by Jay Allan
“Yes, sir. I’ve got the First Battalion formed up now. Second should be out of their landers and ready to go in ten minutes.”
“Very well, Colonel. Send First Battalion out now, and then follow with Second when it is ready.” But I’m calling bullshit on the ten minutes. Fifteen maybe. We’re Black Eagles, but we’re not wizards.
Teller turned and stared back toward the primary LZ. He’d been worried that his landing craft would encounter defensive fire, which would have been a real problem since every Eagle combat vessel that would have normally covered an invasion was fighting right now around the Nest. But whatever was happening on Columbia wasn’t over yet, and no one had been defending the approaches to the planet. His people had bought a break there. Any hostile forces at play in the aftermath of the assassination attempt hadn’t gained control of the defense grid, and that meant whoever was making a play to overthrow Tyler would get the chance to face the Black Eagles on the ground.
You hope it was just an attempt, at least. Teller had tried every way he could think to gather some information on Tyler’s condition, but there was nothing. His supporters might try to hide the fact that he was dead until they could prepare to fight for control, but they could also have simply shut down all information flow, locked down the networks, and dug in to face whatever was coming.
Teller didn’t know who was down here, or how the sides broke down, but he was confident his people could handle things, unless they were massively outnumbered. Still, he was being cautious, meticulous. And, despite all his efforts at focus, a good chunk of his mind was still back at the Nest. He’d had no updates since the landing had commenced, and the last one he’d gotten before that had been decidedly inconclusive. The Eagles at the Nest were inflicting massive losses on the attackers, but they were outnumbered too, and the invading forces seemed utterly unconcerned about casualties. Teller wanted to fall back on his usual confidence, but the hard truth was, the vaunted mercenary army had far less experience fighting in space than it did on land.
“Colonel Teller, White Regiment is on the way in. Their lead elements will be on the ground in four minutes.”
Teller turned toward the aide. “Very well.” Then: “Any word from the Nest?”
“No, sir. Not yet.”
Teller heard the worry in the orderly’s voice too. Even the junior officers were thinking about their comrades. About their commander.
“I want Kuragina’s people headed out on the Reds’ left the instant they land. Cyn Kuragina was White Regiment’s commander, and there was no one short of Darius Cain himself who could whip a pair of reinforced battalions into shape faster than she could. Teller wasn’t worried about Cornin’s units, not really. He doubted there was anything on Columbia that could take out an Eagles regiment before he could get reinforcements in. But he didn’t know what was going on, and until he did, the only course of action was to get into the capital and find out what was happening with Jarrod Tyler. If Columbia’s dictator was still alive, the Eagles would make damned sure he stayed that way.
And if he wasn’t, they’d find whoever was responsible, and they would do what the Black Eagles did best.
* * * * *
The room was dark, blurry, nothing but blurry shapes in the distance. His head was fuzzy, his thoughts wandering, unfocused. Who am I? The question came abruptly, and for an instant, there was no answer. Then, it came. Jarrod Tyler. That is who I am. But why am I here? Where is this?
“What…” He started the question, but his throat was dry. No, more than dry, it was parched, aching. He tried to raise his hand, but all he managed was a fluttering of his fingers. That was enough. An orderly saw the movement, and in an instant the room was wild with activity, lights, machines making all sorts of sounds, people shouting to each other.
“General Tyler, can you hear me?”
The voice seemed far away, but Tyler could hear it, and it made sense to him. Yes, I am a general…the general. Suddenly it was all clear. Columbia, he was its head of state, the commander of its military. And he’d been attacked. Assassination! I have to get the guards in position. Somebody’s making a move…
“Alert,” he choked out of his sore throat. “Must activate…alert.”
“All forces are on alert, General. We’re secure here. There are loyal forces deployed in this section of the city.”
“Here…this section. What is…happening?”
“Sir, please…you just came out of surgery, and you need to rest.”
