Crusade of Vengeance

by Jay Allan

  “Stealth unit down,” he said, softly, his voice barely audible. “Repair teams are checking it out now.” The second statement was louder. Even facing death, her crew was from the pick of the service…and she knew they wouldn’t give up, no matter how badly things went. Not until the end.

  Leigh felt a number of things. But most of all, she realized that the emphasis of the fight had changed dramatically. The enemy ship had suffered more damage than hers, but she had taken a deadly hit. Even damaged, the battlecruiser was still stronger than her vessel—intact, much less suffering the damage from a hit, as it was now. If the battle was straightforward, if both ships were able to target each other openly…she was definitely at a huge disadvantage.

  “One of the guns is down…damage control reports they might get it firing again in five or ten minutes. And the engines are down twenty percent.”

  The damage report pushed away her hopes that her vessel had escaped significant damage. It was relatively light, in the sense that, given enough time, her people could possibly repair it, but she doubted she’d have enough time.

  “What is the status of the stealth unit?” She knew she’d allowed too much emotion in her voice, but she wasn’t sure it mattered. Her best hope to save her ship, to win the fight, was to restore the unit…to squeeze a bit more from it. But she didn’t know if that was possible. Her people didn’t even understand the thing very well…if there was any hope to repair it, she knew, it would be mostly luck.

  But that was her only hope.

  “Assign all repair personnel to the stealth unit. That is what we need, more than anything.” Worse, she knew. It was close to her only hope…whatever chance she had to destroy the enemy vessel, and to advance on the planet. To help her people destroy the Regent.

  * * *

  “Forward, now!” Cal Henderson felt hot, and he could feel his heart pounding, the sweat pouring down his back. He’d pushed his command, now the combination of the two that had been sent to different locations but had combined a few moments before. Cal had the rank, so he assumed command of the combined force and led it on, if anything, even faster than he’d driven his own troops before.

  He was close now, close enough to hear the fighting up ahead. It was loud, but he heard mostly the fire of the enemy. The lower-pitched sound of his own guns there too, but less than he’d expected. He didn’t know what was going on, not yet, but he was sure his people didn’t have any time to waste.

  “Forward,” he repeated, and he lunged ahead, pulling his own rifle out and preparing to fire. He could see something now, moving toward his force. At first, he assumed it was the enemy, but another look told him they were humans. Running.

  Harmon’s force, whatever was left of it, was fleeing.

  He wanted to run himself, to turn and escape, but he understood the situation. If the forces deployed didn’t somehow destroy the Regent, the likelihood of survival, for his people—for all the people—was almost nonexistent. He called out to his warriors, providing all the support he could. “Alright…let’s go. Destroying the Regent is the only way out for us.” It was true, but he could still feel the concern in his force, the wavering that lasted until they met the fleeing members of Harmon’s team.

  They slowed, and then they stopped, looking at the waves of people Henderson had brought and regaining their courage. At least a bit.

  “Who is in command?” Henderson knew that was a foolish question, the instant it escaped his lips. “Nevermind…just pull it together and follow us in.” Now was the time for the big test. Would his people go in with him, or were they too upset by the routing personnel they had just seen.

  Or how few there were. There were only five of them, and if that was all that was left of Harmon’s team…

  Henderson ran, almost at full speed, unaware for perhaps the first five seconds whether his people were following. He wanted to stop and check, but he knew what he had to do. Whoever came with him would have to be enough, whether it was the whole force, or he was alone.

  Then he heard…the sound of footsteps. A lot of them. Most of his people were with him, perhaps all of them. Maybe even the routers had turned and lunged forward. He continued, coming upon a scene that shook him, a couple dozen dead and wounded men and women, and a wall of approaching bots. The enemy was firing on the injured, killing all those they could…until his force surged forward. Then the bots directed their fire at the coming humans. But they did not fire alone.

  Henderson shot too, wildly at first, though he quickly took control, and his aim improved. He was close to the enemy, likely to get taken out himself at any second, but until then he had one thought in his mind. Fire! Destroy as many bots as possible.

  He shot, again and again, changing his spent cartridges as quickly as possible. He knew winning this fight was essential, just the next phase of reaching the Regent, of destroying it. For a while, perhaps a minute, he didn’t know how possible that was. But the longer his team fought, the better they did. The enemy force was powerful, but it was small…smaller than his. He didn’t look, didn’t turn around at all. He knew a lot of his people were down, but he didn’t do anything but stand where he was and fire. And as he shot, as all his people fired, the incoming shooting began to drop. All the bots that had been close were down, and he began to move forward. The whole area was covered in smoke, and in a haze from the shattered rock all around. He couldn’t see any enemy bots, but he knew they were still there. He fired as he advanced, and he called to his troopers to follow. “C’mon, all of you…to victory!” He knew he had gone too far, perhaps. For all he knew, the enemy had ten times as many bots in reserve. But he had to get past this batch first, no matter what…and his people had to believe they had at least a chance, whether they did or not.

