The Rebellious Slave Ch. 02

"Yes," Kara answered.

"It runs past a munitions factory in Isleydor," Elandra told her, and as another explosion went off somewhere nearby, Kara braced herself against the table, until the lights stopped flickering and the ground was still again. "For god's sake!" Elandra cursed, barely managing to stay upright herself and clutching the table tightly. "Another one?"

"They're getting less frequent at least."

"But not for long."

"Wait...what?"

"Like I said," Elandra continued. "This railway runs past a munitions factory in Isleydor, then leads right into Gardok where we're just barely hanging on. I've heard word that a huge deposit of weaponry is being transported down here now, along this route. If we can stall this train or, better yet, destroy its cargo, we'll have a much better shot at securing Gardok for the White Horse."

But that didn't lessen any of the confusion on Kara's face.

"I'm sorry...," Kara began, looking questioningly over at Elandra. "But aren't you a medic? How is this kind of operation your job? And I'm a medic. How is this kind of operation my job? We aren't trained for this. Just forward the info to Tamius at the front and I'm sure she'll dispatch a team to—"

"Stop," Elandra sighed, placing a sympathetic hand on Kara's shoulder. "Just stop. In an ideal world, yes. That would be the plan. But we're losing, Kara. Another three weeks like this, and Gardok will fall. General Tamius Sue already knows about this—we got this intel from the front—but if she loses anyone else to stalling a train—especially a demolitions expert—Gardok will be captured before the munitions it carries can become threat. So, she's turning to us and others, asking if anyone might want to take a stab in the dark at this. You in?"

"Of course not!" Kara cried, wrenching herself free from Elandra's grasp. "It's a suicide mission. I can build a bomb, but I probably can't get myself onto and off of a moving train—one crawling with Isleydor's soldiers, no less—in order to detonate it! Find someone else."

"There is no one else!" Elandra hissed. "Not on the east side. And you must know that communications are down; we can't exactly coordinate with the north to build a better offensive."

But Kara only shook her head.

"Look," Elandra tried. "It's not ideal, but you wouldn't be alone. There will be others on your team to help you get onto and off of the train. You'll have armed protection—"

"Well, that changes everything, doesn't it? I'll have armed protection, will I?" Kara scoffed, eyeing her Commanding Officer indignantly. "You mean more medics, and mechanics, and fucking military chefs who've shot a gun once in their life? More last-minute grabs, like me, who have never had any combat experience? Is that what you mean by armed protection, Elandra? Is it?"

"Yes," Elandra sighed, barely holding in her anger. "Yes, it is, but—"

"Absolutely not!" Kara cried. "I'm not going to be a sacrificial lamb in your experimental operation. Without a trained team of men—one with actual combat and stealth experience—this won't work!"

"This is an order from your Commanding Officer!" Elandra screeched, and finally, she lost it. Kara could see her eyes turn red in the dim light of the basement and they were bugging out of her skull. "You will do this! You will join the team assigned to this task, and you will help the White Horse stall this train. Do you hear me, Kara? You will do as I say. Whether you like it or not doesn't matter!"

"Where the hell do you get off?" Kara retorted, equally angry now. "What sort of authority do you think you have? We're losing this war, Elandra. We're up to our knees in the blood of our soldiers. Do you think there's anyone available to incarcerate me and then put me on trial for insubordination? We follow you on faith now—not on your authority—and I have no faith in this stupid, stupid plan!"

"Goddamn it, Kara, there's more than one way to save lives," Elandra groaned, rubbing the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "You could prevent a lot of good people from being blown to smithereens, rather than just try and patch them up after the fact. Will you be able to live with yourself after the munitions arrive and the air raids get more frequent?"

Elandra had Kara by the throat and she knew it. Kara could see the triumphant little sneer in her Commanding Officer's eyes, confirming everything, but the hint of desperation she'd seen earlier was still there, too. Elandra might not be playing fair—Elandra never played fair—but as always, her heart was in the right place and she did have a point. Kara wouldn't be able to live with herself if the air raids became more frequent, not while knowing there was something she could have done about it and yet, hadn't. It would have been easy to walk away then—no one would have stopped her, no one would have even tried—but she didn't. Instead, Kara sighed deeply and said, "Alright."