“Tell me!” he roared, wincing from the pain as he forced the words out. “What?”
“There was an attempt on your life, sir. The assassin is dead. So are three of his accomplices. The army has remained loyal, most of it, but there has been some sabotage. Your officers are having trouble getting units into the city.”
“Most…”
A pause. “Yes, General.” A different voice, familiar. “It’s Major Clark, General. The Ninth Brigade has mutinied, sir. It seems like a plot run by the top commanders…we’ve had reports of troops deserting, and others shot trying to escape.”
“One brigade…should…not…be difficult to…suppress.”
Another stretch of silence. “There has been considerable sabotage as well, sir. Key facilities, power stations, transport hubs. I’m afraid somebody planned this whole thing, sir. We’re fighting to hold them off, but they’ve got us disrupted something fierce. And now, we’ve got assault landers coming in. We’re having comm troubles, but I think they might be Eagles, General. They could be coming to our aid. I’ve ordered all forces to avoid engagement, not to fire unless fired upon.”
“Good, Major…” Tyler took a deep breath…and winced from the pain in his chest. “If the Eagles are here, they’re here to help us.” He was pretty sure of that, at least. Darius Cain was likely capable of anything, of course, but Tyler had always been an ally, and the leader of the Black Eagles had never turned on a friend, at least as far as he knew.
“The doctor’s right. You’ve really got to rest, sir.”
“Rest? With an attempted coup in progress?” Tyler leaned forward, trying to get up again. The pain lanced through his midsection, but he kept pushing, forcing himself to a sitting position. He paused and gasped for air.
“General, please. If you insist on trying to get out of this bed, at the very least, you’re going to end up back in surgery…and at worst in the ground.” The doctor stepped forward as he spoke, his eyes fixed on Tyler’s abdomen, where a circle of fresh blood had soaked through his hospital gown.
“General, listen to the doctor, please.” The major sounded tense, worried, his eyes darting back and forth from eye contact to Tyler’s reopened wound. “We’ll keep things under control, especially if the Eagles are out there. The main comm is degraded right now, but we’re trying to contact them. Once we link up, we should be able to secure everything vital in a matter of hours.”
Tyler looked up at his aide, and then at the doctor. He was a hard man, a stubborn one, who wasn’t prone to accepting anything less than the very best effort, from himself as well as anyone else. But he wasn’t a fool, and he knew if he got up, he’d make it about as far as the door, maybe, before he ended up on the floor. He sighed softly, wincing at the renewed pain in his gut.
“Go, Major. Confirm the Eagles are out there, and then come back and report to me on the current status.” His voice was more forced than it had been…his effort to sit up had really increased the pain.
“Yes, sir.” The officer saluted and then turned and walked out into the hall.
“You’re in more pain now, aren’t you?” The doctor had pulled up Tyler’s shirt, and he was adjusting the bandages. “You almost pulled out your sutures. You have to stay still, General, at least for a couple days. I couldn’t fuse the incision, not in this location. So, you’re going to have to heal the old-fashioned way. I need two days from you, with the regeneration compound I’m giving you, that’s what it will take before you can get up and walk…at
least a little. Now, by all rights, you should be in a box now. It was that close. So, listen to your doctor, and we’ll have you out of here and back to work in a couple days.”
Tyler looked up toward the doctor. Franks, the nametag read. The name was familiar, vaguely, the head of surgery at the capital’s main hospital. Of course, who else would operate on the dictator?
The man’s demeanor impressed Tyler. He wasn’t intimidated or afraid, even though his patient could order one of the guards at the door to shoot him where he stood, and that order would be obeyed without question. Tyler wasn’t that sort of ruler, of course. His only concerns were maintaining Columbia’s strength and defenses, and his brutality was reserved for those he considered traitors. Short of anything he considered too close to treason, the planet’s population enjoyed considerable freedom in their daily lives but, still, few of them had the courage to stand up to him the way his doctor just had.
