Crimson Worlds Successors: The Complete Trilogy

by Jay Allan

  No, that just doesn’t make sense…

  “General…” It was Ana.

  “Yes, Cadet?”

  “I’m picking up residual transmissions from Columbia, sir. There’s something going on down there.”

  Darius snapped his head around. “Colonel, are there any enemy contacts deeper in-system?”

  “Negative, sir.”

  “No, Colonel,” Ana said. “It’s something happening on the surface. I have the AI sifting through media transmissions. There seems to be some kind of lockdown in place. I can’t tell…”

  Darius stared across the control room. He was looking at his lover, but all he saw now was his communications officer.

  Then, she turned back toward him. “Sir…General Tyler has been shot.”

  Shot? An assassination attempt? “Any word on his condition?”

  “It seems his is still alive, Colonel. I can’t find any mention of his condition, but I did get a report of emergency surgery. It appears a full media blackout is in effect planetwide.”

  Darius sat silently for a moment, his eyes darting every few seconds to check on the status of the fighting around the Nest. His fleet’s missiles were beginning to detonate, and an enemy vessel blinked off the screen, bracketed between three warheads that detonated simultaneously all from less than a kilometer away. He was distracted now by Tyler’s situation, but he felt a wave of excitement. The AI network directing the operation of his missiles was one of Spark’s newest developments, one designed to maximize the timing and location of missile detonations. There was far from anything conclusive to draw yet, but so far, the effectiveness of his missile barrage appeared to be devastating.

  He shifted his thoughts back to Columbia. This is bad, whatever is happening down there…

  “Colonel Teller, I want the troop transports to blast toward Columbia at full thrust, and land as soon as possible. Full invasion protocols. They are to broadcast their IDs and attempt to avoid conflict with the Columbian forces, but they are to occupy the Prime list of objectives, using whatever means are necessary.” The Eagles had a Prime list for every world in Occupied Space, a roadmap for invasion and assumption of planetary control, media facilities, vital utilities, military installations, data centers.

  “Yes, General.”

  “And Colonel…I want you to go. Get down to the bay and take command of the operation.”

  “Sir…”

  “Do it, Erik. It’s a difficult situation, and we don’t have enough data. One of us has to be there…and if things go badly here, at least you’ll be in a position to reorganize, and keep up the fight.” Darius knew a dictatorship was never more vulnerable than it was when the strongman was incapacitated. If there were Black Flag plants down there—and there almost certainly were—now was the time they would make their move. Even domestic rivals could make their plays to overthrow Tyler while he was unable to respond effectively.

  Teller looked like he was going to argue with his friend, but then it seemed the futility of it overcame him. “Yes, sir.” An instant later: “Good luck, Darius.”

  “And you, my friend. Now go.” He looked across the control room. He’d almost told Ana to go along too. Columbia wasn’t exactly safe right now, but it was probably more so than the Nest. He hated the idea of her being in danger, but he knew she would only argue with him, and that no matter how much he insisted, she would refuse to go. He didn’t have time for that now, and it was a display his Eagles didn’t need to see.

  He turned, taking a brief look at her, just the back of her hair. He tried to keep the dark images from his mind, scenes of her lying in the twisted wreckage of the Nest, gasping for breath as the air hissed out the holed out hull, her body broken and bloody and dead.

  He forced himself back to focus, and he watched as the rest of his missiles impacted. His people had taken out more than a dozen enemy ships, including three of the massive battleships. It was a good result, better than he’d dared to hope for.

  But now he sat, his eyes locked on the scanners as the enemy missiles moved toward his fleet, slipping into the Nest’s defensive envelope. His batteries opened up, dozens of missiles vanishing as the AI-controlled lasers flashed again and again. But there were a lot of warheads coming in, and they were getting closer to his own ships.

