The Rebel Faction

To the prying eyes of a military mind, Praxis major certainly did not appear to be worth the investment to the Republic had placed in it. Strategic neccessity demanded its annexation on behalf of the Republic; at a glance, that task did not look involved or even challanging.


" Report, sensors."


A young human male looked up from his station to the black-haired officer in a well-tailored blue uniform. " Sir, orbital contacts total twenty satellites and two transports. Neither of the transports is emitting any transponder signals."


" Very well. Communications: tap into their satellite network and broadcast the order of annexation on all frequencies and and languages. Ops: bring the fleet to full combat readiness. Begin charging sheild emitters. Guns: commence power-up sequence on the turbolasers."


Rear Admiral-Baron Paven Desaria strode forward and looked at his target anew, each second of the engines' life bringing more and more detail into view as the distance between conqueror and soon-to-be conquered shrank. Reports made Praxis sound somewhat baren: dry soil, high bluffs and rocky plateaus separating wind swept plains. The Admiral had never been here, nor had that many citizens of the Republic given the generally-barabaric description of the inhabitants. That would change inside of a decade as some hyper-space explorer named Metallos planned to make a run just outside the system.


If he doesn't careen into some rock, this Metallos fellow will make this place very popular very fast. Better us to have it then. As background to the Admiral's thoughts, Captain Martzent took the reigns of his ship. Lasers and within a few centuries heavy lasers had been the mainstay weapons of ships across the known galaxy from the furthest reaches of the Rim - Yinchorr to Bestine. Turbolasers, however, were brand new to naval warfare and augured well if the power could be harnessed by engineers and shipbuilders, each shot being more powerful than a broadside of a dozen heavy laser blasts. However, being so new and the weapons' generators so large, more than a few vessels had been struck from the registry for turbolaser-related 'accidents.' That in mind, the Captain dutifully dispatched dmagae control teams to standby at every corner of his ship.


" Sensors do we have any hostile contacts?"


" Negative Admiral - I am not even reading those freightors as armed."


" Very well." The Admiral turned from his stare at Praxis and strode up to a plato table near the center of the bridge; on it was a map of the single inhabited continent on the planet, the rest populated only by farming machines and a few devoted prospectors tending large hydroponic complexes. " Inform Major-General Desaria he may begin his landing, the fleet will cover him."


Within an hour of the order, shuttles from the cruisers began making their trips to the surface, ferrying men and material alike. Each ship, once stripped of its passnagers, took up a place in formation save the smallest cruiser and the frigate at the end of the line who were sent into the depths of the system to act as the fleet's eyes and ears. They were the alarm that would be tripped if any trouble arose.


This is going off too easy - I hesitate to wonder what awaits my brother.

" Commence primary ignition."


Mistress Gunnery Officer Wynora lowered the blast shield on her helmet and peered forward, those solitary three words all she had to do in the actual combat operation of hery battery. The work of those with whom she had trained and, on occassion, bled, was now to begin.


Stretching back over a hundred meters from the turret-mount was an experimental reactor that roared to life as men and machine harnessed the power of nuclear fusion. Energy coursed through conduits and overloaded primary buffers over almost the entire relay circuit: secondaries kicked in and tertiaries where those had failed, channeling the awesome forces they had unleashed to where its human masters wished it to go. More and more power was sent towards the bow. Inside titannic containment drums the energy was stockpiled as dozens of crewmen looked on with bated breath. Beads of sweat formed on every brow from officer to gunlayer.


Creaks and groans filled the ship; Turret I slowly rotated on axis, the .005 degree list registered during construction now more apparent than ever. Grease shot out inside inner hull tracks created a goo droids would be sent later to chip away; those globules that escaped into the vacuum of space were flash frozen into grotesque shapes onlookers were glad floated away speedily. A dozen sets of eyes for each of the weapons watched monitors in the control cupola as the two turbolasers themselves were depressed two degrees from center. Left dropped first just a tinge below where it needed to be, sending a hundred men to the cranks, setting the gun manually to its precise firing position - the right gun settled exactly where it needed to be.


" We're ready, sir."


