Rebel hell hells jesters.., p.2
Rebel Hell (Hell's Jesters, #3), page 2
“I thought it would be over by now,” Levine lamented.
Greer nodded to hide a grimace of irritation. He’d heard that from a lot of people, even some of his own officers. He’d always cursed such fantasy. As pampered and decadent and parasitic as the central worlds of the Alliance had gotten, he knew their desperation to hold on to power would override their complacency.
This was always going to be a battle to the death.
“Geiger,” he resumed, “is a lunatic, yes, but an aggressive one. With the Alliance frantic for some sign of movement, he’s the commander to give it to them.” Greer offered Levine a calculating smile. “We will use that against them.”
“Explain.”
Greer reached for the handheld control on the coffee table beside him and took control of the star map hologram hovering over them. He zoomed in on the Core Worlds of the Union. With a command, he added the positions of the fleets, elements of the Union covering approaches to each world, Greer’s main fleet at New Jefferson, the Union capital, and a sprinkling of blood red symbols for Alliance fleet elements confirmed nearby.
“Loudon,” Greer said and clicked the control. The planet closest to the Alliance border flashed. “The Alliance’s maneuvers up to this point clearly point there. These other groups are strong, but not enough to risk a tangle with our main fleet. They’re a feint. This group, however,” he indicated a bunching of icons near the world in question “is positioned to receive fast reinforcements from Breckenridge. And our intelligence assets tell me Geiger is already there.”
“And as you’ve told me, if they fall upon Loudon, it’s isolated enough they can seize the system.” Levine sighed in despair. “If we reinforce to defend it we weaken our positions protecting the other Core Worlds and the Alliance pounces.”
“It’s a strong force parked at Loudon,” Greer replied. “And they’re improvising some truly imaginative defenses. It won’t be an easy win for Geiger.” He paused. “And I’ll be there, too.”
Levine’s eyebrows shot up. “So you are going to reinforce?”
“I’m going to take a small group, some of our best ships. I’ll assume overall command.”
Levine sagged back in his chair. “You’re placating me.”
Every time Greer saw him, now, the President looked as though he’d aged an additional decade. In the days before the secession, Levine had been the Alliance Assembly’s chief political arsonist, reveling in the controversies and conflicts he stirred. He’d lit the fire of rebellion, stoked it for years, and taken full advantage when it flared to life. But looking at the drained, depressed man before him, Greer could see that that fire now threatened to consume the very man who’d birthed it.
And all of us along with him...
“You’re going to give us a heroic battle, Greer, really fight your hearts out. But, in the end, you’ll have to fall back, to preserve the rest. And—bless you—you’ll give me the cover story I need to face the Legislature...and the people.”
“I intend to fight,” Greer said with force that surprised even him. He could forgive despair, for a time, but defeatism, never. And how could this man, who’d manipulated galactic politics at the highest levels, not see the long game here? Greer had to calm himself before going on. “We will make them pay for every inch they gain, sir. A head-on assault against fixed positions is the costliest of all tactical solutions—it’s a sign of desperation on the Alliance’s part.”
“But you’ll still have to abandon the planet,” Levine said softly. “Seven hundred million people, Carson.”
“We’ll get them back.” Greer lifted the handheld control and the star map shifted, the fleet poised to hit Loudon moving in, occupying, other formations swirling, and then a long, dotted-line extending back towards Alliance space from Loudon’s orbit. “Look at that supply line, sir: strung-out, vulnerable. Victory at Loudon means defeat in the region. The forces needed to maintain a presence there exposes them to destruction in detail. We will burn every small task force guarding their rear areas to cinders and leave Geiger isolated. That in turn relieves pressure on the other Core Worlds, indeed, on the rest of the Union.”
“Relieves pressure,” Levine said meditatively. He grimaced. “We sound like physicians debating treatment over a terminally ill patient.”
Greer started to snarl at the other man, to snap out of it, to rally, as he would to one of his star sailors. But he saw Levine’s face and knew the hard blow would only shatter. He tried another tactic.
