by Jay Allan
“Thank you Admiral Harmon.” Gilson rose, nodding back to her naval counterpart then turning her gaze to Harmon’s stunned officers. “You all heard the admiral.” Gilson’s voice was like the sound of a blade drawing from its sheath. The naval officers jumped to their feet and hurried to the door. Admiral Harmon was hard enough for them to take, but Catherine Gilson had been terrifying Marines with her legendary temper for decades now. The two iron-fisted officers together were too much for the naval personnel to handle, and they scuttled quickly into the corridor, grateful to flee back to their stations and the 24-hour shift that almost certainly awaited them.
“I’ll be on the bridge if you need anything, General Gilson.” Harmon turned and followed her people into the hallway. Gilson caught a glimpse of the admiral’s face as she turned, and she could have sworn there was a tiny hint of amusement there. She hoped so. She knew Harmon couldn’t keep going the way she had been forever…not without losing her mind. The two of them had long been friends, and now they shared something else. They were bringing back the remaining units that had been left on station at Sigma-4…and that meant they commanded the last significant uncommitted naval and ground forces the Alliance possessed.
She turned back, facing the rest of the Marine commanders present as she spoke. “We don’t know where or when we’re going to land, but you can be damned sure we’ll be doing it somewhere…and it’s probably going to be a fucking disaster.” Gilson had a reputation for unfiltered speech, one she had more than earned over years of command. She stared at her officers as she spoke. “I know your people are all tired and strung out from the campaign, but our comrades were just as exhausted when they shipped out…and now they’ve been in the new fight for months. So that makes us the fresh reserves.”
She paused, trying to get a read on morale. She didn’t expect them to be straining at the leash for more action, not after all they’d been through. Like many senior officers, she tended to believe Marines could do anything if pushed hard enough. But she also knew the Marine Corps that fought and won the Third Frontier War was almost gone, its elite warriors sacrificed in one brutal fight after another. The grim veterans out there fighting somewhere under Cain and Holm were the last of that victorious stalk. Them…and the 7,000 men and women on her transports.
The faces staring back at her were grim, lifeless. These were some of the most seasoned warriors ever to walk a battlefield, but even Marines had their breaking point. They would fight, she knew that…especially to rally to the aid of their brothers and sisters. But she needed that fire, that indomitable spirit that had led them to victory again and again over the years. And she was afraid that spark was almost extinguished, doused by seas of blood. Training, tradition, élan…they were powerful forces. But in the end, men and women were just that, and the last measure of devotion had to come from within, from the stuff that made them who they were. She needed to find that place in each of her people.
“Look,” she said, her voice softening a bit. “We don’t know what’s waiting out there. We’ll be outnumbered, for sure…probably substantially. We’re worn out, used up, under-supplied. By every reasonable measure, we have no place going into another battle.” She paused, her eyes darting from one officer to another. “No place save one. There are Marines already in the fight. Our brothers and sisters who faced the soldiers of the First Imperium at our sides.” She stared at each of her subordinates in turn, starting with Colonel Heath. “They are dying, Rod. You know that, just as I do.” Heath struggled to keep his eyes locked on Gilson’s, her brutal intensity almost overwhelming.
She turned her head slightly. “Our friends, Jack.” Her eyes bored into Colonel Mantooth’s. “Our comrades. Erik Cain is in the fight as we speak. And General Holm. And all their Marines. They are in the shit right now…while we sit here and talk and moan about how hard the fight on Sigma was.” She looked up at all of them. “Are we finished? Used up? Too beaten down to rally to our brothers and sisters?” Her eyes blazed as she stared at each of them in turn. “Do we abandon them?”
“No!” Mantooth shouted first, followed by the others an instant later. “Never!”
She slammed her hand down on the table with such force everyone jumped. “Then don’t just say it. Mean it!” She picked up a ‘pad and hurled it at the wall. It exploded into a thousand pieces, shards of shattered plastic landing all over the table. The softer, gentler voice was gone, replaced by a thundering crescendo. “Quit this whining and mooning around. You’re fucking Marines, God damn it to hell. Act like it!”
