by Jay Allan
Samuels felt the urge to resist, to refuse Stark’s command. But he knew he was inextricably tied to his psychopathic master. There had been a time when he’d had the chance to escape, he thought, but it was long past. There was nothing left of General Rafael Samuels, Commandant of the Marine Corps…nothing but the craven creature standing before Gavin Stark, doing his bidding. He tried to hold back the tears he felt welling up in his eyes as he muttered the command to his AI. “Execute clean sweep.” It was just one more treachery for him, and not the worst. Samuels wished he could go back and do things differently, but he had chosen his path, and now he was stuck with it.
“Thank you, General.” Stark spoke softly, almost sympathetically.
Samuels couldn’t remember the last time the Shadow commander had sounded so reasonable. He turned his head, trying to hide the tears streaming down his cheeks. All across the battlefield, the Shadow legions, his soldiers, were dying, poisoned by their own AIs on his order.
“Go, General.” Stark’s voice…still sounding almost sympathetic. “Take some time to yourself. I know that was difficult.”
“Thank you, sir.” Samuels saluted and turned around, walking slowly back toward his tent. He was still surprised by Stark’s empathy.
Take all the time you want, General, Stark thought as he watched Samuels walk away. He pulled a small remote from his pocket and pressed one of the buttons. He smiled as he saw Samuels stop in his tracks, hesitating for a few confused seconds before he fell forward, his immense, armored bulk dropping hard to the ground.
Stark put the controller back in his pocket and stared at Samuels’ body. “That’s the reward for failure, General.” He turned and walked slowly away. “One you richly deserved.”
One less loose end, he thought with grim satisfaction. Now for Erik Cain.
“It was the same here as on Arcadia.” Holm spoke, the shock clear in his shaken voice. “But there were so many more of them here. There must have been 15,000 enemy troops still standing…and they murdered them all?” He turned to face Cain. “What kind of enemy kills its own soldiers in such numbers? Especially after they fought the way they did here.”
“I can’t understand it, sir.” Cain paused. He knew he wasn’t being completely honest with Holm. In truth, the more he thought about it, the less unexpected he found it. Stealth and secrecy was enormously important to the enemy, and he understood why Stark employed such draconian policies. He was angry that he’d allowed himself to be surprised at all at what Gavin Stark would do to win the war…and ashamed that he understood their enemy’s motivations so well. But he lied to Holm, unwilling to risk the general thinking less of him. The Commandant was genuinely shocked at a type of evil he couldn’t comprehend. But Cain could.
He was beginning to wonder how much difference there really was between him and Gavin Stark. He’d never murdered his wounded soldiers, but he had sent Clarkson’s Obliterators on a suicide mission…an attack he knew few, if any, of them would survive. Others saw the difference between those acts clearly, but the distinction was blurring for Cain. He knew he had as much blood on his hands as Stark did, and the only difference was that his cause was just, and Stark’s wasn’t. How many mass-murderers, he wondered sadly, have justified their actions in exactly that way? Morality had always been a pliable concept to most men, malleable enough to justify desired actions while condemning those of adversaries.
“At least you managed to take some live prisoners, Erik. How many did you get in total?”
“Ten, sir. Plus Anderson-45.” Cain welcomed a change of subject, however slight. “I’ve had everyone on alert to get wounded soldiers out of their armor immediately.” He paused, casting his gaze toward the ground. “But the prisoners are in rough shape, sir. They were wounded already, and the men had to cut them out of their suits with blades.” His tone darkened. “We’ll be lucky if half of them survive.”
“They’d all be dead if your people hadn’t gotten to them, Erik.” Holm reached out and put his hand on Cain’s shoulder. “I know you’re beating yourself up, but you did one hell of a good job here, son. Our profession demands sacrifice. You may send those men and women into the firestorm, but you didn’t create it. You didn’t cause this war…or any of the others you’ve fought. Somebody has to stand against people like Gavin Stark, or mankind will plunge into a dark age that would make today’s Alliance seem like utopia.”
“I know, sir.” Cain sighed. “But I’ve lost so many. How many people can one man kill and not be evil?”