Control now rested not within the cupolas perched atop each circular turret but the officers in the command tower above the ship's central superstructure. An anxious gunner looked to his Captain for guidance, any accident or failure would resy squarely on his shoulders. Little did the gunnery officer know, Captain Martzent himself glanced up to where the stern-faced Admiral looked out from his upper-level position. The Admiral, however, felt the eyes on him.


" Captain, fire the weapons."


Martzent nodded, and the gunnery held his breath; now, for better or worse, was to be the first combat-firing of a turbolaser. Taking a black trigger in each hand, he said a brief prayer to the Gods and squeezed...


* * *


" General!"


The natives were indeed angry. From the armored tower jutting from the Juggernaught's armored hide, Viscount Desaria could see the fortress locals named Eban Emal. From more embrasures than he cared to count, clouds of flame belched every so often to send a shell to where the Life Guard had retreated behind a convenient reverse slope just out of their range. The still-burning carcasses of ten armored vehicles were a sound testament to the ability of the garrison artillerymen, ability the General loathed but respected.


Still, all good things must come to an end.


" General!" chirped a voice from the mounted comlink nearby. " They're walking their barrage towards us now - if we do not redeploy or flank them they will have our position in maybe twenty minutes."


" No."


" May I remind you that you're placing this entire regiment in danger. Kuati Law-"


" Threaten me with the laws of matriarchal ascension and I will execute you here on the spot, understood?" growled Desaria. Women ruled Kuat and by default controlled her position in the Republic, but sent men to do their bidding. Names on casualty lists were almost exclusively male, breeding a comraderie in the field no female of status could hope to breach, let alone in the middle of combat, however one-sided thus far. His men would go where he lead.


Even so, my brother had better hurry up!


Communications with the fleet above were totally monopolized by Naval Artillery Observers, those brave few who directed the guns of the fleet's warships. So accurate were they - and so demanding their training - that they were feared by all enemies; so much so that only a handful had ever survived capture. They did their work this day. As if the Viscount's voice had been heard in orbit, four blasts of neon plasma struck down from the heavens amid a deluge of rain and struck the ground with the force of a thousand shells. The torrents could not dampen the dust fast enough as a cloud rose from the impact sites. Secondary explosions sounded with the thunder as magazines cooked off one by one.


The ranging fire of the fortress ceased. The rain slowly asseretd its dominance giving the General a clear view: where the fortress had been only smoldering revetments and charred steel beaming remained. Mocking the power that had destroyed all round it, a purple banner still wove above what had been Eban Emal.


" Colonel, move forward the 1st and 2nd Battalions, 3 and 4 to remain in reserve. I think by the time you arrive at the city limits, a document will be awaiting my signature."

One week later...


The General stood inside the armored tower and reveled in silence. Five meters above the carapace of the Juggernaut itself, he was alone scanning the savanna, alone with his thoughts. The silence allowed him to think, and also remember. Pressed hard against the lens of macrobinoculars, the skin round his eyes tightened as a cavalcade of names scrolled before him. Officers he knew of, officers he had never heard of, and men he knew well - all dead. Some were fortunate and had been rushed into the practised embrace of Fleet surgeons, others had to languish in field hospitals. Where else could they go? The last civilian hospital to admit a Kuati soldier that morning had collapsed in a pile of debris and ash.


" General, we have located the speeder. 1st Platoon, Delta Company in pursuit."


Viscount Desaria clenched his teeth. He was a Brigadier General in the Kuati Army, a loyal servant of the Republic and commander of the 2nd Regiment, Life Guards; instead of acting like a General, he was overseeing counter-insurrection duties on the company at best. Certainly he had to, however, as duty commanded - the rebels refused to engage a full battalion and were retiscent even to fire on a company. When one dispersed however into platoon-sized elements, then all hesitation vanished. From windows and brush and behind school transport vehicles did lance the blasts that were so quickly thinning the ranks of the Republic's occupation force. Now, however, they had gotten lucky.


" Excellent. Lieutenant - flank speed to intercept and meet with 1st Platoon."


The Juggernaut lurched forward as the General climbed down and into the control cabin. As fast as its massive wheels would propel it, the lumbering craft surmounted hills and valleys, its escorting speeders whirring around it like wasps round the queen. Barely five minutes passed before it was stopped again, the only thing visible on the other side of a slope being the faded steel frame around the observation tower.


