by Jay Allan
“Faster, man, faster,” Sarah yelled. Those who knew her personally had always marveled at the transformation that took her on the battlefield. Her normal pleasant and easy-going personality vanished, replaced by a vicious taskmaster who had no more use for excuses than Erik or Darius Cain had ever had on the front line. But the Eagles’ medical personnel had never encountered her before, and as good as they were, she was something entirely different.
“I’m sorry, Ge…Doctor,” the man said, uncertain what to call her. She was a Marine general, a trauma surgeon, and the mother of the Black Eagles’ commander…none of which led to a clear conclusion as to what she was on this battlefield. “The rips in his armor got driven into his legs. We’re trying to get them out…if we use the plasma torch, we’ll…”
“Just get him out of there. Take the legs off if that’ll speed things. He’s going to lose them anyway.” She took a step closer and peered over the unconscious Eagle. “His legs are the least of his problems, Lieutenant. If I can save his life, we can regenerate those.”
Sarah looked up at the med tech and nodded. Then she watched as he pulled out the plasma torch and used it to slice off one of the soldier’s legs. She moved around, leaning over and making sure the heat of the torch had sufficiently cauterized the stump. Then she backed up slightly, while the tech amputated the other leg.
They hadn’t even bothered with anesthesia. The stricken soldier was unconscious, and Sarah knew he would stay that way unless she was able to repair enough of the catastrophic damage he had suffered in battle. And medical supplies were starting to run low. The fleet had sent down a last shipment with Kuragina’s White Regiment, but she knew that was the last she’d see…at least until the fleet defeated whatever force had come to challenge it.
Sarah stepped back for an instant as the crew working on her patient pulled off a section of his shattered armor. She watched as they dumped the enormously heavy chunk of osmium-iridium alloy off to the side of the table and moved on to cut another section.
She stepped forward, her gloved fingers probing the massive wound on the soldier’s shoulder. There were bits and pieces of metal embedded in the stricken flesh, and she picked out a few of the most accessible ones.
“Five units blood substitute,” she snapped off to the assistant standing behind her. “And a trauma-3 cocktail.” She looked up and down the exposed areas of the wounded man, searching for an intact vein. “Here,” she said, pointing to the side of the soldier’s neck. Get your IV set up here.”
Sarah hated the death, the terrible feeling of knowing some of these brave soldiers would die no matter what she did, how hard she tried to save them. The men and women on her operating tables now weren’t Marines…and she was surprised how little that mattered to her.
She realized she had allowed herself to think of the Black Eagles in the same terms everyone else had, but now, surrounded by them, seeing them in battle, how they worked together as brothers and sisters…she had to admit they reminded her of Marines.
Of course. Darius grew up into a different world, a new reality. But he’d emulated his father, at least as well as he could. These people may be mercenaries, but they understand honor and loyalty too. They are here not for pay, but because Darius asked them to come. They are fighting—and hundreds are dying—to help rescue Erik.
She knew she had misjudged Darius and the military force he had created…and she intended to atone for that sin the best way she could. She would stay in this field hospital, day and night until she literally dropped from exhaustion. But she would save as many of these warriors as she possibly could.
She hunched over the patient, her hands moving all over him. Her hair was tied behind her head, but a small tuft had worked its way free of the elastic and was hanging down in her face. Sweat streaked down her cheeks as she worked against the odds, desperately trying to address the most vital wounds. The soldier’s medical AI had done what it could…if it hadn’t, she knew, the man would have never made it to the hospital. But now, as she worked closely, she found even more damage.
She was grateful for the way her work consumed her, mind and body. She was a surgeon now, and that was all she had time for. The mother, worrying about her son trapped in an enemy fortress, the wife, desperately hoping the husband she’d long thought dead was actually still alive…they were submerged now, held back by the sheer, brutal necessity for her to focus on the tasks at hand.
“We’ve almost got the last of the armor off, Doctor,” the Lieutenant said, wiping the sweat from his face as his two assistants tugged at the patient’s other arm.
