by Jay Allan
“Sarah…” Cain was a stubborn man, one legendary for his ability to smash his head through a figurative wall. He knew he had no chance with this one though, but still, he had to try.
“Forget it, Erik. If you think I’m leaving you now, after everything we’ve been through, or for that matter, leaving the Corps behind to fight this battle without me, you’re crazier than I thought you were all this time we’ve been together.”
Cain felt the urge to argue further. He could order her to go, she was technically under his chain of command, but he didn’t have the slightest doubt that wouldn’t make a bit of difference, except that the response would likely be rather unmilitary, something like, “Eat shit, sir.”
He’d only gotten her to stay behind, out of a fight, once, and that had been during the Second Incursion. He’d had an argument on his side then he’d never possessed before or since. Their sons were still boys, and they’d needed her. But Darius and Elias were men in their thirties now, one a veteran of Atlantia’s patrol service, and the other the most feared mercenary in Occupied Space. The ‘stay behind for the children’ argument was a long expired one. Worse, she hadn’t seen him for seventeen years after the one time she’d let him go alone, which eliminated any infinitesimal chance he’d ever had of getting her to leave him behind again.
“I had to try. This is going to be bad, Sarah. Have you seen the scans? Augustus isn’t going to defeat that invasion fleet. Maybe if the Eagles and some of our other allies were here, but we got caught by surprise. I only hope he has the sense to break off and save what he can of the fleet.”
“We’ve been in bad spots before, Erik. We’ve made it through. I thought I’d lost you almost twenty years ago, but now you’re back to me. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”
“We could lose this time. I know we’ve dodged some tight spots before, but any streak has to end eventually.” He looked at her, the façade of the iron-willed Marine leader gone for a moment. He almost asked her again to leave, but something stopped him. He only wanted to save her, to know she was safe. But he owed her more than that. She was the love of his life, but she was no less a Marine than he, and she’d spent the last half century on battlefields, covered in blood, facing death again and again.
“If we lose, we lose,” she said, reaching out and taking his hand. “Our lives have been hard ones, Erik, but they’ve been amazing in ways. I wouldn’t trade a moment we’ve shared together for any other life. We’ve made a difference too. We’ve lost friends and comrades, but we’ve saved people too. Kept them safe, or as close to it as we could.” She paused. “We’re doing that again. There are worse ways to die, and far worse places to do it than at your side.”
He smiled at her, and leaned in, kissing her softly. “I won’t ask you to go again, not ever. I don’t care if we’ve got five minutes left, or fifty years, we’ll face it together.” He paused, and he looked down sadly. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I can’t imagine what those years were like for you.”
“For me? It kills me to think of what you went through.”
He paused another few seconds, then he looked back up at her. “That’s another thing we need to let go of. What happened, happened. I made it back, and that’s all that matters, and nothing I went through was too great a price to pay to survive, to see your face again.”
The two of them spent a few moments together, a brief respite, much as they had done all their lives. Then, with a final hug, Sarah went back to the hospital, to carry off whatever was portable enough to bring to the shelters. And Erik Cain went back to what he’d done his entire life, getting his Marines ready to make a last stand.
* * * * *
“Task Force C, get those ships around. Now!” Camille Harmon sat on the edge of her chair, right in the center of Monmouth’s cavernous flag bridge.
“Yes, Admiral.” Janie Rudolph was new to Harmon’s service, but the admiral liked the young officer immensely. A lieutenant was a woefully junior rank for the primary aide to a fleet admiral, especially one who was effectively second in command of the entire force, but Harmon had always gone with her gut, at least when deciding what she thought of people.
Harmon had come up in the Alliance service, alongside Garret and Terrence Compton. Compton had been gone—could it really be forty years now? She shared the loss Garret felt at the brutal way the war with the First Imperium had ended. She, too, had considered Compton a friend, but her loss cut even deeper in its own way. She’d been spared Garret’s fate of having to give the order…and to this day, she still wasn’t sure she could have, though she knew for certain it had been the only way to save humanity from total destruction. But she had paid a price in that fateful hour, one even closer and deeper than Garret’s. When the detonation was complete, she’d lost not just her friend, but also her son. Max Harmon had been Compton’s aide, and he’d been trapped on the other side of the Barrier with the rest of the admiral’s fleet.
She’d seen the scope of the forces that had been closing on Compton’s fleet, but for once she’d overruled her own usual cold reason and convinced herself there was at least a chance the trapped forces had managed to escape, that her son was lost to her, but still alive. Somewhere. There were days she saw the dream for the foolish nonsense she knew it was, and others when she was able to fool herself, and drive back at least a small bit of the pain.
“Admiral, Captain Yin advises that three of his ships have damage to their engines. He wants to know if you want him to maintain his formation or advance with what ships are able.”
“Tell him to advance…with everything he’s got. I don’t care if he has to get out and push those ships, but we need to bring pressure on the enemy flank, or Admiral Garret’s ships don’t stand a chance.” Technically, of course, they were all Garret’s ships, but as usual the great admiral had taken the most dangerous post for himself. His ships were holding a line, trying to dish out enough damage to keep the invaders back from Armstrong. Harmon’s gut told her it wasn’t going to work. She suspected Garret’s instincts, though whatever body part they manifested themselves, were telling him the same thing. But he had to try, just as she would have.
