Rebellion's Fury

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Map

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  By Jay Allan

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Map

  Chapter 1

  Liberty Cemetery

  Just Outside Landfall City

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

  “I’m sorry, Alex.”

  Damian Ward knelt down on the soft grass, feeling the morning dew soak through to his knees. It had been a year to the day since Alexandra Thornton had died on the battlefield outside Dover.

  Died because she spared my life . . . killed by my own troops as she tried to escape.

  The small graveyard seemed like an odd place to Damian. Burying the dead was an old Earth custom, but one rarely practiced anymore on a crowded, polluted, and largely impoverished planet. A hundred million people had died during the Second Civil War, and whatever traditions interfered with expediency in the disposal of the dead had quickly fallen away amid the apocalyptic hell of that conflict’s final years. But the attitudes prevailing on the colony worlds were surprisingly different from those of the home world. Bodies were burned or recycled back in Federal America, but burial had experienced somewhat of a revival on the colonies, perhaps just an effort to differentiate themselves from their so-called lords.

  Damian sucked in a deep breath. He wanted to feel like he was fighting to hold back tears. Alex deserved tears. But he had none for her. He mourned her loss, and he felt terrible guilt that she had died because of him. But the rebellion was his mistress now, leaving little feeling for anything, or anyone, else. The infighting, the struggle to keep the army together despite shortages of everything, it all wore him down. And the endless battle to hold off the belief that after almost a year without any hint of federal retribution, the rebellion was already won. Damian knew better than that, but his certainty hadn’t prevented his soldiers from leaving en masse when their enlistments expired. Or deserting outright, returning to families they had left and farms that needed tending.

  And while he didn’t blame them, it still left him preparing for a fight he knew was coming. But how do you make people not used to the realities of war understand the time and distance involved in interstellar conflict? The federals were coming, and Haven was far from ready.

  The worst thing was that this was a war he had tried his hardest to prevent. But when it came down to it, he knew the Havenites, his people now, hadn’t had a choice. Federal America would destroy Haven or, at the very least, change it into a place those who had sacrificed and worked and bled to build the colony wouldn’t even recognize. Damian remembered his youth—the terrible conditions, the deprivation, the fear he’d felt when he saw the government security forces moving down the street. And he thought about his life since he’d come here. Life on Haven was completely different from the oppression and squalor most of Earth’s population endured. And he would fight to preserve that difference.

  Those realizations, though—of what the Havenites had to do, of what Federal America truly was—had cost Damian dearly. He had served in the federal army, fought in the war against the Union and the Hegemony. Indeed, it was his federal service that had changed his life, given him confidence. Even his presence on Haven was something he owed to the army. He had mustered out and settled on the colony world and gained a farm and a real chance at a life, one he’d never have had if he’d remained back on Earth, picking through the garbage in the slum where he’d been born.

  He’d joined the army out of desperation, not any particular loyalty to Federal America or desire to serve it. He’d sought only an escape from the poverty and misery, the only one available to someone from his background. Yet he’d found something more. His service had always been a source of pride, something upon which he’d built his own self-worth.

  Now that had been stripped from him. He’d seen the brutality of a creature like Robert Semmes. He’d toured the confinement camp in Landfall City, where Semmes had imprisoned the families of those suspected of rebel sympathies. Now the thought of his former service, of fighting for the flag of Federal America, sickened him.

  And this is far from over . . .

  Because the federals would be back. And while the seizure of the orbital platform with its defensive systems intact had protected the planet against any piecemeal invasions the government might launch, when the feds came, they would come in strength. They would destroy or retake the platform, and they would land troops.

  Thousands and thousands of troops.

  And those soldiers won’t be glorified police or internal security bullies in uniforms. They will be regulars. Veterans. Men and women who served in the war. Who served at my side.

  Who know how to kill with brutal efficiency.

  Against that deadly force, he would be leading a brand-new army. He had been training his rebels for months now, ever since the federals had withdrawn. The victory in the final battle had gained him widespread acclaim, and Havenites had flocked to the banners, enlisting in the nascent army and swelling its ranks. He’d organized the legions of new recruits, and he’d spread his veterans out across the newly formed units, making most of them into officers.

  He’d done his best to train his mostly raw soldiers, to prepare them for battle, but what did he know about running an army? He’d been a private when he’d begun his service, and he’d risen gradually to wear a sergeant’s stripes, before a moment of battlefield heroism earned him a decoration and a pair of lieutenant’s bars. His military career had been successful, distinguished even, but it hardly qualified him for the general’s insignia he now wore. And the fact that everyone else seemed to feel he was perfectly capable of pulling it off only made things worse.