Let's have a look, the General thought to himself as he stepped from the ladder's last rung onto the diamond-plate deck in the tower. Up went the binoculars to where a village sat, surrounded by farmland, barely a kilometer away. A glance left revealed 1st Platoon, holding on the reverse slope and waiting for orders. Desaria returned his gaze to the hamlet. The binoculars registered some movement with their small sensor package and he adjusted his view accordingly. Bouncing along a barely paved road was the Urbikkian speeder his men were chasing. Into the center of town it moved, rushing past onlookers who waved. It came to a stop at a blue-colored house and out jumped a few humanoids, how many the General couldn't be sure. They ran over towards a shed and cracked some sort of door: the speeder rumbled inside. The beings closed the door and arranged some farming equipment to make it look as if nothing had ever happened. Squinting further, Desaria could see pistols and at least one blaster rifle get concealed under coats too heavy for this season - besides, the rain had passed. A few women and one man come over and embraced the arrivals.


General Desaria slammed the binoculars down on the small ledge at his midsection, cracking the light plasticoide frame of the scanner. There was no way for a speeder to enter town and disappear without the neighbors knowing; their ready welcoming of the rebels meant only thing: they knew exactly what they're friends were doing. And plan to do.


But what now? He could order the village stormed and searched, in which case the rebels would run before they were seized and all that would be accomplished was to push them further under ground. No, there was another method. But - civilians were there! Desaria struggled with his conscience. Long moments passed. Through the armored roof of the control cabin, a few of his staff looked up wondering what their general was pondering. From where 1st Platoon sat, its light assault vehicles ready, men tightly clenched their rifles waiting the word to go, or retire.


Complicity has relieved them of their status as non-combatants. This is now a legitimate target. The General straightened himself. " Lieutenant!"


" Sir?"


" Ready the concussion grenade launcher. You will fire to full effect, grid coordinates 9-Tau and Sigma."


" Very good sir. Ready."


The General looked out the tower's reinforced transparisteel. " Fire."




1st Company, Delta Company, proceeded back to New Praxia, the capital city, behind its black and grey camouflaged command vehicle. Soldiers and officers from Kuat all looked on with glee - the barrels of the light tanks and repeater-cannon of the personnel carriers were all elevated 45 degrees, the Kuati processional symbol for a mission successful. The civilians, conquered and quiet, had no idea what sparked the cheer from their occupiers, nor indeed did some of those who were returning triumphant, kept shaded from reality by the reverse slope of a hill.


Atop the Juggernaut, however, one man knew. General-Viscount Desaria knew. His victorious procession into the city was lit by the still burning fires of a village known only to the map as Begitt. No matter how hot those fires did burn, an entire village blanketed by high-explosive shells raining down from the sky, the General felt his soul grow colder by just a hair. However, as the roster of those slain while attending an opera or going to the hospital or stopping at some cafe for a meal scrolled again before his eyes, he realized something else.


He did not care...

The lights of a once-brilliant city shimmered through the falling rain, muted by the fires and explosions and destruction which had thinned their numbers and put-paid to most reasons for turning them on. There was little need for the flashing illumination of an entertainment district if no one, occupier and occupied alike, felt like being entertained. A web of dread had been woven over and through the capital by a spider splashed with the colours of civil war - from the web's hold there was no escape.


General Desaria winced as a medic dressed a flesh wound in his left fore-arm; his quick breath in was concealed by a roar of thunder outside. The native medic did not even glance up, his eyes and mind focused on the task at hand. While one arm was undergoing the nightly routine of the last seven nights, the other was conveying no-longer full glass of vodka into the Viscount's system. When all was done, the General sighed. He thanked the medic and stood.


" You're arm is healing well?"


Desaria ignored the comment as he rolled down the sleeve of his tunic over the wound. He paused a moment as he did, straightening out the crease. He remembered how he got it, how the civilian policeman had saddled up to his staff car and with one deft movement he had produced a detonator, how in the blink of an eye and a flash of flame a dozen soldiers were dead - had the Viscount not stepped out of the other side to retrieve his visor-cap, he might have been one.


No - he would have been one.


" Tell me, Major: what next?"


