Sword of Axia (The Arcadian Jihad) (6 page)

System Standard 2728.1222 Surface of Planet Isolde

They were sitting on a raised platform of a large dining hall where Tell was addressing a group of shipyard workers. Berg Smetana was watching everything, silent and grim faced. Blas noted how much had changed in the short time the Axians had been in control. These people were all thin, there was just not enough food to eat on the outer Systems, they were also shabby, their faces cowed and beaten. He thought about the few people he’d seen on Axis Nova, mainly during his passage through the courts, plump, well fed and well clothed. It was obvious that Axian rule did not extend to any concept of fair sharing. He listened to Guide Tell, alerted to a change in his voice, a sudden stridency.

“You ask what can I offer you if you join us? Let me tell you about an ancient text I have been reading, it was saved from destruction when the Axians destroyed our planetary library. Another leader wrote it when his civilization was threatened with slavery and oppression.

This man said, ‘I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears, and sweat. We have before us an ordeal of the most grievous kind. We have before us many, many months of struggle and suffering. You ask, what is our policy? I say it is to wage war by land, sea, and air. War with all our might and with all the strength God has given us, and to wage war against a monstrous tyranny never surpassed in the dark and lamentable catalog of human crime. That is our policy. You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word. It is victory. Victory at all costs - Victory in spite of all terrors - Victory, however long and hard the road may be, for without victory there is no survival’.”

Tell paused for breath. “That speech, my friends, inspired another group of people thousands of years ago to fight for their freedom. It is a hard road we are about to tread, but if we are to give our children, and our children’s children, the right to a free, just and prosperous society, we owe it to them to try.”

As he came to an end there was no doubt that his words had struck just the right note, there was a roar of cheering voices from every man, woman and child in that room. Just as there had been in the previous meeting, and the one before that, they had recruited shipbuilders and maintenance men, the people who would be needed to keep a fleet of warships in space. The movement was growing and spreading its tentacles out amongst the people who had built the very warships that helped the Axians to seize power. Their sense of betrayal was marked, none of the promises made to them at the time had even begun to be fulfilled. Men looked back fondly to the time of the Rescom government when there was food on the table, money to spend, even the opportunity to vote out politicians that were dishonest. After the meeting Guide Xerxes Tell invited his senior officers and ships’ captains to a briefing session.

“Our revolution is growing, we need to start planning our next move. As President of Rescom I have decided to widen our sphere of operations to take Planet Dafne, the munitions factories. If we can extend our control over both their warships and their munitions we’ll be in a much stronger position to challenge the Axians directly.”

“Sir, that would be a mistake.”

They looked at Blas as he stood up to speak. “The more our movement grows the quicker it will come to the attention of the leadership on Axis Nova. They’ll sink us before we even take a single planet, let alone one as well defended as Dafne. We need defenses, a ground force. We need to finish preparing the Fleet too.”

“We need more than a fleet,” a voice shouted, “we need to take the fight to the enemy, to hit them hard where it hurts them the most. You want Dafne, Guide Tell? We’ll give you Dafne, as soon as we get the crews for those ships, we’ll go there and hit them where it really hurts.”

Blas sighed. Rafe Glen, the big, heavily muscled and fiery spokesman for the ground troopers, the men who would withstand the worst of any attack. They all knew he was spoiling for a fight, the more he shouted his bellicose threats to attack the Axians, the more men sided with him. Admiral Rusal stood up to object.

“Rafe, if we go in to attack the planet now they’ll swat us like Arcadian tree flies. We haven’t enough men, ships or weaponry to stage that kind of a raid, it’s a planet too far, believe me.”

“We’ll take it for you, Admiral,” another man said. Blas looked at Hector Faust, Glen’s cousin and constant companion. Both men were superb fighters, every man on Isolde knew it. If the movement was to win the hearts and minds of billions of people, men like these two were essential. And it was true that Rescom needed something positive, something dramatic to show them, evidence that they were able to take on the Axians and win. But Dafne? The weapons and munitions supply for the entire Nine Systems, it was massively defended, as Blas felt bound to remind them.