Monmouth shook hard, the third hit she’d taken since closing to energy weapons range. Harmon’s flagship’s lasers were firing too, and the marksmanship of her gunners left her no room for complaints. But even as she watched, math started to prevail. Her people had a higher hit rate, but there were too many guns firing back. One by one, her ships took damage, the strength of their batteries declining as turrets and reactors were hit. The enemy was losing ships, too, at least twice as many…but they had more to begin with.
She watched as her flanking ships continued on, accelerated as quickly as they could while still maintaining some level of functionality among the crew. She’d almost ordered them into the tanks, but then she’d decided they didn’t have time, and she wanted her people sharp, at their very best.
She wondered how long it had been since any of those ships had used their old acceleration-protection systems. The new dampeners were a lot more comfortable and convenient, and they left crews at their stations instead of half-crushed in the constricting tanks, drugged out of their minds, struggling to supplement AI control of the ship by hitting a switch or two before they became entirely incoherent. Still, the dampeners allowed extended thrust of 12g, perhaps 15g if the crew was veteran enough to take it. She’d blasted her ships at 35g, even 40g in some of her past battles, with her people sealed up in the tanks. But things had changed in more ways than one. Modern weapons were more powerful, and they placed a heavier burden on the reactors. It was a rare occurrence when a ship in combat had enough spare energy to blast engines at 30g while firing and, even then, it was somewhat of a gamble that the old systems had been maintained well enough for a captain to dare to dust off the tanks.
The flanking ships were coming into close range, and the enemy had detached a task force to intercept. She watched, waiting, hoping the tact
ic she’d used before would be a surprise to this new enemy. It certainly seemed the Black Flag ships had loosed all their missiles at long range. She had the damage to her ships and the gaps in her line to show for it. But she’d had her flanking vessels hold back their last two volleys, and any second now, they’d launch those nukes in sprint mode at point blank range.
The missiles would blast hard toward the nearest enemy ships, burning out their engines accelerating at 60g, 70g, or even higher thrust rates. They would rapidly close, leaving little or no time for countermeasures, and, with any luck, surprise the enemy enough to catch them napping.
Evasive maneuvers directed against energy weapons were far different than those used to dodge missiles. It only took a hundred or two hundred meters to slide a ship away from a targeted laser blast. But two hundred meters wouldn’t do much to prevent a five hundred megaton nuke from causing catastrophic damage. A direct hit would vaporize any vessel, of course, but a near miss, one under five hundred meters, would be nearly as devastating, even to the largest battleships.
She watched, feeling a rush of excitement as the first missiles launched. The last enemy she’d fought had been the First Imperium. The Second Incursion had been a costly victory, but now she felt something she hadn’t in thirty years. It was a manifestation of her rage, the hurt and pain of loss she felt. She’d sacrificed her husband to war, and years later her only child. That bitterness had grown, hardened, and though it didn’t make her proud, Camille Harmon realized she felt satisfaction that she faced living, breathing enemies again, that those who had attacked, made war to pursue their own greed and lust for power, would feel fear as her ships attacked, that they would see her missiles approaching, and they would know death had come for them.
She’d bought into concepts like honor once, adhered to things like rules of war, but no more. Never again. War had brought her pain, emptiness, loneliness, and anyone who forced it on her, and on her comrades deserved only death, as certain and brutal as she could deliver it.
“Missiles detonating, Admiral. They’re coming in all along the enemy line.”
Harmon didn’t need the report. Her eyes were fixed, unmoving, watching the readouts. A missile got within a kilometer of a large battleship, the thermonuclear fury blasting the vessel with massive amounts of radiation. Then another warhead, even closer this time, less than five hundred meters. That was almost a direct hit by the standards of space war, and she smiled as the targeted ship—a cruiser of some sort, she guessed—was obliterated. The frame was still there, some of it, at least, she suspected, but she’d be stunned if the damage reports showed any signs of life or energy readings when they finally came in.
Monmouth shook again, harder this time than before. She could hear rumbles from deep in the ship, subsidiary explosions and system blowouts. Her ship had done its part so far, but now the damage was beginning to show. She could feel the vibration from the engines, and she knew immediately, one of them was down. It wasn’t critical, she didn’t need the thrust now. But if it was heavy damage and not just some kind of overload, she was going to miss that thrust if the time came out to bug out.
When the time came. Part of her wanted to fight to the death, to stand and refuse to retreat, but she knew Garret commanded one of the two primary naval forces strong enough to defend Occupied Space, and as strong as the Eagles were, she doubted they could win this war alone. Augustus Garret didn’t have the luxury to court a heroic end, to die a dramatic death…not here, not now. He hadn’t said as much, but she knew the withdrawal orders would come, and she had only one thought on her mind.
Kill as many of these bastards as you can before then.