“The patient is very sick, aye, sir. And this next procedure will be very painful. But it will save the Union.” He manipulated the holographic control again. The image shifted once more, showed Union formations slashing across the dotted line of the supply route and Alliance icons fleeing, scattering—and Loudon freed. “Geiger’s aggression will be their undoing. He will sink their forces so deep into our territory, overextending the Alliance effort so badly that the entire front will have to shift, back to its starting points.”
“It won’t be enough.” Levine raised a silencing finger when Greer began retort. “Won’t be enough to end the war, is what I mean.”
Greer pinched his lips together. “Not yet.”
“I know those people, Carson, the Alliance High Councilors, even many in the Assembly, all utterly implacable. And utterly removed from the consequences of all this. It’s icons on a map.” He pointed at the hologram. “It’s not lives to them. That was always something I hated. The job—the people—didn’t matter, only the next election, the next bribe.” His face twisted bitterly. “They’ll never give up because this isn’t real to them. It’s a fire across the pond, as the saying goes. It’s someone else’s problem.”
“We’ll make it their problem,” Greer snarled.
Levine chuckled softly. “You know, Carson, a number of my confidantes advised me against giving you the command. They said you were the reckless one, the aggressive one” he hesitated with a mischievous glint to his stare “ambitious.”
Greer started to snap back but held it in, saw the merriment to Levine’s smile. He often forgot who he dealt with, here, the man who’d talked a hundred worlds into leaving the Alliance. Games within games, never forget. Greer thought of himself as a dangerous man; he was not half the player as Levine.
“I’m a soldier, sir; nothing more.”
“We both know that’s not true.” Levine leaned back in his plush, leather seat—real leather, like everything else in his office, the clock, the bookshelves, all genuine. “That’s why I ignored them and their worries. I needed someone who could see beyond the immediate, who could see the possibilities.”
Greer wasn’t certain how to respond to that, decided not to.
“I don’t know if you remember this,” Levine went on, “but I sat on the Committee that heard the petition for your third star, your promotion to Fleet Admiral, back when the Assembly had a say instead of the High Council handing them out like candy to their favorites.”
“I don’t remember, sorry, sir.”
“That’s all right; I was a very junior Assemblyman at the time.” He leaned elbows on his desk, folded his hands together, and stared at Greer in a searching way that seemed to pierce to the marrow. “You were asked what was more important, understanding the past or planning for the future. I remember thinking it was both a stupid question and a trap.”
Greer nodded slowly as the memory warmed. “It was a trap. Some of the High Council’s troublemakers were on a fishing expedition. They were looking to dismiss faculty from the Academy they considered undesirable—history and philosophy.”
“It was then-Assemblyman Noovin,” Levine said with a smirk, “now the esteemed High Councilor of Nova Terra.”
“I do remember that.”
“And you remember what you said to him?”
“Of course, I do. I said that those who forget their history are doomed to repeat it, but those who let themselves be ruled by their pasts will never build a better future.” Greer shrugged, smiled. “I have to admit, I was pretty proud of that, at the time.”
“It was a good turn of phrase, worthy of a politician.” Levine smirked, but the expression turned grave. “Do you still believe that?”
“I do. We, each of us, needs to understand where we came from; but our pasts are not who we will be.” He met the other man’s stare. “This has something to do with our present predicament?”
Levine frowned. “If Loudon is soon to be our past, Admiral, you need to make certain it does not rule us. You need to keep our people pushing for the future.” He chortled. “You need to keep pushing me.”
“I know no other way, Mister President.”
“Good.” Levine leaned back and slapped his thighs, got up, suddenly, reenergized—or at least giving the appearance of being so. “And with all that said, Carson, it sounds as though you’ve got travel plans. I shouldn’t keep you.”
Greer rose from his seat and accepted Levine’s hand as he came around from behind his desk and offered it. “I will remain in constant contact, sir.”
“I appreciate it.” He let go of his hand but hesitated. “You’d mentioned it earlier but I don’t know if we covered it: you said you reached out the Hell’s Jesters? God knows we can use all the help we can get.”