  Chapter 11

  Marine Headquarters

  Planet Armstrong, Gamma Pavonis III

  Earthdate: 2321 AD (36 Years After the Fall)

  “You’ve done an incredible job here, Cate…and I mean more than just this recent mobilization. I remember how bad things were before the Second Incursion, and my life hasn’t taught me to expect anything but a return to complacency once the threat was gone.”

  “It was hard, Erik. The funding drying up was bad enough, but we managed to replace some of that, at least. We opened up the hospital to non-military use, converted some of the arms to high tech products for export. We couldn’t support a large active-duty Corps, but we managed to keep it alive, and the best fighting force in Occupied Space, at least until Darius started the Eagles.”

  Cain just nodded.

  The two were walking across the drilling fields. Cain remembered a day when the great parade grounds were full of recruits, thousands and thousands of new trainees marching back and forth under Armstrong’s great yellow sun. That had been the apogee for the Corps, the years right after the move from Earth. It had been a short peak, one shattered by the arrival of the First Imperium, and right after that, Gavin Stark and his Shadow Legions. Cain had once started to try to calculate the percentage of those Marines in his mental images who had survived, the veterans of the Third Frontier War and the recruits from the years just after…and worse, his mates from Camp Puller back on Earth. He’d known the result would be grim, but then he realized it was worse than he’d thought, and he’d abandoned the effort, having decided he didn’t want to know the answer.

  “So, we’ve got twenty-one thousand total combat strength?” Cain phrased it as a question, but he already knew the answer.

  “Twenty thousand, nine hundred, sixty-four. Counting the two of us.” Gilson paused. “Less than four thousand of what either of us would call veterans, and maybe another twenty-five hundred trained to anything close to the old standards. The rest were rushed through. We tried to pick the best of the volunteers, and I think we managed to do a pretty good job with that, but they’re not going to equal the forces you and I led forty years ago. Not even close.”

  “Marines always get the job done. We’ve believed that for a long time, Cate. I don’t want to stop now, do you?”

  She shook her head.

  “So, we’ll need a little more faith in this one, but we’re not losing this war. I didn’t come back from fifteen years in that stinking pit to lose my last war.”

  “I’m with you, Erik. Elias Holm always wanted us to command together. I know two chefs in the kitchen is usually trouble, but I think we can make it work, don’t you?”

  “I do, Cate. We worked that youthful pride nonsense out decades ago. We’re just two old warriors, heading into the field one more time. And I wouldn’t do it any other way than at your side.”

  As soon as Cain finished his sentence, the alarms all around the parade ground went off, and a second after that, both their comm units buzzed.

  “What is it,” Cain replied, managing to get his unit off his belt an instant faster than Gilson.

  “We’ve got unidentified ships inbound, sir.” A pause. “A lot of ships.”

  Cain felt his stomach tense. He’d known for two years war was coming, but now, it seemed, it was here. That wasn’t confirmed, not officially. At least theoretically, there were other possible reasons why unidentified ships would be pouring into the system, but he didn’t let any of that nonsense work its way into his head. The enemy had seized the initiative. He’d played his cards as though he would be dispatching Marines to worlds that were attacked all across Occupied Space, but now he saw the enemy’s strategy. He
felt like a damned fool. He’d never even imagined a surprise attack against Armstrong. Against the Marines’ home base.

  His mind was locked in the past, when the planet had been surrounded by layers of Alliance colonies, systems any invader would have to take before they could reach Armstrong. Now, Occupied Space was fragmented, and half its worlds had already yielded. It seemed so obvious now, but the vulnerability hadn’t occurred to him before, and from the look on Gilson’s face, to her either.

  “Let’s go, Cate. We’ve got to get Augustus on the comm.” Garret’s fleet was stationed in orbit, ready for battle. Neither the admiral, nor Cain or Gilson, had expected a strike at the very heart of the Marines’ domain, but none of that mattered now. The enemy may have hit sooner than expected, but they would still have one hell of a fight here. “And let’s get the Marines ready, assuming they get through and start landing troops.

