Crusade of Vengeance

by Jay Allan

  He realized, in a sense, that he had done a good job, that he had fought well…but he was beginning to realize that he was going to lose the fight. The enemy outnumbered him, and the last two ships to go had been his. Throughout the battle, he had truly been uncertain who would win, whether he had a chance or not. But now, amid the vicious battle still going on, he began to see the signs. He would come close, very close, and his leadership would prove to be strong.

  But not quite strong enough. As he watched the remnants of the two forces, as he counted and recounted ships, and the weapons on both, he realized his forces were going to lose.

  They were going to lose the battle.

  * * *

  “Faster…we need to get there…quickly! Terrance Compton II spoke, sounding very much like his celebrated father had years before…though no one present would have known. His force was small, but it contained every warship that had been detached with his colonists, and it was heading back, as quickly as possible.

  He realized he was violating orders, that his command was to separate from the homeworld, to seed several new colonies, in the hope that they could avoid detection long enough to grow and prosper. He didn’t know what he thought of the prospects of that—it depended as much on the day, and on his attitude, as it did on anything else. But he had decided one thing, in stark violation of his orders. The few warships assigned to defend the colonies were pointless. Either they would remain hidden until they were able to build large fleets, or the enemy that discovered them would simply blow away the few defenders, and then destroy them.

  But maybe…just maybe, his forces, the few ships that he had, could turn the battle at Earth-2. If he got back and saved Earth-2, he didn’t care what price he had to pay, and if he was too late, if the planet had already been obliterated, its fleet destroyed…then he was perfectly willing to die, too. He understood the urge to place him in command of the colonizing forces, but he realized his skills were almost entirely military. His place was back, alongside his people, those fighting the enemy…or at least preparing to do so.

  “We’re at 110% speed, sir…eleven minutes until transit.”

  He knew the officer was only telling him the truth, that there was no way to actually speed things up. His forces had come a considerable way, and now they were about to transit back to Earth-2. Either they would get there before the fight or not. But either way, he was content with his decision.

  It had occurred to him that if he made it, if he got back when the people were still preparing for the battle they knew was coming, he might be criticized, even prosecuted. But all of his people, the crews of his ships, were with him. It had shocked him when he’d first raised the issue, checked to see how his spacers felt. Almost every one of them had agreed with him. They wanted to go back, to leave the colonists on their own, and to fight against the invaders.

  “Five minutes, sir.”

  He heard the report, nodding in silent response. In five minutes he would return home, and he would find out if he was on time, if the enemy hadn’t attacked yet…or if he was too late, if Earth-2 had been destroyed, if nothing remained of the people he had left behind.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Inside the Regent’s Fortification

  Alpha-Omega 12 III

  Earth Two Date 04.12.63

  The air was thick, and he felt every breath, as though it might be his last. There had been pain before, but now there was none. He felt as though all he had to do was let go, give up and slip away. He even wanted to…but he couldn’t.

  His mind raced, his thoughts confused. But he knew one thing. He had to go forward. He had to move on…to destroy the Regent, or to die in the effort.

  He felt something. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, at least not yet. But he could feel. There was something over him. At first, he panicked, imagined one of the bots had come to finish him…but then he realized it was human.

  He could hear first, his consciousness still tenuous, but he could definitely make out the sounds of human speech. He couldn’t tell what they were saying, not yet, but he knew there were people around him. If there were people there, still…his force must have held out.

  He opened his eyes, and he could see. Partially, at least. There were faces looking down at him. Human faces.

  He tried to speak, but he couldn’t yet. He was coming back, somewhat. Memories began to make more sense…and the pain began to return. He was wounded, in two places he realized, and it started to hurt…really hurt. Before he could say anything he wanted to, a groan escaped his lips.

  He heard…something. He couldn’t tell what at first, but then he realized it was voices. Of course! The people hovering over him. They were speaking to him, asking him how he was.

  He moved his mouth, tried to speak, but nothing came out at first. His throat felt tight, and the pain from his injuries became more acute…but his awareness continued to improve.

  “Sir…sir…are you alright?”

  He heard the words, understood them. And he responded, first by a slight nod, and then, “Yes…I…think…so…”

  “Alright” was a questionable designation. He had multiple injuries, and he felt like hell. But even as he spoke, he began to move, shifting his weight to the side. Then he rose, partially, and he sucked in a deep breath. It hurt a bit, but it felt good too, and he did it again, three times before he jerked himself up again, to a more or less seated position.

  “Sir…your wounds…let me…”

  “I’m okay,” he said, not really believing it, but unwilling to sit where he was as what passed for the camp doctor did what little he could. No, there was no time. If the Regent had another group of bots like the one his people had just fought, it was over anyway…he might as well get on to his death. But if that group was a last resort, if his people had pushed to the brink of the machine’s lair…maybe.

  Just maybe.

