d ever seen, and though a lot of mystery surrounded his dishonorable discharge from the army, Damian knew Killian had been set up to take the fall for someone else: Robert Semmes. It had driven Killian almost to the breaking point when Damian had allowed Semmes to leave with the retreating federals the year before, but the man had stayed on. And that meant he was still willing to fight.

  Kerr wasn’t quite correct—he didn’t exactly have a plan.

  But one was forming.

  “I want to thank you all for coming,” Damian said abruptly. “Go now, and get your commands organized. The enemy may commence their landing at any moment. I will have orders to each of you by the end of the day.

  “Dismissed.”

  He sat and watched as his officers stood up, one or two of them hovering for a moment, as if they wanted to say something. But finally they all filed out. All except for Killian.

  Of course he stayed. He knows this is a situation for his rangers.

  “I want to discuss our options.”

  “Yes, General.”

  “We’re all out of our depth, Patrick. A bunch of noncoms and junior officers playing at being colonels and generals.” He meant no insult to any of his people, and he certainly included himself at the top of his list of those promoted well beyond their experience levels.

  “That’s true, sir. Yet this has often been the case in war, hasn’t it? Is a senior officer with thirty years of experience in peacetime ready to lead troops in war? We have seen ourselves escalated in rank, but we have experienced battle, you and I, right? As have most of those who were in this room. I have confidence in our officers, sir, and in you most of all.”

  “Thank you, Patrick. Nevertheless, I find myself pulled in two directions. We must bleed them. And Colonel Jones is correct that Landfall is an ideal place for that. But if we commit fully, if we are trapped there—”

  “You don’t need to convince me, sir. If you’ve got an idea, just tell me. Give me my orders, and I’ll see them done.”

  Damian smiled ruefully. His procrastination had clearly been showing, and he appreciated Killian’s blunt nature in getting to the point.

  “I want you to remain in Landfall. You will have your own forces, of course, but reinforced with several battalions. I am sorry to give you this duty. There’s not a high level of tactical success to be gained, I fear. But it’s crucial for the overall effort, and you are the most suited to the kind of fighting this battle will involve.” He paused. “And you are my best independent commander.”

  “You don’t need to explain to me, General. You’re in charge, and I’m going to follow you. You can count on that, and you can count on me. And all of my people.”

  “I know I can, Patrick.” Damian sat silently for a time. Then he said, “I know I don’t owe you any explanations, but I do want to be clear that I don’t consider this a suicide mission. You are to remain in Landfall only as long as you can mount an effective defense. Then you are to break out, however you can, and disperse your forces. I want your people in the enemy rear after you leave the city, ready to operate against their supply lines and logistical bases. I want you to run a guerilla war. Draw in the population any way you can, but feel free to take chances.”

  “You want me to hit their forces, ambush smaller columns?”

  “To a point, Colonel. Inflict as many losses on the federals as you can, but damage to matériel is even more important. Every vehicle you destroy, every crate of supplies you deprive them of, brings us closer to victory.”

  Killian stared intently. “You really think wrecking their equipment will be enough to make a difference?”

  “You remember our time in the service. What was the thing that we were always bitching about—other than just wanting to get the hell out of there? Supplies. Ammo. Better food. Yes, going after matériel is going to be key. Supply will be their weakness, Colonel. They have to bring everything they need from Earth, weapons, ammunition, food. The cost is, literally, astronomical. We will not win this war on the battlefield, at least not only on the battlefield. We must hit at them where it is most costly. We must drive them to the end of their economic resources. Only then can we win our freedom.”

  “That’s not really what I do best, sir. You know my people are better suited to, well, wetter work. We can take out some weapons and force them to send a few more ships, but so what? They’ll just send the ships.”

  “There’s going to be plenty of chances to get your hands bloody, Colonel. Because I’m not talking about ‘some’ weapons. I’m saying we target their heaviest ordnance, we infiltrate their bases, and we destroy their transport and their armored vehicles, then we go well beyond ‘a few more ships.’ The goal is to compel them to send ship after ship, one load of replacement equipment after another, until the economy back on Earth approaches total collapse. Then we’ll see how determined they are. For all the wealth at the top, you and I know Federal America’s economy is not strong. They can only endure so much expense fighting us before it falls completely apart. And the senate will give up before they allow that to happen.”

  Killian still didn’t look convinced. “You know more about all that than I do, sir, but how much damage can we inflict with just raids?”

