The Rask Rebellion

The seventy-ton vehicles pushed their way through the wreckage, circling around behind the Rask position, converging on the far side. They stopped with their fronts towards the enemy, the small troop ramps at the rear opening, two dozen Marines rushing from the confines of the cramped bays to take up position behind the behemoths. The Kodiaks couldn't use their heavier weapons for fear of friendly fire, but they were still able to saturate the ruin with the gun pods that were mounted on the sides of their turrets, and the thirty-mill railguns on their blisters. They opened up, tracer rounds from the caseless guns bouncing in all directions, sparking where they hit the jutting pieces of broken rebar. The railguns dug craters into the chunks of concrete that the Rask were using for cover, creating puffs of dust where they struck.

The enemy were forced deeper into their refuge, hunkering down, the Marines seizing the opportunity. They darted out from behind the safety of the tanks, quickly clearing the fifty meters or so of desert, leaping into the rubble. The Kodiaks ceased fire, the barrels of their railguns glowing with heat. It was up to the Marines now.

Sarif patched into one of their helmet cams, hearing panting breath as its wearer clambered over the pieces of shattered concrete, sweeping an assault rifle variant of the XMR across the uneven terrain. The bunker had been big, enough that the Rask and Marines could play a deadly game of hide and seek in its ruins, the debris large enough to conceal even an eight-foot Borealan.

The signature report of a railgun rang out, the Rask launching a desperate counter-charge. They came swarming out of the concrete with their weapons at the ready, one of the Marines lifted off his feet as a round hit him in the chest. The squad returned fire, ducking in and out of cover, the air filling with concrete dust as the two sides engaged one another.

The Marines had to keep pushing, they couldn't allow themselves to be bogged down. Some held back to provide suppressive fire while the rest moved up the incline, traipsing through the uneven rubble. The Marine that Sarif was watching weaved through the chunks of concrete, crunching the shattered fortifications underfoot, breathing heavily as he scanned his surroundings for targets. The air was filled with tungsten, the whizz of the hypersonic projectiles shooting past him audible even over the helmet's mic. A slug hit a chunk of concrete the size of a boulder not a foot from him, creating a shower of dust, the small fragments transformed into speeding shrapnel by the kinetic energy. He grunted, stumbling as they impacted him like a tiny shotgun blast, his armor protecting him from any serious harm. He slammed his shoulder into another boulder-sized hunk of jagged rock, looking down to check the magazine on his rifle, the HUD in his visor displaying the locations of nearby friendlies.

More Marines sought cover nearby, a couple of them peeking out to loose bursts of suppressive fire, slugs tearing up the concrete all around them.

"Grenade!" someone yelled, the Marine that Sarif was watching spotting the ball-shaped explosive as it landed in the rubble near a group of his comrades. It erupted in a spray of debris, lifting a nearby Marine into the air, tossing him like a doll. He slammed into the heap, one of his legs completely missing below the knee, his pressure suit shredded. The other men rushed to his aid, one dragging him into cover by the carabiner on his shoulder as the rest provided covering fire.

The grenade attack was soon followed by a charge, a handful of Palace Guards bolting from cover to come racing down the incline. The Marines cut two of them down, sending them crashing to the ground, the remaining three making it into close range. One of them skewered a Marine with his bayonet, driving him into the rubble. He stood over the flailing man, withdrawing his blade, now slick with blood. As he prepared another jab, a Marine to his right decapitated him with a well-placed shot. His black helmet shattered, the head within exploding like a melon, fragments of skull and brain spraying.

The remaining two waded into the melee, brandishing machetes and pistols. A Marine was caught in the upper arm by a savage blow, the heavy blade embedding itself deep in his left bicep, droplets of blood splattering his assailant's opaque visor. He loosed a bellow of pain, his rifle falling from his hands. Sarif expected to see him go down, but the man dug his feet into the loose rubble, enduring the impact as he whipped a sidearm from his belt. The Rask drew back for another attack, but too late, the Marine dumping the magazine into his torso. The alien staggered backwards, the bloodied machete still clutched in his clawed hand, toppling over into the wreckage.

