To Hell's Heart (Crimson Worlds)

by Allan, Jay

  Jacobs took a deep breath as he listened. He agreed with everything Compton was saying, but his stomach was clenched anyway. Terrance Compton had a reputation as the best poker player in the fleet…but now he was about to go all in with the cream of mankind’s warships. If he was wrong, if it was a trap and the fleet was lost, there wouldn’t be enough strength left to mount a credible defense. The war would be over, except for the mopping up. Jacobs had been uncomfortable with his new responsibilities…he didn’t envy Compton the crushing pressure of his own.

  “I’m taking a big risk here, Mike, and I need your help.” His voice became softer…more like asking a friend for help than a commander giving an order. “I’m going to bring the fleet in and move on the planet before the enemy can get more strength up here. But I need to know exactly what we’re facing. I need you to be OCD on this, Mike. Anything…if you think something smells funny, if you get a weird feeling in your gut...I need to hear it immediately.”

  Compton paused again, longer this time. “I’m counting on you to keep me apprised. I know you’re the right man for the job. What you did in getting Hornet back home was nothing short of heroic, and all the congratulations and rewards you got were less than you deserved.” There was emotion in Compton’s voice, and admiration that sounded very genuine. “I need that now…whatever you pulled out from inside yourself then. I need to know everything. Everything. And I’m trusting you, Mike. I’m trusting you with my life. With all our lives.”

  Jacobs took a breath again, finding it difficult to draw it in deep. He was gratified at Compton’s words, but the pressure of what the fleet admiral was saying hit him like a sledgehammer.

  “We’re on the way, Mike,” Compton continued. “I’m expecting you to have that system mapped out 100% by the time we get there. Good luck, Admiral Jacobs. And Godspeed.”

  The transmission ended, leaving Jacobs sitting in his command chair, trying to hide the fact that he was gasping for breath. He closed his eyes, shutting out most of his thoughts and trying to focus, to gain control of himself. He had a job to do now, the most important one he’d ever had, and he wasn’t going to sit here and fold under the stress.

  “Commander Carp…” Somehow Jacobs managed to sound confident and commanding, no trace of fear in his voice. “…the fleet will prepare to move out.”

  Chapter 11

  AS Pershing

  Omicron 7 System

  En Route from Sandoval to Sigma 4

  “Welcome to Grand Fleet, Admiral Arlington.” Augustus Garret spoke pleasantly, his tone relaxed. Arlington was one of his most junior admirals, but he had a lot of confidence in her, and he was glad to have her in the fold. He’d tried to make her an admiral three times before he actually managed it, but she kept refusing the star, choosing instead to remain Admiral Compton’s flag captain.

  Garret knew there had been more than duty involved in that choice. Terrance Compton and Elizabeth Arlington were the fleet’s worst-kept secret, though, in truth, there was nothing there that required secrecy. Despite their obvious feelings for each other, Compton would never act on any of it…not while she was under his command. That was one reason Garret had assigned her to his own staff instead of Compton’s, but now distance had replaced duty as the problem standing in their way. After this campaign, Garret thought…I’ll make sure they have their opportunity. He was committed to seeing his friend get his chance at happiness. Garret had sacrificed love to duty once before. It was long ago, but not a day went by that he didn’t remember, even forty years later. He wasn’t going to let Compton make the same mistake he did.

  As welcome as Arlington herself was, the task force she’d led from the Wolf 359 shipyards was appreciated even more. Five capital ships and a squadron of cruisers, the most recently repaired vessels from the Alliance’s massive shipbuilding complex. None of them were in perfect shape, and a few were barely combat-capable, but repairs took time and the war wouldn’t wait. Now was the time…Garret and his people would find a way to beat the First Imperium now, or the war would be lost…maybe not immediately, but eventually. Holding anything back was a fool’s game, a meaningless concession to fear that Garret refused to make. Arlington had waited until the last possible moment to allow as much work to be completed as possible, just as her orders specified, and then she’d led everything that could keep pace away from Wolf 359 to meet up with Garret and the rest of the fleet.

