by Jay Allan
Danforth understood the point his comrade was making, but it was different, at least to his view, and definitely to Damian’s. The problem was, Jacen didn’t see it that way . . . and almost certainly never would. And while he wanted to condemn the revolutionary, he couldn’t get the thought out of his mind that the absence of so many loyalist leaders would probably save the lives of Haven soldiers.
“Just don’t do anything like that again, Cal. Please. There are other things to consider, and we need to keep our own coalition together.”
“Damian Ward.” There was a hint of distaste in Jacen’s voice.
“No. Or, at least, not only Damian. Many of our people disapprove of what was done last night. Including me.” The last two words came out with less conviction than he’d hoped. But at least he’d said it.
Jacen didn’t look convinced, but after a few seconds he nodded and said, “Very well, John. No more secret operations.” The patronizing tone set Danforth’s teeth on edge.
“I mean it, Cal. Damian was enraged. I barely managed to convince him not to have you arrested.” Shot, actually. “You may not get along with him, but the army needs Damian Ward, and if we lose him we will lose half our support and strength. He is one of the most popular people on Haven, if not the most. A confrontation between the two of you can only do irreparable harm to the cause we all serve.”
Jacen nodded again. “I understand, John. I won’t cause any trouble.”
Danforth just stood quietly for a moment, looking at his old ally. Jacen’s words were what he wanted to hear, but something in the tone still gnawed at him.
I have to keep an eye on him. If I don’t . . . Damian will kill him next time.
And that’s if Jacen doesn’t get us all killed first.
Chapter 14
Federal Headquarters
Landfall Spaceport
Federal Colony Alpha-2, Epsilon Eridani II (Haven)
“General Semmes, the rebels are retreating from the city!” The staff officer came running into the large room Semmes had commandeered as his office. It was plain, and the desk was a makeshift affair, a board thrown across two large crates. Landfall’s spaceport was a sparse facility, light on the kind of luxury to which Semmes had become accustomed as a senator’s son. He was anxious to get into Landfall. Alpha-2’s capital was provincial in the extreme, especially to his Washington-dulled sensibilities, but it would be a massive improvement over his current situation.
At least I’m off that godforsaken ship . . .
“Excellent, Lieutenant. I knew the rebels didn’t have the stomach for a real fight.”
“Yes, sir.” It wasn’t clear the aide shared Semmes’s opinion, but the general didn’t care.
“Get me Colonel Granz.”
“Yes, sir.” The aide walked out of the room. A few seconds later, the comm unit on Semmes’s desk buzzed.
“Colonel Granz, sir.” The aide’s voice cut out, replaced by Granz’s.
“Yes, General?” Granz was regular army, a veteran of the last war, and, Semmes believed, a man who had shown insufficient deference to his new commander-in-chief.
“Colonel, the rebels are fleeing the city. I want you to increase your timetable. Advance at full speed into Landfall. With enough effort, we may be able to catch some of the rebel forces as they’re running.”
“General . . . the reports I’ve received suggest that the rebels are not ‘running,’ but rather exercising a very orderly and apparently well-planned retreat. It looks too much like something they had rehearsed and ready to go. We have no idea what they left in the city, if there are forces remaining, or if they have mined any areas or booby-trapped buildings. I strongly suggest that we exert more caution, not less . . .”
Everything Granz said made sense . . . and that infuriated Semmes. He hated being looked down on by these veteran officers, and detested having his orders dissected and analyzed and dismissed so easily by them. They were supposed to be the great soldiers—let them figure out how to handle the situation if things got hot.
“Colonel, your concerns are noted, but I think you give these rebels too much credit. They are an armed mob, nothing more. We must not allow ourselves to view them as more than they are. You are to advance directly into the city, General, in force and without delay. You are to attempt to engage any retreating rebel units you can catch. To crush this rebellion, we must destroy their forces in the field, and I see no reason for further delay. With some effort, we might be able to end this rebellion here and now.”
“Yes, sir,” the colonel replied, sounding unconvinced.
Semmes felt a surge of anger—as much for Granz questioning him as for his rash decision. But what was done was done, and the men underneath him had to know who was in charge. His last time here, he had been questioned, and that’s how the planet was lost. Maybe deep down he knew that was a partial lie, but it was also the partial truth. So he wouldn’t let it happen this time. We have the weapons and we have the soldiers. And we have what Stanton and Wells never did: a decisive leader.
Alpha-2 will be ours again.
His eyes dropped to the large tablet on his desk. Its surface displayed a map of Landfall and the surrounding area, and doubt hit him once more.
What are you up to, Ward?
He detested the rebel army commander, considering him twice a traitor, as he did all the other army retirees who had ignored his summons to return to duty. Almost to a man, the veterans had gone over to the rebels, and Semmes had sworn to himself he’d see every one of them dead, in the field or on the scaffold. He didn’t deceive himself for an instant. He knew full well it was that small corps of experienced soldiers who had turned the tide and sent him home in disgrace. He would have his vengeance.