“Rafe, Hector, listen to me. The defenses on Dafne are vast, five rings of fortifications, ships and permanent gun platforms that extend two hundred miles above the surface into space. To attack that kind of force we would need hundreds of ships, ships that we don’t even have crews for yet.”

“That’s not the only way to do it,” Rafe said quietly. “We have a plan to go in through the back door, we can get a force onto the surface and take over the main armories and control rooms before they even know we’re there. Those defenses point outwards, Captain Blas, not inwards. Once we’re there, we’ll cut them off from the core and destroy them one by one.”

The room fell silent, Rafe Glen’s dramatic speech made it sound almost easy.

“No!” Tell shouted. “I forbid it. Admiral Rusal, explain to them that it can’t be done.”

Quentin Rusal sighed. “I’m afraid Guide Tell is correct, Rafe, perhaps later when we are stronger it could work, but at present the risk is too high. It’s as Constantine Blas said, the defenses are formidable. First, we need a proper fleet, fully crewed and equipped as well as the force for the ground attack.”

“In that case it’s time to go and get those crews, we’ve had enough of sitting around here while you make pretty speeches.” Berg Smetana stepped forward, a ferocious scowl pasted on his face. “We need action, we’re going to take Dafne whether you like it or not. We’ll start with the crews on Nabucco I, Admiral, you get us down there and we’ll get those men out.”

System Standard 2728.1229 Nabucco I

It was the second time Blas had landed on Nabucco I. The first time he’d been in chains and without the benefit of a respirator, he remembered the choking, chemical taint of the air that made drawing every breath an agony. The maintenance teams on Isolde had restored the ‘Revolution’ to its previous Axian livery, once more she was the ‘Prophet Ramak’, restored to her role of prisoner transport. To the controllers on Nabucco I she was just another battered hulk that brought the condemned from every corner of the Axian Empire to serve out their last days in the tortured slavery of the prison planet. Their codes had been accepted, Blas assumed that a Rescom agent on Axis Nova had arranged for them to be added to the landing schedules as a genuine transport. They never told him how it was arranged and he hadn’t pushed for answers. It was done, they had landed. The hatch swung open, he had his respirator in place and didn’t need to breathe the toxic atmosphere that seeped into the ship. A guard lieutenant with a squad of six men came on board, they also wore respirators and carried laser pistols in holsters, in their hands electronic whips. The officer shook hands with Blas.

“Another batch of scum for us, eh, Captain? This planet will soon sort them out, have you ever been here before?”

“Yes, I have been here before, Lieutenant.”

The man grinned. “In that case you know what it’s like. We’re holding so many of these Rescom traitors that we had orders from the High Prophets on Axis Nova to finish them off a lot quicker than before. We cut their rations and doubled the workload, it’ll soon finish them off.” He moved away from his men and spoke quietly to Blas. “We’ve got tons of surplus food since we cut their rations, if you could move it off planet and sell it I’d be happy to split the proceeds.”

“I’ll look into that, Lieutenant, yes. First, can we complete the prisoner transfer formalities?”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Let’s have a look at your cargo.”

Blas led him to the ship’s hold, now converted into a huge prison cell. He pressed the switch and the reinforced door slid open. In front of them were the ‘prisoners’, two hundred men, all wearing respirators.

“They don’t need masks, they’re not allowed to have them down here,” the officer said angrily. “You prisoners, remove those masks or we’ll use the whips on you!”

The prisoner nearest to him stepped forward. Blas grinned, behind the mask was the hard, threatening face of Berg Smetana. Berg planted his feet in front of the officer.

“I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you and your men remove your own masks?”

“You damned Rescom scum, how dare you! Men, use your whips.”

