Chapter 7

DAY 13 – RESISTANCE BASE – RUZA

“That was a hell of a rush,” Reed chuckled as he set his XMR down on a nearby table. “Maybe SWAR aren’t so special after all.”

The team had just returned to the main base after a long trek through the winding subterranean tunnels, the miners unloading their newly captured equipment and laying it out on tables in the armory, taking inventory of their haul. They had chest carriers, a lot of ammunition, and even a few sidearms and helmets recovered from the dead operatives. Spirits were high, and there was a lot of jovial chatter and back slapping.

“That’ll teach ‘em to fuck with Hadeans!” one of them declared, his friends erupting into cheers that echoed down the passageways of the old mine.

Not wanting to dampen the mood, Ruza took Reed aside and walked him a short distance from the group, planting the butt of his long rifle in the dirt and leaning some of his weight on it as he brought himself lower.

“This operation was successful, but only because we had the element of surprise,” Ruza warned. “The occupiers will show more caution from now on, and each attack may become more difficult and costly. I have fought the UNN before, and they adapted to our ambush tactics quickly. You may find yourselves fighting a very different kind of enemy next you meet.”

“I know that,” Reed replied. “I also know that they’ll be pissed off after the ambush, and they’ll step up their security. The more they try to lock down the colony, the more regular people are going to turn against them. All we have to do is keep up the pressure.”

“Remember that the primary goal remains freeing the prisoners,” Ruza added.

“Don’t worry, big guy,” Reed added as he gave Ruza an unwelcome pat on the arm. “Everything is going according to plan. C’mon,” he added. “Let’s go see Astrid and find out if we’ve made any waves.”

They left the armory and made their way up through the old mine tunnels, eventually arriving at the base’s nerve center where Astrid was sitting at her desk, surrounded by holographic feeds.

“You certainly seem to have gotten their attention,” she began. “I can’t monitor the SWAR comms because they’re heavily encrypted, but the PDF network is going crazy. They’ve deployed hundreds of troops to the industrial park, and dropships have been sighted flying overhead. They called out Omar, too, so he’ll be able to give us a report once he gets back. He shouldn’t be long.”

“He works for them still?” Ruza asked.

“Omar is our man on the inside,” Reed explained. “Being fairly high rank, he can come and go a little more easily than some of his subordinates, but he still has to keep up appearances so they don’t get suspicious.”

“They are not accustomed to such losses,” Ruza explained. “I doubt this many agents were killed during the entire Kerguela campaign. They will change their tactics, so be prepared. Has Bergmann mentioned my request that he establish a medbay inside the mine? I have contacts at the general hospital who may be able to provide equipment and supplies. There are more left at my practice, but it is certainly being watched, and I would not wish to involve my secretary in our plotting.”

“Yes, we’ve found a suitable tunnel for your new practice,” Astrid replied. “It sounds to me like you think we’re going to need it.”

“I hope that I am wrong,” he muttered.

A few minutes later, Omar returned, his camouflaged PDF uniform setting Ruza on edge for a moment.

“You guys really pissed them off,” he declared, setting his helmet down on Astrid’s desk. “They’re scouring a square mile of old warehouses and storage buildings trying to find any trace of you. It doesn’t look like they’ve discovered any of the old smuggling tunnels – they’re well hidden. As far as they know, you guys vanished in a puff of smoke.”

“What new information do you have for us?” Ruza pressed.

“We’ve all gotten new orders to increase patrols,” Omar continued. “That means more PDF out on the streets interacting with the locals. We’ve been told to look out for any suspicious activity, and the criteria for detaining people has been dropped to the point that we can basically arrest anyone we want at any time for anything. We’re not looking at a declaration of martial law yet, but we’re functionally there already.”

Astrid passed him a cable, and he connected it to a port on his helmet, a new window opening on her floating displays. Footage began to play back, and Ruza quickly identified it as a recording from Omar’s helmet cam. He scanned through the video, showing glimpses of the warehouses and squads of PDF patrolling the site, stopping at a view of a towering vehicle. Ruza realized that it wasn’t a vehicle – it was some kind of suit of armor, looming over the surrounding humans. It was almost as tall as a Borealan, and much wider, layered with thick armor plating. It almost looked like a Betelgeusian Warrior fashioned from metal rather than flesh.