Sarah stared back, her face blank. “Don’t worry about it,” she said softly. “He’s dead.”
* * * * *
“Colonel Kuragina’s lead battalion has completed its retirement, sir. Her second battalion has now reinforced them.” Camerici’s voice betrayed her exhaustion. She’d been at her post for almost three days straight, but Teller had been hesitant to let her stand down. She was enormously capable at what she did—the best in the Black Eagles, and that was saying something indeed. And right now, lives hung in the balance, the survival of friends and comrades. He needed her where she was, and besides, he suspected he’d have one hell of a fight on his hands if he even suggested she take a break.
I just hope she’s not shy about taking the stims. Camerici struck him as the stubborn type, one who would decide she could do what had to be done, without any help, chemical or otherwise. He found such thinking to be familiar—and admirable. As long as it didn’t go too far. Eventually her body would give out, no matter what her mind insisted. And the stims could push that moment further into the future.
“Very well, Captain. Casualty reports?” He felt his stomach tense.
“Preliminary so far, sir. Looks like seventy-three dead, one hundred forty wounded.”
Teller shook his head. Thirty percent casualties…and we were still forced back.
“Are the enemy following up?”
“Not yet, Colonel. Kuragina has the air thick with drones, and we’re getting good scouting reports. It looks like they’re trying to reform to follow up. They got badly hurt on that attack. Kuragina estimates close to 2,000 enemy down.” Camerici’s voice became stronger, a wave of satisfaction finding its way into her otherwise grim reports.
“Yes, her people made them pay for the gains.” Teller was shaking his armored head. But that was on a perfect killing ground, and we burned through a mountain of ammo to do it. The approach to the next line is hillier, with a lot more natural cover. And I’m starting to worry about supplies…
Teller had seen the battle, at least the start of it. He hadn’t been in the thick of the fighting, but he’d led Kuragina’s second battalion up to a supporting position, a little more than a klick from the heaviest combat. He’d intended to stay and take the battalion into the battle, but then he got word that the Eldari had launched an offensive all along the line in front of the capital. He’d hurried back to HQ only to find that, by the time he arrived, the single Eagle battalion in position had repulsed the attack, inflicting heavy losses on the Eldari.
If only we were facing Eldari regulars everywhere, he thought. But he knew that wasn’t the case. Not even close. He recognized these soldiers who had come pouring out of hidden bunkers all across the field. He’d seen them before…fought them before. On Lysandria. And Darius had fought them on Eris. He had suspected it was the same mysterious enemy who had lured them to Eldaron…and Darius had as well. Now he knew. Whoever was interfering in conflicts across Occupied Space, they had targeted his people. This was intended to be the final battle, the complete destruction of Black Eagles.
He hadn’t been able to get through the jamming to reach Darius. Truth be told, he didn’t even know if his friend was still alive. And he’d had no reports from Admiral Allegre either. Perhaps the fleet was gone as well, blown to plasma by the same enemy his soldiers were facing on the ground.
This was a trap, alright, and ev
en though we knew it going in, they still managed to take us by surprise. But we’re not done yet…and anybody who starts a blood feud with the Black Eagles better make sure they kill us all…
* * * * *
“Where is the prisoner who occupied this cell?” Darius Cain’s voice was like an elemental force, echoing off the ceiling eight meters above. He spun around to face the six Eldari soldiers standing against the wall. “You all know who I am. You’ve all heard stories about me. Now, you are going to answer me, and you are going to tell me the fucking truth…or you will see a side of me you couldn’t have imagined in your worst nightmares.”
Darius had burst through the door, ready to find out once and for all if his father still lived, if he had been a prisoner of the Eldari all these years. But all he’d found beyond the door was a rickety old stair leading down to the cell itself. An empty cell. No prisoner at all.
His people had searched the room from one end to the other, but they’d only confirmed what he’d seen the instant he’d run inside. There was no one there.