The second Rask went into a frenzy, spinning like a dervish, knocking several Marines off their feet as more rushed through the ruins to help. In such close quarters, nobody could fire their guns, but one of the men was able to duck in with a combat knife. He plunged the weapon into the Rask's thigh, the alien yowling in pain, lunging at his opponent. The feline lifted him off the ground, holding his struggling body above his head, then brought the Marine down on a piece of jutting rebar. The man was impaled, the jagged metal erupting through his midsection with a spray of gore, his body going limp.

The Marines raised their rifles now that the Palace Guard had exposed himself, firing on him with no danger of hitting their friend, half a dozen XMRs perforating the howling alien with molten tungsten. Even as the lifeless corpse began to fall, they didn't let up, intent on avenging their slain brother. Viscera painted the ruins as the Rask's body was dismembered, shredded by the gunfire that was pouring into it, one of the Marines standing over it to loose one last burst for good measure.

They started to push again, climbing through the debris, bringing down two more Rask who were firing on them from behind a collapsed wall. They soon encountered a machinegun nest that the Palace Guard had set up by bracing an LMG against a pile of shattered concrete, the magnetic coils on its barrel glowing red as it spewed hot metal downrange. The Marines were undeterred, taking refuge and coordinating a grenade toss, the explosions sending the defenders scurrying for cover. One of the grenades found its mark, lifting the torn body of the gunner into the air and draping it over the defensive barrier that they had hastily assembled out of debris. The Marines charged towards the makeshift foxhole, standing on its rim as they fired on the handful of Palace Guard still taking cover within, quickly finishing them off as they scrambled to defend themselves.

The squad began to secure the perimeter, sweeping for more targets, and finding only bodies. It seemed as though they had taken the position. Just when Sarif was about to declare an all-clear, a fresh battle cry rose above the distant gunfire, another Rask leaping into view. It was another of the Matriarch's finest, his dueling cape whipping in the wind, his visor open to expose his snarling visage.

In his hands was clasped the AMR that had been firing on the vehicles. The weapon rivaled the length of the long rifles favored by the Borealans, but it was far more cumbersome, the barrel tightly packed with electromagnetic coils of far higher power than those commonly used in XMRs. The magnetic rings on the infantry rifles were spaced at intervals, but on the anti-material rifle, they formed an almost unbroken tube of copper-colored metal. Thick, insulated electrical cables trailed from the receiver, linking up to a battery pack the size of a beer cooler that was slung across his back on a leather sling. The weapon required a team of two to operate it, but this Rask hadn't got the memo.

There was a deafening crack that blew out the nearby mics as he fired it, the Marine whose perspective Sarif was watching diving out of the way. He spun his head to see one of his comrades obliterated by an anti-material slug, a far larger caliber intended for disabling vehicles and light spacecraft. The Marine was just...gone. A fine, red mist hung in the air where he had once been, pieces of shredded pressure suit fluttering on the wind. If there were any larger pieces of him left, they had been thrown clear by the force of the impact.

A second shot rang out as the Rask advanced on the Marines, hitting a large chunk of concrete that one of them was using as cover. The slug blasted a crater in it a foot wide, dust spraying as the projectile punched through to the other side, the Marine tossed away as though he had just been struck by a speeding train. The concrete particles hit him like buckshot, the tumbling slug catching him in the right shoulder, ripping off his arm.

The Marines responded with a chorus of gunfire, puffs of pulverized concrete erupting from the rubble all around the Palace Guard as he collapsed under the barrage, dead before he hit the ground. One of the slugs perforated the battery on his back, a jet of bright flame erupting from it as the polymer housing bulged outwards, swelling under the heat. The Marine who was serving as Sarif's eyes covering his visor reflexively as he turned away, and when he looked back, the corpse was little more than a smoldering heap of charred flesh and melted plastic.

Sarif tore his eyes away from the scene, returning to the holographic map, leaning over the table as he examined the readout. The left flank was pushing up to join the right now, the East Gate appeared to have been taken.

"Any more reports of resistance?" he asked.

"No, sir," the comms operator replied. "Some of the trenches are still being cleared, but the remaining enemy forces are surrendering."

