Authors: Gregg Vann
The Wardens actually believed they could win.
And so did Sergeant Barent.
Dura let his troops celebrate for a few moments longer, and then he stepped up to the railing and ordered them back to work—returning them to the weapons checks and explosive calibrations required to meet the enemy fully prepared. As the Wardens spread out around the facility with renewed hope and purpose in their eyes, he turned to face Sergeant Barent.
“It’s been more than five centuries,” Dura remarked, “but your words reminded me of what you said before the attack on the Citadel. When you spoke about the guards and colonists paying for their atrocities against our ancestors. I read your speech in the treatises.”
“For me,” Barent replied, “that attack took place little more than a week ago—not five hundred years in the past. But we do seem to be in a similar situation.”
“That we do,” Dura agreed.
Barent caught the man staring at him as they descended the last few steps to the floor of the factory. “Is there something wrong, Sergeant?”
“No, sir. It’s just that… Well, you were only a legend—stories really, and a few grainy video records. For centuries, the Great Betrayer was just words on a page. But now you’re
here
.”
“It’s even stranger for me, Sergeant Dura. If you can believe it.”
“I can,” he replied. “Though I can’t possibly imagine what it’s like for you to see Le’sant now, after so much has changed.”
“No. Probably not.”
Sergeant Dura led them to a plastic fold-up table, sitting next to a collection of dusty machinery of indiscernible purpose. And they each took a seat on one of the cargo boxes that had been placed around it as chairs.
Corporal Vane had tagged along as well, but he remained standing, watching out over the factory floor as the other Wardens continued their preparations for war. Barent caught a few of them glancing over at him as they went about their work. Unsurprisingly, his return from the dead had been hard for them to believe.
And they weren’t alone in that difficulty.
“Just a few days ago I was fighting a war,” he told Dura. “And now, everyone I knew on both sides of that conflict is dead—replaced by different groups of people in a similar struggle. The sad part is that both fights were brought on by the same problems.”
“That’s true,” Dura said. “And I’m afraid that’s not the only parallel, Sergeant Barent. The Collective are just as cunning as any of the First Ones you faced in the past. They’ve been telling everyone that you’re a fake—an imposter created by the Wardens to overthrow the government.”
“Well, they got the part about overthrowing the government right.” Barent smiled.
“And we’re here to help you do it,” Dura assured him. “The reports say you were with a woman when you fought your way through the Outland.”
“I was. Her name is Tana Neng.”
“Tana Neng?” Dura repeated. “The Collective has been searching for a thief by that name—and expending a great deal of effort in the process. We knew something odd was going on, but didn’t realize she was connected to you. Who is she?”
“She was hired by Major Kline to break into the tomb and free me. It was her apartment in the Common Ring where the two Wardens were killed, on the same night that Kline died.”
“That explains quite a few things,” Dura said. “Major Kline kept a close circle during the operation to free you, so we didn’t have any of the details—any clue at all, actually. And everyone involved in that mission is now dead, so getting answers has been extremely difficult. What it doesn’t explain, though, is how you are still
alive
.”
“The night before they took the Citadel, a close friend—another Warden, actually—faked my death. Then he placed my body inside a cryo-chamber. He was trying to keep me safe while he sought out the culprits behind an attempt on my life and brought them to justice.”
“The Collective…” Dura said.
“As it turns out, yes. Corporal Ennis meant to revive me afterward—when the danger had passed. But he wasn’t able to stop them.”
“If only he’d succeeded,” Sergeant Dura said. “Maybe things would have been different.”
He subconsciously rubbed his injured arm, and then Dura rested it on the table in front of him, adjusting the sling across the back of his neck.
“So…if this thief was able to break into your tomb, right in the middle of the Central District, she must be very formidable.”
“Oh, that she is,” Barent replied. “I’ve fought beside her on several occasions now, and Tana can hold her own.”
Dura noticed the admiration in Sergeant Barent’s voice. But there was something else there as well, and he suspected that the Great Betrayer and this thief were much closer than he was sharing.
Dura also knew that was none of his concern.
“Where is she now?” he asked.