They’d found some scraps of fabric, and what looked like a worn and filthy tunic stained with blood…along with an old plate and a dented metal cup. There was residue on the plate, the remains of some sort of food. Someone had occupied the cell recently…at least the evidence pointed that way.
Darius picked up the plate and held it up in front of him as he turned back toward the prisoners. “There was someone in this cell…recently enough that the crust of whatever foul swill you feed your prisoners is still on his plate.” He walked down the line of Eldari captives, pushing the plate forward, holding it a few centimeters from the face of each guard.
“So what will it be?” He deployed the molecular blade from the sleeve of his armor and turned his other hand to throw the plate to the floor. Then he froze. The bottom of the metal circle appeared to be scratched and scuffed. He’d assumed it was from age and use, but now Darius saw it. Letters…clearly letters. Carved all over the bottom of the plate. EC.
He felt a shiver go through him, and he stared at the plate, confirming what he was seeing. It was clear. Someone had craved the letters “EC” in the plate over and over...at least ten times.
Erik Cain…
So where was he? If his father had truly been in this cell, where was he now?
Darius felt the breath ripped from his body. Was he too late? Had his father been taken from his cell and executed? Had the arrival of his forces caused the death of his father?
“Where is he,” he yelled, his voice thick with menace and venom. He reached down with an armored hand and grabbed one of the prisoners, hurling him across the room into the far wall. The man fell to the ground with a sickening thud and remained where he lay.
Darius turned toward the second soldier. The man cringed, shaking like a leaf and begging for mercy in almost unintelligible grunts. But there was no mercy in Darius Cain, not now. He was becoming more convinced with each passing second, the thought playing over and over in his head. His father was dead. He had been here, but the Eldari had killed him. There was something else there too, something dark and hideous, a malevolence he hadn’t imagined lived inside him. It gave rise to thoughts more terrible than any he’d imagined before. Images of Eldaron, of the Eldari…paying for what they had done. Of cities burning…and thousands dying.
He reached down, grabbing the second soldier and yanking him up, holding the man’s frantically struggling body over his head.
“Darius!”
The voice on the com was familiar, and it reached through the haze of vengeance and terrible violence that had seized him. It was a friend, a new one certainly, but a friend nevertheless.
“Darius,” the voice repeated. “The prisoner from this cell is alive…or at least he was.” An armored figure burst through the door, and stood at the top of the stairs looking down. He held another Eldari in his armored hand. “There was a fight, Darius. The prisoner attacked his guards…and the Tyrant. He was taken to the infirmary…badly hurt but still alive.”
The last words echoed in Darius’ mind. Still alive…
He turned and looked up at the armored man standing just inside the door. “Axe,” he called out, “are you sure?”
“Yes, Darius…as sure as I can be. This man is the head jailor. And I didn’t survive so long on Earth without knowing how to get the truth out of someone.” Axe pulled the hapless Eldari hard, dragging him out in front of him. “And I made it clear to him what will happen if he’s lying.”
Darius stood still for a moment, his mind catching up with developments. He’d felt the enormous grief, mourned his father all over again, this time with the guilt of believing his own actions had caused his death. Now there was hope again. His cynicism, the defensive mechanisms he’d spent his adult life building around himself…they called to him not to believe, not to allow hope to flourish again, only to be dashed to bits with more pain and remorse. But he couldn’t hold it back. Axe was a newcomer to the Eagles, but Darius had trusted him—and valued his judgment—since almost the moment they had met. The Earther had lived through the Fall, and he’d kept his people safe and alive for thirty years. And now, perhaps, he was leading the way to Erik Cain.
“Let’s go,” Darius shouted to the twenty Eagles scattered around the cell.
“And the prisoners?” The sergeant standing over the captives looked toward Darius.
Cain had been ready to tear the pathetic Eldari soldiers apart one by one, but now his thoughts were already moving forward. “Stun gun,” he said as he ran toward the stairway and bounded up in three steps. He could hear the sounds as his troops fired at the guards. The lucky Eldari faced a few hours of unconsciousness, followed by some staggering headaches…not too bad considering how close they had come to horrible deaths at the hands of a distraught Darius Cain.