“There he is,” Omar declared. “That’s Lieutenant Commander Hoff. Near as we can tell, this is the guy who’s been put in charge of policing the colony. Any raids or patrols that happen, he signs off on, and orders for the PDF come down through him. He was also responsible for security at the protest. He’s a real piece of work.”

“God damn, look at that suit,” Reed muttered. “How much do you think the fucking thing weighs?”

“We don’t know much about the hardware, but the pilots rarely leave their suits in the field,” Omar explained. “Needless to say, they look like tough nuts to crack. They can be hard to tell apart with their canopies sealed, but you can pick out Hoff because of the star painted on his chest.”

“What, does he think he’s a Sheriff?” Reed chuckled.

“He’s been yelling at people all day, so he’s not the most stable individual,” Omar continued. “It’s safe to say that the ambush has riled him up.”

“Lieutenant Commanders are given control of multiple SWAR teams, but there is likely a Commander above them,” Ruza mused as he examined the display. “Whoever this Commander is, they are likely delegating different tasks to their trusted Lieutenants. They are probably operating from the carrier, or perhaps the tether station, where they would be safe from reprisals.”

“And if we targeted these middle managers, it could really throw a spanner in the works,” Reed added. “It would send a hell of a message if we could take down one of those suits.”

“We know very little about their capabilities,” Ruza warned. “SWAR would know better than to display their rank so openly unless they believed themselves untouchable.”

“I can think of some ways we might crack that armor,” Reed began.

“We must not proceed too quickly,” Ruza chided. “First, we wait and see how the enemy reacts. The same tricks will not work twice, and we must continuously adapt our strategy. For the time being, we should focus on expanding our capabilities and preparing for the war to come.”

“Where are you going?” Reed asked as Ruza turned away.

“To rest,” he replied. “The day has been trying.”

He left the room and headed down one of the tunnels, passing a few more workers who were moving supplies, finding his way to what had become the barracks. A far cry from its military inspirations, it was little more than a wide tunnel, the earthen walls lined with crude metal cots. Most of the staff came and went frequently, maintaining the appearance of normal lives and jobs, but there were some who had retreated underground permanently. Ruza passed by the beds, heading a little further down a side passage.

It terminated in a dead end – an old prospecting tunnel that hadn’t borne fruit, the winding tunnel giving it some semblance of privacy in the absence of doors. Ruza had converted it into a crude bedroom, laying out a few human mattresses on the cold ground, a pack that contained most of his personal belongings sitting against the wall. There was little light save for what bled in from the main tunnel, but his eyes were adapted to such conditions, and it didn’t bother him.

He leaned his rifle against the wall, keeping it with him rather than leaving it in the armory. He kept it loaded, and he always had spare magazines in the pockets of his jacket. Any semblance of safety or security in this place was a mere mirage.

Reaching for his pack, he rummaged inside and produced a small hard case. Contained within was a hypodermic injector and a few loose capsules of medication. He frowned as he counted them. The attack had forced him to leave home in a hurry, and he had been due to restock his supply before very long. It was poor timing. AG plates were not readily available, either, so he would have to be careful to maintain a proper exercise regimen if he wanted to avoid losing muscle mass. Obtaining more would be difficult, but perhaps he could find a way to contact Doctor Hendriks at the hospital. They had always been on friendly terms.

He loaded the injector, then punched it into his arm, the device ejecting the spent capsule like a shell. Ruza exhaled, kneeling on his makeshift bed and taking a moment to center himself. He focused on his breathing as he played back the day’s events in his mind, evaluating every choice – every action. It was still difficult to be fighting again, even if his cause was undoubtedly just. Rask blood coursed through his veins, hot and angry, demanding honor and retribution. His years of training and experience called him back to old patterns of behavior that he had strived to leave behind, like an alloy returning to its original shape when exposed to heat. Perhaps this was a test of his resolve. It was one thing to maintain his values in the absence of conflict, but now, he must find a way for them to coexist.

His peace was disturbed as he heard footsteps approaching down the tunnel, and he opened one reluctant eye to see Reed leaning against the wall at the entrance with his arms crossed.