Major Kurff was confused. More and more, the commander of the 2nd Regiment of the Kuati Life Guards had become detached from people. Wars they had fought together, battles where blood and torn flesh flowed as freely as the waters of melting snow, but still he had retained his composure. That was not to say the General was distraught, but there was a...distance...to his voice that belied some sort of detachment. Kurff dared not reply, hoping his chief would go on. He did.


" For three weeks we have moved about the countryside, raiding farms and villages. We have seized stockpiles of arms and ammunition and explosives and still the attacks continue. Garrisons have been placed in the other cities and still the attacks continue. Rebels have been dispatched and so too have their sympathizers. We have not done enough. It must be then that those who have sat idly by while Kuati soldiers were assaulted are as guilty as those who did the assaulting. Inaction has lead to death and now we will punish inaction."


" Sir?"


" There is a pattern, plain to see. The surrender took place here, we set up headquarters here - this rebellion is here! So we must destroy it here."


As the Viscount Desaria turned, a fiendish look in his eyes, Kurff responded. " Your Grace, we have an exceptional network of informers. There are no more rebels in the capital. These people want simply to get on with their lives."


" If we cut off the head, the body will die. There are rebels out there and we must send a message. They did not learn from the examples we have set until now so we must set one that they cannot possibly misinterpret. This city will be purged of all those who did nothing when their comrades went off to kill. We will eliminate them finally."


" Who, sir?"


The Viscount Desaria looked dead at the taller Major of Artillery, his eyes flashing with a rage that made Kurff sick to his stomach in the time it took to blink.


" Everyone."



The Major-General left the room and proceeded down the apartment tower to its basement where his staff had sprawled in the best accomodations a victor could afford. There he roused them into action with his iron spirit now blinded by fury and a singleness of purpose that none could stop. Still, Major Kurff remained in the General's loft, shrunk the floor as the realization of what his commander meant dawned bright than a thousand suns. He had to do something. He would do something.

Everyday the sun bathed Praxima's capital city in a blanket of brilliance only red giants could produce - or so it would were not a sheen of clouds finishing up their daily spray of the metropolis. Clouds may block the sun's rays for spells of the day, but never did they win out entirely. City life went on as usual, its citizens just as apt at placing on a jacket for the morning commute as grabbing an umbrella off some hallway tablestand. It was so then that when the sun god peered onto his worshippers' descendants, he found his face creased with scorn. From behind his blinding screen of light he looked towards the capital but could not see. There was something queer about the clouds that barred his vision that day, for rain-makers they were not.


The god hissed, turning away from Praxima, his tears shielded by light no eye could pierce. The clouds were not from the morning rain, but a result of the morning fire.


Baron Desaria looked from the cockpit window of his shuttle and saw the horror his scanners had reported on the Suvarov, horror he had ignored and believed could only be the result of any number of insurgent actions. No, those were not fuel distilleries aflame nor factories being torched to deny their usage. Homes, apartment complexes, towering dormatories, all were contributing to a blanket of smoke that refused to yield to the winds.


" Bring us in at the airfield. All craft, weapons ready."


The shuttle bounced around as it looped again over the city's ring of perimeter fortresses. Then it swept low, falling in at the head of a flurry of grey and scarlet transports. Lower and lower the craft did descend until warning signals bleeped and blared the closeness of rooftops and skyscrapers. Even over the noise of repulsorlift engines and the whine of aerodyne foils, there was the unmistakeable thunder of a thousand guns.


" Sir - there!"


The Admiral looked to where the copilot pointed. He strained his eyes to fix on a point, but did not believe what his eyes were telling him. All pigment drained from his face and he stumbled back out of the command cabin. He blinked and squinted and even slapped his face, but the image would not leave. Choking back emotion, he saw the revolution for what it had become. The sound of water trickling over damns piled high by nature's waste had given way the crackling of flames; the rustle of wind through trees and grass was now a tireless cacophony of blaster fire....the song of morning birds was totally drowned out by the shrieks of dying women and children and he men who stood to protect them. A tear streamed down his cheek as he replayed that solitary image in his head - a tall cavalryman, his face behind a soiled black helmet, his body wrapped in the steelen mech suit that made him twice the size of his compatriot grenadiers, moved the laser cannon on either arm of the mech from one group of frightened civilians to another.


