To Hell's Heart (Crimson Worlds)

by Allan, Jay

  “Convoy Gamma Epsilon, you are cleared for final approach to Wolf 359 central docking.” Cleon make a cursory effort to hide the boredom in his voice. “You guys are right on time,” he added. “Almost to the minute. Can’t remember the last time that happened.”

  “Authorization received and acknowledged.” The reply was quick, concise…and exactly what regulations specified.

  Wow, Cleon thought, whoever’s in charge of that convoy must be one hell of a nutbuster. He leaned back in his chair, glad he wasn’t part of that crew.

  The red light switched to green. The docking connection with the freighter was secure. “Open the hatch.” The deck chief had a sleepy sound to his voice. It was late, at least simulated late. Orbiting a gas giant didn’t offer much frame of reference for time of day, so the shipyards ran on an Earth normal clock. For an Alliance facility, that meant Eastern Standard Time.

  The hatch was big…ten meters across by four high, and it made a heavy scraping sound as it slid open. “Let’s go, you lazy sacks. We got a lot of unloading to do. They’ve been waiting for these reactor control units on the line.” He dragged himself to his feet, turning and checking on the progress of his crew. “Hey! Let’s go.”

  He heard footsteps coming from inside the freighter. They made an odd sound, like metal on metal. He was still trying to figure it out when a dozen hyper-velocity rounds ripped the top half of his body to shreds.

  Armored soldiers poured out of the freighter, firing at the dock crew as they did. There were only 20 or so crew, and they were unarmed. It only took a few seconds for the attackers to wipe them out.

  “Force A leader reporting. Dock Beta secured.” The officer spoke clearly, sharply, with the relaxed confidence of a veteran.

  “Very well, A Leader.” The voice on the com was similar, almost eerily so. “You are to proceed to secondary objective and secure the area.” There was a short pause. “Personnel at secondary objective are considered essential, so you are to utilize non-lethal ordnance in taking control of the area.” Another pause. “Any maintenance or security personnel encountered en route are to be terminated.”

  “Yes, Control. Orders received and understood.” He turned and walked across the open bay. “Force A Leader, out.”

  “All security forces, Condition Red. I repeat, Condition Red.”

  “What the hell?” Ian Jones leapt off his bunk, almost tripping in the process. He hadn’t been asleep, just relaxing. His team was scheduled to go on duty in a little over an hour. He hopped through the door on one foot, pulling his boot on as he did.

  His team was in the outer barracks doing much the same. They were in uniform, mostly, but they were standing around raggedly, confused expressions on their faces. “What’s up, Cap?” Hank Young was the first to ask, but they were all looking at him expectantly.

  “I don’t know anything you boys don’t.” They all knew what Condition Red meant. It was an all-hands call to duty. It meant the complex had been boarded by hostile forces. “Just get your asses in gear, and we’ll all know soon enough.” He walked over to a large cabinet on the wall and punched a combination into the keypad. His people were normally armed with stun pistols, but not during a Condition Red alert. The cabinet slid open, revealing a long row of neatly stacked assault rifles.

  Jones grabbed the first rifle and started toward the door. “Let’s go. You guys waiting for a written invite?” He tapped the pad to open the door and looked back over his shoulder. His people were lining up at the weapons locker, grabbing their rifles and moving up behind him.

  Jones had no idea what could be going on. The Powers weren’t at war; they were allied against the First Imperium. And that fight was almost 200 lightyears away. Who could be invading the shipyard complex? He was still wondering that when he jogged through the door and out into the corridor.

  “Control, this is Force A Leader.” He was standing on a wide catwalk, looking out over the massive bay. A 600 meter long hull stretched almost out of sight into the distance. It was a Boise-class cruiser, undergoing heavy repairs. Most of the work at the shipyards was done in the outer spacedocks, but some tasks were more easily completed in a pressurized environment. “All Sector A primary objectives secured.”

  “Very well, A Leader. Continue report.”

