The Rebellion's Ashes | Book One | End of an Empire

Chapter Nine

The soldiers in the flank dropped like flies. Every red X that appeared over the Empire markers set Rowan's blood to boiling. Anger surged and built up in her chest, suffocating in the weight of its pressure, but she kept silent. Lips pursed, shoulders rigid, chin rested on her clasped hands, she sat at the head of the table as her head council fell to pieces, arguing amongst each other while the rebels decimated the transports in the forest.

She should've known better.

No plan was foolproof, but... She could've done better. Should've done better.

Another X.

Her eyes trailed down the line of eighty transports to the very lead vehicle. They were trapped. Ambushed and stuck behind each other. Ash had finally wizened up and decided to use their numbers against them, apparently.

Should've done better.

Ross' knee bumped against hers lightly under the table. She tipped her head, catching his eye in question. Quiet sadness flickered in his green gaze, along with something like pity. Or disappointment.

Rowan looked away quickly. Biting down hard on the inside of her lower lip, she willed the pain to shake her free of the guilt clinging to her like a wet blanket.

The battle had been over less than an hour. The rebels had shot out the tires of each of the trucks, forcing the soldiers within them to come out and fight. They'd emerged into a death trap, caught between two forces of RAF soldiers on either side of the road. Everything went downhill from there.

The last twenty or so vehicles were in retreat and those in front of them were trying, slow as they were. One squad in each transport meant some 500 men were escaping, plus whoever was able to flee the wreck alive.

That left some fifteen hundred to the sorely lacking mercy of the RAF.

Her fingers curled in, nails digging into her palms and she swallowed the urge to scream. Rowan had always hated losing- hated the feeling it gave her. Aside from the initial sense of defeat, there was the underlying bitter curiosity that wondered what could have been done better. From foot races, to sports, or even simple board games, it didn't matter. Upon her promotion to positions of leadership however, loss came with the much heavier sentiment.

More X's blossomed across the map field.

She gritted her teeth, finally tuning in to the ruckus raised by her officers. Anger rose in her throat, welling up like a geyser. Their men were out there fighting and dying for their failed plans and all they did was bicker. Perhaps the rebels were not wrong to call them canaries.

"Enough." The word was soft, just loud enough to be heard over the commotion.

The occupants quieted and all eyes turned to the General.

Slowly, Rowan sat back and straightened. "General Collins, send a force after the flank. Cover them, but do not enter that forest. Contact our head of Air Force and have him send out jets to bomb the gap between our men and the rebels and give them time." Her gaze flickered to the frontal attack. "Someone give me a report on the frontal."

An aged Lieutenant General sat forward. "They're not taking heavy losses. There is a possibility that we could break through their lines without the flank. Though your initial purpose for it failed, you succeeded in stretching the enemy thin."

Rowan nodded slowly, blotting the word 'failed' from her mind. "Would it cost us to push through?"

He contemplated, then shrugged. "Everything costs something, General."