  He lunged forward, picking up his pace. He emptied another clip, and his hand moved, almost involuntarily, to his back, grabbing another one, as he ejected the spent one, and shoving it into place. He fired again, not missing a step on his forward movement. He could only see perhaps a meter to his front, and he came to a ‘T.’ All of the return fire—much less than there was before—was coming from the right. He felt an urge to stop, to take cover behind the wall and shoot from there…but he knew he had to keep up the attack. “C’mon…they’re running, and we’ve got to stay on them!”

  He didn’t know they were running, of course. He figured it was as likely they were leading his forces into an ambush. But he also knew he didn’t have a choice.

  He pushed forward, and then he felt something hot in his right arm. His rifle went flying away, even as he realized he was hit. For an instant, he wondered whether he was finished, whether he was going to die. But the injury wasn’t that bad. Still, his rifle was gone, and so was his shooting arm. He pulled his pistol, holding it in his left arm, as well as he could, and he fired. The weapon was set on single shots, and try as he might, he couldn’t move his injured arm to reset it. He shot, as quickly as he could, ignoring the blood pouring down his arm, as he continued forward. He knew he’d lost a lot of his fighters, but he still had a decent number. That much he could tell from the sounds and the volume of fire surging forward behind him.

  The incoming volume of fire continued to decline. He tried to fight off any assumptions, but he couldn’t do it, not entirely. Part of his mind told him he had engaged the last enemy forces, that the Regent was just ahead. He knew that was pure speculation, but he couldn’t help but believe, maybe, just maybe, the mission would be a success.

  Where is Max Harmon?

  The thought slipped through his mind. He hadn’t seen the commander…though he knew he hadn’t seen everyone. Still, the chance that Harmon was dead or wounded was enormous. And if he was dead…

  He knew the mission would still go on, that he would lead whatever forces remained…to the last man, if necessary. He didn’t even much like Harmon, though now, as he imagined the great leader’s death, he felt…different. Sorrowful.

  He kept firing, for perhaps a
minute after he detected no return fire. Then he stopped…and listened. There was still shooting from his side, though that began to slow as well. He turned, finally, and looked at his command. And he was shocked.

  There were eleven people, including himself. That number was just those who had pushed forward the hardest, and he told himself there would be more when he reassembled everyone. But it was shocking, nevertheless. And he also saw the corridor behind him, the wave of injured and dead soldiers lining it. He might have more than eleven troops left, but not that many more.

  “Jensen, take three men and scout forward three hundred meters. Be careful…but make sure the enemy is out of action.” He knew the mission he was giving was a dangerous one. It was even possible the enemy had ceased fire specifically to encourage it. But he had to know. He was going to move forward, regardless of the situation, but if he could spare a short time, he wanted to reorganize his unit, to see how many he could scrape up for the final expedition. The enemy had seemed to be working with severely limited resources, and that increased his hopes of victory. If the Regent did have a large number of bots remaining, if there was a long and defensive trip between his forces and the vital location, he was going to lose. But he believed the enemy was almost out of defenses, and that he was almost there.

  He waited a few seconds, while Jensen and the two men closest to him scampered off, disappearing in the haze a few steps forward. Then he turned around, and he walked to the rear.

  He stepped cautiously, trying not to come down on any of his dead soldiers. He wanted to bury them, or do something, but he knew the likelihood was that he would end up leaving some even of the wounded behind. The dead, he had no time for, none at all.

  His survivors—and he had been correct, he had a few more than eleven—clustered around the fallen warriors, searching for the wounded. That was exactly what Henderson wanted, though he was disturbed by the fact that he was probably going to have to leave any of the seriously injured behind. He tried to tell himself that he would come back, that he would get them all out…but he knew the odds of that were almost insurmountable. He was just hoping to find a few who weren’t that badly hurt—like him—who could get up and push forward, expanding his numbers just a bit.

  “Sir!”

  His head turned quickly, and he looked down the corridor. He was about to respond when the trooper spoke again.

  “Sir…I found Mr. Harmon…and I think he is alive!”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

  Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

  Earth Two Date 04.12.63

  “The battle is still raging, Achilles, but the planet is badly damaged. They haven’t blasted through completely yet, but the radiation is getting bad…even here. The sections with the Regs are even worse. We have to get out of here, soon, don’t we?” Achilles listened, as Callisto spoke, softly and to him alone. She wasn’t a coward, not by any measure, and he knew what she was saying was true. He had some transports hidden, a chance to escape, though not even all of the Mules could be accommodated. Perhaps fifteen hundred, maybe even two thousand…but that would mean leaving behind seventy percent of his people. And all of the others, if they survived.

  That was assuming the escaping transports managed to make it past the attacking fleet, which, he had to admit, was a better bet now that the enemy forces were so battered, and within the atmosphere. The ships would blast off, at full thrust, and he guessed they would probably make it.

  But make it to what? He knew the Mules considered themselves superior to the others, but he wondered how escaping, leaving behind many of their own as well as all of the Regs, would affect them. Would affect him.

  No, he couldn’t do it…not while there was any chance. He knew that thousands of Regs were already dead, along with several hundred of his own people, and he realized that many more would die, of radiation and other wounds, even in the best of circumstances.