  “A lot, Patrick,” Damian said, reverting back to the ranger’s name rather than his rank. “The last war between Earth’s powers didn’t end in victory, as the propaganda says. It didn’t end in defeat, either. Exhaustion was the peacemaker there. Economic exhaustion, of all the powers. The combatants simply made peace because none of them could afford to continue the war. That was only five years
ago. I am no economist, but I joined the army because of my own poverty. So did most of the people in my unit—as I’m sure you did, as well. That poverty didn’t end after the war, and I’d wager Federal America’s resources are still heavily strained.

  “Think about it this way: Do you know what it costs to transport an armored vehicle from Earth to Haven? Probably ten times what it costs to build the thing, and perhaps more. Every one of those your raiding parties can destroy costs the federals a fortune. And as much as they probably hate the loss of face of having a colony rebel, they hate the loss of revenue from that colony even more. I don’t know the exact mathematical tipping point, but if we can make that cost-benefit ratio outrageous enough, they’ll swallow their pride, blame the loss on a scapegoat, and leave us the hell alone.

  “At least, that’s what I hope.” He looked at his officer, his eyes cold with resolve. “Because it’s the only way we can win that I can see, Patrick. You’re an old vet like me. What do you think about our chances against the federals heads-up?”

  Killian nodded slowly. “There is no chance. You’re right, General.” He sighed softly. “I still don’t understand the economic stuff like you do, but I trust your assessment.” Another hesitation as Killian looked right at Damian. “Don’t you worry, sir. We’ll bleed them dry in Landfall, and then we will make sure they can’t move so much as a transport full of field rations without a huge escorting force.”

  Damian nodded. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say, Colonel Killian.” He stood up, waiting as the ranger followed suit. Then he extended his hand, grasping Killian’s and shaking it firmly. “Take your rangers and command of the first and second regiments. They are the best-trained and equipped of our forces. Dig yourselves into Landfall . . . and wait. The enemy will be here soon.”

  “Yes, sir.” Killian stepped back and gave Damian a heartfelt if sloppy salute. Then he turned and started toward the door.

  “And, Colonel?”

  Killian stopped and spun back around. “Yes, General?”

  “Try to keep civilian casualties in Landfall to a minimum.” Damian’s voice deepened, a dark cloud seeming to pass in front of him. “But the battle is your primary concern. And victory will not come without cost.” Damian shuddered to think of what the fearsome warrior would do, what measures he might take to defend Haven’s capital. But he simply couldn’t throw someone into such a maelstrom with his hands tied.

  And he was sure he’d end up doing a lot of things he didn’t like before the fight for Haven was through.

  “Dismissed.”

  Chapter 11

  Landfall Spaceport

  10 Kilometers Outside Landfall City

  Federal Colony Alpha-2, Epsilon Eridani II (Haven)

  “General, I’ve got my people in place. We’re ready.” Luci Morgan was crouched down in a foxhole on the outskirts of Haven’s only spaceport. The spaceport was the natural place for the enemy to attack first, and one of the best to defend. The federals needed the port to bring in larger numbers of troops, as well as supplies and equipment, and that meant they couldn’t soften Morgan’s positions with orbital bombardment, not without chopping up the landing areas they needed to bring down their heavy cargo shuttles.

  “Good. We’re tracking landing sleds inbound. We can’t confirm they’re heading for your location, but everything checks so far.”

  “We’ll be here if they head for the spaceport, General.”

  “Luci, if they want a beachhead badly enough, we can’t stop them. So do as much damage as you can, but pull your people out of there before you get trapped or overwhelmed.”

  “Understood, sir.” Morgan still wasn’t sure how quickly she was planning to obey that order. Her military experiences had been coming back to her since a year before—memories, habits, the feeling of being a soldier. And her hatred of running. Luci Morgan despised paying twice for real estate, and she knew she’d never have a greater advantage against the federals than she would while they were landing.

  “Good luck, Colonel. Ward out.”

  The line went dead, the silence lasting perhaps thirty seconds before her own people started chiming in with sightings on their own short-range scanners.

  “Enemy craft heading this way.”

  “At least a dozen federal ships, Colonel.”

  “Colonel, we’ve got two attack waves coming in.”

  She flipped on her unitwide comm. “All units, we have enemy forces approaching. You all know what to do, so I’m not going to go over it again. Let’s just get it done.”

