The Grand Alliance

by Jay Allan

  He could hear reports snapping back and forth around the bridge, mostly damage assessments on the Hegemony battleships. From the sound of things, Stockton’s attack was going well. Two enemy ships had been destroyed outright, and the rest of the forward line was being torn apart hit by hit.

  But Barron couldn’t take his eyes off Hermes.

  He’d worried about Andi since the moment she’d left, tried to convince himself she would still be alive when the fleet arrived. His grim nature toward such things had clashed with his faith in the woman he loved, but it had been difficult to maintain any level of hope.

  Then, he’d seen Hermes on the scanner…and he realized she was still alive.

  At least for that moment.

  He watched as ship after ship moved in on Hermes, bracketing the vessel with fire. He held his breath, waiting, hoping to see the blip disappear again, for Andi’s crew—for Lex Righter—to get the stealth unit back online and for them all to escape, back into the nothingness.

  But the symbol stayed where it was, even as more and more vessels joined the attack. Barron could hardly draw a breath without physically forcing himself. He knew what he was watching, but somehow, he just couldn’t make himself believe it. It couldn’t be happening. Not this way. He hadn’t come all this way to find Hermes, to see the ship still there, intact, to discover Andi was still alive.

  Only to watch her die with his own eyes, helpless to do anything about it.

  He knew he had a fleet to command, thousands of spacers relying on him, the fate of an entire war and even the future of the Rim riding on it…but for those seconds, he was transfixed in absolute, uncontrollable horror.

  Then he saw the symbol, the icon that represented Hermes, vanish from the screen. For an instant, he told himself the ship had slipped back into stealth mode, but the energy scans coming in left no doubt.

  Hermes had been destroyed.

  Barron sat there, stone still for a moment, feeling as though the slightest movement would send the contents of his stomach spewing out onto the bridge floor. He could feel part of himself dying inside, the loss more than he could bear.

  It seemed impossible, more than he could bear…and yet he’d seen it with his own eyes. She was gone. Andi Lafarge was dead.

  The grief was almost unbearable, but he clamped down on it with an unrestrained ferocity. He had no time, none, for personal mourning. He was a Barron, and duty called. He had never failed it before, and he wouldn’t now.

  Forward…to victory.

  And to something else he needed, like oxygen itself, something he craved uncontrollably from the deepest, darkest part of his soul.

  Vengeance.

  Vengeance for Andi.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Outskirts of Troyus City

  Megara, Olyus III

  Year 320 AC

  The Battle of Megara – For the Confederation…for Admiral Barron

  The assault rifle felt good in his hands, and even under the shadow of deadly danger—if not certain death—Rogan was glad to be in action again, to be striking at something truly important, fighting a fight that really mattered.

  He fired a burst of three shots. His people were going all in on the series of attacks underway around the capital, putting everything they had left—in both materiel and spirit—but they were still low on ammunition, and he’d reminded his people, and himself, half a dozen times to take their shots carefully.

  The Kriegeri were not to be underestimated. Rogan had faced many enemies, Union Foudre Rouge, Alliance stormtroopers…but he’d never seen anything quite like the Hegemony’s deadly foot soldiers. Bred for combat, enhanced with implanted exos, they were like some kind of nightmare come alive.

  Marines didn’t easily admit they had met their match, and Rogan hadn’t quite gotten to the point where he could acknowledge the genetically selected soldiers were better than his people. But it had been a long time since he’d been able to convince himself they weren’t at least equals.

  Equals with unlimited ordnance, and massive reserves probably on the way…

  The Kriegeri were only one of Rogan’s enemies. Time was another. He was already past the scheduled transit time for the fleet…which meant, unless something had changed, Barron’s ships were already entering the system. Every minute the enemy command structure had to respond ate away at the effectiveness of the operation. Perhaps, even more important, was the certainly that overwhelming Kriegeri reserves could appear at any time…would appear.

  He glanced down at the chronometer. Eighteen minutes left. He was leading the main attack, and he was well behind schedule. The enemy forces at the comm center were stronger than he’d hoped they would be, and they were clearly from a crack unit. He’d envisioned taking the garrison by surprise and getting the munitions team to work almost immediately, but now he was still trying to get past the defensive perimeter.

  He’d lost at least twenty Marines in the fighting, and maybe more. The equipment remaining to the Marines was limited and badly battered, and effective battlefield comm exceeded Rogan’s resources. He was lucky to maintain contact with his individual platoon leaders, most of whom were close enough to their people to pass on orders by shouting out the commands.

  He could feel the taste of defeat growing, bitter in his mouth. Prentice and the others were hitting the backup stations and secondary targets…but none of it would mean a thing if the main facility remained operational.

  He’d tried to make a textbook assault, to leapfrog forward, keeping his people in cover as often as he could, but now he realized there was no room for caution anymore. His Marines would either take the comm center in the next ten minutes, fifteen max…or they never would.

