Warden: A Novel (37 page)

“And what about the soldiers remaining behind in the Central District?” Tana asked. “You know damn well that the Collective will post forces there to protect that part of the city.”

“You assured me—in no uncertain terms, I might add—that you could get through Le’sant undetected,” Dura replied. “I want you to scout up ahead and let us know how many troops are stationed at the center of the city. I’ll send what Wardens I can spare with you, and a few of the Olin and Exiles as well. With any luck, you might even be able to secure the Ministry building.” Dura looked up from the map and straight into Tana’s eyes. “It’s an excellent target, and there should be quite a few important
people
there.”

Tana took his meaning exactly, and she nodded confirmation.

“And what about, Barent?” S’to asked, oblivious to the unspoken exchange that had just taken place between Tana and Sergeant Dura. The impatience the Exile never seemed to shed was on full display.

“I already told you,” Dura replied tersely. “He sent me to lead the attack while he gathers up support among the people of Le’sant.”

“So you say.”

“I do
say
.”

A thick veil of tension descended over the table, and Tana wondered if it was all about to fall apart right before her eyes—that S’to would call Sergeant Dura’s bluff, and the whole situation explode into violence. The two men stared at each other’s faces for what seemed like an eternity, though it was only a few uncomfortable seconds, and then Renik spoke up to break the test of wills.

“The plan is sound,” he said with conviction. “And Sergeant Dura knows more about this city, its defenses, and the Collective military, than any of the rest of us could ever hope to understand. What would you have us to do, S’to? Ignore the counsel of the man best positioned to offer it?”

“The plan may be sound,” S’to agreed, continuing to stare at Sergeant Dura, “but Barent should be here.”

“He is in the city,” Dura replied, pointing down at the map. “And this battle is his will. I’m only acting as Barent’s representative to see that it’s done. And if any of the Exiles…
any
of them, don’t do as I command, then they can take it up with him later.” Dura leaned forward, placing both palms flat on the table and meeting S’to’s hostile gaze with one of his own. “You may not know Sergeant Barent very well, S’to. But I can assure you that he isn’t the forgiving type.”

S’to leaned forward as well, seemingly unconcerned with Dura’s warning. “We will follow Barent’s orders,” he conceded reluctantly. “But he’d better show up soon. Alphas don’t abandon the tribe. Ever.”

Then S’to spun around and left the room, leaving the door open behind him.

“He will obey you,” Renik said. “For now. But the Exiles are stringent in the application of their law. And S’to is right. They won’t wait long for Barent. If he doesn’t make an appearance soon, the Exiles will fight among themselves to establish a new Alpha—throwing this entire plan into jeopardy.”

“He’ll be there,” Dura replied confidently.

“Good. Then I’ll go tell my people that it’s almost time.”

Renik stepped outside and closed the door, leaving Dura and Tana alone in the hideout.

“It seems that we need Sergeant Barent back for a number of reasons,” Dura said, dropping down into the lone chair to rest for a moment. He rubbed his eyes and then looked up at Tana. “This attack will fall apart if the Exiles start fighting among themselves. And even if they somehow do hold it all together and we’re victorious—and that’s a big
if
. Without a clear leader, who’s to stop them from sacking the city?”

“No one,” Tana replied. “We could win…just to lose it all anyway.” Her expression told Dura that she understood the danger just as well as he did.

“Well, we should worry about winning first.” Dura laughed, trying to dispel the growing melancholy.

“It’s a good plan.”

“Modesty aside,” he said, “I agree. But we’re still outmanned and outgunned. And we have an army stitched together out of four groups that have never fought alongside each other. Not only that, but the downtrodden have no martial experience whatsoever—and the Exiles and Olin are long-standing enemies.”

“All of that’s true,” Tana replied.

Sergeant Dura stood up again, pushing his weariness aside like it was just another subordinate sworn to follow his orders. “But if this is what we have, then I suppose it’ll have to do.” He walked over and grabbed a plasma rifle, slinging it over his shoulder. “It won’t take long for us to reach the city from here, not with the horses.”