The room was silent, the officers stunned by her outburst. “Are you ready to do your fucking jobs now?” Her glare was unrelenting, boring into each of them as her scowling face panned across the table. Her voice became quieter, but no less cold and menacing. “Are you ready to stop acting like a bunch of pussies and do what has to be done?”
The stunned heads around the table all nodded slowly.
“Did you all forget how to answer a superior officer?” Her tone was caustic. “I repeat…are you ready to do your motherfucking jobs?”
“Yes, General.” The response was crisp and clear this time, in almost perfect unison.
“Good.” Gilson’s voice was back to its normal, only moderately hostile, tone. “I want all your people ready to go on 48 hours’ notice. I mean pre-drop intravenous protocols, full equipment diagnostics. The works.” She stood at the head of the table, looking down at them all. “Understood?”
“Yes, General.”
“Very well.” She crossed her arms behind her back. “You all have a lot of work to do, so I suggest we don’t waste any time. Dismissed.”
She watched them all snap to attention and file out of the room. Finally, the door swished shut behind them and she flopped down into her chair and sighed. They’re still more scared of me than whatever is waiting for us, she thought. But who, she wondered sadly, will keep me going?
“As far as I see it, we have two possible destinations.” Admiral Harmon sat behind her desk, a large ‘pad laying in front of her. She looked exhausted, her eyes red, her face pale. “Armstrong or Arcadia.” Gilson could tell she’d lost weight, a good 3 or 4 kilos, she guessed.
Gilson sighed. “The usual suspects. I could have guessed.” She was sitting in one of the guest chairs opposite Harmon. “What about Columbia?”
“I’ve managed to get our data more or less up to date from the Sandoval Commnet station.” Harmon’s voice was hoarse. Gilson could practically feel her comrade’s fatigue. “We’ve been able to confirm that Columbia was hit by 15,000-20,000 powered infantry.” She paused. “And no help seems to have reached the planet…certainly no Marines.”
Gilson nodded sadly. She knew Columbia had the best of the native armies, but there was no way they’d beaten off that many troops armed and equipped to Marine standards. Not without some help from outside. The planet must have fallen by now.
“General Cain led the expeditionary force to Armstrong,” Harmon continued. They’ve been engaged now for several months. The most recent communique suggests that they’ve fought the enemy to a stalemate.” She glanced down at the ‘pad. “That data’s about two weeks old now.”
“At least they have Commnet access. The enemy must have destroyed the stations when they invaded. Has the system been relieved?”
Harmon shook her head. “Not really. Apparently, Admiral Jacobs escorted a medical team to Armstrong before he joined up with Garret’s main fleet. The enemy task force had withdrawn, so Jacobs wiped their satcom and dropped a new one for Cain’s people. It seems he also put the system’s Commnet back online.
“So, Cain has Armstrong under control?”
Harmon handed her the ‘pad. “In a manner of speaking. At least as of two weeks ago.” Her voice was somber. “But his losses were off the charts. I don’t know if he’s got the manpower to win in the end, but it doesn’t look like the enemy has the strength to destroy him either.”
Gilson’s eyes widened whe
n she focused on the casualty figures. Cain’s army managed to hold out, but it had just about destroyed itself in the process. She was about to look back at Harmon when something caught her eye. “General McDaniels was killed.” She pursed her lips sadly, looking down at Harmon’s desk for a few seconds.
“Yes, I saw that. I wasn’t sure if I should tell you.”
“We’d have never won…survived…the First Imperium War without her. What she did with those Obliterator suits was nothing short of amazing.” She sat quietly, dry-eyed but somber. Gilson was an expert at holding back tears, the inevitable result of a lifetime spend mourning dead friends. Her thoughts drifted, memories of McDaniels floating through her mind. The two had become close during the war. She wasn’t the first friend Gilson had lost…and it didn’t seem likely she’d be the last. But they all hurt.
“Cate…” Harmon spoke softly, her voice soothing. “I’m sorry. I know she was your friend.”