He allowed himself to exhale a sigh of relief, leaning on the edge of the table for a moment, his eyes closed. He quickly straightened up, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Have the battalion create a secure perimeter, I want to maintain control of this gate," he ordered. "We need squads patrolling the jungle to either side of the pass, we shouldn't rule out the possibility of the Rask launching attacks from the cover of the trees. Set up an FOB, we have more wounded than we can treat in the infirmary, and we'll need somewhere to house the prisoners."

The comms operator began to tap at his console, relaying the Lieutenant Colonel's orders.

"Get me Korbaz," Sarif added, a flickering representation of the Admiral appearing as the signal was patched through.

"I trust that you have good news?" she asked, her usually husky voice rendered tinny by the speakers in the table.

"The Matriarch's forces have been routed," he replied, "you have a clear path to the capital. As we discussed, the battalion will remain here until your task is complete. If this goes the way you intend, then hostilities will end with the deposition of the Matriarch. If you fail, or if something else goes wrong, I will level every inch of that city at my own discretion. Are we in agreement?"

"Perfectly, Lieutenant Colonel," she replied. Sarif wasn't sure whether that twitching in her eye was a result of her repressing her anger, or merely the wavering of the hologram.

"We're transmitting coordinates now. Make sure that your crawlers stay in single-file, and don't deviate from the route. We've cleared a safe path through the trenches, but there may still be some undetonated explosives outside of that corridor."

"Understood," she replied. "Stand by, Lieutenant Colonel. I will send word as soon as my work is done. The Matriarch's reign ends today."

She closed the feed, the hologram dissipating, Sarif raising an eyebrow.

"The Admiral is optimistic, at least," he muttered. "Send the recon company deeper into the territory. If Korbaz screws this up, I want to know where to deploy the tanks well in advance. If she can't subdue the Matriarch, then we're looking at urban warfare, messy stuff."

He wandered over to one of the monitors, peering out over the blasted battlefield. The desert was pocked with craters, many of them filled with dark glass, the remnants of razor wire and tank traps littering the landscape. He could make out a few disabled vehicles, the haze quickly swallowing everything beyond a hundred-meter radius. His eyes were drawn by movement, a squad of Marines emerging from one of the trenches, their guns trained on a procession of Rask. The aliens had their hands behind their heads, their eyes darting about nervously. Restraining them hardly seemed necessary, they were cowed, submissive.

With any luck, there would be no need for a repeat of what had happened at the gate, but Sarif was hesitant to place his trust in Korbaz. The Admiralty had already come to a decision, however, and his job here was only to carry out their orders.

Time would tell if they had bet on the right horse...

CHAPTER 24: LONG LIVE THE MATRIARCH

"Looks like your guys had a bad time," Cooper muttered, peering out of the slatted windows of the conning tower as the convoy of crawlers trundled across the battlefield. The East Gate looked like the surface of fucking Mars. There were blasted craters everywhere, the storm whipping up clouds of dust, the haze that choked the sky diffusing the sunlight to give everything a sepia tone.

Here and there, he could make out the ruins of a bunker or the wreck of a disabled vehicle, some of them still belching plumes of dark smoke into the air as they burned. There were tank traps, and spools of barbed wire scattered all over the place. It must have been quite a battle, he was almost sorry to have missed it.

"They are not my guys," Korbaz grumbled. She was hunched over the holographic table behind him, poring over the map. "I would never have attempted such a foolhardy defense."

"I know, I know," he replied. "So, what's next? Where are we going, exactly?"

She waved him over to the table, pointing at the three-dimensional satellite image, her claw passing through the translucent landscape.

"Do you see this city that forms a crescent around the Northern shore of the lake? That is our capital city, the seat of the Matriarchy. Her palace sits at its heart. By now, word of my challenge will have spread. We should be able to drive right up to the city limits, then make our way through the streets until we reach the palace walls."

"Should?" Cooper asked skeptically. "You realize that there are a hundred places where someone could lean out of a window and shoot you dead, right?"

"Window?" she asked, the two exchanging confused glances. "As I told you before, for the Matriarch to slay me before our bout would be to admit her inferiority, it would make her look afraid. The messages that I have broadcast to the territory have reached the people, they now know of my intent, and many high-ranking Rask have contacted me in secret to express their support."