  “All engineering and skilled technical personnel we have encountered have been confined in one of the empty bays. We have penetrated the main AI’s security and are identifying all confined individuals. I have search parties out looking for unaccounted essential personnel.” He looked out over the docked cruiser. His people were still searching the ship…a stubborn group of security troopers had retreated this way, and he wasn’t about to move forward if they were hidden behind his force.

  “Excellent, A Leader. Report on armed resistance.”

  “In general, the security forces have been easily destroyed with minimal losses to our units.” He paused. He had to report something that had been unexpected. “There is one security team that has been considerably more difficult to destroy than the others. My forces are currently in pursuit.”

  “Understood A Leader.” There was a pause…possibly a discussion taking place on the other end. “You are to prioritize the neutralization of enemy security forces. All such personnel are to be terminated on sight.”

  “Yes, Control. Understood.”

  “These guys are pros.” Ian Jones was out of breath, his shoulder drenched with his own blood. The hyper-velocity round had only clipped his shoulder, but it almost took off his arm. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they were Marines.

  Jones knew the Marines well. They’d plucked him out of the slums of Bristol, and offered him a chance at making their grade. He did five years of Marine training, but he washed out because he suffered from extreme claustrophobia. He simply couldn’t handle being entombed in a suit of powered armor, and none of the counseling had solved the problem. The Corps had reluctantly sent him packing with an honorable discharge as a private and a letter of recommendation. That had opened the door to virtually any security job in occupied space.

  “You’ve got to get word to Arcadia. They’ve got control of this place already. I’m pinned down with half a dozen of my people, but I can’t raise any other security teams.” He was speaking to the only admin office he could still reach, trying to get word out about what was happening. He was propped up against the wall, holding his rifle with his good hand. The pain in his shoulder was unbearable. Every word he spoke was a torment.

  Jones had been a guard captain for a little over a year. He’d been hired to do two years on the job and then take over the top security position in the shipyards. Now it looked like he was going to die in this cargo hold.

  He could hear the sound of metal pounding on metal. “They’re coming.” He spat the words into the comlink. “You have to reach Arcadia.”

  There was a large explosion, and the door blasted inward, hanging loosely, still connected at one corner. He could see the shadowy shapes outside, moving closer. Then the fire, rounds zipping into the room…his people going down, one by one.

  Finally it was just him, leaning behind the desk, trying desperately to hold the rifle up so he could fire. Then more pain, then none. Just wetness on his chest, his gut. Then haziness, floating…darkness.

  Chapter 31

  Bridge – AS Pershing

  System X2

  3,000,000 miles from the X1 Gate

  “General Cain and Dr. Hofstader will be in position with the device in approximately eleven hours, admiral.” Tara Rourke was turned around, facing Garret. “They will advise when they are prepared and then await your further orders.”

  Hofstader had hastily constructed an attachment to the First Imperium device. It was a small explosive that would destroy the power source keeping the magnetic fields in place. When the fields dropped, the antimatter would instantaneously begin annihilating with any matter it encountered. Hofstader had jury-rigged a shell of high density matter, m
ostly highly radioactive elements, around the exterior of the alien device, providing a sufficient mass to pair off with the antimatter and insure a rapid release of the full energy potential. It was a rushed effort, and one he hoped to have time to improve upon before it was needed.

  “Very well, commander.” Garret had been quiet and thoughtful since his half of Grand Fleet transited into X2. Compton’s ships were far across the system, near one of the two egress warp gates. The two forces were almost 2 lighthours apart, which was doing nothing to facilitate communication. “Nelson, estimated time for a response from Admiral Compton?” Garret had sent Compton an extensive communique, filling him in on the plan, and directing him to move his fleet back toward the X1 gate. That had been about 3 ½ hours before.

  “Assuming Admiral Compton received your message and responded immediately, the transmission should reach us within a range of 8 to 18 minutes, the margin provided to account for the unpredictability of human response times.”

  Garret sighed softly. He’d worked closely with his AI for many years, and the personality module had been uniquely attuned to him…at least until Alliance Intelligence had sabotaged the system, destroying the persona that had been Nelson. The AI managed to save a portion of its personality kernel, but Garret had always felt the reconstituted system had lost something. He tended to use it far less frequently than he once had.