“No,” Tana agreed. “And with any luck, this snowstorm kicking up will mask our approach.”

“Then get everyone ready to move out,” Dura told her. “I’ll go ahead of you and enter the Outland—collecting what’s left of the Wardens, and directing the downtrodden to start the attack. When you arrive at Le’sant, stage all of our troops out away from the city walls, in their separate attack units. And then wait for my signal for the first group to begin their assault. They’ll need to strike, and strike hard, as soon the Collective forces arrive.”

“We’ll be ready,” Tana assured him. “What’s the signal?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Sergeant Dura told her. “You won’t miss it. When the Collective army reaches the Outland, all hell is going to break loose.”

Sergeant Dura jumped off the horse about two hundred meters away from the city, slapping the animal on its backside to send it running back to the Olin. They were still pushing their way through the snow somewhere far behind him, traveling with the rest of the coalition force. But they’d assured Dura that the horse would have no trouble finding its rightful owner, despite the fading daylight. And he had no reason to doubt them, because Sergeant Dura had witnessed their mastery of the animals first-hand. It was the Olin who’d given him his rudimentary riding lesson before Dura left the hideout—an experience that prompted a great deal of laughter from everyone involved.

I like these Olin,
Dura thought to himself, surprised to find it was really true.

But the Warden still had grave reservations about the Exiles. He understood and appreciated the simplicity of their culture. And as a warrior, Dura respected the logic behind having the strongest lead—especially in matters of security. But the surety that gave their society evaporated completely when that rigid hierarchy became disrupted, resulting in a violent and deadly struggle as a new leader was established. When things were normal, the Exiles were simple, and as predictable as machines.

But when
any
issue of leadership arose, it meant blood.

Sergeant Dura began shuffling forward through the snow to make the last part of his trek on foot. And as he drew closer to the high wall surrounding Le’sant, he saw movement at the gate up ahead of him. Dura dropped low to the ground and froze. It was a Collective soldier, peering out through the opening to watch the growing storm. His eyes briefly paused in Dura’s direction, but then he spun back around, continuing his conversation with another soldier standing just beyond him. They were both positioned just inside the gate, and Dura saw that the doors had been chained open. So the soldiers were using the city wall as shelter against the frigid wind outside.

Sergeant Dura crept a little further off to the side, at an angle oblique to their position, and then he slowly moved toward the wall again. A sense of relief washed over him when he finally reached it, and then Dura leaned his back up against the ice-covered surface and began sidestepping his way toward the gate. He stopped about five meters away from the opening and focused his attention, straining hard to determine how many different voices he could hear. The words were drifting in and out, and only a few managed to break through the omnipresent shrill of the wind. But after a couple of moments, Dura was confident that there were only the two soldiers.

He withdrew his pistol and fired it into the air. The loud rapport reverberated off the nearby wall, slicing through the storm as though it were the intended target. And then Dura took aim at the gate and waited.

Within seconds, both soldiers rushed out to investigate the sound. They held their rifles at their hips as they peered out into the distance—barrels leveled straight ahead of them as they searched for the source of the noise. But by the time they glanced over in Sergeant Dura’s direction it was already too late. They saw the Warden just in time to know who killed them. Two shots rang out, and Dura was in motion before his enemy’s bodies hit the ground. He holstered his pistol and grabbed both rifles off the dead men, and then Dura held one of the weapons up to his shoulder as he swept in through the gate, searching for other Collective troops.

But the only people he encountered were some startled downtrodden, and their eyes lit up in surprise. A crowd of them began gathering around Sergeant Dura and he held out the confiscated rifles. A man and woman stepped forward to take them.

“It’s time,” he announced loudly. “Time to defeat the Collective and take what’s rightfully yours. Go! Spread word through the Outland to assemble here. The time is now!”

Most of the downtrodden took off running—some to tell others what was happening, but even more to grab their own improvised weapons and prepare to fight. In the middle of the frantic exodus, Sergeant Dura noticed a lone figure running toward him. And then he saw another, coming from a different direction. Within minutes, all of the surviving Wardens had gathered at his side, and an approximate head count told Dura that fewer than fifty of them remained.