  “All leaders, listen up…we’re running out of time. We’ve got to go in and take that damned thing, and we’ve got to do it now! Countdown from my mark…thirty seconds, and then we launch a full-frontal charge. Use your ammo however you need to. We either get in now, or we don’t, and there’s no reason to die with any rounds left.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Mark.”

  He popped out the almost spent clip in his weapon, feeling a tinge at wasting the five rounds that remained in the rifle’s magazine. But he pushed the thought aside. Halfway across the open field between his position and the building was not the place to stop and reload.

  Twenty seconds…

  He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he brushed his hands along his jacket, wiping the sweat from them. He’d been a Marine all his adult life, served in combat often…but he’d never felt death breathing on him as it was just then.

  Ten seconds…

  Images of that career passed through his thoughts, and they stopped on one time in particular, the years he’d spent commanding Dauntless’s—the original Dauntless’s—Marine contingent. Shipboard service was less prestigious than other commands, at least some said it was, and Rogan was glad for the experience he had leading forces in the field.

  But his happiest memories were of his time serving under then-captain Barron, a man he loved and respected. A man he would die for…and maybe in a very few moments.

  Time…

  “Let’s go,” he shouted into the comm, and then he dashed out from behind the wall he’d been using as cover, and he raced toward the comm center.

  For the Confederation…for Admiral Barron…

  * * *

  “Number One…and Number Eight…it is an honor to have you here…” The Hegemony officer was a Megaron, and a Master, unused to obsequious behavior…but standing before two of the ten highest rated humans in known space was a bit much for him to handle calmly.

  “Get to the point, Megaron.” Chronos was irritable. The reports coming in from the outer system were a shock, and despite the apparent transit of a considerable number of ships, he found it difficult to convince himself it was truly a full-scale attempt to liberate the system. Perhaps a diversion? For what? Where else could they look to hurt us?

  “The
lead division of battleships positioned within range of the jump point has…has been badly defeated, Commander. Half the vessels have been destroyed, and the others are attempting to disengage, but…”

  “But? If you stammer and stutter like a fool one more time, Megaron, I will see your next assignment is digging ore alongside the Defekts on Calor Inferni II.” Chronos’s conscious mind still hadn’t accepted that a pivotal battle had been thrust on him, that he’d been taken almost entirely by surprise…but the place in the back of his thoughts that fueled his anger seemed more convinced.

  “Yes, Commander. We are also receiving reports of enemy activity to the southeast of the city.”

  “Ground action?” Chronos scowled. He knew there were still some holdouts from the planetary defense forces, but they’d long been driven away from the city proper. And whatever was entering the system, they were a long way from landing ground forces.

  What could make them take this kind of risk? And, how could they have coordinated with whatever remnants of the defense forces were hiding somewhere?

  Suddenly, he understood. The unidentified ship that had managed to sneak all the way to Megara to deliver a—not yet decoded—message. The enemy fleet transiting into the system. Sudden action by the hidden partisan forces? All coordinated?

  “This is a full attack…”

  “Commander?” Chronos ignored the megaron.

  His eyes darted toward Akella, who’d remained silent, watching. She was brilliant, and as capable as anyone he’d ever known, but she lacked his military experience, and, for the moment, she appeared content to allow him to handle things.

  “Where are the ground actions, Megaron…exactly.” Chronos moved toward the large display in the center of the room. He moved his fingers over the controls, bringing up a map of Troyus City and its environs. “Show me.”

  The officer stepped forward and reached out, pointing to three different locations. “These are all we have verifications for, Commander…thought there are unconfirmed reports from several other locations.

  “Where?” Perhaps half a second later: “Well, man…move it. We don’t have time to waste.”

  “Here…and here.” The officer pointed to two more areas. “And, we just received a report from here as well.” His hand moved a few centimeters on the glowing flat screen.

  Chronos stared at the locations, poking at the controls, bringing up symbols of all vital facilities around the city. For a few seconds, his eyes darted around…and then he knew.

  “Communications…they’re after our ground to orbital comm.” He looked up. “Megaron, I want all garrison units activated at once. Dispatch assault teams to every threatened location…and send additional forces to surround the main comm center.” Chronos could hear the urgency in his own voice as he spoke, but it wasn’t close to what he was feeling inside. The enemy had sent a small ship, equipped with one of the confounded stealth units, to get a message to their remaining ground forces. And the threat they posed was very real.

  They told them when to hit our comm…and that means, this is a full-scale assault.

  “Go, Megaron…now! There is no time to waste.”

  The enemy’s gambit made sense. It was brilliant. The orbital stations were only partly rebuilt, and most crucial command functions remained on the ground.

  They want to cut us off…

  Chronos’s mind raced. That would create a massive disruption in the defensive efforts…but it wouldn’t last long. They have to realize we’d restore sporadic contact quickly, and close to full comm in half a day at most.

  They’re going to make the most of it…that means they’ll be coming on hard and fast.