“Intermediaries of mine did, yes, sir. They’ve been hard to reach, of late, carrying out their raids on the far side of the galaxy.”
“You think they’ll come? Tearing up supply lines would seem to be their specialty.”
“They’ll come, and for the main event.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Before the rebellion, the Core World region was actually a prime recruiting ground of theirs. A number of their senior members are from Loudon.” Greer smiled grimly. “So, you see, this isn’t just another raid of theirs.
“This is fighting for home.”
Part 2 – Holocaust
HOLOGRAPHIC RECEPTOR ON>>>
SCANNING>>>SCANNING>>>HYPER-CHANNEL 422550>>>RECEPTION>>> A meaty-faced man with the figure of a barrel wrapped in a thousand credit suit grins at the camera. The expression looks poorly-placed on reddened features, causing small, piggish eyes to squint.
“Good day to you, folks. I’m Charlie Pratt, founder and CEO of Zebulon Blaster Weapons. Those of us at Zebulon have never been ones to knuckle under to adversity and we’re not going to start now.” He steps to one side and a rack of blastrifles lines the wall behind him. “That’s why we’re proud to be selected as a partner to provide technology and support to your Alliance in these times of crisis.”
A young, blonde woman in high heels and a scandalously short skirt steps to his side and hands him a long-barreled blaster. “Thanks, dear.” He accepts the weapon and slaps her on the backside as she walks away. “Zebulon’s not running away from war or terrorists or traitors.”
He aims the blastrifle at the camera and his smile suddenly seems genuine.
“You shouldn’t either.”
SCANNING>>>SCANNING>>>HYPER-CHANNEL 1010-UNION>>>Pirate Transmission>>>RECEPTION>>> A thud sends men and women in ragged, drab green fatigues and armor hunching low in a trench. The camera angle shakes and dirt patters down into the space.
“This is Aisha Malone,” an ebony-faced young woman in a poorly-fitting helmet says as the view steadies, “reporting for Union Free News, from the front lines on Fury.” She turns to a broad-jawed woman with the single bar of a Lieutenant on the corner of her chest plate. “You were telling us...?”
The officer chews something and spits to one side. “It’s quiet at the moment. They ain’t tryin’ us real hard. Just like that last blast, they throw a little our way every once in a while to keep it interesting. But it’s quiet.”
“How long have you been here, on the front?”
She shrugs and starts fidgeting with her blastrifle. “I’d say two months. You lose track of time, y’know? First few weeks were tough. They were really hitting us. Probably thought they could break the beachhead, keep us contained. Now it’s slowed down, just these damned waiting games and hide-and-fucking-go-seek.”
“How is morale, Lieutenant? Are you keeping your spirits up?”
She snorts. “We’re Thirteenth Corps, Miss, former-Alliance Marines. Our morale is always up!” She hesitates, scratches some dirt from her cheek. “It’s a hard business, though. We hear the Alliance has landed the old Sixth Corps on-planet. They call us ‘treasonous’ and swear ‘no quarter’, but those are still brother and sister dogfaces out there.” She pauses and blows out a breath as her eyes glisten.
“War sucks.”
>>>SCANNING>>>SCANNING>>>HYPER-CHANNEL 666789 - NOVA TERRA - GOVERNMENT SPONSORED>>>RECEPTION>>> Harvey Grantholm straightens his gaudy tie and leans forward over holopads and hardcopy documentation on the desk before him. “On behalf of the Committee for the Conduct of the War,” he says into a microphone, “I’d like to thank you, Admiral Harrison, for joining us once more.”
Resplendent in his crimson and black, the blocky-jawed, green-eyed officer nods. “It is my pleasure, Mister Assemblyman.”
They face each other across the space of one of the sub-chambers of the Alliance Assembly complex—not the monstrous, amphitheater of the full Assembly. The smaller space is nevertheless packed with hovercameras, Holomedia reporters, Assembly staffers, and a smattering of the curious.