“At one of our old hideouts beyond the city wall—almost due south of the gate we escaped through when we fought our way out of Le’sant. She’s waiting there for our reinforcements to arrive.”
“Reinforcements?” Dura said. He scrunched his brow in confusion. “From
where
?”
“From the
Olin
, Sergeant Dura. The second ship crashed into a mountainside about eighty kilometers away from here, just outside the crater. And I’ve convinced some of the crew’s descendants to help us take Le’sant.”
Dura and Vane looked at each other to confirm they’d heard him right, and not been betrayed by their senses. Both men were brimming with questions, but it was Dura who spoke first.
“The
Olin
survived? That’s incredible.”
“More than you know, Sergeant. But we can discuss that later. The important thing to know right now is that I have thirty-three thousand warriors on the way to help us fight the Collective.”
Dura smiled, and to Barent it looked like a huge weight had been lifted from the man’s shoulders.
“Thirty thousand troops?” Dura said. “We can actually do this…”
“We can,” Barent agreed. “But these soldiers come with limited weaponry, Sergeant. I have a few plasma rifles stored at the hideout I can equip them with, but they’ll mostly be armed with bows and knives.”
Dura’s smile quickly evaporated, replaced by the same somber expression he’d worn since Barent first encountered him on the stairwell.
“We raided the armory a couple of days ago, Sergeant Barent. But we already distributed the guns to the downtrodden. We have no way of arming your troops now.”
“I don’t know that it’s necessary,” Barent replied. “I think they’ll be more effective with the weapons they already know. I’ve seen them fight, Sergeant Dura, and they are lethal.”
“Against armored personal carriers?” Dura said. “And thousands of Collective troops carrying plasma rifles?”
“I’m hopeful,” Barent replied. “But we’ll just have to wait and see. How many of the city’s residents do you think will join our cause?”
“I wish I knew for certain, Sergeant Barent. I believe that everyone in the Outland, and a good number of the Common Ring’s populace, are sympathetic. But enough to fight against the Collective military? That I just can’t say. I think if we can show some real momentum—demonstrate to the people that this really can happen—then more of them will join us.”
“Then I suppose we need to start off with a bang, Sergeant Dura. Something that will get everyone’s attention.”
“I agree, sir. The downtrodden are just waiting for a signal to attack. But until I actually heard from you, I didn’t think I’d ever give it.”
“Well, get ready,” Barent told him. “Because my combined force of Olin and Exile warriors will reach the hideout soon. And shortly after that, the signal is going out.”
“Exiles?”
“Part of the same long story about what happened to the
Olin
. But it’ll have to wait until later, Sergeant, when we’re not so pressed for time. Tell me, what types of weapons were you were able to liberate from the armo—”
A loud blast sounded overhead, interrupting Barent and shaking the entire facility. Both men spun around to see sunlight and snow spilling in through a huge hole blown in the ceiling. And before either of them could react, black-clad commandos began dropping down into the factory, spraying the exposed Wardens with weapons fire.
Barent realized what was happening as the first warning cries went out across the floor.
“It’s the Collective!” he shouted.
“They’ve found us!”
“Down!” Barent yelled.
He grabbed Sergeant Dura’s vest and pulled the Warden down with him as Barent dove to the floor—just as one of the commandos descending through the ceiling spun on his tether and began firing in their direction. Vane had the presence of mind to duck behind one of the large pieces of machinery as the bullets struck all around them.
Barent drew both pistols and returned fire, glancing over to see Sergeant Dura struggling with his injured arm, working to yank the plasma rifle from his back. When the weapon finally came free, Dura leveled it at the Collective commandos, joining Vane and Barent in their effort to halt the enemy infiltration. But a quick look told all three of them that this was an all-out assault.
And they were grossly outnumbered.
The other Wardens had begun fighting back as well, and as plasma beams and bullets crisscrossed the factory, Barent sized up the effectiveness of the Collective troops. Despite his hopes that they would be ill-trained and over confident, it wasn’t the case. Their aim was deadly, and the commandos were sliding down to the floor at a high rate of speed, waiting until the very last moment to arrest their fall. That made them difficult targets, but Barent still managed to hit a few before they reached the ground and took cover. He shot one commando in the torso—almost dead center—and Barent watched as her limp body pivoted parallel to the floor in the rappel harness—just before slamming face-first into the ground.