  Chronos hadn’t expected any enemy attack on Megara, but he’d always assumed, if it came, it would be exceedingly complex, a carefully choreographed advance, making use of the enemy’s intimate knowledge of the system to provide cover for their ships.

  But, if they’re banking taking advantage of us losing our comm, they won’t waste that kind of time.

  A desperate frontal assault? Was it possible, with the enemy’s range disadvantage? They’ve always kept their heavy units back, tried to strike as often and as deeply as they could with their small strike craft.

  Our entire defense network was set up to meet just that kind of attack.

  Chronos could feel his tension growing. Had the enemy taken him completely by surprise? If the fleet was facing a direct attack, he had to revise the standing orders.

  He turned, looking across the room, his eyes focusing on a tall man in a crisp uniform. “Illius…” He gestured for the officer to come over to where he was standing. Illius was also a megaron, and a Master, but he was a far more competent officer than the one who’d just made the report. And, he needed someone he could trust to do what he had in mind.

  “Commander!” Illius stepped up and snapped to attention…and even as he did, a distant rumble echoed through the headquarters, followed by another.

  Then, two more…

  Chronos spun around, and he felt a sudden coldness inside.

  Was he too late?

  * * *

  “Move it…now. We’re out of time.” Bryan Rogan stood amid the wreckage in the main control room of the Hegemony communications center. The place was a wreck, littered with debris, spent ammunition…and the bodies of at least three dozen combatants, split pretty evenly between the two sides.

  “Ten more minutes, General.” The three Marines hunched over the explosives were working feverishly, their faces glistening with sweat. They were doing all they could, but Rogan knew it wasn’t enough.

  “We don’t have ten minutes, Lieutenant. I’m not even sure we’ve got five. Can you hear that?” He remained silent for a few seconds, listening to the sounds of gunfire…seeming to get closer with each passing instant. “You heard the explosions…we already missed the synchronization deadline. And, the enemy knows exactly what we’re trying to do. They’ll send every trooper they’ve got here…they probably already have.” Rogan had no idea how many of the people he’d set up to defend the perimeter remained, but his gut told him it wasn’t many. There were hundreds of Kriegeri moving on the comm center, maybe even thousands. It was over…or it would be in just a few minutes. All that remained was to see how it ended.

  “We’re working as quickly as possible, General. This is a chaotic mix of parts, sir…we’ll be lucky if we can get the whole thing to arm at once. We’ve got four different kinds of explosives in here.”

  “You’ve got two minutes, Lieutenant. Take any longer, and it won’t matter worth a damn.” Rogan wondered what to do if the setup wasn’t ready in time. Was there any way to detonate it all manually? He didn’t relish the thought of staying behind, blowing himself to bits along with the comm center, but he’d do it if he had to. He’d only be sacrificing whatever chance he had of escaping which, from the sounds of combat getting closer and closer, probably wasn’t all that much.

  He moved over to the door, holding his rifle up. There was fighting just outside the building, and if the Kriegeri got inside—when they got inside—he was the last line of defense. Him alone. He’d already sent everybody else down to bolster the defenses.

  He turned and looked back at the three Marines, and then down the steps leading to the entrance. The fighting was just beyond the barricade door at the bottom, but at least it was still outside and not in the building. That was a respite he knew wouldn’t last.

  “We’re ready, General.” The lieutenant was walking across the room, a small device in his hand.

  “The timer was shot…we couldn’t be sure it would work, so we rigged this detonator switch. I can blow the thing once we’re out of the building. The range is at least three hundred meters…which is still close, but if I can grab some kind of cover…”

  Rogan grabbed the remote. “Everything is set?” He looked down at the detonator. “Just press the button?”

  “Yes, sir…but…”

  “No ‘buts,’ Li
eutenant. Get your people and let’s get the hell out of here. He turned and waited at the top of the stairs until the others were right behind him. Then he ran down, stopping at the bottom and waving for the three Marines behind him to move toward the back of the building. He reached down and grabbed his comm unit, holding it up to his mouth.

  “All Marines…break off. Get the hell out, any way you can, and find someplace to hide. And fortune go with you all.”

  He clasped the comm back on his belt, and he followed the three Marines out through the rear exit of the building. The enemy had practically surrounded the facility, but the fire seemed lighter as he ran out into the open space beyond.

  He felt exposed, naked, with no place to hide from the fire—and, he realized almost immediately, no decent cover from the coming explosion either.

  At least not within two hundred meters, which was where he was going to trigger the bomb. The lieutenant had said three hundred, but Rogan wasn’t going to take any chances. A damaged battery, some kind of interference…a hundred things could go wrong, and shaving a hundred meters could only increase the chance of success.

  He raced across the field, his finger on the detonator, ready to press the button with his last breath if he got hit. But the bullets whipping by missing him, and a quick glance behind gave him an estimate of how far he’d come.

  Just about two hundred meters. He sucked down a deep breath, and then he pressed the button, crouching down and lunging forward as he did.

  There was a delay, barely an instant, and Rogan thought the bomb hadn’t worked.