“What do you want?” Ruza grumbled.

“We’re having a drink to celebrate our victory,” Reed replied. “I thought I’d come see if you wanted to join us, but now I’m more curious about what you’re doing in here all alone. Are you praying to some Borealan deity?”

“Meditating,” Ruza muttered. “You are disturbing my peace.”

“I thought you Rask were all about this kind of thing?” the human continued, refusing to take the hint. “War, glory, domination. You don’t even seem all that happy that we won.”

“We have won nothing,” Ruza chided. “We have dealt a blow, and we await the enemy’s riposte. There is a long and arduous road ahead of us. You would do well to prepare yourselves rather than indulging in revelry.”

“You don’t act like the other Borealans I met in the Navy,” Reed continued. “They were always brash, always wanting to assert themselves, always seeking conflict. You’re quiet, you’re understated, and you keep to yourself. What’s your story? How did you end up on Hades without a pack?”

“Are you accustomed to having probing personal questions answered so readily?” Ruza grumbled.

“I suppose not,” he conceded.

“I shall tell you only this,” Ruza began, peering at the human with his yellow eyes. “I fought in the rebellion. I remember the day that the Matriarch struck the first blow against our enemies, and how we celebrated. We feasted long into the night, we drank our fill of wine, and we spoke much of our glorious ascendant future around the burning hearths. In our minds, our enemy had been punished and humiliated. What followed was our punishment – our humiliation. Like a petulant adolescent striking an adult, their retribution came swiftly and harshly, and their lessons left lasting scars. Do not fall into the same trap, Mister Reed. A war is only won once the final shots have been fired and our weapons are laid to rest.”

Reed seemed surprised, perhaps not expecting such a response, but it was short-lived before he returned to his usual demeanor.

“I’ll put you down for a no on that beer, then. It’s good for morale, you know. It keeps the men happy and hopeful. We killed a lot of Borgs today, and they finally got to put all of that training and drilling to practical use. This just became real for a lot of them.”

“Killing is not something to be celebrated,” Ruza replied, his flat brow furrowing. “It is a necessary evil that we do with reluctance. A desire for vengeance and retribution may carry you beyond what is necessary to end a threat. Today, I am thankful that I did not need to fire my weapon. I have shed enough blood in my time.”

“Just do me a favor and don’t give the boys any pep talks,” Reed muttered.

“Do not seek out conflict too eagerly, Reed,” Ruza warned. “It may find you sooner than you anticipate.”

“Well, I’ll be at the bar if you need me,” he replied as he turned away. “You can stay here and write war poetry or whatever it is you’re doing.”

Ruza bared his teeth at the human as he walked away, then returned to his meditations, willing his anger to fade like tracks in windblown sand.

DAY 14 – HADES – RICKY

“This cowardly attack against our security forces will not go unanswered,” the Governor declared. “I implore anyone with information about the perpetrators to leave a report on the official government netsite, which can be done anonymously. Rewards are being offered for any tips that lead to an arrest. My administration will work in tandem with our UN benefactors to ensure that anarchy and disorder never again return to Hades. That was my campaign promise, and I intend to keep it.”

“Do you believe any of this shit?” Ricky muttered as he took a drink from his beer can.

“They’re being pretty quiet about how many guys were killed in the attack,” Bill replied. “That’s weird, right?”

“It’s just like the bombing,” Ricky continued, giving the display above the bar a scowl as the Governor wrapped up his latest address. “They don’t want the public to think they’re weak. If people stop being afraid of them, they’ll lose what control they have.”

“Who do you think is doing it?” Bill asked.

“Who knows,” Ricky replied with a shrug. “They’re saying Ruza was involved, but he’s not alone, clearly. Someone is helping him. They’re all gonna get themselves killed...”

“I don’t want those special forces guys running the show any more than the next guy,” Bill began. “I’m not a fan of all this overtime work either, but this seems like an overreaction. What if Ruza is wrong, and the attacks on the garrisons really were some big misunderstanding? They’ve been releasing more PDF like they said they would, and they gave the unions the overtime pay they asked for.”

“Where the hell is Amy?” Ricky wondered, changing the subject. “She’s usually here by now. It’s not like she has much work to do at the practice now that the Doc is AWOL.”