“You don’t kill them, Erik. You lead them into difficult situations.” Holm paused. “Ok, sometimes you send them into the fire, but you do what has to be done.” Holm knew Cain had an easier time when he went in with his Marines. Sitting back in HQ and sending a unit on a hopeless mission tore him apart. But sometimes there just wasn’t a choice. It was part of his duty now that he wore stars on his shoulders and not a sergeant’s stripes. But he had never full accepted that fact.
Cain was about to reply when Merrick walked up with Ali Khaled and Commander Farooq. With the conclusion of the fighting, they had all shed their armor, enjoying the fresh air while their suits were refurbished and reloaded. Merrick was wearing the same Marine-standard fatigues as Holm and Cain. The Janissary commanders were clad in their considerably more ornate off-duty uniforms.
“Cate Gilson’s handling the wrap up, sirs.” Merrick snapped off a quick salute to Holm and Cain, and he offered the Janissary commanders a respectful bow. “The last of the wounded are on the way to the main field hospital. It appears there are no live enemy troops remaining on Armstrong.” His voice softened. “Still no new prisoners, sir. Two of the ones we had died, but Sarah told me she thought she could save the others. That makes nine, including Anderson-45.”
“How is Anderson-45 doing, Isaac?” Cain turned his glance to Merrick.
“He’s good, sir. He’s great physically…and Sarah was making substantial progress breaking down his conditioning, at least before she had to get back to the hospital to deal with the wounded from the final push.” He hesitated then added, “I think we might get through to him. I don’t relish the thought of starting from scratch with the others, but I think Anderson-45 will prove to be very helpful.”
“Well, that’s good news, Isaac. Let’s hope you’re right.” Holm was nodding his head as he spoke. “We weren’t able to get any prisoners on Arcadia. Maybe now we can figure out what makes Stark’s soldiers tick.” Holm turned from Merrick toward the Caliphate officers. He’d gone right into action after he arrived, and this was the first time he’d seen them. “Lord Khaled, Commander Farooq…it is a great pleasure to see you both. Fortune to you and to those who follow you.” Holm offered the standard Caliphate greeting.
“And fortune to you, General Holm, and to those who serve you.” Khaled finished the salutation and then extended his hand. “Please accept our warm regards. It is good to see you again.”
Holm reached out and grasped the Caliphate lord’s hand. Then he turned and offered his to Farooq. “I cannot thank either of you enough for what you have done here.”
“There is no need for thanks between good friends, General. And as fate’s fickle nature would have it, it appears that old enemies have indeed become good friends.”
“Very good friends. Honorable friends.” Holm offered the Janissary officers a warm smile. “And I fear we will all have need of such comrades in the weeks ahead.”
Stark crept through the tall weeds, working his way closer to the cluster of Alliance and Caliphate officers. Armstrong was lost and, with the victorious Alliance fleet approaching the planet, there had been no way to extricate any of the legions. Stark ordered them all put down to avoid capture. It was a terrible waste, but nothing was more important than protecting the secrets of his cloning technology and neural download process.
Spectre was ready to go as soon as he returned. The stealth ship wouldn’t have any trouble slipping past the Alliance fleet and getting back t
o HQ. He’d have a reckoning with Admiral Liang when he got there. He was angry that the fool had not defeated the Alliance fleet, but his rage was tempered. As long as Liang got away with most of his ships and troopships intact, it wasn’t a disaster. Armstrong was never critical. Even in defeat, it had served well to bleed the Marines white. The Shadow legions lost far more troops, of course, but then Stark had more to begin with. He could sacrifice thousands of his manufactured soldiers to destroy the Marines. And another battle like Armstrong would be the last Cain and his pitiful band of survivors ever fought.
The Janissaries were an unexpected wrinkle, something none of his projections had considered. When he got back to Omega Base he’d have to revise some strategies to deal with the unexpected intervention. Handling another 25,000 first rate troops wouldn’t be easy, but it was doable.
