Crimson Worlds Successors: The Complete Trilogy

by Jay Allan

  Darius Cain stood in the dimly lit corridor, listening to the chatter of his forward teams. He couldn’t help but smile at the way they worked together so coolly under fire, snapping warnings and status reports back and forth. That was years of training and experience at work, and he felt a flush of pride at how well his finely tuned machine functioned in action.

  His troops had found three more access points from the sewer, but they all seemed to lead to the same main corridor. From the looks of things, this section of the Citadel was more or less abandoned. They’d found a few storerooms full of weapons and other supplies, but the crates were old, covered with years of dust.

  Finally, his people ran into an enemy patrol. At first he feared the incursion had been detected, and that a defensive force had been sent to engage his people. But there weren’t enough of the enemy for that, and he decided the Eldari were actually searching these old warehouses for weapons that had survived the EMP blasts.

  That strike succeeded on a level I couldn’t have imagined. How can a planet’s whole army be so utterly unprepared for the threats they might face?

  He knew the answer to his own question. He’d seen it again and again, even among the forces of the governments who’d hired his Eagles…and the less fortunate ones who’d faced them on the field. Their armies were continually plagued by problems with materiel—shortages and quality issues that resulted not from a lack of funding or technology, but from pure graft. Behind each substandard batch of supplies, he suspected, stood a well-connected magnate, and a pack of corrupt politicians, profiting immensely by supplying inferior goods and pocketing the difference.

  That was something that simply couldn’t happen with the Eagles. It was anathema to their culture…and there could be little doubt about the punishment Darius Cain would have pronounced on a supply officer who put his comrades at risk through his corruption.

  He could hear the distant shots as his forward pickets took out the outmatched and outnumbered Eldari. The Eagles were quick and efficient, and the fight lasted perhaps half a minute. Still, Darius realized, that was plenty of time for the enemy to get a warning out. And even if they’d failed to do so, the disappearance of the patrol would be noticed. His people had gotten as far as they were going to get undetected, and that meant they could expect to fight their way forward the rest of the way.

  “Any prisoners?” Darius spoke calmly, professionally. He understood the difficultly of taking captives during a fight like this. Accepting surrenders was one thing, but holding back from killing an enemy who was still fighting was dangerous...and Darius had taught his Eagles to survive their battles, mostly by avoiding foolish chances.

  “Looks like two, General.” Alcabedo snapped back an answer almost immediately. Darius knew the veteran was mostly concerned with his role as bodyguard, but he had to admit, Alcabedo made a first class aide as well. “One’s pretty bad…they’re questioning him now, but I don’t know if he’s going to last long. The other’s on the way back now.”

  Darius hadn’t even responded yet when he saw the small cluster of armored figures ahead of him move aside. Two Eagles were walking down the corridor, pushing a dazed, but only lightly wounded, man ahead of them.

  “A prisoner, General. One of the Eldari soldiers.”

  The Eagle had his name stenciled on the outside of his armor, but Darius knew his people well, and he recognized the voice before he even looked. “Thank you, Sergeant Darrow,” he said. “This place reminds me of the underground city on Baragon II,” he added, instinctively dropping the type of morale-building comment that showed he remembered that Darrow had gotten a medal, and his sergeant’s stripes, on that campaign.

  Darius had to admit to himself that his legendary familiarity with his men, the almost eidetic ability he had to recall the names and deeds of the soldiers under his command, had failed to keep up with the growth of the Eagles’ organization, and he’d come to rely on clandestine reminders from his AI at times. Including the fleet personnel, logistical corps, and Nest staff and garrison, the 6,500 strong ground force the Eagles deployed was part of an overall organization of nearly 18,000 men and women, including some of the most highly-trained specialists in Occupied Space…more than even than his legendary father could have kept track of individually.

  “Yes, sir,” the veteran non-com replied. “It’s a lot like those tunnels. Though the Baragonese put up more of a fight than these Eldari.”