Chapter 14
“The Nest” – Black Eagles Base
Second Moon of Eos, Eta Cassiopeiae VII
Earthdate: 2321 AD (36 Years After the Fall)
Ships flew all around the great frozen gas giant and its two moons, dozens of heavily-armed vessels, making attack runs, fighting fast duels as they zipped past each other at high velocities and then decelerated to come back and continue the fight. And on the second moon, the small, airless ball that at first glance suggested nothing of importance, one of the most powerful military installations ever constructed spat out death unimaginable on the vessels that dared to attack it.
The Nest was strong, as Darius Cain had mandated it would be. Its power plants were vast, reactor after massive reactor buried deep in the hard stone of the moon’s crust. Its weapons were immense, hundreds of missile launchers with reload after reload, more missiles by far than any ship could carry, vast laser batteries, larger and more powerful than anything that could be mounted on a portable platform. And amid all this power and weaponry, all the death that could be dealt out by the most skilled and experienced military force in Occupied Space, the battle still raged.
The attackers had suffered losses, grievous losses, so many ships destroyed that even Darius Cain stared in wonder as they continued their relentless, bloodsoaked assaults. And in the nerve center of his fortress, he watched, as even his own nearly inexhaustible resources began to dwindle.
“We’re down to twenty percent on missiles, General.”
“Maintain fire at full.”
“Reactor Seven is down, sir, and Twelve is at twenty percent output.”
“Shut down all non-vital systems. Redirect power to the weapons. I don’t want one beam idle, Major, if it means we’re sitting here with candlelight. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir. Perfectly.”
Cain’s reputation was one of coldness, of an utterly unshakable firmness in battle, and he lived up to that standard, at least publicly. He owed that much to his Eagles, to be what they expected, what they needed him to be. But deep down, in the thoughts he kept tightly locked away, he began to doubt, to wonder if his forces would prevail. He’d worried about battles before, of course, but those concerns had always been about how many of his Eagles he would lose, how long it would take to defeat an enemy. This was the first time he’d watched his warriors fighting and wondered seriously if they might lose.
The enemy was capable, clearly well trained, and fearless. They weren’t a match for the Eagles, though. Not one on one, nor even two on one. But his forces were outnumbered nearly five to one. His people had faced those odds before, indeed, they’d defeated forces ten, even twenty times their size. But those had been raw, backward planetary armies, not well-trained adversaries armed with gleaming new ships, and technology that matched their own, perhaps even exceeded it in places.
One thing was clear enough. Tom Sparks had been right. There was no question in his mind the Black Flag ships incorporated First Imperium technology. The enemy’s x-ray lasers cut through the reinforced armor of his battleships, tearing through compartment after compartment, and gutting the great vessels he’d spent so much treasure to produce. But that wasn’t what hit him the hardest. His Eagles were dying, their losses far more severe than they’d been in any campaign since the earliest days of the private army. He knew his people were used to being the best, and now he began to wonder how they would react to a sustained, vicious, desperate fight after so many years of seemingly effortless victories.
He looked around the control center, a way of disguising his glance over at Ana, making it appear he was checking on everyone. She had done well, executed her duty as effectively as his most experienced comm officer could have done. But she was a distraction, and his concern for her chipped away at his icy demeanor in battle. There was nothing he could do about it, at least nothing short of having guards drag her away, and he wasn’t ready to do that. There was a very real possibility they would all die in the next few hours, and, as emotionless as he liked to think he was, he also knew he couldn’t stand the possibility of dying with her hating him.
“General, is there anything I can do?”
Darius turned and looked up at his brother. “No, Elias, not now.” He knew his twin had stayed away from places like the control center, his effort not to
spread confusion through the Nest. Elias’s hair was shorter, but now that he’d started wearing his colonel’s uniform, no different from Darius’s own general’s garb, save for the stars on the collar, it only made things more disconcerting for the Eagles, especially in battle.
“Stay,” Darius said, as his brother turned and started walking toward the lift. “Grab one of the extra workstations. You might as well watch the battle, see firsthand whether we win…or whether we die. I don’t think anybody will be rattled by your presence right now, not unless you wrestle me out of my chair and take my place.”
Elias nodded, and he walked over to an empty chair, sitting down.
Darius was glad his brother was there, in the control center. He hadn’t given up on the battle, not by a long shot. He still figured his people could win, would win. But he’d also considered the chance they wouldn’t, and if they were all going to die, he wanted Elias there, close by. He’d resented his brother for so long, but now all he had was regret for what the two had allowed to come between them. He was too realistic to think they could ever go back to the way things had been years before. There would always be some discomfort between them, and nearly twenty years of separation and anger could never be totally erased. But he was grateful for whatever peace the two had managed to make, and if they did die here, he was glad they would die friends again.
“General, Captain Grayson is on the comm.” Ana’s voice was remarkably calm, cool, though Darius knew she had to be terrified. It was that same strength that had caught his attention on Karelia, and it affected him no less now. “He thinks he has identified the enemy flagship, and he is requesting permission for Eagle Fourteen and Eagle Nine to break off and go after it.”
“On my comm, Cadet.” His eyes darted to the screen, focusing first on his two battleships…and then on the now flashing dot, the target they had identified.