Chapter 27
The orange sun was setting slowly over the rocky coastline, soft light rippling off the gentle waves. Night was coming, but the noisy activity continued unabated, as it had for a week now. Transports arrived day and night from Weston, bringing the equipment of war to the invasion force. The operation had been plagued by difficulties from the beginning – logistical problems, poor organization, and constant raids by the rebels. The invasion date had been pushed back twice, and Cooper had ordered that it would not be changed a third time.
The Columbian seas were a treasure trove of valuable resources, and a large fleet of submersibles explored those oceans and harvested the most valuable materials. Early in the war Marek had ordered this armada pressed into service and armed. Now, the waters around the main rebel stronghold on Carlisle Island were patrolled around the clock. The fleet had also allowed the rebels to insert strike teams anywhere along the coast, something they had been doing with great effect since the beginning of the rebellion.
After Jax’s raid took out the atmospheric fighters, the federals deployed a large force to hunt down his team. Outnumbered 20-1 by the forces pursuing him, Jax kept on the move and continued his hit and run campaign, taking out one target after another and slipping away before the enemy could trap his small group. Finally, hemmed in and worn down by losses, he’d had no choice but to withdraw to Carlisle Island, joining the rebels for the final defense of their stronghold.
Jax’s disruptive tactics had delayed the federals for months, buying the rebels a bit more time, but the hard fact was they were losing. The rebellion on Columbia had gone fairly well at first, but the federals had poured in troops and equipment until they overwhelmed the Columbians. Slowly, steadily, the entire planet had been pacified…all except Carlisle Island.
The Martians had made a second supply drop, which included some heavy weapons as well as desperately needed ammunition. Jax had managed to transmit coordinates, and the Martians were able to land most of the supplies on Carlisle Island or in the nearby waters.
The rebels had known there was some type of expeditionary force giving the federals fits, but when Jax set foot on Carlisle, Marek looked as if he’d seen a ghost. He and Anton had served under Jax on Carson’s World during the climactic battle on the Lysandra Plateau. His shock was only increased when he saw Sarah step out of the ATV right after the giant colonel. Marek and Jax had been badly wounded on Carson’s World, and Sarah Linden had saved them both. It was a surreal reunion, but a joyful one.
The arrival of Jax and his veterans gave the Carlisle Island defenders a much needed morale boost. They had been trapped on the island for months now, unable to even continue raiding the vastly superior federal forces. Arlen Cooper had pacified most of the planet, inflicting severe punishments on areas that had supported the rebellion and imprisoning thousands in his concentration camps. The remnants of the rebel army bristled at the inaction, but they lacked the strength to do anything. Even with Jax’s troops and supplies, there was little they could do but wait for the final assault…and make the federals pay a price when they came.
“Tonight.” Jill Winton’s voice was cold, dripping with venomous hate. “We move tonight.” Like everyone in the camp, she was filthy and malnourished, her hair crusted with mud, tattered clothes hanging loosely on her emaciated frame. But she had found sustenance in her hatred of the federals, and it kept her going…it kept her warm.
“It’s too soon, Jill.” Tyler Hanson spoke softly, tentatively. Since Jill had formed the resistance cell in the camp she’d become driven and merciless. Few of her people had the guts to question her, but Hanson worked up the courage to speak. “We’re not ready.”
She looked at him, her eyes blazing. “There is no more time.” She stared at him with such intensity he wilted under the withering gaze. “We do it tonight.”
They’d been planning this for months, building up their numbers, hiding what bits and pieces of scrap they could use as weapons. Waiting could accomplish nothing; it could only get them caught. They will sit and plan forever, she thought with disgust. But it is time for action.
Tonight the camp would rise. Tonight they would kill the guards, with bare hands if need be. No longer would they huddle together like sheep, waiting to be selected for execution or die from the exposure and mistreatment. Now they would extract the price in blood for all those who had suffered and died.
She knew Tyler and the others were worried, concerned about how many people would die. But that wasn’t a consideration for Jill. She knew things would be bloody, but hurting the federals was all that mattered to her. They were a disease, an infestation…and she would do anything in her power to destroy them. Anything.
The federals had gone too far, they had left these people nothing. Not hope, not even self-delusion. They were virtually dead men and women already, half-starved, stripped of all dignity, suffering an existence that had no value. What did it matter if they died under the guns? They had nothing left to lose, and vengeance to gain.
Yes, they would strike.
The guns were lined up along the coast, all the heavy artillery batteries from the Alliance army divisions. Cooper had lost his atmospheric fighters to that cursed Jax and his raiders. They had been thorough too, blowing every one of the planes to bits. Even worse, he couldn’t get more…he couldn’t get anything. That traitor Compton had not only refused him support, he and his treacherous fleet had blockaded Columbia, cutting off Cooper’s supplies and reinforcements.
The artillery hadn’t been much use yet; it was heavy and too immobile for the type of war they had fought. But the rebel seagoing fleet controlled the 16 kilometers of open water between the mainland and Carlisle Island, and without his fighters to engage the enemy submersibles, the job had fallen to the gunners.
The guns had opened up before dawn, bombarding the southern coast of Carlisle, targeting the rebel rocket launchers and defenses. Most of the emplacements were heavily fortified, but the constant shelling sapped morale and scored an occasional hit.
The first transports left four hours later, carrying the initial wave of assault troops. They would suffer heavily, this first group, but the rebel submersibles and rocket batteries would give up their positions when they fired, and when they did the artillery would make them pay.
The hovercraft glided in swiftly, just over the waves. The submersibles were waiting to intercept them, and they began to surface, firing rocket barrages at the incoming formations. The rebel vessels had not been built as warships; they were hastily-armed civilian craft. They had to surface to fire, and when they did they became easy targets for the big guns. Their crews weren’t experienced military, but they were well aware of the risks. They were a forlorn hope, there to pick away at the enemy, to damage them enough to give their friends and comrades a chance, however fleeting, to hold the last stronghold of the rebellion.
Kevin Clarkson stood in the small control room of his submersible. He’d inherited The Blue Lady from his father, who had named her for Kevin’s mother. Ellen Clarkson was still alive, and she still wore blue almost every day, though she could never have imagined her namesake vessel would one day go to war. The ship had provided two generations of the family with a very comfortable living. The work was hard, and it could be dangerous as well, but it was lucrative.
Now, Blue Lady was the flagship of a small fleet, and Clarkson was the commander of that fleet. All the ships had been modified, the specialized equipment they used to scour the seas for resources torn out, replaced by whatever weapons systems could be improvised.