  Yes, sir…one hell of a fight.

  * * * * *

  Augustus Garret sat on Bunker Hill’s bridge. The battleship was one of the old Alliance Yorktowns, with fifty years of hard service in her metal bones, but she was still one of the strongest ships in Occupied space, save perhaps for the awesome implements of destruction Darius Cain had built for himself. And, of course, whatever the enemy might have advancing toward the planet.

  Garret was old. His health was still good, more or less, and thanks to the rejuv treatments, he was up and walking—and serving—at an age when most men who’d lived were a generation dead. But he was old nevertheless, and he could feel the spirit that had driven him, the raw power he had turned into so many victories, slipping away.

  He’d almost refused the command, stepped aside to let a younger officer take his place. But the situation was desperate, and what remained of the friends he’d fought alongside for so many years had all committed to this last battle. Perhaps age and experience still had a trick to two it could pull on youth and exuberance. He had one more victory in him, he figured. A final curtain call for humanity’s most famous admiral. And then he would follow and old soldier’s creed. He would fade away.

  “All ships, prepare for forward thrust.”

  “Yes, Admiral.” A few seconds later. “All ships report ready to engage engines at your command.” Ronald Starn was young to be a full commander, but Garret had seen the young officer in action, and he’d granted the promotion on the spot, along with an offer to serve as his aide and tactical officer. Starn had seemed stunned, and it had taken him a moment to force a breathless acceptance from his parched and frozen throat.

  Garret had become accustomed to near-adoration among the younger officers. He knew his career had reached legendary status, and he appreciated the respect for what he had achieved. But the great victories that had saved mankind had not been the work of one admiral, nor even that of a conclave of naval commanders and Marine generals. It had been the work of thousands and thousands of men and women, a vast number of whom gave all they had for those triumphs. The tendency people had to accrue credit, and the acclaim that went with it, to a few visible figures at the expense of so many others, made him uncomfortable, and he long ago reached the point where even the most basic praise galled at him in some way.

  “Give the order, Commander. The fleet will accelerate at 3g.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Garret leaned back, a reflex action he still hadn’t shaken. The force dampeners were far from perfect, but they could handle 3g without any noticeable effect. The devices hadn’t existed in the days of the Frontier Wars and the struggles that followed those conflicts. It was another bit of technology owed to the First Imperium, something researchers had managed to translate from the often-indecipherable science of the vastly more advanced power.

  He turned and stared at the display. The fleet he commanded was large, and by the standards of the day, immense, but in many ways, it was a shadow of the great forces he’d led so many years before. Mankind simply did not have the resources it had once possessed. The scattered colonies across Occupied Space could grow and evolve into heavily populated worlds with highly developed industry and science, but they would need a respite from external threats to do that.

  And they also need to stop fighting with each other. That’s always been our problem, hasn’t it?

  None of that mattered now. He had what he had, and whatever dreams he might harbor for a peaceful future, that time was most definitely not now.

  “Enemy lead elements are passing the orbit of planet six, sir.”

  “Very well. Drop fleet thrust to 2.5g. We don’t want to push too far out from Armstrong, just enough to protect the planet from collateral damage.” For what good that will do. If we’re defeated, or even driven back, the enemy can hit Armstrong with whatever they choose.

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  “And all ships, arm missiles. We’re going to flush our external racks, and then we’re going to launch every internal warhead we’ve got.” Garret didn’t have much intel on the enemy ships, but he was starting to get mass readings, and he didn’t like what he was seeing. There were at least a dozen vessels out there that had sixty thousand tons or more on Bunker Hill, and four that were really big. He’d never seen anything quite like those behemoths. The great battleships—and what else could they be?—were larger than the Eagles’ dreadnoughts, even than Mars’s huge pair of superbattleships. He had no idea what firepower something like that carried, but he suspected he’d find out soon.

  “All ships report missiles ready to fire, sir.”