  “Admiral Garret, we’re getting a transmission from Admiral Jacobs on Indianapolis.” The remains of Scouting Fleet had been pulling back toward the X1 warp gate. Jacobs had wanted to rejoin the main fleet, but Compton ordered him to withdraw instead. His force had the highest casualty rate of any formation in the campaign, and Compton wasn’t going to ask any more of his men and women…unless he had no choice. They’d done their part.

  “Very well, Commander Rourke.” Garret’s voice was still vaguely distracted; he’d been reviewing the latest message from Hofstader in X1. But his focus snapped back instantly. “On my com, commander.”

  Garret listened to the message, and Rourke could tell from his expression it wasn’t good news. He turned his head toward his workstation screen and pulled up the system map.

  “Commander, bring the fleet to Condition Yellow. All ships are to prepare for maximum thrust within 15 minutes.” He looked back down at the workstation for a few seconds then lifted his head, flipping on his com as he did. “Attention all personnel. Admiral Jacobs is reporting enemy forces inbound from the X4 warp gate. The First Imperium force is inbound at 0.08c and decelerating rapidly. We will be moving to meet them. I know each of you will do you very best…as you always have. Garret out.”

  He turned to Rourke. “Advise all captains to perform a complete program of weapons diagnostics and to prepare a full spread of x-ray laser buoys for deployment. All battleships are to perform pre-flight checks and hold all bomber squadrons at Status Yellow.”

  “Yes, sir.” She’d turned to her workstation and started forwarding Garret’s orders as he was still firing them off. “Admiral…” She turned back toward Garret. “I have Admiral Compton’s message incoming. Forward it to your com, sir?”

  “Yes, commander. By all means.” Then softer, a whisper to himself. “Let’s see what Terrance has to say. I haven’t spoken with him since he grabbed half my fleet and took off.” There was a tiny smile on his face. He was looking forward to seeing his old friend once the fight here was over.

  “Motherfucker.” Compton immediately realized his voice had been a lot louder than intended. Fucking Cleret, he thought, making certain to keep it to himself this time. Not a Goddamned message from X4…not a drone, not a ship returning. Nothing…except enemy forces transiting into the system.

  Mike Jacobs warned me, he thought bitterly…he told me Cleret couldn’t be trusted. The diplomacy we need to keep the Pact together may end up being the reason we lose this war, he thought.

  Compton had just listened to Jacobs’ message. He knew Scouting Fleet’s commander would have advised Garret as well. Indianapolis and the battered remnants of the advance force were roughly equidistant between the two main Pact fleets. There wasn’t a question in his mind that Augustus Garret was already moving to fight the new arrivals. He was going to do the same. The First Imperium forces would be sandwiched between his and Garret’s forces. For once we’ve got the advantage, he thought with grim satisfaction.

  Augustus should have my confirmation by now. He’d gotten Garret’s message a couple hours before. He’d had to read it four times before it sunk in. The possibility of disrupting a warp gate seemed impossible, unreal. But if Friederich Hofstader said it could be done, that was enough for Compton. He knew there were a lot of uncertainties, but it was hard not to get excited. If Hofstader was right, all they had to do was defeat this new force, and both fleets could withdraw, blowing the gate behind them. The First Imperium would be cut off from human space. The war would be over…not won, exactly, but survival seemed as good as victory considering the circumstances.

  Max Harmon’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Admiral Compton, we have vessels transiting through the X3 warp gate.” A pause. “Three ships, working on IDs now.” He snapped his head toward Compton. “It’s Captain Mondragon, sir. Incoming message.” He forwarded the transmission to Compton’s com without asking.

  “Admiral Compton, Captain Mondragon reporting.” He sounded haggard, out of breath. “I have to report another enemy task force approaching the warp gate roughly 15 minutes behind us. Approximately 20 Gargoyles.”

