Eternal Ashes: The Rise of Akhand Bharat

Chapter 16: Chapter 16: The Price of Freedom



The rebellion was no longer a dream whispered in the darkness; it had become a living, breathing force. With every victory, Aryan's confidence grew, but so too did the burdens that weighed upon him. The attack on the British garrison in Dharampur had not only given the rebels an important cache of weapons but had sent a clear message: the British Empire could no longer expect to hold India with impunity. The time for rebellion had come.

But with this growing momentum came an equally increasing danger. The British had suffered their first significant defeat, and retaliation was not far behind. As Aryan sat in the dimly lit war room of the rebel camp, the air was thick with tension. The rebel forces were stronger, yes, but they were still vastly outnumbered. The British were a juggernaut, and even a small misstep could lead to disaster.

Aryan's thoughts were interrupted as Meera entered, her expression as serious as ever. "We've received word from our spies," she said, her tone urgent. "The British are mobilizing reinforcements from nearby garrisons. They plan to strike back soon."

Aryan looked up, his eyes narrowing. "How soon?"

"Within a few days. They'll target our supply routes first—cut off our access to food, ammunition, and weapons." Meera's voice was grim, her brow furrowed with concern. "This is their way of crippling us before we can launch another strike."

Aryan stood up and walked over to the map on the table. He studied the terrain, running his fingers over the lines and symbols that marked the locations of their forces. "We've been playing their game so far," he muttered. "We strike, they retaliate, we strike again. But this cycle will only continue until one of us is broken."

"And we can't afford to be the ones broken," Meera added. "We've lost too many already, and if we lose this momentum…" She trailed off, the implications hanging heavily in the air.

Aryan's mind was racing. There had to be another way. A way to take the fight to the British without waiting for their next move. "We can't just keep reacting," he said slowly, his eyes flicking back to the map. "We need to take the initiative."

Meera's eyes met his. "What do you have in mind?"

Aryan tapped his finger on a location on the map—a region along the western border where a British supply depot had been set up. It was heavily guarded, but if they struck quickly, they could disrupt the British supply lines and weaken their forces. It was a bold move, one that would require precision and speed. The rebels would need to move with the utmost efficiency, striking hard and fast before the British could reinforce the depot. It was a risky plan, but Aryan believed it was their best chance.

"Do you think we have enough men to pull it off?" Meera asked, her voice tinged with doubt.

Aryan hesitated. Their forces were growing, but they were still vastly outnumbered by the British. The battle at Dharampur had taught them the power of surprise and precision, but a full-scale assault on a well-defended depot was a different matter entirely. Still, they couldn't afford to back down now. Not when they were so close to achieving their goal.

"We'll need every man we can muster," Aryan said firmly. "But I believe we can do this. If we strike hard and fast, we can disrupt their supply lines and buy ourselves time."

Meera nodded, her expression determined. "I'll get the word out. We'll begin preparations immediately."

---

Over the next few days, the camp was abuzz with activity. Soldiers trained relentlessly, sharpening their skills in hand-to-hand combat, marksmanship, and tactics. Aryan spent long hours with his officers, refining the plan, going over every detail to ensure nothing was overlooked. He knew that failure was not an option; the rebellion's survival depended on this next move.

As night fell, Aryan stood once again at the edge of the camp, his eyes scanning the horizon. The wind carried the scent of the earth, and the distant sounds of nature filled the air. But beneath the peace of the landscape, Aryan could feel the growing storm—a storm that would soon break. The British would retaliate in force, and they would not show mercy. The only question was whether they could strike first, before the Empire's fury descended upon them.

---

The night of the assault was as dark as any Aryan could remember. The moon was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds, casting the world in an impenetrable blackness. The rebel forces moved under the cover of night, their movements swift and silent. Aryan rode at the head of the column, his mind sharp and focused. The adrenaline coursed through his veins, but his thoughts were consumed by the task at hand.

"We hit them hard," Aryan muttered to Meera, who was riding beside him. "No mercy."

She nodded, her face set in grim determination. "This will cripple them, Aryan. But we need to be quick. Once they realize we're here, they'll send reinforcements."

"I know," he replied, his voice low. "We strike fast, then disappear before they can react."

The camp was now a few miles away, and Aryan could feel the tension in the air. His soldiers were ready for the assault, but Aryan knew that the true test of their mettle would come when they faced the British soldiers in battle. The British were well-trained, well-equipped, and ruthless in their pursuit of control.

As they approached the supply depot, Aryan signaled for his forces to spread out. They would hit the depot from multiple sides, overwhelming the defenders before they could react. The rebels were armed with a mix of rifles, pistols, and machetes—familiar with both conventional and unconventional combat methods. It would be a swift, brutal strike.

---

The first shots rang out as the rebels attacked, the sound echoing through the night. Aryan's forces stormed the depot, catching the British soldiers off guard. Gunfire erupted, but the rebels pushed forward, their speed and ferocity overpowering the defenders.

Aryan's group struck the central command post, taking out the British officers who were coordinating the defense. Within minutes, the supply depot was in their hands. The rebels looted the depot, taking as much ammunition and food as they could carry.

The British soldiers attempted to regroup, but Aryan's forces were already retreating into the night, disappearing into the shadows before the reinforcements could arrive. It was a clean hit, one that sent a shockwave through the British forces. The rebels had struck at the heart of their supply lines, and the message was clear: the rebellion was not to be ignored.

As Aryan and his men retreated into the forest, he allowed himself a moment of relief. The depot had been secured, and their supply lines were strengthened. They had dealt a significant blow to the British. But the victory came at a price. The British would retaliate, and their response would be brutal. Aryan knew they had only delayed the inevitable.

---

Back at the rebel camp, the mood was one of cautious celebration. The attack had been a success, but the cost of freedom was ever-present. The soldiers who had participated in the raid returned exhausted, but their eyes were alight with the fire of victory. Yet, Aryan knew that this was only a small victory in the larger war that lay ahead.

That evening, as the camp settled into an uneasy silence, Aryan found himself once again staring into the fire. The faces of his fallen comrades, the faces of the villagers who had suffered for so long, flashed before his eyes. He had chosen this path, but it was not without its costs. Every battle, every victory, came with the toll of blood and sacrifice.

"Aryan," Meera's voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him from his reverie. She approached him, her expression one of concern. "We've received word from the scouts. The British are mobilizing in force. They're not going to let us rest."

Aryan sighed. "I expected as much. But we have to keep going. We've shown them that we can strike, that we can hurt them. The war isn't over, Meera. It's only just begun."

Meera sat beside him, her gaze fixed on the fire. "And the cost…?"

Aryan glanced at her, his face hardening with resolve. "The cost is the price of freedom. But we can't stop now. Not when we're so close."

And as the night stretched on, Aryan knew one thing for certain: the price of freedom was steep, but he would pay it, no matter the cost.

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

Tip: You can use left, right, A and D keyboard keys to browse between chapters.