"If you say so," he replied with a shrug. "I'd still rather you drove down there in an IFV, but I won't be the one getting blown up if they decide to JFK you."

"J...F...what?" she wondered. "I swear, you make less sense every time I talk with you. Anyway, I want you with me."

"Me?" he asked, pointing at himself with a polymer finger. "What the flying fuck do you need me for? You've learned as much as you can from the instructors, enough to give you an edge over that bitch. There's nothing more I can do to help you, and you told Sarif that you didn't want any humans marching with you, right? You said it would be a bad look."

"I want you at my side," she replied adamantly, "that is my wish."

"What am I, your emotional support monkey?" he grumbled. "You'd better fucking win because I'm not doing the whole Rask prisoner thing again. Been there, done that, got the bloody t-shirt."

"I believe that Sarif will raze the palace to the ground if I lose," she replied, "so there is little danger of the Matriarch taking you captive."

"Fantastic," he grumbled. "Do I at least get a gun?"

"Of course. A Rask would never attend a meeting empty-handed. Just don't point it at anyone."

The crawlers cleared the battlefield, passing a row of Kodiaks that were forming a defensive line, Cooper lamenting that he couldn't see very far in the storm. He'd scarcely been able to catch a glimpse of the jungle, and he wouldn't see much of the small villages that were supposedly scattered around the territory's interior.

Looking at the map, he hadn't really grasped the scale of the place. When one thought of a lake, they usually imagined a medium-sized body of water, but that did not describe the Rask lake. Despite its sorry state when compared to those of other territories, it still rivaled the size of Lake Superior, and the territory had the land area of a small country. It would be some hours yet before they reached their destination.

After a while, he noticed structures outside the left window, Cooper peering between the armored slats as he looked down at them. Wreathed in the storm was a small cluster of sandstone buildings with domed roofs, their walls packed with mortar of the same beige color, giving them an almost sculpted appearance. There were support beams hewn from logs visible on the exterior, the wood pale and somewhat twisted, almost like birch trees that had contorted into odd shapes. He couldn't make out any windows, which might explain why Korbaz had been confused when he had mentioned them earlier. The only way in and out was through wooden doors, built from planks of the same pale wood.

"One of the smaller villages," Korbaz explained, walking over to stand beside him. Some of the inhabitants heard the rumbling of the crawlers, emerging from their squat dwellings, the wind tearing at their colorful shawls as they gazed up at the passing vehicles in awe.

"What do they...do?" he asked.

"Out this far from the capital, they will mostly hunt and forage in the nearby jungle. Those who live nearer the lake make their meager living fishing its waters. The soil here is poor, and farming is difficult. Our territory does not overflow with natural resources as Elysia or Araxie do. Many are now employed in the mining operations that allowed the Matriarch to purchase equipment such as this vehicle, but with the vaults emptied, I know not where their salary will come from."

"That's why you've always been raiders?" Cooper asked. "What you couldn't get here, you took from others?"

"The Elysians and other neighboring territories have historically had a habit of transporting their wealth and resources in poorly-defended caravans," she chuckled, staring into the distance as she seemed to reminisce. "The Dune Sea is the only way for them to reach one another, that is why we...why the Matriarch fought to control it. Everything that passes through the Dune Sea is Rask property, ripe for the picking, and those who cannot defend their custom do not deserve to possess it. At least...that was the mantra of our forebears. As romantic as the idea of returning to the old ways might be, I see now that times have changed, and we must change with them if we are to endure."

They left the small village in the dust, the little buildings vanishing into the wall of swirling sand.

***

"This is it," Korbaz announced, "the capital city..."

Cooper looked out past the prefabs that crowded the crawler's deck, watching more buildings come into view in the distance. Night had fallen, reducing the visibility even further, but he could make out the glow of what might be streetlamps in the distance. As they neared, he was able to see the silhouettes of more of the squat, sandstone houses. They were far more numerous, densely packed together, the narrow streets paved with cobbled stone. He was surprised to see that few, if any, were more than two storeys tall. Perhaps that was a limitation of the high gravity. The light was coming from what looked like oil lamps that hung from braces near the doors of the houses, serving to illuminate the city in the absence of electricity. The shore of the lake must be a ways to their left, but he couldn't make it out with the storm still raging.