He waited for the electronic buzz that announced the whips were activated. In vain. When he looked around, Blas’ crewmen had quietly disarmed the guards. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, he looked at Berg again and saw two hundred men behind him, they were all now armed with laser pistols, all pointed directly at him. Slowly, he put up his hands.

They boarded the fleet of ground transports that were waiting to take the prisoners to their work camp. The journey brought back memories to Blas, men toiling in the wide, fume-filled fields, hacking at the ground, spurred on by whip-toting guards. Bodies lay abandoned near the work sites, waiting for crews of prisoner trustees to collect them at the end of the working day. Nabucco I was a large planet, rich in the valuable minerals needed for so much of the technology used throughout the Systems. It was also a planet with a huge mass, the gravity was much stronger than on most worlds colonized by humans. Every step was hard and made doubly difficult for the prisoners by their lack of food and unremitting work. Blas felt hot with anger, every time he saw a sneering guard whipping a prisoner he wanted to stop and turn his blaster on the man. He calmed himself, soon they would free them all, but first they needed men. Crews for the fighting ships. They arrived at the infamous Camp Eighteen where many of the Rescom crews were known to be held. It was a maximum-security compound, when a prisoner went through its gates it was with the knowledge that they would never leave. Even the corpses were incinerated, death was no way out. He was in the lead transport, Berg Smetana beside him, the driver slowed and stopped for the security check. The bored guard took one look at his documents and waved him past. Service on Nabucco I was not popular, for most it meant six months of misery, spending their working days having to wear an uncomfortable respirator, before a transfer to a better posting. Blas noticed the rearmost transport halt at the gate and a group of their men jump out. Good, that would be the gate secured. They pulled up in the main square, the camp commandant came out to meet him as he stepped down.

“Another batch for us, good. Our quotas have been raised, we need more fodder for the ore separation plant. Life expectancy here is worse than ever since they cut the rations, we need every man we can get.”

“Excellent, Commandant, I’m glad you’re pleased. Would you please assemble your guards in the square, I wish to inspect them. Now!”

“But, what on earth for? This is…”

He stopped as he saw Blas’ blaster pointing at his stomach.

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear enough, Commandant. Give the order or I’ll pull the trigger and get your second in command to give it.”

Fifteen minutes and a great deal of confusion later, forty-eight guards were lined up in front of him. He nodded at Smetana and spoke quietly. “I think we’ve got enough, time for your people to do their stuff.”

“I’ve got it.” He looked at his men. “Right, let’s show them how things have changed around here.”

Smetana’s men surrounded the guards and covered them with plasma rifles. They looked startled, but Berg gave them no time to recover their wits. “This camp is now under my command. My name is Berg Smetana. I command the ground forces…”

They looked confused. Until he continued, “for the Rescom Federation.” Their faces went white, a few hands reached for laser pistols until they remembered the heavy plasma rifles trained on them. Berg went on. “You will follow my troopers who will disarm you and take you to the isolation cells. You will leave your masks here, as you know, prisoners are not allowed respirators.” He grinned, enjoying his moment. “Anyone that resists will be killed instantly. Believe me, my men are waiting for the least excuse. They’ve seen what you’ve been doing here and they’d like to pay you back in kind. It’s up to you.”

Six of his men led them away, there were no arguments. The rest went out into the fields and half an hour later began returning with the prisoners. The prisoners had killed two of the guards instantly when they realized that they were being released. The other guards were placed with the first group in the isolation cells. There were eight hundred freed prisoners paraded front of them in the camp square. A few had put on masks, although there were not enough to go around.

“They’re like skeletons,” Blas said worriedly. “These men won’t be able to fight, they can barely stand.”

“Let’s see what they have to say about it.” Berg shouted for the men to listen to him.

“We haven’t freed you men to take you home.” There was a loud groan. He held up his hand for quiet. “The Axians have had it all their own way so far. Now, we have ships ready to start fighting back, but we need crews. Which of you men will take a berth on a Rescom cruiser? Who wants a chance to start hitting the Axians and send them all the way back to hell?”