  “We’re just getting started here, Sergeant. I want you to stay sharp. I think we’re going to see some of the worst fighting of our careers before we leave…and the only way we’re going to get through it is if I can count on the absolute best from my old veterans. Eagles like you, Greg.” He’d remembered Darrow’s first name, but he wasn’t above a secret assist from his AI when he couldn’t recall a similar bit of info.

  He turned and looked toward the prisoner. The man was bleeding from a wound on his arm, but otherwise he seemed fine. He was scared to death—that was no surprise—but otherwise in pretty good shape.

  “I am General Darius Cain.” He towered over the unarmored captive, well over two meters tall in his fighting suit. “What is your name?”

  The prisoner shied away. He was breathing heavily, but otherwise silent.

  Darius popped his helmet, and it retracted behind his head. It was a breach of normal procedure, of course. He’d designed the Eagle protocols to protect his soldiers, and casually opening a helmet could expose an Eagle to gas, radiation…an almost endless lists of hazards on the modern battlefield. But Darius figured the situation was low risk—though the instant the helmet came down he could smell the residue from the sewers that was caked all over the legs. Not deadly, but not pleasant either.

  But he wanted to look the prisoner in the eyes, to try to get to him with a combination of intimidation and empathy. He knew he could get information out of any captive, with enough time and lack of moral restraint on his methods. But the quicker he managed to scrape up some decent intel, the better chance he had of getting to his father—if he was even on Eldaron at all—before the Tyrant felt threatened enough to order the prisoner killed. And Darius knew making himself seem more human—and less like a terrifying armored killing machine—could only help him reach this soldier.

  “C’mon boy, just tell me your name. I don’t want to hurt you.” I don’t want to, but I will if you make me…

  As he took a closer look, he could see the Eldari soldier was young…very young. He had to be at least somewhat connected to get himself assigned to duty in the Citadel…but Darius knew anyone with real contacts would be an officer, not a private sent down to fetch old weapons.

  Probably the son of a long-service non-com or something like that. No real power, but enough to get him a cushy position in the fortress garrison. Just the kind of person who probably knows his way around in here…

  “My name is Camus. Henri Camus.” The voice was pinched, shaky. Darius didn’t hold that against the kid…there were few people in Occupied Space who could stare up at a force of armored Black Eagles and maintain their calm.

  “Okay, Henri…listen to me. You know who we are, right?”

  The Eldari soldier nodded gently, as he struggled to maintain Darius’ gaze.

  “No doubt you have heard many things about me…about all of my people. Some are true, many false…others perhaps exaggerated. The truth is actually quite simple. We are here for a reason, and we complete our missions, whatever it takes. We need your cooperation. You can give it willingly or you can resist, delay us. But that will not stop us…and it will only make this entire affair vastly more unpleasant for you than it needs to be.” He paused, allowing the ominous nature of his last sentence to hang in the air.

  The Eldari private was losing the battle to retain his composure. His eyes slipped from Darius’, dropping to the floor, and his body began to shake.

  “There is no need for fear, Henri…not if you cooperate with us. I do not require much of you, only that yo
u lead us to the detention area of the Citadel. There is a prisoner, one who has been captive here for a long time. I am here for him…and when I find him, we will release you, allow you to return to your compatriots.”

  Camus looked up, forced himself to meet Darius’ stare again. He was shaking a bit, but he managed to maintain his gaze. “You will release me?” he said, his voice weak, his tone skeptical.

  “Henri,” Darius said, his voice as gentle as he could manage, “there is one thing I suspect you haven’t heard about me, though it is something that is absolutely true. I have never gone back on a promise; the Eagles have never reneged on a contract. I do not give my word often, but when I do, I keep it.” He stared at the captive with a withering intensity. “And you have my word, Henri Camus, if you lead us to the detention area, help us find the prisoner we seek, and do this without treachery, without betraying us to the guards and security forces…then you will be released unharmed.”

  Darius paused, maintaining the hard stare. Then he added, softly, almost incidentally, “And if you do not…” He let his voice trail off to nothing. Some things were better left to the imagination.