“We pulled a schematic from their main computer, Darius. I’ve got the location of the infirmary.
Darius slapped his hand on Axe’s armored shoulder. “Good job, my friend.” He flipped a switch and put himself on the unitwide com. “Alright Eagles…follow me.”
* * * * *
“My God,” the Tyrant wailed miserably, “how is anybody supposed to beat troops like that?” He’d been staring out at the display, watching his shattered forces stagger back in disorder. The Eagles had redeployed to face the Omega units, and they’d only left a single battalion to face his concentrated forces. But the thinly-stretched line of mercenaries had blasted his offensives into bloody disasters. His people had suffered another 2,000 casualties in just a few hours…and the damned Black Eagles were right where they had been, staring out across a hellish no man’s land, ready to crush any new attack.
“Your Excellency, General Trax is on your com line.”
The Tyrant waved his hand at the officer in a gesture of disgust, but he moved to his chair nevertheless and strapped the headphones on. “Yes?”
“I saw the repulse of your attack. You must launch another immediately.”
The Tyrant frowned. The Omega general refused to call him ‘Your Excellency’ or Tyrant. It didn’t seem important in one way, at least not considering the crucial status of the operation. But on the other hand, it was pissing him off to no end. Twenty-five million people on Eldaron, and they all bowed down to him, spoke to him in only the most respectful and subservient tones. And then there was this upstart general, who somehow considered himself to be the Triumvirate’s senior official on Eldaron. It was intolerable.
“That’s out of the question, General.” The Tyrant was scared of Trax, but he put all his will power into trying to hide it. “My forces require considerable time to reform and resupply.” And with what we lost to the EMP bursts, I’m damned near out of supplies…
“The Eagles must be pinned down, at least. You face less than 600 enemy soldiers…and you have what, 10,000 or more along your lines, and in the city and the Citadel? You will attack now…and you will put more strength into it than you did last t
ime.”
The Tyrant felt the rage building inside him, and he saw images in his mind, that arrogant Omega general buried up to his neck as wild Eldari field boars stampeded over him. Or transfixed between two metal pillars, screaming as charge after increasing charge of electricity was pumped through his dying body. The Tyrant knew a hundred ways to punish those who failed to show him the loyalty and respect he demanded…and he’d used them all.
“I will see to it, General,” he said, disgusted with himself for yielding so meekly. But there was no arguing with the fact that Trax and his soldiers controlled his future. The Tyrant knew his forces could never defeat the Black Eagles, and if Trax’s men failed to do so, that would be the end. He shivered as he imagined what would happen to him at Darius Cain’s hands.
“Immediately!” The Omega general cut the line.
“Calman!” the Tyrant roared.
“Sir!” the senior general answered. It was obvious that he, too, was nervous…of defeat perhaps, but certainly of the Tyrant, who was clearly becoming less stable with each passing moment.
“You call Davidoff and tell him I want another attack launched within the hour. And if he values his neck, it will be a hell of a lot more aggressive and successful than that last pathetic display.”
“Yes, Excellency.” Calman’s tone was weak, defeated. It was clear he realized Davidoff had done the best job possible. But the Eldari forces were demoralized, and they had suffered enormous losses. There was still a critical shortage of weapons. If Davidoff ordered a larger attack, it was simple math to realize that half his soldiers would be advancing with clubs in their hands.
The Tyrant sat down hard in his chair and stared out over the command center. He’d been planning this operation for years…the great success that would propel him to the rule of a hundred worlds. But in all his imaginings, it had never been like this. He knew Trax’s forces were pushing the Eagles hard, using their numbers to keep Cain’s people under constant pressure. But seeing how the Eagles fought, he despaired of ever defeating them. He’d heard all the legends, of course, but now he truly understood. His soldiers were like children compared to these warriors…and if the battle was to be won, it would be Trax and his legions who claimed the victory.