  Garret watched the range count down, the two masses of small icons on the display moving closer and closer. He’d held back his fighter squadrons, planning to save them for a launch just before the fleets entered close weapons range, but now he reconsidered. If that fleet launched as many missiles as the combined mass of its ships suggested, it could overwhelm his point defense network. He knew he’d lose ships to the missile attack, just as his would inflict losses on the enemy. But now he could see his entire fleet blasted to wreckage before a fighter launched or laser fired. He had no choice.

  “Commander, I want all ships to reconfigure half their fighters for anti-missile operations.” He glanced at the chronometer, and then back at the range display. He was late with his order, and the time was tight. But his people could do it. Just.

  “Yes, sir.” Starn’s tone suggested his aide had come to much the same set of conclusions.

  “And get me General Cain on Armstrong, Commander.” Garret had planned to try to hold the enemy back from the planet, but as he looked out at the strength facing him, he knew that was impossible. The attackers had the numbers to tie all his ships down and still send a considerable force at Armstrong. The people down there had to be ready. For anything. An invasion…even a nuclear barrage.

  “General Cain on your line, sir.”

  “Erik, we’ve got a major attack coming in. I’m going to have to fight a hit and run battle up here, use whatever maneuverability I can.” A pause. “That means the enemy’s going to get ships through to Armstrong, and there’s no way I can stop them. You better get your people down there ready…for the worst.”

  Garret waited while the signal traveled back to Armstrong at the speed of light, and Cain’s reply returned. While he sat, he took a deep breath, trying to push away the thought that he’d already failed his allies before he’d so much as fired a shot.

  “I appreciate the heads up, Admiral.” Cain’s voice came through the comm about two minutes later. “I figured about as much. It’s pretty clear whoever the Black Flag is, they have enormous resources. The raiders we’ve seen the last two years are only the tip of the iceberg.” Cain paused, for so long Garret thought the transmission was over and he leaned forward to send his own response. But then the Marine’s voice blared through again. “Admiral, this war isn’t going to be won here. All we can do now is survive. If things go badly…” Another pause. “We can’t lose the whole fleet here, Augustus, no matter what. You have to retreat before that ha
ppens. If you can’t save Armstrong, go. Retreat. Get to the Nest and hook up with Darius and the Eagles. We’ve got shelters down here. They’ll never bombard us off this planet, and if they come down…well, that’s what Marines are made for.”

  “Erik,” Garret said, but then he stopped. He’d been ready to argue, but he knew Cain was right. They were allies, friends, they shared a respect that ran deep and strong. But they’d both sacrificed comrades before when duty had demanded it. Garret’s mind flashed back forty years, to the final struggle against the First Imperium invaders. He’d detonated an apocalyptic explosive that day, cutting off the sole warp gate leading to First Imperium space…and trapping his oldest and best friend on the other side, surrounded by enemy fleets. Terrance Compton had been closer than a brother, and the wound he’d cut into his soul that day had never healed. But he’d done what duty commanded, as he would here.

  “We’ll do what we can up here, Erik. We’ll try to push them back, keep them from getting too much through to the planet.” He hesitated, finally pushing himself to finish. “And if we have to pull out, we’ll be back.” He felt the emptiness of his words, even as he cut the line, but he’d had to say them. And, for whatever it was worth, however hard it would be to follow through, however little chance there was Cain and the Marines could hold out long enough, he had meant them.

  “Admiral, anti-missile squadrons are ready to launch.”

  Garret stared at the display, silent for perhaps twenty seconds. Then he turned toward Starn and said a single word.

  “Launch.”

  Chapter 12

  Blacksand Plain

  Columbia, Eta Cassiopeiae II

  Earthdate: 2321 AD (36 Years After the Fall)

  “Colonel Cornin, I want your Reds on the move, now!” Erik Teller stood on the black dust of the volcanic plain, thirty kilometers from Columbia’s capital city, watching armored Eagles pour out of the assault shuttles.