“It looks quiet up there. I guess the civvies are hiding indoors.” The soldier was a dark shadow in the growing dusk, the bulk of his exos and equipment making him look twice the size of a normal man. “I don’t see any signs of a defensive line. Or any troops at all, really.” Sergeant Otto Coblenz was the Third Assault Regiment’s chief scout. He and his two dozen subordinates were a few kilometers in front of the advancing army. Normally he’d have expected to have a day or more to scout the approaches to the city, but for reasons he couldn’t understand, Colonel Granz had ordered the regiment to follow up right on his heels.
“Roger that, Sergeant. You are authorized to send a squad forward. Probe the city limits, and confirm there are no hostiles.”
“Understood, Lieutenant.”
Coblenz was crouched low, about three hundred meters from the outskirts of Landfall. He’d seen what passed for cities on a number of colonies, those of Federal America and its rival powers, and Alpha-2’s capital was typical, if somewhat larger than average. Colonial cities were different than their Earth equivalents, not only smaller, but also lacking the belts of suburban sprawl that tended to surround terrestrial metropolises. Even the oldest and most built-up colonies had an almost comical abundance of land relative to populations, and the result was a scattered cluster of cities, their developed areas ending abruptly and transitioning in a matter of meters to farmland and the estates of the wealthy.
“Corporal Wright, take your team and move into the city. Penetrate three hundred meters and report back.”
“Yes, Sergeant.” Wright’s reply was sharp, professional. The corporal had served under Granz since the last war, as had nearly half his people. The Third was one of Federal America’s most elite formations, and the regiment had been spared the postwar force reductions that had sapped the combat readiness of so many other units.
Coblenz held his position, looking through the small scope in his hands as six of his people crept out of the sparse cover and moved through the waist-high grass toward the line of buildings. Though heavily armored, the scouts’ exos were lighter than those of the line troopers.
They were exposed, though—the ground right around the city limits dead flat, with no depressions or hills, not even a tree to hide b
ehind—and that worried him. Any capable adversary, or even a bunch of amateurs with guns, could have cut them down in a few seconds. But nothing happened.
Coblenz continued to watch as his people reached the first buildings, following the road until they were out of sight behind the row of mostly two-level structures.
His stomach was tight, and he half expected to hear the distant sounds of gunfire as his people were ambushed by waiting defenders. But there was nothing but silence for a moment more. Then his comm crackled.
“Sergeant, we’re about a hundred meters in. No hostile contacts. It’s quiet, not a soul on the street, though there are some indications that there are people in several of the buildings. They look like residential blocks. Best guess, some of the locals are still here, hiding in their apartments. No indication of snipers or other combat forces.”
Not that you’d know until they want you to . . .
“Very well, Corporal.” He hesitated, his mind racing for a few seconds. Colonel Granz had been clear. His people were to scout quickly. The regiment advancing behind them would not halt, nor even slow its advance. Coblenz still didn’t understand what was going on. He’d served under Granz since the colonel had been a captain, and his company commander. He’d never known Granz to be reckless. In fact, if anything, his commanding officer had always been cautious, meticulous. Coblenz didn’t know what was happening, but he was sure the urgency hadn’t originated with Colonel Granz.
None of his speculations mattered. He had his orders. But still, he was going to be as careful as he could without outright disobeying.
“Wright, pick out two or three of the buildings, and check them out. Try not to start anything with the civvies, but make sure we don’t have any armed personnel holed up anywhere. I’ll bring the rest of the platoon up in support.”
“Yes, sir. And if we encounter any armed personnel?”
Coblenz struggled to hold back a sigh. “You know the orders in that case, Corporal.” He didn’t like it any more than Wright did, or any of his other troopers, for that matter. But the command had come down from the top, from the military governor himself. Armed personnel were to be killed on sight, whether military forces or civilians. No surrenders were to be accepted, and any prisoners who fell into federal hands were to be summarily executed at once. He hoped any rebels his people encountered would fight, at least. The idea of shooting down men and women as they tried to surrender sickened him. In truth, he didn’t know how he’d react if and when he encountered that situation, whether he would follow orders or not. He didn’t know much about the governor, but what he did know suggested that insubordination would not be treated lightly.
He flipped his comm to the unit channel. “We’re moving forward. First and third squads, take point. Second squad, one hundred meters back, ready to provide covering fire.”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Yes, sir.”
His three squad leaders replied in rapid succession, and he watched as two thirds of his troopers moved out from the sparse brush they’d been using as surprisingly effective cover. He moved forward himself, pulling the rifle from the clip that held it to his body armor.
He felt edgy. Despite the fact that his advance party had already covered the ground to the city, he was uncomfortable being out in the open (as any soldier worth his armor would be), and he half expected fire to break out, to sweep the field and annihilate his small force. Memories of previous battles crept into his thoughts, engagements where a platoon advancing across a grassy field would have been wiped out in seconds.
His people had gone most of the way toward the nearest row of buildings when he heard a distant shot. He crouched down instinctively, as did every soldier on the line. His eyes scanned the buildings, looking for movement, for any sign of enemy combatants. But there was nothing.
