Flames of Rebellion Read online

Smart enough to stay out of this kind of trouble.

  “You hear me, Lopez? Stay the fuck awake, and keep your eyes open. They could make a move at any—”

  Suddenly, the lights flickered and went out, and the cavern went completely dark. A few seconds later, the battery-powered units came on. There weren’t many of them, and the mine was a grim dusk at best. But it wasn’t the light that bothered Lopez. It was what it meant.

  The soldiers were coming.

  He was wide awake now.

  The transport zipped through the streets of Landfall, moving through an industrial area filled with warehouses and small factories. It was well out of the way to get to the federal building, but Wells had told his driver to avoid any problems. Protests were common on Alpha-2, and especially in Landfall. But things had gotten worse over the past couple months, and even more so since the standoff at the mine had begun. Now there were protests that ran around the clock, with colonists camping out on the streets, which meant his driver was taking a circuitous route to steer clear of them.

  And even then, there’s no guarantees. They’re not going to get any better. Not when word spreads that I just ordered a thousand troops to storm the mine. Not when images start leaking showing the bodies . . .

  Still, Wells was surprised at the crowds, especially since it was just after dawn. God knows he was exhausted. At least he had an excuse, though: there was no chance of getting back to sleep after he’d given Thornton the go-ahead to attack. He’d figured he might as well get some work done while he waited for news. He had sat in his study for perhaps an hour before he decided he’d be better off in his office, where he could deal with the fallout as it hit.

  “Governor, there are crowds all around the federal building. It looks bad. Should we turn around and go back to the house?”

  Wells sighed softly. He’d never been in the military, but he wasn’t a coward. He had his job, too, and running from mobs in the street wasn’t going to get it done.

  “No, Sam. I’m not about to let a bunch of protestors dictate where I do or don’t go. Just try to bring us in from whatever direction is easiest.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  For all his bravado, Wells’s stomach was unsettled, the acid backing up his throat, burning like fire. He’d tried to eat some breakfast, just a little dry toast and coffee, but he couldn’t get any of it down. This situation was getting more and more out of hand, and he had no idea what he could do to stop the disaster he saw coming.

  For some reason, Jamie Grant popped into his mind. He’d agreed to try and save Grant because he wanted Damian Ward’s help in trying to maintain the calm. But in truth, though Grant had been a pain in the ass more than once during his term in the mines, Wells felt the kid had paid enough for what he had done. If he’d managed to keep his calm and not act out as much as he had, he’d have been out two years already.

  That’s easy to say, a bureaucrat’s answer. But what would you do if you found yourself ripped from everything—everyone—you knew for life, sentenced to years of backbreaking labor for a minor crime?

  Then a worse thought hit him, and he forgot all about Jamie.

  How would you feel if it was Violetta?

  He’d acted as if he’d done Damian a favor, but in truth he felt good about giving the Grant kid a chance.

  I just hope he isn’t involved in any of this . . .

  He looked out the window of the transport. They were close now, and he could see the streets lined with protestors. They seemed peaceful at least, though reports suggested that wasn’t the case everywhere. He just hoped there was no real violence, not while most of the security forces were deployed to the mine raid. The streets were being patrolled by a skeleton crew, and that meant the remaining troopers could be feeling alone and outnumbered . . . and maybe be a lot quicker to employ deadly force.

  And that could push this whole thing over the edge.

  Wells knew he had every cause to curse Alpha-2 and its rebels. He’d been a rising star in Federal America’s government, one who had managed to advance without getting too closely aligned to any of the cliques or subparties that feuded with each other so often. He’d managed to maintain at least marginal respect from all sides, a testament to his idealism, if a passing one. He’d taken the post as Alpha-2’s governor because it was a sizable promotion, and because it seemed like a logical step on his advancement toward senator. But he’d since presided over an almost constantly worsening situation, one he knew he’d inherited and not caused. But his rivals back home had made good use of it to discredit him, and now he was blamed in many quarters for being too soft on the rebels.