Tyler never tried to hide his disgust for obsequious fools, those trying to curry favor with flattery and insincere expressions of loyalty. Conversely, he respected someone with the guts to stand up to him, and Dr. Franks made that grade.
Tyler leaned back, wincing again. “Alright, Doc, give me another shot of painkiller, and we’ve got a deal…nothing that will turn me into a zombie, just something to take the edge off.”
* * * * *
“Deploy into attack formations, now.” Antonia Camerici stood on top of a gentle rise, the closest thing to a vantage point the flat plains around Columbia’s capital offered. She’d been in combat before, many times, like most of the Eagles of her stature, but she’d never led so many soldiers into a fight. She’d been one of Darius Cain’s closest aides for several years, but even so, she’d been surprised when he’d handed her a small package with a rare smile. The box had contained her major’s insignia, and a small datachip, her formal appointment as commander of the newly formed Gray Regiment.
The Grays had a cadre of older veterans, but they also had a far higher proportion of new recruits, more than any other, save for the equally new Browns. But even Eagle recruits had a high level of training and skill, and if her people weren’t quite up to full standards—yet—she was sure they could handle anything they’d find on Columbia. Some of General Tyler’s troops were pretty good, she had to admit, but the best ones were also the most loyal, which put them on her side. Besides, it wasn’t in her Eagle DNA to acknowledge that anyone was a match for her people.
It was nothing but pure chance that had placed her regiment in the forefront of the action. It had taken a while, but Colonel Teller had finally managed to contact Tyler’s people. The general was alive, and likely to stay that way, at least as long as his people held the capital. And the biggest threat to that was a brigade under control of the conspirators, one that was fully armed and heading toward the city. Right in front of the Grays’ line of advance.
She watched as her people formed up, lines in extended order moving forward, other columns snaking north and south, extending the battlefront. She had to hit the enemy hard enough to tie them down, keep them from getting into the capital before the loyal Columbian units could reorganize and get into position.
The force in front of her outnumbered her regiment at least four to one, but that was never the kind of thing Eagles worried about. They were always better, and that had always been enough. It almost certainly would be here too. Less than a quarter of the Columbians wore powered armor, and none of them fielded anything that could match the Eagle’s Mark VIII suits.
The Mark VIIIs were a major leap forward in battlefield technology. Camerici winced, thinking about the agonies of suiting up, one of the few drawbacks of the new armor. The neural probe was a crucial part of the suit, and Tom Sparks and his engineers had been unable to make its insertion feel much like anything but getting stabbed in the back of the neck. Eagles prided themselves on being tough, and few complained. But, perhaps irrationally, she’d come to dread the suiting up process.
Once the armor was on, it was a dream. All the cumbersome controls had become needless, still there, but only as a backup system. Even the old verbally-activated AIs the Marines used seemed outdated now. With the neural probe inserted into her spine—ugh—all she had to do was think, the same way she would to move part of her body. If she wanted to pick up something that weighed a ton, all she did was pick it up. If she wanted to fire her grenade launcher, a single thought could do it. The whole thing had taken a bit of practice to get used to…after all, moving a strengthened leg was one thing, intuitive enough, but firing weapons that weren’t part of your original body was quite another.
She cranked up her visor’s amplification to power five. She had a view of the enemy now, at least of their left wing. The Columbians were clearly reacting to the threat she posed. The next few minutes would tell if they knew what was facing them. If they thought her people were Columbians, they would most likely put out a screening force and drive the rest of the brigade into the capital. Time was of the essence in a coup attempt, and the capital was the key to gaining control.
If they’d discovered that they faced Black Eagles, that would be a different matter. They’d either run or they’d throw everything they had at her. She had no idea which, and she decided she might as well flip a coin. She actually hoped they’d come at her full. No screening force would hold her people, of course, but that didn’t mean she could get through it before the main force got to the city. It wouldn’t take a military defeat for the mission to fail, just a single bullet in Jarrod Tyler’s head.