“Corporal Wright, report!” He held his rifle out with one hand as he worked the comm controls on the side of his helmet.
“It was a civilian, Sergeant.” He could hear the emotion in the corporal’s voice. “An old man. He had a weapon, an ancient rifle. I think he was just scared, trying to protect his house. But Hojack thought he was going to shoot . . .”
Coblenz shook his head slowly. Collateral damage was a feature of war, as inescapable as it was painful. And the man had been armed. He was certain Private Hojack had reacted to the perceived threat, and he wondered how well any of his people would have handled just shooting the man down because he possessed a weapon.
“All right, let’s keep moving. No one told any of you to stop.” Then, a few seconds later, “Wright, hold your position. Wait for the rest of the platoon.”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
Coblenz moved forward, tenser even than he had been. There was no sign of real resistance, but his sixth sense was still wild with concern. Something was wrong, he was sure of it. He didn’t know what he dreaded more: running into a real urban fight here, or just watching as his soldiers gunned down civilians who had armed themselves only to defend their families.
These are our own people, citizens of Federal America. How many of them will die before this is over?
More important, how many will I kill?
“They’re moving in, Colonel. One scouting party moved up directly from the spaceport and into the Spacer’s District. The other marched around and came in from the east, pushing mostly through residential neighborhoods.”
“Very well, Lieutenant.” Killian was sitting on a crate against the wall of the warehouse that was serving as his makeshift headquarters. With Ward and the rest of the Haven forces gone, he’d had his pick of places—army headquarters, one of the hotels, even the Danforth Communications offices. But the dusty, almost abandoned storehouse somehow felt right to him. Let the federals move to army HQ and find it deserted. Let them ransack the center of town, search all the commercial buildings and any other place they’d expect to find resistance. His people were hidden, whole platoons packed into underground storage areas and sewers, hiding in equipment yards and shuttered factories. And they would stay that way, at least until the main body of federal soldiers had entered Landfall.
He did not intend to disappoint Damian. He knew his orders, and he relished the opportunities they afforded him. His best guess was that there were already seven to eight thousand federal troops in the city, with more still at the spaceport.
They were about to find out what motivated men and women could do.
Of course, once he unleashed his people, the federals would tear the city apart hunting them down. Which was why he would shift his forces around, keep them on the move constantly, striking and running, striking and running. He was confident he and his troops could manage that. What had him worried was the withdrawal. He had no idea how he would extricate his forces and get them deep enough into the woods to evade pursuit. They’d just have to find opportunities when they presented themselves. He had no intention of being killed or captured, and he knew the city much better than the federals.
“Lieutenant, send the word down the chain. No more comm use. We can’t take the chance of being detected. From now on, we rely solely on runners, at least until I give the evac order. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Lieutenant Desmond Black was one of Killian’s rangers, and his most trusted aide.
“We start tonight, Des. Make sure all the platoon commanders are notified. They all have their orders and their designated targets.”
“Yes, Colonel.” Black nodded, the closest thing to a salute any of the irregulars bothered with, and then he turned and ran down the stairs to carry out Killian’s orders.
“Tonight,” the colonel repeated to himself. And if we manage to execute the plan, these federals will think the fight at the spaceport was a picnic on a sunny day.
Chapter 15
Haven Army Headquarters
10 Kilometers North of Landfall
Federal Colony Alpha-2, Epsilon Eridani II (Haven)
/> “Ambassador Kutusov, I apologize again for the inconvenience we have put you through. I realize that you are accustomed to rather different conditions.” Damian had just walked into the tent. It was fairly large, and as plush as he’d been able to manage amid the retreat from Landfall. He’d planned the withdrawal to the slightest detail, but he’d known all along such designs rarely survived implementation. Despite the confusion and the delays moving units on the overburdened roads, however, things had gone well enough. Just. He owed that mostly to Pat Killian and his rear guard. By all reports, the ranger was giving the federals fits, providing the distraction his disorganized columns needed to escape.
“Not at all, General Ward. As I was just telling President Danforth”—the diplomat gestured toward Haven’s head of state—“I anticipated somewhat of an adventure on this mission, and it has not disappointed. I will have stories to tell when I return to St. Petersburg.” The diplomat’s demeanor was surprisingly pleasant considering the situation, but Damian was a little concerned it suggested Kutusov considered his time on Haven to be more of an expedition of sorts, rather than a serious diplomatic effort. He had his own doubts that the Union or the Hegemony could be moved to intervene beyond some clandestine supply efforts. And even if they could, he was still struggling with the fact that a few short years ago they were his deadly enemies, not prospective allies.
Damian nodded, though, a forced little smile on his face. He detested diplomacy, and he liked diplomats even less. He considered 99 percent of what they did a waste of time. But Haven needed that other 1 percent, and without it, the cause was likely a hopeless one. His soldiers couldn’t have won the victories they did a year earlier without the weapons Federal America’s enemies had supplied. Now the federal blockade had cut off even that tenuous supply line. He’d managed to stockpile a reasonable amount of weapons and ammo before then, but they would be exhausted soon enough.