But first he had unfinished business. He glanced over his shoulder. He had two agents with him…everyone else was already aboard Spectre, ready to lift off as soon as he returned. He motioned for his companions to remain in place, and he gripped the cool plastic of his weapon’s stock, methodically checking the sight for the third time in ten minutes.
Stark felt nervous, and he could feel the sweat on his neck. He could never admit it to himself, but he was scared to go up against Erik Cain. The Marine was the most dangerous enemy he’d ever faced off against. He had always used his opponents’ weaknesses against them. Their compassion, ethics…the squeamishness to do whatever was necessary to win. But Stark didn’t think he could count on Erik Cain displaying those vulnerabilities. In the end, he believed the Marines’ crazy but ever-victorious general would do anything necessary to win the ultimate victory. And that made him a very dangerous foe.
He glanced at his handheld scanner. Just ahead…only a few more meters and he’d be able to see them. He slowed to a crawl, careful not to step on a branch or even breathe too heavily. He climbed up a small rise and peered over the crest. There they were…a small group of senior officers standing around, unarmored. And there was Erik Cain, right in the middle. This was going to be too easy, Stark thought with satisfaction, though he maintained his deadly focus. He refused to underestimate Cain…or any of his enemies. He had done that before, with disastrous results.
Stark raised his rifle slowly, the movement almost imperceptible. He looked through the AI-assisted sight, checking and double-checking his targeting. He’d kill all the officers if he could, but there were a dozen guards just behind the command group. He knew he might only get one shot before he had to flee. And he was going to put that shot in Erik Cain’s head.
“Still, we held both Arcadia and Armstrong, and that is something to be pleased about.” Holm was trying to sound upbeat, but it wasn’t easy. Not after the losses they had suffered. Not when at least 20 other Alliance worlds were still occupied. He didn’t begin to understand how they were going to fight almost two dozen more battles against an enemy like the Shadow legions, not to mention deal with the escalating problems on Earth. And he was still shaken by the enemy’s homicidal end game, just as he had been on Arcadia.
Cain nodded. “We paid a heavy price for these two rocks. I hope they’re worth it.” He sighed. “But now we need to decide what’s next. We need to connect with Admiral Garret and put together a plan to drive the enemy from the other worlds.” Cain paused. He knew mounting 20 successful invasions was a fantasy. The Corps was in ruins, nothing left save a few shattered remnants of one of the greatest fighting forces mankind had ever fielded. They were all veterans - even the trainees who’d been activated to fight on Armstrong deserved that distinction now – but they were hopelessly outnumbered. And it would take years to rebuild...time they didn’t have.
“You may count on my people, General Holm.” Khaled moved his head slowly in Holm’s direction. “As General Cain said, there remains much to do before we have a chance of stopping our enemy.”
“Thank you, Lord Khaled.” Holm’s voice was emotional. The promise of the Janissary commander to join the Marines’ cause - one they all knew might be hopeless – affected him deeply. “We are profoundly grateful to count your people among our friends.” He still found it odd thinking of the Janissaries as allies. For a century they had been the most hated and feared enemy of the Alliance Marines. But they had proven their friendship and risen above old hatreds for their own part, and Holm would accept no less from his Marines…and himself. Indeed, he was surprised how quickly he too was forgetting the old anger and hatred. It felt almost as if those old battles had been a dream.
“We should never have been enemies, General. I fear our governments are to blame for those decades of needless slaughter.” Khaled was usually circumspect about discussing politics, but recent events had deeply affected his opinions. He was angry about the proscriptions…and that outrage was morphing into hatred for the immoral government that issued the orders. He was lightyears away from those responsible, but he’d sworn that if fate afforded him the chance, one day there would be a heavy reckoning. “However, we warriors will stand together, General, and when this is over, we will put the politicians in their places.”
Holm smiled. “Perhaps, Lord Khaled.” Holm wasn’t quite ready yet to rebel outright against Alliance Gov, though he rather suspected Cain would do it without a second thought. “But for now…” Holm caught something in the corner of his eye. Movement. Something was wrong. He turned his head slowly, angling for a closer look. He paused for an instant, staring…and then forty years of combat reflexes took over.