  The prisoner stared back for a few seconds, his eyes wide with terror. Darius knew that the Tyrant’s servants lived in constant fear of their brutal master. On some level, perhaps, he even sympathized with the poor devil. But that wasn’t going to interfere with what he did. He was here to see if his father was the Tyrant’s prisoner, and nothing—not enemy soldiers, not devious traps…not even pity for a pathetic common soldier caught in the middle—was going to interfere.

  He glared at the Eldari, wordlessly communicating his impatience. A few seconds later, he snapped his wrist, extending the dreaded blade from his armor. “Do you know what a molecular blade is?” he said, his voice becoming darker, more sinister. “It is a knife honed to the width of a few molecules, almost unimaginably sharp. With the strength amplification of powered armor, a blade can slice through a steel girder. For a soft target, human flesh say, the strength of a fighting suit is hardly needed. The weight of the blade itself is more than sufficient to slice a man in half.” A pause. “Shall I prove it?”

  “No!” the whimpering Eldari screamed, dropping to the floor, unable to make himself look at Darius. “Please…no…”

  “Then show us to the detention area!” Darius’ voice was frigid, commanding. His words echoed off the walls and ceiling of the tunnel with a force that took even his veteran soldiers by surprise. “You are out of time,” he continued, his tone moderating slightly. “It is time to make your choice…”

  * * * * *

  Jordyn Calfort stared at the display projected inside her visor, sighing softly as she read the casualty figures scrolling by. The battle had been a cakewalk for the first half-day, nothing but advancing after a retreating enemy, one that had been inferior to begin with and had been crippled by the Eagles’ stunningly successful cyber and EMT attacks. But eventually the enemy mounted a significant defensive effort. The Eagles had landed close to the Eldari capital, and they’d immediately began driving toward the planet’s largest city…and the Citadel that rose above it all like a physical representation of the Tyrant’s power. And that compelled the Eldari to choose a place, and try to stand their ground.

  The enemy had occupied a long ridge, not enormously high, but enough of a defensive feature to offer them cover…and a perfect field of fire over the two klicks of open ground lying before it. Normally, the Eagles would have put a screening force opposite the ridge and probed around the enemy’s flanks, looking for a weak spot to assault. But there hadn’t been time. The enemy was still suffering from degraded combat effectiveness, and every hour the Eagles let up, their enemies would have more time to reorganize and to replace fried equipment with new gear. But that wasn’t their only reason to attack immediately. General Cain was behind enemy lines, most likely in the bowels of that massive fortress. And the longer it took the main army to break through, the longer he’d be stuck there, surrounded by enemies with only a small force. And there was no way Calfort—or Captain Tonn or Colonel Teller or any other Black Eagle—was going to waste time on wide flanking maneuvers. Not when the boss was in danger.

  Her platoon had been part of the attack across the open plain. Two full companies had jumped off, racing across the blackened grasslands as quickly as the powered servos of their armor could carry them. It was difficult to run in powered armor without bounding high into the air—and making yourself a juicy target—but the Eagles were the best-trained force in Occupied Space. Calfort had waddled across the field, just as she’d been taught, sliding her body from side to side to keep herself low, maintaining fire the entire time to keep the enemy suppressed while her people raced toward the defensive line.

  Casualties had been light, at least by the standards of the situation. An enemy attacking the Eagles across that ground would lose at least half their number…and they might be wiped out entirely. But Calfort’s platoon had only four down, and only one of those was KIA. It was as good a result as she could have hoped for, but it still hurt to lose any of her people.

  The enemy had looked like they might put up a serious fight, but the reputation of the Eagles had been too much for them in the end. They broke and ran before her people reached the crest, and they’d suffered terribly as the attackers took position along the ridge and gunned them down as they fled.

  Her people had stopped to reorder along the top of the ridge, but she expected the order to pursue any moment, and her platoon was ready. When the orders came, however, they weren’t what she expected.