The next morning, Kara was standing outside of an old burger joint somewhere in downtown Gardok. It was an older structure, rather close to the ground and with a strong foundation designed to last centuries, which sat squashed between two demolished apartment buildings. Decades of renovations to the surrounding area hadn't yet claimed it and it had been continually sold, bought, and then revamped, until it'd finally ended up as a lazy little family restaurant. Kara suspected it was the building's tough exterior and stumpy design that had saved it from the air raids raining down on them for months. It seemed as good a place as any to conduct a briefing.

With a groan of defeat, Kara stepped past the only guard and through the front door. It was dim and dirty inside, lighted only by a few ugly, broken windows. In the glow from the early morning sun, she could see that the floor was absolutely littered with overturned tables and chairs, garbage from squatters, and whatever rubble had been dislodged from the ceiling. A thin coat of dust covered every surface and as she walked, Kara could see her footprints in the filth. Amid all that desolation, the briefing table stood out like a sore thumb, the only piece of furniture in the whole place that didn't have an apocalyptic vibe. The other five people assigned to the mission were already sitting there, bundled up in blood-stained clothing and looking weary. As she took a seat, Kara found herself questioning the precise nature of their skills, but dared not ask about them. She was sure they had little to no combat experience and didn't need any more reason to consider abandoning ship last minute. Realism wasn't going to save them and ensure a successful mission, but perhaps optimism would.

Kara was put in charge of the mission and quite frankly, she wasn't too happy about that. She didn't have any leadership experience and would rather not be placed in a position of power as a matter of principle, especially when she wouldn't be able promise her men a decent chance of getting back home. But she didn't have any choice in the matter and her superiors ignored all her protests. Their reasoning was sound, if not greatly inconvenient: Kara was the only one among them with the ability to construct and detonate explosives and if something went wrong, she'd be the only one with the expertise to improvise. She was given several boxes worth of supplies with which to build the necessary bombs, all terribly disorganized and severely lacking. Still somehow, she was able to scrounge up enough parts to produce thirteen of the crude-looking things. Kara had hoped they would be able to fashion remote detonators for each, so as to avoid actually getting onto the train, but alas, the necessary components simply weren't there.

As they worked, Kara and her team were given a quick rundown on the plan and it wasn't long before they started, almost affectionately, to refer to their target as the "death train." There were many reasons for the nickname, not the least of which was the massive amount of munitions hurtling straight toward Gardok, perhaps to destroy it for good. But deep down, everyone knew why the nickname had really stuck: their mission was a suicide mission and they would all most certainly die aboard that wretched, god-forsaken train. Scouts had already been sent out to report back on its progress and the team was informed that the train was well-guarded, fast approaching, and unlikely to lose steam. Their only saving grace was that it was also behind schedule and a bit on the small side, with only twelve cars in total. Six of those were cargo cars and situated at the rear, while the remainder carried passengers. Once aboard the train, Kara and her team would place two bombs inside each of the six cargo cars and then the thirteenth bomb—dubbed the "uncoupler"—would be used to detach the cargo cars from the passenger cars. Afterwards, the team would retreat into the rearmost passenger car and wait for detonation. The timers on each explosive would ensure that the uncoupler went off long before the munitions themselves were enveloped in flame. That would give everyone at least a chance to survive, however minimal.

"And afterwards?" Kara asked, looking up at the portly man sent to brief them on the mission. "How do we get off the train after detonation?"

"You'll jump," he replied, his tone humorless.

"Are...are you serious?" Kara asked, bewildered. "We're on a moving train, in the frigid mountains north of Gardok, and we're supposed to just...jump?"

"Pretty much," the portly man admitted, looking grim. "Duck and roll when you land—to reduce the force of impact—and hope that you don't fall on anything sharp. Other than that, yeah. Just jump."