“Down!” he screamed as he lunged for Cain, slamming hard into his shocked protégé, pushing him to the ground just as they all heard a loud crack. A spray of blood exploded from Cain’s leg as he fell to the ground. Holm was twisting in the air, falling on top of Cain when another shot ripped through the air. Holm’s head twisted violently, and his body was pushed over Cain’s, falling hard to the ground two meters from his friend.
Cain was lying on the cool grass, stunned, his leg burning like fire, uncertain at first what had happened. He could see Khaled and Merrick rushing to his left, panicked looks on their faces. There was more firing, too…coming from the security detachment this time. What were they shooting at, he wondered, as he tried unsuccessfully to force himself up, grabbing his sidearm as he did…what was happening?
He saw the guards rushing toward a small cluster of heavy brush, firing away at full auto as they ran. He was about to try to get up again and follow them when he realized…
“General?” He spun his upper body around, and he crawled over to where Holm lay. The Commandant was on the ground, surrounded by Merrick and the two Janissary commanders, all on their knees, crouched over the stricken Marine.
Cain felt his stomach clench as he held himself partway up and stared down at his friend, his mentor. Cain’s eyes filled with tears as he screamed urgently, “General? General Holm…”
Chapter 29
Outskirts of Astria
Planet Armstrong
Gamma Pavonis II
The silence of the ice-blue morning was shattered by the wailing of the pipes, the haunting notes of Amazing Grace floating through the clear cold sky. The Corps was assembled, those few who remained after the savage bloodbaths that had decimated its ranks. These veteran warriors were somber and heartbroken. Soon they would be dispatched to other worlds, to continue the war…to face an enemy that hopelessly outnumbered them. To grimly fight another hopeless war. But first, they were gathered to bid farewell to their leader, the very heart and soul of the Marines.
Not a word was spoken; not a sound broke the stillness save those mournful tones, and on the faces of these thousands there was not a dry eye. Men and women who had marched stone-faced into the fiery hells of a hundred bloody battles wept openly, unable to hold back the crashing waves of grief. For this time, among the thousands of dead from their desperate battles, lay a man they had all loved and respected, one who had led them across the galaxy, who had always been there to pull them through
their endless struggles.
Elias Garrison Holm had fought everywhere man’s hand had touched, and he had led his Marines wherever battle called them. He had saved the Corps from destruction and the shame and despair of Rafael Samuels’ treachery. He’d given the Marines back their pride and rallied them to face one dire threat after another.
He had nurtured the newest Marines, many ripped from incomplete training programs to join the battle lines far too early, and he had shared an unspoken connection with the old sweats, the veterans who’d followed him from battle to battle over the years, even decades. They were gone now, most of the old guard. They had poured their life’s blood into the cold sands of a hundred worlds, stood in the breach and held back the foe, the forces of destruction that would have consumed civilization. Now Holm was with them, gone to command the legions of lost brothers and sisters in whatever Valhalla awaited fallen Marines.
Erik Cain stood rigidly at attention, staring at the flag-draped coffin of his friend, his mentor. His wounded leg throbbed, but he was aware of it more as a detached fact…an awareness of pain that seemed so unimportant it was almost unreal. Elias Holm had been more than a commander to Cain, more than a father. Cain couldn’t describe what Holm had meant to him. Words failed; thoughts failed. There was only a raw ache, an emptiness he knew could never be filled.
Cain had seen things no man should see, sent untold thousands to their deaths on worlds throughout human space, his stony resolve through endless horrors a legend in the Corps. But now that monolith was broken, and tears streamed silently down his cheeks. His hand was pressed to his forehead, firm and unmoving in a perfect salute. A last tribute to his fallen leader.
Sarah Linden stood a few meters behind Erik, an image of icy perfection, her black dress uniform perfectly pressed. But it was a façade, her face a mask of pain, wet with tears. She’d been devastated already, wracked with grief and guilt over the death of her sister, Alex. The loss of Holm so soon afterward was too much to bear, and she felt empty…dead inside.