“Well done, Pam.” Harrigan eased himself into the pilot’s chair as he spoke. He’d never finished flight school, though he’d shown some aptitude for it. His superiors at Alliance Intelligence decided that he’d be more useful as a tactical or communications officer, at least in the long run. But he was pretty sure he remembered enough to fly the shuttle.
His hands raced over the controls. “Secure the body in the cargo hold and get us two pressure suits.” He was entering in their new course as he spoke. “We’re going to be accelerating at max, so we need to suit up.” He paused as he focused on finalizing the course. “We need to get some velocity before they realize something is wrong and send ships after us.” Whether they sent fighters to intercept or shuttles on a rescue mission, it would end the same way for Harrigan and Jorgens. They had to get to the YZ Ceti Warp gate before anything from the fleet caught up with them.
“Yes, sir.” She pulled Baum’s body back through the doorway. It was slow going; she was in top condition, but Baum was a lot bigger than she was, and it took several minutes for her to get him through the hatch.
Once the door closed, Harrigan double checked his course settings. Satisfied, he leaned back for a second and closed his eyes. Well, Admiral Compton, he thought. I don’t know how you managed to shut down Commnet, but it won’t do you any good. Harrigan put his hand against his pocket, running his finger over a small bump…the datachip with Arlen Cooper’s message to Naval HQ. The message he was going to relay to the YZ Ceti Commnet station as soon as they transited the warp gate.
Chapter 15
“General Thompson…sir, the enemy is on the move!” Jasper Logan was young, but he looked even more youthful than he was. Will had to keep reminding himself that his aide was a Marine veteran, even if he’d only served a year before being demobilized. A native Arcadian, Logan had joined the Corps to follow in the footsteps of his father, a decorated Major killed during the ill-fated Operation Achilles fifteen years before.
“Thank you, lieutenant.” Thompson had been expecting this. Actually, he was surprised the enemy had waited so long. “Notify the battalion commanders. We move out in two hours.”
Logan saluted and marched off to relay Thompson’s orders. The Arcadian rebels had developed their own salute, really just a minor bastardization of the one Alliance forces used. It had developed organically, because the rebels didn’t want to use the forms of the Alliance they were fighting. Thompson thought it was a little silly, but he saw no harm, and it was good for morale.
Thompson wore the new uniform of the Army of the Republic of Arcadia, rust-colored fatigues that provided excellent camouflage in the reddish light of the Wolf 359 primary. The rump Assembly, the survivors of the fighting in Weston, had made it official in a makeshift meeting hall in the cellar of a tavern. The document was brief for one of such import, just 605 words. But it was the first few that were of the greatest significance – “We the duly elected and authorized representatives of the people of Arcadia declare that the bonds between Arcadia and the Western Alliance are hereby severed and that Arcadia is henceforth and forever free and sovereign.” They’d put their names to it, all of them, an act that would almost certainly guarantee a death sentence for every signatory should the rebellion fail.
Thompson had drilled his troops relentlessly, almost mercilessly. The federals had mousetrapped him once, and he swore never again. He’d learned a lesson that day, one that cost him a third of his strength but forged in him the makings of a true combat leader. He had tried to resign his command after the battle, but the soldiers shouted down his attempts. He vowed they would be ready for whatever the enemy threw at them after that day, and he’d been true to his word.
He’d become obsessive, and sleep was almost a forgotten concept. He worked day and night, and drove those around him until they reached their breaking points. That much he felt he felt he owed to the hundreds who’d died…the ones lost because of his mistake. I wonder, he thought grimly, if the troops are sorry yet that they didn’t let me quit. They are certainly more exhausted.
The fighting since then had been mostly hit and run attacks. He’d raided enemy supply dumps in and around Arcadia and ambushed enemy forces sent out to pacify other areas of the planet. He didn’t have the strength to counter major enemy thrusts, and he avoided large battles that could put his entire force in jeopardy. Now the enemy was finally moving in strength on his main base in Concordia, and he decided it was time to risk another major battle. He couldn’t give up Concordia – it was his base and the heart of the rebellion. It was also the source of most of his weaponry and ammunition. Building the production facility had been his idea, but the credit for making it work belonged, more than anywhere else, to Kara Sanders.
Somehow, Kara had managed to keep production going with untrained workers and in spite of the chronic lack of raw materials. They were producing well below capacity now, as resources ran low and irreplaceable machinery broke down, but somehow she kept at least some weapons and ammunition coming to his forces in the field. He was using what she sent him sparingly, but her herculean efforts to maximize efficiency had been vital to keeping the army fighting. Without those supplies, the Arcadian rebellion would have been over already.
Though he had always been fond of her, and they’d been lovers at times, Thompson had sometimes felt Kara had a bit of the spoiled brat in her, born into privilege as heir to one of the wealthiest families on Arcadia. Now he could hardly believe her strength and dedication. Her true self had risen to the circumstances, and he finally realized it had been there all along. Now, amid the uncertainty and danger he regretted the years they had wasted. He swore it would be different if they both got through this. He’d never let her go again.
But now he had to get his troops on the move. For the first time since they narrowly escaped destruction, he was ready to commit the entire army to battle. There would be no mistakes this time; he would make sure of that.
Isaac Merrick swore bitterly under his breath. He’d almost snuffed out this miserable rebellion six months before, but the quarry had escaped from the trap. He’d used Quinn’s brigade as bait, and the rebels bit, seeing a chance to wipe out a large federal force…only to get hit on the flank and rear by Merrick’s other two brigades.
Merrick had stripped everything bare, including Arcadia City, throwing 90% of his strength into the battle. It had been a big risk, but one that paid off. The rebel commander was taken by surprise; no one expected such a bold move from an Alliance army general. But Merrick wasn’t typical. He was a career military officer, one whose ambitions were limited to advancement in the army. He had the aristocratic attitude of a man born into the Political Class, but the thought of sitting in an office as some sort of functionary was anathema to him, regardless of the pomp and prestige that went along with it. He was a soldier, and now, after a lifetime of training and inactivity, he had a war to fight.
Somehow the rebels had managed to battle their way out of his trap, but they were badly hurt, and he’d figured it was just a matter of mopping them up. But that wasn’t to be. The rebel forces proved to be resilient, and for the past few months they’d been ambushing his troops every time they left Arcadia City. At least he’d gotten rid of Quinn; the troublesome brigadier was so shaken up by the realities of combat he requested reassignment to Earth, and Merrick happily obliged.