  She had two regiments, about sixteen hundred troops, most of them Guardians of Liberty or early recruits. At least a quarter of them had fought at Vincennes and Dover, and they were the closest thing to veterans she had, beyond the dozen or so ex-federal soldiers commanding her companies.

  They were dug in all around the spaceport, facing both directions. She couldn’t be sure if the federals would try to land right on top of the port, or if they’d come down along the outside perimeter and move in, so she was ready for either eventuality.

  She didn’t have much heavy equipment, but the six big rocket launchers her force possessed were spread out, and she’d scraped up anyone she could find with any experience to crew them. They were shorter-range than fixed defensive installations would have been, but with some luck her people might still take out a lander or two. Any federals they shot down were that many they wouldn’t have to face on the ground.

  She pulled a small tablet from her belt, squinting as she stared at the tiny display. She watched as the first wave of enemy ships moved into range. There was no question now. They were definitely heading toward her positions. And in a few seconds, they’d be in range of her defenses.

  She tapped the side of her helmet, activating the comm unit and connecting with the rocket batteries. “All positions, commence firing. Concentrate on lead ships.”

  A wave of acknowledgments came back, and then she saw a long white smoke trail rising up, a few kilometers to the east. Then another, and another, until six weapons were in the air, heading up toward the not-yet-visible enemy landing sleds. About twenty seconds later, another wave of missiles streaked up through the blue morning sky.

  She glanced down at her screen, watching the weapons moving toward the landers. The enemy craft began evasive maneuvers, moving jerkily through the sky. The assault sleds were designed to get troops to the ground in the teeth of opposition, and she knew her inadequate defenses didn’t have a chance of defeating the attack. The best she could hope for was inflicting some losses on the enemy while she had the chance. Because once they got down in enough force, her troops would never hold. That was a difficult fact for her to accept, but it was a fact nevertheless. Damian had been clear. She was there to inflict as many losses as she could, while preserving her own force intact. She recognized the tactical sense in the general’s orders, but that didn’t make them any easier to accept.

  She looked back down at the scanner, swiping her finger across, changing the display to a schematic of her ground positions. Her people were dug in, mostly occupying a series of partially interconnected foxholes designed to face an attack from either direction. It was a relatively complicated series of works, one that Damian had ordered constructed months before. There was room for debate on many aspects of federal strategy, but there hadn’t been any doubt on one issue: the enemy had to take the spaceport first.

  A flash in the sky caught her attention, and her head snapped up. There was a billowing cloud above, glints of reddish-yellow fire showing through in places. She felt a rush of excitement and moved her finger across the screen again, confirming what her eyes had already told her. One of the rockets had taken down a federal lander.

  Her hands tightened into celebratory fists, and she nodded hard to herself. But there was something else, too. She had images in her head of men and women she’d served with in the last war, and she wondered for an instant if she’d just killed any of them.

 
She was still struggling with her mixed feelings when another explosion, this one closer, erupted in the sky above. There was no time for soul-searching. If the landers coming down were the T-9s the army had used when she’d served, her people had just killed eighty federals. It was war, and the time for worrying about whom she was fighting was well past.

  “All right, people,” she shouted into the comm, “here they come.” The first wave of twelve landers—now ten—were seconds from reaching the ground. Her people were about to have their hands full, even with their numerical advantage.

  Temporary numerical advantage . . . because this is surely only the first wave.

  “General, Colonel Morgan reports her forces are engaged. The federals landed outside her perimeter, and they are attacking the eastern section of her line.” Ben Withers sat at a cramped workstation in the corner of the underground bunker. Damian didn’t think the federals would bombard Landfall, but he wasn’t sure enough to risk his army’s command and control center, especially not when Danforth Communications had a secure subbasement normally used for data storage. It wasn’t exactly a hardened military facility, but it was a lot better than nothing.

  “Very well, Major. Advise Colonel Kerr to have his forces on alert and ready to cover Colonel Morgan’s retreat.” Assuming she pulls back like I told her to . . .

  “Yes, sir.” A few seconds later. “Colonel Kerr acknowledges. His forces are in position, waiting for your orders.”

  Damian felt the urge to send Kerr’s troops in right away, but that would only escalate the battle at the spaceport, and he didn’t want to get drawn into a costly fight there. Not when he couldn’t win in the end. Morgan was there for one purpose: to attrit the enemy while they were landing and disorganized. Once the federals had enough troops on the ground to launch a coordinated advance, he wanted her out of there. The day would come for a full-scale fight to the finish, but it was not today.