Rebellion's Fury

by Jay Allan

  “We need the numbers, Luci.”

  “General?” Patrick Killian stuck his head through the door.

  “Yes, Pat . . . I called you to discuss the assault. I’d like you to command the force on . . .”

  “Sir . . . excuse me, but I have something I want to say.” He looked up at Morgan, then back to Damian, as if deciding the other colonel was trustworthy enough to remain in the room.

  “What is it?”

  “I think I have an option, one besides this attack. We all know we don’t have much chance of taking Landfall in a frontal assault.”

  “What choice do we have, Pat? We can’t allow the Union and Hegemony troops to land. That’s a Trojan horse.”

  “I know, sir, but I don’t think our problem in Landfall is the federal troops, nor even most of their officers. Taggart is well respected. I don’t think most army officers would refuse his commands or his suggestions.” He paused, and when he continued, his voice was darker, filled with anger. “It’s Semmes, General. Semmes is the problem. That little shit doesn’t want to go home in failure again, crawling before his daddy with his tail between his legs.”

  “That’s probably true, Pat, but I don’t see what it changes. Semmes has got Peacekeepers in there, and other security units. If you’re expecting Colonel Granz to mount some kind of coup or something . . .”

  “No, sir. Granz couldn’t manage that. Not while Semmes is alive.”

  “What, exactly, is it you’re proposing?”

  “Making Semmes dead.”

  “That’s a pleasant thought, but he’s in there, surrounded by an army . . . which is why we’re about to attack that army.”

  “It doesn’t take an army to kill a man, General.”

  “It does when a man’s got an army all around him.”

  “No, sir. There’s another way.”

  Damian looked over at Killian, suddenly understanding what the ranger was proposing. “Patrick, there’s no way. You’d have to get into the city, past their pickets, and then you’d have to make your way to headquarters. There’s no way,” he said again. “It’s a million-to-one chance.”

  “I figured you thought better of me, General. I know my way around Landfall, and I’m not just talking about the main streets, sir.”

  “It’s no lack of confidence, Patrick. But there’s a good chance I’d be sending you to your death. Even if you managed to pull it off, how would you escape? Colonel Granz might secretly thank you for ridding him of Semmes, but he couldn’t exactly let an assassin walk out the door now, could he?”

  “First off, you wouldn’t be sending me—I’m volunteering. And besides, I’m willing to take the risk, sir. If I succeed, how many soldiers will I save? Two thousand? Five thousand? You know what’s going to happen if you send these green troopers into the city. The streets will flow with blood, and there’s a damned good chance you’ll just end up back where you started, Semmes still asleep in his bed in our city and those Union and Hegemony troops coming onto our planet.”

  “But, Patrick . . .”

  “Damian . . . you know my past. You know I owe this to Semmes. I’d do this no matter what. I’d take any chance, even die if I have to, but at least now I also have the chance to save thousands of our soldiers.” He stared at Damian, fingering the knife hanging from his belt. “You know I can pull this off, Damian.”

  Damian was far from sure his friend could “pull it off,” but he also knew there were few men he thought had a better chance. And friend or no, he couldn’t argue with the rationale of risking one man instead of thousands. If it failed, he could always then lead the assault tomorrow.

  “Okay, Patrick. Do it. Take whatever you need, but you’ve got to go right after nightfall . . . because if you don’t get it done by, say, two hours before dawn, I have to send the attack in.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Do you want to take some troopers with you? At least a handpicked squad, I’m thinking.”

  “No, sir. I’d rather do this alone.”

  “Patrick, alone? You’re going to need some support.”

  “Since when?” the ranger asked with a tight grin. “I work well by myself, sir. You know that.”

  Damian nodded somberly. “It’s your call.” It felt as though he was saying goodbye to his friend.

  “I can do this, Damian.”

  Damian nodded, but he was far from convinced. He reached his hand out, but then he just leaned forward and hugged Killian.

  “Good luck, Patrick.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He walked out.

  “Jesus,” Luci said.

  “Yeah.”

  Chapter 41

  Abandoned Flood Control Tunnel

  Under Landfall City

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

  Killian trudged forward, through the almost waist-deep water in the tunnel. The conduit had been part of the early flood control system of Landfall, but its use had been supplanted twenty years before by a new, far more extensive system. The old pipes, two meters in diameter, had been all but forgotten, until Killian pored over every record he could find in the civic archives before the federals returned, looking for every space that might be useful for defending—or attacking—the city.

  The water was cold and covered with a brown, oily muck. The pipes were no longer in active use, but that didn’t stop them from filling up with water, and whatever other fluids flowed down into the old access points and the sections where the cement had collapsed, leaving large holes.

  Killian came to a spot where two other pipes combined with the one he was in. The conduit ahead was larger, perhaps two and a half meters in diameter. It was the one that led to his destination, a spot near the Federal Complex. But first he had a detour to make, one he thought of as a waste of time, but he had promised Damian. He knew his chances of seeing his friend again were not good, and he didn’t want the last thing he left the general to be a broken promise.