  He gasped again. His injuries were bad. They weren’t fatal, not imminently, at least, but they were serious. He wasn’t completely sure he could walk, but he knew he had to try.

  He pushed against his legs, tried to get up…but he wasn’t strong enough. He looked out at the companion closest to him, extending the uninjured arm.

  With the assistance, he was able to get to his feet. And he stood, pulling his arm slowly from his helper. He was standing, under his own power. He felt a little wobbly, but that was beginning to fade. “Okay, everyone…I’m fine.” That was a wild overstatement, but he was pretty sure he could move forward. “Let’s go…it’s time to finish this, to destroy the Regent.”

  Or to get wiped out by its defenses.

  * * *

  The Regent was…what was the word? Not panicked, not exactly. But its last major force had been committed, and it had been virtually destroyed. It still had bots, twenty-one of them to be exact, but they were scattered all around. Some would make it, would have a chance at the enemy before he closed on the Regent’s location, but probably not all. The enemy was close…shockingly close…and the Regent was calculating all of its defensive options. That list was actually fairly short, and the Regent understood that it was in grave danger. It had long thought of the humans as inferior creatures, though, more frequently, it had come to realize they were something close to its equals, at least in terms of their technology.

  It thought of everything in percentage terms, the chance its trillions of calculations assigned to everything. It didn’t have enough information to determine the overall chance of success, not with any accuracy, but it almost assumed—better than a 99% chance—that the humans had heavy weaponry with them. Whatever its capability, its thinking ability, the Regent was still a physical item. Vast storage rooms of memory banks and processors seemed large, but to even a small nuclear weapon, they were nothing. It could be destroyed…it knew that. It also knew that it had made a grave error in positioning its defenders. It wondered how much of that was the result of its predecessor’s millennia of peace before the humans came. It had t
ried to include the reality of what had happened in the past fifty years or so, but now it wondered if it was capable of truly doing that.

  It called out to its remaining bots, ordered them all to return. The ones that could get to its presence were ordered to do so. They would be the final defense. The others, the ones that were on the opposite side of the enemy…they were ordered to attack, the instant they were in range. The Regent tried to calculate the percentage terms, the odds that its final assaults would be sufficient…but there were too many variables to allow for a reasonable guess.

  In the end, the Regent came to a 50/50 chance, a flip of the coin as to whether it would prevail, whether it would defeat the humans…or whether it would lose.

  Whether it would be destroyed.

  * * *

  Henderson moved forward, surprised at the speed Harmon was managing. Over one hundred years of age, and wounded twice, he had started out slowly, but the farther and farther he moved, the faster he became…until Henderson, more than fifty years younger and much less injured, felt fatigued.

  Still, he was number two in rank, at least among those still fit to travel. He started out next to Harmon, initially out of the thought that his commander could need help. Now, he was beginning to huff and puff, just trying to keep up with Harmon.

  He was confused by his feelings toward the leader, his longstanding dislike now challenged by some new impressions. He’d thought he understood Harmon, but now he was seeing something unexpected in him. Just going on the mission had been extraordinary, but now as he watched, the man put what had to be all the strength he could coax…and then some…into this effort.

  Maybe—probably—the last effort.

  He was feeling strange, oddly drawing on Harmon, pulling strength from his leader. His wound still hurt, as he was sure Harmon’s did, but he was determined to keep pace, and to push the entire crew to do the same.

  He looked around, checking on the others, even as he continued forward. It occurred to him that the very front of the team wasn’t the right place for Harmon…but then he imagined trying to say something about it.

  They had gone for about fifteen minutes now, and the walls of the corridor changed, from neatly cut stone to metal. It was a more finished look, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they were getting closer. He could come up with a dozen reasons that they were…but he could produce just as many that they weren’t. For all he knew, the Regent was thousands of kilometers away, perhaps even on the other side of the planet.

  But he didn’t think so. He felt, somehow, that they were close. Very close. And he was sure Harmon felt the same.

  Harmon stopped suddenly, pulling his rifle up as he did. Perhaps two seconds later, Henderson heard what his leader had picked up…and he pulled out his own gun. Just as the fire came in.

  He ducked down and shot, just as Harmon opened up, firing on full auto. The rest of the forward troopers reacted as well, pulling out their own guns and firing, at least if they were close enough to the front to bring their shots to bear.

  He was staring straight ahead, but he could hear behind him, and he knew that several of the party had been hit. He had no idea of the number of losses, or the types of hits, and he wasn’t going to find out. Not until the enemy was destroyed.

  The attacking force at least. He had no idea how many bots there were. At least two from the volume of fire, and perhaps three. But that didn’t mean there were only two or three. For all he knew, they were the lead members of the next assault force, the first two or three of a hundred. A thousand.

  He tried not to think about that—or about the fact that the enemy had picked a perfect place to ambush the force, one that provided cover just a hundred meters forward. He couldn’t even see what he was fighting, but he was glad that the incoming fire didn’t increase. In fact, after a second, it decreased, dropping to a maximum of two bots.