  There had been whispers at first, nothing more. But now he knew they were shouting it from the rooftops.

  Wells is too soft!

  Wells is a rebel sympathizer!

  Wells has failed!

  It was depressing, all the more because he had pushed his own morals aside, sent his soldiers to break up rallies, and imposed prison sentences on subversives. He’d even increased his surveillance activities, almost to the point that citizens on Alpha-2 were as spied on as those on Earth. He’d had to fight back against his self-hatred as he struggled to forestall the tide of rebellion. But for all his efforts, he was still hated by the colonists . . . and he was despised as a weakling by politicians on Earth, some of whom were anxious to make an example of Alpha-2, to see the streets run red with blood.

  “Governor . . .”

  He shook himself out of his self-pity and looked into the forward cab of the transport. “Yes, Sam. What is it?”

  “Major Thornton sent a signal, sir. She is leading her forces in now.”

  Wells felt another twinge in his stomach. He’d almost forbidden Thornton from leading the attack in person. She hadn’t mentioned anything about that, but he knew her well enough to suspect. He also knew people had to do what they had to do. A man or woman had to be able to look in the mirror without despair. Which is why he had held back his order.

  “Very well . . . take us in the rear garage. It’s closest, and you should be able to get past the crowds.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Wells stared out the window of the transport at the crowds.

  What will you do if the mine becomes a bloodbath?

  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second. He’d be in his office in five minutes.

  Worry about the raid now, about your people in danger. There will be plenty of time to deal with the fallout after it’s done.

  And there will certainly be fallout.

  “We managed to knock out the reactor, Major. All power to the mine is cut.”

  Thornton smiled as she listened to the report. The prisoners had cut some of the communications lines, and they’d trashed a lot of the computer systems. But they hadn’t been thorough enough, and her people had managed to gain control of the remnants of the AI system. And now they’d been able to cut off the power.

  “Well done, Lieutenant.” She flipped the switch on her comm to Rennes’s channel. “All right, Will, time to go. We can’t be sure the reactor’s restart routines have been bypassed. They could get power back anytime.”

  “We’re ready, Major.” A pause. “Major, I really wish you would stay—”

  “We’ve discussed that already, Captain. I’m going in with the assault teams, and that’s the last we’re going to talk about it.”

  “Yes, Major.”

  Thornton knew her exec was right, of course. She had absolutely no business exposing herself to this kind of danger, not when she was in command of the security forces planetwide. But she knew her half-soldiers were going to have a hard time of it, and she felt she had to be there. She just had to.

  She flipped the comm unit’s controls again, this time to the main frequency. “All assault teams . . . advance.”

  She was behind a large tree, a hidden spot with a good vantage point of the facility. She swung around, out into the open grassland. The perimeter fence was about two hundred
meters ahead, not far, but enough ground to cover if someone was shooting at you. Which they weren’t, at least not yet.

  She knew the prisoners had pickets on the surface. Her satellite intel had given her a pretty good idea of their positions. There weren’t many of them.

  Not enough actually. I’m glad they don’t have anybody there who knows infantry tactics.

  Still, it would only take one to spot her people coming.

  She was moving quickly, but not running. Her body was hunched forward, presenting as low a profile as possible in the predawn darkness. It was all second nature to her now, combat reflexes. But she could see that at least half her troops were lumbering straight ahead, despite the fact that they’d been ordered three times to get down. Were they trying to present the easiest target possible?

  She reached up over her head, pulled down her infrared goggles. The rebels had guns, but she doubted they had the rest of the gear her people did. It was a gamble, of course, but one she’d take even if they did—it’s one thing to have equipment, another to know how to use it. Her people at least had put in the time with the infrared, and that meant the last hour of night was a huge tactical advantage for her forces . . . as the darkness in the mine would be.

  If they don’t get the reactor back online . . .

  She shook her head slightly even as she moved steadily toward the fence. The prisoners still hadn’t even noticed her people.