  Damian had been dreading the return of the federals, almost since the moment the last of them had boarded ship and left nearly a year before. But now time had become an even worse threat than the troops he knew would one day land to try to reconquer Haven. His volunteers were eager, and he’d managed to turn them into something resembling actual soldiers. But they were still farmers and miners and factory workers at heart. As the months passed without any federal threat materializing, they began to lose their fervor, to slip away, to wander back to those farms and jobs.

  The provisional congress had passed laws extending the service terms of all Havenite soldiers—and Cal Jacen and the radicals had been screaming from the rafters for him to make examples of those they called deserters—but he’d resisted. He knew his unwillingness to implement harsh measures threatened his ar
my’s existence, but he simply wasn’t ready to put a bunch of his fellow Havenites against a wall and have them shot, even when they ignored his orders and left the ranks. Some might consider that his weakness, but frankly, he didn’t care. He would do anything to win—anything but become what he was fighting against.

  “I’ve been looking all over for you.” John Danforth had walked up and stopped a few meters away, standing on the small gravel path that wound its way through the cemetery. “I should have guessed you’d be here. My God, it’s been a year already, hasn’t it?”

  “Already?” Damian rose slowly, turning toward his friend and ally. “It seems an eternity to me, John. I wish the federals would just come. That seems like an odd thing to want, but we’re growing weaker now, every month that goes by sapping the readiness of the people. They were fired up after the federals withdrew, but now they think they’ve won already, and they’re starting to argue among themselves about what the future is going to look like, as if the present isn’t still happening.”

  “You’re worried about Cal and his Reds, aren’t you?”

  “I’m worried about a lot of things, John. But yeah, Jacen and his people have got me concerned.” Damian had disliked Jacen from the start, but he’d tried to get along with the lawyer and revolutionary firebrand. Jacen and Danforth had worked together for years, and the latter seemed to trust the former. Damian had learned enough politics in this short time to know any internal disputes among the revolutionaries could only lead to disaster if the federals came back, so he held his peace.

  But with the man’s brazen opportunism, it was getting harder and harder.

  Danforth moved his feet, kicking up a few stones from the path. “Cal put as much work into making the rebellion a reality as I did, Damian. I know he can be . . . strident. But he is a true rebel, and he’s as devoted to winning Haven’s freedom as anyone I’ve ever met.”

  Damian exhaled hard. “I don’t doubt he’s a rebel. But he’s a little crazy, too. I’ll tell you, John, if he’d been the head of the Guardians and not you, I wouldn’t be here. That’s a cold fact. And I’m not the only one who feels that way. He’s cut from the same cloth as Semmes, and the fact that he’s supposedly on our side doesn’t change that.” Damian looked down at the ground. He wondered if he’d gone too far.

  “Cal just gets carried away, Damian. He’s not a butcher like Semmes.”

  Damian just nodded. There was no point in arguing with Danforth. They would never agree on Jacen. He understood Danforth’s loyalty to a man who had worked at his side all the years they had planned in the shadows, who had shared the dangers with him. But he trusted his own judgment, and he had little doubt that Jacen would become a problem. If he wasn’t already a problem. Time would ultimately tell which of them was correct.

  “Any progress on recruiting efforts?” Damian asked, changing the subject. “Have the new spots begun airing yet?”

  “This morning. On all channels.” Danforth was more than one of Haven’s rebel leaders. He was one of the planet’s wealthiest men, the owner of its largest communications network. He’d used his company cautiously for years, seeking to spread the rebels’ message without provoking a federal response. Now, with the feds gone, and with Haven a self-declared independent republic, he’d been far more aggressive in using the network to support the cause.

  “Too early to tell if it has had any effect, I guess.” Damian shook his head. “Lofty speeches and impassioned pleas don’t have the same impact when people aren’t scared.”

  “It’s good they aren’t scared, though, right?”

  “Yes, during peace. But right now they should be scared. They should be scared to death.”

  “That’s human nature, my friend,” Danforth said, reaching out and putting his hand on Damian’s shoulder. “People do everything they can to convince themselves there’s nothing to be scared of, and then latch on to that. Sometimes it makes sense, and sometimes it’s delusional. But I guarantee you one thing: they are scared. It’s just not about the feds coming back. It’s about whether the crop is going to come in. Whether the child will be healthy. Whether the factory will pay overtime.”

  “Mundane nonsense.”

  “Life, Damian. They want to live. War—being ready for war—isn’t about living. So it’s easier for them to just ignore it. Think there are more important things. The key is, at least you and I know better.” He looked around. “And consider this: you’ve accomplished a miracle over the past year. Other than your veterans, our people were a mob when they faced the federals. As much effort as I put into building the Guardians, I didn’t have the skill to turn them into soldiers. You did.”