Sergeant Dura was using the beam setting on his plasma rifle to sever the cables as soon as they dropped down through the roof, but he saw dozens more snaking through the ceiling before enemy fire pushed him back behind cover. He realized that the haphazard defense they’d been forced into wasn’t working.
“Vane!” Dura snapped. “Stay here with Barent and watch his back. I’m going to gather up our forces and coordinate a counter-attack. And don’t let anything happened to him. Do you read me?”
“Loud and clear, sir. I’ll keep him safe.”
“Good hunting,” Barent told him.
Dura nodded before moving out, ducking low to dart across an exposed path winding through the factory’s machinery. He dove behind one of the roof’s support pillars on the other side just as bullets began striking all around him. Barent’s first impulse was to follow Dura straight into the heart of the action, but he knew it was best to stay out of his way. This was Sergeant Dura’s team, and he understood all of their strengths, weaknesses, and capabilities. He’d trained with these people for years, and this was
his
show. But even if Dura was the best choice to lead these particular Wardens into battle, that didn’t mean Barent had to just sit by and watch.
“Let’s go,” he told Vane.
“But Sergeant Dura said to stay here and watch your back, sir.”
“My
back
is about to move further into this firefight and kill some Collective soldiers, Corporal. So if you want to cover it, you’d better get your ass ready to move.”
“Yes, sir.”
Shots rang out as Barent jogged off, running a short distance to take up position behind a huge pile of iron shavings. He leaned out to lay down some cover fire so Vane could join him, and the Warden made it across without any difficulty, crouching down beside him. As Barent peeked around the side of the pile he saw Dura and two other Wardens trying to make their way forward, moving toward a group of ten others bunched together about fifteen meters out ahead of them. The Collective were firing at both units with a withering ferocity, making it impossible for Dura to safely reach the larger group of Wardens.
“Lean out from the other side of this pile,” Barent ordered Vane, “and unload on the commandos pinning Sergeant Dura down. I’ll do the same from this end. With so many targets, the Collective will have to split their attention. That should give Dura a chance to advance.”
“Yes, sir,” Vane replied, and then he shuffled over to begin hammering at the enemy positions.
Barent sent out a healthy barrage as well, and when Dura understood what they were trying to accomplish, he renewed his own assault—as did the larger team of Wardens he was trying to join. The chaos and misdirection worked, and Barent observed Dura’s unit successfully make their way forward to meet up with the others.
“Nice work, Vane,” he yelled over his shoulder.
“Thank you, sir.”
Barent looked up through the giant hole in the ceiling, spotting the armored grills of dozens of personnel carriers parked on the periphery. He felt certain that there were many other vehicles out beyond them—and more Collective soldiers stationed outside in the yards, waiting for their chance to attack. But now that they’d lost the element of surprise, trying to enter through the breach in the roof was becoming suicidal.
But that’s not the only way in, is it?
Barent thought to himself.
And he knew immediately what he had to do.
“We need to set up a kill zone in the stairwell, Corporal Vane. The Collective will probably send the rest of their troops down that way. Assuming they haven’t started doing so already.”
Vane followed Barent’s gaze up through the roof and saw the APCs. “Yes, sir. I do believe that you’re right.”
“Lay down some cover fire and then fall in behind me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Barent rolled out from behind the pile and sprinted off in the direction of the table he’d been seated at when the attack first began—now just a few pieces of shattered plastic, the larger of which were perforated with bullet holes. The shooting tapered off for a moment as Barent darted behind a large smelting bucket resting on its side—not far from the first set of steps leading up from the factory floor. He noticed the wide mouth of the rust-colored container had partially collapsed, and there were deep cracks running down the full length of it, from the opening all the way down to its rounded base. The bucket appeared to have fallen from the ceiling’s pulley system ages ago, partially breaking apart as it struck the ground.