  “Lieutenant Calfort, prepare to return to your original position.” It was Captain Tonn, and the instant Calfort heard he voice she knew something was wrong.

  “But sir, we just took this…”

  “Follow my orders, Lieutenant.” A brief pause. “There’s trouble along the flank of the army…some kind of armored vehicles attacking. The whole regiment is falling back.”

  “Yes, Captain. Acknowledged.” Calfort felt a strange feeling in her stomach. They all knew there was some kind of trap waiting for them on Eldaron…but tanks? Armored units had fought in the Superpowers’ last war on Earth, just before the Fall, but no colony world had ever fielded them in significant numbers. They were simply too costly, and the logistical problems and expense of transporting them through space were enormous.

  What the hell is coming at us?

  * * * * *

  “We can’t contact the general, Colonel. It’s your call, sir.” Antonia Camerici was one of Darius Cain’s closest aides. She’d practically begged to accompany him on his mission into the enemy fortress, but he’d ordered her to stay with Colonel Teller. She’d been upset at first, afraid Darius had been concerned she couldn’t keep up with the Special Action Teams, that her diminutive stature relegated her to staff work.

  But Darius had just looked at her calmly and told her flat out he needed her at headquarters…that he had hundreds, no thousands of great warriors, but no one who could replace her organizational wizardry in the chain of command. Then he told her Teller needed her even more than he did, and he asked her to do everything she could to help him run the Eagles until he got back.

  She still smiled recalling the encounter. She knew she was being worked…there were few people who knew how to handle soldiers as well as Darius Cain. But she realized there was truth to what he had said. This was likely to be a very difficult and dangerous campaign…and everything had to run as smoothly as possible. And she knew damned well it was nothing but the truth when he spoke of her administrative skills.

  “Bring down the Blacks,” Teller said, the disgust in his voice making it clear he wasn’t happy with the decision.

  “Yes, sir. Sending order now. Colonel Falstaff’s people are preparing to launch. Here is the preliminary landing pattern, sir.” Camerici had already organized the deployment orders, and now she handed her ‘pad to Teller so he could approve or change them. She’d cut it close, b
ringing the Black Regiment down just behind the current lines. That meant the troopers facing the armored attack would have to hold…or they would lose the LZs. It was a risk, a big one, but then they both knew those were Black Eagles in the lines.

  “Cutting it a little close, aren’t we, Captain?” Camerici had an odd look on her face. She still hadn’t gotten used to hearing her new rank in use. She’d been a lieutenant the last time the Eagles suited up, and it was her performance on that op as much as anything that had gotten her the promotion. “The Blues are getting slammed pretty hard over there, and it will be…what, an hour?...before Colonel Falstaff’s lead elements are down?” Evander Falstaff commanded the Eagles’ senior regiment, 1800 of the most grizzled veteran on the Eagles’ roster.

  “Forty-nine minutes, sir.” A pause. “From the moment you give the order.”

  Teller forced a brief smile. “Very well, Captain. I am giving the order.”

  Camerici was cool under pressure, and she calmly relayed the command to Eagle One. In less than an hour, fresh troops would be landing right behind the existing lines…as long as those lines held. She knew they were gambling…if the Black Regiment came down on enemy-occupied ground it would be a disaster, but she didn’t allow her doubts to interfere with her judgment.

  Camerici was young to be an Eagles captain, and fairly inexperienced, at least by the standards of Darius Cain’s famous mercenary company. Most of the Eagles’ officers were veterans of other military services, but she had been a civilian the day she had walked into the recruiting station, to the snickers of several of her larger, stronger classmates. By the time the notoriously brutal Eagles training program was over, however, Camerici was graduating with honors…and her detractors had long since washed out. She was still the only one from her class to be commissioned an officer.

  She set down her ‘pad and looked at the large display unit set up at one end of the makeshift headquarters. The long lines representing troop positions were moving…mostly back as the Eagles shifted to deal with the new threat. Her eyes focused on the flank section, to the two lines that marked the position of the battalion facing off against the tanks.