“William Thompson, 43 years old.” Merrick was reading softly out loud as he scanned the report on his ‘pad. “Born 2228 in Philadelphia, Outer City-South…hmm, the South Philadelphia Flats…rough neighborhood.” He’d ordered a full dossier prepared on the rebel commander, and he was reviewing it for something, anything, he could use. “Mother murdered in 2233, no details available.” There was a lot of crime in the Flats, and the police didn’t waste much time worrying about Cog on Cog offenses. “Father died 2309, non-diagnosed infectious disease.”
Reading the details of Thompson’s childhood made Merrick think. He’d always viewed the Cogs as almost animals, the products of generations of substandard genetics - people who weren’t capable of more than menial tasks. But Will Thompson was a Cog, and after Merrick beat him once the damnable rebels had been tearing apart the federal forces for the last six months. It was more than he could process then and there, but one day he would have to consider the implications.
“Recruited into the Marines from Delaware Banks Detention Center where he had been sentenced to life working the lunar mines.” Thompson had been a repeat criminal, but since he’d restricted his activities to other Cogs, he’d escaped a death sentence. Still, Merrick thought, life expectancy in the lunar mines was only a little over a year, so it wouldn’t have been too much of a reprieve. “Graduated Camp Puller, 2251. Assigned to 1 st Marine Division.”
There was more. Thompson had a good service record, with two decorations and a series of strong reports from his superiors. He was admitted to the Academy after recovering from wounds sustained during Operation Achilles. Badly injured in a training accident, he retired soon after and decided to stay on Arcadia. Although more or less fully recovered from his back-to-back wounds, by all accounts he still experienced considerable chronic pain, and occasionally used a cane.
He looked up from the screen, thinking - what makes this ex-sergeant such a formidable commander? And these upstart colonials such good soldiers? He wasn’t able to really understand the motivations of the rebels, who fought for a cause they believed in, for freedoms they loved and had come to consider essential. Merrick was smart, and he was a pragmatist, but the system he was a part of, the only one he’d known all his life, was simply too rigidly orthodox to allow him to truly understand the colonial mindset.
Now that he’d been reinforced, he decided it was time to make a major push. He was losing the guerilla war, there was no point in sugar-coating that. The colonials knew the terrain better than he did, and the population was on their side. He’d never stamp them out sending small units to pacify individual villages. He had to engage and destroy the main rebel army, and he had to hit them someplace vital to force them to commit.
Concordia was the core of enemy strength, the place rebellion had begun. With Arcadia City occupied, it was the next most populated area on the planet. Merrick was sure Thompson would have to commit his forces to hold it. Invading Concordia, Merrick decided, was the way to achieve his major battle.
It offered another opportunity as well. For months, Merrick had been wondering how Thompson kept his army supplied. They’d raided his forces and stolen a considerable quantity of equipment that much was true. But that didn’t come close to covering the ordnance they had expended. The rebels had a weapons cache or a secret production facility and, odds were, it was in Concordia somewhere. If he could inflict serious casualties on the enemy army and seize their supply source, the rebellion would falter and collapse.
“Colonel Jarrod, report to me at once.” Merrick snapped the order into the comlink as he ran his fingers across his ‘pad, switching from a view of Thompson’s bio to a map of the area.
“Yes, sir.” Jarrod’s response was immediate, as always. “I’m on the way, sir.”
Preston Jarrod had been a major, and that’s as far as anyone had expected him to rise. He was a member of the Political Class, but a lowly one, his influence poor. His father had been a deputy magistrate in the Memphis Metroplex, and Jarrod had attended one of the least prestigious Political Academies. But he was smart, a born tactician. Neither of these traits would have made much difference to his prospects back on Earth. But here and now, Merrick was fighting a war…and Jarrod was the best officer he had.
Merrick had put Jarrod into Quinn’s old command and tasked him with rebuilding the shattered brigade. Though it was a general’s posting, Merrick didn’t dare promote Jarrod more than one step, an act that was controversial enough and placed the new colonel above other officers from far better-placed families.
“Colonel Jarrod reporting as ordered, sir.” Jarrod stood at attention, having snapped a perfect salute. Merrick was sitting at a portable table set up in the center of the encampment.
“Thank you, colonel.” Merrick set the ‘pad down on the table, allowing Jarrod to see the map. “I believe we will fight a major battle here in the next several days, and I wanted to discuss strategy with you.” He turned to face his subordinate. “But first, I want to tell you that you have done an excellent job of rebuilding the morale of your brigade.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Jarrod was a true soldier, a rarity in the Alliance Earth forces, which were generally choked with cronies and other incompetents. Merrick wondered, where the hell did he come from? Of course, though he didn’t fully realize it, Merrick himself was another such creature, very unlike his peers.
“Colonel, this area is the heart of the rebellion, and we can expect a very difficult fight here.” Merrick was looking at the ‘pad; Jarrod’s eyes were darting back and forth from the general to the map.
“Yes, sir, I believe you are right.” Technically, Jarrod should have remained silent until Merrick specifically asked for an opinion. But the two had been working closely together for six months now, and Jarrod knew what the general expected of him. “May I speak candidly, sir?”
“Of course, colonel.” Merrick understood Jarrod’s hesitancy. Not too many Alliance army commanders welcomed honest commentary from subordinates.
“I think it is going to be worse than anyone expects.” Jarrod paused, nervous at going too far. Merrick had proven to be a different sort of commander, but Jarrod had a lifetime habit of trying to keep his mouth shut. An opinionated mid-level officer was not likely to prosper in the Alliance’s army. “To be honest, sir, I believe that General Thompson is a highly gifted tactician.” He took a breath and hesitated, but decided to continue. “Other than the initial surprise, I believe he outfought us in the battle outside Arcadia City.”
Merrick looked at Jarrod, amazed at the major’s audacity. He suppressed a brief flash of anger – he’d been in the army a long time, and he wasn’t immune to the arrogance of his class. But he had asked for honesty and, truth be told, he agreed with Jarrod’s assessment. The rebels should never have been able to fight their way out the trap. Thompson had made a mistake in taking the bait, but from that point on he’d handled his forces magnificently.
We’re on his home ground now, Merrick thought. Don’t underestimate this man, he reminded himself. “Colonel, if we are engaged in a major battle here, I want your brigade as a mobile reserve. I am issuing orders for you to move to the rear of the formation.”
“Yes, sir.” Jarrod’s response was sharp and unquestioning, though he disliked the idea of being out of the initial action.
“That way you will also be positioned to cover against any enemy maneuvers against our rear.” Merrick paused – he was thinking as he was speaking. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to ambush us somehow.”