  “Thank you, sir. It’s a pleasure to be here.” She sounded tired and a little worn out. She’d been working around the clock at Wolf 359, staying on the crews, making sure the work got done as quickly as possible. But that wasn’t the only thing affecting her. She’d just found out that Compton had led half the fleet to Sigma 4. Terrance Compton was a brilliant commander, one who would have been hailed an unmatched legend if he hadn’t been born in the same generation as Augustus Garret. He was more cautious than Garret…to a point. But he was also a creature of duty. If he believed sacrificing himself and half the fleet would help the Alliance win the war, he’d do it without a second thought. She was worried…and if Compton was going to throw himself into the maelstrom, she wanted to be with him.

  Garret could see her tension. “He’ll be fine, Elizabeth. Don’t worry. We’ll be heading out in less than an hour to join him.” He smiled, giving her a relaxed stare. It was mostly phony…he was just as worried about Compton as she was. “Terry can take care of himself for a few weeks until we get there.” He could see in her expression, she wanted to believe what he was saying. “Really…the grouchy SOB has saved my life more than once. He knows his stuff. He won’t do anything crazy.” Garret wished he believed that last part, but he knew better than anyone that Compton wouldn’t shy away from a fight if he thought it was the right move.

  She gave Garret a fragile smile. She wasn’t really convinced, but she was trying. “Thank you, sir.” Then, changing the subject: “What would you like me to do now, admiral?” She knew she wouldn’t be commanding the flotilla she’d brought from Wolf 359. It was a hodgepodge of ships assembled on the basis of readiness, not balance, and the vessels would likely be doled out to the existing task forces in the fleet. Besides, it was much too large a force to be assigned to one of the most junior admirals in the navy…not to mention the other fleets of the Grand Pact.

  “Well, Elizabeth…I was wondering how you’d feel about serving as my chief of staff for the campaign.” Garret looked at her intently. “Interested?”

  Arlington was silent, a stunned look on her face. She opened her mouth to answer, but closed it again wordlessly.

  “Yes, you are completely qualified…and you are ready too.” Garret smiled as he answered her unspoken questions. “And I trust you, which isn’t something I say lightly about anyone. I’d be personally grateful if you’d agree to help me out by taking the post.” Dirty pool, Garret thought to himself…there’s no way she can turn it down now.

  “Thank you, sir. It would be an honor.” She had a tentative smile on her face. Her emotions were an odd mix – pride, satisfaction, blind terror.

  “Good, I’m glad that’s settled. As soon as I get up to the flag bridge I’ll make it official fleetwide.” The smile was still on Garret’s face. “You’ll be speaking with my authority, but go easy on them, ok?” He winked at her. “Unless you need to kick their asses, that is.”

  She grinned. “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”

  “I know you will.” He snapped her a sharp salute, one she returned even more crisply. “Now go check in with Commander Warrenton, and he’ll get you set up in your quarters. Take your time and get settled in and, when you’re ready, come see me on the flag bridge.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.” She started to turn to go.

  “And Admiral Arlington?”

  She stopped and looked back. “Yes, sir?”

  “Our first order of business is to get this fleet moving full speed to join Terry.” He stifled a small laugh. “I hope you still have some energy left for kicking ass,
because we’re going to push everyone like they’ve never been pushed before.”

  She smiled broadly. “Oh yes, sir. I have some energy left.”

  Catherine Gilson sat quietly in Pershing’s officers’ mess nursing a cup of tea. Gilson was one of the toughest commanders in the Corps, respected by her troops and feared by her enemies. When the situation called for it, she could out-swear the most grizzled career sergeant. But sitting at the small table, reading her ‘pad, teacup in her hand, she looked like something entirely different.