Five hours and thirty-six minutes later, Kara and her team were all blindfolded, herded into a military transport truck, and then driven through Gardok to the fabled sewer line. She absolutely despised the blindfold—they were traveling through the middle of a war zone, for god's sake!—but it was also imperative that the location of the sewer line remain absolutely secret to all but the most high-ranking military personnel. Nearly a century ago, Gardok had replaced its original water supply system with one that wasn't falling apart and leaching lead, but it would have been too expensive to justify tearing down the old one afterwards. Instead, the city had voted to merely seal it off and thank god they had. The sewer line was the only way into and out of Gardok and without it, the White Horse would have run dry on food, water, and ammunition months ago. Isleydor had been desperately trying to block it off, but for every entryway they found, there was at least one more they hadn't. Kara was told that if she were caught and had information on the sewer line, they would absolutely get her to talk. It had been built so long ago and in so many different phases that no reliable blueprints existed and its inner workings were known only to those who had explored and mapped its winding, multi-level passageways themselves. Isleydor was desperate for a lead and Kara wasn't trained in interrogation resistance.

It was a long, bumpy trip through the sewer line and out of Gardok. As Kara was jostled along in what she assumed was a kind of underground railcar, she could hear dripping water above her and occasionally the squeaking of rubber tires on concrete. Eventually, they came to a stop and she was escorted on foot through a series of passageways, then out into unbearably cold air. The blindfold was removed, and Kara and her team found themselves on a mountainside covered in snow. They were each handed a bundle of winter gear and then ushered onto horses to avoid satellite detection. After a dark, torturous evening of nonstop riding, they arrived at a secondary location and then switched to snowmobiles. It took them almost two days to finally reach Pickling, a small town at the foot of the Larrian Mountains and one of the only train stops before Gardok.

Pickling had been taken almost a year ago and according to intel from the front, Isleydor had recently raided its winter stores and was preparing to send the spoils to their troops on the east side. Kara and her team would make their move when the death train stopped to load the extra cargo. Luckily for them, sneaking into town wasn't terribly difficult. They had a guide, and Isleydor wasn't about to waste more than a handful of soldiers on a small mining town. But the temperature was rapidly dropping and by the time they reached the train station, Kara wasn't sure she'd ever feel warm again. They just barely made it. The platform was coated in a fresh, thick layer of snow and a few dozen bulky, over-sized food crates were already stacked beside the tracks and ready to go. Only three soldiers were on duty, but Kara and her team still waited until nightfall to approach. As the guards sat huddled by an open fire and drank their fill of booze, they crept toward the outskirts of the platform, jimmied open one of the crates, and slipped inside.

Crowded together in the cold and darkness, Kara and her team anxiously waited for their target to roll into the station. No one dared say a word, and they were all far too afraid to sleep. Surrounded on all sides by jugs of water and cans of preservatives, it was impossible to even move without making noise. To keep herself sane, Kara carefully took off her backpack and started counting the bombs, then checking their timers. She also had a pistol dangling from the holster in her belt, but it was only partially loaded. The cheap-ass bastards who had sent her on this suicide mission had insisted that they couldn't spare more than a few bullets for her protection. With nothing else to do, Kara fumed and thought about how she might get her revenge if they ever made it out alive. But then she could suddenly hear the whirring, brisk sound of a train approaching and all her vengeful thoughts were cut short. The whole platform shook as it came to a screeching halt, and then the blare of a whistle split through the air. Kara held her breath and—given the lack of white fog surrounding her—was certain that no one else was breathing, either. There were heavy footsteps on the platform and the grunts of men as they loaded crates onto the train. Then there were shouts, barely discernible over all the chaos, but Kara could still make out a solitary male voice...

"Don't check them all!" the man said, frantic and frustrated. "We don't have time for that! Just look into them at random!"

Immediately, Kara could feel her heart start to race beneath her breast, but in all fairness, they had been warned. During their briefing, the portly man had told them that the cargo crates might be inspected prior to loading. Swallowing hard, Kara remembered the seriousness in his eyes as he'd spoken. As the train whistle went off again, she recalled his exact words with sickening clarity and tried not to panic.