  He turned and slipped down the other pipe, heading toward a spot he knew well from the weeks his forces had held out in Landfall. It was the designated rally point, a place all rebel operatives in the capital were supposed to come when called. Damian had insisted on sending out the encoded message. Killian was certain there were none of his people left in Landfall, not after so long. Those who could escape had done so, whether they’d returned to the army or not, and those who couldn’t were dead. But a promise was a promise, and it would take him only a few minutes out of his way.

  He reached the point and looked up. There was a small access above, a metal hatch he knew led to a mostly abandoned side street. He climbed up the small ladder and reached to the lever, pulling as hard as he could. It was stubborn, but then it slipped free and moved quickly to the open position. He had reached up to push the hatch open when it swung up by itself.

  He jumped back, his hand reaching to the gun at his side. In a flash, it was in his hand, his eyes focused on the shadowy figure above. His finger was tight on the trigger, but something stopped him from firing. He’d come to see if any of his people were still there, and while he hadn’t expected to find any, he couldn’t just shoot, not without being sure.

  “Colonel?” The voice was weak, soft. But it was familiar.

  His hand loosened a bit on the gun, and he turned his head, focusing on the dark, gaunt figure above him. It was a man, rail thin, haggard-looking, with a long, stringy beard. He had no idea who it was . . . at first.

  “Jacob?” His voice was heavy with shock. He’d been sure Jacob North was dead, and could that stout warrior really have wasted away to the figure looking down at him?

  “Yes, sir. I got the rally signal.” He held up a small comm device, and as Killian looked up, he could see the man had a large rifle in his other hand.

  “Jacob, I thought you were dead.” Killian climbed farther up the ladder, his body popping about halfway into the street.

  “I nearly was, sir.” Killian hoisted himself up and r
eached out to his ranger, embracing him.

  North winced as Killian closed his embrace, and he lurched back. “Sorry, sir. My shoulder’s a little . . . sore.”

  Killian’s eyes focused on North’s shoulder, twisted and disfigured by a wound that had not healed properly . . . or at all. “Jacob . . .”

  “It’s okay, sir. I tried to get the bullet out, but I’m afraid all I managed was to get it worse infected.”

  Killian tried to imagine the pain from the wound, and just how his injured soldier had managed to survive the winter. Clearly, North had been short of food. The man had lost at least twenty-five kilos since Killian had seen him last.

  “Jacob, we’ve got to get you to the field hospital.”

  “After, sir. After the mission. I assume that’s why you sent out the signal.”

  “No, Jacob. I mean, yes, there is a mission, but I can handle it. You just wait here . . .” Killian shook his head. He wasn’t really expecting to come back. “Jacob, I need you to follow this tunnel back the way I came. It will take you to a small building near the edge of the city. There’s a monorail cut just across the street from there. If you’re careful, you can follow it out of Landfall. Our lines are about four kilometers past the city limits.”

  “No, Colonel . . . I’ll go when you go. I’ll help you with whatever you’re doing first.”

  “No, Jacob.” His voice was firm, almost angry. He felt guilty almost at once, but he didn’t have time to argue. “Follow my orders. Let’s go.” He reached out his hand and helped North climb down the ladder.

  “Sir . . .”

  “No arguments.” He gestured down the way he had come. “That way, Jacob. Just be careful once you come aboveground. It should be pretty deserted, but there could always be a guard.”

  “Colonel, I . . .”

  “Now, Ranger. You have your orders.” Killian stood for a moment, watching North pause and then turn and start down the conduit. He watched for perhaps thirty seconds, and then he continued on his way. He felt good that North had survived, against all his expectations, and he hoped the soldier would make it out. But he had more important things to think about now. Killing Semmes could save thousands of lives, and he told himself that was why he was there. But there was more, and the vengeance he’d so long craved drove him just as much. He didn’t want to admit it was even more of a motivation . . . so he tried not to think about it at all.

  “Look what Ward’s machinations have brought upon us. Union and Hegemony soldiers? On Landfall? Now we have some desperate plan to prevent this disaster, the one he created by reaching out to Federal America’s foul brethren?” Cal Jacen was furious. Zig Welch had urged his comrade to hold his tongue until they were clear of army headquarters. Welch understood Jacen’s anger toward Damian Ward, but since the victory at Dover, the rebel general was even more revered by his soldiers, and most of the population, as well.

  “The general is handling it, Cal. I know he is a potential problem, but for now . . .”

  “Potential? It is bad enough that our forces are compelled to assault Landfall on almost no notice, but now even that plan seems to be on hold.”

  Welch knew Jacen was also mad because Damian hadn’t given him any notice of what was going on. If it hadn’t been for Violetta Wells, neither of them would even have known there were Union and Hegemony forces in the system. Even getting the information from Violetta had been difficult. She had also fallen under the spell of the great General Ward, and she’d continued to feed information to Jacen only out of her loyalties to the Society and her naïve notion that they were all allies and that their differences were minor.