  If those were Eurasian snipers over there, I’d have twenty dead by now, she thought as memories from the war flooded back to her.

  She reached the fence, and she turned her head, looking back at the squad of troopers right behind her. She gestured toward the heavy chain-link barrier, and two men with heavy clippers moved up and started cutting through. It was slow and low tech, but a plasma torch would be visible for hundreds of meters. Since her people still had stealth on their side, they could afford the slight delay.

  It didn’t make it any easier on her, though. She leaned down, checking her assault rifle, as much by habit as any real need. She knew it had only been a few seconds, but she chafed at the time that was passing. She was a veteran, but it had been four years since she’d been in battle, and that made her agitated. No one ever really got used to combat. She’d been scared every time . . . and the men and women she’d served with had been, too. The fearless warrior was insane. Or a myth.

  Finally, one of the soldiers ripped away a chunk of the heavy fencing, leaving a hole big enough for a single man or woman to get through. She waved her arms, gesturing for the troopers to step aside. She was going first.

  She leaned forward, slipping through the opening as carefully as she could in her body armor. She tossed her rifle ahead of her, and put her hands down, pulling one leg at a time through. Then she saw a flash.

  The sound followed almost immediately. A gunshot. Then another. Screaming, more gunfire. The fire wasn’t coming her way, not yet.

  But one thing was certain: the prisoners definitely knew her people were coming.

  CHAPTER 8

  ALACOMARA MINE

  FEDERAL PRISON CAMP TWO

  FEDERAL COLONY ALPHA-2 (HAVEN)

  EPSILON ERIDANI II

  Private Kendrick Johnson was mad, as thoroughly, insanely pissed as he had ever been. And his rage had a single focus.

  The prisoners.

  He’d been scared when his unit first stepped off to storm the facility, and that had ramped up to sheer terror when the prisoners on the surface started firing. He’d have sworn he felt a bullet whiz past his face, and he’d barely kept control of his bladder. But then he just followed the training, as most of his comrades did. And it worked. Maybe thirty seconds later, every prisoner on the surface was down, most of them hit with multiple shots. Only one of the soldiers was shot, and it was just a hit to the leg. Johnson’s confidence had soared, driving back the fear.

  Until he got into the mine itself. Into hell.

  The fighting there had been brutal, deadly. He and his comrades had fought for every centimeter. And they had paid. In blood.

  The prisoners had suffered heavy losses, too, far heavier, in fact, than the soldiers. But Johnson didn’t care. Not now. He’d gone in calling out for the prisoners to surrender before he fired. But that was twenty minutes—and half a dozen dead friends—ago. Now he was just gunning them down, including two or three who’d thrown down their weapons and put their hands in the air before he’d blown them away.

  It amazed him how quickly his fear had turned into all-consuming rage.

  “Hey, Billings, what the hell level is this?” He snapped off the question into his comm, but Billings was only a few meters away, and he shouted back his answer. “Eighteen, Kenny. They say there are only twenty-two, so we’ve got to be close to done here. These guys are all running now; it’s just a question of cleaning up, and then we’ll be headed back to barracks.”

  Johnson glanced over at Billings. “Hey, man, don’t be worried about barracks yet—stay focused on these bastards until they’re all scragged.” The two had been friends a long time, ever since they’d entered training together. Billings had always been the less serious of the two, and Johnson didn’t want his friend to get careless.

  “Yeah, yeah, old lady. Don’t worry about me. Worry about the fuckers who run this mine, ’cause by the time we’re done they ain’t gonna have nobody left to work the place.”

  Johnson was about to reply when the comm crackled again. “Fourth Platoon, advance to level nineteen.” It was Rennes. Johnson was struck by the steadiness of the captain’s voice.

  How can he sound so calm in the middle of all this?

  “Acknowledged, sir,” Sergeant Ridge said.