  “Understood, Francisco.” Fuck, Compton thought. He knew his ships could never outrun a First Imperium fleet, and he wasn’t about to let these enemy ships end up on his rear. We’ll have to stand here and engage that force, he thought…Augustus will have to handle the X4 fleet himself.

  “Captain, maintain velocity and rejoin Scouting Fleet. Once you are there, advise Admiral Jacobs that the combined force is to withdraw toward the X1 warp gate.” Mondragon’s 3 survivors all had damage. His battered force had already done their part, and they had nothing left to give. Compton was impressed with the Europan captain, especially considering everything Jacobs had already told him. He was damned sure going to pin a few medals on Mondragon and Jacobs. If they both survived, that is.

  “Yes, Admiral Compton.” Mondragon’s reply sounded sharp, but he couldn’t hide his fatigue. “Mondragon out.”

  Compton turned toward Harmon’s station. “OK, Commodore Harmon. We don’t have much time.” He was glad he’d brought up the transports and rearmed the fleet right after the last battle. He’d hate to face any First Imperium force with only his standard lasers. “I want all ships ready to deploy laser buoys in five minutes.” It wasn’t enough time…Compton knew that. He also knew it was going to have to be…that was all they had.

  Francisco Mondragon looked like hell. Most of his taskforce was gone, and the survivors had been trapped deep in the X3 system. They’d tried to hide for a while, but when new forces moved into the system bound for the X2 gate, he knew he had to get word to Compton. He tried to launch a spread of drones – his last – but none of them got through. So he buttoned his people in the couches, fired up the reactors to 120%, and made a run for the gate. He started with 8 ships…3 made it.

  He wasn’t sure if any of his other ships had survived. He’d scattered the task force, giving each captain orders to hide in the deep outer system. He’d reassembled everyone he could find, but it was possible there were others out there somewhere, now trapped behind the lines. There was nothing he could do about that, not now. All he could do at the moment was follow orders and rejoin the remnants of Jacobs’ fleet.

  He’d gotten through the warp gate just ahead of the enemy task force, but before his ships transited he picked up some intermittent contacts from probes deeper in the system. He couldn’t be sure, but his gut told him there were more enemy ships behind the ones transiting now. He had no idea if the contact was real…or how large a force might be there. But he’d reported all he kn
ew to Compton. It was the fleet admiral’s problem now, he thought. There wasn’t much Mondragon could do with 3 battered suicide boats.

  “Captain, I’ve got Admiral Jacobs on the com.” Carp sounded as tired as Mondragon felt.

  “Put it through, commander.” Mondragon put his earpiece in. It made his earlobe sore if he left it in for too long, so he tended to remove it from time to time.

  “Captain Mondragon, you have done an outstanding job, and I know what you and your people have been through.” Jacobs sounded exhausted too. All of Scouting Fleet had earned its pay…no one could doubt that. All except Pierre Cleret, whom Jacobs fully intended to stand in front of a firing squad if, through some miracle he made it back.

  “We’ve been ordered to reposition to the captured enemy vessel and provide any support General Sparks may require. I am sending you revised coordinates. Revector your approach and join us there as soon as you are able. Jacobs out.”

  Mondragon looked over at Tomasino. “Confirm receipt of orders, lieutenant.” Jacobs’ ships were still almost 30 light minutes away, much too far to allow for a normal verbal exchange. “And forward incoming coordinates to the other ships. We will be executing course change in five minutes.”

  Camille Harmon sat in her command chair, leaning heavily to her left, trying, as always, to get comfortable. Ever since she’d been shot on her own bridge in an Alliance Intelligence assassination attempt, the pain in her back had been constant. The med team pulled her through, though she’d come very close to not making it. But they hadn’t been able to regenerate everything the explosive bullet had destroyed. Her spine was a combination of regrown organic tissue and machinery. It worked well, but it hurt like hell most of the time. It was the integration of the mechanical parts with her central nervous system, they told her. The painkillers made it bearable, more or less. They’d offered her stronger meds, but she wouldn’t take anything that might impair her judgment. She preferred to put up with the pain than allow that.