The Reds and the Blacks were marching toward the position as well, one regiment on each of her flanks. But there was no time to wait. She had to hit that brigade now, and she had to make damned sure that if they didn’t know who they were up against, they found out now.
“Forward units, attack!”
She reached to her side, pulling the assault rifle from its cradle. The hypervelocity weapon would rip right through the Columbian armor without much trouble, and it would turn an unarmored soldier into something resembling a pile of goo in a fraction of a second.
She walked down the hillside, heading toward her lines. She’d been Darius’s aide for a long time, but she hadn’t forgotten how Eagle commanders led their troops into the fight.
From the Goddamned front, that’s how…
Chapter 13
Marine Headquarters
Planet Armstrong, Gamma Pavonis III
Earthdate: 2321 AD (36 Years After the Fall)
“I want those supplies laid in now, every crate in these warehouses. I know space is tight down there, but if we end up stuck in these shelters, at least we won’t starve or run out of ammo.” Not right away, at least.
Cain was standing in a huge warehouse, one single room, now less than half full with neatly stacked containers. He’d been there all morning, and when he’d first arrived, it had been filled to the rafters.
“Yes, General. Whatever you say, sir. We’ll get it done.” The lieutenant on command of the work party was young, young enough that he’d done his basic training while Cain was a prisoner. He’d come of age on nothing but the general’s legends, told in those days as tales of a dead hero. And it showed.
“Relax, son,” Cain said softly. “The enemy damned well might bite you when they get here, but I won’t. Just do your best.”
“Yes, sir!”
Cain wasn’t sure if the Marine sounded a little less hysterical than he had earlier, or if he was just hearing what he wanted to hear, but he left it at that. You can look up at me all you want, kid, but if you saw the shithole I came from…
Cain knew the enemy was coming. The instant Garret had warned him, sent the communique, he knew the admiral was convinced he couldn’t defeat the invasion force. Augustus Garret was just about the most gifted naval commander who’d ever lived, at least in Cain’s estimation, and any doubt from him was to be taken seriously. Very seriously.
He would have organized the defense diff
erently years before. The Superpowers had fought brutal wars, but they’d largely heeded the prohibitions against massive nuclear bombardments for a century, right up until the Fall. And even Gavin Stark had wanted to rule humanity, not destroy it. But the First Imperium had taught Cain what war could truly be, not just danger, or the fight to preserve land, territory, freedom. No, more than that. It could be a very fight for survival, not only for the warriors who fought it, but for everyone.
He didn’t know enough about the Black Flag to make a final determination on their goals, but he was pretty sure they’d be willing to blast Armstrong to radioactive dust to take out the Marines, and he was damned sure going to be ready for it. The enemy might bombard the planet, destroy every manmade structure a century of human habitation had seen constructed, but he defied them to dig his people out of the shelters. They’d have to come down for that…and anybody who intended to fight their way through underground tunnels filled with Marines better bring their A game.
“You sent for me?” Sarah walked into the room, dressed as he’d seen her so many times, in her combat scrubs. There were no wounded yet, save for a few injuries from the work going on, but she was enough of a veteran to understand exactly what was coming.
“Yes.” Cain was in his usual battlefield persona, his face hard, almost like granite as he snapped out orders. But Sarah’s presence softened his gaze, as it had for so long. “We have some freighters in orbit. They’re no use to Garret, so we’re going to load up all the children among the civilians, and anyone else we can fit who is nonessential.”
“That’s great, Erik. I wish we could get all the civilians offworld.”
“I do, too.” He paused. “I was thinking you could take charge, see to medical care for them all on the voyage out of the system.” He knew the answer he would get, but he had to try anyway.
“Okay,” she said softly, though he didn’t take her mellow tone for lack of resolve, “we got that out of the way, so good. Now, can we move on?”