  “And, Sergeant—and listen to this, Fourth Platoon, all of you—you are only to engage those who move against you or present a credible threat of attack. All surrenders are to be accepted. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ridge replied with what sounded to Johnson like a minimum of sincerity. Some of the noncoms and officers were trying to restrain their troops, but Johnson had watched Ridge put a bullet in the forehead of a kid who couldn’t have been more than eighteen . . . and didn’t have a weapon in sight.

  Johnson liked Captain Rennes, and he knew the officer had served in the war with Major Thornton. He respected Rennes, and he thought the captain was fair, not a bad sort at all for an officer.

  But Will Rennes can go fuck himself about these prisoners. They’re all scum, and they’re all going down.

  He popped the spent cartridge out of his rifle and slammed another one in place. Then he turned toward Billings and nodded. “Let’s go, Clyde. Let’s finish off these bastards. We’re almost done. Just a few more to kill.” The hatred was practically coming off him in waves.

  He turned back and moved toward the ladder leading down to the next level.

  Just three more to go.

  Thornton swung around, holding her pistol out in front of her. She’d wandered out too far, away from her escort. She knew she shouldn’t be here alone, but despite the rank her positon on Alpha-2 carried with it, at heart she was still a foot soldier.

  She was alert, her mind sharp, focused, as it had always been in battle. Her fears about the assault had been realized. Her people had suffered more than three dozen casualties, and for a few minutes, the fight had been as intense as any she could remember from the war. Her forces had been compelled to claw their way through a narrow approach, into a hail of concentrated enemy fire. And the guns the prisoners were firing were every bit as effective as those her people carried. They were familiar to her, state-of-the-art Eurasian assault rifles, just like the ones she’d encountered during the war.

  Not for the first time, she thought. If I ever find out who supplied these prisoners with weapons . . .

  She felt her tension recede just a bit. The hallway was empty. Her people had mostly cleared the level. Indeed, despite her initial urges, she’d mostly stayed back from the front edge of battle, humoring her sub
ordinates . . . at least somewhat.

  The last time Thornton had been in a fight like this, she’d worn a sergeant’s stripes, and her place was on the battle line. In front of the line. She had led a force recon team, a dozen specialists whose place had been as often as not behind the enemy lines. Her reflexes pushed her to advance, to get right in the middle of the fight, but she knew her responsibilities were different now. She would only be one gun in the battle, but if she went down, the disorganization could kill dozens of her people.

  Still, she needed to be here, because trying to command this clusterfuck from outside the mine would have been a worse nightmare.

  But her forces were slowly taking control of the mine, and she was sure her meticulous direction had aided her people—or at least cut down on the losses.

  She moved slowly down the roughly bored tunnel, her eyes flitting back and forth. Her forces had swept through the level, but there hadn’t been time for an intensive search, not while the fight was still raging down below. She’d moved reserve forces in behind the assault units, and they were sweeping the area now. They had already made one pass, but she was cautious anyway. She knew how carelessness got soldiers killed; she’d seen it herself many times. The prisoners might be on the verge of defeat, but all it would take was one desperate, hidden refugee to put her down.

  “Major, I’ve got a platoon pushing down to the last three levels.” Rennes’s voice was loud in her earpiece. “Estimate the facility should be secure within twenty minutes.”

  “Very well, Captain. Proceed.” She almost told him to remind his troops to be careful. The last wounded enemy hiding in a dark corner could shoot a soldier dead. But she knew Will Rennes well enough to understand he didn’t need the reminder.

  If anything, he’d be giving it to me.

  She’d almost asked him for an update on the casualty count, too, but she decided she didn’t want to know.

  There would be time for that later.

  And there would be casualties—and not simply the dead. The many soldiers in her command who had never experienced a battle would be forever changed by what they had gone through over the past two hours. A few would be destroyed by it, broken by the terror, by the unimaginable pressure of a protracted firefight. But most of them would be better for it. They were blooded now, and the next time they faced a fight they would be far more effective in battle.