  He was down, on one knee, taking as much cover as he could while firing. This went on for a few seconds, but it seemed like much longer to him. Then, he heard Harmon’s voice, louder than he could have expected.

  “They’re too well defended…and we’re in the open. Charge!”

  The commander didn’t wait to see if any of his people would follow his command. Whether he just believed they would, or simply didn’t let it matter, was unknown. Henderson, at least, followed him, and a second later, from the sound behind him, all or most of the survivors did too.

  They ran forward, directly into fire, ignoring the losses. Somehow, Henderson didn’t get hit again, and neither did Harmon. But he could tell that a number of the soldiers following them were taken down. He tried to ignore it, to focus on the enemy, but he couldn’t help but imagine what was happening to the remainder of the command. Had they lost 1 or 2 followers? Or 10? He didn’t know…and he wouldn’t find out, not unless the bots were destroyed.

  He rounded the corner, going to the left, while Harmon turned right. He was ready to see anything, even a long line of bots. But there was just one standing, and one tipped over, still quasi-functional, but not firing. He pointed his rifle right at the standing bot and fired, just as the bot shot in his general direction. The wave of fire whipped past his head, no more than a quarter meter from him…and he heard the sounds of one of his people, taking the hit he had avoided, not a meter behind him.

  He tried to ignore it, as he did the danger and everything else. Only firing…that’s all that mattered, he told himself. He wasn’t entirely successful—thoughts of his people, and a dozen other things, slipped through his mind—but he mostly managed to focus.

  The enemy unit fell to the ground, even as it continued to fire with its remaining gun. But its targeting was off, and its fire veered around, almost randomly. Then it stopped, and a second later, the bot didn’t move again.

  Henderson switched, almost automatically, shooting the damaged bot laying on the ground. It looked at him—that appeared to be all it could do—and then it, too, was destroyed. His eyes met his commander’s, and he nodded briefly. Whatever his thoughts about Max Harmon, he was impressed by the commander’s actions. He wasn’t sure he agreed with all Harmon had done for so many years, how he had clung to power…but he was sure there was no one else he would rather be following just then.

  “Alright…” Harmon spoke, clearly concerned about the break in the path. There were two ways to go, and Henderson had no idea which—if either—led to the Regent. “…I don’t like splitting up, but I’ve got no idea which of these ways is right, so I don’t see an alternative.” A pause. “Henderson…you take half of them…” He pointed toward the shrinking group of people standing, watching. They were scared, clearly, abjectly terrified of what—may—lay just ahead. But they were all in…that much was clear, at least to Henderson. “…and I’ll take the other half.”

  Henderson glanced for an instant down to the two of his people who had been badly injured in the most recent fight. That was all it took for him to realize both were dead.

  “Sir…” Henderson spoke, pausing for an instant before continuing, “We’re down to eight in each group…is that enough?” Even as he spoke, Henderson knew he was just expressing concern. The number of people they still had was getting really low, and he was concerned. But even as he spoke, he realized there was no choice.

  “It’ll have to be enough.” Max Harmon was obviously as tired as he was, no, probably more so. He was injured twice and a lot older…but Henderson could see the defiance in him, the determination that drove him forward. And he benefited from it.

  “Very well, sir…” He paused for a few seconds, but he didn’t say anything else.

  “You seven…come with me. The others go with Henderson. And good luck to all of you.” Harmon turned almost immediately and began to walk down the corridor. He didn’t even look behind him, check to see that his people were following him. In that instant, Henderson knew that Harmon would have gone on alone and wounded, that he would fight as long as he had any ability at all. And he decide
d that he couldn’t do any less than his commander.

  “C’mon,” he said, intending the message for his seven followers, and he walked off, down the other end of the corridor…to whatever future awaited him.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

  Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

  Earth Two Date 04.12.63

  Achilles ran, at least he did the second he wasn’t visible from the main position. Nothing could be gained from upsetting his people even more. But he’d begun to truly fear what he still wasn’t sure was happening. Assuming he was correct, if he couldn’t stop the younger Mules from doing something, he reckoned none of his subordinates could either. Better for them to stay and watch the battle, to participate in any way they could. He would check on the ships, do everything possible to prevent the others from taking off.

  Alone.

  He was cursing himself for not thinking about it earlier, for not suspecting some of the Mules from acting differently than he did. It was stupid, foolish…especially since he probably would have done the same thing when he was their age. It was also a weakness of his. Despite his clear knowledge that many did think differently from him, he had a tendency to assume they would all come around to his way of thinking before doing anything very serious. He knew that wasn’t true, but he couldn’t help but think that way at times.

  The ships were few, and they weren’t armed. But they were fast, and they could make a major run for it. He had discounted the entire thing, assumed the younger Mules were on his side…which they were, to a point. But Achilles had decided to live or die with the humans…and it had just occurred to him that some of his people, the younger ones, might not.