Gilson’s eyes caught Harmon’s, and suddenly she got a grip on herself. She felt a flash of shame for allowing Harmon to comfort her. Camille Harmon was the last person in the fleet she should be burdening with her own grief. “Thank you, Camille.” She sucked in a deep breath and pulled her thoughts back to the matters at hand. “I’m OK. Let’s get back to work.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” Gilson’s voice was firm again. “Definitely.” She glanced back down at the ‘pad. “So, Cain’s in a precarious position, but he’s holding at the moment.”
“That’s how I read it.” Harmon nodded. “Look, Cate, it doesn’t look like we’re going right into a fleet action, so this is going to be your call. I’m prepared to defer to your judgment on where to assault.”
“But you think we should go to Arcadia, don’t you?” Gilson was paging through the stats on the ‘pad.
“Yes.”
“Well, Cain’s certainly got a bigger army…though it looks like he’s facing stronger enemy forces too.” Her eyes scanned the glowing surface of the ‘pad. “But I’m inclined to agree with you. General Holm is on Arcadia with Jim Teller’s force and a bunch of vets from the Second Frontier War.” My God, she thought, how did we get so desperate? The Commandant of the Corps leading a bunch of 80-something retirees into battle? How did it come to this?
“So we’re agreed? We set course for Arcadia?”
Gilson paused. “Yes, we agree.” She took a long, deep breath. “And the sooner we get there, the better.”
Harmon nodded and activated her com. “Commander Ronson…” – her voice was firm and commanding, no trace of the warmth she’d shown Gilson – “…plot a course for Wolf 359, and advise the fleet we’ll be embarking in two hours.” That was a very tight schedule, but she suspected they didn’t have time to waste if they were going to save Holm and his people. “And make sure everything is strapped down. We’re going to be spending a lot of time in the couches.”
That won’t be popular, she thought. But the one thing she was absolutely sure of was she didn’t give a damn.
Chapter 5
MCS John Carter
Mars Orbit
Sol System
Roderick Vance sat in the large conference room just off John Carter’s bridge. He was exhausted, his face drawn and pale. His arms were extended out in front of him, resting on the silvery metal table. Things on Earth were rapidly spiraling out of control, despite his around the clock efforts to prevent all-out war. He’d been optimistic at first, confident he could act as an intermediary between the Powers, resolving their disputes or at least keeping things from going over the brink. But that was before Gavin Stark destroyed the Alliance Intelligence building and framed the CAC for the deed, throwing fuel on a barely-controlled fire. Vance had managed to mediate and prevent immediate declarations of war, but just barely.
The increased tension made it essential for the CAC to lay low…and that wrecked the plan for Li An to destroy Gavin Stark’s clone production facility in South Dakota. Another attack blamed on the CAC would almost certainly lead to open war, regardless of Vance’s best diplomatic efforts. Grudgingly, he agreed to do the deed with Confederation forces. He knew it would gut his ability to mediate as a neutral power, but leaving Stark’s main base intact was unthinkable. Given time, the Alliance Intelligence mastermind would move the production facilities…and the million trained clone-soldiers already there, ready for action. Vance simply couldn’t allow that. As bad as the situation was between the Powers, in the final calculus, Gavin Stark was the biggest threat. Vance was sure of that.
Now John Carter had returned, and the diplomatic communiques were ripping back and forth. Vance’s ambassadors had managed to forestall the Alliance from declaring war against the Confederation immediately. He flooded Alliance Gov with evidence about Gavin Stark’s plot…and the impending economic catastrophe about to result from it. It would take time to assimilate and grasp the true meaning of the documents he provided – and Alliance Gov would be slow to trust his data – but Vance was sure the authorities in Washbalt would eventually comprehend and accept what he had done. Once they calmly reviewed and understood the depth of Stark’s activities they would accept what the Martians had done and acknowledge that there was no hostile intent toward the Alliance. But calm consideration was in very short supply now, and Vance had no idea how long reasoned analysis would take. The Alliance had been the subject of two nuclear attacks in less than three weeks. The century-old peace on Earth had been shattered, and they had been the targets of both incidents. Thousands of Alliance citizens were dead, and hundreds of thousands had been affected by the massive fallout clouds from the Dakota blasts. Vance wondered if anyone in their position would be more receptive to explanations. He wondered if he would.