The shuttle was the first to land. A squad of blue-uniformed sailors scurried out first, long blaster rifles pointed in every direction; three red-tuniced Kuati Marines followed around a figure in black wore wore no armor at all, only a long black great coat to protect against the cool breeze of the capital. Gusts of wind tossed the fringes on his golden epauelettes to and fro as he scanned around to where guards and technicians should have been - but there were none.


" Admiral, my men have completed their scan of the area and found nothing. The Life Guard must be inside the city itself."


Desaria regarded the shorter female Marine Captain and only nodded. He looked out into the city and felt his stomach tighten. He knew what his brother was doing, there could be no doubt now. He gave the order to mount up and the sailors quickly complied, piling into a dozen armored transports. Desaria stepped into the belly of a tracked vehicle and felt it lurch forward. The orders were already given, there could be no turning back. If orders did not arrive in burst-form bearing the Rear-Admiral's code, the orbiting battleships would let loose a salvo upon the city that would incinerate every rifle-toting Guardsman alive. He did not want to, but as the column pushed into the business district and the charred corpses of civilians began to pile up, he knew he may well have to.


Minutes passed as the column moved through debris-filled streets and around checkpoints erected by Guardsmen, each the same as the last. Everyone could see an evil determination in their eyes, and not a few sailors had purged their stomachs in armored compartments as the scenes they drove by defied belief.


" Up ahead!"


Desaria looked at the holographic display and listened to the radio as monitored transmissions were received and recorded. A sentry challanged the lead armored car which refused to yield. Again came the challange, and again the armored car kept on towards the barricaded building being used as the Guards' forward command. One shot was all it took to spark a civil war within a civil war as Kuati fired upon Kuati who fired upon civilian who fired upon Kuati. Shots pinged the side of the Titan Hoverpanzer Mark V but the Admiral could not be phased.


" All clear, Your Excellency."


A hatch popped and Rear Admiral-Baron Desaria stepped out. His jackboots found rough ground on the street; he just kicked aside the troublesome rocks and stood to his full height. Around stood sailors and marines with rifles leveled at Life Guardsmen. Bodies lay all around, mostly the sailors and marines who had leapt from cover first to be cut down by their brethren. A few wounded lay on the ground, each one eerily silent no matter the wound. Against the far wall on the first-floor's largest room stood a Kuati woman and several children. Sweat beaded on all their faces, each one terrified to become the next, so many of their friends lay dead around them.


Viscount Desaria stood where he was, a pistol clenched in one gloved hand at his side. The move of his head away from the live civilian to his arrived family member seemed labored to many who watched, and indeed it must have been; cuts from flying rock and metal and slashed away at his neck so that the brim of his tunic-collar was a dirtied crimson. His jaw jutted out more than normal and his eyes seemed sunken.


" What are you doing here?"


The Baron Desaria stepped forward so the two brothers were only three meters apart. Stoic as he tried the be, the older brother felt emotion flow in his words. " The question is what are you doing? You're killing civilians! What has happened to you, what has happened to you all?"


The Viscount jerked his eyes to left. " They happened to us! We came to conquer and they resisted. We vanquished and they fought on. We could not walk without fear; there was no safety. The very police and soldiers were enlisted to aide us in rebuilding carried bombs death right into us. Children carried explosives to the doors of walkers and vaniashed in a flash of smoke. They made us do this!"


The Baron clenched his fists." No one makes you kill non combatants! Rebels deserve to die but certainly they are not rebels! If they are, then we reeducate them! We are not monsters, brother-"


The Viscount studdered, his eyes boiling over with rage. " They are monsters! If we don't kill them now, they'll kill us. We survive or they do."


" What of honour?"


" Honour has abandoned Praxis."


The Baron looked at his brother, looked deep into the eyes that had once conveyed strength and loyalty; now, all he could see was blind hatred. Reason was gone, with it any sense of reality. Occupation had become elimination to the 2nd Life Guards.


The Viscount looked at his brother and then turned towards the civilians who cowered before him. He ignored the pain in his neck as he had for hours and made a choice; the only choice he could see. The muscles in his right arm flexed and brought his gloved hand up, pistol and all. Staring over his sights at the central mass of the crying female he knew his duty. He heard a single shot echo in the room...


...then felt darkness take him once and for all.