  “Cal, there is nothing we can do now. Whatever differences we have with General Ward, he is no fool. All we can do is wait. The time will come for action.”

  Jacen stared back, his face twisted with rage. “Oh no, my friend. The time will not come. It is already here. We will allow General Ward to execute whatever scheme he is hatching, and we will hope he is successful. But if our forces do take Landfall, if the federals are broken or withdraw, the good general has outlived his usefulness.”

  “Violetta will never do it. You know that, right? She worships him just like the rest of the soldiers.” Jacen and Welch had once planned to use Violetta as their instrument to assassinate Damian, but Welch knew that plan was as good as dead.

  “Yes, I know. She has been useful for information, but ultimately a disappointment. Her commitment to the revolution, the true revolution, has been a disappointment.”

  “Perhaps, but it leaves us with few opportunities, at least in the immediate future. Violetta was expendable, but if we are to move on the general ourselves, we must be cautious. Nothing can lead to us, Cal. Apart from our Society members, the soldiers would tear us to pieces.”

  “We will be careful, Zig, but we cannot wait, not if Landfall is taken or if the federals withdraw.” Jacen paused, looking at his longtime colleague. “If either of those things happen, Damian Ward must die. Immediately.”

  Killian slipped back into the alley. He’d heard something, footsteps, he thought. He leaned against the cold stone wall, his fingers gripped tightly around his blade. He had no idea who was coming, but he knew what he had to do. It was likely a fed of some sort . . . the curfew kept civilians in their homes at this hour. That wasn’t a guarantee, however, and he couldn’t keep his mind free of images of helpless civilians, their throats cut by his own hand.

  Any kill, one of a federal soldier, even a Peacekeeper, richly deserving death, was a complication now, and he’d resolved to wait, only to strike if he had no choice. Better to hold for a moment, to see if whoever it was just left. He didn’t have much time—he figured maybe ninety minutes before Damian would order the attack—but a fight now had risk, even a quick, clean kill. He didn’t have time to hide a body, and if anyone found a dead sentry, all hell would break loose.

  He held his breath as he heard the sounds coming closer, and then he felt a wave of relief as they moved off into the distance. He waited, giving an extra moment, and then he looked into the street.

  All clear.

  He moved across the street, not quite a jog, but as quickly as he could while staying almost silent. He’d had multiple ways to get into Landfall itself, but only one he knew of that led into the Federal Complex. He had to get as far as he could without setting off any alarms. Then he had to find Semmes . . . and when he did, he would shed a burden that had plagued him for years.

  He reached a small door, about a meter high, a hatch to an electrical maintenance room. He knew about the room’s access to the main federal structure from several former city electricians, all closet rebels who had supported his people when they’d been in Landfall. He moved his hands over the panel, fingers sliding across the touchpad. He knew he could hack the thing. The only question was, could he do it quickly enough and without setting off any alarms?

  With another sigh of relief, he felt a small click, and the door popped open. He took one last look out at the street, and then he ducked over and slipped inside.

  The tunnel was cramped, the low ceiling barely high enough for him to crawl. There were conduits and cables all along the walls and ceilings. He knew they should be insulated, but he also suspected maintenance had been spotty since the regular electricians had gone over to the rebellion. One live wire could end his mission in an instant.

  He crawled forward cautiously. He had some idea of the layout, and three or four reasonable guesses where he might find Semmes. The building had a few apartments that were plusher than the others, including the one Everett Wells had occupied. If he’d had to bet—which, in essence, he did—he’d have gone with that suite. But this wasn’t a normal night, not by a long shot. Killian didn’t think much of Semmes, but the man wasn’t a complete fool. He had to know he was in danger, and Killian figured he could still be up, in the situation room or somewhere else, directing operations. That would be bad. He might catch Semmes alone in his bedroom, or at most, with a
guard at the door. But if he was in the control center, there was no telling how many others might be there. Killian was ready to die to complete his mission, if he had to, but too many officers and soldiers would make it hard to pull off even such a suicide attack.

  He came to a hatch, not unlike the one he’d used to get into the tunnel. It was locked as well with the same small touchpad next to it as the first one. He ran his fingers along the pad, entering the same code he’d used before. The hatch popped open, and Killian peered out, his pistol in his hand.

  It was a hallway, with unfinished concrete walls, some kind of cellar or subbasement. He climbed down, setting his feet quietly on the floor. Then he turned and looked again each way.

  He crept down the corridor, continuing for about ten minutes, every fifty meters or so coming to a turn. There was no one around. He suspected the lower level was empty except when maintenance crews were dispatched. That was unlikely in the middle of the night, not without a real emergency.

  He turned his head abruptly. He’d heard something in the hall behind him. At least he thought he had. But when he turned back to look, there was nothing there.

  He continued, finally coming to a staircase leading up. He checked behind him again … still nothing. His mind playing tricks on him? If he’d been discovered, no federal would just follow him. He waited a tick, but saw nothing else, and kept moving deeper into the compound.