Vance suspected the hesitancy to declare war on Mars had as much to do with the Confederation’s current naval superiority in the solar system as it did with any real patience or forbearance. The facts were stark…the Alliance had no way of projecting force to Mars, not without recalling the fleet. The Confederation had no possessions on Earth, nothing substantive the Alliance could reach without naval power. The Alliance could declare war, but that’s about all they could do. Wiser heads had prevailed, even if driven only by weakness, but Vance didn’t know how long that would last.
He’d have preferred a real diplomatic connection instead of just the fruits of temporary tactical superiority, but he was willing to take what he could get for now. He was playing for time…if he could keep things from going entirely to hell, the Alliance leaders would realize what had truly happened. Maybe, just maybe, things would cool off then.
The door slid open and interrupted Vance’s meditation. Duncan Campbell walked through holding a ‘pad in his hand. He didn’t look happy.
“More bad news?” Vance looked up, forcing back a sigh as he saw Campbell’s expression.
“You could say that.” John Carter’s captain stopped at the head of the table and stared at Vance. “We just got a communique from Earth, sir. The Washbalt Stock Exchange is down 73%.” He seemed stunned at the news, a testament to how well Vance’s people – and Li An’s – had kept their dark secret. Campbell hadn’t been a party to any discussions of the impending collapse, so his surprise was total. “I should say it was down 73% when this was sent. That was barely 30 minutes after the markets opened for trading, and things were still dropping.” Campbell stared at Vance, a confused expression on his face. He’d expected the spymaster to be shocked, but Vance had hardly reacted to the news.
When it rains, it pours, Vance thought grimly. He’d been anticipating this for months now, but it couldn’t have happened at a worse time. And it wasn’t going to stop in Washbalt. “I suspect we’ll be getting similar reports from the other Earth markets, Captain.” He paused, tapping at the ‘pad in front of him, pulling up the pre-market indicators from Ares City. Down over 50% and still falling. He’d been waiting for an economic apocalypse for a long time. It had finally arrived.
“Presiden
t Oliver, I have all my people working on this, but we just don’t have any answers. Not yet.” Ryan Warren was trying to maintain his composure, but the president of the Alliance had been firing angry questions at him all morning. Warren had been the head of Alliance Intelligence for all of 13 days, and he’d inherited an organization that had lost half its people, all its leadership, and its main data archives. He was scrambling, trying to discover what was going on while he continued the investigations into the CAC and Martian attacks against the Alliance. He’d slept six hours, maybe seven total since he’d been sworn in as the new Number One. He didn’t know how long a human being could get by on stims alone, but he suspected he was going to find out in the days to come.
“Mr. Warren, I appreciate that you have just stepped into your position, and under difficult circumstances, but I want to be sure you understand the enormous gravity of what is happening.” Oliver hadn’t gotten much sleep in recent nights either, and it showed in his raspy voice and bloodshot eyes.
Warren almost rolled his own eyes, but he caught himself. Shut up, he thought…just listen. Francis Oliver was a vindictive and petty man to begin with, and now he was scared to death. Tread carefully…very carefully. Gavin Stark had been deeply entrenched, his position almost certainly protected by secret files and intelligence reports on everyone of significance in the government. Warren had been thrust up a dizzying number of echelons through the bureaucracy…20 years of advancement in a day. Having your 25 most direct superiors killed in a single instant was an unmatched example of career development, but it tended to leave one scrambling to catch up with things. Warren lacked the store of blackmail he would have procured over decades of normal advancement. He was Number One, but he unprepared and poorly equipped. He commanded a wounded animal, and his grasp on the Chair was tenuous at best. He’d have to take however much shit Francis Oliver sent downhill toward him. At least for now.