  The fleet, even if it won, was all but destroyed, and he didn’t have any repair facilities left. Before his people, assuming enough survived, could rebuild some of the basic functions, the enemy would be back, with fresh ships. And he would have to decide then whether to leave. But for now, he was staying.

  “Callisto…I love you, and I want more than anything to spend time with you. But we just don’t know what is going to happen here…and I can’t leave, not while there is a chance. None of us can.”

  He was nervous, unsure what her reaction would be. But then, she just smiled, and said, “I am with you, Achilles, now and always.”

  He looked at her, a bit surprised at her change of opinion. Then, he realized, he shouldn’t be, that her earlier statement had been more of a question than anything, perhaps even an attempt to get his true opinion. And he had answered it.

  “Callisto…can you manage things here for a few minutes?” He got up and gestured to his seat. “I want to…check on the others.” He knew the ships shouldn’t be released without his approval…but he also realized he had been focused solely on the enemy, and not on his own people. Especially the younger ones.

  “Of course, Achilles.” She smiled, clearly understanding what was going through his mind. “I think you should take some of the others with you.” She turned her head before he could answer. “Themistocles, Peleus…please go with Achilles.” The two turned and responded positively to her, before Achilles could think of an excuse.

  “No,” he said, calmly. “Three of us, or five or ten, aren’t going to hold back any large numbers. I will have to convince them—or not—and that I can do best on my own.” He looked at his friends, aware they didn’t want to let him go by himself…but also that they agreed with his words. He stayed where he was for a few seconds, exchanging glances with them…and then he turned and walked away.

  * * *

  Frette gritted her teeth, doing everything possible to ignore the incoming fire. Her ship was blasting hard, shooting at the vessels near the surface, the ones targeting the ground, unleashing nuclear weapons into the remains of the city.

  There was nothing left on the surface, of course, not at that point. It had been utterly destroyed, and by now, even its debris was gone, molten rocks and heavy smoke about all she could see. But she knew the true goal was the underground shelters, the facilities that had been built solely for this purpose, to protect the men and women of Earth-2, to stave off the final wave of ruin that even now was digging down, trying to reach them.

  To extinguish them.

  She was blasting away at the vulnerable ships in the atmosphere, blowing them to ruins…but her own ships were experiencing the same thing from above. She had ordered all of her vessels to focus on the bombing ships, to destroy them at whatever the cost…even if that was their own destruction.

  The enemy ships that had been engaging her fleet, the rearguard of the Regent’s force, had massively increased their rate of hits, just as her vessels had done against the bombing ships. The ships, all of them, were moving at a fraction of their speed in space, and even the vessels destroying hers were far easier prey. But first, she had to destroy the bombers. Whether or not any of her vessels would survive that effort, would then still have the power to turn on the enemy pursuers, she just didn’t know.

  She tried to stay focused on the vessels she was targeting, watching as they erupted into flames, and as they crashed hard to the ground. It only took a couple of minutes to finish off the last of them, but by then, more than half of her remaining ships had been destroyed…and the rest of the enemy was poised just above them, still firing.

  “Alright,” she said, as firmly as she could manage. “We’ve finished the bombers…now we’re fighting for ourselves. Take out those ships, before they do the same to us.” She knew the enemy had the edge, at least that they were already firing at her vessels. But she was past thinking about odds, about chances. All she had to do now was fight…until she won or died.

  She didn
’t have much to do herself, not after redirecting her forces. She watched the screen, delighting at the destruction of every enemy vessel…and feeling the loss of every one of her own. Frette wouldn’t have hesitated to sacrifice herself, to die in the pursuit of victory, but she knew she had crew on his ship, and many more on her other vessels. She simply had to win, if it was possible, and that thought ate away at her, tore her apart. She had to win…but there was nothing she could do but watch…and hope.

  * * *

  Clark bit his lip, leaning forward and watching the fight…the slaughter. His forces were desperately battling, gunning down the enemy, even as they themselves were blown apart. He had followed the battle at Earth-2, as well as his instruments would allow, but when the fighting went into orbit, and even down into the atmosphere, he lost most of his contacts. He knew the fight was fierce, that Frette’s forces were battling hard. But he didn’t know who was going to win.

  He didn’t even know that about his own fleet. The battle had been brutal…beyond brutal. It was a fight for his people to endure, somehow, especially on his ship. He had no intention of surviving a defeat. He would win, or he would die. It was as simple as that.

  His vessel was down to one gun, a scant remainder of its armament at full power. That was bad, but considering that power plants had been wiped out, along with just about every system onboard, he realized he couldn’t have fired any more weapons anyway. Between operating the gun, and maintaining the engines at around fifty percent power, he was using all the energy his ship could generate.

  But the enemy was in bad shape as well. Many of their vessels were also down to one or two guns, and while the range had dropped almost to knife-fighting levels, the lack of weaponry diluted the effect. Vessels that had come into the fight with ten or fifteen main guns, and dozens of lesser ones, now fought on with one or two.