  Gilson had devoted most of her life to the Corps. A workaholic, filling most of her hours tending to the needs of the Marines under her command, she didn’t have much time for relaxation. When she did have time to herself, she spent it quietly, not at all in the ways her Marines would have guessed of their iron-fisted commander. She didn’t drink, rarely took leave, and mostly kept to herself when not on duty. She enjoyed reading trashy novels, a guilty pleasure she kept to herself with the aggressiveness she employed to protect the Corps’ darkest secrets. She could only imagine the amusement it would give her veteran Marines to get a glimpse at what their foul-mouthed, blood and guts commander chose to read in her free time.

  Gilson was one of two four-star generals in the Corps…Erik Cain was the other. She’d outranked Cain for most of their careers, but they got their 4th stars simultaneously, just before taking command at Garrison and Sandoval. The politicians on Earth tended to look on the military with disdain…until they needed protection from something. But they were great at thinking up rewards and decorations. The Commandant of the Corps had never had more than four stars…no Marine general ever had. But they decreed a five-star rank and gave it to Holm, clearing room to make full generals out of Cain and Gilson.

  None of it mattered much. Holm was still in overall command, as virtually everyone agreed he should be. Gilson had never seen a Commandant so universally acclaimed as a hero every other Marine was proud to follow. The Corps wasn’t immune from political maneuverings, especially at the highest ranks. Rafael Samuels was the most recent disastrous example. The Corps’ great traitor should never have been Commandant…and he should never have risen high enough in the ranks to be a candidate for the job. But foolishness and corruption existed everywhere. Even in the Corps, Gilson thought sadly.

  They were lucky in one respect, she thought. If they were going to face something like the First Imperium, at least they were doing it at a time they had someone like Holm to lead them…and he had subordinates like Erik Cain and Isaac Merrick to back him up. She didn’t include herself in that list, though almost everyone else would have. The Corps was battered from years of war, and many of its veterans were gone, fallen on one of its many battlefields. But there had never been a time when its leadership was stronger or more devoted. She didn’t know if they could win this struggle – if anyone could - but she was sure they would fight to the last.

  She picked up the teacup and took a drink. It was something new she’d tried, tea grown on Columbia, laced with cinnamon…really good, she thought. She had to admit, the newest Yorktown class vessels had vastly improved food service over the older ships. The troopships and other craft she’d served aboard earlier in her career had offered their own version of the stereotypical, barely-edible slop that seemed somehow ingrained as a part of military history. She’d always thought they kept it that way so the pre-drop intravenous feedings seemed more attractive.

  Her thoughts weren’t dwelling on Pershing, though, or any of the ships of the massive fleet surrounding her. She was thinking of Erik Cain and the Marines he commanded…the Marines who were already lightyears forward of Pershing’s position, already in the battlezone.

  Gilson was annoyed with Cain. She knew she shouldn’t be. He’d done the right thing; she was sure of that. But she didn’t like being left behind. It wasn’t entirely rational, but that’s how she felt. She knew one of them had to stay to lead the rest of the ground forces, but she still hated being so far to the rear when there was a fight going on. She told herself she’d be there soon enough, but she had an odd feeling that the battle was being decided already…that Pershing and her Marines, and the rest of the fleet would be too late. She tried to dismiss it as nonsense, but it continued to nag at her.

  “Do you mind if I join you, General Gilson?” A tall man clad in an ornate silk uniform stood just inside the doorway. He had a grim and imposing look to him, but there was a friendly smile on his face.

  “Of course, Lord Khaled.” She returned the smile, though her mood made it difficult to match the genuine grin Khaled wore. “It would be an honor.”

  He walked slowly to the table, gently pulling out a chair. “May I propose that when we are off duty, you refer to me as Ali, and I to you as Catherine?” Khaled had always appeared to be very stiff and formal when in the field or at a public event, which was the only way she’d ever seen him. Now he seemed different, friendlier, more relaxed.

  “Certainly, Lor…Ali.”

  He sat down in the chair, letting out a soft sigh as he did. “I am afraid I am quite fatigued. It will be pleasant to sit for a time and speak with a valued colleague.”