“And, just as a reminder and just for the record, this Committee was formed as part of a Joint Resolution between the High Council and the Assembly. This is an inquiry, not an investigation, but an ongoing inquiry into the cost and, frankly, the duration of the war with the Union traitors.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Excellent! We were discussing before the lunch break the Battle at Junction.”
“We were.”
“I’d like to pick up there, then. You were telling us how previous tactical assumptions about deep space fleet engagements no longer seem sound.”
“That’s correct.” He takes a quick sip of water from a glass at his elbow. “Doctrine up to this point had assumed that large vessels with heavy firepower made smaller ones—notably starfighters—obsolete for a stand-up fight. Junction proved that to be woefully incorrect.”
“I would have thought the Hell’s Jesters made it so.”
Harrison winces. “The depredations of a single criminal band seemed more the exception than the rule before the war, Mister Assemblyman.” He nods grudgingly. “But, yes, Junction made it clear that their heightened maneuverability, their ability to deliver distraction, slashing attacks, and—most importantly—to appear anywhere makes it clear we have to rethink things.”
“Could you expand on that?”
“Certainly. It’s not just starfighter doctrine or matters in a pitched battle. The Union is an improvisation, just like their fleet, just like the Jesters. They try new things, they throw stratagems at us that we’d never consider. It’s desperation. It’s sometimes lunacy. And they’re going to keep doing it, across the whole war.” He took another drink and looked up at Grantholm. “I worry that the Alliance war machine is not built for this.”
Murmurs ripple through the onlookers and Grantholm frowns. “Am I to understand you’re saying we can’t win?”
“No,” Harrison replies hurriedly. A streak of sweat glitters at his hairline. “No, that’s absolutely not what I’m saying. We are winning. We will win. What I’m saying is that if we want to end this war sooner, without the ongoing costs I know you’re so concerned about, Assemblyman, we need to change our way of thinking. The Union will continue to employ unorthodox tactics; we need to have a response to that.”
“Was it these unorthodox tactics that were our undoing at Junction?”
Harrison flinches and barely keeps a snarl from his voice as he answers, “We were unprepared and off-balance at Junction, as I have testified before. In fact, as I have said—already today—I was attempting to deescalate the situation when matters got out of hand.”
“You’re referring to the fact that the Union fleet fired on us?” Grantholm asks snidely.
“Assemblyman, you apparently want me to keep repeating myself. As I already testified, the holographic evidence is not at all conclusive about who fired first. “
“Admiral Geiger has testified before this body they did.”
“And I’ve already laid out my concerns about that.”
“Yes you have.” Grantholm shuffles through holopads. “In fact, I’d like to revisit—”
>>>SCANNING>>>SCANNING>>>HYPER-CHANNEL 152435>>>RECEPTION>>> “Communication,” says a tall, willowy-thin woman of skin so pale as to be nearly translucent. “It is the life-blood of the galaxy. It is the breathed oxygen of community. It is the medium through which we are human.”
A hologram of a sunrise serves as a background as the woman steps to one side and gestures. Holographic globes materialize, showing various views: HoloDramas, documentaries, news broadcasts, and scrolling lines of text between friends and family, punctuated by smiling avatars and merry mini-videos.
“It is the medium we provide,” the woman says soothingly, but with an undertone of command. She turns to look right at the camera. “I’m Ellen Astrid of Omnipresent Media, assuring our customers of our dedication to clean content and truth. In these times of upheaval and disinformation, rest assured that Omnipresent outlets will keep you informed.”
The holographic sunrise behind her swells into a full, golden dawn bathing her in its light. She smiles as though emerging refreshed from a long sleep.
“Omnipresent: your medium – your truth.”
SCANNING>>>SCANNING>>>HYPER-CHANNEL 1010-UNION>>>Pirate Transmission>>>RECEPTION>>> The ground shakes and the sky howls. Smoke and debris shower into the trench. Flashes like heat lightning rip the air and figures crowd by Aisha Malone. The holocamera jostles off sandbags and the view flips sickeningly, clangs off the ground. Boots stomp by over it until the cameraman hoists it once more.