Son of a bitch,
he thought.

But despite the heavy losses, Sergeant Dura was actually grateful to see so many Wardens. Because after all they’d been through recently, he’d secretly feared that he was the only one left.

“It’s good to see you, sir,” Corporal Mitte told him. “We were beginning to think that maybe you got killed.”

“Not yet.” Dura smiled, and then his command demeanor snapped into position. “Listen up! We’re going to create some chaos around here to get the Collective’s attention. And I want explosives rigged up on both sides of these gates to widen the hole.”

“But why?” Mitte asked.

“Because company is coming, Mitte. And I want them to rush in here as quickly as possible when the Collective troops arrive. I’ll need two teams sent to the city’s side gates as well, to set up similar charges around them. But don’t detonate
anything
until I give the word.”

Corporal Mitte and the other Wardens seemed confused by Dura’s orders, but it was a testament to their training that they quickly determined the teams needed to carry them out. Dura approved the assignments, and then he directed the remaining Wardens to help gather up the downtrodden so he could lead them into battle.

“But how will you call it, sir?” one of the Wardens asked. “The explosives, I mean.”

“One of you will remain here to set off these charges when the Collective steps into our trap,” Dura replied. “And we’ll be comms hot when it’s time to blow the side gates—so I’ll issue those orders when needed.”

“But if we use the comms,” Mitte protested, “the Collective will know that we’re active. And they’ll use the signals to track us.”

“By that time,” Dura said, “they’ll already have their hands full with other things. I promise you.”

Mitte nodded, and then he dashed off with another Warden. A second pair departed as well, headed for the other side gate. The remaining Wardens worked together to collect those downtrodden willing to fight into a single group. It was an unruly and disorganized mess—little more than a mob, really—but Sergeant Dura had expected no less.

He was watching one of the Wardens place explosive charges on the nearby gate when Dura heard screaming off in the distance—followed closely by the echo of gunfire.

Some of the downtrodden weren’t waiting.

“Let’s go!” he called out. And then his large group staggered into motion, heading toward the main street leading to the Common Ring.

More downtrodden joined them as they wound their way through the Outland, brandishing lethal weapons of their own design and fabrication. And when they finally reached the major crossway into the Common Ring, Dura saw the four Collective soldiers who’d been stationed there lying dead in the icy mud—stripped of everything, including their clothing. The sight was raw and it was ugly. And the mutilated bodies provoked a visceral reaction in Sergeant Dura that he hadn’t expected to feel. But it wasn’t regret or sympathy he was experiencing, Dura had seen too much for that.

It was a sense of justice.

He thought of Kina and Major Kline, and of all the other Wardens who’d died because of the Collective. And that anger surged through him as he raised a single hand high up in the air, pulling the people around him in closer. Dura looked out over the untrained and malnourished mob he now controlled. He saw the hatred in their eyes, and knew they would offer no quarter to any Collective soldier they encountered.

Sergeant Dura understood.

He dropped his arm and the downtrodden began spilling through the opening, flooding into the Common Ring like an unstoppable wave of vengeance—fueled by years of gross mistreatment and oppression. Dura dispatched a few Wardens to go out ahead of them and stop the mob from advancing too far, ruining the plan to ambush the Collective forces. And then he slowly glanced around, taking a moment to let it all sink in. Finally…it was really happening.

The attack on Le’sant had begun.

Barent looked up from the table as General Malves entered the room, watching with interest as he waved the guard trailing behind him away. The soldier resisted, clearly reluctant to leave his superior alone in the room with Barent. But Malves ordered him to remain outside and closed the door. As he spun around, Barent saw the grin on his face.

“Is something funny?” he asked Malves.

“Only that your populist uprising is about to be stamped out, Sergeant Barent. We received reports that the downtrodden were revolting in the Outland, and it seems they’ve attacked some of our troops stationed in the Common Ring as well—using weapons your fellow Wardens stole from the armory, no doubt. But I’ve sent a force in to deal with them, Sergeant, and I can assure you that order will be restored shortly. Did you really believe you could take Le’sant with that untrained rabble?”