If they find you—and they might—you'll likely be executed on the spot, the portly man had said with a grimace. But since the train is running behind schedule, it's equally possible that they won't bother with an inspection. There's no telling which way it'll go. If you believe in a god, I'd pray.

But Kara had already prayed to her gods and now there was nothing left to do but hope they'd listen and empathize. Gathering up all her courage, she withdrew her pistol and eased her finger over the trigger. There was more shouting above them, and Kara could hear splintering wood as the crate just beside them was busted open with a crowbar and then haphazardly ransacked. But in the end, her team went unnoticed and was safely loaded onto the train. Sighing with relief, Kara whispered her thanks to the gods, just in case they were responsible for her good fortune and, if appreciated for their efforts, might offer up more of the same. There was a loud bang as the door to the cargo car was slid shut and then a creeping roar as the train started up again. The commotion died down and in the aftermath, all Kara could hear was the gentle clicking of wheels against train tracks.

They emerged from the crate only once they were certain the coast was clear. Rummaging through her backpack, Kara handed each member of her team two explosives and then assigned them a single cargo car. It was true that they were all inexperienced last-minute grabs, but the determination in their eyes made her proud. There was a reason each and every soldier on her team had joined the White Horse and hadn't yet deserted, even though Gardok would likely fall. They were fighting for a cause and a country they believed in and that wasn't nothing. As the train rattled and shook beneath them, Kara took comfort in the fact that even if they died that night, at least it wouldn't be in vain. They ran through the plan one more time, synced their watches, and then they were off.

Immediately, Kara headed south and toward the front of the train. She was responsible for setting up bombs in the very last of the cargo cars, then for uncoupling the train and guiding her team to safety. The operation was supposed to be completed in under twenty minutes and hopefully, it would all go down without a hitch. Kara was halfway into setting up the final bomb when she heard gunshots in the cargo cars and cursed under her breath. Someone had run into a guard and the commotion would attract even more unwanted attention. Thinking fast, she abandoned the uncoupler, ran into the rearmost passenger car, and locked it from the inside, so that no one would be able to investigate the noise without breaking down the door. The warning alarm on her watch began to blink and grimacing, Kara noted the time. It had been seventeen minutes since they'd synced watches and no one had made it back to the passenger cars. To make matters worse, there was a furious banging on the locked door behind her, followed by intense shouting and a number of profane curses.

"Oh god! Oh god, they're dead!"

Startled, Kara whipped her head around, only to find that just two of her teammates had made it back to her. One of them, a very young woman with red hair by the name of Amelia, was sobbing.

"I saw two of them and...and they were dead. Totally blank eyes, and they weren't breathing. We're the only ones left now. We're going to die here..."

"And what about our sixth man?" Kara cried, because above the roaring of the train, it was impossible to be heard otherwise. "I said, 'What about our sixth man?'" But Amelia was too far gone to be of any help and wouldn't stop sobbing.

"You incompetent fool!" Behind her, Kara could hear glass shattering and then a persistent thump, thump, thump as the locked door was slowly busted inwards. "Give me that! I'll take care of this!"

It was a miracle, but somehow, even amid all the chaos, Kara realized she'd forgotten something...the uncoupler!

Cursing, Kara looked down at her watch and saw that she had less than a minute before the cargo cars all went up in flame. If she didn't finish uncoupling them from the passenger cars and do so immediately, then what remained of her team would be going up in flame, too.

Shit, shit, shit!

Still cursing under her breath, Kara rushed back to the uncoupler and wrenched open the outer cover of the explosive. She'd have to reset the timer on the fly and she'd have to do it quickly. One little misstep, and she'd blow them all to smithereens. Adrenaline took over and her mind went on without her. Kara was now floating somewhere far above the scene, watching someone else—someone that looked remarkably like her—doing strange, complicated work. She watched as her hands disconnected and rearranged wires, but wasn't entirely convinced they were hers. Then in a flash, it was all over and she returned to her body. Kara honestly wasn't sure how she managed it, but the instant the explosive was ready, she knew it and dove headfirst into the rearmost passenger car.