They stood silently for a moment, each drifting back to other places, other battles. Finally, Cain spoke up. “Well, General Warren, I believe we still have federal forces at large on Arcadia. Shall we discuss how to do something about that?”
Warren looked up at Cain, a big smile back on his face. “Yes, sir. It would be my pleasure.”
The rebellion on Arcadia reached its conclusion, not in a massive battle, but in a dozen small actions and a protracted campaign of maneuver. The Alliance army units had suffered heavy casualties in their victory at the Second Battle of Sander’s Dale, and they pulled back, waiting for the armored units to hunt down the last of the rebels. Merrick, assuming that the rebellion was all but defeated, had dispersed his strength to firm up his hold on the planetary population centers, preparatory to turning over control to Federal Police or some other permanent occupation force.
But then Cain’s Marines arrived and tore the Directorate troops to shreds, changing the situation almost overnight. Kyle Warren rallied the battered rebel army and led it south, first to reclaim Concordia and then to Arcadia City. Spearheaded by Cain’s armored veterans, they retook the city, raising the new Arcadian flag atop the shattered remains of the Assembly Hall for the first time since the early days of the rebellion.
Merrick reluctantly began to concentrate his forces to carry on the fight, but it quickly became hopeless. A naval squadron arrived, sent by Admiral Garret to support the Arcadians, and they landed large quantities of weapons and supplies. Across the planet morale soared, the beaten down populations rising up again. Arcadian flags were pulled from hiding places and flown from rooftops, and revolutionary rhetoric was again spoken in meeting places and at rallies.
Merrick engaged in a battle of maneuver with the resurgent rebels, but with his supplies and reinforcements cut off, he lacked the strength to take decisive action. Kyle Warren’s army grew, swelled by new recruits flowing in from every direction. When fresh Marine units arrived and joined Cain’s forces, Merrick knew it was over. Somberly, reluctantly he sent a communication to Warren asking for terms.
They met in a small building, a shed really. Sixty kilometers east of Arcadia, it was equidistant between the two largest troop concentrations. Warren could have insisted Merrick come to his camp, or he could have negotiated the entire thing by comlink, but in the end he decided the federal general had acted like a professional soldier, and he would treat him like one. The atrocities of the early war were never repeated, even when the rebels themselves committed a few of their own.
Cain went along with Warren, though he made it clear he was an observer, and the decisions were Kyle’s. They took a platoon of Cain’s troops as an escort – Warren had decided to treat Merrick with respect, but neither he nor Erik really trusted the federals.
“Hello, General Merrick.” Warren motioned toward the table he’d had set up in the room. “Please have a seat.”
Merrick stood stiffly, obviously uncomfortable with the whole situation. “Thank you, General Warren.” It grated on him to accord the rebel commander the dignity of his claimed rank, but there was nothing to be gained by petulance. “And thank you for meeting me so promptly.”
“Allow me to introduce General Erik Cain.” Warren walked toward the table as he spoke, pulling out a chair.
“It is my pleasure to meet you, General Cain.” So this was Erik Cain, Merrick thought with considerable surprise. No wonder Gravis and his Directorate troops were beaten so badly. An arrogant fool like Gravis had no chance against an officer of Cain’s ability.
Erik nodded to the federal commander. “The sentiment is mutual, General Merrick.” His voice was deadpan, non-committal. Cain was never good at pretending to respect people or to act like he cared when he didn’t.
Merrick took his cue from Warren and walked over to the table himself. “General Warren, as you are aware, the strategic situation has become problematic for my forces.” He waited until Warren took a seat, and then he sat down himself. “I am here to request a cessation of hostilities pending the evacuation of my forces from the planet.”
Warren cleared his throat. “General Merrick, I agree that nothing can be gained by further combat.” He stared over at the federal general. “However, I must insist that your forces surrender and agree to immediate disarmament.” Warren’s voice was firm, a little too hard-edged he thought, even as he was saying it. He quickly added, “I am prepared to guarantee the safety of your troops and to allow all federal forces to depart as soon as transport back to Earth can be arranged.
Merrick sat silently for a few seconds, thinking. He didn’t like the idea of laying down his arms and waiting indefinitely for transport. But he hadn’t really expected a better deal. If he kept fighting he could inflict casualties and cause damage, but he couldn’t change anything. In the end, his forces would be defeated and destroyed. “I accept your terms, General Warren.”
Cain stood in the corner of the room, silently watching the two men negotiate specifics. He was in his armor, and sitting would have been more trouble than it was worth…especially since there wasn’t a chair in the building that could hold him and the two metric tons of high-density metal in his suit. He spoke to himself, so softly he was really just mouthing the words. “Well, Will old friend, I brought you the help you asked me for.” There was a slight smile on his face as he thought about Thompson, about the battles they had fought together. More than anyone else, Will had been responsible for turning the young Erik Cain from a green recruit into a Marine. Between war and duty and the vast distances of space, it had been years since the two had seen each other, but that hadn’t diminished the bond. When Will called, Erik Cain came, though his path ended up being far longer and less direct than he’d expected.
“Yes, I brought help to your world, Will. I’m just sorry I got here too late to save you.” His eyes looked straight ahead, but he was seeing scenes from years before. “Forgive me, old friend. One day I will see you in Valhalla. I’ll be the newb again, and you the old hand…just like before.”
Chapter 30
The air was thick with acrid smoke. Weston was burning, the District a blazing nightmare. Jill’s mob had descended on the city, like some nightmarish vision out of hell. They were filthy and enraged, broken souls now freed from their torment to exact a fearful vengeance.
Jill was at the front of the surging mass, holding a rifle taken from a dead guard and shouting. Her clothes were tattered rags, her hair a twisted, mud-caked mess. But her eyes burned with a crazed determination. It was as if she was possessed, the cheerful college student gone, utterly subsumed by an avenging spirit.
They stormed the checkpoints and guardposts, ignoring their own losses as they did. The guards gunned them down, but there were too many, and the federal soldiers were trampled under the surging sea of humanity. The bodies of the Alliance troops were mutilated and carried along by the raging mob as it swept through the streets of the city.
Jill led the screaming murderous crowd to Founder’s Square, where her nightmare had begun that terrible day almost three years before. The place was now a federal supply dump, and her people surged over the barricades and broke into the weapons lockers. Now her people were armed.
They ran wild through the city, breaking into every building. They were here to deal with collaborators as well as the federals. Civilians, many guilty of nothing more than remaining quiet and escaping the notice of the federal authorities, were dragged out into the streets and branded as traitors. They were stripped and beaten…and finally murdered. The anger of the crowd defied rationality or mercy. To those who had endured the deprivation and indignity of the camp, there was no ambiguity. Anyone not fighting the federals was a traitor. And there was only one way to deal with traitors.