  “I am proud of them, John. You know that. But I wouldn’t call them soldiers—not yet. Fewer than 20 percent of them have seen action. The original Guardians, the men and women who fought at Vincennes and Dover, they’re ready. Maybe. The training added to their combat experience makes them a capable force. But the others are still raw. For all the drills and the instruction, some of them will throw their weapons down and run when the first shot is fired.” Damian frowned, looking down at his feet. He sighed softly.

  Danforth looked over at his friend. “I get the feeling that’s not what’s really troubling you, is it?”

  “It’s part of it. But I’m also concerned at the rate we’re losing them. However good they are—or aren’t—they’re not career soldiers, John. They’re going home. We’re losing trained troopers faster than we’re recruiting new ones. And too many of them aren’t even waiting for their enlistments to run out. They’re just going.”

  “I know.” Danforth shook his head. “Cal Jacen was raging about that a couple days ago. He thinks—”

  “I know what he thinks. But if you want to take action like that, the first thing you’re going to need is a new general.” There was a flash of anger in Damian’s voice, and a scowl at the renewed mention of Jacen. “I may not be able to ban his Red Flaggers from participating in the new government, but they will never run this army. Ever. Not while I’m in command.”

  “Relax, Damian. I agree with you. I would never suggest you start shooting soldiers, not for missing their families or worrying about their farms. But we do have to find a way to reduce the rate of loss. The troops may convince themselves the fight is over, but as I said, we both know better. And we need them all under arms when the feds come back.”

  A small wave of frustration hit Damian. “There’s something else, John. And I’m not sure you understand it fully. We don’t know what is coming, but I suspect we will be seeing regular line units. Not glorified security guards, not government thugs used to terrorizing helpless mobs. These are battle-hardened soldiers. Veterans of the last war.” He paused, looking up and locking his eyes on Danforth’s.

  “You know I was there, John. The battles of that war were brutal. I still can’t get the visions out of my mind. Those troops are career fighters. At Vincennes and Dover, the federals were barely more trained than our forces. It won’t be that way this time. They will be vastly superior, both in doctrine and supply. We won’t be able to hold Landfall. Not a chance. We won’t be able to win a pitched battle. Our only chance will be to fight a guerilla war—a long, brutal conflict. We won’t be able to protect civilians, not many of them, at least. Thousands of Havenites, perhaps most of the population, will live in occupied areas, most likely under martial law. What will our soldiers do when they are cut off from their families? What if the federal commander is no different than Semmes? What if it is Semmes again?”

  Damian took a breath, holding his gaze on his friend for a few seconds before continuing. “I know you had the best intentions when you worked so hard toward this goal, John . . . but I wonder if you really considered all that would happen.” He paused again. “I wonder if we’re truly ready for the conflict you started.”

  Chapter 2

  Senatorial Office Building (The Tower)

  Washington Megalopolis

  Federal Americ
a

  Earth, Sol III

  Senator Alistair Semmes sat behind his palatial desk, staring coldly at the younger man sitting across from him. His visitor was a disgraced soldier, an arrogant fool, a liability. Anyone who’d dealt with Semmes before would have been virtually certain the senator would send the imbecile away, never to be seen again, without so much as a second thought. And they would have been right, save for one inconvenient fact. The man staring back nervously across the desk was Senator Semmes’s son.

  Senator Semmes had a public reputation as a magnanimous man, a champion of worthy causes and a guardian of the people, but that was all a carefully constructed fiction, one that had served his purposes admirably for decades. The scenes of the dedicated public servant—delivering food packages to needy constituents, roaring with righteous indignation at one injustice or another, cutting ribbons at small business openings—were carefully choreographed, simply one of the less pleasant requirements of the job. But now the doors were closed, the cameras nowhere near—and the real Semmes scowled out of hard eyes, in every measure the arrogant, corrupt, cold-blooded autocrat who had clawed his way to the highest levels of political power.

  “It is time, Robert, for your redemption. For too long you have been the shame of this family, your failures casting shadows on the achievements of your brothers . . . and even upon me. Now you shall have your chance to put such regrettable incidents behind you. The preparations have been long, but soon you will leave for Alpha-2. You will crush the rebellion, my son, whatever it takes.”

  Robert Semmes sat quietly, nodding respectfully. He knew better than to offer his father anything but the gravest respect. The elder Semmes wanted his children to be successful, functioning cogs in the family’s political machine. But he was fairly certain the senator would prefer a noble corpse to a live son who disgraced the family and damaged his own extensive interests. He’d been given many chances, but he was clearly at the bottom of that well now, and he had no doubt that the opportunity he was being handed was very likely the last one he would see.