  Gilson found it odd to be sitting in a wardroom having a friendly chat with the Supreme Commander of the Janissary Corps. Gilson had fought on a dozen worlds against Khaled and his troopers. He had been on Carson’s World during the climactic campaign of the Third Frontier War. Their forces had fought savagely for weeks in one of the bloodiest fights in history. Now they were sitting and chatting like old friends.

  She’d been surprised how well her people had integrated with Khaled’s forces. It had been difficult at first, of course. Very difficult. But then something unexpected happened. The forces began to gel, to develop a nascent mutual trust. The enemy they were facing was totally alien…an enemy of all mankind. The politicians back on Earth still argued and debated – and some of the highly-ranked commanders bristled with pride and arrogance – but the rank and file had begun to accept each other, as allies, even as friends. She wondered what would happen now, if the war was won and the First Imperium threat was gone. Would she and Ali Khaled be enemies again, facing each other across some battlefield? Would the Marines and Janissaries again be bitter enemies, massacring each other on a dozen worlds?

  “Have your troops been satisfactorily billeted?” Gilson’s mind, as always, went to business first.

  Khaled smiled again. “Your reputation is much like mine, Catherine. I’m afraid our fellow-officers consider us to be…what is the term in English? Workaholics.” He paused for an instant and added, “And yes, thank you, my forces are well-tended.”

  “I’m afraid you are right about how we are viewed. Though I doubt you let that bother you any more than I do.” She took another sip of her tea. “Your English, by the way, is extraordinary. Far better than my Arabic, I’m afraid.” Not entirely truthful…Gilson spoke accentless Arabic as well as passable Mandarin and Russian.

  Khaled laughed. “That is not what I have heard, my good friend. I think you underestimate your skills. But we are on your nation’s vessel, so we will use your tongue.” He leaned back as he spoke. “If we have cause meet on a Caliphate vessel, then we shall converse in mine. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.” She nodded. Khaled was a surprise to her. She had known who he was for years, but she hadn’t imagined him to be so charming and polite. Gender roles in the Caliphate were considerably different than those in the Alliance. There were no women at all in the Caliph’s military, but Khaled seemed to have no difficulty relating to a female general as a peer.

  A steward came in swiftly. “General Gilson, Lord Khaled, may I bring you anything?”

  Khaled glanced at Gilson, but she shook her head. “I believe I will have a cup of tea myself.” He looked briefly at Gilson’s cup. “Whatever the general is having will be perfectly satisfactory.”

  The steward nodded. “Yes, sir.” He turned and hurried through the door.

  “It is odd, isn’t
it? To discover that one’s old enemy is more than a name on an order of battle.” Khaled’s expression had grown pensive. “Your General Cain was not what I expected.”

  Gilson laughed. “Yes…well, Erik is quite an enigma to most of us. I’m not sure anyone really knows him. Colonel Linden comes closest, of course. Jax was his best friend; he probably had the clearest insights.” She stared off into space for a few seconds, a somber look on her face as she thought of Jax.

  “Yes, I was devastated to hear of General Jax’s death on Farpoint. It was a terrible loss.” Khaled knew more about Jax’s final battle than Gilson. He’d died trying to hold off the enemy long enough for the rest of the expeditionary force to evacuate. There had been Janissaries in reserve on Farpoint, but General Cain didn’t trust them and wouldn’t give the order for them to advance. Jax had died trying to plug the gap the Janissaries could have filled, and Cain had blamed himself ever since for his friend’s death.

  Some good had come of the tragedy, however. Cain finally sent the Janissaries in, and he watched them hold the line while the rest of his forces embarked. The Caliphate troopers lost over three-fourths of their strength, but they held firm…and won Erik Cain’s respect and admiration. His open acceptance of the Janissaries set an example for the whole Marine Corps and was crucial to the development of the growing trust and cooperation between the forces. Khaled wondered if, in some ways, General Jax’s sacrifice hadn’t been the most important factor in the successful defense of the Line.

  “I’ve never had tea with a lord before.” Gilson wanted to change the subject. Jax had been one of the most popular officers in the Corps, and the wound was still too fresh for her to speak casually of him. Even after years of war and death, it never got easier to lose a friend.